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She/her, 25+, Side blog to shoot out fanfic that I like

[thestraybunny]

In My Head Masterlist

Pairing: Non-Idol Joshua Hong x Afab Reader Final WC: 53k+ Rating: 18+ MDNI GENRE: One bed trope, brother's best friend, Fluff, angst, Smut Summary: Burnout. That’s what you were feeling lately, and it was starting to get worse. You needed a break, you needed to get out of your little apartment and away from your work from home job. A chance to breathe, find a real smile again, and maybe find your motivation to get you out of your funk. It was only finding the motivation to take that leap, or even at least vocalize it. Turns out, you didn’t need it, since your twin brother offered you to take his place on a trip… with his best friend. One you didn’t know well, but it was just what you were needing. But was this actually an act of kindness from your brother, or did he have something planned?

Tags: One Bed Trope, Brother's best friend, slight strangers to lovers, talks of burnout, loneliness, and bits of depression, Fluff, Sweet!Joshua, Twinbrother!Jeonghan, Seungkwan cameo, Smut, Joshua is a menace but its cute, he is definitely a bit of a flirt, alcohol consumption, eating, wet!Joshua, angst Smut Warnings: Unprotected sex (reader on birth control), pull out method, fingering, hand job, finger sucking, dirty talk, a little bit of marking, a bit of overstimulation, Joshua being a little commanding, Appreciation to Joshua's cute ass, Bigdick!Joshua

Songs for the vibes: In My Head by Stray Kids, Simple by Woozi, Molly by Chase Atlantic, Love Is Gone By Slander Ft Joshua, Naked by Avril Lavigne, Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, Birthday by Ten, Beautiful by Wonho, When I come around by Green Day,

A/N: Welcome to the masterlist to In My Head. Fic will be in 4 parts, and this list will be updated every time I have updated.

Last chapter update: 02/15

Part 1: Day/Night 1 Part 2: Day/Night 2 Part 3: Day/Night 3 Part 4: Home

AO3

[rosequartz-archive]

Series Masterlist

Synopsis ✨ It wasn't that you hated your boss, you just disliked him. Disliked how the women of the office fell to their knees for him, disliked the fact he was simply given everything in his life, disliked his perfect, flawless hair. But suddenly, one argument and two fortune cookies are going to bring you a hell of a lot closer to the man who hate dislike.

Genre ✨ Enemies to Lovers, sort of workplace romance, angst, fluff, smut (part 3)

Warnings ✨ toxic family, toxic workplace, references to family death, misunderstandings, power imbalance (specific warnings are listed on each chapter)

🥠 Part 1

🥠 Part 2

🥠 Part 3

[rosequartz-archive]

Pairing ✨ Mingyu x Curvy Female OC

Synopsis ✨ Mingyu has been your assistant ever since you become head of department and he's amazing at his job. But then he makes the wild suggestion of pretending to be your fiancé for a friend's wedding and things start to become....strained.

Genre ✨ Fake dating, pining, angst, fluff, smut

Warnings ✨ lots of pining, angst, miscommunication, oc is self conscious about her body and liking Mingyu, an argument, Mingyu is such a cutie (he's whipped), her friends are asses at the start, oral f. recieving, vaginal fingering, face riding? (sort of), hints at subby Mingyu, he cums in his pants, cum eating

Word Count ✨ 12k

a/n ✨ this is part 1 of 2, the second part is their wedding night so basically porn with no plot. If you'd like to be tagged in part 2 let me know, or there's a link to my permanent taglist on my main blog page. Thanks for reading! 🩷

Part 2

“So, we’ve put you at the kids table again, we could pay for childcare but,” a snicker that makes you grind your teeth, “what’s the point when you’re there and they all love you so much, it’s a win, win!”

You hear your best friend, Yongsoo, laugh with her fiancé and you decide there and then that you no longer want friends. You’ll become a nomad, a wanderer, someone who doesn’t need anyone or anything.

“Maybe she’s bringing someone!” You always liked her fiancé, now you hate him. The way he says it like it’s the best joke he’s ever told makes you feel like a complete idiot.

Your assistant places the floor designs for the new apartment block you’re designing onto your desk but pauses when he sees the look on your face. It’s somewhere between pain and wanting to rip someone to shreds.

“Who’s that?” He mouths.

“Yongsoo.”

He knows what’s happening now, he’s seen this play out again and again over the past two weeks whilst Yongsoo has been finalising her wedding plans and so with that, the seating plan. You’re certain that when you told him your friends had a habit of seating you with the kids at their weddings, he thought you were joking. But now it’s clear that it seems that someone being single, in your friends’ eyes, goes hand in hand with free childcare.

It did used to be you and Minhyun, an old friend from university but he decided to become an OnlyFans streamer and so your friends, ultimately being prudes, decided he wasn’t allowed to sit with you and the ever-growing brood of children.

You had asked him if you could star in a video with him, but he said your bosses probably wouldn’t like it. That and he was very much still as gay as ever and so unless you grew a key appendage, he wasn’t interested.

Discrimination. That’s what it was.

And so now all you have to look forward to this weekend, at your bestie's wedding, is being the entertainment for the kids.

“Yeah, right babe, like ____ has found anyone. She never leaves her office.”

Mingyu glares at your phone but you shake your head to tell him to ignore them, you’re used to it. They don’t mean it in a horrible way, they just don’t understand that you enjoy your work. You enjoy designing things and seeing people love them, to create their homes and families in the buildings you’ve designed. And it isn’t like you haven’t had boyfriends, you have, but they just were equally as dedicated to their work and so they’ve always fizzled out.

Their need to get married and have kids is great for them, it’s not even something you’ve ruled out, you’re still young. But it’s just not something you want now, and they find that whole idea foreign.

“You’ll die alone if you don't start living your life!"

Well, that’s just fucking harsh.

“Actually, I’ll be coming with her.”

You stare at Mingyu. He’s leaning over your desk, shirt sleeves rolled up, speaking into the phone that now has nothing but a stunned silence on the other end of it.

“____? Who’s that.”

You can’t speak. What the hell is he doing?! It’s one thing to go alone. It’s another to turn up with your assistant. You can hear it now, “Oh _____, the only man you can find is your assistant?” or “oh my god, are you paying him?”.

Before you can even answer them, your brain only just catching up to what he’s said, he speaks for you.

“I’m her fiancé.”

WHAT THE FUCK?!

“What the fuck?!” You hear them shout in unison at the end of the phone, such is the shock of you having a fiancé.

You can understand it, you didn’t know you had one until about ten seconds ago.

You hear Yongsoo asking a question, but Mingyu cuts her off.

“Sorry!! We can’t talk right now! We have dinner reservations. Bye!”

You stare at your phone, the screen illuminating with messages from Yongsoo and within a couple more seconds, your group chat, her probably having told the rest of your friends what just happened.

“Sooooooo…you need anything else? Or am I ok to head home?”

Did you imagine what just happened? You must’ve done because he’s just acting like it hasn’t just happened. That he hasn’t just announced to your whole friend group, basically, that he’s your fiancé.

Does he think it’s a joke? He thinks you’re a joke? That he can just set you up like this and then laugh at the fact you have to arrive there alone and explain that your own assistant thinks you’re a fucking joke?

You didn’t think Mingyu was like that, he’s always been kind and caring, making sure you work more as a team than as an assistant and boss. He’s your eyes and ears in the office to make sure your team work well and he makes sure you eat, sleep, even drink water, when you’re heading for a deadline and panicking.

So why has done this to you now?!

“Have I done something to annoy you?”

He stares at you, standing in front of your wide glass desk like a deer caught in headlights.

“No, boss.”

He doesn’t seem to be lying. But then he’s also acting like what he’s just done, hasn’t happened.

“Then why have you set me up like this, Mingyu?!”

You lean back in your chair, taking in the man in front of you. What doesn’t help is the number of dreams you’ve had where the adonis of man you call your assistant, is waiting for you at the end of the aisle. But he has a girlfriend and he’s never shown any interest in you like that anyway. It wouldn’t be right, you’re his boss. Nothing could ever happen. It doesn’t stop you thinking about it a lot. Particularly on nights where it’s just you and your rose toy. But it could never happen. Never will.

And you hate that you feel bad for shouting at him. You hate that little pout he does.

“They were being dicks to you _____! I couldn’t just stand there and let them laugh at you like that!”

“They were just being how they normally are, it’s a running joke!”

“Well, it’s not very funny!”

Why is he getting annoyed about this? He’s caused this!

“And how funny is it going to be when I arrive there on my own and have to explain that the fiancé, they didn’t know about, has disappeared?! Fuck Mingyu…..my parents will be there. All my friends. Why the fuck have you done this?!”

“I just panicked!!”

“It was nothing to do with you!!”

He looks pissed, his usually handsome features tarnished with frown lines as he glares at you.

“I thought…..I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t think.”

“No shit Sherlock.” You rub your temples, thinking of a way to get round all of this. “Just go home Mingyu, I’ll hire someone or something.”

He doesn’t move though. He just stares at you.

“Hire someone?”

“There must be apps where lonely women can hire a man for the day.”

“Like a prostitute?”

“I don’t want to sleep with them. I just want…” you gesture your hands trying to think of how to put it, “company!”

“You’re going to ring up a random man and pay him for company? And you don’t think that they’re going to think you’re paying them for sex?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with him. But he does have a point about that, you suppose.

“Or I could go to a bar. Find someone there.”

You need to do something because the prospect of turning up there without the fiancé Mingyu has just made up, makes you want to throw up.

No. You’ll find a man and then in a couple of months, he’ll very sadly be hit by a car. Not literally of course. It might actually work out well, they’ll leave you alone about finding yourself a man, because you’ll technically be in mourning. Mingyu may have inadvertently done you a favour here.

“I’ll come with you.”

It’s the perfect plan really, it’s. Wait. What did he just say?

“Pardon?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Where? I don’t really want to go to a bar with you when I have to meet someone. They might think we’re a…..”

“No. I’ll come with you to the wedding.”

You stare at him. You’re sure there’s several reasons human resources can pull you into an emergency meeting because of the suggestion he’s just made.

“You’re my assistant.”

“No shit Sherlock.”

You can tell he’s enjoyed using your own line against you, his smug grin threatening to break free as he watches you struggle.

“You’ll come to the wedding with me? And how do I explain where my fiancé is?”

“He’ll be there. I’ll be him. It’ll only be for a weekend anyway.”

Your heart both leaps and cracks at that. What you wouldn’t give to be in his girlfriend’s position.

“I can’t ask you to do that Mingyu, that goes way past being professional.”

“You’re not taking a prostitute or some random drunk you find at a bar looking to make a quick buck. At least if it’s me, you’re safe.”

“Hyejin won’t mind?”

Mingyu looks perplexed, your question obviously having caught him off guard. You know he thinks they’re both being sneaky, but it’s clear as day to you that they’ve been dating a long time now.

“No? Why would she mind?”

“I guess it’s just work,” you nod, more to yourself than Mingyu. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And you’ll tell human resources that it was all your idea, if they ever find out?”

“I will.”

You’ve got a bad feeling in your stomach and in your heart about this, but he’s not really left you much choice.

“Ok.”

“Perfect,” he smiles, “I’ll bring my over night bag with me tomorrow and we can leave straight from here after work.”

“O-ok.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything though, just happily walks out of your office like this little plan is the most normal thing in the world.

“Haven’t you filled that damn diary with ‘I love ____’ yet? How have you still got shit to write?”

Mingyu slams his diary shut when he hears his friends enter the staff room. The last time his friends got hold of it, they spent the next two weeks laughing at his drunk ramblings about how the love of his life doesn’t even care that he spends his nights planning their wedding.

“I’m just writing a couple of rules for this weekend that’s all,”

“Oh shit have I forgotten game night again?! I swear I’m not playing if she still hasn’t learnt the rules.”

“Oh does ickle Wonwoo not like losing?” Hyejin squeezes Wonwoo’s cheeks together much to the disgust of Wonwoo.

“I just don’t like losing to someone who cheats.”

“Prove it bitch.”

Just before Wonwoo can gear up to have yet another argument about Hyejin’s wavering loyalty to any game rules, Mingyu interrupts.

“I’m going to pretend to be _____’s fiancé for the weekend.”

Silence. Hyejin drops the finger she was aggressively pointing at Wonwoo and stares in horror at Mingyu.

Shit, he was hoping they’d be a little less shocked and a little more ‘oh that’s weird but totally normal and in the realms of what an assistant should do for his boss.’. But instead, he’s met with a look of disgust and utter confusion.

Because of course he is, none of this is fucking normal.

“You’re going to…..” Hyejin looks at Wonwoo who just shrugs before they both look back at Mingyu, “you’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé? For….. what reason? Have you banged your head and got a concussion? Let me see that diary, have you been drinking?”

“NO!” He pulls his diary away and puts it under his ass.

“You’re going to pretend to be your boss’s fiancé?”

Is that not what he said? Why are they just repeating it back to him?! He knows what he said, he just needs to know how to get through it.

“It’s her best friend’s wedding and they normally just use her as free childcare because she’s the only single one, which is so fucked up.”

“Oh well you should have said that sooner, now it makes perfect sense!”

“Exactly,” Mingyu nods.

“NO, YOU IDIOT.” Hyejin shouts causing Wonwoo to snort but Mingyu to jump about a foot into the air, “You cannot think this is a good idea. How did she even agree to it?”

“I didn’t really leave her much choice. I just said it to her friends when she had her phone on speaker.”

Wonwoo can’t control himself at this point, he all but falls to the ground in laughter.

He wishes he’d never told them. Assholes.

“Mingyu, seriously, you’ve been in love with her since the day you started working for her. Your puppy dog eyes follow her around any room she’s in. And she’s fucking oblivious to it, how is any of this going to end well?”

“It’ll work. I can do it, she shouldn’t be treated the way they treat her because she’s single.”

“I agree. She’s a badass with a great ass,” Wonwoo nods along with Hyejin, Mingyu tries to not let the jealously of others commenting on your ass get to him. His opinions on your ass stay between him, his hand and his 3 am ramblings in his diary, “but that doesn’t mean you have to make it awkward for both of you. How does she explain where you are at other gatherings? Or is this a long-term acting job?”

“I don’t know, she can say we broke up or something. I just thought I was helping her.”

The true horror of what he’s done is only just catching up with him, his head lands on the table of the staff room as he lets out a deep groan.

“Is it too late to back out?”

He knows it’s bad because Hyejin never shows her caring side all that often and now her hand is rubbing soothing circles on his back. Even Wonwoo gets up to make him a raspberry tea to try and calm him down.

“We’re leaving after work.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“What were your rules? You said you’d written rules.”

“Don’t kiss her and don’t tell her I love her.”

He hears them chuckle but to their credit they don’t out right laugh at him.

“They’re pretty solid rules I guess, make sure you stick to them.”

“I will,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat, “there’s no way someone like _____ would ever be interested in someone like me.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind driving?”

“_____, I’ve driven your car more than you have. Just sit back and relax.”

He’s right, he does drive this car more than you. Every few weeks you panic that he feels more like a chauffeur than an assistant, but he more or less tells you to shut the fuck up and get in the car.

“Thanks for doing this,”

You must’ve thanked him ten times today already but now you’re actually on the road, it feels more real. Like there’s no going back.

“It’s cool. It’ll be fun to finally meet your friends, I hear enough about them.”

That warms your heart, you know he’s probably just saying it but the fact he cares enough to try and put your worries at ease, helps a little.

To say you felt a little embarrassed about this whole thing would be an understatement. You spent most of last night tossing and turning worrying that he thought you were pathetic or that you couldn’t find a date on your own, so he’d taken pity on you.

You’re aware you’re not ugly but when every single woman you’ve come across recently looks like she should be walking a runway, and you’re stood there just bigger than them in general, it can knock your confidence.

Even last night your normal routine would’ve been to orgasm your worries away, but your mind always wanders to Mingyu. Which on a normal night would only tip you over the edge quicker. But with your mind plagued with worries that he thought you were just some desperate woman who couldn't find a date, it felt almost like you were insulting him to use the image of him in your mind, to get yourself off. Like he’d take it as a personal offence that someone who wasn’t as hot as him would think about him that way.

“Which one?”

“What? Sorry, I was miles away.”

“I could tell that,” Fuck there’s that smile again that makes you go weak at the knees, this weekend is already seeming like a massive mistake, “I was saying do you want the crispy potato or the chicken skewers from the service station. I think I’ll get both because it’s like a three-hour drive and it’ll be late when we’re arriving at the hotel. Oh! And some of those little doughnuts then we’ve got a sweet treat.”

He looks so happy rambling on about what food he wants. Does he even realise what an amazing person he is? He probably doesn’t, you just hope Hyejin tells him every now and again.

The thoughts from last night are still in your mind, and you just can’t seem to shake that he must think you’re this joke that he has to humour. You're not even sure you could eat even though you are hungry.

“I’m good thanks.”

You look out the window, ignoring the look on Mingyu’s face. Is the way he’s clenching his jaw now the same as he does when he…..

“You need to eat something _____.” he interrupts your thoughts.

“I’m still full from lunch.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that “you have something! Use my company card.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll wait till we get to the hotel, then we can both eat together.”

You wish your heart didn’t flutter when he says together. And you hate that he’s called out your bullshit in the kindest way possible.

Even though Mingyu is your assistant, you had shared a bed a few times. When you’d had to travel for work, and hotels had made an error, which had happened at least five times from what you can remember. So, you weren’t overly phased about sharing a bed with him now. Presumably Hyejin was ok with it, you can’t imagine he hadn’t mentioned it to her and if she was ok with it, then you could be too.

The room was exquisite, but then you’d expect nothing else from Yongsoo, since you were children, she’d been planning her perfect wedding and so you knew it would be nothing less than incredible. You weren’t a bridesmaid, she had asked but her sister was the other bridesmaid and you'd still not forgiven her fully for making out with your college boyfriend, add that to having to stand in front of room full of people? No thank you. Yongsoo understood, she didn’t agree, always telling you about the many men that look at you, but she respected your feelings and didn’t push it. She did make sure though that you had all the perks of a bridesmaid, a suite for yourself and various little gifts saying how pleased she was she was spending her wedding with her oldest friend.

For all their bitching and joking about your love life, in all other respects your friends were your rocks, and you know they just wanted you to be happy.

As soon as you got to the suite, you rushed to take a shower, hoping all of the bad thoughts and worries would be washed away with the stinging hot water.

And they were. That is until you’re confronted with Mingyu, taking the cloches off the room service in shorts and a tight vest. How does he just look like that on a daily basis? Muscles rippling, broad golden shoulders flexing whenever he moves, he’s like every woman’s perfect fantasy. He is your perfect fantasy. You’re suddenly pleased you’ve changed into baggy sweats and sweater, the less he can see of you, the better.

“Feel better?”

His dazzling smile lights up when he sees you walking over to the dining table in the corner of the suite.

“Yeah, much better. Thank you again for driving.”

“No problem. I hope you’re finally hungry now, I think I went a bit overboard.”

He scratches the back of his neck and all you can do is desperately try not to stare at his biceps, so you avert your eyes.

In doing that though you realise just how much food he’s ordered.

“Are we expecting guests?”

“No, I just didn’t know what you’d feel like, and I could eat a literal horse and so yeah…. hence all this food.”

You nod and take a seat. He doesn’t speak, when he said he was hungry, he wasn’t lying. You’ve never seen one person inhale a burger in two mouth fulls, but somehow, he manages it.

It’s only when you’re both finishing off the two sundaes he’s ordered, desperately trying not to watch him bite into a strawberry, trying even harder to not to watch as a little trickle of juice falls from his lip and down his chin.

You need to stop thinking of him like this, he’s taken and not interested.

“Are you sure Hyejin doesn’t mind all of this.”

He pauses, spoon in his mouth and eyes wide, like he’s been caught out. Does he really think it’s not obvious about them? They’re always together.

“Why do you keep asking about Hyejin?”

“Well…..I can see you’ve been trying to keep it low key but….”

“Keep what low key?”

“Your relationship?”

He stares at you and you find yourself wanting to shrink into your seat. For a man with such a beautiful smile, his stern face can be a little unsettling, to say the least.

“S-she’s your girlfriend, isn’t she? Sorry, I just noticed it and I know I’m both of your boss but honestly, I don’t see a problem with workplace relations….”

“She’s my best friend.”

“That’s sweet,” you try to smile through the fact that they have that kind of perfect relationship, where they call each other their best friends, as well as partners. It’s what you’ve always wanted to be honest.

At least he has that, he deserves it. And that’s what you’ll keep telling yourself to make yourself feel better.

“_____, she’s my best friend. No offense, but we’d kill each other if we were in a relationship. Plus, you’re much more her type than me.”

Oh.

Well shit.

“I’m sorry! Shit I’m so stupid. I just thought because you spend so much time together.”

“I spend a lot of time with Wonwoo too. I’m not dating him either.”

“True. Sorry…..Not that it’s any of my business anyway. Sorry.”

“It’s ok, boss.”

You wish he wouldn’t call you that. It’s just another reminder that you’re just his boss to him.

Mingyu can clearly see there’s something on your mind, but he presumes it’s about the mix up that’s just happened and not because you’re literally in love with your assistant.

He leans forward a little bit to try and catch your eye, you looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s ok,” fuck his voice is so soft, like he actually cares more than employee should or would.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts, you just need to get through this weekend, and things will go back to normal.

“I think I’m going to go find my parents room, I haven’t seen them in weeks.”

“Cool just let me get my shoes.”

You freeze as you get up from the table to get your own shoes, why had you not even thought about him having to meet your parents properly?

“You’re coming with me?”

“I mean, it’ll be weird when they think you’re bringing your fiancé, if I don’t come with you?”

“Oh. Yeah, true.” You try to remain calm but already the idea of having to lie to your parents doesn’t sit well with you.

He just smiles at you as he makes his way to the suite door, holding it open for you like the gentleman he is.

Luckily, he’s put a hoody on over his vest, otherwise you’re not sure you’d make it through the rest of the night.

The universe really has a way of being spiteful. Why would it put you in a position where the man of your dreams is pretending to be your fiancé and then it turns out that your parents actually like him?

Your dad hasn’t liked a single boy you’ve brought home since you were a child. He’s always been overly protective and didn’t want any boy in your room, even if it was your gay best friend from high school. He even threatened an ex-boyfriend once for the mere suggestion that you’d be sharing a room over the holidays when you visited them. Whenever he was introduced to ex- boyfriends he’d sit and glare like something out of a mafia film until eventually they left.

But Mingyu? He must be some sort of parent whisperer because your dad is currently telling him all about the fishing retreat he’s booked with his friends. Your mom has said four times what a “charming young man” he is and already planned out what she intends to cook for him when you both go to visit. At this point it’s hard to tell who’ll be more upset when you and Mingyu call off this fictitious engagement, you or your parents.

“You should come with us! I’m sure there’s an extra room in the cabin.”

You smile at how kind your dad is being and you don’t want him to be disappointed, but you know there’s no way Mingyu can go. Why should he even want to?

“I’d love that! What were the dates?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls up the calendar on his phone, looking to see if he’s free or not.

“Don’t look so horrified _____! Your dad and his friends won’t bite!” Your mom chuckles, before she goes back to watching your dad and “fiancé” plan their, now joint, fishing trip.

What the hell is he even thinking about, agreeing to go on a trip with your dad. It’s one thing to do this whole fucking performance for the weekend but it’s another to drag your parents into it. This is already hurting you. You don’t want them to get hurt in the process.

An hour passes by and you note it is getting pretty late. And it isn’t like you’ve gotten a word in anyway, Mingyu has gone down a storm with your parents and although it warms your heart that he seems to like them as much as they like him, it’s pissing you off how careless he’s being.

But is it even carless? It feels more like spite to be honest. He knows none of this is real, it’s going to make the whole thing so much harder to deal with when you have to tell them that you’re not together.

That you’ve broken off the engagement that never was.

You hug your parents goodbye, Mingyu holding the door for you, smile faltering slightly when he realises that your smile drops as soon as you’re away from your parents, a look of simmering anger replacing it.

If you weren’t so hell bent on getting back to your room and finding out what the hell his game is, you might have heard what your parents said behind you.

“It’s not like you to like a man she brings home.” Your mom mumbles.

“I wanted to hate him. Wanted to obliterate the fucker for not even asking permission to propose. But he seems a great guy and……did you see the way he looked at her? As soon as they walked in, I could see it in his eyes.”

“He loves her.” Your mom nods, both then retreating into the room.

“He does.”

You walk ahead of Mingyu back to your room, you’re not sure how you’re feeling because you don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. It’s seeming more and more like this is all a game to him, that he doesn’t care about what happens after this weekend with your friends and family, because he doesn’t need to be involved in the aftermath.

He gets a free weekend away, in a nice suite, free food, free drinks and then gets to go back to his life and you have to watch your dad be upset because Mingyu isn’t going away with him and his friends.

You can take your emotions being played with. But not your family’s.

You wish you hadn’t showered when you’d first arrived because now you’ve got no way of getting away from him for a little while. You’re not even sure what you want to say to him. You’re caught between your heart feeling like he’s sticking tiny pins in it to break is slowly and wanted to strangle him for being so careless where your parents are concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

You look up from your phone to find him sitting on the bed next to you.

“Nothing.”

You turn your eyes back to your phone. You’re not even doing anything, you’ve been staring at the same email confirmation for the past two minutes.

“Don’t lie to me, boss.”

There he goes with the boss thing again. Is he going to say that tomorrow, in front of your friends? Just to reaffirm that you’ll never be with someone like him, not in reality anyway.

“Could you just decide what your fucking angle is with this whole thing?”

“What?” You can tell he’s confused, but you don’t care.

“You keep calling me boss. Are you going to do that tomorrow too? It’s like going from one extreme to the other Mingyu. You go from whatever the fuck that was with my parents to calling me boss? It’s hardly going to be very convincing is it.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever the fuck that was with your parents’?! I liked them! They liked me!”

“You liked them? That’s why you’re messing with their feelings?! We’re not together Mingyu and you’ve led my dad to think he’s taking you on a fucking fishing trip! Do you know how many men he’s hated, not even given the time of day to, and then he meets you and likes you so much he opens up his heart to you like a father would a son in law?!”

“So, you’re mad your parents liked me?” He frowns.

“YES! Because now it’s playing with their feelings as well as m….. As well as being confusing for us.”

Your hearts pounding in your chest. Nearly telling him that it’s playing with your feelings would have made this whole thing even more embarrassing.

“As well as what?” He presses, eyes burning fierce.

“As well as nothing.” You dismiss, “I get my words mixed up when I’m stressed.”

“I’ve seen you stressed. You don’t get words mixed up then.”

Fuck him for knowing you so well.

“Well, I did this time. Is this all a joke to you? I’m a joke to you?”

Now he does look pissed, he stands up quickly, staring down at you whilst you’re still sat cross legged on the bed.

“Why would it be a joke to me?!”

“Why else would you be here Mingyu?! What, you think I’m that pathetic I need you to do this for me? I bring the seemingly perfect man whose way out of my league, he makes my family and no doubt friends fall in love with him. And you don’t expect me to wonder what he’s getting out of all of this?! It’s just fucking cruel. It’d have been kinder to just laugh at me like my friends do!”

He’s silent for a moment, shock masking his usually kind features. It breaks your heart a little more that he doesn’t deny he’s out of your league.

“You think I'm like that? That I'd treat you like that?!” Him shouting so loud makes you jump in your seat.

“I didn’t until you just dragged my parents into this!”

“What was I meant to do?! Say no? Tell your dad to fuck off?!”

“I don’t know! Just not that! It’s going to make it even harder when they never see you again!”

A flash of hurt crosses his features before he just scoffs and walks off to the bathroom.

Leaving you alone. Again.

You should be used to this feeling by now. But sadness washes over you when you realise once again, he’ll never see you as anything more than his boss.

By the time he comes back from his shower, you’re pretending to be asleep on the very edge of the bed. He doesn’t come to bed straight away and you wonder if he’s going to sleep on the sofa. But instead, you open your eyes enough to see him, he’s writing in a pink and purple diary, stuffed with extra pieces of paper and looking like it’s more than well used. Your heart aches a little when your spiralling thoughts try to tell you that that diary is probably filled with thoughts about you. About how pathetic you are and how much he hates being here or even working for you.

Once he’s done, diary secured in his bag, you feel the bed dip as he gets in.

You fall asleep pretty quickly once he’s there with you. There’s just something about him that makes you calm even when you’re heartbroken.

Thank god Yongsoo booked a suite, you and Mingyu had managed to avoid each other somewhat for most of the morning. You showered whilst he still slept, when he went in the shower after you, you went to catch up with Yongsoo before the wedding. When you came back, he was changing in the bathroom into his suit and so you took the opportunity to change into your dress in the suite’s dressing room.

You’d chosen your dress before all your insecurities around Mingyu reared their ugly head. You loved it, a sky-blue slip dress which had a small matching string belt to accentuate the small of your waist. You weren’t thrilled about the thin straps, feeling somewhat exposed but you felt sexy and confident in it none the less. Or you did. Now you just feel like shit, having to pretend to be the fiancé of a man who sees you as nothing more than his boss.

You put your final thin silver necklace on, deciding to layer your two favourites, one was from your parents and one from Yongsoo on your last birthday, deciding they matched quite well with your bangles and simple pearl earrings. Your makeup was simple, classic you could say, minimal base, a small smudge of light pink blush, a simple shimmer on your eyes and your old reliable soft pink gloss. You wore your hair down, not really feeling the need to do some fancy hair do, being just a regular guest rather than a bridesmaid, so soft curls were the easy answer.

If this had been the you of two days ago, before Mingyu decided this was a good idea, you’d have been proud of how you looked. But now? After yesterday? You hated everything about it.

But today isn’t about you. It’s about your best friend. The best friend who took you to the emergency room when you were in university because you’d fallen off a bar table, drunk. The best friend who you’d move heaven and earth to make sure was happy.

You had to man up and do this.

You take one last deep breath, grounding yourself by holding the cool doorknob, before you finally leave the dressing room.

He doesn’t notice you when you first leave the room, you being quiet as a mouse and him being once again engrossed in his diary.

And you’re pleased he doesn’t because the second you see him, your soul bids you farewell and launches itself off the balcony. He looks, for want of a better word, beautiful. The type of man every woman thinks about when they picture their perfect man. He wears suits to work but nothing like this, this one looks like it’s been fitted just for him rather than off the rack, and to your surprise he’s paired it with a black dress shirt and black tie. If he’d have described it to you before today, you’d have reminded him this isn’t a funeral, but seeing it? There’s no hint of morbid around this outfit choice. It’s suave and sophisticated and if he’d just let you, you’d happily climb him like……

“Hey,” he interrupts your thoughts once he spots you standing by the dressing room door.

You swallow heavily when he runs his eyes up and down your body. You’ve never wanted to run away and hide more in your life, you’re caught between wanting his opinion on your look for the wedding and never wanting to hear a single thought he has about your body in your life.

“You look b…….”

“Shall we go?”

You interrupt him, you’d just feel like an even bigger fool hearing whatever pitiful compliment he was going to offer you.

“S-sure.”

He rushes to put his diary in his bag as you head for the door. You walk side by side but a stoney silence follows you all the way to hall which the ceremony will be held in.

You quickly find your seats next to your parents, them greeting Mingyu almost as warmly as they greet you.

You take in the scene around you, it’s opulent and exactly how you’d imagined it to be. Luscious fabrics adorn the chairs, rose petals are scattered along the aisle and candles are lit on every surface you can see. Yongsoo has really done herself justice with this, five-year-old her would be squealing with joy at what adult her has managed to achieve.

“I meant to ask last night,” your mom murmurs to you, not wanting Yongsoo’s nosey aunts in front of you to hear what she’s saying, “where is your ring? You’ve surely not said yes without a ring.”

Shit.

Why didn’t you think of this?! Of course, engaged people have rings!

You stare at your finger, hoping somehow an answer will appear to help you.

“My mom always promised me my grandmothers,” Mingyu leans forward to speak to your mom, “and I haven’t been able to get home in a few months. I didn’t trust her mailing it because, well, we all know what the mail service is like at the moment. So _____ said she’d be happy to wait until we manage to visit in a few weeks, then I can give it to her properly.”

Your mom looks fit to burst with happiness at that answer, a proud smile plastered on her face.

“You don’t have to tell me! Three weeks I’ve been waiting for my new engine for my train!”

“Your train?” Mingyu looks at you and your mom, a little confused.

“It’s his train set.” Your mom huffs in disgust.

You can’t help the sheepish grin as you watch your parents knowingly, as they carry on with their same old argument. Your mom hating his train set and your dad believing it’s his most prized possession.

Mingyu watches it play out, sending you a smile as he settles back into his seat.

You wish that smile didn’t shoot right into your heart, somewhere between happiness and crushing pain.

“Thanks for that, I didn’t think about the ring.” You say for only Mingyu to hear.

“No problem, boss.”

You don’t respond, just sit in the broken pieces of your heart as he once again calls you boss. Another rotten reminder that you’ll never be anything more.

The ceremony passes by in a blur of muffled sobs from family members and vows that sounded more like poetry than any who’ve heard before. But you’re not really paying much attention, you’re not even sure how you came to be stood at the side of the dance floor watching your best friend and her now husband share their first dance.

“Should we d…..”

“Should we get a drink?”

This time you don’t mean to interrupt him, but you’re relieved you did. You’re not sure you could cope with being so close to him, him being that close to your body, holding you.

“I’ll go get us some,” he rushes, probably relieved he doesn’t have to spin his boss around the dance floor, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

He’s gone as quick as he says it as you happily watch all the in love couples strut their stuff on the dance floor, now the music has become slightly more upbeat.

Five minutes pass and no Mingyu.

10 minutes and you begin to wonder just how long the queue for the bar is. You avert your eyes but quickly spot him. Leaning against the bar, Yongsoo’s sister hanging on his every word and her hand on his bicep.

You feel your last scrap of confidence wither and crumble. This is history repeating itself. Only this time, he’s supposed to be your fiancé and not your dead-beat university boyfriend.

You’ve no idea why but your feet move of their own accord, different thoughts throwing themselves at you with every step you take.

Of course he’d like her, she’s gorgeous. Why did you think this was a good idea? What happens when your parents spot him flirting with some other woman?

This whole thing has just been a lesson from Mingyu in how to embarrass someone and ruin their life. Has he been like this the whole time you’ve worked together? You didn’t think so but then you don’t truly know him.

You thought you did. But you didn’t.

It’s only when you end up at your feet’s desired destination, do realise you’ve brought yourself to the children’s table. Old habits die hard and, to be fair to them, they always inflate your ego, them all thinking you’re very cool building great big buildings.

“_____!”

They also say excitedly, one of them knocking over their fake pink plastic wine glass of soda.

“I couldn’t miss out on the fun, could I?” You huff as you throw yourself in a seat at their table.

Has Yongsoo just decided they can look after themselves? Surely, they need someone.

It’s just as you’re pondering Yongsoo’s lack of care for the little terrors that you spot her grandfather, fast asleep and with a moustache drawn on his face.

“Who’s work of art is that?”

“Mine.” One of the little boys says proudly, knowing you’d never tell any of them off.

“I’d give it a solid 8 out of 10, good work.”

His proud smile warms your heart, at least they’d never judge you and make you feel like an idiot.

“Why aren’t you with your furniture?”

“Fiancé.” You chuckle, happily letting Jiyoung sit on your knee.

“He’s talking with some people.”

You don’t know what takes over you, you really don’t.

“Never trust a man Jiyoung. All they do is break your heart and disappoint you.”

Well, that’s great, now you’re mentally scaring the younger generation and making sure their parents will be asking you some very odd questions when they inevitably snitch on you.

“Is your heart broken? I could try and fix it, if you like.”

She truly is the kindest little girl you’ve ever met. Sadly, you’re too far gone in your wallowing and not even her looking at you like you know everything in the world, stops your rant.

“You can’t break a heart that was already in a million pieces.”

Way to dampen the mood _____.

“I broke something into a million pieces once.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, my mom bought a glass photo frame, and I knocked it off when I was being spiderman.”

“That’s cool.” You and the other five-year-olds all agree.

It’s only when you’ve finished re-braiding Jiyoung’s hair that you spot Mingyu looking round the hall.

“I just need to make a call.”

“I just got comfy!!”

“You’re a big girl Jiyoung, I’m sure sitting on a chair won’t hurt your bum.”

She moves but not before glaring at you.

“Don’t frown, the wind might change and your face will stick like that.”

She smiles begrudgingly as you make a quick dart away from the table.

“What shall we tell your fridge?”

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said.” She rolls her eyes.

“Just say I went back to the room, he probably won’t ask.”

“Will you come back though? We normally dance together.”

You never thought you’d miss the children’s table, but you now realise how much fun you have entertaining them.

“I’ll be back for that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And” you stop to look at Yongsoo’s grandfather before you leave, “he could really do with something rude written on his forehead.”

“LIKE POOP?!”

“Good idea! You do that and I’ll make my call.”

This softens the blow of you leaving, all of them rushing to write poop on the poor man’s forehead. It’s lucky you know him and know he’ll see the funny side. If it was her grandmother, you’d all be grounded for two weeks. Even you.

“Why are you in here?!”

Shit, you hadn’t even heard him come in the room. Why does he look so pissed?

“I just needed a break.” You stand up from the sofa.

“From what? You’ve barely spoken to anyone, apart from your fellow children.”

“Fellow children? What the fuck is that meant to mean?!”

“You’ve been acting like a child all day. Sat in a mood and pouting. Do you know how many people have asked me if we’ve had an argument?”

“Not many, I expect. I’ve only seen you talk to one person.”

He stares at you, breathing ragged like he is genuinely pissed off at you.

“This can’t all be about your dad and that fishing trip.”

“It is about that! That and the fact it’s fucking embarrassing having to be the woman that can only pretend to mean something to someone like you. And then I see you flirting with her and I thought, what’s the point? She’s already stolen one boyfriend off me, why not a fictious fiancé.”

Your stomach drops. You didn’t mean to say that. Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out as he stares at you with an unreadable gaze.

You presume he’s going to say something but instead he rushes past you to his bag.

Is he leaving? How the fuck do you explain that?

You hear the shuffling of pages before he rushes back to you.

“Read that.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order.

Your eyes scan the page.

“There was no need for them to bring April into the show, it ruined the flow and stunted…..”

“NOT THAT PAGE SHIT.” He snatches it back and skips forward a couple more pages. “That’s from my rewatch of Gilmore Girls. Read that.”

He shoves the diary back into your hands.

“Don’t kiss hot boss. Don’t tell her you love her.”

The world stops around you, you can feel your heartbeat all over your body. Your first thought is that it’s a joke, but why would he write it in something nobody ever sees?

He loves you? Mingyu. Loves…..you?

“You.....” you stare back at the page, “you love......me?” you point at yourself. “What?!”

He startles slightly at you shouting but slowly takes the diary off you and places it on the table.

He edges closer ever so slightly, like he’s not sure what reaction he’s going to get.

“That whole diary, well most of it anyway, is filled with every little thing about you that makes my heart flutter and melt. About how much I think about you every day.....and every night. About how much I want you. Need you. More than I’ve ever needed anyone. How you’ve had my whole heart since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tears well in your eyes, heart trying to break free of it’s cage.

“If you skip forward a few more pages,” he points back to his diary but makes no attempt to get it, “it’ll say how fucking pissed off I was with you last night for saying you’re not my type or not in my league. I know my type. My type is you. Just you.”

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, arms folding over you out of shame.

“I think you’re the only one that didn’t. Your dad caught me just as I came to find you to say that he could see it in my eyes how much I adored you. Fuck, when I told Hyejin about this weekend she was worried I’d even make it through it, laughing at me because apparently my eyes follow you around every room like a lost puppy.”

You chuckle a little at that and he finally sees that as his sign to move a little closer.

“I didn’t think you’d like so......”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence if you’re going to say what I think you are. You’re perfect. Pick up that diary on any page and there’ll be something written about how perfect you are.”

“Any page?” you challenge, remembering his rant about Gilmore Girls.

“Well. Almost any page.”

“I spoke to your friends.” 

“She’s not my friend.” You snap.

“Not her, she didn’t stay for long when all I spoke about was how beautiful you looked tonight,”

“But she touched your bicep.”

The words leave you before you can stop them. Your cheeks heating a little at your jealously bubbling over.

“She did. And I asked her to move her hand. Told her there was only one woman I wanted to touch me.” 

Your body tingles at that, though you try to remain calm.

“And I meant your other friends. The ones that are about 3 feet tall.”

“They’re all liars.” You dismiss with a shake of your head. “Famous for it.”

“Are they?” He grins, moving so he’s standing as close as possible to you without touching.

“Hm-mm.”

Your eyes are transfixed by him, your mind and body frozen in his whole aura.

“So she was lying when she told me you’d said all men do is break your heart?”

You scoff, a nonchalant act trying to shield your embarrassment.

“Or that you didn’t suggest that they write something on that poor old man’s forehead?”

“Did she just tell you everything I’ve ever said?! When I get hold of her,” you shake your head. “She’s lost her dancing privileges with me.”

“Good. Maybe I can have them instead.” 

You can’t help but smile, your heart now doing somersaults.

“Can I take all of this to mean that you might just feel the same way I do?”

Your eyes dart across his face, trying to find the tiniest hint of a lie on his features.

“I feel the same way you.” You say quietly.

He doesn’t even give you chance to say anything else, his big hands cover your cheeks as he connects his lips with yours. Any shock that may have been there disappears when his hands move off your cheeks and onto your waist, bringing you flush against his chest.

His kiss is desperate, filled with need and longing, his soft lips moving against yours easily as his fingers dig into your skin. His tongue prods at you, begging for entry and you happily accept it. It’s wet and needy, his tongue roaming around every part of your mouth it can. His tongue swirls around and around, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, when you tug it slightly your pussy tingles at Mingyu’s moan that vibrates on your tongue.

He moves you back towards the bed, lips never leaving yours and tongue continuing it’s assault on your own.

It’s only when the backs of your knees hit the mattress that your brain catches up with your pussy.

“What are you doing?” 

“I didn’t get breakfast because someone was acting like a five year old,” he ignores your horrified face, instead deciding to drag his tongue along your tits. A satisfied chuckle leaving him when you arch slightly into his touch. “so I’m pretty hungry.”

You know where this is going. But you need a couple more seconds to build up the courage to show someone, even Mingyu, your body after a shit couple of days in your own head. So you stall him.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Your breath hitches when he bites the soft flesh of your right breast.

He raises his head to look at you.

“Please, let me taste you. Please, I’ll be so good for you.”

Fucking hell he looks so pretty when he begs. You always wondered if he’d be some sort of hard dom or the type to whine when he came. Now you know and you can’t help yourself.

“Well when you ask so nicely.” 

You kiss him once more as he guides you back onto the bed, making sure you’re comfortable with your head resting on the pillows.

He moves onto the bed after you, eyes eating you up, as he moves closer. It’s only when you try to spread your legs for him you remember how tight the dress is over your thighs.

“Can we move this up?” 

You take a deep breath.

“Ok.”

He smiles at you for trusting him as your lift your bum for him to hitch your dress up over your thighs and ass, it bunching pretty messily around your waist.

You’re suddenly plagued by the same thoughts as this morning, the tightness of the fabric around your waist making it even more obvious you’re not flat and toned and sexy like the women he’s probably used to.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, you look beautiful in your dress.” He looks up and his smile falters when he sees worry on your face. “What’s wrong _____?” he leans over you, thumb stroking your cheek.

You almost lose your train of thought when you feel something hard poking your thigh.

“Just. I don’t want you to see me and change your mind. The past two days since we decided to do this, I felt like I was playing at someone you’d like. I always thought you’d be with someone.....smaller?” your heart skips a beat when he clenches his jaw, “just even during the night when I’d normally....”

You slam your mouth shut. That is absolutely not something he needs to know.

His dark eyes snap to yours.

“During the night what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me ______.”

“I-i. Normally......when I can’t sleep I........”

“Masturbate?”

“Well you don’t have to say it like that.” You frown.

“How else should I say it? You finger yourself? You tease your clit again and again until you cum undone and finally go to sleep?”

Your mouth hangs open at his words. Not really sure how to answer it.

“Do you think of me when you do it?” 

You nod.

“So what was different about the other night? After we’d made this plan?”

“It felt like I was insulting you. Using thoughts of you to get myself off.”

You say it quietly but see no reason to not tell him the truth. He says he loves you, after all.

“Insulting me?” His gaze looks down the bed, taking in your exposed lower half, “someone with the greatest tits I’ve ever seen? With an ass that literally mesmerises me every time I’m behind you. Fuck I could’ve murdered Hyejin when she said you had a great ass the other day. I hate the idea of anyone seeing you. And it’s a shame you weren’t playing with yourself the night before we came here. Because I was thinking of you, thinking of how much I want to fuck your incredible thighs until I’ve cum all over them.”

Well shit. You’re not sure what’s more wet, the tears streaming down your cheeks or the ones that would be streaming down your thighs if not for your, probably now ruined, panties.

“I don’t ever want to hear you question how much I want you. How much I need you. I think you’re the hottest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I think the same about you. B-but man I mean, hottest, most beautiful man.” 

He laughs, eyes glittering as he looks down at you.

“You know what’s stupid. We’ve both been sat thinking the exact same thing? I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me.”

He can’t be serious. He’s like something out of a high-class porn film!!

“Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Guess we’re both stupid then.” He shrugs. “Now. Can I please get on with what I wanted to do?”

He’s almost whining, fuck his eagerness only makes you wetter.

“Be my guest.” You say smugly, legs opening as he settles between them.

The second he spots the wet spot on your panties it’s like he’s been possessed. He rolls your panties down your thighs, putting them in his pocket and takes off his suit jacket and tie. Him rolling his sleeves up shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does but it’s like he’s preparing himself, wanting to make sure he has no barriers stopping him from getting to you.

Mingyu lays on the bed, tiny, teasing kisses being placed up your leg until he reaches your pussy. He stops for a second to truly take in the beauty of it, staring in awe at how wet you are. He gives you one quick glance before he dives in. His finger and thumb spread you open, his high-pitched moan making your clench around nothing, when he sees truly how wet you.

He licks a long stripe from your aching hole to your clit before twirling his tongue around the tiny bud before his tongue sets back down on its journey down to your hole, again.

Your hand comes down into his hair, pressing him a little closer and your hips buck slightly when you notice just that first taste of you has him rutting his hips into the mattress.

You’ve never been one to take charge in the bedroom but the way he’s sucking on your clit like he’s desperate and his hips are humping the bed, you have a sudden burst of confidence.

Not in the ‘I’m going to dominate him' kind of way, although maybe one day, but in the talk him through it a little bit, kind of way.

“Does it taste good Mingyu? Does my,”  you moan when he sucks harder upon hearing your voice, “does my pussy taste good?”

“Hm-mm,” he nods, humming into your pussy, the vibrations on your clit making your mind spin.

“It’s feels really good baby,”

The pet name has him pressing his face further into you, tongue twirling up and down your pussy before carrying on sucking your clit.

You’re hypnotised by the way his hips move with every sucking motion on your clit. Shit, he really wasn’t lying when he said he wanted you, needed you.

Two big fingers prod at your entrance, as though he’s silently asking if he can slip them into your sopping hole. You don’t answer him, just move your hips slightly so the tip of his fingers stretch you open a little.

Your head throws back onto the pillows as he moves them slowly, easing them into you at a tantalising teasing pace. When he thinks you’ve adjusted, he moves them quickly in and out of your clenching pussy as his tongue now flicks over your bundle of nerves again and again.

Your moans are quiet compared to Mingyu’s. If someone was to walk past the room they’d think he was being fucked into next week. The fact he’s making those noises just because he’s pleasuring you, only makes you wetter. The room is filled with his moaning, bordering on whining, and the sounds of your sopping cunt as his two fingers plunge in and out of you.

You grind your pussy down onto his face, the need to cum on it ever increasing, causing the hand he has on your thigh to ripple into your skin. His hips move quicker the more you pull and tug on his hair keeping him exactly where you need him as you basically ride his face.

“I’m really close,” you manage to get out before a strangled moan takes over when he adds a third finger, that taunting tongue never stopping on your clit.

You can feel your heart beat in your ears as your hips keep grinding onto Mingyu’s face, his fingers being sucked into your greedy pussy every time it thinks he’s leaving it. It takes a couple more flicks off his tongue before he sucks hard and you come undone on his face. You hear a strangled moan from him which only makes your pussy clamp down on his fingers, as they try their best to keep finger fucking you through your orgasm.

Your whole body twitches, heat spreading through every fibre of your being, his big hand on your thigh the only thing reminding you that you’re not floating. His tongue slows, gentle twirls replacing the harsh sucking action as his fingers finally leave you. You continue to twitch slightly as he licks up every last drop of you that he can, before begrudgingly leaving your pussy and sucking his fingers clean whilst he’s still between your legs.

You’re both catching your breath, fingers running through his hair as he rests his forehead on your thigh.

“You’re really good at that.” You whisper, a chuckle escaping when you feel him huff out a breathy laugh against your thigh.

“Thanks.” He mumbles into your soft flesh before he kisses it gently.

“Did you....”

“Hm-mm.”

You stare at the ceiling, a goofy smile on your face at the idea of going down on you making Mingyu cum in his own pants.

“Are you laughing at me?” he challenges, moving up your body and looking down at you.

“No,” you smile up at him, moving his hair back off his forehead, “just feeling.... I don’t know...... Proud?”

“Proud?” his eyebrows draw together in confusion, though his smile remains.

“It’s not very often you make a man cum in his pants.”

He rolls onto his back then he doesn’t collapse on top of you with his laughter.

“What can I say, I finally got my head between the thighs I’ve admired for so long, what’s a man to do?”

He wraps his arms around you, bringing you into his chest.

“I don’t normally speak like that during sex,” you admit, it just now catching up with you that you’d been bold enough to even ask a question like that, “I hope it wasn’t weird.”

He draws back to look at you.

You decide there and then you hope he always looks at you with so much love in his eyes.

“It was perfect. You’re perfect. Everything about it.”

You grin and kiss his lips once more before settling back into his arms.

“I need to change my underwear before we go back down to the party.” 

He wants to go back?! If you’re being honest with yourself you were hoping to see what exactly was poking against your leg, not that long ago.

Your face must say as much because he laughs into your hair.

“I believe you promised a certain little lady a dance and I’m owed several dances. Plus. Now I can show you off properly, like the couple they think we are.”

You freeze.

“We’re not....we haven’t been on a date yet Mingyu!”

You sit up and look at him, ignoring the way your dress digs into the soft flesh of your stomach. Your body is covered in goose bumps when he sits up with you, fingers slightly soothing the skin you were so wary to show him, with nothing but affection. 

“They don’t need to know that do they! But we’ve both said we love each other. Well. I.....”

He freezes in horror when he realises you never said it back.

“I love you too.”

He sighs bringing you into his arms, both of you sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Then they don’t need to know we’re not engaged. People take years to get married, we both work and stuff, by the time we do get married they’ll never know we weren’t engaged here. And plus...... Now I can finally hold your hand down there, like I’ve been wanting to all day. I swear people were starting to wonder why we were barely stood near each other.”

“I’m sorry for yesterday.....”

“Hey now, I get it. You were protecting your parents. But I am going on that trip, I’m pretty excited to be honest.”

You look at him skeptically.

“I am! I really like them and they seem to like me.”

“I meant what I said, my dad has hated every man he’s ever met. I think that’s why I got so annoyed because he’d have been so upset when you flaked on him.”

“Well that won’t be happening. Come on, we need to get back down there.” He stands, grimacing slightly when his underwear feels sticky.

“I’ll change my underwear and then we can go,”

He turns to leave so you can sort yourself out before you head back.

“Hold on! You’ve got something of mine!”

You stand, pulling your dress down, trying to smooth the creases.

“What?” 

“My underwear.”

He looks you up and down, tongue poking his cheek before a smug grin forms on his lips.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep them.”

He walks off, leaving you staring after him in horror.

“I’ll just put fresh ones on then!”

“I wouldn’t bother!” he hollers as he enters the bathroom with his fresh Calvin’s, “As soon as we’ve stayed a polite amount of time, you’ve paid your dancing debts and I’ve eaten actual food, they’re coming straight off!”

“Fuck.” You mumble, willing your pussy to not start dripping.

“Exactly.” He smiles when he comes back in, having changed in record time. “Now.” He looks down at his suit trousers, “have I got cum on these?” 

You can’t help but laugh as you wander over to him, now you’ve got your shoes back on.

“Mingyu?” 

He looks up at you straight away.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He pulls you into him, kissing you dramatically before letting you go.

“I love you too.”

He takes your hand to leave but you pull him back one last time.

“Please never call me boss again.”

“Yes.......boss,” he winks before he drags you out of the room.

“It’s my turn!!!!”

Jiyoung ignores Mingyu as he stands, whining next to your dancing bodies. You’d been jumping around, twirling her in your arms for the past three songs.

“I think it is his turn Ji.”  

“Tough. He was eating instead of being a good fridge.”

Mingyu frowns at her as you try not to smile.

“Fiancé.”

“That’s what I said!” She rolls her eyes again, just like earlier.

“You know. I heard they’re going to throw the bouquet soon. You don’t want to miss that, do you? If you leave now, you’ll have a good spot for when the dancing finishes!”

“REALLY!!” She stops mid-jump, a look of wonderment on her face. “BYE _____, I HAD A REALLY NICE TIME!!” She shouts as she runs off.

The music changes into something slow as Mingyu finally gets his hands back on you.  A proud smile on his face as his hand lands on your waist, the other holding your hand, as you both begin to move to the music.

“You don’t want to try and catch the bouquet?”

“I already have a fiancé.” You smile proudly. “I don’t think he’d be very happy if I went knocking over five years olds to catch a bouquet.”

“Damn right he wouldn’t. Not that bouquet anyway,” he looks over at a flower arrangement in disgust, holding your waist a little firmer, almost possessively, “the ones I’ve picked out are much more elegant.”

You freeze, feeling his body tense under your fingers.

“The ones you’ve picked out?”

“W-well,” he shrugs, “I had a lot of free time on my hands when the woman I love was utterly oblivious to it, so I’ve pretty much planned out the wedding.”

His cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink when you throw your head back in laughter, though he does pull you even closer to him

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I need to see more of that diary."

“You wait until you see the corseted lingerie I’ve drawn for the wedding night. Your tits will be falling out of it as I fuck you again and again until you’re crying.”

He whispers it right into your ear, snickering a little when he hears the tiniest of moans leaving your mouth.

You don’t get a chance to reply, your parents fast approaching from the dining area.

“We’re heading up to the room ______ , my nights of dancing the night away are behind me and your mother says her bunion is agony.”

“I DID NOT SAY THAT!” She slaps his shoulder.

You and Mingyu end your dance and turn to face them, him holding your waist so you’re as close as possible to him.

“I’m really happy for you, munchkin.” Your mom says proudly, kissing your forehead. “Don’t leave it too long until you visit, we could go to a spa or something whilst they go fishing.”

“I’d love that, thank you mom.”

“You make a beautiful couple,” she adds, moving to hug Mingyu goodbye, “look after her. She’s our most treasured posession, even more than the trainset.”

You roll your eyes but laugh along with the three of them anyway.

Your dad hugs you goodbye before moving to shake Mingyu’s hand.

“You make sure you always look at her like you did last night and we won’t have a problem. And I’ll email you about the fishing retreat.”

“When did you exchange emails?” You frown.

“Come on dear,” your dad rushes off whilst you stare at Mingyu, “lets leave the love birds to it!”

“We swapped emails earlier.”

“But we were fighting earlier.”

“Last night, after what you’d said, I decided I’d finally tell you how I felt when I was brave enough. It was the first time I felt like you’d given away that you felt the same way as me. And so I figured I’d be going on the fishing trip.”

“That’s very cocky Mingyu.”

“What can I say. I always knew we were meant for each other.”

He kisses you to stop you arguing back.

“Have we stayed a polite amount of time?” you mumble against his lips.

“I reckon so.” He grins, shamelessly looking at your tits.

“Eyes up here Mingyu.”

His eyes flit up to yours, nothing but mischief in them.

“Yes, boss.”

🏷️ @rutheaflowers @ninigyuuu @fwairychlo3 @cheolwoo

[joshujin]

tainted tides (part one)

series masterlist • part one • part two 🔞 18+, minors do not interact 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked

🍸 Brought to you by @studiosvt's Puttin' on the Ritz Collab

The wife of a politician is good for very few things—how flawless and beautiful and desirable you are being paramount to all. Every fundraiser, every gala, every luncheon, you're at your husband's side, the picture perfect portrayal of who New York City expects their First Lady to be. What they don’t expect is their prohibitionist mayor’s wife to be spotted at a popular speakeasy the night of the city's biggest raid. Or for her to go missing shortly after.

PAIRING: rum runner!seungcheol x fem!reader WC: 12k TAGS: angst, hurt/comfort, sweet baby angel cheol CW: domestic violence (not b/w mcs), bruising, blood, descriptions of injuries and physical altercations, infidelity (tho is it actually if your husband is a piece of shit who should get shot out back old yeller style?), cigarettes/cigars, more to come!   A/N: another collab with studiosvt instead of working on my wips oops what's new. please be careful with this one. the domestic violence is never graphic, but the injuries resulting from it are described at times. i'm done with part 2 (just need to edit), and i think we're looking at 3-4 parts. as always, though, thanks in advance for the patience i will be requiring lol. ily enjoy!  

THE ROOM IS THICK WITH SMOKE JUST LIKE IT ALWAYS IS, a heady cigar haze blanketing the entire cafe-turned-speakeasy better known as Club Maestro. Long, languid, melancholic notes sung by the beautiful jazz singer onstage rise into the air and fold right into the clouds, and between that and the smuggled liquor in your system, you feel a little dizzy.

“She's the berries, ain't she?” Evelyn asks before she brings her cigarette holder to her lips and inhales, the tip of her cigarette burning a bright orange as she does. You follow her gaze to the singer and nod.

“She is,” you agree. “Voice of an angel.”

You've only snuck away with your best friend to visit Club Maestro a handful of times—whenever your husband wandered off for poker night with his friends—but you're sure you recognize the performer from one of your past visits. The loneliness and longing in her voice sounds too familiar for this to be your first time hearing it.

After a few minutes of silent appreciation, Evelyn's low whistle cuts through the music. You look over at her to find the gloved hand holding her cigarette holder covering her lips in pleasant surprise. You frown.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother using any words, instead nodding behind you and puckering her lips pointedly. You look over your shoulder, doing your best to pretend you’re casually scanning the room. At first, you don’t see him. There are too many bodies, too much smoke, the lights are too dim, and you're too tipsy. But even so, as soon as he breaks through the crowd and makes it to the bar, you know immediately who Evelyn is referring to.

The man stands casually once he's at the bar, talking to Mingyu, the co-owner of the speakeasy, like they're good friends. You take the opportunity to enjoy the stranger’s profile while he's turned away from you, openly and unashamedly admiring him. His smooth, supple skin, tanned from whatever must keep him in the sun. The dark hair he dares to leave long and unstyled, a stark contrast to all the slicked back dos around him. His plump lips, looking so pink and soft and… bitten—in the slightest of pouts. He’s exactly what your husband would call a miscreant. You think the only truly fitting word is bewitching. 

He must feel the weight of your stare because his eyes stray away from Mingyu's and go straight to you, like he knew exactly where he felt the prying gaze coming from. There's something about his eyes—imploring and insistent—that make you feel stripped bare. You look away quickly, turning around in your seat to find a delighted Evelyn.

“Go over there.”

You look at your best friend incredulously. “What?”

She smirks and kicks your shin lightly under the table. “You heard me! Go over there! Introduce yourself. Get the guy to slide you some giggle water. Flirt a bit!”

“Ev, I’m married,” you say, dumbfounded. 

The reminder drains all the joy out of her face and voice, and you immediately regret bringing your husband up. Doing so always has this sort of effect on her. 

“God, don't remind me,” she groans, taking an especially long drag of her cigarette. She blows the smoke out the side of her mouth, frowning as she stares down at the table. 

Her red lips twist to the side into an uncertain and hesitant pucker, and she flicks her perfectly waved hair out of her face, habits you recognize when she's contemplating whether or not she should say something. You watch her, your own thoughts wandering to the fact that she can wear lipstick so bright—that she can wear makeup at all without her husband calling her an unrefined woman. You would never be allowed to wear makeup for fun. You would never be allowed to cut your hair the way Evelyn and so many other women have. Short, sharp, cute. A statement against the traditional household. According to your husband anyway.

“He's not here, we're on the other side of the city, and it's not like you're taking the Sheik straight to bed!” she finally says, the words tumbling out of her mouth like they've been kept inside it for too long. “You're just going to say hi!”

“I'm not going to say anything,” you insist. You're the mayor's wife. It doesn't matter where in New York City you go; you'll never actually be away from him. It's enough to be sick with paranoia that he'll one day find out about these escapades to Club Maestro. You don't need to add flirtations with a stranger to the list of things to worry over. “I'm married.”

“Please stop saying that,” Evelyn begs dramatically, rolling her eyes as she taps her cigarette against the ash tray on the table.

“What?” you ask, huffing a short laugh. “That I'm mar—”

“Yes!” your best friend nods fast as she cuts you off. “That bluenose you call your husband doesn't have an ounce of respect for you! Why should you give him any back?”

You try not to sigh heavily. While the state of your marriage isn't something you explicitly discuss, it's also not a secret you keep from her. Everyone who's ever meant something to you has already faded to the edges of your life, giving up on contacting you over the years because of your busy schedule or your conflicting stages of life. Or maybe it was just a product of your sheer inability to get anyone you care about to care back. But not Evelyn. 

Evelyn persisted through ignored phone calls and disregarded letters and missed dates and days you would leave her knocking on your front door for what felt like hours because you couldn’t bear to face her. She didn't let any amount of stonewalling or insistence from your husband that she leave you alone deter her. Evelyn, it turned out, is the only friend you've ever really needed. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I… I don’t intend to be mean.”

You try to smile. “No, you don’t need to be sorry. It's just complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” she says, nodding. After a moment, she shrugs one shoulder. “A simple hello to a stranger would be a lot less complicated.”

You level her with a flat look. “Ev.”

She says your name right back before she sets her cigarette down on the ashtray, leaving it to burn out. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, intertwining her fingers before she cradles her chin on top of them. She looks at you like she hasn't properly seen you in years. 

You only see her once a month. You acknowledge that she probably hasn't properly seen you in years—since before your wedding. Between the music, the bootleg alcohol, and the furious gossiping you two engage in, there isn't much room to really look at each other. Really see each other. Not that you particularly want to. You're afraid all you'll see when you look at Evelyn is a wife who chose much more wisely than you did.

You wonder what she sees as she looks at you now. 

“It doesn't have to mean anything,” she says softly. “I was just joking. You don't need to flirt or get the man to slide you some giggle water or even say anything beyond ‘hi.’” She sighs, her eyes running away from yours and focusing on her quickly diminishing cigarette. “I just want to see you do something for you.”

“I do things for me,” you defend yourself weakly. “I come here with you, don't I?”

“And even that is really for me,” she points out, rolling her eyes before glaring at you. She isn't wrong. You stand to lose a lot coming to Club Maestro when your husband is a staunch prohibitionist, but it’s the most you can do to nurture your friendship. You're lucky it suffices for Evelyn. “When was the last time you did something for you?”

Her question comes out in a tone so exhausted, it threatens to sober the entire joint right up. And it's the reason you find yourself wordlessly gesturing to your face—a silent question for your best friend. Do I look okay?

You suppose the least you can do to chip away at the debt you owe her for staying around is say hello then scurry on back, insisting you did exactly as she asked when she inevitably throws a tantrum about it. Those bright red lips slowly curve up into a wide grin, and she nods.

“You're perfect. The real bee's knees.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway, thanking her quietly.

“Here goes,” you sigh, shrugging as you stand.

The bar the stranger and Mingyu are at isn't far from your table, but between the wall of drunk, pushy bodies and the dimmed lights, it still takes a great deal of time and effort to get over there. By the time you do, you grab the first spot available like a child grabbing the wall of a pool in their struggle to keep from drowning.

You huff a curse under your breath as you pull yourself closer, staking your claim on your small piece of real estate at the bar. When you're sure no one is going to shove you out of your space, you straighten your hair and dress once more, looking over your shoulder at Evelyn, who is silently and excitedly clapping. You suppress a smile as you turn back to the bar.

You didn't quite make it to the stranger, but you're only one couple away and you’re grateful for the chance to muster up the courage to make your way down. Ever the attentive bartender, Mingyu steps away from his friend almost immediately, fixing his charming, lopsided smile on you.

“Why hello, Miss Lady,” he says, using the nickname he’s given you.

It used to be Miss Mayor when he—horrifyingly—recognized you during your first visit. Then it became Miss First Lady, and now just Miss Lady—each nickname replacing the other every time you, Evelyn, or even his wife, Jihyo, scolded him for calling attention to you. You aren’t exactly worried about the person engaged in criminal activity dropping a dime on you. You think Miss Lady is conspicuous enough and after enough time, it's grown on you. 

“What can I get for you and Miss Evie?”

“Um, just me,” you say, smiling nervously. He doesn't question it, though, his easygoing grin staying put as he nods. 

Honestly, you hadn't thought far enough to actually have an order in mind. You just thought you'd waltz right up, say your quick and panicked hello, and march right back to Evelyn. Your excitement withers a little as you realize how out of practice you are.

Your husband courted you when you were young—naive enough to still believe everyone had good intentions, and inexperienced enough to blindly crave a passionate romance like the ones you saw come out of Hollywood. You never even got a chance to see what else was out there. Who else was out there. Saying you're out of practice might not even be accurate if you were never practicing to begin with.

“Miss Lady?” Mingyu calls, laughing a bit as he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “Where is that little head of yours off to, hm?”

You apologize, body jostling a little as people push past. “Sorry, just… zoning out. Been a long day,” you say. It's not inaccurate. Every day feels like a long day.

“Well, then let's get some moonshine in you and make it an even longer night!” he says, smirking mischievously.

You can never keep a smile off your face around Mingyu, and you understand well why Jihyo glows the way she does even with all the hardships she and her husband seem to have—hardships that force them into avenues that could end in a prison sentence. 

It feels impossible sometimes, looking at her and Evelyn and seeing lives you maybe could've had if you hadn't shacked up with the first swell that paid you any attention. The glamour drew you in, and now, even if your best friend seems to think you're the bee's knees, the last thing you feel is glamorous.

“I'll take a Bee's Knees, please,” you tell him.

Mingyu pounds the surface of the bar with his fist before shooting you a quick finger gun and winking. “Comin’ right up.”

“Thank you,” you say so softly, you’re not sure he even hears as he steps away to make your drink. You sigh after a few moments and steal a glance to your right to look at Mingyu’s friend. You’re startled to find the couple between you is gone, and without anyone in the way, he’s leaning most of his weight against the bar, brazenly staring at you. “Um—” you clear your throat nervously. 

His lips quirk up into the smallest of smiles. He nods at you. “Sweet drink.”

The stranger's voice is soft and deeper than you imagined it would be—almost a low rumble and barely audible over the sounds of Club Maestro. Still, you hear him like he's speaking right into your ear. He stands to his full height and slowly saunters forward, his hand dragging along the counter as he keeps his body angled toward you and takes the spot the couple left.

Every word you've ever known suddenly vacates the premises of your brain. From the table you were seated at with Evelyn, he was a handsome man—the most handsome man in the room as far as you were concerned. But up close, he’s breathtaking. You're not sure you've ever seen someone as striking, with his deep brown eyes, even deeper dimples puncturing each cheek, and a look on his face that tells you he's trying his best to be guarded but is miserably failing.

Because the only word you can use to describe the look in his eyes is intrigued. He rolls his lips between his teeth like he's trying to subdue a smile, and your muscles relax the longer you stare. He doesn't rush you to respond, seeming perfectly happy with just enjoying the moment. You immediately know that your plans of a fleeting “hello” have been dashed, and you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything but excited about it.

“My best friend told me I look like the bee's knees,” you finally say. “Felt fitting to order it.”

“I'm afraid she was severely understating her compliment,” he argues.

“Is that so?” you ask, rolling your lips between your teeth to suppress your own smile now. That just makes him grin freely, his dimples inviting you closer. You feel your knees wobble. You clutch the edge of the counter.

“Very much so,” he insists, nodding. “I'd say it's clear you're the most beautiful woman in this gin mill—probably in all of New York City.” 

You feel your cheeks immediately warm and you can't help the smile that takes over your lips. Something about his expression softens, his eyes turning to melted chocolate as they sweep your face for something.

“And unsurprisingly… a beautiful smile to match,” he tells you quietly. He watches you so carefully, like you might disappear under his very gaze if he does it in any other manner. Like he sees right through your attempts to be a normal person in here.

“Does that work with all the dolls you chat up?” you ask, your voice not as confident as you wish it would be. You can hear just how shaken you are, but if he notices it, he doesn't say.

He shakes his head. “Wouldn't know. I've only tried it on one pretty lady.” He smiles at you expectantly, and his dimples immediately become your favorite thing about his face. He tilts his head in question and asks, “Well? Is it working?”

“No,” you lie. He grins wider. “It isn't.”

“Eh, I’m a patient man,” he says nonchalantly, shrugging even though you know he knows it's working. “Got nothin’ but time.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what to even say to that because you weren't expecting such a forward conversation. In only a handful of sentences, this man has managed to make you feel desired for the first time in years.

“One Bee's Knees for Miss Lady!” Mingyu's voice booms before your brain can even begin to form words. 

The man reappears before you and slides the cocktail across the grain—a pale yellow drink with a lemon rind hooked on the rim, dangling off it in a perfect spiral. It's almost too pretty to drink, but you need something to fix the sudden dryness in your mouth and throat. You immediately take two healthy gulps large enough that both men raise their eyebrows at you.

“Thirsty,” you whisper, clearing your throat and trying not to wince at the way the liquor burns, even with all the honey and lemon. You quickly slide Mingyu a few bills—money you've quietly saved—and when he counts it and cocks an eyebrow at you, you jab a thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of Evelyn. “For the night's tab.”

He continues to stare.

“And then some,” you mutter over the lip of your drink.

“Thank you!” he says cheerily before tucking it into his apron.

“Thank you.” You take a tiny sip this time. “Amazing as always.”

“You can thank this guy,” Mingyu informs you, nodding at his friend next to you. You turn back to the stranger to find his eyes haven't left you, though he has a more easygoing energy about him with the speakeasy's owner here. “This is our supplier.”

It's funny hearing it so casually admitted in the safety of Mingyu's bar. When you hear about bootleggers and rum runners in the light of day, it's either whispered with scandal or muttered with a level of derision and disgust you don't think matches the crime. But in here, you can remember a time when your parents shared a bottle of wine at dinner on the rare occasion they didn't have to work. In here, you can almost reach out and touch a time in your life where you didn't have to hear about how alcohol—and not the failings of men—were ruining the country.

The man doesn't seem concerned with how you'll receive this information, and why would he be? You're a patron at a juice joint with a cocktail in front of you. His smile turns into a lopsided smirk now and he shakes his head. “I get Mingyu bathtub gin. He's the one who makes it edible.”

You cough at the idea of bathtub gin in your mouth and the men laugh. You should've known it was a joke; the liquor here certainly didn't taste low quality.

“He's being modest,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes. “Seungcheol is the best rum runner around. Liquid gold, truly. Gotta fight all the other joints in town for his attention.”

A warm sensation spreads across your body and you're sure it's just the alcohol hitting your stomach, but it pairs well with finally knowing this man's name. You tilt your head at him and smile. 

“Seungcheol,” you repeat, testing how the syllables feel in your mouth. They taste sweeter than the honey sticking to your tongue. His mouth opens in a silent “ah” as he nods once and gives you a charming smile that lights the feeling in your stomach on fire. 

“Choi Seungcheol,” he confirms. 

He extends his hand toward you and gives you a look you can't quite decipher. It almost feels like a challenge. You stare down at it, large and halfway to you in line with the counter. You can see callouses along the top of his palm from where you are, and you picture him carrying heavy boxes of liquor into Club Maestro every night. You wonder how the callouses would feel compared to your husband's smooth palm—free of any blemishes that would suggest having ever worked hard in his life.

Your muscles tense at the thought of him.

It's just a handshake. It's what people in society do when they meet each other for the first time. Your husband shakes hands with dozens of people a week. Maybe even hundreds. This is one hand, one introduction—just a brief, customary greeting between strangers before they part again forever. Somewhere deep down, you're aware it shouldn't scare you like this; you know that feeling this way isn't normal.

But you've suffered a lot worse for a lot less. You know the consequences of a fleeting glance you didn't even notice you gave or a man looking at you a little too long—a man you never even noticed yourself. Even when all you did was avert your eyes to the ground and exist out in the world, there were consequences simply for drawing attention.

The idea of what could happen to you if you slide your hand into Seungcheol's makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. The gravitational pull convinces you to do it anyway. His fingers close around your hand firmly but gently, and he simply holds you there, not even bothering to uphold the guise of shaking it. 

You stare down at your hands joined together, your left ringer finger glaringly empty like it always is in Club Maestro, your wedding ring tucked away in your nightstand to avoid any further speculation should someone think they recognize you. You like the way your hand looks like this. Plain, empty.

You state your name for him—the name you had before it became just another thing your husband took from you. You don't know why you do it, and it doesn't help the fear ravaging inside you, but you give him your maiden name. 

Seungcheol repeats it, same as you did, and he must like it because his lips press closed into a delicate smile, like he's trying to keep the taste of your name inside his mouth. 

“That’s a lovely name,” he says, making your heart violently lurch.

Aside from Evelyn, no one knows it—your maiden name. Everyone who does has already been methodically and meticulously cut out of your life. Now, someone knows you again, and that alone feels like an entire well full of hope you can bathe in—that there's a version of you in another living human being's mind that isn't tangled up with your husband. On top of that, he thinks your name is lovely. And after all these years, you'd forgotten to think that too.

“Thank you,” you say through the knot in your throat. 

You're not sure when, but at some point, Mingyu wordlessly slipped away to help his other patrons, leaving you to figure out what to say to Seungcheol next, an increasingly hard task given how captivated you are by his eyes.

You settle on: “Um, you don't want a drink?”

He shakes his head. “I don't drink on the job.”

“Oh… you're working right now?” 

“Mhm,” he nods, looking toward the back of the bar past Mingyu. Two men you think you might have seen before are bringing out new bottles of liquor from another room. “Just made a delivery. I have a few more.”

“Well, don't let me keep you,” you say almost too quickly. You're getting a little too lost in how exciting and nerve-wracking it feels to talk to Seungcheol, and you're not sure that you can step away from him unless he does it first.

He scoffs out a laugh like it's the most ridiculous notion. “I'd let you keep me for as long as you wanted. New York will survive without their precious alcohol for a night. Besides, that's what those two idiots are for.” He jerks his head at the two men. “Joshua and Vernon can handle things if you decide you're generous enough to keep me here a bit.”

You feel your cheeks warm. It shouldn't feel romantic—a criminal putting off his crimes just to spend some time with you. It does anyway.

“Why do you only visit once a month?” he asks suddenly.

The question takes you by surprise. “You've seen me before?”

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “‘Course I have.” To his credit, he seems to think his next words over this time, but in the end, he says what he's thinking anyway. “Hard not to. I come here almost every night to oversee deliveries or take inventory. I always catch myself looking for the beauty in the blue dress.”

You look down at yourself, surprised that the dress you wear every single time you visit Club Maestro was memorable enough for him to take note of. It's the only colorful garment in your entire wardrobe—a relic from your old life that you were able to stow away in the back of your closet, safe from your husband's prying eyes—and it’s plain and outdated and unflattering compared to the fashion the speakeasy sees. You love it anyway. 

“More often than not… you aren't here,” he finishes, pulling your gaze back to him. “Not a big drinker?”

“No,” you admit, laughing a little because your cocktail is ironically almost finished from the sheer nervousness of being in Seungcheol's presence. “But I suppose I'm a bit of a homebody too. My friend and I—” you nod in her direction. “We do this as our girls’ night out.”

“And will your friend be mad that I've interrupted your one girls’ night out this month?” he asks, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Please,” you shake your head and scoff. “She's thrilled.” Your eyes widen a little at the answer, which feels like an admission that the two of you discussed him. You blame your cocktail. “Um, I mean—”

“Well then count me as grateful to her,” he says, smiling widely. “I've been too intimidated to approach you.”

“Approach me,” you repeat dumbly.

He hums. “I thought about all the ways I'd try and get you to give a nobody like me the time of day.”

You playfully glare at him but all he does is shrug and laugh. You sigh. “Well? Tell me about these grand plans of yours.”

He acquiesces easily, like vulnerability and rejection don't scare him at all. “Maybe I'd ask Mingyu what your order was and bring you and your friend some giggle water. Ask you to dance. Maybe I'd pretend to trip by your table and embarrass myself horribly and win your pity long enough to learn your name.”

You snort at that one. “Wow, a man willing to wound his own pride for me.”

He shrugs. “Don't give me too much credit,” he says, chuckling. “After all, it still took you getting to the bar for me to finally say hi.”

“I still commend you on your effort,” you tell him honestly. “How long have you been…” You gesture at the wall of liquor behind the bar.

He grins. “Breaking the law?” You nod, blushing a little. The mayor of New York City enforces prohibition laws with an iron fist, and his wife is currently lost in conversation with a rum runner. “Since it went into effect. I was already working at a small liquor distributor, so when we got shut down, I just took what I knew and ran with it.”

“And what did you know?” you ask.

“I knew all of our overseas connections, for one,” he lists. “I knew that they stood to lose a lot of business with prohibition, and were therefore willing to turn a blind eye to a lot.” He nods down at your drink. “And I know what tastes good and what tastes like shit.” 

You grin at his cursing. It’s impolite to talk like that in front of a lady, but there’s something refreshing about hearing it in public. There’s something respectable about a man doing that out in the open rather than behind closed doors, pretending like he never said a horrible thing in his life anywhere else. 

You take a sip of your drink and you nod. “Very tasty. Not-at-all bathtub gin.”

He laughs. “No, definitely not bathtub gin. Though… I do know how to bootleg liquor too.”

“‘Course you do,” you say against the lip of your glass, rolling your eyes and enjoying the feeling of pretending you know anything at all about this stranger. His smile is bright.

“Why do you say that?”

“Something tells me you're nothing if not resourceful.” 

“Guess you gotta be in these times, huh?”

You can't help the sigh you heave then. “Right.”

“Tell me about that,” he says like he just caught you saying something you shouldn't have. You look at him with confusion. “That sigh,” he clarifies. “What's got a pretty woman like you sighing like that? Tell me.”

“I can't,” you say regretfully. Not without shattering this illusion you know you're both under—the one where you're single and available to fall in love. 

“Okay,” he responds easily, not pressing the matter. “Then just tell me anything.”

It’s this request that finally reminds you who you are and who you’re expected to be—mostly, it reminds you who you can’t be. And you can’t be someone who tells Seungcheol anything real about yourself. You can’t be the woman he meets at a bar and sweeps off her feet and whisks her away, even if by some miracle that's what he wants to do. And you doubt he does.

You’re probably just someone he thought would be fun to pass a few hours with. You have a good thing at home. You have a roof over your head, food on the table, and the kind of security a lot of women vie for. 

“I should get back to Evelyn,” you say quietly. “Um. Girls’ night and all. I'll see you around, Seungcheol.”

You don't wait for his response. You don't even look up at him. You leave your drink on the counter and turn away, making your way back to your best friend, and you ask that she leave the topic alone for the rest of the night. Mercifully, she does.

That first conversation with Seungcheol seems to break a dam for him because he has no qualms about approaching you after that night. It starts with catching your eye across the bar and winking at you, smirking when your face gets hot. It grows to coming over with both of your regular drink orders—knowledge lent to him by Mingyu—and chatting your best friend up like he knows the way to your heart is her approval (and if the way her bright and infectious smile puts you at ease is any sign, it probably is). It even escalates to pretending to trip next to your table and using it as an excuse to say hello, then staying and making the two of you laugh for hours—so long that his employees have enough time to leave, make the rest of their deliveries, and return to kick back and relax.

He tells you stories about his eccentric clients and tales of deliveries gone wrong. He tells you about Joshua and Vernon, and the insane things they get up to while on the job. He has you laughing and gasping and shrieking and asking endless questions all night with his company, and it isn't until several months after that first night that you finally realize every single interaction has been his attempt to chip away at your resolve. 

“‘Scuse me,” Evelyn says, sighing and standing up. “Need to go to the ladies' room.”

“I'll come with,” you tell her, moving to stand up. You're startled back into your seat when she throws a glare at you.

“No need,” she practically barks before giving you a sickly sweet smile once more. “I'm a big girl. I'll be back with another round. The usual?” 

You shake your head, gesturing to your glass still half-full. Seungcheol follows your lead even though his drink has been long gone.

Evelyn shrugs. “Suit yourselves. Be back.”

“Subtlety really is her strong suit," Seungcheol comments, smiling down at his empty glass as he tilts it back and forth, the ice in it sliding around lazily.

You hum your agreement, shaking your head as you watch her retreating figure. “Conniving.”

“Wow, being left alone with me really that bad?” he asks, faking a wound to his chest as he brings a hand over his heart.

“No! No, it's not that! I'm just—I think—”

“So you do enjoy my attention,” he swings completely to the other end of the spectrum, that easy smirk finding his mouth again. 

“I…” You can’t say yes but you also find yourself incapable of lying. You very much enjoy Seungcheol’s attention.

Visit after visit, he never fails to find you, work to break down the walls you’ve built up in the time since you last came, and make you smile all night, your cheeks hurting by the time you’re home, resting your head against your pillow. Hurting so much, that you find yourself terrified of these foreign feelings and you spend the next month trying to steel yourself to face him again, just for him to break through as easily as he always does.

He’s also ingratiated himself with your best friend with master precision—so much so, he’s all she can ever talk about now.

Seungcheol is so sweet on you.

That man is carrying a torch for you.

How can you resist a man so kind?

Questions like that—questions Evelyn often asks—make you coil in on yourself in shame. You know she’s really asking why you’ve instead settled for a man so unkind when men like Seungcheol exist. What she's really doing is encouraging you to step out on your husband. 

The rum runner snorts at your loss for words. “Have I proven myself yet?”

“Proven yourself…?” you repeat, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Have I proven to you that I'm not just another drugstore cowboy using lines on you?” he asks, eyes never leaving you. “You got any plans to stop runnin’ soon?” 

“Running…” you repeat again.

“That's what you're doing, isn't it?” he asks, setting his glass down and tucking both hands into the pockets of his pants. He nods at you. “This whole thing you got going on—being cold to me for the first hour I'm here, ultimately being unable to resist my insanely captivating charm—” You roll your eyes. “—and raising my hopes just to put me back at square one the next time I see you… you're runnin’.”

“I'm not running,” you say confidently. Because you should be running, and this is not what it should look like. Running properly would be never returning to Club Maestro and giving your husband no reason to suspect you've been doing anything he considers unsavory of a lady.

“Then what are you doing?” he asks, eyes studying you carefully. They sweep across every bit of your face slowly, but like always, there isn't a trace of irritation on his face. It's been months of this, and he's still every bit as patient as he's always been. 

“It's just…” you shrug. “It's complicated. I'm not in a… place in my life where I can do…” you gesture at him and the space between the two of you, “whatever this is.”

He grins. “So you agree, there is something here.”

You groan, and let your head fall into your hands briefly before pushing your hair away from your face exasperatedly. “You're exhausting.”

“Hey, you tell me to stop, and I'm out of your hair,” he says, pouting a little. “I'm persistent but I know what ‘no’ means.”

You stare at the table, begging yourself to just tell him to stop. It would make your life so much easier—a lot less scarier and riddled with anxiety. But it would also take one of the already few joys you experience in life. Now that you've experienced Seungcheol's attention, you're selfish enough to want to keep it, even if you know you shouldn't.

“I like you, Y/N,” he says, his mouth smiling softly around your name. He makes it sound so beautiful. “I think I've proven that ‘complicated’ doesn't scare me. So be complicated. I don't know anything about you.”

You don't know much about him either, but he's right; he knows absolutely nothing about you other than your name. 

“If complicated is all I get to know about you, I'm fine with that. It's something. And I'll take anything you give me.”

You exhale slowly, feeling your resolve breaking. It took a lot of strength to ignore a man as handsome and charismatic as Seungcheol. You're realizing now it's impossible to outright reject his affections. You don't even want to. If it were up to you, you'd give him anything he asked for.

But it's exactly that kind of thinking that landed you in your marriage. 

“I can't give you much. Anything at all, actually…” you say, hearing the regret in your voice loud and clear. 

"You've already given me your time,” he points out. “A seat at your table. The privilege of being one of the dolls on girls’ night.” You smile against your will. “Give me one more thing. No matter how small. I'll find a way to make it last me years.” 

Your face gets hot at the words, and if you weren't already sitting, you know they would've knocked you clean off your feet.

You blow out a breath. “Like what?”

He smiles widely at the question, taking it as a step forward. “Like… a dance.”

“A dance?” you ask like dancing at a club with a live band and a dance floor is the most ludicrous idea you've ever heard.

He smiles like it endears him. “Mhm,” he hums easily. He nods at the dance floor, which is packed with couples swaying to the singer's voice. “Do you know how to?”

You nod. “I do…”

“Then, do you want to dance?” he asks again, patience not-at-all waning. 

It's a point of no return, you think. You say yes to this dance, and you say yes to him holding you. You holding him. You say yes to prolonged periods of doing nothing aside from staring at each other. You say yes to wanting this.

You're fully aware you're about to cross lines that could break bones. Your body stiffens a little at the thought, but one glance around and it's clear no one is paying either of you attention.

“Okay,” you whisper. He hears you loud and clear, though, standing and offering you his hand. You stare at it, just like you did the first time you contemplated shaking his hand, and he gives you that same look—a challenge.

You slip your hand into his, your other quickly grabbing your drink for courage, and he gently pulls you to your feet. He quietly leads you to the dance floor until you're somewhere you've never been in at Club Maestro: the thick of it.

Seungcheol leads your free hand to his shoulder, your other cradling your cocktail against your chest like a lifeline. He rests his hands at a respectful height on your waist, and he nods at you.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

It's such a simple question, but it almost knocks you off your feet. You used to find assertiveness attractive. You used to think being led and having decisions made for you was romantic. Is this okay would've had a younger version of you rolling your eyes and teasing Seungcheol for being a pushover. Today, at the age you are now, you think it's the kindest question he can ask you.

You smile and nod. “It's perfect.”

He returns your smile and wordlessly begins to move, your bodies swaying to the music, and although your paranoia continues to gnaw at you, you feel safe. With a wall of bodies around you, and Seungcheol's kind eyes and light hands, you feel safe. 

“You're very nice,” you say, feeling silly as you do. It's such a juvenile compliment, but you think it's the best one you can give. Nice is all you really want these days. 

Seungcheol doesn't seem to think it’s juvenile, though, because he smiles warmly. “I think you're very nice too.”

You purse your lips into a flat smile and nod once, tucking away another opinion of you Seungcheol has that your husband would probably never agree with. 

“You'd think I told you you were insufferable the way you look right now,” he tells you, laughing a little. You join him, shaking your head.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Guess I'm just not used to… this.”

“If ‘nice’ has you flustered, I better not get started on all the things I think about you.”

You nod quickly. “Yeah, best not.” He laughs louder at that, and you smile, enjoying the way you can feel the sound under your fingertips. “You're so forthright about your thoughts and feelings. It's a little intimidating.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he says, honest as always. “I got tired of being anything other than uncomfortably honest after a while, though. Life feels too short to spend it keeping up appearances.”

You bite your lip, feeling ashamed for the truth you're omitting every time you see him. “Right.” 

All you do with your life is keep up appearances. At fundraisers, galas, rallies, all the things a mayor's wife is meant to make an appearance at. You go and you smile and you wave and you pretend to be a happy, loving wife when you don't know the last time you felt happy outside of Club Maestro was. Even then, you'd be in denial to pretend like part of that isn't because of the man whose arms you're swaying in right now.

“Tell me anything,” he says gently, fingers curling against your waist ever so slightly. 

It's the same request he had the very first night you met—the one that sent you scurrying away. His efforts to wear your walls down must have worked because you feel like you've long missed the chance to run away from him.

So instead, you take a sip of your drink and you tell him about the version of you he's already received parts of—the you who still has the maiden name he knows you by. You tell him you're an only child of two parents who were never home because even with both of them working, there was always just enough food to feed the three of you. You tell him you started working under the table yourself cleaning homes before you graduated high school. 

You tell him that even with all the struggle, you still had a happy childhood. Your parents were embarrassingly and loudly in love, and where money fell short, you were showered in adoration. You were always lucky enough to find yourself in good company, making friends easily and often. You don't tell him about the single unlucky time you misjudged what you thought was the best company you were ever going to get.

“And now?” he asks, a soft smile on his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“You've told me all about you in the past tense. Who are you now?” Another simple question that makes you lose cognitive function.

“I'm… here,” you say simply. “I'm here… with Choi Seungcheol…” His smile widens. “And I feel… happy. I don't care to know who I am beyond that right now.”

He nods. “I'll take it.”

“Your turn. Who are you?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking under you. “Loaded question.”

“Oh, so you do see how hard it was to answer,” you point out jokingly. It takes you by surprise—the joke. You don't unwind long enough to do a lot of it at all. He laughs louder, nodding.

“Yes, I see the spot I put you in,” he admits and apologizes. He bites his lip once his laughter fades, and he stares at a spot above your head while he thinks of what to tell you. You think you can see the same hesitation and fear you felt.

“Courage?” you ask quietly, tilting your glass toward him. “I hear they get the best liquor in all of New York here.”

He looks down and smiles at the cocktail between your bodies, both amused and touched by the offer. He accepts, one hand slipping off your waist to take your drink. 

“I got it,” you say quickly, shaking your head as you bring the glass to his face. 

The surprise is plain on Seungcheol's face, but he schools his expression quickly, letting his hand find your waist again, this time a little lower than before. He nods his consent and you press the glass to the pink of his lips gently, tilting until you watch the yellow disappear into his mouth. Your eyes fall to where his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. You discreetly press your thighs together.

He nods when he's had enough and you take the drink back, taking a sip of your own, eyes unable to leave his as you do. His gaze flicks down to your mouth for only a second, but it's enough to lift the corners of it. 

Is this who you are? Not a woman who cheats on her husband so publicly because you're forgetting that bit the longer you sway here with Seungcheol. But a woman who flirts? So openly and freely? A woman who forgets herself and what's expected of her long enough to joke and laugh and tell someone she hardly knows about how she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night to her parents dancing in the living room after a long day of work—a lot like this—while their favorite record played on their dingy, secondhand player? Is this who you are? Because you were tied down by your husband before you would've ever known.

“I was raised by a single father,” Seungcheol starts, licking his lips free of whatever honey and lemon remains. “Similar to yours, he worked like a dog. He died when I was 15.”

You close your eyes briefly and nod, your free hand instinctively dropping to his chest to rub it in what you hope is a comforting motion. It must be because his hand comes up to close over yours, squeezing gently as he holds it over his heart. You try not to stumble or stare at your joined hands, forcing your gaze back up to him. You can tell he doesn’t realize what he did because he's looking past you like he's somewhere far away.

“I was old enough by a lot of men's standards to start working, so I did. Left school, worked the factory line until I worked my way up into contracts. Luckily enough, Mingyu kept in touch from school, and we've been inseparable since. At least until he met my cousin.”

“Who's your cousin?” you ask. He gives you a light glare before looking around with an annoyed expression on his face. You choke on nothing. “Jihyo?! Jihyo is your cousin?!” 

He sighs, nodding. “Yes. Her mother is my dad's sister. They live across the country, and Jihyo showed up on my doorstep one day, demanding I house her. Something about finding herself.” 

He rolls his eyes and you laugh, choosing to be delighted by the information rather than focus on the fact that he was still left to fend for himself at 15 despite having family.

“She and Mingyu did invent ‘inseparable,’” you giggle. Jihyo likes to pretend Mingyu forced her into this life of crime they have, but everyone knows that woman can't be forced to do anything she doesn't want to. If not for its lucrative business, she did it because she's helplessly in love with Kim Mingyu.

“They sure did,” he says, feigning irritation, but after a moment, he smiles. “They're perfect for each other. Even if I hated the idea and punched Mingyu when I first found out.”

You flinch. “You punched him?” you squeak. 

He nods, smiling at the memory, unaware of the alarms going off in your head. “Mhm, I found them petting heavy on my own couch like they were opening up a zoo.” Your lips twitch in an attempt to keep from laughing. “And I punched him. Pulled my punch, though, and all he did was laugh at me.”

You bite your lip and nod, letting the information sit with you. It doesn't matter anyway. Seungcheol, whether or not he had a propensity for losing his temper, would go on with his life, and you would go on with yours, unaffected by his inclination to punch friends.

“Then…” he shrugs, looking around the room. “Prohibition happened, and we all had to adapt. So now, I'm here.” His eyes come back to you and life fills them once more. “I'm here, and I'm also happy.”

You hum. “Good.”

He realizes now that he’s holding your hand against his chest, and he looks down at your intertwined fingers, smiling softly when he sees it’s real. His other hand takes more real estate on your waist, arm snaking around you and bringing you closer to him so that his body flush and warm against yours. Your dress suddenly feels too thin on you, and you think if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll be able to tell just how badly you want to let him take it off you.

“I feel like it’s my responsibility to let you know Evelyn got back to the table five minutes ago and has been staring at us like we’re her divorced parents getting back together,” Seungcheol informs you. You snort, not bothering to turn around to glance at her; you know she’s doing exactly that. 

“Again, subtle,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Should we rejoin—”

“Nah,” he says quickly. “She said it herself. She’s a big girl.”

You nod, biting a smile down. She did say that. So you choose to ignore your best friend staring holes into your back and enjoy this moment with Club Maestro’s rum runner. For once, you try your best to follow Evelyn’s wishes and do something for yourself, and right now, there’s nothing more you want to do than sway your body with Choi Seungcheol’s while he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room. 

And you do that for exactly two more songs before your time together is cut off by three loud bangs upstairs. The musicians stumble on their beat and you flinch against your dance partner, your glass slipping out of your hand and tumbling to the floor, soaking the front of both your dress and Seungcheol's shirt on the way down.

“Shit!” you gasp. “I'm sorry!” 

You don't even get a chance to start wiping at his chest because the bouncer bursts through the door of the cellar and shouts one word at the top of his lungs, the sound cutting through the music and the quiet murmur of conversations easily. 

“RAID!”

The chaos that ensues is immediate, the crowd erupting into shouts of fear and confusion. The dance floor becomes an uncontrollable wave of patrons desperately trying to find an exit that doesn't involve coming face-to-face with an officer.

The first thought that crosses your mind is that anyone in a uniform will immediately recognize the mayor's wife. The second is Evelyn. You turn toward the table you were at to see if you can catch a glimpse of her, but it's already abandoned, the chairs you were in all  haphazardly thrown to the ground. Before you can start scanning the room for her, you're shoved hard, taking what you think is an elbow to the ribs.

Your pained shout is drowned out as you're ripped out of Seungcheol's grasp by several people trying to push past, and before you know it, you're being carried away, caught in the riptide of panic. It doesn't take long before you lose your footing and you're thrown to your knees. You scramble to get up but take a foot to the side as someone trips over you. You recover just to get a foot on your hand. And suddenly, you're curled up into a ball, hands protecting your neck and head as you're battered by the stomping of panicked people who don't even realize you're there. You squeeze your eyes shut the way you always do when something hurts.

If you die here, you don't think it's the worst way to go. Realistically, your chances of dying bloodied and bruised were always high. Doing so at the hands of strangers who didn't know they were doing it somehow seems better than any other way.

“Come on! Up, up!” 

You hear his voice before you can register you've been yanked upright. When you open your eyes, you're met with Seungcheol's chest. He has an arm around you, holding you tightly to his body as his other makes sure to keep everyone else away from the both of you.

“Evelyn!” you shout in his ear.

“I saw her leave!” he shouts back, pushing through the unforgiving crowd as he tries to make his way to the stage. “Went through the bar exit!”

Your relief is overwhelming, the tension in your shoulders releasing as you let Seungcheol haul you to an exit. The trek is a blur, and you only process you've been successfully led out when the cold night air bites at your face. Seungcheol doesn't release you though, instead taking your hand in his as he pulls you away from the building.

“What about Mingyu and Jihyo?!” you shriek.

“They know what to do!” he assures you, pulling you into a run as he navigates the streets, full of patrons running every which way as cops begin to descend. You lift a hand to your face to hide it as you follow Seungcheol.

He safely leads you into an alley where what you assume is Seungcheol's Ford is parked. He opens the door for you, situating you in your seat before he quickly shuts it and makes his way to the driver's side.

The engine roars to life and he peels away from Club Maestro, refusing to let up on the accelerator until he's several blocks away. When the night outside the car is quiet enough that all you can hear is your labored breathing, Seungcheol slows to a stop in the parking lot of a diner. Before you can ask him a stupid question like “what now,” he's out of the car and opening your door. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, brows furrowed as his eyes scan your body for injuries. Of all the things you thought he would ask or say, that wasn't one of them.

When he doesn't find anything, he gently takes your hands in his and guides you to lift your arms. You wince at the tender spot on your ribs, and the pain is familiar enough that you know you're going to have a nasty bruise to hide for weeks. His eyes dart up to your face in alarm, and when he registers the pain on it, his face contorts in anger.

“I'm sorry,” you breathe, trying to tamp down your expression of pain. 

“What are you sorry for?” he asks sharply. You try not to flinch but fail. He takes pause, watching you carefully as confusion takes the place of anger. He lowers your arms but keeps your hands in his hold, his thumb rubbing your skin in soothing sweeps back and forth. “How bad is it? Should I take you to the h—”

“No!” you say quickly, shaking your head. “No. No, I'm fine, I promise. Just a little sore. I'm okay.” He says your name like he's known you for years and can tell you're lying. “I'm not going to the hospital. I'm going home.”

You slide out of the car, ignoring the perplexed look on Seungcheol's face. “I'll take you home.”

“No, it's okay.” You try to sound nonchalant but even you can hear the slight tremble in your voice. There is no way Seungcheol is taking you within a mile of your home tonight lest you want the both of you dead. “You should check on Min—”

“I told you, they're fine. We have a plan for things like this,” Seungcheol says, his concern growing more and more palpable by the second. You feel like you could choke on it. “Please let me take you home. I'll even drop you a block away if you don't want a stranger seeing where you live.”

Your heart breaks at how sweet he's being. Still, you shake your head. “No, it's not that. It's… I just have to go, okay? I have to find Evelyn and—”

“Then we'll find her together!” he insists, showing you even more of his stubborn side than before. “I won’t sleep tonight—or maybe ever again—if I let you wander off into the night with an injury after a raid.”

“That's a bit dramatic.” He glares at you and you groan. You step toward him and take one of his hands in both of yours. It's warm and grounding and you try to take note of every curve and callous, knowing this will be the last time you get to have this. “I promise you, I'm fine and I will get home in one piece. I wish I could explain, but… I just can't, okay? Please get home safe, and please take care of Mingyu and Jihyo.”

You move to step away—where, you have no idea. Probably into the diner to try and get the smell of alcohol off your dress before calling a taxi service to get you home. But Seungcheol doesn't let you go, his hand clinging onto yours. You turn back and are struck by the forlorn expression on his face. He still has that look about him—the one that makes it feel like he's trying to be guarded but failing miserably. It makes all the fight leave your body, and you feel your arms go limp as you stand there staring at each other.

One gentle pull has you up against his chest.

“Why does it feel like you're planning on never seeing me again?” he asks quietly, like if he asks any louder it's a curse that will come alive. You open and close your mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. “Tell me it's not. Tell me it's not the last time and that I'll see you after this. Tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever. Even if you need the cover of night and Club Maestro to do it. I'll go wherever and whenever you need us to be.” You're astounded at how easily he reads you. At how unafraid he is to be honest. “I'll say goodbye tonight… but only if you tell me I'll see you again.”

You lift his hand to your face and press your lips to each of his knuckles, struggling to keep from crying as you steel yourself to lie. You smile against his skin and nod. 

“You'll see me again, Seungcheol,” you say, voice surprisingly steady. “Maybe tomorrow. For lunch, out in the light of day, away from the club. Okay?”

He smiles but it doesn't reach those beautiful eyes and he nods once. You think he knows you're lying because he doesn't ask for your phone number and he doesn't offer you his. He just pulls you into his chest and hugs you tightly against him. You feel his lips against your temple before he pulls away. 

“You better get home in one piece,” he says in a threatening voice that doesn't instill the fear of god in you. Instead, it makes your stomach warm again.

You nod. “You too. I'll see you.”

“Soon, okay?” he asks, voice still hopeful. 

You agree and walk away and into the diner. When you look out the window one more time before entering the restroom, you find him standing right where you left him, watching you. You lift a hand half-heartedly. He doesn't return the wave, simply smiling.

When you come back out of the restroom, your dress soaked and wrinkled from your shoddy wash job, the Ford is gone, and so is the man of your dreams.

When you were only 19 and freshly hitched, your husband had only one other married friend, and his wife was named Rosie. You saw the couple often and even spent time with Rosie by yourself, shopping together, having tea, and confiding in one another. In fact, you're sure you're the only person who knew just how sad Rosie could get—whole days where she couldn't get out of bed, couldn't speak, couldn't be a human being, let alone a wife. 

You weren't sure what to make of it, but you did your best to be there for her, making meals and delivering them, providing distractions in the form of gossip, or just sitting in silence if that's what she needed.

Then, one day, she just… disappeared. Your husband said she went crazy—“hysteria,” he and his friend called it. Like it was some kind of contagious disease. They told you she was sent away for help, and it wasn't until you relayed this to Evelyn that you understood it meant being committed in a mental asylum. 

You're sure it was very helpful for Rosie to be sent away on her own and for her husband to be remarried within the year, but good wives didn't make observations like that. Good wives accepted new wives with open arms and used them as reminders of how replaceable they were. 

You still don't know what became of Rosie. You suppose you could've found out but you didn't. Maybe you knew all this time what it meant, and maybe you knew all this time that it could happen to you, so you kept your head down and you tried not to be sad or unmotivated or “lazy” or “difficult” or “emotional” or any of the other words used to describe Rosie.

But you still went to Club Maestro and you still let Seungcheol into your life because you didn't think that what happened to Rosie could be more than just a horribly misguided attempt at rehabilitation—that it could be leveled against you as an actual punishment. 

You hadn't even been able to say a single syllable before he had his hands on you the night you got home with your dress still smelling like liquor and honey.

“Did you think I wouldn't find out immediately when the fuzz spotted my wife at the biggest raid in the city?”

“You thought you were slick, sneaking around with a thug behind your husband's back?”

“Did you let him fuck you in the bathroom like the fucking whore you are?”

Your screams went ignored by your own staff and neighbors for hours, and by the end of it, you were locked in a room, left in a pile on the floor with nothing but a single threat: “You shape up now, or you're getting committed. And I'll find myself a wife who understands her blessings.”

You're not sure how long it's been since then—how long it's been since you lied to Choi Seungcheol's face and promised you'd see him again. It doesn't really even matter because already, you feel like you’ve lost something you’ll never have back. You spent several months resisting his charms and trying to convince yourself that you didn't want him, and for what? A body so black and blue, you haven't been able to rise out of bed without help. 

If anything, your husband's wrath should've made you regret ever seeing Seungcheol—ever going to the speakeasy at all. Instead, it had you wishing you'd done something that maybe would've actually warranted the reaction you got. 

Nothing you ever do could've deserved that. You think it's Evelyn's voice you hear dismissing your thoughts.

But didn't you deserve it? You knew going to a juice joint as the mayor's wife was a bad choice. You knew letting the rum runner flirt with you so openly was dangerous. You knew dancing in his arms the way you were was inappropriate. You knew what would happen. Maybe you did deserve a bit of punishment—not because of what you did but because you stupidly did it anyway, knowing what it would cost you.

You spend more time unconscious than not, and when you are awake, you don’t bother to open your eyes or do anything other than beg any god that's listening to be put back to sleep. The time goes by with brief glimpses of staff helping you, darkness engulfing your room, sunlight taking its turn, and helplessly crying when your body refuses to sleep anymore than it already has.

You don't think you've known pain quite like this, and still, somehow all you can think about is Seungcheol and his dimples. The thought of him on the dance floor—all yours for that brief moment—is the only thing that helps you forget how broken you feel.

There are two soft knocks on the door, and you groan from under your covers, not quite able to muster up the energy or the pain tolerance to open your mouth and speak. 

You hear a key slide into the lock and the door opens with a soft creak when your visitor—probably the kitchenmaid with another weak attempt to get you to eat—doesn’t get a proper response. The only people with the key are the housekeeper and your husband, the latter of which deemed it appropriate to lock you in this room despite the fact that you couldn't sit up on your own, let alone walk to the door and leave the house.

Your visitor steps in quietly, closing the door behind them softly and turning the lock once more. 

In the silence, you think you fall asleep again, but you feel a hand rest against your shoulder and realize it's only been seconds. The touch is so featherlight, but you shudder at the sensation anyway, whether out of pain or fear, you’re not sure because you don’t even know where your pain comes from anymore.

Someone whispers your name and it sounds awfully like Evelyn. You don’t think you’ve heard her voice in quite some time. You know you meant to call her the morning after the raid, but of course, you couldn’t. You don’t even know how long ago that morning was. It could have been yesterday. It could have been a year ago. All you know is you miss the sound of it. 

“Ev…?” you croak under your covers, unable to shrug them off. “Can’t…” It takes everything in you to speak, but your voice miraculously squeezes through the ring of bruises around your throat, coming out dry and raspy. “Can’t… go to… Club M…” you don’t bother finishing your sentence. 

You’re too tired to go, and you’re 100% sure you’ll die in this very bed at this point. What a silly thought for Evelyn to even have at all—to come here and ask you to go out. 

“We’re not going to Maestro,” she says with an urgency you don’t think makes sense. “Come on, get up.”

“No.” Then, a thought comes to you. “How…s—how’s S’ngcheol…”

The covers slip off and you hear a soft gasp. Her voice is watery the next time you hear it. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Cheol…?” Why would she kill him?

“What?” she doesn’t wait for you to brace yourself for the pain and respond. “You have to get up. Please! We don’t have a large window,” she speaks.

Evelyn makes sounds that have you thinking she’s rummaging through your things—clothes and toiletries your husband had thrown at your body in a rage before locking the door on you. You don’t know how many hours it had been until he finally allowed the housekeeper in to clean you up and get you into bed. 

“He left for a fundraiser on the other side of the city,” she explains. “Come on, babe, you have to get up.” When you don’t respond to anything she’s saying, she abandons whatever she’s doing to come back to your side. “I'm going to help you up, okay? It's going to hurt a whole lot, but I promise you'll be safe after.”

Safe.

The word gets you to open your eyes for the first time in… you're not even quite sure. It's dark, your best friend backlit by the moonlight streaming in through the open window behind her. Your eyes still feel swollen, but you find you're able to open them much more than you could the last time you did.

It takes you too long to try to produce words to express your confusion because Evelyn apologizes preemptively before slipping an arm under you and lifting you into a sitting position. You gasp as your pain increases tenfold, your ribs and your stomach screaming in protest as Evelyn forces you to stay up. A foreign sound escapes your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut once more, willing the pain to go away. It doesn’t listen. 

Evelyn grasps your hand in hers, letting you grip it as hard as you need to without complaining. 

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, supporting your weight as you lean heavily into her. “I’ve got you. We’ve all got you, and we’re getting you out of here, okay? You never have to come back. All I need you to do is try, and I promise I’ll do the rest.”

“What… what….”

“Come on, babe,” she whispers, moving your legs gently and slowly until they’re hanging off the edge of your bed. 

“He’ll…” you wince as you swallow, your throat distracting you from the rest of your body. “He’ll kill you.”

Evelyn scoffs. “I have Kim Mingyu and Choi Seungcheol and my fucking husband, and you think he can kill me?” she barks out a laugh as she starts to loosen her grip on you, testing to see if you can hold yourself up. She finds the answer is no and curses. 

“Where is he,” you gasp. 

“At a fundraiser,” she repeats. “He left a few minutes ago, and—”

“Not him,” you say, shaking your head. You open your eyes when you think you can stomach the pain and find Evelyn crouched down in front of you, hands on your shoulders as she holds you upright. Her eyes soften with understanding and you’re thankful you don’t need to explain. 

“He’s here,” she says quietly, smiling at you with tears in her eyes. “He’s here, Y/N. And so are Mingyu and Jihyo. They’re outside ready to bump off your piece of shit husband if he comes back early. Even Jun is helping,” she tells you, voice sweetening around her husband’s name. “He’s at the fundraiser with him and when he sees him leaving, he’ll call your house, let the phone ring once, and hang up as a warning. I’ll explain, but only once you’re out of here, okay?”

Tears slip from your eyes and hers spill over too. She shakes her head. 

“I’m so sorry I left you here with him all these years,” she says, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. But I’m here and I’m getting you out, okay?” She pauses this time, allowing you the near minute it takes to speak through your tears and the ache in your throat. 

“Okay.”

In the end, you never hear the phone ring. Partly because you fall back asleep as Evelyn leaves you to pack your things—and you stay asleep—but mostly, because by the time that lone phone ring echoes off the walls, you’re long gone from the prison you’ve been calling home for years. 

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[livmarauder]

ON MY TONGUE | w.jh (part two)

IN A UNIVERSE filled with soulmates, you never wanted one, never wanting to be tied down to a stranger for the rest of your life. However, fate always seems to work against you and gives you the worst soul mark you could ever have: a soulmate who seems to have a taste for spicy foods, something that you have a distaste for.

PAIRING: idol!jun x food journalist!fem!reader GENRE: Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (in Part Two), Enemies to Lovers (One Sided), Romance AU: Soulmates TOTAL PT 2 WC: 26k WARNINGS: mentions of food and eating, mentions of parents divorce, profanities, self-doubt, periods, anxiety, stress, MDNI, sex without protection (wrap before you tap please -> reader is on pill), soft dom!jun, dirty talk, oral (f.receiving), grinding, slight dry humping, missionary position, fingering, cumming, creampie, slight overstimulation (not really because jun is a sweetheart) PLAYLIST: songs for red, love jun

LIV'S NOTES... hello everyone! (this will be a bit of a long note - hence the smaller font) thank you so much for all the love on the teaser as well as part one of the fic! seeing everyones reblogs, likes and comments made me really happy because the amount of love has been amazing <3 as we reach the conclusion of Red and Jun's story (for now) i hope you guys enjoy! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated hehe <3

do fill up the form if you want to be apart of the taglist <3 options there can be chosen if you want to be apart of my perm taglist or just for the soulmate works <3

also i think that 'thank you's are now in order as we wrap this up hehe: ♡ to @hopecutie: for being the first to beta-read this whole idea and for freaking out over every single screenshot that i've sent to you and for helping me get jun and red to where they are today and for sprinting with me (and for beta-reading this part) ♡ to @gentleisa: for loving this idea so wholeheartedly and for providing me with answers when i wasn't sure about certain things <3 and for sprinting with me hehe ♡ to @cherrymayz: one of my biggest hype women, for writing that essay about part one that spurred me to complete this and for freaking out whenever i sent sneak peeks ♡ to @luvrung: for sprinting with me and for always being so supportive of this idea (and freaking out over jun with me) and for always loving the little sneak peeks i've sent as well hehe ♡ to @jakedustry: one of the lomls who wrote that amazing jeonghan fic that gave me so much motivation to finish and for beta-reading the smut scene and giving me confidence that it was good <3 ♡ to @mellowgyu: my biggest supporter who has semi-beta-read both parts, freaked out over every screenshot i've sent and for being the best hype woman i could've ever asked for <3 thank you for all the video calls and just freaking out over jun and red hehe <3

with that, i introduce you to the last (for now) part of jun and red's story <3

PART ONE (WC: 26.2K)

WRITTEN IN THE STARS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI

THE CHINESE BUFFET - Week 6 out of 16

As per your agreement with Jun, you find yourself back at Mrs Yang's restaurant for the third time almost three weeks after your last meeting. The two of you had been texting back and forth, trying to find a day between his busy schedule and a free day in yours.

You were already a third of the way through your itinerary and you were getting a little sick of all the Korean food you were constantly eating. You had decided to move all your Chinese restaurants to the day you were going to hangout with Jun so that you could experience it for the first time with a 'connoisseur' — as he referred to himself as, making you roll your eyes, hearing the smug tone even though it was a text message.

The two of you had agreed to meet at Mrs Yang's place before heading to the three restaurants for the day that Jun had curated from the list of places you sent beforehand, plus a few that he highly recommended as a 'connoisseur' (cue the eyeroll again).

You tug your coat on tighter as a gust of wind breezes past you, making you shiver as you wait outside the restaurant, a little earlier than you were supposed to.

You startle, hearing the bell chime behind you to see Mrs Yang poke her head out of the restaurant, her face full of worry. "Goodness dear." She says, spotting the shiver that erupts through your body as she comes out of the restaurant. "Please wait inside for the boy." She chastises, tugging you into the comfort of her shop. "It's way too cold today to be waiting outside."

Your teeth chatter slightly as she pushes you into the chair of the table closest to the window, so that you can see when Jun arrives. She waddles into the kitchen before reappearing with a teapot and two teacups, the same ones that Mr Yang had brought out on the first day you stumbled across the restaurant.

She sets them in front of the two of you before pouring the steaming liquid into the respective cups, her hands slightly wobbling from the weight of the teapot. Mrs Yang pushes your teacup closer to you, a look in her eyes, almost as if she was warning you that there will be arguments if you refuse.

Luckily for her, it was too cold today for you to even want to argue with the older lady, opting to graciously accept the hot cup of tea whilst thanking her in the process. The two of you engage in some small talk, finishing almost the entire pot of delicious tea when a car pulling up interrupts the two of you.

You hear a door slam before Jun appears, his head poking through the restaurant door as he locks eyes with you, panic swirling a little in them. "I'm so sorry." He apologizes, coming into the restaurant. "I lost track of time and was a little late."

You blink, glancing at the clock to see that Jun was about ten minutes late but you didn't notice, deep in conversation with Mrs Yang. You turn back to him, giving him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it." You say, brushing it off as you stand, wrapping your scarf slightly tighter around your neck. "I was in the hands of some really good company." You say, gesturing towards the elderly woman.

Jun lets out a laugh as Mrs Yang gives you a warm smile, no doubt happy with your statement. "The pleasure was all mine, dear." She says sweetly making you give her a smile of adoration before turning back to Jun.

Jun was dressed in an ensemble of black layers that were definitely fit to keep the cold out and the heat in. Same could be said for his Supreme beanie that was covering his ears that you were sure, were as pink as he cheeks are at the moment.

He snaps you out of your analysis of his outfit by grabbing your laptop bag from your chair before giving you a tantalizing smile. "Shall we?" He asks, gesturing towards the door. You feel heat rise to your cheeks a little, trying to will yourself to calm down as you nod.

"We shall." You say, giving him a grin back as the two of you bid Mrs Yang goodbye before stepping out of the restaurant, into the blistering cold.

Mrs Yang watches as Jun opens the passenger door for you, helping you slide into the car before gently placing your laptop bag in the backseat. Mrs Yang feels warmth spread through her chest as she watches you laugh at something Jun says, a cheeky smile on his lips as he slips into the driver seat.

Warm arms wrap around her center, knocking her out of her trance as she leans into her husbands embrace as he leans down to put his head on her shoulder.

"Do you think they'll figure it out?" Mr Yang asks his wife in Cantonese, as the two stare lovingly at the two of you. "They're getting there." Mrs Yang replies, placing her hand on top of her husband's arm. "We just need to wait for fate to do its thing." She adds, smiling as she watches Jun drive off.

THE SPICE OF THE GOLDEN DRAGON - Week 6 out of 16

"Here we are!" Jun announces, opening the door for you as he helps you to get out of his car. You step out of the car and stare at the shop in front of you, your jaw dropping as you whip your head to look at the idol.

"How did you get reservations here?" You ask, instantly recognizing the name of the restaurant. "Don't you need to book a place here at least three months in advance?"

Jun shrugs. "I know the chef."

You gawk at him. "How?"

"We met on some reality show during one of my schedules in China, we got along really well and he told me to call anytime I wanted to eat his food, so…" He trails off, gesturing to the restaurant, "here we are!"

You blink at the idol. "You're really pulling out all the stops to change my mind, huh?"

Jun gives you a cheeky smile. "Of course. If you can only do it once," He winks at you, "you should do it right."

You feel your cheeks warm slightly at the gesture before you internally curse yourself and clear your throat, trying to get your composure back.

Jun notices the slight flush and his cheeky grin grows more. "Aww, do I make you nervous Red?"

You felt your cheeks flush even more at the question before a scowl appears on your lips as you grab his hand. "C'mon Casanova." You quip out, dragging him towards the restaurant as he laughs, following your lead. "We got a bet to settle."

The bet was something that Jun suggested two days ago during one of your 'arguments' with him.

Over the span of the three weeks, you realized that Jun had another side to him. Yes, he was really nice and sweet, like all the various articles and his fans paint him to be but he was also a massive tease. From the day he got your number, it felt like he became a gremlin in your messages. He loved to make fun of you, always had a witty reply to your sarcastic remarks and he knew which buttons to press to get answers out of you.

You were becoming fond of him— a bit too fond, you think. He told you about his soulmate and how much he believes in the idea of it, that fate chose someone for everyone and that it was right. You, on the other hand, could care less about the idea which was where some of the arguments were.

Jun couldn't fathom that you don't even want to meet the person who is meant to be your other half. Likewise, you couldn't fathom how badly he wanted to meet this person who he knows nothing about and could be a serial killer for all he knows. Nevertheless, the two of you were stubborn and not willing to confess your reasons for why you two were the way you were, which led to the bet.

Jun: I bet you that you wouldn't be able to finish even half of the spiciest mala tang that I've ever eaten

You had frowned, reading the message, knowing that you had no reason to accept the stupid bet. You wanted to save your tastebuds at least a little bit of their dignity. Then the three typing circles appeared again and Jun sent another message.

Jun: Bet your soulmate can't handle it either if you want to give him a taste of his own medicine

That sealed the deal for you as you immediately send him a 'You're on' as a response to which he replied with a devil's emoji. You let your mind wander for a while longer before you type a response as well.

Red: But if I'm doing one, you need to do one too

Red: I bet you that you won't be able to eat a whole red velvet cheesecake from Le Petite Treat

You watch as your message statuses changes from delivered to read before Jun's three typing bubble pop up.

Jun: And you're telling me you can?

Red: [Two Images Attached]

Red: Done it twice and will do it again

Jun: You scare me

Jun: You're on

That was how the two of you ended up here.

You sit across from Jun, your leg shaking a little apprehensively as you wait for your order. While you were doing research for your assignment, this place had popped up as soon as you had typed out 'Mala tang in Seoul' as the top restaurant there was.

They had stellar reviews for their mala, marketing it as fine dining quality where every ingredient that could be ordered, was of the best quality and curated per individual. You had breathed a sigh of relief after doing more research and finding out that the wait list had stretched to the end of the year, meaning that you won't have to torture yourself to try it and give it a 'positive review' but, it seemed fate had other plans for you.

"Nervous, Red?" Jun asks, snapping you out of your trance as you continue to bounce your knee under the table. You glance at him, trying to will your palms to be less sweaty as the aroma of the food makes your nerves spike slightly. You could smell the spice coming from the other customers' bowls a few tables away.

"Do I even need to answer that?" You deadpan, making the idol laugh as he shakes his head.

"You could cave now, save yourself from killing your own tastebuds and just share the reason why you don't believe in soulmates."

You narrow your eyes at the mischievous grin that spreads on his lips, his words egging you on making your leg stop shaking. "And let you take an easy win?" You scoff. "No chance."

Jun's eyes glint as he shrugs, his grin only growing wider. "Suit yourself."

His word make you tense again as your leg starts to shake again, rattling the table slightly as you chew your bottom lip. You take in your surroundings to try and distract yourself from the oncoming spice doom.

You jolt when you feel a warm hand rest on your knee, glancing towards Jun who has a reassuring smile on his face. The sight makes your brain blank almost entirely. "Remember our agreement," Jun says gently, giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. "You can order as many drinks as you want, drink as much water as you need to. Anything goes, remember?"

You feel your cheeks flush a lot more as you take in his gentle words and sweet smile, feeling your heart race suddenly. You blame it on the nerves of trying the spiciest mala tang that Jun has ever tried. You flash him a weak smile as a response before a strange determination etches onto your face.

"I'll conquer this!" You say, slightly more sure of yourself and making Jun let out a laugh.

Twenty minutes later, you regret saying those words aloud as you stare at the big bowl in between you and Jun, your face paling slightly. When you had arrived, Jun took the initiative to order for the two of you to share, the deal being that you both had to eat half each. If you manage to finish your half of the bowl, Jun would have to share a reason for why he wants his soulmate. If you don't, you will have to spill instead.

Gazing into the hot fiery soup, you were sure that this was going to play into Jun's favour.

"Alright," Jun says, snapping you out of your daze into the fiery liquid as he places a giant glass of milk tea in-front of you. "Here is your lifeline." He says, a cheeky grin on his face before placing his down on his side of the table. "And here is mine." With that, he slides back into his seat as he leans against the table, locking eyes with you.

"Are you ready for the challenge of your life Red?" He says, his voice low, as if he was a wizard, asking you if you were ready to embark on the most dangerous mission of your life.

Which this might be.

You take a deep breath before nodding, determination glinting in your eyes.

"No time like the present." You mumble to yourself before picking up your chopsticks and let it dip into the liquid of impending doom, slightly wincing at the way the red oil sticks to it. You use your other hand to push your small bowl closer to the shared bowl and start to dig around.

You dish out a portion of noodles as well as a couple of the side ingredients before gingerly pulling the bowl closer to yourself.

Jun interrupts you, mid-movement by clearing his throat making you glance at the idol who motions for you to bring your bowl closer again. You raise an eyebrow before doing as he asks, pushing your bowl closer to the shared bowl again.

You watch in horror as he puts his spoon into the bowl before dishing out some of the red soup into your bowl. You pale as he pushes the bowl back to you, a cat-like grin on his face.

"If you can only do it once, you need to do it right." He repeats his earlier words, the grin widening as you grimace at him before reluctantly tugging the bowl back to where it was.

Jun wastes no time, adding an extra dash of chili oil into his small bowl before digging in, slurping up a little bit of the instant noodles with a few pieces of vegetables. You feel your own tongue start to burn as you stare at him, almost as if you could also taste the spice on your tongue as you watch him eat without a care in the world. He notices your stare making him raise his eyebrow playfully before he gestures to your bowl.

"Eat Red." He says before he gives you a cheeky smile. "Unless you're conceding already."

Your eye twitches as he eggs you on, before picking up your chopsticks and spoon and digging into the bowl. You push some instant noodles into your spoon and get some of the soup before shoving it into your mouth, a sign of defiance against Jun's provoking statements.

To your surprise, there was no immediate regret of something burning on the tip of your tongue, only the burst of amazing flavours and the tanginess of the soup with a hint of spice. You stare at your bowl, a little shell-shocked, not expecting to like the flavours on your tongue.

Jun watches your reaction, an adoring smile on his lips before it grows even wider as you begin to eat more of the food, tasting every ingredient that the chef carefully curated and prepared for the two of you.

"Good?" He asks, as you chew on a fishball. You nod with excitement as you swallow to reply.

"It's not that spicy either! This is one of the best ones that I've ever had."

Jun gives you another grin before putting some more ingredients and noodles into your bowl, filling it. You let out a chirpy 'thank you' before going back to digging in making Jun's heart flutter slightly at the sight.

He freezes a little at the feeling. Why did he feel this way? He shakes his head, snapping out of his trance before telling himself that it was the chili oil making him feel this way. Maybe he added just a dash too much of it into his bowl.

Ten minutes later, you relax into your chair, sipping on your milk tea as Jun polishes off his last remaining bits of food before wiping his mouth with a tissue. "Guess that means I lost then." He says, sighing dramatically as if he was terribly wounded by loosing. You roll your eyes, releasing the straw from your mouth.

"Shut up." You quip out, placing the cup gently on the table with a soft 'thud'. "I can practically hear the smile in your voice."

Jun's eyes glint with a little mischief and smugness. "I don't know what you're talking about!" He exclaims, his dramatic flair increasing by the second as he places his hand on his chest, feigning ignorance making you let out a scoff before reaching over to slap his shoulder.

He lets out a giggle at your actions making a small smile appear on your face as you roll your eyes at him again.

"You're so dramatic. No wonder you're an actor."

"And a good one as well." He says, giving you a wink. You huff, shaking your head before getting down to business.

"Alright Casanova." You say, the sarcasm rolling off of your tongue as you cross your arms on the table. "Spill."

Jun lets out a laugh, shaking his head before crossing his own arms on the table, mirroring you.

"Alright." He sighs out. "I've always been the biggest fan of soulmates, if you couldn't tell." He gives you a side-eye making you breath out a laugh, urging him to continue.

"I grew up in a slightly broken home." He starts, his voice softening. "My parents got divorced when I was two years old because they weren't soulmates. They were set up by a couple of their friends due to them having similar soulmarks but after a few dates, they realized that they weren't each others half."

He shifts slightly, leaning more onto his crossed arms. "Despite that, they really loved each other and decided to try and defy fate. They were happy and they had me… and life was great, perfect even. Until my father found his actual soulmate."

He pauses, letting you slowly digest his words as your heart starts to silently ache for the man sitting in front of you.

"Despite still being in love with him, my mother knew that she couldn't hold him back from his happiness — his true happiness. As much as she wanted to hold onto him, she knew she couldn't because sometimes the best act of love is to let them go, which is what she did." He lets out a bitter laugh, no form of humour in it.

"Being a single mother wasn't easy, she had to work many different jobs a day just so that she could still keep me and sustain the simple lifestyle we had." He recounts the amount of times his grandmother had told him that he should be thankful for his mother, that she worked day and night just to provide for him. "She was the strongest, always making time to pick me up from school, always being the first to sign up for the parent's activities with their kids and she was always the loudest cheerleader during the school concerts."

You smile fondly at that, imagining a young Jun on stage and his mother cheering in the back for him. "She sounds lovely."

Jun nods. "She is lovely." He agrees. "Which is why fate was kind to her and brought her actual soulmate to her. They met in a supermarket that was actually quite out of the way for the two of us. She went to pick up some sauces that day. We ran out of them and the supermarket closest to us were sold out. She could've waited another day, she could've also made do with other ingredients but this dinner was important because…" He trails off, his eyes glazing over more as he recounts the memory. "It was my birthday that day." He whispers making your eyes widen.

He notices your expression and smiles. "She said that I was her lucky charm and that no matter what happens, she never regrets being with my father and having me. Because of me, my step-father and her were able to meet each other and start a life that they didn't think was possible."

He takes a deep breath before locking eyes with you again, his eyes shining with determination and steadiness. "I believe that even if our soulmates are 'assigned' to us, that we still choose them in the end anyways, not because that's how it works, but because they are meant to complete us, that we feel a little lost without them." He breathes out, making your own breathing hitch slightly at his words, feeling a soft deja vu in them. You realize that they were slightly similar to the words Mrs Yang had told you, the first day you walked into her restaurant.

"But what happens when you meet the one and she doesn't want you as much as you want her?"

Jun pauses at that, the cogs in his brain turning as he tries to figure out a way to respond to you. "Then, I'll let her go." He says softly making your eyes widen once again. "I may believe in soulmates and I may believe that fate only gives you one but, my job is already tough enough for every girl I interact with. For my soulmate? It might get even worse."

Jun grimaces at the thought, slowly shaking his head before continuing. "I want her to choose me like I chose her."

You heart thuds against your chest as Jun finishes his story before giving you a weak smile. "What do you think?"

You were silent for a beat. "I think that whoever your soulmate is," you breathe out, feeling a small pit in your stomach. "Will be thrilled that it's you."

He gives you a forlorn, lovesick smile. "You think so?" He breathes out, the question falling from his lips in the softest tone as you nod.

"Trust me, I know so."

Jun's grin widens even more, meeting his eyes as he places one of his palms on your knee again, giving it a small squeeze. "Thank you." He says, before giving you a small shrug. "Not many people know the story, it feels nice… to share it with someone other than my members."

A soft smile creeps onto your face before you place your hand ontop of his that is on your knee, giving it a light squeeze. "Thank you for trusting me enough to share."

He gives you a devastating smile, making your heart skip. You clear your throat, internally frowning at the feeling before attributing it to the milk tea, probably too much sugar.

"Shall we go?" You ask him, slightly tentative that he might need an extra few minutes because of everything that he confessed. To your surprise, Jun stretches in his seat, slowly perking up before the mischievous grin is back on his lips. "Let's do it."

He gives you another wink before helping you to stand up. "So the scores are Jun with 0 point and Red with 1." He starts to commentate as if he was watching a soccer game.

You roll your eyes before a small smirk appears on your face. "We'll see how you deal with the cheesecake, pretty boy."

THE SICKENING SWEET OF LE PETITE TREAT - Week 6 out of 16

As Jun pulls up to Le Petite Treat, you swear your stomach was slightly protesting against you for even agreeing to eat the spiciest thing that Jun has ever tried. The food wasn't as spicy as you thought for sure, but that didn't mean that your stomach was as prepared as it should be for how much mala you ate, delicious or not.

"Remind me to never accept a bet from you on spicy food ever again." You mumble as Jun opens the car door for you. "The aftermath is so not worth it, even if I win the bet or not."

Jun laughs at that as he helps you out of the car with your laptop bag swung across his shoulders. "Well, we're supposed to be giving our soulmates a taste of their own medicine but in this case," He glances towards the pastel coloured sign where 'Le Petite Treat' was written across of it in cursive font. "I think my soulmate will enjoy this more than I will."

A pit forms in your stomach at his words and the wistful tone he uses as he smiles to himself at the idea of his soulmate. You can't help but envy her, this girl that Jun already loves with his whole entire being when he hasn't even met her yet.

"I'm sure your soulmate ran for water as soon as he tasted the mala though." Jun jokes, giving you a small nudge making you snap out of your thoughts. You roll your eyes, a small smile appearing on your face at the thought of some middle-aged man running and gasping for water.

"I hope he did, but knowing how spicy his mala normally is and how I could eat this one." You shake your head. "I doubt that he actually went for water."

"Or, he helped you to train your tastebuds and you are able to eat spicier food than you think."

You ponder about it for moment before you freeze and give him a side-eye. "Are you trying to stall so that we don't need to eat the cheesecake?"

Jun's eyes comically widen as he places a hand on his chest, feigning shock. "How dare you accuse me of such things!" You roll your eyes at his dramatic antics before tugging his arm. "C'mon pretty boy, we did your thing, now we need to do my thing."

He lets out a groan as you pull him into the confectionery shop. As soon as you enter, you are greeted with the amazing smell of sweet baked goods. The smell of chocolate, icing and a bunch of other sweet smells waft into your nose making you sigh, immediately feeling yourself relax.

However, you felt Jun tense up as the smells hit him, his arm in your hand becoming slightly stiff as he looks around the room a little apprehensively.

You give him a glance, a smirk appearing on your lips. "Scared, pretty boy?" You ask, repeating his words from earlier. He peers down at you, blinking before shaking his head, a weak smile on his face.

"Me?" He lets out an 'pshhh' sound, blowing air out of his mouth as he shakes his head. "More like you should be scared of what you need to share when I win this bet."

You raise an eyebrow, at how queasy the idol looks, definitely not a fan of the sweet smells. "Oh really?" You say, loving how the tables have turned as you were the one now goading the man on.

"Alright then, let's find a table."

The hostess leads the two of you to a quiet corner at the back of the sweet shop, giving you two glasses of water and two menus before taking out a notepad and asking what you guys would like. Jun places your laptop down on the seat next to him as you order two red velvet cheesecakes, one for each of you.

Jun's eyes nearly bulges out of his head at the order, his face paling a little but silently waits for the hostess to leave before exclaiming. "One for each of us?!"

You raise an eyebrow at his small outburst, a smirk appearing on your face again. "That was part of the deal, wasn't it?" You say, feigning slight innocence at how much you were enjoying watching the man who was normally so sure of himself, sweat at the thought of a mere red velvet cheesecake. "You can concede now if you want." You say nonchalantly as you shrug. "I can always tell the hostess that we want to share just one cheesecake."

You watch as Jun swallows, his adam's apple bobbing before composing himself with a shake of his head. "No no." He mutters, grasping his cup of ice water as if it would act like a lifeline in this predicament he found himself in. "We agreed one cheesecake and I keep my word."

As soon as the cheesecakes were placed in-front of the two of you, your mouth immediately waters as how beautiful the cheesecake was. Jun, however, looks visibly shaken as he swallows, eyeing the cake as if it was a death sentence.

"It's huge." He mumbles, a little in awe and a little in terror. You hum out, excitement coursing through your veins before taking your fork carving the side of it, getting the perfect first bite. You place the fork in your mouth and chew before letting out a sound of satisfaction, the cake tasting as good as you remember it to be.

"Gosh." You say, nearly tearing up at how creamy and rich the cheesecake was and how the red velvet flavour added a depth to it that elevated it's taste profile.

Jun watches in awe as you continue to dig into the sweet dessert without a care in the world. He smiles fondly at the sight— you look really cute like this.

You had told him extensively about the different food that you love and he wonders whether you would look this cute when you eat those different foods as well. Whether your body will do its little shimmy or whether you will start humming to yourself, like you are doing right now.

Watching you enjoy the cake, felt like enough of a meal for Jun, it was as if he could taste the cream cheese and chocolate just from watching you eat alone.

He freezes at the thought, his eyes widening by a fraction, clocking what he was doing. He shouldn't be looking at you like that, not when you have your own soulmate out there probably looking for you. Hell, not when he has his own soulmate that already has his heart.

"Are you conceding already, Casanova?"

Your question snaps Jun out of his trance, eyes wide as he feels his heart rate pick up from the way you're looking at him, a tiny smirk on your face as you use your fork to gesture towards his untouched plate of cheesecake.

He immediately shakes his head and picks up the fork before gingerly cutting it into the cake, feeling how crumbly and dense it was from just his fork going through it. He was about to take a bite when you stop him.

"Wait, you need to get the perfect bite!" You say, a frown on your face making Jun blink at your expression, his heart clenching slightly as he realizes that this might be the cutest expression you've made so far.

You take his fork from his hands and repeat what you did with your cake, carving it at the edge perfectly so that it has a perfect ratio of both the cake and the cream cheese. You pridefully smile to yourself, no doubt proud for achieving the perfect bite a second time, before holding out the fork for Jun, your eyes glittering with excitement as his eyes flit between yours and the fork.

He takes the fork from your outstretched hand and places it into his mouth before he apprehensively chews on it. His eyes widen at the taste, glancing between you and the cake as if he could not believe he was eating cheesecake.

"Good, right?" You ask, excitement buzzing off of you as you repeat his words from earlier. The brunette man nodded, digging into the cake more as you laugh before requesting two iced earl grey teas for the two of you, something to cut through the sweetness.

The two of you indulge in a little bit of small talk through eating cake and before Jun knew it, he finished the cheesecake in record time. He astounded himself at the sight of his empty plate and you give him a knowing smile, continuing to sip on your tea.

"That was…" He trails off, trying to find the word.

"Earth-shattering?" You suggest, making the older man laugh as he nods.

"I was going to say life-changing but earth-shattering works too."

The two of you share a laugh before silence envelops you, and you smile at each other, your heart fluttering at the interaction before you clear your throat.

"I guess it's my turn now huh?"

Jun eyes you for a moment before gesturing to his empty plate, a teasing smile on his face. "I mean, I think I've eaten my fill of cheesecake for the year for you." He says, his smile widening as you roll your eyes. "Regardless of how delicious it was, I would hope that it means that it's your turn to share."

You scoff, rolling your eyes again at the idol's cat-like grin before taking a deep breath to compose your nerves.

"I actually come from a family that idolizes the idea of having a soulmate." You start, twirling the straw around in your drink nervously as Jun rests his elbows on the table, listening attentively. "My parents were high-school sweethearts. They went to the same school, were in the same circle of friends and they're the same age. Which meant that they had it slightly easier than everyone else, that finding their 'One' was easy because their soulmate was just a person in the classroom next door."

You take a deep breath. "However, because of how easy it was, that was all they ever talked about when my siblings and I were growing up. They thought that turning eighteen was even more important than turning twenty-one because that was the start of your life, that the soulmark depicts how the rest of your life would go and for a moment, we all believed it, but I was always a little doubtful."

Jun's eyes soften as he sees how vulnerable you look at the moment, wanting nothing more than to reach over and put his palm on your knee again, but he stops himself because this was your moment.

"People would say, 'Oh, that must mean you're also excited to meet your soulmate' or 'Do you ever think about what soulmark you're going to get? I bet you do!'." You say, pitching your voice slightly, mirroring all your family members and friends who have shared that consensus with you. "I always played along, gave them a weak smile and laughed whenever they would bring it up but I never felt like that. I kept thinking that something in me will change one day, that the thought of having a soulmate would excite me… but it never did." You say softly, stopping your ministrations on the straw and just stare into the abyss of the clear liquid of your tea.

"I couldn't get over the fact that I would be bound to a stranger for the rest of my life. I couldn't get over the fact that I would need to keep dating over and over again, trying to see if I would find 'The One'." You shake your head. "I could never get over the fact that I would never have the choice, that I would never have a say in this person that I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with."

You let out a bitter laugh. "And hell, it's terrifying being bound to this person because there's so many 'What Ifs' that I think we overlook just because of this magical phenomenon. What if your soulmate lives in another country? Are they just supposed to move just because your life is here? Do you move instead? What happens if both of you are not willing to change for the other? What happens if your soulmate is a psychopath?" You stop yourself mid-ramble, catching your breath.

"I believe that idea of soulmates is nice, I too want to be unconditionally loved by someone and I think it's human nature for us to want that." You shake your head. "But I think that it's more complex than that and we breeze over it because we think that love is enough… until the inevitable crescendo comes down when the spell breaks."

"What if the crescendo doesn't happen? That you're already planning a contingency plan for something that hasn't even happened?"

You peer up from your glass, locking eyes with him as you chew on your bottom lip, contemplating his question. "Then I guess he will need to deal with me being like that for the rest of my life."

You let out a sigh, clasping your hands together as Jun watches your leg bounce slightly, a habit he notices that you do whenever you're nervous or thinking. "I think we're always too willing to go the extra mile for our soulmate but I'm not going to just change myself just to fit my soulmates ideal type because I need to be loved. There's already such a fine line when it comes to soulmates that I think if you change yourself just so that you can fit into the mold of the perfect person for your soulmate, that you would end up resenting them." You shake your head. "And fated or not, I don't think that's how love is supposed to work."

Jun feels a pit in his stomach as you wrap up your story, a perspective about soulmates that he never even thought about before. "I'm sorry." You breath out, fiddling with your fingers as you huff out a nervous laugh. "Didn't mean to trauma dump everything on you."

Jun immediately shakes his head before grasping your hands into his hand, pausing your ministrations. "Don't ever apologize for that." He gently chastises, squeezing your hands reassuringly as you blink at him, eyes wide. "I think it's so brave that even with all those thoughts, you sought out to find this guy. That despite not knowing who he was, you were willing to at least give it a shot to find him. Hell, you even traveled nine hours and researched all the places he could've eaten at just so that you could write a proper story about him."

"Nine hours and forty-five minutes to be exact." You swiftly correct him, your mouth moving before you could even comprehend that you were going to say that. Jun huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

"However long it took." He says, his smile softening. "It shows commitment and if this guy doesn't realize that and forces you to move here anyway?" He shakes his head, a frown appearing on his lips. "Then he doesn't deserve to be your soulmate, Red. He doesn't deserve you and you have the choice to say no."

Your heart quickens at his words, feeling a few butterflies in your stomach."Really?" You whisper, making the idol nod, his eyes boring into yours with a fierce determination.

"Really."

The two of you were silent for a moment. "Damn Casanova, never thought you would be so good with your words."

Jun huffs at the small teasing smile on your face. "Well, you gave me the name Casanova for a reason." He shrugs, peeling his hands off yours. "Might as well live up to that name huh?" He finishes, tossing a wink your way making you scoff, standing up and grabbing your tea in the process.

"Think we need a tie-breaker now." You say, changing the subject as Jun slings your laptop bag across his shoulders. "Since the scores is Red with 1 and Jun with 1."

Jun raises an eyebrow at that, feeling amused by your goading and challenge in your tone. "Oh, I guess we will need to plan for another day of bets and repercussions then."

Your smile fades into one of slight adoration as you soak in his words, not quite ready for whatever this is to end.

"I guess we do."

THE MINT OF REALIZATION - Week 12 out of 16

"I still can't believe you haven't tried this cafe yet." Jun exclaims, waving one of his hands animatedly, the other on the steering wheel. "It's literally two streets down from the JYP building."

You roll your eyes at the idol's dramatics. "You say that as if I go to the JYP building every day."

"Your brother does."

You scoff at his reasoning. "Yeah but that doesn't mean that I do, Casanova." You shake your head. "I'm not the idol."

You glance at Jun, seeing the small smirk on his face that he's trying very hard to suppress, making you let out a sigh of exasperation at the man's antics. Through the last few weeks of this unlikely friendship, you learned quite a lot about Jun, including his tell when he's messing with you, just to get a reaction out of you.

This was one of the instances.

The flurry of the last few weeks was ultimately a blur for you.

Besides trying out an abundance of food — which may be a bit of an understatement— you would often lounge in your brother's room as the two of you halfheartedly watch a movie together while working on your own work respectively. Chris who was either constantly scribbling down lyrics into his notebook or mixing a new track of his whilst you were writing your daily reports to Minho and Lina or texting Nari who was having the time of her life.

Nari had somehow met her soulmate during her third day of her trip. It turns out that he was a chef and the owner of a really popular restaurant in Milan. You had congratulated her, your chest spreading with warmth for your friend but you couldn't help but feel something in the pit of your stomach as well.

You scolded yourself, the first time you felt it, the dread hitting you in your stomach so hard that it was hard to focus on anything else that day. You realized that the more time you spent with Jun, the more you were opening up to the idea of actually trying to find your soulmate.

It terrified you to no end because how could someone change your opinion on soulmates faster than anyone else ever could?

The long answer that you could figure out that it was because it was Jun. Jun, the one who always talks so lovingly about his soulmate. Jun, the one who told you that 'If you expect disappointment, then you can never really get disappointed' was not the right way to 'approach someone who's soul was the puzzle piece to your own'. Jun, the one who made you believe that you had a choice when it came to your soulmate and that it was up to you if you wanted to choose them or not.

The short answer? Well, you aren't sure if you're quite ready to admit that to yourself just yet.

"Still doesn't change the fact that you've committed a serious food journalism crime!" Jun quips back about the cafe, snapping you out of your thoughts to scoff at the boy's words.

"Don't make me hit you, Wen Junhui."

Jun gives you a cat-like grin, knowing that your words hold no malice as he parks the car in a secluded spot before he grabs his mask and cap from the side pocket of his door.

"C'mon Red." He says before the two of you hop out of his car and walk to the cafe.

This cafe was something that Jun had suggested as a palette cleanser of sort. The bets that the two of you had continued on since the Golden Dragon and Le Petite Treat, the two of you sharing facts about yourself, your families or worst dates that the two of you have ever been on.

At some point, losing the bet didn't feel like losing at all because it meant that the two of you shared something new with each other.

"Remind me what our bet is for today?" You ask him, trying to keep up with his brisk walking.

"I didn't plan one for the agenda today." Your eyebrows furrow as you abruptly stop walking, making the idol pause as well, giving you a look with his eyes as you frown at him. "What?"

"Then why did you suggest the place today if you didn't have a bet?"

The man blinks at you and gives you a shrug. "Just wanted your company, I suppose." You blink at his statement, caught a little off-guard as he continues. "Besides, you have what? A month left in Seoul? I thought I should at least take you to one place that doesn't scream 'Chinese Food'."

His eye lines crinkle as you roll your eyes, a small smile on your face before gesturing for him to lead the way again.

The two of you stop in-front of a red and brown dainty shop, with gold cursive letters 'Ri's Delights' written on it that you've seen on some travel website before. Jun pushes the door open, the bell-chiming as he does before he tilts his head, gesturing for you to go in.

You thank him before your jaw drops at how pretty the infrastructure of the shop is. Full of potted plants and hand painted works. It was the definition of a cozy cafe.

The hostess greets the two of you with a warm smile before ushering both of you upstairs and to a private corner of the cafe. Jun sits opposite from where the door is facing as you take the seat across from him.

"Would you need anything else Jun?" The hostess asks, making you blink at her as Jun shakes his head, removing his mask and giving the hostess a cordial smile. "No thank you Ri, how's the business going?"

Ri, the hostess, gives the idol a tired smile. "Oh you know," she waves her arm in a few circles. "Same old, same old."

"Trying not to get mobbed by tons of angry fans?"Ri grimaces before nodding. Jun gives her a sympathetic smile. "Mingyu says thank you for the newest brownie recipe by the way, he made it the other day and it was one of the best brownies he's made."

Ri smiles at that, flushing slightly at the compliments. "I'm glad! Ask him to send some pictures over!"

Jun hums out an 'I will' as she looks between the two of you, a knowing smile on her face. "I'll bring up your refreshments soon."

Jun gives her another warm smile, thanking her before she leaves the two of you and goes down the stairs. Jun removes his cap once she's out of sight as you turn to him, your eyebrows furrowing.

"You come here that often?" You ask, your tone one of disbelief making Jun chuckle and nod.

"Minghao, Mingyu, Soonyoung and I come here a lot." Jun reveals, carding his hand through his hair as he smoothens it out more. "Mingyu and Seungkwan found this place when they were filming some stuff at the JYP building with Twice and introduced it to all of us. Vernon and Seungkwan come here a lot together but if the rest of us are in the area, we normally stop here to get refreshments."

You hum out a sound of understanding as he continues.

"Ri's the owner of the cafe. She built this cafe for most idols to get away." He gestures to the tables around you that were also empty, a contrast to the lively atmosphere that downstairs was filled with. "The second floor is the 'idol only' floor for idols to meet and chat and whatnot so that we don't get mobbed by fans."

"Oh." You say, a small smile on your face. "That's really sweet."

"She also makes one of the best red velvet cakes and americanos. Mingyu really loves them and always begs her for new recipes."

At that, a bigger smile appears on your face as you lean on the table. "Now, that's something that I can get behind."

"Good." Jun says, his signature cat-like grin appearing on his lips. "Because I already ordered them beforehand so they should be up soon."

Ri swiftly returns with the cake and iced americanos, making your mouth salivate slightly at how amazing the cake looks.

"Wow!" You exclaim, looking at how fluffy the cake looks. "This looks amazing."

Ri gives you a smile of satisfaction as she flushes a little. "Thank you, I hope the two of you enjoy."

She leaves the two of you again. You take a bite of the cake before freezing, your eyes almost bulging out of your head.

"Oh my gosh." You mumble to yourself before taking another perfect bite and internally groan. "This is so good."

Jun gives you a smile as he proceeds to dig in as well, humming as the flavour of the cake hits his tastebuds.

"I only eat the cakes from here because Ri doesn't put in as much sugar as the other places. It's not overly sweet or overly bland, it's just right."

You nod, a smile on your face as you slice the cake with your fork, scooping out more cake.

"I'm surprised your brother didn't even think to bring you here honestly."

"Chris loves sweets but cake is more of my thing, I wouldn't be surprised if he comes and orders those chocolate brownies that I saw in the display."

The conversation flows easily between the two of you as the two of you sip on your drinks and eat the delicious dessert, opting to another another slice to share.

"How's your article coming along?" Jun asks, as he stacks the two finished plates on top of each other, pushing them to the side so the two of you would have more space.

You take a sip of your americano before placing it in front of you. "Almost done with it actually."

Jun's eyes widen as a delighted smile appears on his lips. "Do I get any sneak peeks as your Chinese food connoisseur?"

You give him a cheeky smile before shaking your head. "No can do connoisseur, you can only see it when it's been published."

Jun frowns at that, a pout appearing on his face. "Fineeee." He drawls out, taking a sip of his americano as he sighs. "Guess I'll just wait like everyone else."

You nod, giving him a toothy grin. "Good."

"Are you excited to go back to Brisbane?"

You pause, contemplating the question as silence envelops the two of you.

"Yes and no?" You answer, playing around with the condensation on your plastic to-go cup. "I would love to see my parents again and get back to the nice daily routine of being in Australia but…" You trail off, eyeing the boy in-front of you who has an unreadable expression on his face. "I think I'll miss some things."

The weight of your words lay heavy on the table in-front of the two of you. Jun's eyes flitting around your face before giving you a small smile. "Will I be one of those things?"

You visibly freeze at his words, your mind blanking as he stares at you, a little apprehensively, unsure if he said the wrong thing or not. Your eyes soften at the look before messing with the straw of your drink.

"Maybe one of the bigger things." You softly admit, locking eyes with him. "I mean, how will I know what Chinese food is actually authentic in Brisbane without my connoisseur?"

Jun's lips break out into a grin before he bursts out laughing, which causes you to giggle as well, the two of your giggles filling the atmosphere of the second floor. The laugher settles and a comfortable silence fills it as Jun's cat-like smile softens.

"I'm going to miss you too." He mumbles making a warmth coarse through your veins as you feel your heart beat slightly faster at his words.

Jun gives you a devastating smile before staring out the window at the sun, slowly sinking in the horizon. You feel your heart stutter as you pale when you realize why everything felt so right with him, why everything felt so comfortable.

You like him.

You were falling for a guy that will never be yours, a guy who is undoubtedly so in love with his own soulmate. The way he talks about her, remembers the little facts about her. You feel your heart sink more as you go over every single instance in your head, wondering how and when you had started to fall for him.

However, instead of one moment, a couple of them play in your head. The day at the Golden Dragon and Le Petite Treat being one of them. Have you really liked him for this long?

"Are you alright?" Jun asks, snapping you out of your thoughts as he looks at you, his face filled with concern. You nod, wincing a little at how fast you do, hoping that it didn't look too awkward, as if you were hiding something (which you were, but let's not talk about that).

If Jun notices, he doesn't say anything, stretching slightly as he glances at the time. "We should go soon." He says before showing you his lockscreen, the time shining at you. "Remind me where I need to drop you off again?"

Your mind was a little hazy and out of sorts after you realized that you were falling for the idol so you blink, trying to regain your composure and what your plans were after you were hanging out with Jun.

"Erm." You blink again before it clicks in your brain. "I got dinner with Chris and his members at the Korean barbecue place."

Jun lets out an 'ah' before nodding. "The one that just opened right?"

You nod, your brain still slightly muddled as you sip your drink, draining it of its contents to try and screw your brain back on and clear the fuzziness.

You feel your heartrate start to slow down as you calm yourself down. Just four more weeks and you can put this behind you, is what you think as you dig through your purse, the aftertaste of the coffee starting to bug you.

You pull out a pack of mints as Jun sips on his americano. You shake the tin, getting one into your hand before popping the mint into your mouth, letting it rest on your tongue.

The freshness of the mint ignites your senses as you start to feel the haze fade off.

Jun who was still sipping his americano delightedly, immediately frowns as he tastes mint on his tastebuds making him pull back from his straw as his eyebrows furrow in confusion at his drink.

Jun looks up at you, his mouth opening to ask you to try his coffee when he sees you pop another mint into your mouth, the taste of freshness getting stronger as he blinks at you. You hum a little to yourself as you stare out the window at the sunset.

The pieces suddenly click in Jun's brain as he continues to stare at you. The sunset casts a soft-ray through the window, immediately brightening your features as Jun can't help but gawk at you.

You are his soulmate.

His heart thuds in his chest as he realizes this, but quickly snaps out of it as your phone starts to ring. He glances at it, seeing your brothers name before you pick it up and start talking in English to him.

He catches some words here and there from the little English he knows but his mind was definitely racing as he thinks of whether he should bring it up. His thoughts halt when you end the phone call with a simple scoff and a 'see you later' before turning back to Jun, a apologetic grin on your face.

"That was Chris." You say, letting out a sigh as you rub your temples. "Apparently one of the members skipped lunch so they're on their way to the restaurant now."

Jun's eyes widen as he catches your drift. "Oh!" He say. "You need to go now?"

You give him a small nod, chewing at your bottom lip as you sigh again. "I'm really sorry."

Jun brows furrow, seeing the look on your face before shaking his head. "What are you apologizing for?" He asks softly, fixing you with a sincere gaze that makes your heart thud a little faster in your chest.

You open your mouth, trying to get some words out when your phone buzzes on the table, a message from Chris popping up on your home screen.

Jun glances at it before standing up, grabbing his mask and hat in the process. "We should go." Jun says as he places his hat back on his head and swiftly loops the masks over his ears.

If you weren't still a little out of it, you probably would've realized that Jun was also acting strange but you didn't comment on it, still lamenting on the fact that you had a crush on an un-dateable guy.

Jun pays and shares a few words with Ri before she bids the two of you goodbye with a cheery smile on her face.

The silence in the car was a little awkward.

You only realized it after Jun hadn't said a word the entire drive making you run a million scenarios in your head, wondering if you did something to make Jun angry or upset with you because he hasn't said a word since the cafe.

No teasing remark, no witty quip, it was just silence.

When Jun pulls up to the restaurant and puts his car into park, he tries to quieten his thoughts and compose himself as he turns to you but you surprise him when you go.

"I'm sorry!"

Jun blinks, a little flabbergasted at your outburst as you continue to ramble.

"I know we were supposed to have a more fun day today before you have to leave in two weeks and you know, I promised that we would have time together until dinner but then Chris calls and then we have to cut it short and I—"

"Woah." Jun says, halting your hands that was animatedly swinging around, his eyes wide as saucers. "What are you apologizing for?"

You chew your bottom lip, composing yourself slightly at the warmth of Jun's hands. You take a deep breath. "Well, we're supposed to have a little more time before I go and—"

Jun shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. "I had fun today." He assures you, giving you his signature smile. "This also isn't goodbye just yet, we're still meeting at Mrs Yang's in two weeks right?"

Right, you almost forgot that Jun was going on a schedule in China for two weeks, press for his new upcoming movie.

You nod, giving him a smile. "Two weeks." You assure as he gives you a devastating smile, staring into your eyes.

"Two weeks." Jun repeats, his tone soft before his eyes flit around your face. The action makes your heart flutter slightly as you watch his every action. You pause on his mouth as he darts his tongue out to swipe nervously at his bottom lip.

You feel the air around the two of you change, becoming slightly charged as you two look at each other. You swear that everything tunes out as your senses narrow on his breathing, his pretty honey eyes which you swear flicker down to your lips. You feel his hot breath fan your face, the gap between the two of you getting smaller and smaller.

You watch as his pupils dilate slightly, getting a little darker and you swallow, noticing his eyes follow your movement. You feel both your breaths mixing as the two of you lean closer, his hands slowly coaxing yours to move down, hitting the stick of the car but neither of you acknowledge it, too engrossed in each other.

The moment breaks when your phone rings, making the two of you jolt away from each other as you feel your chest begging for air, unconsciously holding your breath the whole time you and Jun were doing that dance.

You glance downwards at your phone on your lap, seeing Chris's name on it and clear your throat as you compose yourself, feeling all your thoughts come back to you.

"I should—" You say, gesturing wildly towards the car door, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of your tone.

Jun, however, doesn't seem to notice, distracted by his own thoughts. "Yeah." He mumbles, not meeting your eyes. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah." You breath out, grabbing your purse. "Thank you for… you know." You wave your arm around, hoping that Jun catches your drift.

The man swallows before giving you a cordial nod. "Yeah… no problem."

You fling the door open, hopping out as quickly as you can, pausing for a bit before ducking your head in as you clear your throat again, hoping that would cleanse the air of its' awkward energy. "You— Er… Have a safe flight."

Jun visibly swallows before giving you a weak smile. "Thank you, have a good— er… dinner."

You mirror his smile before closing the door and brisk walking away from the car to save yourself from even more embarrassment. You briefly hear the car pull away, hearing the tires screech against the road.

Once you're sure that Jun has left, you lean against a wall beside the restaurant, trying to compose yourself as you feel your heart thud against your chest. You place your palm over it, willing it to calm down as a million thoughts race through your head, but one prominent thought overshadow the rest.

You're absolutely completely fucked.

THE WAY THE CHEESECAKE CRUMBLES - Week 14 out of 16

Between the multiple interviews and press conferences, Jun felt that his auto-pilot feature was in need of a definite upgrade after these two weeks. It was definitely working overtime to make sure that Jun didn't fall in deep into this new feeling of want. He was distracted half the time during the press conferences, doing his best to give full answers during the interviews and he really wanted to pay attention to everything the director was saying.

But he couldn't.

He thoughts were just consumed by you.

You with your little shimmy after eating anything red velvet or cake related. You with that ethereal smile that he swears will heal any illness or bad day. You with your witty remarks and banter that he was going to miss so much.

After realizing that you were his soulmate, he went home and laid in bed, waiting for his brain to tell him that it's a dream, something to wake up from. However, the impending doom never came and he was just there.

The moment he realized it, it felt like everything had suddenly pieced together. How your stories had aligned, how the two of you didn't realize it because you guys somehow always ordered the same foods. How the two of you got along so well together, how the two of you were so comfortable with one another. How that one particular day at the cafe, he forgot his mints in his car and how it had slipped his mind that his soulmate didn't like coffee on her breath but you popped one anyway and he tasted it, on his tongue.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was how fate decided to be a little shit and only make it known to him, a month before you were leaving and he was going to be gone for two weeks.

And after that moment in the car, he didn't know where the two of you stood. He whips out his phone, drafting message after message but all didn't seem to be the right thing to say. What could he even say in a moment like this?

'Hey, I know we almost kissed in the car but I don't regret it, do you?'

'Hey, so funny thing, I think you might be my soulmate… Thoughts?'

'So I know you hate your soulmate but what if it was me?'

Jun groaned into his pillow, feeling the pit of dread in his stomach swirl as he felt slightly nauseous with anxiety.

He felt like he was going insane.

Which is why, after (barely) wrapping up the promotions for his new movie, he was on the first flight home and knocking on Minghao's door.

Minghao opens the door looking slightly disheveled, his eyes glassy with sleep as he blinks at the man who was standing before him before glancing at the watch that his member was wearing.

"Why the fuck are you at my door at 2:30 in the morning?" Minghao deadpans, not bothering to lace his tone with fake politeness as Jun rolls on the balls of his feet, biting his bottom lip.

"I found my soulmate two weeks ago and it's Bang Chan's sister."

Minghao visibly freezes at that. Jun watches as his friend almost starts buffering in real time, blinking at him in disbelief.

"What?" Minghao dumbly blurts out, unsure if he heard Jun correctly or not.

Jun tries to calm his racing heart as he repeats the words for Minghao, slower now.

Minghao stares at his hyung before letting out a sigh and gesturing for the boy to come in. Minghao pushes Jun to the bathroom, lending him some clothes to shower into so that they're comfortable and in the right state of mind to have this conversation.

Twenty minutes later with two pu'er teas in either man's hand was definitely a way to start a conversation.

"Let me get this straight." Minghao starts, slowly connecting all the dots in his brain. "You found out the girl is your soulmate because she eats mints after she drinks her coffee and you tasted the mint on your breath?"

Jun nods.

"And then you drop her off at the restaurant where she was meeting her brother, only to almost kiss her then disappear for your promotions for two weeks with zero contact with her at all?"

Jun nods his head again. Minghao presses the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering shut.

"And because of some bet that you made with her, she ended up telling you about how much she doesn't like the idea of soulmates and how much of an asshole her soulmate is for his choice of food and how irregular his eating times are?"

Jun nods again, his head getting slightly tired from the movement as he watches the cogs move in Minghao's brain.

Silence envelops the two as Minghao thinks, opening his eyes before shaking his head at the older man. "Damn." Minghao mutters out, unsure of what to do in this state. "I don't know if you guys are stupid or just plain oblivious."

Jun's head snaps up to meet Minghao's eyes, flabbergasted. "What?"

Minghao lets out a sigh before pulling out his phone, fiddling with it for a while before flipping it around to show Jun. Jun leans in closer, noticing that Minghao had a group chat opened. "Look at the name."

When Jun eyes flit to the name, his eyes widen before he fixes Minghao with a look of disbelief.

"You can't be serious."

"Believe me," Minghao starts, letting out a tired sigh. "I wish I was joking. Bang Chan named the group."

Jun's jaw drops. "How many people are in this group?"

"Just three of us, Vernon, Bang Chan and I." Minghao makes a face. "And Seungkwan who was just a little nosy after hearing about your date from Ri."

The group which included Minghao, your brother Bang Chan and Vernon (plus Seungkwan after countless begging) was named 'When will their tastebuds hit them in their face?'It was a valid name, very on brand but it was still weird nonetheless.

"It wasn't a date." Jun weakly replies, making Minghao's eyebrow raise as he lets out a scoff.

"That's what you take away from our entire conversation?"

Part of Jun wants to say 'yes' but he knows Minghao well enough to see that his patience was wearing a little thin, especially since it was almost 3:30am in the morning.

"So, what do I do?"

Minghao stares at Jun for a beat. "Are you planning to tell her?" Minghao asks softly, making Jun gnaw on his bottom lip, contemplating.

"I don't know." Jun answers honestly, his voice low and uncertain. "She already had a hard time accepting the fact that she has a soulmate and she spent so long resenting me…" Jun hesitates, feeling the pit in his stomach deepens more as he clutches the cup tighter in his hands. "What if she doesn't choose me?"

Minghao's eyes soften as he looks at the older man, watching the way his quiet resolve begins to crack after all these years. Jun has been through so much. He went from almost not having a soulmate to having one but now isn't sure what to do about it.

"I think you should tell her." Minghao gently says, watching Jun grip the mug tighter at his words. "You said it yourself, you're going to give your soulmate the chance to choose." Minghao says, his words soft as he tries to reason with Jun. "So let her choose."

Jun hesitates before locking eyes with Minghao, anxiety swirling in his orbs, a giant contrast to Minghao's comforting steady ones. "And if she doesn't choose me?" Jun asks, repeating his words from earlier.

Minghao places a reassuring hand on Jun's shoulder.

"Then you need to make good on your word and let her go."

"So you figured it out."

Jun blinks at Mrs Yang, his jaw dropping as the elderly woman nonchalantly utters the statement.

"You knew too?!"

Mrs Yang snorts at Jun's outburst and nods, pouring herself and the gawking man two cups of tea before placing the kettle back down on top of the stove.

Jun had opted to leave Minghao's house and come to the restaurant earlier to try and get Mrs Yang's opinion on what he should do in this situation. He was lucky that he decided to do that because right after he entered the shop, it immediately began to pour.

The rain was loud, clashing with the old Cantonese song that's flowing through the speaker, no doubt one of Mr Yang's favourites as Jun has heard him sing it a couple of times during his late night escapades.

"I've known since that day that you came in right after she left because you were craving Mr Yang's beef noodles."

Jun is speechless as Mrs Yang sips her tea, blinking at the older woman in disbelief. "How come you didn't tell us?"

She gives him a slight look of disappointment as she shakes her head. "That's not how soulmates work my dear boy." She says, her voice low. "You're supposed to figure it out when you need to figure it out."

Jun feels a frown takeover his features. "Well, a little heads-up would've been nice."

Mrs Yang rolls her eyes at the younger boy's words, taking another long sip of her tea as she urges Jun to do the same. "Are you going to tell her?"

Jun swallows the tea, feeling it's warmth coat his inside before he shrugs. "I don't know if I should, she's leaving in two weeks and I don't want her to stay just because of this."

Mrs Yang's eyebrow raises at the boys words.

"So you're making the decision for her?"

Jun hesitates. "No, I'm not giving her the equation in the first place." Jun tries to reason. "I just think that maybe she's right… we aren't right for each other."

Mrs Yang's eyes widen at the boys words. "So instead of being honest with her, you're just going to let the poor girl believe that her soulmate is still out there? Because you fear that she will choose you?"

Jun darts his hands outwards. "No! Well… Yes but only because—"

"You're my soulmate?"

Jun's eyes widen as he whips around to see you standing there, a crushed look on your face with your umbrella by your side as small droplets of water stick in your hair, no doubt because of the heavy wind that was around.

Jun glances towards Mrs Yang who was pale herself as her eyes flit between the two of you, unsure of what to do or say in this moment. You must've came in and they didn't hear it because of how heavy the rain was.

"Red, I—"

"And you weren't going to tell me?"

Jun feels all the words leave his brain at how broken your the words sounded as they left your mouth, a tone that he has never heard from you before. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water before reaching out for you but you take a step back and let out a bitter chuckle.

"I knew it." You mutter to yourself as Jun takes another step towards to, your name urgently but softly escaping his lips.

"Wait, please listen to me—"

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with tears as you shake your head. "I think I've heard enough." You bitterly say before you bolt out the door.

Jun curses before dashing after you, not caring that it was pouring outside. It seemed like you didn't either as you just continue to run away, rain pelting against your skin and hair as you didn't even bother to open up your umbrella.

Jun catches up to you and grabs your wrist in his hands. "Red, please let's talk about this."

You let out a scoff, tugging your hand away as the rain drenches the two of you more. "What is there to talk about Jun?" You ask, your words laced with venom. "It's an open and shut case, you don't want me. End of story."

Jun winces at your words, feeling his hair get wetter and wetter the more the two of you stand here. "Please, let's just go inside and talk, I promise I'll tell you everything—"

"How can I even trust you?!" You exclaim, silencing him as your fiery eyes bore into his slightly broken ones. "You lied to me." You spit out, feeling a sob rising up your chest. "You said that you would give your soulmate the choice to choose but you made the decision for me anyway."

Jun's heart breaks slightly as he tries to approach you and encase you in his arms but you easily shrug him off, pulling away from him more. "Please, just let me explain—"

"You knew about my struggles Jun." You whisper out, your voice somehow cutting through the loud roar of the rain. "You knew about my thoughts on soulmates. You knew how much I've struggled with this and how much I wanted to have the choice."

"Red, please- I—" Jun tries to beg but you silence him.

"Yet, you still chose to make the decision for me." You whisper out, the thoughts solidifying in your head.

Jun felt like he was going to get down on his knees. "Red! Listen to me—"

"You know what the worst part is?" You interrupt, your voice hard as you stare into his once comforting eyes that were now filled with pain. "I wanted it to be you. I kept asking fate for a sign that it was you but it never came and the only time that it came," You shake your head, barking out a bitter laugh, "I find out that you never wanted it to be me in the first place."

Jun's face visibly crumbles at your words, rainwater sliding down his face as he takes a step forward. "Red that's not—"

You hold your palm up, freezing him in place as you take a step back, away from the comfort of the man who you've gotten to know over the past two months. "Don't—" You bite out, your voice cracking slightly as a fresh set of tears prick your eyes, mixing with the rain that had dampened your hair and soaked your clothes.

"Don't call me that." You all but curse at him, your tone broken as the childhood nickname that once brought you peace, just sounded tainted coming from him. "In fact, don't call me at all."

"Red wait—"

You shake your head and take another step back, willing yourself to look at the man who you wanted to give your heart to.

"Goodbye Wen Junhui." You say, your tone hard as you lock eyes with his begging ones. "I hope you're happy."

With that, you turn away, tears pouring down your face as Jun stands there frozen, mourning the one thing that he always wanted as he watches you slip through his grasps again.

THE TEA OF ACCEPTANCE - Week 15 out of 16

After the night in the rain at the restaurant, you had been… off. Chris noticed it whenever you would hesitate while writing your daily reports, how you unconsciously crossed off the sweeter treats on the menu and ordering the sour and spicy foods instead and how you space out every time you even glanced at that damn Seventeen hoodie and sweatpants.

It was getting out of hand.

He knew about your fight with Jun, finding out all the small details from Vernon, who had heard it from Jun himself. While he was frustrated with the older man for lying to you, he couldn't help but also understand where the man was coming from.

You had told Chris about Jun after you spent the day with him at the Golden Dragon and Le Petite Treat, opting for your older brother to find out through you instead of some paparazzi site if the two of you weren't careful.

He had been apprehensive about it at first but his doubts went away after he realized how much happier you were, how you had started humming while typing your articles, how you opted to at least try the spicy food before dismissing it completely and how you were always smiling at your phone.

Chris had suspected that Jun had been your soulmate for a while, putting the two together after meeting up with Vernon a few days after to ask about Jun's soulmark. Vernon had divulged all the details he could making Chris's mouth dry up as he compared the details to your soulmate journal, which he had 'borrowed' from your bag.

Like Mrs Yang, Chris opted to let the two of you figure it out yourselves, thinking that the two of you would come to the conclusion sooner or later.

That really blew up in his face.

He knew that the two of you were hurting now, Vernon and Minghao's never ending messages were a key factor as the three continuously updated each other of the heartbroken half's condition. Chris knew he needed to give you space, but with you leaving in a week and your article not even halfway finished, time was of the essence.

This needed to be solved and fast.

However, he knew that if he tried to even talk some sense into you, that you would avoid him like the plague and shut him out even more.

Which is why with the help of Vernon and Minghao, Chris came up with a plan.

When you wake up from yet another bad night, dark rings under your eyes. You nearly fall off the edge of Chris's bed when you realize that Chris was standing at the foot of it, his arms crossed with a worried expression on his face.

"God." You bite out, giving your older brother a glare. "Do you need to scare the ever-living daylights out of me so early in the morning?"

He ignores your question and tosses you some clothes that were on the dresser. "Get dressed, we're going out."

The clothes smack you in the face, throwing you backwards, making you groan out in pain before shooting daggers at your brother after peeling them off your face. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." And with that, he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him as your eyes twitch in annoyance.

After lots of coaxing and pulling, Chris finally got you into the car (after almost tossing you over his shoulder). You let out unhappy noises every few seconds in the car, in hopes that you can annoy him enough so that the two of you would turn back.

"You know, the more you make those sounds, the faster I'm driving." Chris says, giving you a side-eye before his eyes refocus on the road. "You forget that we stayed in the same house for majority of our childhood, I know all the tricks in your book."

You sulk when he catches on, turning to look out the window as you lean against it. He turns into a familiar street making your eyes narrow before stopping outside of the familiar neon sign that has plagued your thoughts for the first few weeks of your trip.

"Why are we here?" You ask your older brother, your voice quiet as you notice that the restaurant was closed due to the sign.

Chris puts the car into park before turning to you, his arm slung over the steering wheel of his car, while the other rests lazily at his side. He eyes you for a beat, trying to gather his thoughts before he speaks.

"I know that you and Jun are going through a rough patch and I know that you're stubborn to the point that whatever I say will not get through to you." Chris softly admits, his expression one of remorse as you meet his eyes with your puffy ones.

You feel a surge of guilt, opening your mouth to respond but he halts you by raising his hand. "Let me finish Red."

You close your mouth before giving him a curt nod, urging him to continue. "I know Jun broke your heart. I also know that by keeping it from you for two weeks, it feels like he betrayed your trust but since neither of you want to talk to each other, I brought you to the next best source."

Chris gestures to the restaurant, making you turn your head as well to see Mrs Yang coming out of the restaurant.

"I can't tell you to forgive him or force you to because that wouldn't be fair to you, so Vernon and Minghao suggested that I bring you to the woman who helped to raise all of them and knows them for their hearts. Vernon and Minghao offered to meet you as well to help but they thought that maybe you would be more comfortable listening to her instead."

Chris's eyes soften as you meet them again, as he reaches to grab your hand, to give it a small reassuring squeeze. "However, this choice is all yours. You can choose to take the leap and hear what Mrs Yang has to say or," Chris shrugs, "We can leave right now and I'll help you tell Jun that you want nothing to do with him."

Your mind races with a bunch of jumbled up thoughts as you look between your brother and the older woman waiting outside her restaurant. Your eyes drift towards the soulmate art that you can see through the window, the art of love that brought Mr and Mrs Yang's souls together and your breath hitches as you make your decision.

"Pick me up in two hours."

Chris smile softly at your answer as he nods, withdrawing his hand from yours but not before giving it one last warm squeeze.

You step out of the car, slamming the door shut behind you as you dig your hands into your pockets, the cold pricking your skin despite the hoodie that you were wearing.

"Red?" You hear Chris call for you, making you turn to face your brother who had a sentimental look in his eyes. "I'm really proud of you."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you nod, giving him the most sincere smile you muster in days. The sight makes him grin before he gives you a wave and pulls away.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself before turning to walk towards the lady who had a sympathetic smile on her face. She loops her arm through yours.

"Come dear." She gently guides you to the restaurant. "We have much to discuss."

You sit there, in a comfortable silence as Mrs Yang appears with the same two teacups and teapot, placing it in front of the two of you.

She silently pours the tea for the two of you. "We have green tea today." She says, pushing your teacup closer to you. "I hope that's okay with you."

You nod, taking the cup into your hands, soaking in the warmth as you mutter out a small 'thank you' before taking a sip of the tea, feeling the warm liquid flow down your throat comfortingly.

"Not open today?" You ask, trying to keep the mood light. Mrs Yang nods, placing her own cup down after she takes a sip.

"We have a booking tonight for another Lim gathering so Mr Yang and I opted to just close the restaurant for the afternoon." You hum out, digesting her words.

Silence fills the room as the two of you sip your tea, Mrs Yang letting you settle the turmoil of feelings in your head and only approach the elephant in the room on your cue.

"When I was growing up, my parents always talked about soulmates as if it was this lovely feeling that they felt when they turned eighteen but it just never felt right to me." You say, feeling slightly tense in your chest. "I always tried to believe in them, I really did but I never felt any excitement or that rush to find them. I just felt…" You trail off, trying to find the word.

"Empty?" She offers making you snap your fingers, saying the word that you were thinking of. "Yeah," You swipe your tongue against your bottom lip, wetting it slightly, "Empty."

You take a sigh before you continue. "And then I met Jun and all those doubts of how I would react when I met my soulmate just slowly became less loud. He reassured me that we all had a choice, that we have the right to say no to our soulmate." Your voice softens, recalling his words that fateful day. "But then he went back on his word as soon as he realized it was me and he just decided that I didn't have that choice anymore."

Mrs Yang is silent for a beat, digesting all the words that you have just poured your heart and soul into as you watch the gears in her head turn.

"You know," She starts, leaning against the table, "I hated Mr Yang when we first met."

You feel your eyes widen as you blink at her, your jaw dropping open a little. That had to be the most bizarre thing that Mrs Yang has said in the last two months that you've known her. You think about all the small loving interactions that you've seen her do with her husband and your jaw goes slack, dropping open more as you swear your brain starts to buffer.

She laughs a little at your reaction. "Close your mouth dear." She teases lightly. "You'll catch flies." That makes you snap your jaw close but the expression on your face doesn't morph, still slightly surprised.

"When Mr Yang and I first met." She starts, her face morphing into one of wistfulness and nostalgia. "We were barely thirteen. He moved in next door after his parents had moved from Beijing due his father's job. My parents had always warned me about boys from the bigger cities so I avoided him like my life dependent on it." She shakes her head, recalling the stories. "I still remember the first time he saw me and how his eyes had widened. He had told me that he felt a certain pull towards me that he had never felt before. So, he began to try and get my attention by trying to walk me to school one of the mornings."

You felt a small smile appear on your face as you imagine a young and hopelessly in love Mr Yang, chase a younger Mrs Yang who wanted nothing to do with the man. "But as he was walking with me, he was so excited that he accidentally pushed me into the river that was ten meters away from the school gate."

You let out a gasp at that as she nods her head, her eyes crinkling as she shakes her head. "I was furious, called him a stupid boy and told him to never come near me again." She lets out a huff as she crosses her arms. "Of course, he was very stubborn and he didn't listen to me. He kept trying to get my attention, tried to sit next to me in class and asked to walk me everyday until I agreed because he wore me down."

You let out a soft laugh, thinking about how Mr Yang lovingly begged his future wife to let him walk her to school.

"And then everything changed when we turned eighteen and the mark on our arms had appeared. I was furious with the universe for pairing me up with the most insufferable boy that I've ever met."Mrs Yang admits, shaking her head as she recounts her brazen younger self. "I didn't even give him a chance but he never wavered, he always tried to get my attention and he always tried to change my mind." She says softly, her tone turning slightly sad as she takes another sip of her tea.

"One day I fell really sick and he visited me everyday, tending to me, telling me jokes. My parents knew that he was my soulmate because I complained about him every chance that I got so when he begged them to let him take care of me, they did because they knew that he was sweet." Mrs Yang says, looking at the tea in her cup as a soft sad smile appears on her lips.

"When I asked him why he was being so nice to me when I was nothing but terrible to him, he just gave me a loving smile and said that even if he would never be my one, I will forever be his. He said that he knew how trapped I felt when I couldn't make the decision myself, to choose who I want to love for the rest of my life."

Your heart clenches as Mrs Yang looks over at the weaved art that she told you about the first day you were here and smiles at it, her eyes filled with love and adoration. "So after that day, I felt that pull he was talking about and decided to give him a chance and…" She trails off, gesturing to the beautiful restaurant that she built from the ground up. "This was the fruit of our labour."

You look around the restaurant, letting her story sink in as she turns to look at you, her eyes soft as she reaches for your hand. She pats your hand gently before squeezing it tight making you turn to lock eyes with her as she gives you a sweet smile.

"Jun and the rest of the boys have been coming here since they were young teens, because the old Pledis building used to be down the street from here." She says, gesturing to the right of the left of the restaurant, the same street you ran down on your second day here. "They always came in here, excited to tell Mr Yang and I whenever they had some kind of sign from their soulmate." She chuckles a little, reminiscing the old memories, a small forlorn smile on her face.

"But Jun was the only one who didn't get a sign." She admits softly making a pit form in your stomach at her words. "My guess was that because you hadn't turned eighteen yet, the soulmark was not as prominent for him as it was for you when you turned eighteen." She says softly making you recount your eighteen birthday and how ready you were to curse out the boy who was ruining your tastebuds.

"He was here, the day you turned eighteen. He came in after a hard day of practice with Minghao, Chan and Soonyoung and while he was silently watching them, you doused his tastebuds with water while he was eating his mala tang." She softly laughs to herself as she shakes her head. "You should've seen the adoring look on his face when he realized that he found you, that you came to him and that because he never stopped yearning and wanting you that fate gave you to him."

You feel your heart race as you digest her words, a small pit of guilt swarming in your stomach making you slightly nauseous as you take a sip of your tea, hoping to calm your inner turmoil.

"I'm not saying that you should forgive him, my dear." Mrs Yang says, her voice gentle. "But sometimes people make stupid decisions when they're scared and afraid to lose the one they love the most. He didn't want you to give up your life for him and move here and he was also afraid that you would forsake him if you knew that it was him. He wanted you to keep the happy memories of him instead of the bad one that you had of him." She pauses for a moment, contemplating her next words before saying. "He loves you so much that even if you never choose him as your one, you will always be his."

Her words struck you at your core as you feel a set of tears brimming your eyes. Jun had been nothing but loving and supportive. He cracked jokes with you and always made sure you were comfortable and was so in tune with you.

You probably should've realized that he was your soulmate too. The fact that you were so comfortable around him even though you slightly despised him when you first met him. The way that he always knew what you needed before making it known to him. The fact that he could make your heart flutter, with just that signature smile of his.

The undeniable pull that you've had to Mrs Yang's restaurant and the fact that you met him the same day— what are the chances of that happening?

In that moment, everything clicked together, the puzzle pieces suddenly aligning as you feel your heart lighten.

"I'm in love with him." You whisper out, loud enough for Mrs Yang to hear, as the realization hit you hard and fast. "That's why it hurt so much when I thought he didn't choose me."

Mrs Yang's eyes glaze over slightly as you look at her, a watery smile on her face as she sees that you've made your decision. "Then you need to tell him, my dear."

A million fresh new thoughts race through your head, figuring out a way to tell Jun when one thought strikes you and you freeze, a small smile creeping on your face. "I got it." You whisper out before looking at the older woman in front of you. "But I'm going to need your help."

SUNFLOWER SEEDS OF WISDOM - Week 15 out of 16

Jun collapses on the floor, his energy completely drained as he stares at the ceiling, feeling numb to everything around him. He glances at the clock and lets out a sigh when he realizes that he still has an hour before all the members come in.

Sleep had been hard for Jun the past few days. He felt like his heart had just shattered into a million pieces since that day you left him in the rain. He had tried to text you and call you multiple times but you had blocked him on everything that was available. Vernon and Minghao told him to give you time, that you just needed space to deal with everything but you were leaving in three days. He thought of showing up at the airport, to try and catch you before you get on your flight. However, he didn't know any of the details of your flight because he was supposed to be leaving for China that same day, to start filming a new movie that he was starring in.

He lets out a groan as he places an arm over his eyes, feeling the sense of dread coarse through his veins as he sighs. Jun nearly jumps out of his skin as he hears the someone slam into the practice room door, a very loud groan of pain ringing out from them after it.

Jun frowns, sitting up as he hears the person fumble for the door handle. He walks towards it, to help open the door for whoever it was, before the door swings open as Minghao, Vernon and Seokmin step into the room.

Minghao has his hand on Vernon's shoulder, carefully guiding the younger boy who was wincing, into the room while Seokmin trails behind them, dark rings under his eyes with a frown on his face.

Jun's eyebrow raises at the three of them before glancing back at the clock again, thinking that he read the time wrong. However, only five minutes had passed since he last checked it. He turns back to them, a frown on his face. "What are you guys doing here?"

Minghao looks between the two of his companions, one in pain and the other in a bad mood before sighing. "Vernon got a message from Bang Chan today about something that his sister published." Minghao says before gesturing to Vernon who Jun didn't notice had his phone out in his other hand which was on speaker, no doubt his soulmate on the other end.

"He was on his way over to tell you when his soulmark hit and he walked into the door while his soulmate was trying to guide him."

Jun feels his heart race at the mention of you but winces when he notices how much pain Vernon was in and how glassy his eyes were, a sign that his soulmark is currently active. "Does he need to see a doctor?" Jun asks, a little cautious of the younger member.

A snort rings through the phone. "He'll be fine." Vernon's soulmate chirps making Vernon glare at his phone. "He's just a big baby who didn't give me enough time to tell him where to go before charging at the door like a Matador who has seen a red cloth."

"For the last time Tupaki," Vernon says, his tone on edge with a slight hint of pain, no doubt from hitting his head into the door. "The Matador is the person holding the cloth, not the bull."

Tupaki, the nickname that Vernon had given his soulmate puzzled Jun to no end, the reference entirely going over his head whenever Vernon tried to explain it to him. His soulmate, however, always seemed to express a lot of displeasure at the nickname. This time was not any different. Tupaki let out a scoff at Vernon's words before letting out her own quip through his phone.

"At least I don't have shitty movie taste like you, Alien." Vernon lets out a scoff at her retort.

"At least I have better comebacks, Tupaki." Vernon deadpans as he starts to blink, his eyes becoming less hazy as they begin to focus on Jun and Minghao standing in-front of him.

"I think our visions are switching back." Vernon notes making his soulmate scoff over the phone.

"Thank you Captain Obvious." Vernon let out a scoff at her deadpanned remark, shaking his head at her antics.

"Just thanking the stars that I don't need to watch whatever B-grade movie you're watching anymore."

"Aww," She says over the phone, her tone dripping with faux honey, "and here I thought you love it when I show you taste that you could never have." Vernon lets out a snort at the comment before the glaze in his eyes disappear.

"You wish Tupaki." Vernon says, hovering a finger over the end call button. "I'll see you during our monthly movie review."

"Not if I die first from whatever movie you're choosing next." She says back making Vernon shake his head as he ends the call.

He turns to Jun, Minghao and Seokmin who are staring at him, making him scratch the back of his neck, a little sheepishly.

"Sorry about that." Vernon states, immediately using his phone to find the article. "Let me find the article for you… one sec."

Jun's heart races as he sees Vernon key in your publisher name into the blog and began to scroll before Jun looks over at Seokmin who looks more deflated than usual. He turns to Minghao, a frown on his face.

"Is Seokmin alright?"

Minghao glances at Seokmin before letting out a tired sigh. "It's not Seokmin." He says. "Sunflower's been stuck in his body for the whole night, and I think she was getting a little overstimulated by all the lines she needed to record on his behalf. So I suggested that she come with us to get out of the house."

Jun lets out a hum of understanding. "Are they going to swap back soon?" He asks, watching Sunflower sit down and lean against the mirror, muttering a few curses to herself.

"I hope so." Minghao says. "Sunflower has a test for her classes later today and if she doesn't change back, Seokmin might fail her paper." Jun shudders at the thought of the last time that happened and how Sunflower nearly killed someone in Seokmin's body during the week they were doing promotions for Seventeenth Heaven.

He really hopes that Seokmin had been studying Sunflower's material for her Masters properly.

"Found it!" Vernon exclaims making Jun and Minghao jump slightly as he abruptly appears beside the two of them, your article plastered on his phone screen. Vernon grimaces a little as he holds his head again making Minghao sigh.

"Let's go get your head checked." Minghao says before giving Jun a glance as Vernon sends the article Jun's way. "Read the article and keep an eye on Sunflower."

With that, the two of them leave the room, leaving Jun with Sunflower who looks like she has a dark cloud over her head. Jun walks over to her before taking a seat next to her, giving her a small glance.

Sunflower, who looks more tired than ever in Seokmin's body just glances back at him before going back to stare at the uneven floorboards.

"How are you feeling?" Jun asks Sunflower gently.

Sunflower huffs out a sigh, playing with the strings of Seokmin's hoodie. "I love Seokmin but…" She shakes her head."I hate being in his lanky body, it's so disorientating every time we swap bodies."

Jun gives her a sympathetic smile as she continues to fiddle with the strings, tying it into a small bow before releasing it and repeating her actions. Sunflower had been around since Seokmin turned eighteen, immediately acting different the morning of his birthday.

It took a while for the two of them to work out a system that worked especially with Sunflower running her own business and doing her Masters. However, they made it work despite being almost polar opposites of each other.

She glances at his phone, seeing the link that Vernon had sent to him. Gesturing to it, she asks, "What's that?"

Jun peers downwards at his phone for a beat before meeting her eyes again, a sad smile on his lips.

"My soulmate's newest article."

Sunflower lets out a sound of acknowledgement. "Ah, the food journalist?"

Jun gives her a look. "You know about her?"

Sunflower tiredly nods, messing with the strings of Seokmin's hoodie again. "Minnie and I have a journal where we update each other of important things so that if we swap for long periods, we know what's going on and we don't get jumpscared."

Hearing the endearing nickname fall from Seokmin's mouth took a little bit of getting used to but Jun smiles all the same.

Jun would say that he was one of the closer ones to Sunflower, having always kept an eye on her whenever Seokmin and her swapped souls. She was quiet and she didn't like being around the louder members that much — ironic, Jun used to think, seeing as her soulmate is Seokmin — so he always ended up near her and in her bubble, just to keep her safe.

"Is it bad that I'm worried to open up the article?"

Sunflower tilts her head, pondering it over before shaking her head. "To be honest, I think it would be a problem if you weren't worried about it. The article is about you after all."

Jun chews lightly on his bottom lip, staring at the link as if it was about to explode and blow him to bits. He blinks when he sees Seokmin's hand, outstretched towards his phone before he looks up at Sunflower, who has a neutral expression on Seokmin's face.

"Give it here."

Jun blinks at her again, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. The girl let out an impatient huff.

"If you're too scared to read it, let me do it first." She says glancing between him and the phone. "Then I'll let you know if you should read it or not."

Jun's eyes widen as he gives the girl a soft smile. "You'll do that for me?"

Jun watches her eyes soften slightly as she nods. "You're always doing nice things for me." She says softly. "The least I could do is repay the favour."

Jun's chest warms at her words before passing the phone to her without a second thought. Sunflower leans back against the mirror and presses the link. She levels the phone with her eyes as she begins to scroll.

Jun chews on the inside of his cheek, feeling his nerves increasingly spike with each passing moment. After what feels like an eternity, she abruptly turns back to the nervous man who jumps, upon seeing her swift movement.

Her expression is unreadable as she passes the phone back to him without a word.

Jun glances between her and the phone before gingerly taking it into his hands. "So?" He asks, softly with a bated breath, a little afraid of her answer.

Seeing the apprehension on her face, her eyes soften a fraction before pushing the phone closer to Jun, a gesture for him to read it.

Jun feels his heart race in his chest before glancing back at his phone, seeing that Sunflower had scrolled all the way back up before giving it back to him. He takes a shaky inhale before he begins to read, his mouth going dry as he reads the title.

"The Taste to my Soulmate's Heart"

Jun composes himself a little, swallowing before he scrolls down to see a picture of the Chinese restaurant that he has been going to since pre-debut. Mr and Mrs Yang were standing outside the shop, loving and adoring smiles plastered on their faces.

He reads as you write about the love story between the two and how they built this restaurant from the ground up for those who sought comfort in terms of food. He feels his breath hitch when he reaches the soulmate portion.

As for how this couple is connected to my soulmate, the first food I tasted on my eighteen birthday was from this shop. I could've sworn that my soulmate hated his tastebuds from the moment he accosted mine with the Mala tang that he ate from this shop but as I got to know him, I realized that he was trying to share a part of his life with me, intentionally or not.

My soulmate lived in China for most of his adolescent life before moving to Korea, to pursue something of his teenage years. He found this restaurant with the rest of his friends and it became a sanctuary for them.

Now, if you have read my previous few articles, you would know that I'm not a huge believer in the soulmate theory. But during my second day in Korea, I ran into this restaurant to save myself from the rain and had the best Chinese food that I've had in years. It felt familiar yet comforting but I couldn't place where I had tasted it from.

It turns out, after I left, I tasted the same taste again and my soulmate had apparently went into the restaurant a couple minutes after I left, seeking the same comforting Chinese food because I had it.

We met coincidentally two weeks later because I felt an undeniable pull to the restaurant. I had absolutely no reason to be there but cancelled my plans for the day and went anyway, curious as to what this tug was all about. Standing outside the restaurant, I contemplated going in, a little anxious about why I felt this pull when he appeared behind me and started teasing me as if it was second nature.

I should've known that he was my soulmate then but we started to make a few friendly bets here and there and we started to meet up more and got really used to each other's presence. We were on different ends of the soulmate scale, he was super in love with his while I was apprehensive about mine.

However, because we were being complete idiots, we ate the same foods almost all the time, so we didn't realize that the puzzle piece for our soul was actually sitting across from us, giving the other shit about our different taste preferences.

He loved spicy and sour food while I love my sweet food.

He loves his soulmate to bits while I hated mine.

On paper, we sound too different to work but as Mrs Yang told me during my interview with her:

'Soulmates aren't meant to be similar to you. They are meant to be the one that completes your soul, fill the gaps so that the two of you feel complete when you are together. Independently, you will survive without each other but being together, makes everything feel as if it was meant to be.

As if it was written in the stars themselves.'

So my soulmate, if you're reading this, 如果你还愿意接纳我，我选择你.

Jun feels his heart stop as he reads the last few words that were written in his native tongue, meant just for him. He lets out a sound of disbelief, feeling his heart start to race as the message speaks to him.

'If you're still willing to accept me, I choose you.'

You choose him.

If you still choose me, meet me at the special place. The place where it all started.

Jun feels his heart drop as he reads that, he was going to be busy for the next few hours with practice and he also has the jacket shoot later for the upcoming album. He frowns even more as he begins to rack his brain, thinking of a way that he can do everything.

Sunflower, who has been eyeing him the whole time, frowns a little as she notices his face paling. "What's wrong?" She bluntly asks, snapping Jun out of his inner turmoil as she peers to look at his phone screen, noting where he was in the article. "Isn't the article good? She chooses you."

Jun eyes the girl in Seokmin's body. "You can read Chinese?"

Sunflower snorts, her eyes narrowing at the older man. "You basically just read your soulmate professing her feelings for you and you choose to focus on that?"

"Yes." Jun blurts out without thinking, his nerves getting the better of him.

Sunflower closes her eyes, letting out an exhale through her nose as she mutters low curses to herself before she fixes her eyes on Jun, a slight glare in them.

"Are you not going?"

Jun hesitates, thinking about the amount of events that he has today and shakes his head. "I can't."

He really really wants to.

It's all he can think about right now.

He wants to leave the practice room and run to you and tell you how sorry he is and how he's been in love with you even before he met you. How he doesn't like sweet things, but he always loved it when he tasted it from you. How upset he felt during the week where you had your pettiness streak and felt like everything was his fault. How he loves you so much that it feels as if it was inevitable the second his tastebuds were sanitized by the water you gulped on the day of your eighteenth birthday.

But he can't.

Sunflower gives Jun a blank stare.

"Get out."

Jun blinks at her. "Excuse me?"

She rolls her eyes, seeing the expression on his face before wrapping her arm around Jun's to yank the two of them to their feet. Jun stumbles slightly, caught off-guard at the abruptness of her actions as he blinks at the girl whose expression didn't waver.

She lets go of his arm, letting out a huff of exasperation. "如果你还愿意接纳我，我选择你."

Hearing perfect Chinese leave Seokmin's mouth stuns Jun but he quickly recovers as she shakes her head at him. "Jun, for as long as I have known Seokmin, you were the one who has been so in love with your soulmate even when you didn't know you had one. You yearned for her, wanted her and chose her every single time that you could. While others went to seek their soulmate out, you were patient and you never once pushed the girl of your dreams into your arms. You waited for fate to do its thing."

She gestures to the article. "And this is fate giving you the biggest sign in the universe that it's time to take action." She shakes her eyes, her eyes softening as she looks at Jun. "Fate already brought her to you at the restaurant, gave you the courage to keep talking to her and gave you the mint sign which is how you discovered it was her in the first place."

She pauses at her last statement. "Even though the two of you were quite blind about it for a while and they quite literally had to shove it in your faces."

Jun scoffs at her words, opening his mouth to retort but she ignores him and continues to talk.

"My point is," She starts, pressing a finger on Jun's phone to scroll to the Chinese words that have been spiraling in his head. "You've been waiting for her your whole life. Are you really going to let her slip through your fingers again?"

Jun felt his breathing stop at her words, hitting him straight in the chest as he feels his blood run cold at her stern words and stare.

She was right and he needed to leave right now.

Sunflower's eyes soften, noticing Jun's gaze slowly grow more determined by the second.

"Go." She pushes again, gesturing to the door. "Before it's too late."

Jun's tongue darts out to wet his lips as he hesitates. "But what about—"

She holds up a hand, interrupting him before he can spiral again and shakes her head. "I'll tell Seungcheol." She assures him, as if he could read his mind. "You and I both know that he would've told you to do the same thing."

Jun feels his heart warm at the assurance before nodding as Sunflower all but chases him out of the practice room. "Now, get out of here."

She throws him his bag which he catches with ease as he turns to run out of the room but Sunflower stops him with a call of his name.

"Yeah?" He asks, turning to her.

She stares at him for a beat before a rare smile appears on her lips. "Go get her."

Jun returns her words with a soft smile, his heart racing as he is fueled with adrenaline. He nods, bidding the girl in Seokmin's body goodbye before racing to Mrs Yang's restaurant to find you, because at the end of the day:

He's always chosen you.

SUGAR, SPICE AND EVERYTHING NICE - Week 15 out of 16

You think that waiting for Jun to arrive, is scarier than the day you were waiting to hear back about your internship application. Your older brother told you that Vernon had already delivered the message of your article to Jun and you just needed to wait for him to arrive.

You are about ninety-nine percent sure that Jun will arrive but that was about two hours ago.Jun still hadn't turned up and you were sure that you were going to burn a hole into Mrs Yang's entranceway if you keep pacing like this.

Mr Yang and Mrs Yang were closed for the day, opting to give you and Jun the space the two of you need to sort through the miscommunications and feelings.

"Deep breaths." You mutter to yourself, trying to will your heart to slow down. "It's only Jun. A person you spent the past few weeks with, he isn't a stranger."

He also is your soulmate but you're trying very hard not to think about that right now.

A million thoughts race through your head as the minutes continue to tick by.

What if Jun didn't read the article at all?

What if Jun read the article and he hated it?

What if he didn't choose you in the end anyways because of what you said to him the other day?

What if—

The bell chime cuts your thoughts off as your head whips to the door to see Jun standing there, his hair slightly disheveled, beads of sweat sliding down his face as he pants, his gaze unfocused until they land on you.

Your heart beats faster in your chest as you feel nerves prick your skin as you look at the man who appears as if he had just ran a marathon.

"Did you run here?" You ask, a little in disbelief as Jun shakes his head 'no'.

"Drove here but then," he pants, bending down a little to catch his breath, "my car got stuck in a jam so I parked and ran here"

"But why—"

"I couldn't risk letting you slip through my fingers for the third time."

His answer makes your heart stutter as he looks at you with so much love and adoration in his eyes.

Silence envelops the two of you as you feel your brain blank as it hits you that your soulmate is right in front of you. The

"Red." Jun whispers out as he reaches for you, his breathing beginning to steady but his heart still racing with adrenaline. "I've never wanted someone as much as I've wanted you. My whole life, I've been searching tirelessly for you and I always waited for the universe to give me a sign of something or anything, just so that I knew that you were there."

He steps closer to you, gently taking your hands into his. "But the moment I got you in my arms, I was a coward." He says, slightly bitter at himself. "I let you go without giving you the chance to choose because I was afraid. I was afraid that you wouldn't want me, that you would resent me for putting you through so much pain because of my food preferences and my irregular schedule."

He let out a shaky exhale. "I was afraid that I wasn't going to be good enough for you. That I wasn't worthy to be yours."

Your breath catches as he admits that, slowly pulling your hands into his as he looks at you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. "But I can't let you slip through my fingers again when I want you so much that it hurts." He whispers, his eyes boring into yours.

"I choose you, Red." His hands tighten around yours. "Please say that you'll choose me as well."

You feel your heart skip a beat as you step closer to him, a small smile on your features as you feel the undeniable pull towards him, the one that you weren't sure of before but are now.

Mrs Yang's words from two weeks ago flow back into your mind as you stare into the eyes of your soulmate.

The feeling was always pulling you towards your other half, the one that is meant to complete your soul, to fill in the gaps that you didn't know were there in the first place. You're the sweet to his spice and you match each other so well that you know that it's meant to be.

Jun feels his nerves spike, feeling slightly tense, the longer you keep him waiting. So he does what he does best, he starts to ramble.

"I mean, if you still need time to consider it, you can take your time and think. I know I dropped a bomb on you by confessing that I'm basically in love with you and you should take all the time you need before you make a decision because I clearly want you to make the right one and—"

You interrupt him by giggling as you stand impossibly closer to him, a sweet smile on your face as you stare into your soulmate's eyes with your twinkling ones. Jun feels his mind blank from any thoughts of the tangent that he was just on as he peers down at you, feeling your breath on his face. He feels his cheeks and the tip of his ears heat up from how close you are to him, as he swallows, hoping to bring one working thought back into his brain.

You gaze into his eyes, making your decision. "I love you, Wen Junhui." You admit softly, your smile never wavering. "I unconsciously chose you the first day we met but I'm making the choice to choose you now, forever and always."

Jun's eyes widen as he feels his heart stop at your words, an immense surge of feelings flowing through his body at your words.

"Really?" Jun softly asks, his eyes flitting between yours, one to the other before they flicker to your lips for a split second.

You feel your heart rate spike at his gaze before nodding. "Really."

The air between the two of you changes as Jun's hands release yours before he cups your face. Your breath hitches as you lean into his touch, sighing slightly at the warmth of his hands.

"Can I kiss you?" He mumbles, afraid to break the moment. You gently nod, not wanting to break the moment either as he lets out a shaky exhale before leaning in closer. You close your eyes, feeling his breath against your mouth before he presses his lips to yours in a tentative kiss.

You let out a soft hum as adrenaline begins to course through your veins. You wrap your arms around Jun's neck, pulling him close. You feel as though your soul is on fire, for finding the one that you are meant to be spending the rest of your life with and choosing them to do it with.

You think Jun feels the same as he lets out soft groan before deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You let out a whimper as you begin to taste double, tasting the mint that you normally have after your coffee on his tongue and lingering in your own mouth. Hearing the noise you made, Jun lets his hands slip down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kisses you with slightly more vigor.

The two of you slowly pull apart for air, panting slightly as you rest your forehead against his, both your eyes still closed.

"Thank God for that mint I had before you came in." You blurt out, breaking the moment making Jun let out a soft laugh as the two of you slowly open your eyes. A warm but teasing smile appears on Jun's lips as he gazes into your eyes, his pupils slightly dilated.

"I think we had it at the same time then." He shyly admits. "Because I had one on my way over as well."

You giggle at the realization, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from smiling too hard. Jun notices though, making his smile widen as he leaves a quick kiss on your forehead.

The moment slows as the two of you stare at each other, silence enveloping the two of you.

"Do you need to go back to practice?" You ask softly, feeling your heart sink slightly as you remember Chris's message about Vernon telling him that Seventeen were having practice today and a jacket shoot later.

Jun's eyes soften, hearing the anxious tone in your voice before shaking his head. "No." He answers, giving you another peck on your forehead. "You got me all to yourself for the rest of the day."

You blink at him in surprise. "Oh." Your eyebrows furrow. "What about your dance practice for your comeback and your jacket shoot?"

He blinks, eyebrow raising. "How do you know about that?"

"Vernon told Chris who told me."

Jun lets out a sound of understanding before shaking his head. "Sunflower said she will take care of that for me."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Who?"

"DK's soulmate."

"You mean we aren't the first to meet each other?"

Jun lets out a soft laugh at how cute you look, a small pout on your face at the fact that the two of you weren't the first to find each other in the group. He shakes his head, the smile on his lips never wavering.

"I think we met nine years too late if we wanted to be the first." He states making you let out a hum of understanding. "Although," he starts with a teasing smile on his face, "I fear you might've killed me if we met back then due to how much you hate my taste in food."

You let out a snort at the teasing words, feeling your eyes roll before you can stop them.

"Not my fault you accosted my tastebuds any chance you got."

Jun lets out a belly laugh at your words, nuzzling his face into your hair making you smile as you lean against him. He pulls you into him again, rocking the two of you as he hugs you tight, giving you a few kisses on your cheek and hair making a giggle bubble out of you.

"I love you." He breathes out, pulling away to gaze into your eyes as a lovesick smile appears on his lips.

You feel your heart flutter at how handsome he looks, saying the three words that meant everything to you. "I love you." You reply, pushing yourself up on your tip-toes to give him a kiss which he promptly accepts, humming as he kisses you back.

The kiss this time, is more sure, the two of you slightly more confident as Jun deepens the kiss immediately, pulling you impossibly closer to him, loving the way your lips feel against his.

The two of you continue to slowly makeout until your lungs scream for air, making you pull apart from your soulmate. He chases your lips making you giggle.

"I think we should leave, pretty boy." You mutter, giving him a teasing smile.

Jun opens his eyes, a little glassy as he refocuses on you, blinking as the tips of his ears turn a little pink, giddy at the nickname.

"Oh?" He asks, a small smirk appearing on his face. "And go where?"

You let out a hum, feigning ignorance as you exaggeratedly think. "Maybe your house?"

"Huh…" Jun hums, catching on to your antics as he leans closer to you, your breath hitching as you feel his hot bated breath on your lips. "And what shall we do when we're at my house, baby?"

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the nickname making you swallow, composing yourself before saying.

"I think I have a few ideas."

The second the two of you step foot into Jun's bedroom, Jun pins you against his door, his mouth on yours as he pulls you in for a searing kiss. You gasp as you fist his shirt, feeling your legs starting to buckle from the intensity of the kiss. He slots his tongue into your mouth, a muffled groan escaping him as he slides his tongue against yours, tasting the remnants of the mint the two of you had earlier.

It's filthy, the way that Jun's spit mixes with yours in your mouth as the two of you continue to roughly make out. Unlike the first kiss the two of you shared earlier, this is different. It is charged and full of all the emotions that have been building up over the last few months.

Jun's hands wander down to your thighs as he parts them, urging for you to jump as he catches you and wraps your legs around his waist, not breaking the kiss once. You let your hands roam upwards to his hair as you begin to tug at it gently, making the man let out small whimpers that make your heart race impossibly faster.

You find yourself getting wetter as the make out session gets more heated and let out a soft whimper when Jun presses himself flush against you, letting you feel how strained he is through his sweatpants.

The whimper snaps something in him as he starts to slowly grind himself against you, making you gasp as you detach your lips, your eyes rolling at how good he felt against you, your head tilting back into the door.

Jun wastes no time attaching his mouth to your neck, giving you open-mouth kisses before he locates your pulse point right below your ear, making you let out a soft moan. He hums in satisfaction before sucking on it lightly, making you see stars.

He continues to suck and nibble at the spot, no doubt leaving a mark before licking one long stripe upwards, from your collarbone to the pulse point, groaning slightly.

"God, baby." He says, his voice wrecked with want. "Can you taste what I taste when I do that?" He asks. You let out a whine, feeling yourself getting wetter at the words leaving his mouth. You let out a whimper in response as Jun keeps nibbling on your neck, addicted to the sounds that leave your mouth and the taste of your skin.

He pushes off the door, carrying you to the bed before gently dropping you on top of his plush mattress, giving you a front row seat to how wrecked he looks.

Jun's hair is disheveled from your constant tugging, his cheeks flush as his dilated pupils stare at you, full of want, need and love. He tugs his shirt over his head, leaving you to ogle at the sight of his toned body. You knew that Jun's body was toned, being an actor and an idol meant that he had to have the physique of a God, but seeing it in front of you is a different story.

Jun notices your ogling and smirks. "Take a picture baby, it'll last longer."

You immediately feel your cheeks heat up at his teasing remark, slapping both your palms over your face, shielding yourself from Jun. The man laughs, leaning down to press kisses to your knuckles and fingers as he gently peels the hands away from your face.

"Don't do that, baby." He whispers through his kisses. "Want to see my pretty soulmate as I cherish her."

You feel your chest warm up at his words as you lock eyes with him, a soft smile on his face as he gives you a slow kiss.

"There's my girl." Jun whispers out, before his hands make their way down to the ends of your shirt, his eyes flitting to yours, asking for permission to remove it.

You give him an eager nod before you're just left in your lacy bra. When Jun sees the sight, he lets out another wrecked groan before leaving kisses all over your exposed skin.

"You're so gorgeous, baby." Jun whispers, the pet name sending a wave of butterflies through you as he continues to kiss everywhere that he can. "Can't believe that you're my soulmate."

He unhooks your bra with your permission before sucking on your right nipple as his left hand massages your left one, making you moan out as you clench the bedsheets, feeling slightly stimulated by his hand and mouth. He does the same with your left one, alternating between them as you feel yourself getting stickier and stickier where you need him the most.

"Jun." You breath out, moaning a little as he hums against your breasts, the vibrations stimulating you a little more. "Please." You beg, though you aren't sure what you're begging for.

Jun hums again, seemingly catching your drift as he releases your nipple from his mouth with a pop. You whine a little at the loss of contact but feel his lips trail down your body, leaving kisses in its wake, each kiss leaving you a little squirmier than the last.

His hands fiddle with the waistband of your jeans as he continues to kiss the area around your stomach as he looks at you through lidded eyes. "Can I take these off, baby?"

You chew your bottom lip before nodding, making Jun shake his head as he clicks his tongue.

"Use your words, baby." He says, his tone soft but slightly dominating making your head spin slightly.

"Please." You whimper out, squirming a little. "Take them off please."

Jun's signature grin appears on his face. "So polite." He coos. "When you ask so sweetly like that, who am I to refuse you?"

He makes quick work of your jeans after he says that, pulling them down your legs, tossing them to some corner of the bedroom before he leans down and you swear his pupils dilate even more seeing how soaked you were.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip as he blows against your core, making you let out a whimper before as you squirm a little more.

"Is all this for me love?" Jun asks, slightly condescending as he uses a finger to rub you over your panties, making you moan as you nod furiously.

"What did we say about words baby?"

You feel yourself clench on nothing at his words, a soft whine leaving your lips. "All for you Jun." You whimper out again, feeling his finger rub you a little faster, making you squirm a little more. "All just for you."

Jun hums, delighted at the way you're responding to him before he hooks a finger and pulls your panties down, leaving you bare in front of him. He lets out a groan as he leans closer to your core as you hold your breath in anticipation.

"You don't have to, you know." You breathe out, hoping that he isn't doing this just because he feels obligated to do so. Jun looks at you through hooded eyes, using his strength to spread your thighs wider for him, holding them in place.

"Trust me when I say this, baby." He says, pressing kisses against your inner thigh, making you feel goosebumps appear along your skin. "I really want you to taste how sweet you are on your tongue."

Without another word, Jun's mouth is on your core, making your eyes bulge as you let out a gasp. He lets out a groan at your taste, knowing that this will be the only sweet thing that he eats for days after this. He flattens his tongue as he alternates between slow circles around your core before dipping his tongue into your clit, fucking you with his tongue.

You feel feral as you taste yourself on your own tastebuds, feeling yourself fucked dumb without even getting fucked yet as Jun continues his ministrations on your pussy. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging harshly at it and making him groan, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through you as you moan more, your voice getting louder and louder as you get closer and closer.

You let out a cross between a gasp and a moan as you feel Jun sucking against your clit as he pushes one finger into your weeping cunt. You start to squirm even more but Jun holds you still as he pushes yet another finger in.

"You can take another finger, can't you, baby?" He asks, stretching you out as you let out a whine.

"Yes, I can." You gasps out, your eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure, making Jun let out a hum of approval.

"That's my girl."

He leaves you breathless as he curls his finger in you and begins to hit that spongy spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head and seeing stars.

You feel the bed start to rock, whipping your eyes open to see Jun humping the bed slowly, turning you on a little more at how turned on he was from just eating you out. You feel him suck harder on your clit as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of you faster.

You feel your mind blank as you feel the pressure start to build up, slowly going to snap. Jun realizes that you're about to cum as you clench around his fingers and your whines start to get louder, humming in delight against your pussy as he speeds up his ministrations.

"C'mon baby." He says, pulling away from your clit slightly to lock eyes with you, his eyes dark as he gives you a cat-like smirk. "Wet my tongue and cum on my face. Want you to taste how sweet you are too."

The dirty talk plus him going back to harshly suck on your core, is what pushes you over the edge, you tug on his hair hard as you cum making the idol groan as he laps up every single drop of your elixir.

He continues to slowly suck, prolonging your high before you begin to squirm a little from the overstimulation. Jun leaves one last kiss on your cunt before bringing you in for a messy kiss, making you groan as you continue to taste yourself on his tongue and on yours.

He pulls away to look at you, staring lovingly into your eyes. "Are you sure?" He asks, motioning to the next step. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

You shake your head, pulling Jun down for another sweet kiss. "Please." You murmur, nibbling his bottom lip gently, sending a shiver down his body.

Jun gives you a nod before he pulls away to pull down his boxers and pants, leaving him bare in front of you making your mouth water at the sight of him. His cock hard and swollen and leaking with pre-cum.

You reach for him, letting your hands glide along his cock as he lets out a shaky breath, a shudder running through his body as you slick his cock with his own pre-cum.

"Baby." He raggedly breathes out. "As much as I want to cum in your hand, I need to be in you in the next five seconds or I will die."

You let out a soft laugh at his dramatics. "You better get to work then."

Jun lets out another shaky exhale as he nods, going to dig through his bedside table when you stop him by shaking your head. He looks at you, concern in his eyes as his eyes flit between yours.

"I'm on the pill and I'm clean." You simply say. "Are you?"

Jun nods making you let out an easy smile. "Then we have no problems." You breathe out making Jun nod.

He pulls you in for another kiss, slower this time as you feel him press against you, rubbing himself against you making you gasp before he starts to slowly push into your messy folds. The slow push is torturous making the two of you groan as he detaches his lips from yours.

"Fuck." Jun drawls out, his eyes squeezing tight as he continues to push in. "You're so tight baby." You didn't bother responding with anything other than a moan as he stretches you deliciously, making you tug him closer.

Jun pauses for a moment, letting you get used to his size before you beg him to move. He obeys, sliding out till his tip is the only thing inside you before thrusting back in making the two of you moan. He continues at a steady pace, leaving the two of you panting and wanting more of each other.

"That's it, Red." He pants out, nibbling against your neck as you whine against him. "You are truly made for me." He babbles, his mind going feral at the sight of you, his soulmate beneath him. He used to dream of this. Dream of how good it would feel to have his soulmate pressed against him, but nothing could compare to the real deal right now.

"Look at how well you take my cock, my pretty soulmate." He whispers out as he speeds up his thrust, a hand slipping between the two of you to rub at your clit, making you spasm slightly as you feel the familiar build up again.

Jun notices and speeds up, his thrusts hitting that sweet spot inside you relentlessly making your whines and moans get louder. "Come around my cock baby." He whispers into your ear. You moan, tugging him impossibly closer as you hook your legs around his back, your mind blank of anything other than his cock that is thrusting in and out of you.

"Jun—" you breathe out, teething on the edge. "About to—"

You moan again but Jun catches your drift nodding. "Come for me baby."

At his words, you release, spasming on his cock making him let out a groan before he spills deep in you. He continues to thrust, prolonging the pleasure between the two of you before he leans down to capture your lips together again.

The kiss turns the atmosphere from heated to sweet as you feel the adrenaline start to dissipate, feeling your breathing start to even out as he softens in you. Jun pulls out after a few minutes of making out, making you let out a low whine as he leaves the room.

He returns a couple of minutes later with a glass of water and two towels. Jun cleans you up gently, making you look at him adoringly as he places the towel on his desk before pressing the glass of water to your lips.

"Drink baby." He says softly, making you smile as you obey, taking small sips of the water. He gently urges you to finish the glass before placing it on his bedside table. You look at him, a lovesick smile adorning your lips as you watch him quietly fuss over you before he realizes your gaze is on him.

He gives you an adoring smile back before giving your knee a tap. "How about a bath, baby?" He asks softly, tracing small circles lightly on your knee.

You let out a hum of contentment before nodding. "Join me?" You gaze up at him prettily through your eye lashes making his heart melt before he nods, a lovesick smile appearing on his face.

"Of course."

He leaves you in the comfort of his bed to run the two of you a bath, which smell pleasantly like him, a mix of spiced herbs with a hint of the ocean. A smell that you hadn't noticed you loved till today.

Jun laughs when he returns, seeing you entangled with his pillow and sheets, a fond smile on his face as his heart feels like it's about to burst from how cute you are being.

He untangles you before hooking an arm underneath your knees and placing his other arm underneath your back to pick you up bridal style. You let out a squeak as he does as you immediately wrap your arms around his neck to anchor yourself, feeling your face immediately flush at how easily he picks you up.

"I can walk myself y'know." You mumble as he carries you to his bathroom.

Jun lets out a quiet laugh at the redness of your cheeks. "I know, baby." He says, with so much adoration in his tone. "Just want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated."

You feel your cheeks heat up more at his statement, making you bury your head into his neck, not wanting him to see your face.

The idol laughs before kissing the top of your head as he reaches the bathroom. He helps you to stand up before sitting in the tub first and urges you to come in after.

Your legs wobble slightly as you enter the tub, but you still manage to get into the tub without any issues, your back flush against Jun's chest. He makes quick work of cleaning the both of you, wanting nothing more than to spend the day entangled in his sheets with you.

The thought makes him giddy as he rinses the last bit of soap off of the two of you before fussing over you as you attempt to dry yourself.

"Let me." He says gently, plucking the towel from your hands and begins to dry you off.

You smile at Jun's quiet fussing, your heart full as you stare at the boy adoringly. Your soulmate for the rest of your life.

No more than seventeen minutes later, the two of you are back in Jun's bed with fresh sheets, tangled in each other's embrace.

You sigh, snuggling closer into Jun's chest as you breathe in the scent of him and the sheets, loving how domestic this feels.

"Red?" Jun softly asks. You hum against him, peering upwards to find him already looking down at you, a nervous expression on his face making you frown.

"What's wrong pretty boy?" You ask him, bringing your hand up to cup his face. Jun leans in closer to your hand, closing his eyes as he lets out a sigh in contentment.

"What's going to happen now?" He wonders quietly, the question simple and plain yet holds so much anxiety of what the future holds for the two of you.

He feels your hand freeze on his face, making his heart sink into the pit in his stomach.

He had been wondering about this since the two of you were in the tub, enjoying each others embrace. He tried to push the thought away, wanting to live in the moment. But, as he looks at how well you cuddle into him, how the two of you fit together like long-lost puzzle pieces and how this feeling just felt so right…

He couldn't help but voice the question that had been plaguing his mind.

"Junnie." You whisper out, making his heart stutter at your use of a new nickname, no doubt feeling the tip of his ears turn a little pink. "I was going to wait till maybe after our nap to talk about this but seeing how nervous you look right now…" You trail off, letting your eyes flit between both of his. "I guess I can tell you the surprise now."

Jun blinks at your words, a surprise?

You push yourself up, sitting slightly more upright against the headboards as Jun does the same, mirroring your body posture. He watches you fiddle with your fingers, a nervous tick that he knows by heart now, after seeing you do it for the better part of your three months together.

You wonder how you should start this conversation, Jun had caught you off-guard because you only received the news from Minho this morning after your article had gone live. This meant that you hadn't really had the time to prepare how you wanted to say this but as Jun looks at you like you're his entire world.

You realize that it doesn't matter.

You take a deep breath. "After I finished writing the article a few days ago," you start, seizing your nervous tick as you place your hands on the sheets in front of you, "I talked to Minho and I told him that I found my soulmate, so we talked about my future in the company."

Jun feels his heart sink at your words and interrupt you before you can continue.

"Red." He whispers, taking your hands into his as he rubs slow circles on your knuckles with his thumb. "I don't want you to give up your job for me." He admits quietly. "As much as my heart yearns for you to stay, I can't— won't ask you to do that. I know how much food journalism means to you and I know how much you enjoy and love doing it so, please don't give it up for me."

Your heart flutters at his words, feeling warmth spread through your chest at how thoughtful Jun was. You bring your joint hands up to your lips, pressing small kisses on his knuckles.

"I love you." You whisper out, locking eyes with the man that you love. "But you don't need to worry about that."

Jun's eyebrows furrow in confusion as he tilts his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that during my call with him, he gave me some good news." You give Jun a sweet smile. "The magazine planted a new branch here in Korea a month ago and they offered me the Senior Journalist position for the food column."

Jun's eyes widen at your words, feeling his heart race. "You're serious?" He asks, his tone filled with hope and a little apprehension, unsure if he heard you correctly or not. Your smile widens as you nod, feeling your heart flutter at how cute Jun looks.

He immediately pulls you into a hug, making you laugh as he holds you tight against him.

"That's amazing news, baby." He whispers making you snuggle into him more. Jun notices your slightly sluggish movements and wraps his arms around you, slightly tighter, to bring the two of you downwards to lay on the pillows.

"This does mean that I need somewhere to stay though." You say, nerves spiking a little at the thought of leaving Brisbane, it was not just a necessary step for your relationship with Jun but also for your career. Jun pulls away, a soft smile on his face.

"We'll figure it out together." He says softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "When do you start?"

"In two months." You hum out, feeling yourself get a little sleepy. "I'll be leaving this week to go back to Brisbane to start the moving process but I've already pre-booked my next trip back in a month and a half to start settling in. Chris said that I can stay with him in the meantime while I look for my own place."

"I could probably take my break next month to help you with the packing." Jun offers softly. "Our promotion shoots would've wrapped up by then so I can afford to take a week to help you."

You peer upwards, smiling at the mad as you give him a gentle nod. "I would love that." You whisper.

Jun hums. A comfortable silence filling the air as the two of you enjoy each others embrace.

"So, pre-booked huh?" Jun asks, a teasing smile appearing on his lips, breaking the wholesome moment. "You were that certain that I was going to choose you?"

You roll your eyes at his words. "Says the one who has been in love with me since the start." You give him a pointed look. "I can still call Minho to tell him that I changed my mind."

Jun laughs before attacking you with kisses, kissing different parts of your face over and over making you squeal as you try to push him and his ticklish kisses away.

"I'll stop if you promise me that you aren't going to do that." Jun mutters between his assault of kisses making you laugh a little, feeling slightly out of breath from wrestling in his strong grip.

"Fine!" You breath out, squirming a little as you try to push him away with your hands on his chest. "I concede."

Jun's smile widens into a cheeky grin. "That's my girl."

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile from the endearment, watching Jun's eyes soften.

"Be mine?" He asks softly, bringing one hand that was situated on your waist up to grasp your hand on his chest, slowly intertwining your fingers.

Your heart races before you nod, giving him a sweet smile. "I'm yours."

As you cuddle closer to Jun, your chest flush against his, you can't help but sigh as you soak in your boyfriends warmth and how your heart feels so much fuller now, fueled by the mountain of possibilities for the future.

Because, you choose him as much as he chooses you.

"Red." Jun whispers out making you hum in acknowledgement, your eyes feeling slightly droopy. "I need to admit something to you."

Your eyebrows furrow before you look up at your soulmate, your eyebrow raising as he gives you a sheepish look. "What is it?"

Jun sucks in his bottom lip, chewing it before releasing it. "Remember that day we went to the Golden Dragon?" You nod, your eyebrow still raised, urging for him to continue.

"And how we were supposed to eat the highest level of spice which was ten?"

"Get to the point pretty boy."

He hesitates, running a hand down your bare back, as if trying to appease you before his revelation.

"I may have lied and ordered spice level three instead."

He feels you freeze in his embrace, digesting the information that you did not conquer spice level ten, but three.

"You ordered three… instead of ten?"

Jun chews his bottom lip before he nods. The two of you lay there in silence as Jun feels his heart race a little more, his eyes flitting between yours as he tries to read your expression but fails.

"Jun."

He sharply inhales, awaiting for you to chew his head off.

"Yes baby?"

"You owe me a red velvet cheesecake tomorrow."

"… Yes baby."

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨two new constellations have been added୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

©livmarauder2026 And with that, we've come to the end of (for now) jun and red's soulmate story! Thank you guys so much for reading hehe and I'm so excited to share more of this universe with you guys! If you did enjoy, a reblog and a like would very much be appreciated <3 thank you!

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[jakedustry]

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐘 - 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔

IN WHICH There isn’t anything Kim Mingyu can come back home to, no one waiting for him at night when he gets off his shift, so when he finally takes a few days off, his plan consists of two simple things: drinks and sleep. But his world takes a spin around when he stumbles upon a group of officers arresting a young lady begging for help after a night out. If Mingyu has one weakness, it’s people in distress, especially if it involves a child in need.

pairing ↣ aviator!mingyu x fem!reader genre ↣ fluff, smut word count ↣ 28.4k

contains ↣ prostitution (no explicit scenes regarding prostitution tho), reader working as a prostitute, mature themes, alcohol consumption, age gap (5/6 years — not specified, only implied), reader with a child, 1920s setting, illegal activities, girl dad!mingyu

smut warnings ↣ oral (f. rec.), a bit of dry humping, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink

↪ izzy adds... thank you so much to @studiosvt for hosting this collab!! It's been a lot of fun!! 26 fics by so many talented writers, you guys have a lot to look forward to! Also big thank you to dreamie @straylightdream for making this banner I cannot stop looking at it she got the vibe done perfectly!! I truly believe Mingyu should also get a big thank you because he is such a great man in this, I am falling for him all over again. only lightly proof read

The house is just as he remembers — quiet, empty, lacking the personality he's beginning to realize he misses in his life.

He used to love the white walls in his house and how they'd make the space feel bigger. But lately, every time he comes back home to the emptiness, he hates how large it is more. Maybe if he had a smaller house, if he lived in a one room apartment stuffed with his things, he wouldn't even have enough time to think about these stuff. He'd be glad to drop onto his bed after work and fall asleep to the sound of people chatting into the night outside. He doesn't even have that. The streets die around eleven pm, letting the silence eat him alive.

It's been weeks since Mingyu was last able to take some time off at work. In theory, it seemed like an awesome idea — sleeping all day, seeing his friends and enjoying the thrill of illegal drinking. When he sets his travel bag in the hallway and walks into his living room, the happiness he felt from taking a break starts to slowly disappear.

With a heavy sigh on his lips, he heads towards the couch, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. The quiet is drowning, his heart aching as his thoughts overtake him. It's the same thing that's been haunting him for the last three years — the fear of living his life alone, with no one waiting for him at home and making his day brighter. It's scary. The idea of never finding anyone to spend this life with scares him.

He might have the money, a stable job, a life many dream about — but it's not the life he aches for. He'd exchange everything for a loving family instead in the blink of an eye if given the chance.

A curse slips past his lips as he opens his eyes again, the back of his hand resting on his forehead as he stares at the ceiling. He needs to do something with himself, occupy himself and think about different things — anything, really. As long as he can push the loneliness aside and pretend like he is okay, like he has everything he's ever wanted.

The first to come to mind are his friends — the smiles of his loved ones that always help him focus on the better things. Jumping up from the couch again, he quickly grabs his wallet and car keys, hoping his friends are home and available to keep him company.

Listening to the loudness of his car's engine, Mingyu manages to calm his thoughts for a while. He hums in a soft rhythm as he waits for the red light to turn green again. He should go dancing soon. If Seokmin isn't home — which he so desperately hopes for — maybe that should be his next destination. It's not often that he gets to listen to music unless it's his coworkers singing their lungs out on a drunken night after a successful flight. And if he's honest, they are always off tune.

Seokmin doesn't live too far away from him, and so he stops again after twenty minutes. Compared to his, Seokmin has a lot smaller place. And yet, Mingyu is certain he's never felt like it was little in any way. Min's place has always been filled with laughter and comfort ever since he knew him. It might be why he was so drawn to him in the first place, knowing the two of them would be friends right then when they spoke for the first time. It's probably also why his place was the first he thought of, driving his car here without second guessing anything.

And while Mingyu loves all of his friends, the welcoming sight of Seokmin at the door will always warm his heart and make him feel the most like he is home.

"It's been so long," Seokmin wraps his arms around his friend without questioning anything. "How have you been?" Stepping aside, he creates enough space for Mingyu to step inside, closing the door right behind him.

"It's been good," he hums, taking off his jacket. Seokmin takes it from him immediately, hanging it for him. "I just got back home. Two weeks of freedom." His friend whistles with a laugh, hurrying him into the living room so they can sit down and talk. "What about you, though? Your stories must be so much more exciting," he asks as he takes a seat on the couch, Seokmin following right behind.

"My stories?" He shakes his head with a soft laugh. "All I do is work. It's honestly incredible how you managed to catch me on my day off. Happens once in a blue moon."

"I could say the same. It feels like I've been working nonstop for the past two months," Mingyu sighs.

"That is because it's been two months since you were home. Why don't you take it easy and enjoy life while you still can? It's not like you don't have the money for it," Seokmin suggests, offering him the pie his wife made before she fall asleep on the couch and he carried her into their bedroom.

Mingyu politely refuses, saying he isn't hungry. "And what would I do if I was just home all the time? I know it might be what you wish to be able to do — stay home and spend time with your wife — but I don't have anyone to spend my free time with. It's better when I'm flying, keeping myself busy."

There is no right way Seokmin could answer. Mingyu doesn't have to say it out loud for him to understand — to see that he also has his own problems he doesn't talk about. Opening his mouth to answer, he slowly closes it again when he realizes he's not sure how. It's hard when he isn't sure what it is that bothers his friend in the first place.

"Am I dreaming or is that you, Kim?" The female voice interrupts both of their thoughts, both men turning to the door to see Seokmin's wife standing there, her eyes scanning the familiar figure she hasn't seen in months.

"In all of my glory," he smiles, getting up to hug her. "Hi, Luna."

"Min can not stop talking about how much he misses you," she whispers, low enough so that her husband won't hear. It makes Mingyu chuckle, a soft smile decorating his face as he steps back and takes in the sight of her.

"Marriage suits you," he comments, making her roll her eyes. "I hope you're not making it too hard for him, though. You know he is weak."

"I can hear you guys," Seokmin interrupts them with a scoff, joining his wife's side and wrapping his arm around her waist. "Did you sleep well?" He asks as he presses a kiss to her temple. Mingyu watches, his smile faltering for a split second. It's quick, neither of his friends noticing, but he feels it — the way his heart aches at the sight, wishing for the same thing. He needs booze. And he needs it now.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Luna. Maybe we should go someplace else? Give the lady her well deserved relax," he offers, trying to sound considerate instead of desperate.

"You guys should go and have fun," she agrees, glancing at her husband to assure him it's okay to leave her alone. "You two haven't seen each other in ages," she continues and even though Mingyu isn't sure if she saw right through him or not, he appreciates what she's doing for him. "How long will you be in town for?"

"Two weeks. I should get back in the air after that."

"So a plenty of time for us to catch up," she grins. "Go have fun together and we can sit down a different day. You'll tell me all about your travels and if you met any interesting people," she winks at him with a smile, one he decides to ignore. Glancing at Seokmin instead, he waits for him to give his opinion.

"Alright," he grins. "Let's get the guys to join us and have some fun." He glances at his wife, pulling her into a reassuring kiss before joining Mingyu's side. "While staying on our best behavior, of course."

"Right," she shakes her head, rushing them off. Laughter echoes of the walls, just like Mingyu is used to. Seokmin's home has always been like this — a place he wishes to come back to much more than his own house.

♡⸝⸝

Seokmin leads him through the streets of New York, visiting alleys Mingyu never stepped into. Every time he's visited Seungcheol or Minghao, he drove to their house. He genuinely can't remember if he's ever walked to their places ever since they all settled down. Maybe that's what makes this quiet walk to precious.

As soon as all four of them are together again, just like they used to be all the time before falling into the adult life and worrying about work, money, and living, all his worries seem to disappear. His mind quiets, now only filled with the thoughts of the speakeasy they will lead him to. He tries his best to focus on the road as they move, but he quickly gives up when he realizes he's never set foot in these streets. He'll just have to hope he can catch a taxi back home later.

Grabbing the closest empty table they see, all four of them fall into the booth, the singer's voice ringing in their ears immediately. It's loud despite it only being around seven pm, the bar filled with people. "I'll go order, first round is on me," Seungcheol proclaims.

"Thanks, I'll get the next one," Seokmin smiles, watching him walk off to the bar.

Mingyu soon stops counting the number of drinks he's had. He loses count when whiskey joins the table, the liquor sliding down his throat with ease. It might be the alcohol honestly, but the more he listens to his friends talking about how life's been treating them, the more he misses them. Being in the skies all the time gives him the freedom he wishes for along with a fresh mind, but it also takes away from him nights like these. With his ears red from the alcohol, he doesn't even notice Seungcheol leaving the table, nor the fact he hasn't come back yet even though it's already been forty minutes.

"I need to piss," he blurts out, settling his empty shot glass down on the table.

"Don't throw up!" Minghao calls after him and Mingyu just waves him off with his hand. It's then that he catches a glimpse of Cheol, leaning against the bar and talking with some girl — one of the singers he assumes due to her clothing. Shaking his head at him, he looks ahead again, focusing on not tripping over his own feet and getting to the toilet.

When he comes back, Cheol is back at their table with two girls beside him. He wants to be shocked, act like he is surprised, but the emotions don't come. If anything, he's expected this. Seungcheol always knew how to act around women, how to speak and behave. Yet, somehow he was just as single as Mingyu. Well, except for the fact he is sure Cheol has women sleeping over at his place, even if it's just for pleasure.

"There he is," Cheol smiles, telling him with his eyes to play into whatever his plan is. "I'm sure the two of you would find some things in common." Mingyu's eyes widen for a split second before he quickly composes himself again, taking in the sight of the brunette looking up at him. This is certainly not the best time to be meeting any women, but he can try his best.

Taking a seat beside her, he avoids meeting eyes with the guys, too scared of what they have to say. "I've heard many things about you," she says, her voice low enough so only he can hear.

"Like?"

"You haven't married yet."

Right. With two of his friends in a happy marriage and Seungcheol occupied with her friends, all that was left for her was him. "What's your name?" He asks instead of acknowledging what she said, watching as she leans forward slightly, giving him a clear view at her cleavage if he wanted to. He keeps his eyes on hers, refusing to let them fall down. It doesn't seem to please her much. "Choi Hyuna." He repeats her name, trying how it sounds on his lips. It's plain if he is honest. "Do you work here? Do you sing?"

"Yes," she shrugs, straightening her back again. "I'm on in thirty minutes." He nods, glancing at the current woman on stage whose voice fills the room. "Will you watch me?"

Meeting her eyes again, he finds nothing but lust behind them. "If you want me to," he nods. "I could."

"You should," she smiles. "You should wait for my performance to be over and help me home." Unfortunately for her, stuff like these never worked for him. Simple night tangled in each others warmth just to never see each other again was never something he hoped for. If she wasn't with her friend, she might have had a chance with Seungcheol and find better luck there.

"Maybe," he forces a smile, grabbing the first beer he sees on the table and taking a sip. The conversation doesn't flow as he'd wish for it to. Hyuna constantly tries to touch his biceps or thigh, doing everything she is used to working on the other guys that visit the speakeasy. But as Mingyu's responses become more and more timid, her frustration only grows.

He only feels like he can breathe again when she leaves the table to go up on the stage. With a heavy sigh leaving his lips, he relaxes in his seat. "Should we get another round?" He asks, looking around at his friends. Well, the remaining ones as Seungcheol manages to escape the bar a few minutes ago with the girl hanging on his arm.

"I should head back home," Seokmin shakes his head. "I miss my wife."

"Of course, you're right," Mingyu agrees. "Say hi to Luna for me." His eyes trail to Minghao, a hopeful look on his face. But as soon as he meets his friend's eyes, he knows he doesn't plan to stay with him either. "You should get back as well."

"Come visit some day," Minghao says as he stands up. "We do a game night with the guys every Friday, you should come. And you can tell us all about your new girl," he motions towards Hyuna on stage. Mingyu nods despite disgust spreading through his entire body just at the thought of that — of calling her his girl. It's not like she did anything wrong, deep down he understands her, but it's also not something he could do. All he can do for her is wish she finds someone else, someone who would fit her preferences more.

Mingyu doesn't leave the speakeasy right after his friends do, buying himself another shot as he watches Hyuna on the stage, forcing a smile whenever she looks his way. She has a nice voice, and the longer he listens, the more he thinks she was made to do exactly this — sing on a stage. It's nice when something like this happens, when people find their calling. A part of him wonders if his friends looks at him and think the same — that what he does is something he was made for, that being in the air truly is what he is meant to do. He hopes so.

The watch on his hand clearly says two in the morning. He didn't mean to stay for so long but he just couldn't find it in himself to leave. Once he did, it was only because Hyuna was getting off the stage and he was scared she'd want to talk to him again. It's pathetic really. He is pathetic. He spends all his time thinking about what it'd be like if he had someone's company, if he wasn't just alone all the time, and yet the moment a woman is interested in him, he can't even talk to her properly.

Maybe he should have tried. He should have talked to her more, get to know her before writing her off and labeling her as someone who wouldn't look his way if it wasn't for the fact all his other friends were already spoken for. A part of him debates turning around and seeing her again, but he quickly snaps out of it, reminding himself how that conversation would go and that he isn't wrong for wanting more than she has to offer.

"Please! I'm sorry! I won't—"

"Quiet!"

Mingyu's eyes snap up when the argument reaches his ears, freezing when he sees a group of officers from the sheriff department holding a lady and trying to drag her to their car. It takes a mere second for his feet to move again, this time faster than before, trying to get to the scene as quickly as possible. "What's going on here?" He yells loud enough for them to hear, catching the attention of two of them.

"This doesn't concern you!" One of them yells. By the starting wrinkles on his face and the color of his hair, he'd guess he is in his late forties. Why on Earth is a grown man like this holding a lady who couldn't be any older than twenty three in a way that could easily break her arm if he doesn't control his strength properly.

"I think it does," he argues. "You're going to hurt her!" He points out, hoping to get them to back off. He presses further, asking them to let her go and explain why they are arresting her. It doesn't seem to go like he wishes for it to, though, the officers' anger only growing.

"Please," you interrupt, avoiding the strangers eyes as you beg for forgiveness. "I know what I did was wrong. I know. Please, just let me go this once, I promise I won't show up here again," you quickly shake your head, your pleading eyes flickering between all four officers around you. "I have a daughter waiting for me. I can't— she needs me."

Mingyu's eyes widen at your pleas, something in him snapping as he listens to you. "How much for letting her off?" It's a risk. He can't know if he's using the right method, if it won't just rile them up more and he won't end up in a cell right beside you, but at the moment, it is a risk he is willing to take.

He watches the officers hesitate, exchanging a look before slowly dropping their arms to their sides. He doesn't wait for them to name their price, reaching into his pocket and taking a handful of clams. Handing it to the eldest of them, he finally looks at you too, looking for any bruises they could have left with their hold. "Is that good?" By the gawking eyes of theirs, he guesses it is. Well then, he doesn't need to bother himself with them anymore then. "Are you okay?"

"Thank you," you mumble without meeting his eyes, staying still until the group drives off.

"Do you need a ride home?" He asks, his head tilted as he watches you.

It's then that you finally meet his eyes, caught of guard when you see the brown orbs, watching you as if you were something fragile. You quickly shake your head at his offer. The idea of having a stranger drive you home and find out where you live doesn't sound too appealing. His eyes stay on you even after you refuse, making you sigh. "I didn't lie before. I need to get back home. Can you come back tomorrow? I can do something for you then I just—"

"That's not why I helped," he interrupts you, stopping you before you can finish. "I don't want anything in return. I just want to know you're okay."

"It's never just out of a good heart," you mumble as you walk past him. He turns with you, keeping his eyes on your figure. He hesitates, watching you move further away from him. He can't get his feet to move, to catch up onto you and ask you once more if you're okay. With your earlier implication, he is scared you'll take it the wrong way again, and he'll just end up bothering you the same way the officers did.

"Wait!" He calls once you're at the end of the alley, ready to walk away and never see him again. "What's your name?"

You stop mid step when his voice reaches you, your shoulders visibly tense no matter how he looks at it. Closing his mouth again, he regrets calling after you. He should have just left you alone, let you get back home to your daughter and pretend he never saw you.

You glance over your shoulder, taking in the sight of him — nervous and hesitant despite your first impression of him being completely different thanks to the muscles and height he carries. "Neve," you tell him your work name, not giving him a chance to say anything back before disappearing into the night.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Neve.

The name repeats in his head over and over again.

It was three am when he got back home, struggling to get out of his clothes so he could shower before falling into his bed. He ended up catching a taxi that took him home, riding with his window rolled down in hopes of the fresh air helping him sober up. When he spoke to you and the officers, it felt like adrenaline took over, helping him think rationally for a moment. But as soon as he sat in the back of the yellow car, he started to feel the alcohol in his system.

The shower helped a bit too, but he still ended up falling into his bed naked, not bothered enough to put his pajama pants on. Sleep caught up to him right after. But even then, you stayed on his mind. His dream was full of you, your figure everywhere he looked, your scared eyes finding his in an instant. It's the memory of the officers holding you that clouds his thoughts, worries of what could have happened if he didn't show up making it hard for him to sleep.

Even when he wakes up at noon and goes to cook lunch for himself, you are still all he can think about. If you got home safe last night, if you got to your daughter, if everything is okay.

As if in trance, he finds himself leaving his house and following his and Seokmin's footsteps, exploring the streets of New York on his own this time. It's stupid, he knows it is. But for some reason, he hopes that by some luck, he'll be able to see you again if he goes into the same alley. That the universe will be on his side this time and he'll get a chance to calm his mind when he sees you are safe.

However, as soon as he reaches the alley, he wishes more and more he won't find you here. It's only now that he walks through the street that he realizes properly where he is, his smile falling and his brows furrowing further every time he passes a homeless person sleeping on the cold ground. He'd like to think that if it was a different situation, he would worry and try to find a way to help them, but right now, all he can think about is if you go through the same thing — if he'll find you sleeping somewhere on the ground as well; with your daughter cuddled up with you.

It doesn't make sense for him to worry so much. All he knows about you is your name after all. But just like all throughout the night, it's you who clouds his mind. The deeper into the alley he walks, the more scared he gets, slowly regretting his decision. Would it have been better if he let the officers take you last night? Would it be better to let you spend a night in jail and stay warm? Maybe he shouldn't have messed with you and think better about his decisions. It's all he can think about, the different ways the night could have went. But when he remembers what you said, begging for them to let you go because you need to get to your daughter, he doesn't regret helping you in the slightest.

"Now, this is the most perfect cat I've ever seen." Mingyu's eyes follow the voice, finding a woman on the side eyeing him up and down. She looks his age, twenty six if he had to guess. "It's not often I see such handsome men around here," she continues, eyeing him like he's a pray she's going to hunt. "Wouldn't you like to come inside with me?" She bats her eyelashes at him, her words making his eyes trail to the building behind her. It looks ordinary from the outside, nothing special about the building. He looks through the window, noticing an empty stage and a bar inside. For some reason he doubts it is simply a speakeasy, though.

"I'm sorry," he smiles politely, taking a step back. "I don't think I'm in the right place." She smiles back, a sign she understands his refusal. He looks back at the way he came from, ready to give up on this meaningless hunt and go back to his house, but something in him stops him, making him take in the sight of her again. It feels like an invisible force, the universe keeping him where he should be. "Do you know Neve?" He blurts out the question before he can think about how strange he'll look if she doesn't.

She tilts her head, pretending to think, her black hair falling into her face. He sees right through her, understanding what those clueless eyes of her long for. Taking out his wallet, he pulls out a few banknotes and watches as her eyes widen at the sight. She reaches forward and he places them in her hand. She tugs the money into her top happily, smiling when she meets his eyes again. "Neve works with me."

A colleague. Okay, that's a start. There are many things he wants to ask her about — where you live, what it is you do, what you like, what you hate — but she beats him to it, talking again. "She is usually on time but she hasn't came in today yet," she mumbles, the complain falling off her lips as if she's been waiting to talk badly about you all day. "I hate working out here but guess who had to cover for her?"

"Why do you hate working here?" He interrupts her, tilting his head confusedly.

"You're cute," she comments, leaning back against the wall behind her. "You have no idea, huh? It's dangerous out here," she shrugs simply. "Much more than when I'm working inside. Out here, flirting with men, one wrong move and I can say hello to the big house."

That's all he needs to hear in order to connect the dots, his eyes widening at the realization. Of course. It now makes sense why you were under arrest when he met you, why you were outside so late at night with your clothes hugging your body and revealing more skin that was probably comfortable with the night air around. Alcohol warmed him up last night so he walked around in just a shirt, but if it wasn't for it he'd definitely want a jacket on top.

"Could you tell her I stopped by? Whenever she comes in."

"I guess," she shrugs. "Is that all you want me to say?"

"Tell her my name is Mingyu and I'm not asking for any compensation no matter what she thinks. All I want is to know if she's okay."

Nodding, she eyes him up and down, deciding to try her luck once more. "And you're sure you don't want to come in?"

Forming an apologetic smile on his lips, he shakes his head again. "Looking for that sort of company is not for me…" he trails off, hoping she can introduce herself when he asks for her name with his eyes.

"Jisoo," she finishes for him. "Suit yourself," she hums, fixing her dress and stepping from the wall. She stops beside him, looking up to meet his eyes. "If there is one thing we learn on the job, it's that men always want something in return. It's hard to trust one when he says otherwise, especially since most of us got burned in the past. If you truly mean what you said, though, then know that you have my admiration."

Looking down at her, he finds himself repeating her words in his head. She pats his biceps gently, smiling at another guy currently passing by. Mingyu steps aside, barely looking at her again as he walks back the path he walked here through. "I'll come back again tomorrow!" He calls before getting too far away, catching Jisoo's smile before she gives her full attention to the young man in front of her.

♡⸝⸝

One would think nothing can get lost in a one-room apartment. Well, they would be wrong. As you frantically look all over the place, searching for the baby medicine you are convinced you have somewhere, you are once again reminded that things can get lost everywhere. As if this forsaken cursed apartment wasn't enough on top of your daughter crying beside your leg because she is in pain, you are late for work.

"I know, baby," you coo, picking her up into your arms and looking through the bathroom again. When you don't find anything, you just pray your little girl's fever will go down on its own. You're not sure how you'd be able to deal with it if it doesn't. Hurrying outside, you stop in front of your neighbor's door, knocking as if your life would depend on it. If you're honest, it does. You need him to open the door.

Thankfully, the door opens just as you snap your palm on it again and you stand face to face with your neighbor. You don't greet him or ask how he is doing. Instead, you try putting on your best smile, "Please, Jihoon, just until—"

"No," he shakes his head, stopping you before you can even finish your sentence. You don't need to voice it fully for him to understand what you're asking, his eyes falling to the girl you hold tightly in your arms. He looks mad, which you more than understand. But you need him. You can't just waltz into work with your daughter's hands wrapped around your neck as she cries because of the sickness that has gotten to her.

You met Jihoon when you first moved in, a few weeks after your daughter was born when you started working for your boss. He never cared about you much, barely sharing hello's with you when you'd pass him on your way into your apartment. The two of you were never friends, far from it actually, but when he learned about your situation, seeing as you'd leave your daughter with some questionable looking people — that he has later found out you met through work — he offered to help looking after her from time to time.

He truly saved you back then. Had it not been for him, who knows how things would look like right now. Which is also why you appreciate him so much. And even though you know you can't just rely on him all the time, he is the only one you truly trust with your baby.

"You need to find a real babysitter," he mumbles. "I can't be doing this charity work all the time."

"I will," you blurt out, desperate to convince him to look after her while you go to work. He sighs, reaching out his arms and taking your daughter from you. She immediately wraps her baby arms around him, leaning into the comfort he always gives her. You quickly run down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder one more time before reaching the stairs. "I'll help you out when I get back!"

There's a clear implication in your voice, one that makes him roll his eyes and shake his head. "I'd rather you not!" He yells back, making you giggle as you rush down the stairs, trying to get to work as quickly as you can. Jihoon's eyes trail from your figure to your daughter in his arms, a soft smile on his lips. "Come on, Nabi, let's get your fever down so you can come to the studio with me." She cries for her mama and he just slowly rubs her back, taking her back inside with him.

You curse yourself out as you try to fix your clothes while running through the streets. You are so terribly late. You were supposed to start at five — a hour and half ago. You are so terribly screwed. By the time you reach the speakeasy it'll be 6:42, 6:40 if you're lucky and fast enough. Your boss is going to kill you.

You can't help and think of the worst case scenarios. Despite being your boss' favorite, slip ups like these certainly won't help you keep her on your side. There are many ways she could destroy your life if she wanted to — not paying for your apartment and kicking you out on the streets, sending the sheriff department to you so they could take your daughter away after finding out what you do, cutting your pay; the list doesn't end.

"You're late," Jisoo grumbles as soon as you come into her field of view.

"I know. I'm so sorry. Nabi has got a fever and—"

"I don't care," she interrupts you. "Save that for the boss. I'm not the one who needs explanation." Jisoo moves away, stopping with her hand on the door knob. You watch her hesitate, hovering there. It almost looks like she isn't sure if she doesn't want to stay, if she doesn't want to keep your position. A heavy sigh leaves her and she drops the knob, meeting your eyes. You tilt your head confusedly. "A guys stopped by asking for you earlier.

"Who?" Your brows furrow together.

"He was tall, broad shoulders, dark hair and annoyingly gentle eyes. His name is Mingyu," she waits, scanning your face to see if you recognize him. You think you do, you think you know exactly who she is talking about. "He said he doesn't want anything in return, or something along those lines. And that he'll be back tomorrow." You nod to her, waiting for more. But more doesn't come, and before you can ask her anything else about him, she disappears inside.

Your thoughts trail back to the man from last night as you stand in front of the door, looking for customers. You have no doubt it's the same man. You couldn't look at him properly in the dark but from the glimpses you did catch, he would fit Jisoo's description. And who else would be so stupid and run back here again, just to check on your apparently? It doesn't make any sense, the way he acts. How could anyone with even a little rational thoughts care so much about a stranger?

When you think back to last night, it makes even less sense. Not only has he rushed to save you, but he spent his money on you as if it meant nothing. You saw the sum, the great amount that would make your life so much easier if you had gotten your hands on it. No one in their right mind would do that. No matter how high he sits on the food chain, no matter how much money he has, you can't figure out a single reason why he'd want to help you out of all people.

Maybe you could understand if he wanted to use your service for free, if he asked for you inside just to enjoy the power he holds after you after helping you out. But he hasn't done that. And for some reason, you don't feel like he will either. You know it would make sense, that it's something you should expect from him, from any men that wanders around you, but just like Jisoo said; his eyes look too gentle to make you believe he'd do that.

You're not sure how you feel about the last part, about knowing he wants to come back here to see you, about promising he'll be back. You can't figure out what he'll do, and if you're honest, that scares you much more than the typical men you meet on the job.

♡⸝⸝

Jihoon is already at home when you come back, the hallways dark due to the late hour. He looks sleepy when he opens the door to face you, seeing your awkward smile. "She's fell asleep as soon as we got back," he says, stepping aside so you could walk inside. "I gave her medicine and her fever went down too, so hopefully she'll be good for the rest of the night."

"Seriously, thank you so much," you say, unable to express with words how grateful you are for everything he does for you and your daughter. "My boss said she can get me some medicine soon too so if it comes back, I'll be able to get the fever back down." He nods, leading you towards his bed where Nabi peacefully sleeps, her little arms and legs sprawled all over.

"Did you think about a babysitter like I mentioned?" He asks after a moment of silence, making you look his way again. "I could help you look for someone." You bite the inside of your cheek, unable to tell him about your struggles — about the way you doubt you'd be able to pay another person to look after her despite your boss paying half of your rent — so instead you simply nod, forcing on a smile.

"Yeah, it'd be great if you could help."

He hums back, coming closer to his bed and gently scooping Nabi up, careful enough not to wake her up. "I'll carry her, come on," he nods towards the door and you nod, following him back out. You open your apartment door, allowing him to step inside and look at the mess your space is as he take her to bed. He doesn't mention it, but you see his eyes trail over the things on the floor and the stack of clothing just sitting on your kitchen counter. He settles her on the bed and turns to face you again.

You watch as his eyes scan your figure, obviously debating if he should say something or leave it be. You interrupt him before he can open his mouth, not wanting to hear it right now. "Do you think you could look after Nabi tomorrow as well? Just for like an hour or two, I swear it won't be long."

"Isn't it your day off tomorrow?" He questions, tilting his head slightly.

"It is," you agree. "I just need to take care of something. I swear I won't be longer than those two hours, through," you try your best puppy eyes on him. You are confident it won't take longer than two hours. That is the maximum you are willing to wait on Mingyu for. He doesn't get any more.

To your surprise, the eyes actually seem to work as he sighs, running his hand through his hair. "I can't believe I always get wrapped up in your stuff," he murmurs under his breath before finally accepting, your smile widening.

"Thank you, you are so amazing, Jihoon," you cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around his neck without hesitation. He doesn't hug you back but you don't need him to. You know he cares either way. He wouldn't be doing you all these favors if he didn't.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"If anything comes up, I'll be at work, okay?" You remind Jihoon as he takes Nabi from your hands and she immediately nuzzles into his neck, just like she always seems to.

"We are going studio!" She smiles happily, the hole in her teeth obvious.

"Not today," Jihoon shakes his head. "Today we'll be home waiting for mama, okay?" Her smile falters for a second before she glances back at you, her round cheeks making you smile as well. You promise her you'll be back soon and she just nods, wiggling down from Jihoon's arms before running to hug your leg. She looks much more lively than she did yesterday now that her fever has gone, and you love seeing her like this. You debate just staying home and not going anywhere as your tiny version hangs around your leg, but when Jihoon reaches out his hand to her and she happily runs into his apartment, you shake the thought off. You know she'll have fun with Jihoon, and that's what is important.

It's not that a part of you wants to see Mingyu and see what he has to say, you convince yourself as you walk away. It's truly just about the fact Nabi will have a great time playing with your neighbor. Nothing else.

You take your time, not rushing anywhere. When you ran yesterday, it took you 12 minutes to get to the speakeasy. It takes you 25 today. You awkwardly smile at the girl standing outside of the speakeasy, her hands wrapped around a man's shoulders but her eyes anywhere but on him. It feels weird seeing what you do almost every day from afar, the uneasy feeling in your stomach staying with you even as you take your eyes off her.

Deciding to wait on the opposite side of the alley so you wouldn't be in her business, you lean against the dusty building behind you. Closing your eyes, you wait if Mingyu does show up after all.

"Neve!" The voice causes you to open your eyes again. Turning your head to face him, you feel caught off guard when your eyes land on his figure. You knew he was coming. He promised Jisoo he would come back. But somehow, deep down, you didn't want to believe it. There is no reason for him to. He isn't making any sense again. "Hi," he reaches you with a soft smile and you hum back in response, averting your eyes and letting them drop to the ground beneath your feet.

Mingyu stands beside you, leaning his back against the wall just like you, his arm brushing against your shoulder. "I came by yesterday," he speaks, his voice low, careful.

"I know."

Silence settles over the two of you and you slowly raise your head again, meeting eyes with the girl from before. The guy you saw with her before is now kissing her neck, but her eyes are on you, judging you even from afar. You can't blame her. She probably thinks you are stealing her possible clients.

"Is it about me?" You ask, forcing your eyes off the girl as the uneasy feeling reaches you again. "Did you refuse my offer because you don't find me appealing enough? If you'd like the company of a different girl in return I might be able to arrange something—"

"No!" He interrupts you, much more eager than he wanted to sound. He shakes his hands in the air frantically, making your eyes widen due to his panic. "That's not why I came here. I don't care about any of that."

"What is it then?"

"You've been on my mind, so I wanted to make sure you were okay. That you got home safe to your daughter. I was just worried."

"Oh," you breath out, blinking as you look at him.

Mingyu makes zero sense to you. People never do anything selflessly. No one is just so good to be throwing money around without a single care in the world and instead of asking anything in return wondering about if you are safe. All throughout your life, it has always been about people wanting something from you, and if you couldn't give it to them, they'd just throw you out like an old, used up, piece of furniture.

"I'm okay," you assure him.

He smiles, "that's good." Your eyes flicker all over his face, taking in his features and trying to find an explanation to your questions, anything that would help you understand his motives. "How about your daughter? What's her name?"

You hesitate, reminding yourself it's a stranger you are talking to. He doesn't know you and you don't know him. So why should you tell him anything about the most important person in your life? But for some reason, despite your brain cursing at you not to tell him, to turn around and never speak to him again, your mouth does the exact opposite. "Nabi."

Seeing sparks in this grown man's eyes wasn't something you expected, but it happens. "A butterfly," he comments and you raise an eyebrow, questioning what he is talking about. "Her name. It means butterfly, does it not?" Little shocked, you nod, agreeing. A beautiful grin decorates his face right after. "It's adorable. Neve and Nabi." It rolls off his lips with ease, and you hate how much you like the sound of it.

You take a moment before correcting him, telling him your real name. He repeats it after you, just as happy as before. It makes you roll your eyes. "Where did Neve come from then?"

"It's my work name," you explain. "I don't really… it can be dangerous when others know your actual name." He hums to show he understands, his smile falling as he unconsciously glances at the speakeasy — or what he believes it's supposed to be on the outside — and meets eyes with the girl watching the two of you. She smiles at him as a different man trails her curves with his hands and it makes Mingyu frown, taking his eyes off immediately.

It's quiet for a bit after, but you don't mind. It's comfortable. Well, until Mingyu breaks the silence again. "Can I ask something?"

"You've been asking me things," you tell him, watching him curiously. His smile is nervous as he takes in the sight of you in. You feel his eyes everywhere — on your face, arms, legs — but for some reason it doesn't feel the same as when the guys you work with eye you like this. While their eyes have always been hungry, only thinking about where they'll put their hands first, his eyes feel gentle, like he is actually appreciating you.

"Will you go out for a dinner with me?"

Your eyes widen at his question and you quickly shake your head. You had a few guesses on what he might ask, but none of them were this. "I need to be at home and cook for my daughter," you turn his offer down, but he doesn't seem to back out easily.

"Let me take both of you to dinner then," he changes his offer, leaning against the building while keeping his eyes on you. You look at him with nothing but awe, wondering what happened with the universe, what shift was made for you to even be having this conversation at the moment. You've had your clients ask you out before when they were satisfied with your work, but this is far from how it is with them.

As he waits patiently for your answer, you are once again reminded you don't understand Mingyu and his deal. Nothing about the way he acts and treats you makes sense.

You don't get the chance to answer before your name rings in your ears, followed by a loud "Mama!" call. Turning around, you see Nabi in Jihoon's arms, smiling when she notices you. You smile back at her, unable to hide the happiness you feel every time you get her back from him.

"I'm sorry, I know you asked for two hours but something came up and I need to go." He apologizes as you take her into your arms. You quickly shake your head, assuring him you understand. You wonder what it is he needs to do but he just brushes you off with another apology before running off, obviously in a hurry.

Finally looking at Mingyu again, you see him already focused on you, his eyes flickering between you and your daughter. He is smiling, his eyes soft and welcoming. Nabi looks at him the same, admiring him as if he was an Angel walking this Earth. He might be. You haven't crossed that option out yet. It takes him a second to take his eyes off the little girl in your arms but as soon as he does, they lock with yours again. "Dinner, my treat. That's all I ask in return for that night. Nothing more, nothing less."

You still feel hesitant, but it is true you owe him as much. Had it not been for him, who knows where you'd be now, where Nabi would be now. You'd like to think Jihoon would take her in and protect her, but you can never be sure. "Okay," you nod. "You can take us out for a dinner." His grin widens as you tell him your address, insisting on him being on time otherwise you're not going anywhere.

He promises he will be there.

♡⸝⸝

Mingyu isn't sure why he feels so nervous as he paces his house, debating if the casual suit he put on is too much or too little. There are many other things he could — and probably should — stress about, but at the moment, the peek of his worries is if you'll like the clothes he put on. He wanted to see Seokmin and Luna before coming to pick you up, but with the time he already spent on thinking where he'll take you, he can't waste any more minutes.

It's been a while since he felt like this, since something other than work mattered to him so much, which is probably also why he has the stupid smile on his lips as he gets into his car. Paying the officers off that night was truly an act of his heart without any ulterior motives, but after spending the last two nights without much sleep and you occupying his thoughts, he needed to do something about it.

The first night when he managed to get home, it were his worries that kept him awake, wondering if you got home to your daughter.

The second night, after seeing your coworker and the people around, worries about your safety were joined by wondering how you live, what your house might look like, if you eat with your daughter dinner every day or if you are too busy to come back on time.

As he drove to the same alley earlier, the thoughts about you didn't stop, they only grew. When Seokmin and Luna started seeing each other and Min would tell him about how much he misses his girlfriend every time they hang out, Mingyu didn't understand. But now, as he finds his mind wandering to questions he wants to ask you when he sees you, he finally starts to get what he meant. It might have been crazy considering you were far from being with him, but he couldn't help it.

And the more he talked to you, the more he wanted to ask about anything and everything that came to mind. He might have convinced himself it was pure curiosity, a simple interest in how other people in New York live, but the moment he saw another guy holding your daughter and acting as if you were close, the spark of jealousy he felt made him look at the situation much clearly — he wasn't just interested in your way of life, he was interested in you.

Seungcheol would probably laugh in his face if he heard about all the thoughts he's had in the past few days, but Seokmin and Luna would understand. He is certain about that. Back when they met, Seokmin told him there was an immediate spark, a look in the eyes that made him absolutely certain he wanted to be with her. When Mingyu listened to him, he thought it was cute.

Now, experiencing it himself, it felt scary.

If he could compare the feeling to anything, it would be free falling. Which is exactly what he's thinking about as he drives through the busy streets of New York, scanning all the street names with his eyes and trying to find the one you live at.

Mingyu truly believes he has the greatest luck of everyone in this country, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to arrive in time. Driving through the city also made him realize how little he knows his own hometown, and that he might have to spend more time on roads than in the air.

"Hi," he smiles as he reaches you already waiting outside of your apartment building, Nabi in your arms with her eyes sparkling as soon as she notices Mingyu.

"Hi," you smile back, your eyes flickering between him and your daughter. "Nabi, look, this is Mingyu. Can you say Gyu?"

"Gyu," she repeats after you, looking at you for approval before reaching her hand towards him. As Mingyu stands there, watching her tiny outstretched hand, asking to be held by him, it feels like the free falling finally stops. His eyes soften, his smile bright as day as he asks you if it's okay for him to hold her.

"Promise not to drop her?"

"Promise," he nods, certain. You nod as well, handing her to him and taking in the sight, your heart shattering a little. She's always been clingy with Jihoon, but this is the first time you're seeing her like this with anyone else. And the look in his eyes as he holds her tiny hand in his rather large one certainly isn't helping how you feel. "Hey, little butterfly. Are you going to get dinner with me and mommy?"

"Dinner with mama!" She agrees, a giggle escaping her lips.

"Dinner with mama," he repeats after her, his eyes finally flickering to you again. "You have a beautiful mama, Nabi, do you know?" He doesn't take her eyes off you as he speaks to your daughter, but that only makes you feel hotter, your cheeks catching a light pink as you shake your head at him, unable to hide the smile on your face. "Shall we? I am parked around the corner."

"You drove here?" Your eyes widen. You knew he was rich, of course you did, but somehow you didn't think of the fact he might have a car. It's weird how your brain immediately classifies him as a higher up, someone completely out of your league, who you shouldn't be able to talk to so casually. But the moment you meet his eyes, it doesn't feel like that at all. He is there, right in front of you, sharing that stupid smile with your daughter as if going out with you was a normal Tuesday tradition.

"Yeah," he nods, a bit confused at your surprise. "It's not exactly close to my house and I didn't want to sweat too much before even seeing you," he shrugs.

"I see," you mumble, averting your eyes from him and quickly walking past him so he can't see just how unreal that sounds to you. He follows right after you, not letting you get ahead. It's easy for him, with his long legs he catches up to you in an instant. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," is all he says before steadying Nabi with one hand and grabbing yours with the other so he could tug you with himself towards his car. Despite you trying your best not to, the warmth of his hand makes you feel at home.

"Wait, is it safe to put a child this small into a car? What if we crash, what if someone crashes into us from behind?" His eyes widen as he hesitates with his car door open, the panic written all over his face. It makes you laugh.

"Those are things that can happen even without a child in a car, are they not?" He nods hesitantly as you take Nabi from him again and slip past him into the back of his car, holding her in your lap. "Does this make you feel better? Me holding her?"

He doesn't say anything, simply watching you for a moment before finally nodding and closing the door behind you. "It would have been better if you sat in the front, but a guy can only dream, hm?" He glances over his shoulder and you roll your eyes. You hate that his stupid smile works wonders on you.

You were in a similar position when you were nineteen, falling for a guy who flashed his white teeth at you and made you feel like you were a star glowing in the sky. In only lead to you losing your life, and if that's what some stupid smile can do, you don't want to fall for another one.

"You should start driving before I leave the car and decide to just eat one of the canned foods we have at home," you say, forcing him to look forward again.

"I'd rather you don't," he answers, briefly looking at you one more time before driving off.

As Mingyu parks the car in front of a restaurant the size of half of the apartment building you live in, your eyes widen. He doesn't stop surprising you. "This isn't where we are eating, is it?" You gawk at the front while he steps out of the car. He's lucky you are too busy admiring the space to open your own door, feeling a little giddy as he opens it for you and extends his hand forward to help you out. "Mingyu," you warn as you look up at him, still sitting inside.

"Come on out," he encourages, refusing to take his eyes off you.

"This is too much. No," you shake your head. "Let's go to like a chuckwagon or something. We can go back to my place, I don't have that much at home but it's enough to feed all three of us, come on."

Your name slips past his lips, a gentle sound that echoes in your ears. "Just hold my hand and follow me, will you?"

"I don't fit in that kind of a place," you still refuse while Nabi watches you confusedly, her curious eyes flickering between you and Mingyu. "You might eat out with your friends a lot and dress in suits and drive cars but," you hesitate, hating how sincere he looks as he still holds out his hand for you, giving you the time to speak but not backing down. "I'm not even dressed for a place like that," you settle for the that simple fact, looking down on your sweater and long skirt. You want to say much more, that you don't and never will belong in a fancy place like that, that you definitely can't afford eating there, or that you are scared of the people inside and their dirty looks.

"You are gorgeous," is all he says before finally dropping his hand to his side and taking a step forward, crouching down on the ground and making himself eye level with you. "Not only your clothes, but your hair, your face, the way you act, your eyes — you are gorgeous."

"Stand up," you whisper-command, looking around quickly and scanning the place for any people around. Thankfully, it doesn't look like anyone is paying you any attention. "And stop doing that. That— whatever you are doing."

He tilts his head to the side, blinking innocently at you. "Doing what?"

"Just stop," you groan, averting your eyes and looking at Nabi instead. "Mingyu is insufferable, baby," you whisper to her and she giggles despite not understanding the words.

Your name leaves his lips again in an attempt to get you to look at him. You don't. But he continues anyway. "Not that there is anything like fitting into a place, but you'll be alright. I promise. Just let me take you to a place I like, have a nice dinner with me, tell me all about your life and act normal. It's going to be just the three of us at the table, and I can assure you, you definitely fit there."

"If I was acting normal I wouldn't be here with you at all," you mumble, slowly stepping out of the car. He immediately jumps to his feet again and reaches his hand out. You hold it while keeping Nabi steady with one arm as she wraps her hands around your neck and rests her head on your shoulder. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't," he assures you with a smile, thinking again about all the questions he is going to ask you tonight as he squeezes your hand in his, loving how they fit together. He steals glances at you as you walk across the street together, heading towards the restaurant that scares you so much. He meant everything he just said — you are gorgeous. And honestly, he can't believe you worry about fitting in when it's him who is scared of not meeting your standards and disappointing you.

"I can't believe you actually took me here," you mumble as soon as the waiter walks away and Mingyu looks at you again. He ordered Beef Wellington for the both of you — a dish you can only imagine the cost of — after you told him he doesn't need to buy Nabi anything because you'll share your portion with her. He tried convincing you he could get her something small or ask the owner for kid's size of your meal but you insisted.

"Do you really hate it so much?" He asks, worries written all over his eyes. You look up, your eyes panicked as you shake your head. Even though you still think he is insane for all of this — for treating you this well without any reason — you don't want him to think that deep down you don't actually like what he is doing.

"That's not it," you assure him, a sigh leaving your lips when he keeps looking at you like he doesn't believe it. "I'm just not used to it, that's all."

"Well, you should be."

A soft smile tugs in the corner of your lips as you shrug casually, "then help me get used to it."

It's all Mingyu needed to hear, a small reassurance that he should keep trying, that he should try harder, and do everything in his power to get what he wants — in this case, you. Nodding, he grins at you as if he was a teen boy seeing a woman for the first time.

"Oh my god," you sing as you take a bite of your food, the meat melting in your mouth. "This is so much better than what we eat at home. Come here, Nabi, take a bite." Mingyu watches you as you feed your daughter while stealing bites yourself, the smile on your face letting him know you truly do find pleasure in the taste.

"Do you always eat canned food at home?" He asks, remembering your mention earlier.

"I'm not sure what Jihoon feeds her when he has her overnight but I usually do unless my boss treats me to something," you answer without looking up.

"Is Jihoon the guy we saw earlier?" This time you do look at him as you nod, tilting your head to the side in confusion. "Is he the father?"

"What?" A soft laugh erupts from you as you watch his completely serious face, the jealousy written all over his eyes. It's quite cute if you must say. "Oh no. Even though I'm pretty sure everything would be much easier if he was my baby dada." Mingyu doesn't laugh which only makes your teasing smile grow. Nabi's eyes flicker between the two of you as she waits for another bite, one you gladly give her. "Relax, big boy. You're gonna get wrinkles."

"Jihoon is my neighbor, he lives in the apartment besides mine. And because he is so kind, he looks after Nabi when I'm working." Mingyu looks at your daughter who has a smile on her face at the mention of her favorite, causing some sort of urge to compete to grow in him. "I don't know how I'd manage without him, honestly. Before he offered to help me, my boss would find people I barely knew that were willing to look after her — mostly people from work."

"I can help," Mingyu states confidently and you blink confusedly. "Let me help as well."

"Have you ever taken care of a child? I doubt."

"I'll learn."

"It's not that easy, Mingyu."

"I'll learn," he repeats, the confidence shining through him. "This little butterfly can't be that hard to deal with," he makes a face at your daughter, making her laugh. "I'm home all day since I'm on break. I can do it."

You hesitate, taking in the sight of him. Not only does he looks confident, but he is also determined. You know he'll keep trying to convince you until you say yes if it means being able to help you out.

"I don't even know you that well, I'm not leaving my daughter with a complete stranger," you shake your head.

Mingyu doesn't hesitate for even the shortest moment before answering. "I'm Kim Mingyu, born and raised here in New York. I have a younger sister who lives with her husband so we don't see each other much anymore due to my schedule. I work as an aviator, and I think I'm doing a pretty good job. I was born on the sixth of April, 1897. I love meat, any kind, really. I love music, I think it's a great thing."

Staring at him blankly, you let silence settle over you before a laugh bubbles out of you. "I see," you shake your head slightly.

"And I also like you and your daughter," he adds, waiting for you to look at him again. As soon as you do, he notices the faint blush on your cheeks and smiles. "Let me do this for you."

"You've done plenty for me already," you argue, trying to ignore the fact your heart screams to say yes and have a reason to continue seeing him. It's your head that stops you though, the reminder of what happened the last time you reached out your hand towards a fire and burned yourself.

"Please," your name leaves his lips, a gentle sound that echoes in your ears. It's always like this. Every time he says your name, you feel sick. But much to your despite, it's not the throw-up kind of sickness, it's more like I don't want to feel like this. "I'll be good."

"We'll see," you mumble as you avert your eyes from him, too scared he'll read your entire expression.

But at that moment, Mingyu doesn't even think to observe you anyhow, simply happy to have made a progress somehow. He doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the night, joking with your daughter without a single care in the world if others are looking at him weirdly. His focus stays on the two of you, making sure tonight stays the best night you could have asked for.

He carries Nabi in his arms back to the car while holding your hand, keeping both of his girls close. He wouldn't say it out loud, too scared what your reaction could be, but deep down, he's already decided you were both his girls. Even if you might not feel that way.

"Will you sit at the front with me?" He asks, batting his puppy eyes at you. You look him up and down, properly taking in the sight of him — from his hair, down to his arms in the suit, to his shoes. There are two ways you think tonight can go. One, you tell him yes and he'll drive you to his place. Two, you say no and this will be the last time you're seeing him.

Neither of them sound ideal, but there is one you'd rather go through. "Sure," you nod, taking Nabi from him as he opens the door for you and waits until you're comfortable with your daughter on your lap before closing it again and walking around the car to get to his own seat.

To your surprise though, he takes the same road he did before, not turning away even ones. You continue talking and so you don't watch the streets as closely, but no matter how much you try, it just keeps looking like the way to your home.

And when he parks his car again, in the same place he did when he came to pick you up, you realize there might have not only been two ways your night could go.

"Thank you," you mumble sheepishly as you step out.

"That should be my line," he smiles, walking with you to your apartment building. "Thank you for going out with me."

You hum back, hiding your smile from him as you let him follow you into your apartment. It's just for a split moment, a millisecond, really, but the thoughts of him wanting to spend the night crosses your mind. You assume that's why he didn't drive to his house but to yours — to make it more comfortable for you with Nabi. Or maybe it's because he doesn't want you to know where he lives, so he could just never show up again after giving you hope.

You quickly shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside. You can't help and feel like everything that happens is just an evil plan against you that will leave you heart broken. Maybe it's good you think that way, though, considering if you always think the worst, it won't hurt you as much in the end.

But he stops at the door despite you inviting him in. "It's late and Nabi is sleeping in your arms," he shakes his head. Still, he hesitates before leaving, his eyes trailing the space behind you as you wait for him to say something.

Narrowing your eyes, you are the one that breaks the silence. "Don't pity me or anything like that," you state firmly and his eyes find yours in an instant. "I don't need any of that. I don't want that."

He blinks confusedly before the panic settles in his eyes. "I wasn't going to," he assures you, almost stumbling over his words due to how fast he is talking. "I was just— seeing where you live. It's not like—"

You rolling your eyes at his panic with a smile on your face helps him calm down again, a soft smile spreading across his lips as well as he leans against the doorframe. "How about you stop talking and just finally come inside?" You prompt but he doesn't move, simply taking in the sight of you.

"I'm going home," he refuses gently, trying to see if the look in your eyes changes anyhow. He doesn't like how it looks like right now. It's different from earlier. Before, he saw a spark, a girl full of personality who he wanted to spend as much time with as she'd let him. But now, all he sees is someone hurt, someone who is forcing themselves into pushing themselves down. "When can I see you again, though?"

Your eyes widen in surprise and you take a moment to think about your answer. He doesn't rush you, patiently waiting while gazing into your eyes as he watches them turn back into the ones he loves. Into the ones full of you. "I need to work tomorrow," you finally say, looking away into the ground. "So if you want, you can take care of Nabi."

"Can I?" He straightens his back immediately. "I promise I'll keep her safe."

You nod. "I trust you," the words escape your lips before you can rethink them, catching you off guard. The only person you've trusted in a while was Jihoon, maybe because you knew he was the only one different from the people you surround yourself with. Well, now he isn't the only one anymore. It feels weird, but also like something you could get used to.

"When do you start?"

"At five. I end at two in the morning, though. Forget it. I'll ask Jihoon tomorrow so it's easier."

He immediately interrupts you, refusing. He repeats how he can do it again, promising to be here again tomorrow at four. Before you can say anything back, fight him or tell him how overly excited he is for this, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. You freeze in your place, your grip around Nabi tightening as you try to steady yourself. He then pats your daughter's hair, gently enough not to wake her up. "I'll see your tomorrow," he smiles, turning around and walking down the hall while you stay in place, watching his back.

You did not think this day would come again, but you might be done for. Kim Mingyu — born in 1897, raised in New York who now works as an aviator — might have just found his way into your heart.

But it's not happiness that crosses your mind first. It's worries, the sudden panic of what he thinks of you, how he sees you when he knows what you do to make money. You've never regretted agreeing to this since it put food on your table and you were able to take care of your daughter alone, but now that there might be another person in the equation, you do question if it was worth it, if it's not only going to stand in your way now.

Instead of dwelling on it for too long, though, you make your way to your bed, gently laying Nabi down and changing her clothes before doing the same, burying the thoughts aside and hoping sleep will bring better things.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It's four in the afternoon when Mingyu knocks on your door. He takes a step back, not wanting to scare you or anything. His feet lightly taps against the wooden floor as he hums to a melody stuck in his head, deciding not to pay attention to how cold it feels here despite him being fully dressed up. That's an issue he can bring up with you later.

The door opens, but it's not the one he is standing in front of. His eyes trail to the side, landing on your neighbor. Jihoon, if he remembers correctly. "Afternoon," he mumbles with a light nod, a motion Mingyu repeats. He doesn't think much of it, averting his eyes to your door again while Jihoon slowly walks down the hallway.

But Mingyu wouldn't be him if he didn't voice his thoughts. "Uhm, excuse me," he turns to the shorter man, causing him to stop mid step and glance back at him. "Has it always been this cold here?"

"Yeah," he brushes him off as if it was completely normal. "Windows don't close completely and water leaks through the ceiling when it rains or snows." Hesitating for a moment, he eyes Mingyu up and down. "You are the dude I saw yesterday at the… speakeasy, right?"

"Kim Mingyu," he extends his hand forward, offering a handshake, despite Jihoon being out of reach.

Thankfully, he takes the few steps forward and holds his hand in his. "Lee Jihoon. Are you a client?" His eyes trail to your door and Mingyu quickly shakes his head no.

"A friend," he corrects. "Kind of."

Jihoon hums as he let's go of his hand, watching the door of your apartment open. "Nabi, I'm right there!" You call helplessly as your daughter's cry echoes off the walls. With a heavy sigh, you greet Jihoon before redirecting your attention to your seemingly favorite aviator. "I don't know if this is going to work," you shake your head. "She's been crying all morning and I don't even know what to do to stop it. She's only going to cause you trouble and you're never going to want to see us again and everything will—"

Your name on his lips stops your panicked monologue, making you meet his eyes. "No matter how she's feeling and if she causes trouble, I'm not going to stop wanting to see you," he squeezes your shoulder, a gentle gesture that is meant to help you feel calmer. To your surprise, it works.

You catch Jihoon's eyes, feeling your cheeks heating up immediately as he smiles at you, a soft knowing one that screams "I'm proud" no matter how you look at it. Hurrying Mingyu inside, not wanting to look at your neighbor any longer, worried he'll make fun of you for this whole situation, you gasp out a see you latter before slamming the door in his face.

"Jihoon seems nice," Mingyu comments as he allows himself to look around your apartment. This time, you let him, too busy running to your daughter and trying to calm her down to yell at him not to judge you.

"He is," you mumble. "You can sit down. Unless all the money you have is painted all over your head and you can't touch anything if it isn't luxurious."

He quickly snaps out of his thoughts and rushes to you. "I don't mind being here," he assures you but you catch him glancing at the leaking ceiling.

"Then stop gawking at everything so much."

"I wasn't—" he meets your raised eyebrow and gives up on lying. "Okay, I might have been. But not because I'd think any less of you. I just like seeing parts of you and this place is full of that."

You don't answer that, holding Nabi's hands in yours and trying to make silly faces on her. "Baby, come on. You're going to play with Mingyu, aren't you excited? You like Mingyu, don't you?" She doesn't even look at you, her cries getting louder. A groan leaves your lips and he crouches down beside you. His hands cup yours as he holds Nabi with you, a soft coo leaving his lips as he tries to get her attention. Your eyes shoot up to him, watching his side profile as he pays her all his attention, acting like it's no big deal for him to be here, like it's completely normal.

But while it might be casual for him, the warmth of his fingers on yours sends a shiver up your body, You're not used to this. Even when you were with Nabi's father, it never felt like this. Like every single time he looks at you, sparks erupt in your entire body. He catches Nabi's attention as much as he catches yours, and while tears continue running down her chubby cheeks, a smile decorates her lips now.

"What the hell did you do?" You blink confusedly, pulling your hands away from him and hiding them in your lap.

He shrugs, glancing at you. "I tend to have this effect on the women in this house," he grins, boyish and pure. It creates a smile on your face too. "Isn't it possible she's hungry?" He wonders and despite him trying to be subtle about it, you see his eyes falling to your breast.

"I don't breastfeed anymore," you answer and he forces his eyes up again. You haven't seen him look at you like that once since you got to know him which honestly surprised you at first. But now, as you finally see him looking, it feels great. "But she should be full still. Usually she cries due to food around six. It's too early."

"Okay," he nods. "Don't worry. even if I don't know what's going on with her, I'll take care of her as best as I can."

"Thank you," you mumble, your cheeks flushed. "Where do you live? So I can come pick her up later. I mean, unless you'd rather stay here?" Looking around, you know he won't pick the latter. You can't blame him. You might not know what his house looks like, but you have a general idea what kind of a street he lives on. It must be a big change for him being here.

"I'll come pick you up," he shakes his head. "I'm not risking you getting lost or hurting yourself on your way, so I'll be waiting for you when you finish." He watches you bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at him. There's a mixture of appreciation and nervousness behind your eyes — a look he just fell in love with.

"Okay," you nod slowly and he looks away again, lifting Nabi in his arms.

"Let's go, little butterfly. Mommy needs to work," he smiles at you while hugging her and your heart melts at the sight. It's weird because you've never felt like this with Jihoon. No matter how good he is with your daughter, seeing him with her doesn't do the same thing to you as seeing her with Mingyu, surrounded by love even though he barely knows her.

"I'll see you later then?"

"You'll see me later," he agrees, leaving you all alone between the four walls surrounding you.

Mingyu rubs gentle circles on Nabi's back as he carries her to his car, never stopping with the soft coos. She seems to relax in his arms, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she watches the buildings around her. She's probably just tired, he realizes as she weakly wraps her arms around him. "What should we do then, hm?" He asks himself while looking at her, finding himself falling for you even more as he carries a smaller version of you in his arms.

"Whose child did you steal?" Seokmin's eyes widen as he opens the door of his house, confusedly blinking at his best friend and the little girl in his arms.

"My future wife's," he grins at the thought while Seokmin's mouth opens wider, no words leaving his lips. "May I come in?" It takes him a moment to regain his composure but he steps aside, creating space for the brooding male.

"Luna is going to lose her mind," he scoffs, still in disbelieve as he follows Mingyu into the living room.

"Who was it, love?" Luna peaks in from the kitchen, the knife in her hand almost slipping from her fingers as her eyes find her husband and his best friend. "Oh," she breathes out, unable to take her eyes off the tiny human being sleeping peacefully in his arms.

"Hi," Mingyu smiles sheepishly, acting as if a stranger's child in his arms is completely normal.

"Let me set this down and get to you, I need to hear this one," she laughs softly while shaking her head, disappearing from his vision again.

Mingyu settles on the couch, making his movements minimal in order not to wake Nabi up. Seokmin takes a seat right beside him while Luna sits in the armchair on the side as soon as she joins. "Well, meet Nabi, guys."

"Nabi," Seokmin nods in acknowledgment. "I'm assuming you didn't name her? Or you just haven't told us you have a daughter, which I wouldn't be surprised at this point."

"No, I didn't name her," he chuckles. "I wanted to stop by and talk to you sooner but then I got… busy," he says the first thing that comes to mind. Which, if he thinks about it, isn't as far away from the truth. He did get busy, thinking about you.

"Busy enough to not tell us you have a child now?"

"I don't have a child," he argues. "But the woman I think I fell in love with does."

He watches as both of his friends' eyes widen, a part of him wanting to hide in this very couch. He gets it. The Kim Mingyu they know has never even spoken of love and definitely hasn't come out his way to find something for himself, but now, with your daughter in his arms, every inch of him wants to do so. His life has consisted of work and flying for as long as he can remember, but now, he wishes to push back the upcoming end of his break as much as he can.

"Alright, tell us about her," Luna encourages, a smile spreading across her lips as she notices the sparks in his eyes when he opens his mouth.

It takes thirty minutes for Mingyu to finally stop talking about you, only because Seokmin interrupts him by saying he needs to go pee. It's only then that he stops daydreaming and meets eyes with his friend again, seeing the proud smile on her face. A part of him also feels proud. It's such a simple thing, a basic human feeling, but it feels great to finally be able to share the love he's been storing inside himself for years with someone else. Especially when that someone are two pretty ladies he wants to cherish and take care of.

"She sounds great," she assures him and it feels like weight lifts off his shoulders. "When am I going to meet her?"

"Whenever she wants to meet my friends," he shrugs casually. "That's completely up to her."

"You're a good guy, Mingyu. I'm sure she'll see it as well." Mingyu's eyes trail down to Nabi in his lap, the thought of both of you in his arms as he talks to his friends and fills the space with laughter clouds his mind. He wants that. He wants to be happy outside of work and share said happiness with other people. He wants it more than he realized before.

"Although, I'm a bit worried." He looks up again, suddenly nervous. What could she worry about? "Have you given any thoughts to your lives before, Gyu? What she is used to, how she's probably used to being treated and how you grew up? What about your work? And hers? There's a lot of variables you need to have in mind when you say you are falling in love."

He doesn't answer immediately, letting himself linger in the silence. Of course he thought about all of these. With how much of his mind you occupy, it would be insane if he hasn't. Last night, as he laid in his bed after your date, the way you live was the only thing he could ponder upon. The image of your apartment — the bits he saw — were still vivid to him. And now that he's seen it fully, it only adds to his worries. Not because he'd want judge you — god, he doesn't think he ever could — but because he can't imagine what you have to go through.

He's never been a lustful man. Not because he wouldn't understand why someone would be, but because there were always far more important things to him he could pay attention to. And the moment he's learned what you do for living, when he heard you suggesting repaying him with your body, he subconsciously pushed every single thought regarding sex to the back of his mind.

While he is certain he could see himself wrapped in your warmth and being intimate with you, the worry of ending up just like the guys you meet at work, of falling to their level, was too powerful. He'd much rather give up on lust fully if it'd mean knowing you feel comfortable and safe with him.

"It's probably not easy on her if she's raising this little girl all alone."

"I know that. Which is why I wanted to make it a bit easier," he nods towards sleeping Nabi and Luna hums. "I want to be there for her, and help her out. If I could, I'd pay for her to live someplace else, anywhere she'd want. I'd design her a house if that's what her heart aches for."

"But I'm also trying to give her the breather she probably needs, so no matter how deeply I feel, I'm not rushing anywhere."

"You truly have grown while I wasn't looking," Luna's smile softens.

"You are younger than me," he reminds her instead of acknowledging her comment.

She decides to ignore his as well. "Unlike you, Seokmin jumped in straight away. I didn't mind, but it's nice that you consider her feelings as much as you do yours. It might not feel like a big deal to you, but we aren't used to it."

"Well, you should be."

"You have many privileges you don't even know about, Gyu," while her voice is soft, her words feel like anything but. He knows it probably wasn't her intention, but it hits him harsher than he thought it would. He never thought of it like this. While he has realized your life must be a lot harder than his with a child constantly needing your attention and no help outside of Jihoon's availability, he's never pondered on all the things that were delivered to him on silver plate simply because he was born the way he was.

"I wouldn't necessarily say it's bad, or that it makes you bad," she continues, "but you can't understand even half of it. Honestly, I was lucky. I don't think I'd be able to tell you everything she had to go through. It's only a guess from what you've told me, but I wouldn't count on that girl's life ever being easier than it is now."

"How do I help?" He interrupts her train of thoughts, blurting the words out before he can think over them. "How do I make this all easier?"

"For now, just continue what you already do," Luna smiles at his eagerness. "And if you are lucky, then you might end up making both of you happy."

♡⸝⸝

Mingyu leaves his friends' house before Nabi can wake up, settling her on the passenger seat after debating if he'd able to drive with her on his lap or not. Leaning over his seat, he also rests all the things Luna gave him in the back. Apparently, Seokmin's cousin visited them last week with a box full of children stuff — a silent wish from their families to finally reproduce as well, they assumed — and now that he has a child with him, she thought it would be of better use with him than them. From what he saw, there is a bunch of books and toys, so he will have no problem finding use for them.

It's harder to carry all the stuff out of his car than it was taking them in for some reason. With one of his hands tightly wrapped around Nabi, he tries his best taking everything else in the other one. He wouldn't say it's too heavy for him, but his grip certainly isn't perfect.

He has to place the box down on the floor in order to open the door, gently moving the box inside with his foot before shutting the door behind himself and exhaling as if he's just achieved the greatest accomplishment of his life. That's truly how it feels. In that moment, he admires you even more for everything you do.

He sets Nabi down in the middle of his bed, letting her sleep some more. He leaves the door to his room open while picking the box in the hallway and moving it into the living room, dropping it all on his couch so he could take a look. There are four books in total which he places on the table in front of him, briefly scanning the titles with his eyes. The next thing that catches his eyes is the worn out teddy bear. It stinks, but Mingyu is almost sure he can wash that scent off. Leaving it besides the books, he roams through the rest of the stuff, checking to see which toys he wants to give your daughter and which look far too dangerous for children to play with.

Once he is done with that, he tries his best washing the stuffed toy in his bathroom. It's the least he can do, he reminds himself. Helping you out like this, getting your daughter toys to play with and making sure she isn't going to catch anything from them — he can do all that. With all you do for her, this is nothing.

He wraps the teddy in a fresh towel when he is all done in order for it dry, right on time as he hears a cry echo off his walls. Panic rushes through his whole body for a split second before he forces himself to regain his composure and rushes to his room, seeing Nabi waking up. A heavy sigh of relief leaves his lips when he assures himself it's not because she'd fall off or hurt herself but simply because her nap ended.

"Shh, it's okay, little butterfly," he coos, sitting down beside her. But his voice or gentle brush of his fingers doesn't help as she cries for her mama. Okay, he's got this. "Mommy is working, bug, it's just the two of us." It doesn't seem to budge with her even a little bit. Less words then, alright. He makes a mental note to himself as he scoops her up in his arms, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. Rubbing small circles on her back with his thumb, he carries her out into the living room.

It seems to work a little as her little fingers reach up to grab onto his hair, playing with it while her cries slowly quiet down. He barely feels it due to the strength she has but it makes him smile nonetheless. "We'll be okay even without mommy for a while, right baby?" He turns his head slightly to look at her and she raises her head as well, her glossy eyes meeting his as she nods, her lips pressed in a thin line. She's trying to hold back her tears, he realizes. "Oh, Nabi, you are just the strongest little girl, aren't you?"

Thankfully, luck seems to be on his side today. Nabi plays with the toys laid out on the couch as soon as he sets her down, slowly forgetting all about waking up in a space she doesn't recognize. Mingyu watches her with a smile, holding a doll in his own hand and letting her lead the story while her giggles echo in his house.

The same place that felt empty and suffocating just a week ago now brings a smile to his lips, all thanks to stumbling upon you that night. He's realizing this was exactly what he needed, what he wishes would fill these walls — giggles, smiles, love. And while it's just him and your daughter at the moment, he can see you clearly in his mind. Sitting on the couch behind Nabi, playing with her with a smile on your face and laugh that makes him fall even deeper in love. He can imagine you comfortably laying in his bed, his arms wrapped around your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, listening to your soft breathing.

He can see both of you filling this house, turning what was once quiet and boring into something exciting, something he could look forward to coming home to.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Nabi is fast asleep in his car as Mingyu waits for you to come out, leaning his back against the same wall he did when he invited you to dinner. It's rather quiet at this hour, even though he can hear soft music coming from the speakeasy. But other than that, the streets of New York are calm this late into the night.

The front door opens and his eyes immediately trail down the figure walking out. It's not you. He ignores the disappointment bubbling in his chest as he sees a different woman locking eyes with him. There's truly nothing he wants more than to be around you again.

"Still not coming in?" Jisoo's voice rings in his ears and he pushes himself off the wall, coming closer to her.

"I'm happy right here," he smiles at her, watching her hum.

She looks around for any other passerby, leaning on the doorframe when she doesn't find anyone. "You truly are a special one," she mumbles as she takes he sight of him in. Mingyu doesn't answer, simply taking a small step back. He's not sure what it is, but this conversation feels a lot different from their first one. While back then she made her intentions clear, letting him know she found him attractive, this time makes him much more uncomfortable. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting."

"For Neve?"

"For Neve," he nods. "She should be ending any minute."

"Yeah, I think she is supposed to end soon," Jisoo agrees. "Although, who knows when she'll be done. The last time I saw her she was with an eager one."

Mingyu grits his teeth together at the thought. Not for the same reasons Jisoo wishes he would, though. While the image of you with another isn't pleasing, he doesn't feel any disgust or repulse towards you. If anything, he finds the men inside the speakeasy pathetic. He understands why you do it, that at the end of the day, you'd probably love to be able to do anything else — and if not then his support wouldn't change — and he doesn't see anything wrong with that. The men inside? He can't say the same about them.

"Okay," he shrugs, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a bigger reaction.

Jisoo blinks at him confusedly before collecting herself again. "Well, have fun then." While her words are likely supposed to get to him, he simply smiles at her. Saying his goodbyes and watching her walk away. He sighs as he closes his eyes for a second, listening to the jazz music coming from inside as he keeps on waiting.

"Gyu," your voice causes him to open his eyes again. He isn't sure how long it has been, but he hopes he didn't fall asleep. There's a smile on your face as you look at him and he can't help but mimic the motion. "Thank you for coming for me."

"The least I could do," he shakes his head, getting off his suit jacket and dropping it over your shoulders. You don't question him, holding it closed with your hands to guard yourself from the chill of the outside air.

You walk side by side out of the alley without exchanging another word. It's when you reach a lamp on the main street, casting a soft light over you, that you reach your hand out towards him. Mingyu's eyes flicker between yours and your hand before the boyish grin you love appears on his face and he takes your fingers in his. His hand is warm to your surprise.

You recognize his car as soon as it comes in your field of view, noticing the messy hair of your daughter immediately. She's sleeping soundlessly inside, much more comfortable than you thought she would be. Not that you'd mind. Knowing he had no trouble taking care of her today only makes your heart skip a beat. "Do you mind carrying her? I feel exhausted."

"Why? I'll drive."

You blink up at him. "I live fifteen minutes from here. You don't have to drive us."

A soft "Oh," leaves his lips, making you tilt your head confusedly. "This is stupid of me. I thought— I didn't even realize I could drop you off at home. I left her things at mine, I thought we'd go there."

"Her things?"

"My friends had a few toys and I got her some clothes—"

"Mingyu," you interrupt him. "You bought her clothes?"

He nods hesitantly, a bit worried what you're going to say now that you're standing beside him. But instead of arguing with him like he half expects you to, you stand on your tiptoes to reach him, steadying yourself by holding onto his shoulder, and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

Mingyu's cheeks are flushed when you pull back, somehow making him even more attractive than he already was. "We can get back to your place," you nod, walking around him and getting into the back of his car, a chuckle leaving your lips when he stays glued in place. "Come on, big boy, the car isn't going to drive itself."

It is safe to say you mess with Mingyu's head. As he sits behind the wheel and starts the car, all he can think about is how pretty you look in the back of his car and how soft your lips felt on his cheek. He's getting red all over again, but he doesn't care. He can just blame it on the cold if you question him. Clearing his throat and doing his best to look ahead at the road, he drives the now familiar road back to his house.

Surprised doesn't feel like a strong enough emotion as you look at the house he parked in front of. Just looking at it from outside, you guess you could fit five families inside. When you lived with your parents, your house wasn't small, it was much bigger than the apartment you have now, but even then when you thought you were living in luxury, it couldn't compare to the house he owns.

"This is yours?"

"All mine," he nods, his hand finding your lower back as he leads you inside, holding Nabi with the other one. The four am on his clock greets him as soon as he walks past it, deciding to ignore the late hour when there are far more important things right now — like you being in his house.

"She seems to like the teddy a lot, as well as the two dolls," he comments when he sees you eyeing the toys sprawled all over the couch. He didn't bother cleaning it yet, so there is a mess everywhere. But he sure if anyone would understand the mess your daughter can make it'd be you.

"This is awesome, Mingyu," you exhale, meeting his eyes in the dark.

He smiles at you, glad you like it. "Let me lay her down and I'll be right back."

You take your time exploring his living room and kitchen, letting your finger glaze every inch of his furniture you can. Even with the lights off, you can tell it's beautiful. If you could show someone your dream house, it'd probably look a lot like this place. The entire place is so spacious you don't have to worry about bumping into things as you walk, you don't have to worry where you're going to store clothes or eat your food. It's everything you don't have and wish you did.

"Do you want anything to eat? Or drink?" You hear Mingyu behind you but you don't turn, just gawking at the cabinet full of pictures of him. Despite the black and white, you can make out the beauty of his face and excitement he feels as he sits in a plane, the same with the picture beside it where he is surrounded what you can only assume to be his crew. He joins your side, looking at the same pictures. "This one is from last year. I was the lead in a rescue operation. And the guy you see right here, Soonyoung, he was my partner back then."

"You are amazing," you breathe out.

"Well, I think the same about you."

You look up at him just to find him already looking at you, everything about his eyes telling you he means everything he says. "All I do is barely get by."

"You could think that," he hums. "But to me, everything you do for Nabi to make sure she has a place to call home and something to eat, I think of as incredible." Tugging your hair behind your ear, he let's his thumb brush against your cheek. Keeping your eyes locked onto his, you listen to your own heartbeat in the silence, instinctively leaning into his touch. Deep down, you missed this. The warmth of another person outside of work, the reassuring words and smiles meant just for you. "Stay here tonight."

His voice is barely above a whisper but as the sound echos in your ears, it feels much more like a yell. As much as you'd like to call yourself a guarded person, someone who keeps her distance from others and takes her time trusting someone, Mingyu keeps proving you wrong every time you talk to him. He has a charm, you think. A spark in his eyes that breaks down all the defense you try building up and instead of pushing him back allows him get closer.

"With you?" You keep your voice low, matching his.

"With me." His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his eyes falling to them as well. And honestly, as he looks at you like that, there is nothing you want more than to stay here tonight. "My bed is large enough for us all to sleep comfortably, and it's be easier than driving you back so late," he reasons.

"Is that why you wanted us to come here? You wanted to ask me to stay with you?"

He doesn't argue. "Please."

Your breath trembles and you find yourself nodding. He takes a step forward, leaving mere inches between you. Your eyes flicker between his lips and orbs, unsure what to focus on more — the love in his eyes or the urge in his lips.

But just as you are pushing yourself up on your tiptoes again, he steps back and his hand falls to his side. Your mouth hangs open in surprise, blinking fast as you take in the scene in front of you. "You're tired," is all he says before holding your hand in his and pulling you towards what you assume to be his bedroom. You are right.

"Mingyu," you try to stop him but he doesn't look at you, going to his wardrobe and pulling out a fresh shirt, telling you you can wear it to sleep and that he will stay on the couch. "Mingyu!" You try again, this time louder. Your eyes quickly flicker to sleeping Nabi, making sure you didn't wake her up. "Talk to me."

"It's late, and you just finished working," he shakes his head, making you frown. "You should rest."

It's you who holds his hand this time, stopping him from leaving the room. "Is it because of that? Did you remember how I spent my working hours and decided I wasn't attractive to you anymore? Is that why you didn't kiss me just now?"

You can see his eyes widen even in the dark. "God no," he shakes his head quickly, not giving you the chance to continue. "You could never not be attractive in my eyes. If anything, I didn't kiss you because I didn't want you to view me as all the other guys you spend time with."

"So you just—"

"I wanted to give you space."

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and the grip on his hand tightens. Mingyu gives your hand a tight, reassuring squeeze before lacing his fingers with yours. "I didn't want to screw anything up." Gently cupping your cheek, he finds himself gazing into your eyes again.

"Then please, kiss me, Mingyu."

He doesn't need to be asked twice, leaning down and closing the space between you fully. He let's go of your hand only to hold your waist and pull your closer, his other hand holding your chin and tilting your head for a better access. His lips are soft against yours, plum and sweet. Every move he makes, every step, is extremely gentle, almost as if you were something fragile.

You're not sure when you moved back but at some point, your back hits the wall, and you have nowhere to go. Your hands wrap behind his neck and you pull him even closer than he already is, a soft moan leaving your lips.

"I wanted to take my time with you," he mumbles between kisses, his lips never staying away from you for too long. "Wanted to cherish you," his breath shakes. "And love you properly."

Your head spins at the words combined with his actions, every inch of your body itching to be as close to him as possible, wrapped in his warmth. But because Kim Mingyu is the good guy he is, he forces himself back, his hand resting on the wall beside your head as he closes his eyes and let's both of you breathe. You cup his cheeks in your palms, forcing him to look at you again. "You're not doing anything wrong."

You can see the weight lift off his shoulders at your words, smiling at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you chuckle. "Now, you said I can wear that, right?"

Despite you assuring him it's okay, Mingyu insists on stepping out of the room while you change clothes, his eyes only widening more once he sees you again, his shirt swallowing your whole. A part of you hoped for less gentleness and more touching, but for now, you'll have to do with the way he crosses the room and kisses you all over again. His hands stay on your cheeks, as respectful as he can be.

You scoop Nabi to the side, taking a bunch of Mingyu's pillows and creating a barrier between her and the edge of the bed. It is true his bed is much bigger than yours and will have no problem fitting all of you in, but you'd rather be safe than sorry. Slipping under the blanket beside her, you watch the giant man who seems to be hesitating about getting into his own bed. "Come on. I thought you said it was late."

You watch as he rethinks the whole situation, fighting himself in his head before finally joining your side. You turn your back to your daughter to face him, allowing yourself to gaze into his eyes while he does the same. "Can I ask you something?" You break the silence and he nods. "What do you truly think of…me, and what I do?"

"Darling, I meant it when I said I think you are incredible. I admire what you do."

"No I mean," biting the inside of your cheek, you struggle to ask properly and figure out how he feels. It's scary. This whole conversation is scary. But it is one you want to have with him. "My work. How do you… How do you feel about that? Do you not mind?"

"Mind what? You providing for your family? Absolutely not." You tilt your head, serious. A sigh leaves his lips and he scoots a bit closer to you. "I'm okay with you doing what you want to do, if that's what you want to do. I don't— I thought about this a lot, actually. And while I know I don't have a say, the only thing I care about is the fact you surround yourself with people who don't appreciate your worth."

"But you don't think any less of me?"

"I couldn't think any less of you even if I wanted to," he assures you. "And it's not like I don't feel any jealousy, but I also know you are doing your best, and I'll just be the luckiest man alive if you manage to allow me to be close to you."

You avert your eyes from his, focusing on the sheets under you instead. He is too sweet, definitely more than you deserve. "I've been telling you I'll sleep with you ever since we met," you remind him and he frowns.

"I don't care about that. I don't want us to be like that." You keep your head low, listening to him. "The moment I see you naked, it will be because we are so deeply in love with each other we simply cannot stay away from each other any longer."

It's crazy. You know each other for a week. And yet, a smile spreads across your lips as you close your eyes. "I like that," you whisper. "I like that a lot."

You turn your back to him in order to keep an eye on your daughter while his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His head rests on your shoulder, the room falling quiet. It's comfortable, and you find yourself melting into his touch. "But just so you know," his voice is so quiet you're not sure if he wants you to hear and pay attention or not. "If you'd tell me you don't like doing what you do, that you wish to stop, I'd take both of you in in a heartbeat and make sure you don't have to do anything you don't wish to."

Your breath catches at his words and without him knowing, you slowly fall for him. Step by step, the wishful dream you had once build in your head where you and Nabi laugh together, living the happy life you always wanted for her, slowly changes into a picture of the three of you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You're not sure how it all happened, how you ended up over at Mingyu's house every day the following week, or how you got into this conversation. But as your daughter's giggles ring in your ears because Mingyu manages to hold a serious conversation with you while playing with her, you don't ever want to go back to how things were before.

"I promise you arranging my schedule is no problem. I've been taking on any and every shift I could until now because I didn't like being at home. But if you stay here and I get to see your beautiful face every time I come back home, I can manage with a lot less shifts."

"You seriously want us to move in with you?" you question.

"Well, I want you to marry me but I didn't want to get too ahead of myself."

You pin him down with your eyes and he raises his hands in surrender, a soft laugh leaving his lips. "I can't just turn your entire life upside down, come on. Two weeks ago you were flying around the country saving people."

"And now I want to stay home and be with you," he shrugs casually. "I can afford this, baby. I can work less and be there for the both of you. You can't want me to get back in the air without breaks when I finally have something holding me down and making me look forward to coming home."

"But I also can't want for you to do all this for us. I'll feel bad."

He shakes his head at you and leans over the table, pressing his lips to yours. Every time he kisses you, it feels like the first time all over again. You never know what to expect, if he's going to kiss you with hunger or going to be gentle, and that makes the thrill of it all so much better. This time, his kiss is filled with reassurance, grounding you.

"You deserve to get away from that place. You deserve to live your life without the constant reminder of how much power your boss holds over you and that you ended up where you did because the men in your life were terrible."

When you told Mingyu about Nabi's father, about who you thought was the love of your life and how fast he ran away when you found out you were pregnant, he was mad. But the moment you told him about your parents, about your father kicking you out onto the streets because he wasn't going to have a failure under his roof, his anger exceeded all your expectations. Ever since then, the hatred he feels towards men and practically anyone in your life except for Jihoon only grows each day.

If you're honest, it's incredibly attractive.

"I'll think about it, okay? My boss is already mad I asked to be behind the bar and singing instead. I'm not sure I want to see her reaction if I tell her I'm quitting fully."

"And she's listened to you, right? She doesn't force you to work," his eyes flicker to Nabi who is watching both of you curiously, "down there, does she?"

"I'm okay, Mingyu," you assure him but he doesn't calm down completely. "I promise I'll think about it, so you just think about what you're planning to do for us as well, okay?"

"Alright," he agrees even though deep down, both of you know he's already decided. If he wants to stay at home and be with you as much as possible, he will make it work no matter what. "We still got two days before I start again anyway. Should we do something together?" He bats his eyelashes at you with his head tilted and it gets to you more than you wish it would.

"We could," you avert your eyes. "But didn't you say you have plans with the guys tonight?"

"Then tomorrow." He doesn't back down. "Let's go out together. We could go see a play and have dinner," he suggests. You can feel his eyes on you even though you're not looking at him, knowing he's not going to give up until you agree. "What do you think?"

"I don't know if a play is a good idea. Nabi could disturb people around and I don't have anything fancy like that to wear."

"We don't have to go see one, but if you want to, I'll make it work," he assures you. "I could convince Jihoon or ask Seokmin and Luna to look after her and we could buy you a new dress — even though I think your clothes are perfectly fine."

"Mingyu," you raise your brows as if to tell him he's stupid. He immediately leans back in his chair, shaking his head as if to tell you he did nothing. You sigh, pointing down at your clothes, a long worn out skirt and Mingyu's button-up. "Have you ever seen what women wear while going out? It's certainly not this."

"I'm sure Luna has something you could borrow as well," he thinks out loud, barely paying attention to your complains as he thinks about going shopping with you and having you try on all different kinds of dresses. "Shopping. We should definitely go shopping if we want to get you something new."

"Are you even listening?" You see right through him. With the way he is zoning out while looking at you, it's not hard to guess what he is doing. "How about you stop getting weird ideas in your head and start heading out. I'm sure the guys are already waiting for you."

He gasps, bringing his hand to his heart to add to the shock. "Kicking me out of my own house? How terrible of you, darling."

You roll your eyes. "You are the one who wanted me in your house. Isn't that right, Nabi? Did Mingyu want us in his house?" You lean to your girl and she giggles, nodding her head.

Mingyu watches you both, the same soft smile he seems to have every time he is with you spreading across his lips. It's impossible not to have one when you are like this. No matter what you do, if you tease him, argue with him and tell him how stupid he is for being so in love with you, he just finds you adorable. Even more so, when you are cooperating with your daughter.

"I'll be back later," he says as he stands up from his place at the table.

"I know you will."

♡⸝⸝

It's been long since he last visited Minghao's house. Not long enough for him to forget the way, but long enough to be surprised at the beautiful garden standing beside his house. It's also long enough for him to almost not recognize Hao's wife tending to the flowers.

The game is already in full swing when she leads Mingyu into the living room. He thanks her once more before she leaves and he takes the last empty seat at the table beside his friends. Seokmin leans into his side immediately, showing off his cards with an evil smile. Looking at what he has, Mingyu can only assume it's a part of his strategy.

Seungcheol scoffs, obviously not buying any of it. Unlike him, though, Chan, who sits between him and Minghao, seems rather nervous thinking about what cards his elders have in hands. There's only been a few times Mingyu has interacted with Chan. Not because he wouldn't enjoy his presence, but simply because their schedules didn't align enough to give them the opportunity to get to know each other more. His three close friends didn't have the same problems, and so it was easy for them to get close. Close enough that he was a part of their game nights.

"I don't know what you're laughing about, because no matter how I look at it, I win," Minghao shows off his cards as the turn comes to an end, causing Seokmin to groan loudly. Mingyu laughs with the others as Hao takes all of Seokmin's money, enjoying teasing his friend.

"Next round is mine," he proclaims confidently, which only causes another wave full of laughter.

"Leave me out," Mingyu shakes his head politely. "I only stopped by on the way, I need to go again."

"You just got here! Can't you stay even for one game?"

"I need to make my girl's life a bit easier again," he smiles at Seokmin, knowing he'll understand what he means. "But I'll make sure to come back as soon as I'm done. I'm sure there is only as much money you can lose while I'm gone."

"I would run fast if you want to catch him while he is still bidding. It doesn't take long to rid him of everything he has," Cheol laughs and Seokmin immediately hisses offensively.

"I'll be an hour max. I wouldn't miss this."

While the road to Minghao's house wasn't as familiar, the one he takes now is a different story. He's drove to the same apartment building so many times in the past two weeks, he could probably do it blind. He tugs his hands inside his pants pockets as he walks to the speakeasy that started it all.

To his surprise, it feels the same as when he first came looking for you here. He walks past a group sleeping on the cold ground and past people trying to warm themselves up with a fire until he finally reaches his destination, coming face to face with the same girl that helped him get to where he is right now, even though she probably doesn't realize it.

"Every time I see you here I question if you truly mean it when you say you aren't interested," Jisoo says with her hands on her hips. "Neve isn't here today."

"I know," he nods. "She's at my house," he adds proudly.

"Oh?" She tilts her head, a smile spreading on her lips. "But you are here." Mingyu nods, opening his mouth to explain himself. But before he can do so, she's speaking again. "Does that mean you might finally join us inside?" She bats her eyelashes at him and while he doesn't find it at all pleasing, he agrees. "Wait, actually?"

A soft laugh escapes his lips as he hums, "Mhm, I've got some things I want to do."

She doesn't ask further, stepping aside and opening the door for him with a proud smile — almost as if she finally accomplished her biggest goal. Who knows, maybe he has been her biggest goal all along. Unfortunately for her, Mingyu doesn't have much care left now that you've stepped into his life.

On the surface, the speakeasy looks like any other ones he's been to. Jazz music echoes off the walls, accompanied by a woman's voice. The tables are still rather empty at this hour, but there is a guy behind the bar nonetheless. "Hey," Mingyu greets him casually, leaning against a bar chair.

"What can I get you tonight?" The barista eyes him up and down. "Blond island?" He suggests and Mingyu frowns at the chose of name for what he can tell immediately is not a drink.

"I'd like a chat with the boss."

Mingyu watches the barista's eyes widen as he looks around the place, almost as if looking for some sort of help. He seems stressed, but that's a reaction he expected. It's probably not often that men dressed in full suits they've never seen before come in and ask to see the person in charge of an illegal bar. Had it been him behind the bar, he'd also assume the worst.

"Angel," he calls over to one of the girls walking past, heading to the back. She blinks up at him confusedly before hurrying to his side. They exchange a few words together, quietly enough so that Mingyu couldn't hear. "You can follow her."

"Hi," she smiles at him and he returns her greeting. Straightening his back again, he follows her to the back of the bar, looking around as she leads him through the hall. He's never been more thankful for music and how it can cover other sounds around.

"Do people pay more for that?" He wonders, a question more to himself than anyone else. But the girl in front of him glances over her shoulder to look at him, clueless about what he's talking about. "Being loud, I mean. It sounds awfully forced." A soft giggle leaves her lips at his comment but other than that, she doesn't answer.

The boss' office is at the very end of the hall. The girl in front of him makes sure to knock three times on the door before stepping inside, encouraging him to follow. The office isn't anything fancy on its own, plain white walls with only a few closets decorating the space and a table in the center. But then again, there isn't really a reason for the room to be anyhow special, is there?

"Who do we have here?" The woman behind the table asks as she eyes him up and down, her eyes lingering on his muscles longer than he'd like. While the room isn't screaming wealth in the slightest, the woman in charge certainly is. Two pearl necklaces line her neck and she's wearing a pretty red slip dress — one he is convinced would look gorgeous on you. And while he isn't an expert, her earrings and rings look expensive. Unlike the ladies she has under herself, it seems like she has money.

"Mingyu," he bows his head slightly as the introduction slips past his lips.

She hums happily. "Angel, you can get back to work. I don't think we'll have any problems here." The girl quickly nods, excusing herself and rushing out of the room before Mingyu can even turn his head towards her. "Madam Yang," she introduces herself back.

"I came here on behalf of one of the girls in your care," he explains, motioning towards the empty chair a few feet away from him. "May I?"

"Well, of course," she allows him to sit, a polite smile on her lips. "Excuse me for not knowing, but are you one of our clients? Would there be a complain?"

"Not necessarily," he shakes his head slightly. "But I have a girl working under you because of her financial issues — Neve — I'm certain it rings a bell. Well, pardon my bluntness but while she tells me she requested to be behind the bar and on stage only, I have a feeling you don't allow her as much freedom."

"Neve," she sings a low chuckle leaving her lips as she leans back in her chair. "Well, Mr. Mingyu, I never thought I'd be meeting you like this."

"I never thought I'd be meeting you, ma'am."

"It seems we share a few concerns regarding Neve's work life," she hums and Mingyu frowns. Despite appreciating her professionalism, the way she speaks to him is less and less to his liking. "We each have a different idea of what is best for her."

"Enlighten me, please. What do you think would be the best for a girl in her situation?"

"Making more money, obviously. Which she can't do if she's pouring drinks behind the bar. She herself should understand that what she needs to do to feed that child of hers is what I've been offering her since I met her."

"Nabi," he interrupts her. She tilts her head in confusion. "That child as you say with so much disgust. She has a name. A beautiful one if I may add."

Madam Yang shakes her head at him which only makes his blood boil more. "Poor child," she starts despite Mingyu being certain she is his age. Thirty, maybe. "You could never truly understand her or her needs. If those are the things you worry about, you never stood a chance. But that is okay, after all, you are just a man."

In reality it only takes a second, but internally, as Mingyu closes his eyes to calm down, he thinks of twenty different way he could destroy this woman's career and make her regret this conversation. The only thing stopping him are the other girls working under her, who might be in a similar situation like you, who need this job despite everything.

"You're right," he sighs, slowly standing up. "I am just a man, a foolish one some may even say. But I stand by my decisions. Especially the ones regarding this very girl you only use to make money for yourself while giving her barely enough to get by in life." A scoff leaves her lips, but Mingyu doesn't let her say anything. "Which makes it so much easier and enjoyable to be the one to tell you not to expect her to come here from now on."

"What?" Her voice sounds panicked now as she leans forward again, quickly composing herself again when she realizes what she's doing. "What do you— You can't be serious."

Putting on a fake smile, he makes sure to take in the distress on her face. "But I am. You know, Madam Yang, I am a foolish man at heart, and I tend to fall deep. So even if one day she decides she doesn't want to be around me anymore, that she doesn't like me anymore, I will continue supporting her so that she doesn't need to come back here no matter what. And I'm sorry I don't fit your ideal of a man, of those you meet here, thirsting for your woman just to kick them aside once they get what they want. Maybe your life would be easier if I was."

Fixing his suit jacket, he smiles at her once more before turning around on his heel and heading out the same way he came in, making sure to tip the bar and tell him to share with the girls working so hard today.

Mingyu doesn't tell his friends what he was doing when he comes back, acting like nothing happened and laughing at Chan's and Seokmin's failed attempts at tricking Seungcheol. He might find himself in an argument with you tomorrow when he tells you what he did without talking to your properly first but for now, all he wants to focus on are the guys, and the possibility of getting to see you happy because he lifted the burden off your shoulders instead of you yelling at him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Mingyu genuinely couldn't think of a better way to spend the last day of his break than by your side. And as much as he wishes to have both of his favorite girls with him, he is extremely grateful to Seokmin for agreeing to look after Nabi for the night so he could spend some alone time with you. And even though you said you aren't feeling the play he suggested, he was going to make the most of the dinner.

As your giggles echo in his ears, he is more than sure the night is as perfect as it could be. He doesn't remember what he said anymore, what caused this beautiful sound he loves, but it doesn't matter. As long as he can keep listening to your laugh, nothing else matters to him.

"All of your friends sound amazing," you nod while bringing another piece of meat into your mouth. "I knew I would like Luna from the start, but I'm just liking her more and more the more you talk."

"She's really excited to meet you. If that's what you'd like as well?" He asks and you nod immediately.

"I'd love to. After all, I need to know who is taking care of my daughter as we speak, don't I?"

"Certainly," he chuckles. Your smile grows bigger with his and it only makes Mingyu fall for you more. He seems to fall in love with you more and more every day, no matter if you're telling him about something, laughing with him, or just sitting in silence. It all leads to him being more grateful for getting to meet you. "I'm going to miss that pretty smile every time I'm in the air," he mumbles.

"Are you now?" You tilt your head teasingly, but your eyes soften at his words, feeling the same way he does — like every time you are with him, you fall a bit deeper.

He mimics your motion, tilting his head and resting his cheek in his palm as he watches you. "Absolutely," he agrees. "From the second I leave the house, all I'll be able to think about are my two favorite girls."

And there he goes again, making your heart beat faster. It's not only the way he feels about you, but the way he always includes your daughter in as well. Deep down, a part of you always thought that your chances at love or an ordinary life went down to zero when you had your baby, but he proves you wrong every time he opens his mouth. He couldn't get any better.

"Well, then you better work your schedule around so you can be with us as much as possible," you shrug casually, leaning back in your chair.

His eyes widen immediately and he straightens his back as well. "So you agree? You are okay with me wanting to be home most of the time?"

"Yeah," you nod, still smiling. "But I don't want to be a burden on you. You can't just be paying for everything on my behalf. So, I'll ask my boss for more money, maybe it'll be possible if I'm not longer living in her apartment. It doesn't matter, I'll just figure something out so I don't have to keep living off your savings."

"About that," he mumbles under his breath, his gaze dropping down into his plate. It makes you frown as you tilt your head confusedly, questioning what he means. "Before I tell you and you get mad at me, I stand by what I said and I will support you even if you decide you don't want to be with me. Even if you are so angry with me you decide to pack your things tonight — I will still pay for your hotel room and anything else need. Heck, I'd leave you the entire house and go to a hotel myself."

"Mingyu, what are you rambling about?" You interrupt him, your confusion on growing. You have no idea what he is talking about, but if he is so worried about you leaving, it probably isn't anything great. Just your luck, really. Every time you think you are going to be happy, something like this just has to happen.

"Yesterday, when I was at Minghao's, I might have left for like an hour or so. An hour I spent at the speakeasy you work at — used to work at," he corrects himself quickly. Now, your confusion is turning into panic. What does he mean he was there? The thought of him talking to your boss and having you quit doesn't cross your mind for even a second. Instead, you think of him with one of your coworkers, finding pleasure in their company instead of being with you. Oh fuck, you feel like crying.

Mingyu notices the distress in your eyes immediately. "Whoa, whoa, wait. I thought you'd be angry that I went behind your back but don't cry." He's panicking, trying to lean across the table and cup your cheeks. You dodge his hand, clearing your throat as you try to excuse yourself and get up. "Love, wait. Let me explain," he stops you quickly, catching your hand before you can leave. "I know I should have waited for your decision, but I just couldn't stand having others walk over you like this anymore. Your boss is insufferable. And I just— I think a part of me was also jealous, and so I just acted on instincts."

"Which is also why I want to support you no matter what. I'm the one who decided you are quitting and so it's completely on me to take care of everything even if you one day decide you don't want anything to do with me anymore."

Confusion comes back to you as you take in the sight of him — sincere, in love, without any regrets. "You quit my job for me?" You realize.

"I'm sorry," he exhales, holding onto your hand like letting go would mean losing you completely. "I was selfish, yes. But I also thought I'd make your life easier that way. That without your boss making decisions for you and using you for money, you'd like it more if you had the freedom and my support. And I know it sounds stupid because I just made a decision on your behalf and it doesn't make me any better."

"It makes you so much better, Gyu," you quickly interrupt him, unsure if you want to jump over the table and kiss him right now or pretend like it doesn't mean the world to you he's done that. "I don't think I'd ever be able to do it on my own and you—" you hide your face in your free hand, hoping he doesn't see how much you are blushing. "I love you so much."

Mingyu's eyes widen as your words reach his ears, his brain fighting with his heart as the urge to jump off his chair, wrap his arms around you, and spin around while declaring his love to you grows. He is pathetic, and just like Madam Yang said — just a man.

Your man. He thinks. He is grinning ear to ear, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he also hides his face in his hand, realizing how absolutely gone for you he is.

"Thank you."

He brings his hand away so he can look at you, squeezing your hand tightly on top of the table. "There is nothing you could possibly thank me for," he shakes his head. You open your mouth to argue but he continues before you can say anything. "Everything I did since the night I met you is because of my own feelings. I never thought I'd find myself in love or having a family despite my heart always aching for it, so the moment I figured out what I feel for you — how deeply in love I'm falling with you every day — I simply acted on my selfish intentions."

"And yet, they were always the least selfish things you could have done."

A beat of silence passes, a moment you spend simply gazing into each other's eyes and falling in love. All your worries disappear, and a part of you can't believe you ever doubted him. Kim Mingyu, the same man who's already done everything he could for you and your daughter. Of course he'd go and make you quit the job you despite so much. And as much as he says he's done it for himself, because he was selfish, you know deep down, he's done it for you.

"Let's go home?" You suggest, tilting your head slightly. Mingyu swears it's the prettiest you've been since he's met you. He isn't sure why, if it's because of the dress you're wearing, how you did your hair, the way you say home when referring to his house, or the way he can see his love reflecting in your eyes. It's probably all of the above.

"Let's go home," he repeats, his voice soft. All you can do is smile as Mingyu pays for dinner, wanting to get out of this restaurant as quickly as possible so he could finally kiss you. You feel the same urgency, wanting nothing more than to get away from all these curious eyes that you felt like were judging you the entire night and be alone with your boyfriend.

His fingers lace with yours as you walk back to his car, his suit jacket thrown over your shoulders. The cold air didn't even get to hit you before he was already wrapping you in his clothes, making sure you're warm and taken care of. He reaches to open the car door for you but you stop him, pressing your back against it and looking up at him. His eyes trail down your figure, questioning what you're doing. "Didn't you want to go home?"

"Well, right now, I just really want to kiss you since I couldn't when we were inside."

His smile grows as he closes the space between you, his hands resting on your waist as he pulls you onto him, his lips moving against yours in sync. You stand on your tiptoes, a soft, barely audible moan escaping your lips. You feel Mingyu's hands shake as he holds you, the vulnerability and hesitance clear. You don't give him the chance to question anything, wrapping your hands behind his neck and deepening the kiss. The moment he melts into your touch is so obvious your head spins with how in love you feel.

Mingyu has a problem. An aching one that is making him forget he is in public, with you pressed against his car. He is sure you feel it too, there is no other explanation as to why you'd rub yourself on him to test his limits if you couldn't feel him. "Home," he exhales against your lips, forcing himself back. You chuckle as you take in the sight of his flushed cheeks, his eyes wide.

"Quickly. There is so many ways I want to tell you how much I love you," you whisper and his grip on your waist tightens. You love seeing him like this, having him lose control all simply because you said something. You love being the one who makes him like this.

His hand rests on your thigh the entire car ride, making you feel hot. It's not only the way he squeezes your flesh any chance he gets but also the way he looks whenever you glance at him — one hand on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. Mingyu has always been incredibly attractive, you know that. But somehow, he manages to look even better now.

The longer you look at him, the more occupied your mind gets. The memory of your kiss is all you can think about, his clothed cock pressed against you, and his hands holding you. You can't help it and think about his hands on other parts of your body, exploring every inch of your skin and worshiping you like you wish he would. You think about his lips, about how affectionate you can imagine him being with you, how finally, after years, you can see yourself making love again instead of just having sex. All thanks to him.

"Is it weird that I've never felt as good as I feel with you despite only knowing you for such a short time?" You ask quietly, staring at the road ahead. You can feel his eyes on you even without looking, knowing those brown orbs of his are watching you with as much care as always.

"Darling, you can't keep doing that to me," he groans. "You can't just— Fuck." You look at him again, your eyes softening when you see him, his emotions on full display. "If I'll crash this car because I desperately need to hold you and kiss you all over, know that it's your fault," he chuckles lowly, but you can hear the pain behind his words — pain you know he feels for you, because that's just the kind of a person he is. It's not like he's lived your life, like he's known any of the people that shaped you into who you are today, but you still know that he shares all kinds of emotions for them.

While your feelings have mostly gone numb, the previous anger and regret you felt turning into a void, Mingyu feels them for you. He holds anger for your parents and Nabi's father you can't anymore, he feels pain for you, for all the things he thinks you deserve but never could have had until you met him. It all makes him so much more attractive.

"How about you do that when we get home?" You smile.

It's weird how fast and yet tenderly the two of you can move. The moment the entrance door closes behind you, Mingyu's hands are on your waist and his lips on yours. Your back hits the wall and a whine escapes your lips, every inch of your body itching to be closer to him even though he is pressed flush against you. "It means so much to me," you whisper against his lips.

"I still should have asked first," he argues, kissing you again. He is unable to stay away for too long, needing to feel you on him as much as you need him.

"You didn't need to," you shake your head slightly. His hand cradles your jaw as he tilts your head up, allowing himself to get lost in your eyes.

"You are so beautiful," he breathes out, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. You take the opportunity and wrap your lips around his finger, keeping your eyes on his. He pushes down onto your tongue, his head spinning. He wants to take you right here, admire your naked body and sink into you, but he still has his worries that keep him from doing so, worries that he'll be pushing you into something you don't want.

You can practically see the thoughts in his eyes, letting your hands pull up his shirt and wander over his toned abs. "I want this, Gyu," you assure him as his wet thumb pulls away from your lips. "I want to enjoy our free night. I want to have you all to myself," your hands move up to his chest, his skin shivering under your fingertips.

"What if you change your mind halfway through?"

"Then I'll tell you," you promise. "I'll tell you and we'll just cuddle all night again as if nothing happened, hm? I'm not leaving if that's what you're worried about."

Gripping your waist, his head falls down to your shoulder and your eyes widen in surprise. "Does that mean it's okay to tell you how much I want this? How much I want you," he mumbles into your skin but you hear him, nodding as you trail your hands down to his waist.

"Please tell me."

He raises his head to look at you again. Neither of you say anything, telling each other everything with your gaze. His lips are on you again, gentle yet needy. And when you wrap your leg around his side, he doesn't hesitate gripping your thighs and picking you up.

The walk to the bedroom feels like hours. Not that you mind when he kisses you so sweetly, but the wetness between your legs begs for more than just this. You hold onto him, your nails digging into his shoulders until your back finally hits the softness of his mattress. Before you met him, you had no idea they could feel like this. Sleep naturally came easier ever since you started sleeping here.

Mingyu hovers above you, his broad shoulders blocking your view at the ceiling. His knee rests between your legs and you find yourself grinding against him while helping him out of his shirt. The suit jacket of his he gave you fell somewhere on the floor as he was carrying you, so it's only suitable to throw the shirt to the floor as well.

Despite seeing him shirtless before when he was picking which shirt to wear or walking out of the bathroom, it feels entirely different right now. Even though the room is dark, you can see his lines perfectly, the muscles you always admired, the tan you know he has, even the bulge in his pants.

"Mingyu," you breathe out and he hums back, his eyes trailing down your body. His hand slides under the hem of your dress, slowly making his way up and buckling the material up. Your core is still pressed against his knee as you slowly rub yourself on him. He takes his time touching every inch of your skin, just like you imagined he would.

From your ankles to your fingertips, he pays attention to it all. His hands are gentle at first, at least until he hears you moaning his name as you rub yourself on him again. You can see his eyes growing hungry as he looks at you, the urge behind them clear. But instead of acting on it, he presses his lips to your again, trying to calm himself by focusing on something else.

You on the other hand, can't seem to focus on anything but the need between your legs. "Love," you whisper this time as soon as he pulls away to breathe. His eyes widen and his hands grip your waist immediately.

"Yes?" He coos, the proudness in his voice after hearing you call him love evident.

"Please," you bat your eyelashes at him, "Can you please touch me more?"

A groan escapes his lips at the sight, your words doing wonders to him. "You'd tell me if you don't like anything, right?" He assures himself one more time and when you nod your head, he finally let's his fingers dip between your legs, feeling how wet you are. Your eyes trail his entire face as he locks his eyes on your pussy, unable to look away now that he's allowed himself to look. It's so incredibly attractive.

You let him slowly play with your clit and pull your dress off, letting the garment fall to the floor. "Can I taste you, pretty? Can I feel you on my lips?" His eyes meet yours again and you feel like coming on the spot when you see him. It was always obvious by the way he looked at you that you meant a lot to him, and he's always reminded you he wants to be around you, but the way he looks at you now is entirely different. It almost feels like he'd die if he doesn't get to have every last bit of you.

"You want to—" you swallow, suddenly shy under his gaze. "You can do anything you want, Gyu."

His brows furrow together at the answer, something about it bugging him the wrong way. "But do you want me to? Do you like it?"

"I don't know," you admit and his brows dip even further. But this time, it's not in confusion but anger.

"None of the saps you've been with done this for you?" You shake your head and he clicks his tongue, disappointed. "Can I be the first then, my love? Can I show you how good you can feel when men don't just focus on themselves but on you as well?" Your breath shakes as you nod, watching as his frown gets replaced by a proud smile again.

He takes his time kissing your inner thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he makes you beg for more, your pleas a pleasure to his ears. You don't care what he does, if he just decides to fuck you after all or eats you out like he just promised—you just want to feel more.

As his tongue laps between your folds though, you realize waiting was worth it. With his hands gripping your thighs, he pulls you closer onto him, keeping you in place while his tongue circles your clit. His eyes flicker to your face from time to time but other than that, he pays his full attention to your needy pussy. Had it not been for his grip, your thighs would have closed around his head in an instead. But like this, you are forced to feel it all.

Your back arches under the pleasure, one of your hands instinctively reaching for his hair while the other fists the bed sheet under you. You grind your hips forward, your clit rubbing on his nose. His tongue pushes past your folds into your gummy walls, making your eyes roll back. Experiencing this for the first time, you understand why he was so mad no one's ever done this for you. It just shows how much he truly loves you.

"God, baby," you gasp, a loud whine leaving your lips. He smirks against you as he slowly pulls away, his lips glistening.

"That's not my name, love," he teases, circling your clit with his fingers. "Or were you praying for a baby? Is that what you want with me?" He ignores his own cock twitching in his pants at his words, thrusting two fingers into you. With how thick they are, you feel like there are three inside you. "Do you want me to put one into you? Because that works differently, darling. I can't do that with my tongue."

As if his fingers now stretching you open wasn't already enough, the way he speaks to you makes you so cock-drunk you question how you managed to spend the last two weeks with him without jumping on him.

You whine and his smirk only grows. "Did I get it right? Do you want my baby in you?" A part of you is convinced if he keeps going, you just might tell him yes — that you absolutely do. "But we already have a baby, love. You think we can take care of two, hm?"

"Yes," you gasp as he hits your sweet spot, your back arching again.

To Kim Mingyu, there isn't a more beautiful sight. With his fingers deep inside you, your naked body itching towards him and pleasure he knows you hadn't gotten much before written all across your face, the only thing missing is that baby of his inside your belly.

The only thing that compares to how you look right now is how you look with a smile on your face and your daughter in your hands. And while every inch of his body wants to fuck another baby into you, he'll be just as happy if Nabi is the only child in his life.

"My love, I shall die with this image painted in my mind," he groans, lowering himself again and wrapping his lips around your clit. It doesn't take much longer for him to make you come on his tongue, your legs shaking around his head as he helps you reach an orgasm you didn't think you had in you.

And when he comes back up, the grin on his face is unforgettable. He lets go off your thigh only to lace his fingers with yours, giving your hand a tight squeeze as he praises you for doing good. You try to steady your breath, ignoring his comment and remembering the feeling of his lips on you. Now that you've got a taste, you don't think you'll be able to fuck without it.

"The baby," you breathe out when your eyes find his. "Put one into me, love," the quiet plea rings in Mingyu's ears much louder, your words repeating over and over again in his head. He has to fight himself not to come untouched with his pants still on.

"Oh, darling," he coos as if his head wasn't spinning thinking about it. "You just finished and you already want more?"

You nod with a whine, reaching your free hand behind his back and tugging him closer. With your lips mere inches away from his, your voice grows more desperate. "You do this to me. It's your fault."

Another loud groan leaves Mingyu's lips as he drops his forehead to your shoulder, hiding his face so you wouldn't see just how pathetic your words make him. You chuckle at the reaction, reaching down and tugging his pants down as far as you can — even though you barely pull it down enough to free his cock. But that's enough for now.

Your fingers wrap around his length and you look at him, waiting for him to raise his head. He doesn't. Keeping his head buried in the crook of your neck, he enjoys the feelings of your hand rubbing over his tip. He knows you are waiting for a reaction, teasing him, but this is the reaction he is going to give you now, nothing more and nothing less.

But that's enough for you. Because while he thinks he is making himself unable to read this way, you focus on the small details that tell you he is enjoying this. Like the way he squeezes your hand, or the way his hips trust forward in your hand, or the muffled moans against your skin.

"Love," you beg, squeezing his tip. Another groan and finally, he looks at you again. "Will you please put it in?"

That's all he needs to hear before straightening his back and forcing his pants down, kicking them off. He is in a rush, that much is something anyone could tell. And god, do you love it. You pull up to wrap your hands behind his neck, doing the same with your legs around his hips with a smile on your face. His lips immediately crash with yours, his tip rubbing between your folds.

It's nice seeing him like this, knowing that while it was him making you crazy just a few minutes ago, you can make him feel the same way with ease. You pull him flush against you, your chest pressed against his as he slowly sinks into you. Your mouth falls open at the stretch but he never stops kissing you.

"I want you to look at me, love," he says as soon as he sees you closing your eyes at the pleasure. You whine as you listen to him, locking your eyes with his. "I want you to see who is making you feel good. I want you to know you're with me."

You nod, his words echoing in your ears. It's hard to stay focused when you can feel him everywhere; his hands on your waist, his lips on yours, his cock inside you — it's all too much. Every inch of your body begs to just turn off and give into the pleasure fully, but you get why he wants you to look at him, why it's so important for him to make sure you are being loved right now and not just used. Somehow, it makes you hornier.

Your heels dig into his lower back, keeping him close. It's probably impossible for the two of you to be closer than you are now, but you love it this way. It's not something you are used to, and that just makes him so much more special.

"Faster," you plea. A low groan leaves his lips as he speeds his pace, his hips thrusting towards you much quicker now. It's clear he was just trying to stay gentle before — which you appreciate deep down — but you want to feel all of him, see what he can give you even when he stops treating you like something fragile.

"Darling, you—" this time it's a whine that escapes him and you don't think you've ever heard anything more beautiful. You are gone, so gone for this man. You could kiss the ground Kim Mingyu walks on, simply because you know he'd do the same without a moment of hesitation. "I can't—"

You crash your lips against his before he can finish, keeping yourself occupied so you wouldn't just moan with every thrust he gives you. He moves against you with hunger, that you can feel with his every touch. His grip on your waist tightens as soon as he registers the kiss, his fingers digging into your flesh. He will probably leave some light marks after his hands but you don't mind, you can't when your nails scratch his back in return. You might not be able to see the art you leave behind right now, but you know the red lines will look beautiful on his back.

Your pussy clench around him as you reach your orgasm again, his own following right after. He covers your walls white and you truly believe you've never felt better about making a man come. Maybe it's because he makes you feel taken care of, or maybe it's just because of how attractive he is, but you'd like to believe the fluttery in your chest has something to do with it.

He doesn't pull away even after the orgasm and you don't let him go either, the position turning into a warm embrace. "How am I supposed to leave tomorrow?" he whispers against your skin as he lets his head drop to your shoulder again. "Knowing that you'll be right here, in my bed, sleeping without me? How am I supposed to fly anywhere and not crash?"

"You'll need to keep thinking about how needy I'll be as soon as you come back. You can't fall from the skies when you'll have me waiting for you," you smile, pressing your lips to his shoulder. You can already imagine it, having Nabi on your hips as you come greet him at the door with the biggest smile on your face, his open arms as he swallows you in a tight hug immediately from how much he'd missed you, and having him cling to you the entire time he is home.

You can see yourself living like this for the rest of your life. With him by your side.

It's incredible, how much ones life can change in the span of a few days. If anyone told you you'd be having these thoughts a few weeks ago — hell, even if they did just last week — you wouldn't believe them at all. But now, it doesn't seem like such an unimaginable things. You can picture Mingyu being a dad to your daughter, you can picture him being a partner, a husband, to you, and you can picture finally living the ordinary life you once dreamed of.

Mingyu feels the same way. He used to love suffocating himself with work, being in the skies as much as he could, surrounded with his colleagues. He used to hate coming home just as much. He used to hate the feeling of an empty house and no one waiting for him.

But now, there is nothing more he wants to do than be at home and stop flying entirely. Not because he wouldn't enjoy it anymore, but because there are things far more important to him now. He can see himself working an office job if he needs to, being with you every night, and raising your daughter like his own.

He can see it all too well.

Suddenly, being home isn't as lonely as it once was.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Daddy! Mom says you need to go away for whole two weeks!" Nabi rushes into the room dramatically, her big eyes on the verge of crying as she looks up. "Tell her she's wrong! Why would you go away again?"

"Oh, butterfly," he coos, picking her up with ease and resting her on his lap. She's all grown now — a six year old, he reminds himself — but there are still things she doesn't completely understand and takes out of context. "I need to go to work. Remember how we looked at those airplanes last week? I'll be flying a similar one so I can buy you and mommy nice things." Still, every time he hears her refer to him as her dad, he has to resist the urge to quit his job and stay with the two of you forever.

"I didn't say you were going away," you argue as you follow your daughter inside the bedroom, leaning at the door frame with your arms crossed over your chest. "I said you would be at work for the next two weeks."

"That's not fair! Who is going to teach me to read? Daddy, stay home," she begs and Mingyu meets your eyes from across the room. You know this is his weakness. It was a few months after you moved into his house that she called him dad for the first time — it was dada at that time — and he was on the verge of crying as he picked her up and spun her around in the air, making her feel like she was flying. It was huge for him, and seeing him so excited over it only made your feelings for him grow.

There wasn't a single time where you'd question his devotion to the two of you. He's changed his life entirely just to make sure you had everything you've always wanted, from a lovely home to a partner who would stand by you. He's worked things around with his boss and agreed on only taking jobs that would allow him to be back home for dinner or breakfast the next morning, aside for a few exceptions. You could see that it was something new for him, being home for the night and sleeping in his own bed, but you could also see the happiness it brought him.

And every time you question if you made the right decision, if you weren't in the wrong for trapping him like this and limiting his options, he'd greet you with a long kiss after getting back home and reminding you just how much he loves living like this.

There is nothing better that could have happened to you. Kim Mingyu is the second greatest thing that happened to you, right after your daughter.

"Baby, you know daddy can't just do that," you cross the room, squatting down beside his leg and locking eyes with her. "He would get in big trouble if he didn't listen to his boss."

"How about uncle Jihoon helps you read while I'm gone and then you'll show me all that you learned, hm?" Mingyu smiles at her, watching the frown on her face slowly turn into a smile as well as she thinks about it. "I promise I'll be with you the entire week after that. And we can talk about that thing I told you about." Her eyes widen in excitement and you question what he means, tilting your head confusedly. "That's just between me and my little angel," he grins at you.

"Yes! It's a secret!" A big smile decorates Nabi's face as well, her crooked teeth showcasing. "One mommy can't know about!"

"Mingyu," your eyes narrow as you look at him. He doesn't answer though, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head instead.

"Let it be a surprise," he mumbles before kissing your daughter's head as well. Considering how secretive he is about it, it must be something serious. Usually, he'd fold under you in an instant and tell you anything you want to know, but it seems this time he is set on keeping it a secret.

"Keep in mind I can lock you outside if I don't like what you're planning," you remind him and a flash of fear appears in his eyes.

"You'll love it!" Nabi interrupts immediately.

"Of course, baby," you smile at her. Standing up from the floor, you pick her up again, ready to get back to cooking lunch. But you stop at the door once more, glancing back at Mingyu and narrowing your eyes to show him you're not playing around.

But Mingyu keeps a grin on his face, unable to hide his excitement as he thinks about the first thing he wants to do when he comes back from this trip — asking you to marry him.

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[nerdycheol]

Crossing without steps ||K.M.G

pairing: mingyu x f!reader wc: 13k warnings: arranged marriage, classism, fluff, angst, jealousy (as always), oral sex (f!recv.), love at first sight(?), a bit fast paced, might contain inaccuracies(i tried my best), NOT beta-read glossary: i used some slangs used in 1920s to maintain some relevance to the theme (😭) playing goosberry- thirdwheeling, bee's knee's- extraordinary person, to carry a torch- to have a crush on someone, salesroom- salesroom, joe- common man (a/n): part of puttin' on the ritz collab hosted by @studiosvt. thankyou for hosting another fun collab. i swear all the themes are so good for me to give it up. do read all the other fics, everyone has worked so hard :) don't forget to reblog if you liked it and tell me what you like and not like so that i can improve in future :3

“Take your eyes off that book for once and live in the real world.” Pa’s voice pulls your attention from the page to his face, though he is already stepping out of the car. You glance to your side, to where your mother had been sitting, only to find her giving you that familiar look. The one that says you know Pa does not like seeing your nose buried in a book.

You sigh as you slip the book closed and follow your mother out of the car, smoothing your dress as your feet touch the pavement. The building before you is neat and imposing, its tall windows gleaming under the afternoon light.

The bell above the door chimes as the three of you step into the salesroom, the space opening up into polished counters and neatly displayed marvels of modern living.

A man approaches almost immediately, his suit crisp and his smile practiced. You assume he must be the manager from the way he carries himself, the way his attention goes straight to Pa. "Mr. Hong," he says, extending his hand. "Welcome."

Pa greets him in turn. Your mother lingers at his side while you trail half a step behind, hands folded, eyes wandering over rows of new inventions you are meant to want.

“We’re preparing for a wedding,” Pa says after the pleasantries, straight to the point. “Looking for something practical. Something useful.”

The manager’s eyes brighten at that, and he gestures toward a display near the back. He begins explaining the merits of several electric refrigerators, their ability to preserve food longer, the mark of a modern household. Pa listens intently as the man opens doors, points out compartments, lists features meant to impress.

Pa runs a hand along the smooth metal, thoughtful. Then he turns slightly toward your mother. “Charles would like this, wouldn’t he?”

Charles.

The name settles in your chest the way it always does. Charles Whitmore. Your fiancé. A man born into old money and old expectations. The engagement had been arranged long before either of you were asked how you felt about it, two families aligning their interests with practiced ease.

He is polite to a fault, always saying the right thing, always standing straight, always mindful of who might be watching. Reputation matters deeply to him, perhaps more than anything else. Appearances must be maintained, traditions respected, nothing ever allowed to stray too far from what is deemed proper.

You don't hate him. Charles is not cruel, nor careless. He treats you with courtesy and kindness. Yet, there is something about him that feels distant, like a man already married to the life expected of him.

You suppose that, in his eyes, this refrigerator makes sense. Another sensible purchase. Another step toward a well ordered future.

You know better than to interfere. Decisions like these are not meant for you. Your role is to agree when spoken to, to smile when appropriate, to trust that the people who know better have everything under control. So when your parents’ attention remains fixed on the manager and his endless explanations, you take the opportunity and slip away.

You wander past the polishes appliances until something tucked slightly to the side catches your eye. A phonograph rests atop a polished wooden cabinet. Your fingers brush the edge of the cabinet, tracing the smooth finish, then hover near the horn. You imagine music filling a room, imagine evenings softened by sound rather than silence.

“Do you like it?” Assuming the question isn't for you, you don't answer. You continue looking at the phonograph until the lack of response becomes noticeable. You glance up.

A man stands nearby, watching you with a faint smile.

You point to yourself, unsure. “Me?”

He nods.

“Uh… yes. No. I mean,” you falter, embarrassed. “I was just looking.”

He chuckles softly and steps closer. “It’s a good one,” he says, gently. “Clear sound. Strong needle. If you take care of it, it’ll last years.” There is a warmth in his voice as he speaks, a fondness, like he is talking about something dear. “Music sounds different on these.”

You listen, drawn in despite yourself. Somewhere between his explanation, your focus drifts. You notice the shape of his eyes, expressive and bright, the way his hair falls slightly out of place, the softness in his smile that feels entirely unpracticed.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

“Kim Mingyu,” he answers.

You smile. “Mingyu. Do you like it?” you ask, gesturing to the phonograph.

His eyes light up, and he continues, speaking about music, about evenings spent listening. You nod along, asking small questions wanting to hear him speak more. You do not realize how long you have been standing there until a familiar voice cuts through the moment.

You turn to see your parents waiting, already prepared to leave.

“It was nice to meet you,” you say softly. “Mingyu.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he replies.

“See you again,” you add, unsure whether it is something you are allowed to say.

You settle back into the car, skirts smoothed, posture proper, the familiar weight of your parents on either side of you. The door closes with a dull thud, sealing you back into your place.

Your father is the first to speak. "Charles is coming home tonight,"he says, almost casually. "We should start planning about the engagement now."

Ma hums in agreement, asking him if there is anything to be prepared for the meeting with their future son-in-law. You nod when expected, a small sound of acknowledgment leaving you, though the words barely reach you at all.

Your gaze drifts instead to the salesroom window as the car begins to move. Through the glass, you spot him. Mingyu stands near the display, hands resting on the cabinet, his attention elsewhere now.

As the car begins to move, the image shifts, the glass carrying him farther and farther away until he is nothing more than a shape behind light and reflection. You do not look away until the salesroom disappears from view.

A few days roll by, slow and uneventful, until you find yourself out again, this time for dress shopping.

Martha is with you today, like always. She has been there for as long as you can remember, lingering in the background of your childhood. If anyone has ever known you in all your unguarded moments, it is her. She is older than you by years, and yet indulgent enough to let you forget that sometimes.

The shop is bright and filled with fabric, layers of silk and lace draped over polished counters. You move between racks with a lightness you rarely allow yourself, lifting skirts, holding them up to your frame, spinning just enough to feel the fabric sway.

“Careful,” Martha chides, arms already full of garments. “You’ll wrinkle everything before we even get to the fitting room.”

You slow, offering her a sheepish smile that you know she cannot resist. She sighs, shaking her head, but her lips betray her.

You both leave the shop with bags in hand. you insist on ice cream, dragging Martha along despite her protests about sugar and melted hems. You buy two cones— chocolate for you and vanilla for her.

She sets the shopping bags down with visible relief, flexing her fingers as you press the second cone into her hand.

“For me?” she asks, surprised.

“For you,” you say simply, already taking a step ahead.

“Miss,” Martha calls, juggling the cone and bending to pick up the bags at the same time. “Wait. These are heavy.”

You glance back, walking backward now, licking at the edge of your ice cream. You smile at her, bright and teasing. “Hurry up, Martha.”

And then you bump into someone.

Your steps falter, ice cream nearly slipping from your hand as you instinctively step back preparing yourself for an apology.

"Oh!"

It's him.

For a moment, you simply stare, surprised in a way that steals your breath. You had not expected to see him again. At least not like this. And yet, a quiet, unwelcome gladness settles in your chest before you can stop it.

“I’m so sorry,” you begin, then pause.

“Mingyu,” he says followed by your name. “You were at the shop the other day.”

“I was,” you say, warmth creeping into your voice. “How do you know my name?”

He nods. “Heard it that day, at the salesroom. It was pretty hard to forget you—it.” He quickly corrects himself.

Your cheeks warm at that, and you shift slightly, suddenly aware of the way you are standing, the ice cream slowly melting in your hand. Your gaze drifts, then settles on the flowers in his hand—a modest bouquet of lilies and sunflowers.

You glance around and realize where you are. A flower shop sits just behind him, its door open, the scent of petals lingering in the air.

"Are those for your lover?" you ask, even thought you know you might be overstepping, you kind of envy the woman he thought of while buying these.

“No,” he says quickly, almost tripping over the words. “No, I'm not in a relationship.”

Your eyes flick back to the bouquet, questioning without meaning to be.

“Oh,” he adds, realizing, a soft laugh escaping him. “These are for my grandmother.” He scratches the back of his neck, shy, almost boyish. "She really likes sunflowers."

"That's so sweet."

His eyes meet yours, and for a second the look he gives you feels thoughtful, curious, like he is seeing you rather than simply looking at you. You glance away first, suddenly conscious of your ice cream, the slow drip threatening your fingers.

He laughs softly. “It's melting.”

You look down with a small gasp. “Oh. Right.”

You fumble for a napkin, and before you can properly manage it, Martha appears at your side, bags in hand, eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

“There you are,” she says. “I turn my back for one moment.”

You smile innocently. “I ran into someone.”

Her gaze shifts to Mingyu, assessing but kind. He straightens instinctively, offering a polite nod.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

Martha hums in response, then looks back at you. “Shall we continue, or are we planning to block the pavement all day?”

You suppress a laugh. “We were just leaving.”

Mingyu steps back to give you space, though there is reluctance in the movement. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says. “I didn’t expect—” He stops, smiling instead. “I’m glad I did.”

“So am I,” you say quietly.

Mingyu shifts his weight slightly, adjusting his grip on the bouquet as if wanting to continue this conversation with you but the way Martha was gaping at him suddenly made him aware of how long he had been just standing their and admiring you.

“Well,” he adds, lifting the bouquet slightly, “I should take these."

You nod. “Of course.”

You hesitate, then add, “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

His smile returns, warmer now. “I’d like that.”

You walk a few steps before Martha speaks again, her pace unhurried, perfectly measured beside yours. The street noise rushes back in, filling the quiet he left behind.

“Well,” she says at last.

You glance at her. “Well what?”

She gives you an amused look. “You seem to have developed a habit of bumping into interesting people.”

You feel your face warm. “It was an accident.”

“Of course it was,” Martha replies, adjusting the bags in her hand. “Accidents can still be interesting.”

That earns a sheepish grin from you. You lick at the melting edge of your cone, buying yourself a moment. “He was just someone I met once before.”

“Ah,” she says, drawing the word out. “Just someone.”

You walk in silence for a bit, the street opening up ahead of you, warm and alive. Then Martha speaks again, gentler this time.

“He seems kind.”

You glance at her, surprised. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” she replies.

Your steps slow slightly at that. You say nothing, because you do not trust your voice to remain steady.

Martha squeezes your arm briefly as you walk. “It’s nice to see you laugh like that,” she adds. “You don’t do it enough these days.”

You look down, smiling to yourself. “Neither do you.”

She scoffs. “I laugh plenty. Just not at men who bump into me on the street.”

The next time you see Mingyu, it is raining.

It falls with no warning, one moment the sky is clear, the next it opens up entirely, rain pouring down hard enough to scatter people off the street.

You stand beneath the narrow awning of the post office, hands tucked into your coat, watching the rain hit the pavement. A letter has just been sent, sealed and addressed carefully to your brother.

You miss your brother terribly—you had been inseparable since forever. But he left years ago, chasing work the city could not offer him, and ever since, his visits have been few and fleeting. So, now you settle for letters instead.

You snap out of your thoughts when the sudden gust of cold misty air hits you. You have no umbrella and your empty hands make that painfully clear. Midst of debating whether to make a run for it or not, you notice someone step closer, shoes stopping just short of the edge of the shelter. You glance up.

Mingyu.

“Hello,” he says first, a little breathless, like he had not expected this either.

“Hello,” you reply, surprised and quietly pleased all at once.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, then quickly adds, “I mean, not here here. Just… the post office.”

You smile faintly. “I was sending a letter. To my brother.”

He nods, understanding softening his expression. “I had some installation work nearby,” he says. “They needed help setting something up inside.”

For a moment neither of you speak.

“Why are you standing here?” he asks.

You lift your palms slightly, as if the answer is obvious. “No umbrella.”

“Ah,” he says, tapping the tip of his umbrella lightly against the ground, using it for support as he settles beside you. “That would do it.”

The rain pours down relentlessly, filling the silence between you. Without quite deciding to, you shift a little closer to him, drawn in by the warmth radiating from his body as the chill settles into your bones. You tell yourself it is only that, that you are cold and nothing more, an excuse you cling to even as you know better. He smells like lavender and the thought stays with you longer than it should. If he notices the way you move nearer, he gives no sign of it, says nothing.

You wait, half expecting him to speak, while he seems to be doing the same, both of you lingering in that quiet moment, unsure of who should say something first.Then, as if by instinct, you both step forward at the same time.

“Why aren’t you—” you begin.

“Do you want to—” he says.

You stop, then let out a soft laugh. Mingyu too laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly shy. You gesture for him to continue.

He clears his throat, suddenly nervous. “Would you like to share an umbrella with me?” he asks, words tumbling slightly over one another. “I mean, the rain does not look like it is stopping any time soon, so…”

You look at him, something warm blooming in your chest. “You would not mind?”

His head jerks toward you immediately. “Why would I mind?”

You giggle softly. “Then… yes. I would like that.”

His smile comes easily now. He opens the umbrella and steps out into the rain, pausing just ahead of you, holding it steady. You join him, the space beneath the umbrella small but enough. His arm brushes yours as you fall into step together.

The streets glisten underfoot, puddles rippling as drops fall on the ground. He matches his pace to yours without thinking, slowing when you do, angling the umbrella whenever the wind shifts.

You walk beneath the umbrella together, the space close but careful, his arm steady as he shields you from the rain. The street gleams under the downpour, puddles breaking apart with every passing drop.

“Well,” he says, glancing down at you, “this is not how I imagined my afternoon.”

You smile. “You did not plan on rescuing strangers from the rain?”

“Hardly strangers,” he replies. “We have collided twice now. That feels intentional.”

You laugh. “By that logic, I should start watching where I walk.”

“Please don’t,” he says easily. “I’d miss the chance.”

You shake your head, amused. “Do you always say things like that?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” he admits. “Which is unfortunate, because it seems to happen often around you.”

“That is good to know,” you tease. “I was beginning to think you were just naturally bold.”

He scoffs lightly. “I am many things. Bold is not one of them.”

“You did offer to share your umbrella,” you point out.

“After standing there far too long debating it,” he says. “I almost convinced myself the rain would stop out of politeness.”

You laugh again, softer this time. “I am glad it didn’t.”

He smiles at that, adjusting the umbrella as you turn a corner. “So am I.”

A gust of wind cuts through the street, blowing rain beneath the edge of the umbrella. Cold drops kiss your sleeve and cheek, making you flinch.

“Oh,” you murmur.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, adjusting the umbrella, angling it closer. “The wind has a mind of its own.”

“Much like you,” you tease. “You seem to appear when least expected.”

He laughs. “I will take that as a compliment.”

You feel warmth bloom despite the cold, rain still tapping insistently against the fabric above you. You open your mouth to reply when the sound of wheels rushing over wet stone grows louder.

A motorcar barrels past the edge of the street. Before you can react, Mingyu reaches out and pulls you toward him. The car speeds by, splashing water onto the empty stretch of road you had been standing on moments before.

Your breath catches.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, loosening his grip. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head, still a little stunned. “No. It’s fine. I just—”

You trail off, suddenly aware of how close you are now, how the umbrella shelters you both, how his hand lingers near yours as if reluctant to pull away entirely.

He clears his throat, stepping back just enough to give you space. “You were saying?”

You blink, then laugh softly, a little breathless. “I… honestly do not remember.”

Mingyu just laughs, shaking his head.

The walk slows as you turn onto your street, the rain easing just slightly, as if it knows the journey is nearly over. Your house comes into view, its windows lit warmly against the darkening evening.

You smile, a little shy. “This is me.” As you reach the gate, you turn to face him. "Thank you,” you say. “For walking me home. And for the umbrella.”

“Of course,” he replies easily. “I’m glad I could.”

When you step a bit away from him, you notice one shoulder of his his coat is noticeably darker, damp from where the rain had slipped in while he made sure you stayed dry.

“Oh,” you say, frowning slightly. “You’re wet.”

He glances down, then shrugs. “Oh. Yeah. It’s no problem.”

“It is,” you insist. “You got wet because of me.”

“It’s just a coat,” he says quickly. “It’ll dry.”

You hesitate, then reach out, fingers brushing the fabric. “Let me have it,” you say. “I’ll get it cleaned.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to—”

“Please,” you say, more earnestly now. “Otherwise I’ll feel really bad.” You do not realize you are pouting until his lips twitch, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

“Well,” he says, surrendering, “I suppose I don’t stand a chance.”

You brighten immediately, taking the coat from him with care. “Of course.”

He smiles at you, rain still falling lightly around him. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” you reply.

You watch him leave for a moment before stepping inside, the door closing softly behind you. The house is warm and quiet. You hold the coat a second longer than necessary.

It smells like him.

You are halfway up the stairs, still holding onto that quiet, foolish smile, when a familiar voice stops you.

“Where have you been for so long?”

You turn slowly. Pa sits on the sofa, cup of tea cradled in his hand, watching you over the rim. Opposite him, legs crossed neatly, posture impeccable, is Charles.

The smile fades.

“Charles,” you murmur, more to yourself than to anyone else.

Pa’s expression hardens. “You are to be married soon,” he says sharply. “It is not appropriate for you to be wandering about like this. ”

Your fingers tighten around the railing.

Charles lets out a small laugh. “Uncle, do not worry,” he says smoothly. “Everything will change once we are married.”

He looks at you then, expectant, waiting for agreement. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Another soft laugh from him, unbothered. He sets his hands on his knees and turns back to your father. “May I spend a little time with her alone?”

Pa gives him a small smile. “Of course! There's no need to ask me, you are to be married anyway.”

Charles stands and gestures toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

He goes ahead of you, already climbing as if this is his house. You follow a step behind, slower, your stomach tightening with every stair. You already dread the conversation waiting for you.

He enters your room first.

Charles looks around with polite curiosity, eyes moving over the shelves lined with books, the desk cluttered with loose papers and half finished thoughts. His lips press together. He clicks his tongue once, quietly.

“You still…write,” he remarks, glancing at the chaotic pile of papers on your desk.

When no reply comes, he turns to face you, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “I came as soon as I landed,” he continues smoothly. “There is much to prepare for, and I thought it best to ask your opinions on certain things.”

You nod. “Of course.”

His attention drifts downward then, to your hands. You are holding a coat you do not recognize as yours, the fabric dark damp, which he assumes is because of the rain. As he looks closer, something shifts in his expression. He inhales lightly, once, then again. The scent clinging to the coat is unfamiliar. Not the soap used in this house. Not yours.

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“You were out longer than expected,” he continues, voice still calm. “People notice these things.”

“I was delayed by the rain,” you say.

He hums. “You should be more careful. Soon, your actions will reflect on both of us.”

There it is. The thing he always returns to.

He glances back at your books. “You will not have as much time for these after the wedding,” he says lightly, as if discussing the weather. “A household requires attention.”

You manage a small smile. “I imagine it does.”

Charles steps closer, his voice warming, softening into something meant to reassure. “You will adjust,” he says. “I am sure you will.”

You look up at him. His hand lifts, brushing your cheek before tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

"You know I care about you, right?" his voice warm.

You nod, though your grip tightens around the coat.

He smiles and puts his hand down. "Well, I should let you rest. You must be tired."

He leaves your room your room a moment later, the scent lingering, the weight of the coat still warm in your hands.

You close the door behind him and cross the room, the weight of the moment finally settling into your bones. You let yourself fall back onto the bed, arms spreading out against the covers as a long sigh leaves you. The ceiling blurs above you as your thoughts tumble over one another—the conversation, Charles, the future laid out so neatly for you, whether you want it or not.

You turn your head and your gaze lands on the coat resting beside you. The faint scent still clings to it, unmistakable now in the quiet of your room. Your lips curve into a small, private smile before you can stop it.

You can't wait to meet Mingyu tomorrow.

The next noon, you ask the driver to park a little distance away from the store.

You sit there longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the small bag in your lap. You check your reflection in the hand mirror once, then again, then a third time, smoothing hair that refuses to be out of place. You inhale. Exhale. Too many times to count.

It is not like you are meeting Mingyu for the first time, but all those times before were coincidences ,and this was somewhat planned and you wanted to look presentable for the first time.

When you finally step inside, no one rushes to greet you the way they did when you came with your parents. You are simply another presence in the room, and strangely, you do not mind. It gives you time to look around the store— to look around for the one you came here for.

You spot him in the corner.

Mingyu is bent over a machine, sleeves rolled up, hands busy adjusting something delicate and precise. His brow is furrowed in concentration, hair falling forward just enough to look careless. There is grease smudged faintly along his fingers, his focus so complete that the world around him might as well not exist.

He does not seem to notice when you get near him. You clear your throat to get his attention.

He looks up, surprise flashing briefly across his face before it softens into a smile. He straightens quickly, wiping his hands on a cloth nearby.

“You look really busy,” you say, smiling.

“Yeah,” he replies, a little breathless. “No! No, actually, just finishing up.”

For a moment, you simply look at each other. Then you extend the bag toward him.

“I came to return this.”

He takes it, curious, and peeks inside. The coat is there, neatly folded. And beneath it, a small box, wrapped carefully.

He pauses. Frowns slightly. Then opens it.

Inside rests a small brooch, simple but elegant. He looks up at you, confused.

You smile. “Thank you. For yesterday.”

“I was just—” he begins quickly. “I mean, I was just doing my job.”

You shake your head. “It is not your job to walk me home safely.”

“But—”

“Take it, Mingyu,” you say gently. “Thank you for yesterday. I really enjoyed spending time with you.”

Color creeps up his neck, unmistakable. He clears his throat, closes the box, and places it carefully back in the bag.

“It’s no big deal,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“It is to me,” you reply.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his smile changes into a softer one. Mingyu hesitates, shifting his weight, fingers tightening briefly around the bag in his hand.

“Um,” he starts, then stops. Tries again. “Do you want to maybe… have lunch together?”

He barely lets the words settle before he rushes on, tripping over himself. “You know what, it’s okay. You must be busy and I should probably get back to work and—”

“I am not busy,” you say quickly.

He blinks.

“And lucky for you,” you add, smiling, “I am actually very hungry.”

His expression brightens instantly, relief and excitement mixing in a way that makes it hard not to smile wider. He comes around the table in a few quick steps. “Well, that’s great. If you could just wait a moment, I’ll clean up real quick.”

You nod, watching as he moves with surprising speed, wiping his hands, setting things aside, already halfway back to you before you expect him to be.

“Ready,” he says, a little proud.

You step out together, the bell above the door chiming softly behind you. The street feels different in daylight, livelier, warmer.

“Do you have a place in mind?” you ask as you walk.

“I do,” he says immediately. “There’s this small cafe down the street. Nothing fancy, but they serve really good sandwiches. And soup. Their bread’s always fresh. I have lunch there almost every week, actually.”

He keeps talking, filling the space easily, telling you about which days they bake extra, which seat near the window gets the best light, how the owner remembers his order without asking.

Then he stops.

“…But,” he says slowly, glancing at you, “I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”

You tilt your head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Well. You know. Because you’re…”

You understand what he means without him finishing it. You scoff, leaning a little closer. “Mingyu, you seriously underestimate me. I love food,” you say, dragging out the words, “and I’m very glad you’re taking me with you today.”

He smiles at that, a little shy, and you feel a small flutter at the corners of his mouth.

Soon, you reach the cafe. The bell above the door chimes as you step inside, and the owner, a round, cheerful man with a perpetually flour-dusted apron, greets Mingyu warmly.

“Mingyu! Back again, eh?” he says, eyes lighting up. “And… who’s this pretty lady?”

Mingyu clears his throat, slightly flustered. “This is… uh… my friend,” he says.

The owner laughs, clapping him on the back. “Ha! You seem to know a lot of pretty ladies, lucky bastard!”

Mingyu’s cheeks pink instantly, and you can’t help the small twinge of jealousy that prickles your chest. Who else has he brought here before?

You both head to a table in the corner, Mingyu moves ahead of you pulling out a chair for you. You don't think much of it, head filled with questions.

You pick up the menu but can’t resist. “So… who else have you brought here?” you ask, voice light but teasing.

“Huh?” he looks genuinely confused.

“The owner said you know a lot of pretty ladies,” you explain, glancing at him, “so I was just wondering… which other pretty lady you’ve brought here.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I’ve never brought anyone here. You’re the first.”

You can’t help but smile— he looks like shy bird.

He continues, his voice dropping slightly. “He… he once saw me with a customer, and since then he’s been on my back. He’s crazy… no one is prettier than you.”

You feel the heat rise immediately, cheeks warming, heart skipping.

Mingyu seems to realize it too, his eyes flicking to yours, expression caught somewhere between embarrassment and pride.

“Let’s… let’s order,” he says quickly, clearing his throat, and lifts his glass for a large gulp of water. You hide your smile behind your menu, trying not to look too pleased, but failing spectacularly.

The cafe visit passes in a blur of laughter, shared bites, and easy conversation. The walk back to the salesroom is comforting— you get to know about Mingyu's obsession with reading books— one thing you both had in common among other things.

The conversation drifts effortlessly, touching on little curiosities and passions, until the shop comes back into view, and the comfort of the walk lingers long after.

When you reach the entrance, you pause. “Thank you again, Mingyu,” you say, smiling. “I had a really nice time.”

“Me too,” he replies, his own smile warm, a little shy.

Mingyu watches you go, shoulders tense for a moment, eyes following your figure until it disappears from sight. He doesn’t even notice the hum of the street around him.

A voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you in love, my boy?”

Mingyu jumps, spinning around to see Jeonghan peeking over his shoulder, smirking.

“What?” Mingyu says, heart suddenly racing.

Jeonghan's smile turn into a genuine one. “You're carrying a torch, oh my god.”

“I’m not,” Mingyu insists, brushing it off, though his voice wavers.

Jeonghan just shakes his head and sings, loud and teasing, “You are in love, so in love…” before turning back to his work with a triumphant grin.

Mingyu groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not in love, okay? She’s just… a friend.”

Jeonghan, still smirking, hums teasingly, “Loooveeee…”

“Shut up!” Mingyu snaps, red creeping across his ears, but there’s no real conviction in his voice. You linger in his thoughts far longer than he cares to admit.

Much to Mingyu’s quiet dismay, a week passes without a single glimpse of you.

He keeps himself busy, or at least he tries to. He throws himself into work, fixes machines with more focus than necessary, lingers longer than usual while locking up. Still, his eyes wander. Every other day he finds himself passing the flower shop, slowing near the post office, pretending he has errands when really he is only hoping. Each time, he leaves with empty hands and a heavier chest.

He even postpones his monthly trip to the bookstore, something he never does, telling himself he will go next week when his head is clearer. It never quite is. By the end of the week, the absence feels loud enough that he gives in and heads to the bookstore anyway, convinced a stack of fresh pages might help.

It is there, between shelves and spines, that the heavens finally take pity on him.

As he turns into another aisle, he bumps straight into someone. He looks up, already forming an apology, and then his breath catches.

Your name slips off his tongue with an unmistakable excitement.

He blinks, half certain he has imagined you, then immediately stiffens, realizing how creepily cheerful that must have sounded. You, on the other hand, look delighted.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you say, eyes bright. You glance around at the shelves. “Are you here to buy books too?”

His shoulders ease as he smiles. “Yeah. I was starting to think I’d never run into you again. I’m glad we met like this.”

“I’ve been busy this week,” you say. “My birthday preparations took over everything and—.” Then, quieter, almost lost between words, “I missed you.”

He stills, surprise flickering across his face. Thinking how wrong it might have come off as, you shake your hand quickly.

“No, no” you rush, cheeks warm. “I mean—it was fun spending time with you. I missed spending spending with you.”

His laugh comes easy, relieved. “I missed you too.”

“Really?” you ask, smiling.

He nods, then tilts his head. “It’s your birthday? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

You laugh. “How could you? I never told you.”

“Well,” he says gently, “happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you reply, then pause. “It’s tomorrow. If you’re free… I’d really like you to join.”

You pull an invitation card from your purse and hold it out to him. He takes it carefully, like it might disappear if he grips it too tightly.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’ll try to come.”

Before you can say more, a familiar voice calls out to you from the front of the shop, reminding you that you have to leave, that your father will be home soon. It's the same woman he saw you with the other day.

"Just a minute, Martha." you call back, then turn to Mingyu once more. “I really hope you’d come.”

You give him a smile, warm and lingering, before moving away to check out your books.

Mingyu stands there a moment longer than necessary. The faint scent of vanilla trails in your wake, already missed. He looks down at the invitation card in his hands, thumb brushing the edge, a small smile settling on his face.

He folds the card neatly and slips it into his coat pocket, right over his heart, before finally turning back to the shelves. The books blur together now, their titles meaningless. His mind is already elsewhere, already counting the hours, already hoping.

For the first time all week, the wait feels bearable.

Mingyu stands outside your house longer than he should, invitation card folded and unfolded between his fingers. The place is lit up like it is holding its breath, windows glowing warm against the night, laughter slipping out through the walls. He looks down at himself, suddenly aware of how little he belongs here, and for a brief moment, he considers turning back.

But it is your birthday.

So he straightens his coat and steps inside.

The house is transformed. Garlands of soft lights trail along the banisters, flowers spill from vases in careful arrangements, pale ribbons woven between them. Music hums low and elegant, conversations overlapping in polished tones. Everyone looks effortless and expensive, silk dresses brushing marble floors, tailored suits pressed sharp. Mingyu feels like he has walked into another world, one he is only meant to observe.

He accepts a glass of wine from a passing servant, murmurs a thank you, and drifts toward the corner of the room where he can breathe. He tells himself he will just wait, wish you well, and leave quietly.

When you appear, the room seems to notice before him— conversations pause, heads turn. You descend the stairs in a burgundy floor-length gown with intricate black beadwork, a fitted silhouette, and you look—you look angelic.

Compliments follow you down the steps, voices praising your beauty, your grace. You thank them all with a practiced smiling but your eyes wander around the room looking for a particular someone.

When your eyes land at him your smiles changes to a warmer one. You lift a hand and wave. Mingyu lifts his glass in return, heart thudding a little too fast.

You start toward him but are intercepted, pulled gently into another conversation.

Fifteen minutes go by and eventually the cake is brought out, candles lit, people crowding close to feed you the first bite.

A man, who's almost Mingyu's age, stands constantly beside you, too close for his comfort. Mingyu does not know who he is, but the sight leaves something unsettled in his chest.

He looks away, focuses instead on the table beside him. Cheeses laid out in careful rows, shapes and textures he has never seen before. He takes another sip of wine, pretending to study them, pretending he does not feel out of place. Mingyu knows that he shouldn't be feeling all this, he shouldn't be here at the first place, he shouldn't…like you.

A hand lands on his shoulder. He turns startled.

You are there, smiling up at him, close enough that he can smell your perfume.

“Happy birthday,” he starts to say.

You do not let him finish.

You take his hand, and without a word, you pull him gently toward the stairs, away from the noise, away from the watching eyes, leaving the party humming behind you as you lead him upstairs.

As you both reach the terrace you turn to face him, hands still warm from his. You tilt your head, eyes bright with expectation. “So?” you ask.

He blinks. “So…?”

You tut playfully, lips forming a small pout. “You know,” you say, dragging it out. “You’re the only one who hasn’t given me a gift.”

His eyes widen just a fraction. “I—” He hesitates, then exhales. “I was going to—”

You chuckle watching him stutter as if caught doing something wrong. "It's okay, I was just joking."

Mingyu's hand reaches to his pocket, feeling the box inside. He hesitates for a bit before taking it out and handing it to you.

“It’s not that good,” he rushes out. “I couldn’t think of anything and I didn’t know what you’d like and I’m terrible at this, I swear—” Mingyu keeps on blabbering which stops when he hears you gasp.

A locket with your name engraved on it.

Before he can react you step forward and wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his chest. He freezes for half a second—then his arms come around you, tentative, like he’s afraid of doing it wrong.

“I love this,” you murmur, voice thick. “A lot.”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re crying.”

“I am not,” you sniff, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your eyes are glossy, smile soft. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You glance back down at the locket, fingers tracing the engraving. “Help me put it on?”

His hands brush your neck as he fastens the chain, careful, reverent. When he’s done, his fingers linger for half a second too long.

Mingyu’s hands drop back to his sides, but you can still feel the ghost of his touch at your neck. He clears his throat. “It looks… nice on you.”

You turn to look at him properly, "thank you, for this." you motion to the locket which rests beautifully on your neck now. "And for coming today. I would've have been really lonely today."

"Anything for you." Mingyu whispers.

What began as chance meetings quietly turned into something deliberate. You started sneaking out at late hours, excuses ready on your tongue, just to steal a few moments with him over shared snacks and hushed laughter.

The salesroom became familiar, almost comforting, its corners holding pieces of your routine now. You knew the creak of the floorboards, the hum of machines, the names and habits of the people who worked there. Jeonghan, who always seemed to be around, took an immediate liking to you, greeting you with exaggerated bows and relentless teasing, much to Mingyu’s embarrassment.

Bookstores became another refuge, aisles and back corners offering privacy. You were rarely together in open spaces, a rule Mingyu insisted on, always careful, always wary of being seen. You thought it unnecessary, even foolish, argued with him more than once, but he never budged, his concern quiet and unyielding.

When the walls of public places felt too thin, you found yourselves retreating to his house instead—talking, reading, doing your own things in the same room.

The more time you spent at the salesroom, the more curious you became about the machines themselves. You asked questions endlessly, about gears and levers and sounds, watching the way Mingyu’s hands moved as he worked.

You knew you distracted him, could see it in the way he paused mid task to answer you, so one evening you asked properly, if he would teach you how one of them worked, a phonograph sitting proudly near the front. He had smiled then, surprised but pleased, and agreed.

Now it is past ten, the city outside long settled into sleep. Jeonghan has already gone, leaving the closing to Mingyu as promised.

The salesroom looks different at night. When Mingyu switches on the small table lamp, only one corner of the room is washed in warm yellow light, the rest sinking into shadows. The phonograph sits between you. Mingyu rolls up his sleeves and begins to explain, careful and patient, pointing out each part, his voice softer than usual in the quiet. You nod along, eyes following his hands more than the machine itself.

“Now you try,” he says, stepping back to give you space.

You do exactly as he showed you. Or at least, you try. The needle slips, the sound comes out wrong, and the machine gives a weak, pitiful noise. You freeze, then burst into laughter.

“Gently,” he says, guiding your hand. “You rush things.”

“I am being gentle,” you protest, concentrating far too hard.

You try again but the needle slips.

"Wow. So impressive." Mingyu says flatly.

You swat his arm. “You’re a terrible teacher.”

“I showed you exactly what to do.”

“And I did exactly that,” you insist, fiddling with the machine again, tongue peeking out in focus.

He stops correcting you. Just watches. The way you lean closer, the way your brows knit together in concentration, the way you smile to yourself when the sound almost comes out right. There’s something soft in his gaze now, something unguarded, like he’s already lost a battle he never meant to fight.

“Careful,” he murmurs, quieter. “You’ll break it.”

“Then you’ll just have to fix it,” you say lightly, not looking at him.

You both might have been a bit too loud, because you hear footsteps echoing outside the door.

Mingyu stiffens. “Oh shit.”

In one quick motion, he switches off the phonograph, plunges the room into darkness, and tugs you down with him beneath the table. You let out a small, breathless giggle before you can stop yourself, the thrill of it all bubbling up. His hand comes up instinctively, covering your mouth as he leans close.

“Shh,” he whispers.

You nod, eyes wide, laughter trapped behind his palm. You don’t struggle. You just look at him, close enough now to make out the shape of his face in the dark.

The footsteps pause. Mingyu holds still, barely breathing, eyes scanning the sliver of light beyond the tablecloth. Seconds stretch. Then the steps move on, fading into nothing.

Slowly, his attention comes back to you.

He lowers his hand, careful, hesitant. “You alright?” he whispers.

You nod again. He breathes out, relief softening him, and then he notices the way you’re still looking at him. He says your name, barely more than a breath.

He leans in too, instinct overtaking sense, and then the reminder settles heavy in his chest—this is wrong, you are engaged. He pulls back abruptly and tries to stand, forgetting entirely where he is.

Thump. Mingyu's head hits the table. “Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his head.

You reach for him immediately. “Are you alright?”

He lets out a short laugh. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he says, then straightens, suddenly all nerves. “I think the guard’s gone. We should leave. Before we get caught for real this time.”

You nod, even as disappointment settles quietly in your chest. You follow him out of the darkened salesroom, heart still racing.

On your way back, you don't talk as much as you do usually. He drops you off a little distance away, careful as always. You slip back into the house quietly, shoes in hand, heart still racing but unworried. Pa and Ma would be fast asleep by now. You climb the stairs on light steps, already picturing your bed, when a voice stops you cold.

“You shouldn’t be out at this time.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “Martha,” you whisper, clutching your chest, “you scared me.”

“And you doing this scares me,” she replies, unimpressed.

You resume walking, Martha following close behind. “Doing what?” you ask, though you already know.

“Spending time with a joe,” she says, lowering her voice, “and that too this late.”

You sigh. “Martha, not you too.”

Inside your room now, you slip off the coat and place it carefully on the chair. You sit at your dressing table, fingers moving automatically as you unclasp your jewellery, the quiet ticking of the clock suddenly too loud. Martha stands behind you, arms folded.

She calls your name softly. “It was fine till the birthday party. But I fear this is escalating into something that will put you in a difficult position.”

You turn your head slowly. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then says it anyway, voice dropping at the end. “I've been noticing how you've changed since you've met him. You can't do things like this—like sneaking out of the house late at night, like lying to your parents, like… like falling in love.”

Your eyes widen as if she has uttered something forbidden. “Martha!”

She exhales, tired. “Love can be fickle, dear. Mingyu is a nice person, no doubt. But you are engaged. And if anyone even gets a whiff of what you’re doing, it would do great harm. To Charles. To your family. To him” Her voice softens. “I care for you, honey. I’m worried about your future.”

You say nothing. Just look at her through the mirror.

Martha sighs again, defeated. “You should sleep. You have breakfast with Charles tomorrow.”

She leaves, closing the door gently behind her.

You turn back to the mirror. The girl staring back at you looks unfamiliar, cheeks still warm, eyes too bright. Your gaze drifts to the coat resting nearby, still carrying his scent, faint and unmistakable.

You swallow.

You, in love with Mingyu?

Charles insists on breakfast outside, saying it would be nice to have some time alone before the day properly begins. You agree, though a part of you would have preferred the quiet safety of home. The café he chooses is refined, all polished tables and hushed voices.

He pulls out your chair for you, smiling. “You look well this morning,” he says, warm, familiar. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yes,” you reply, managing a smile of your own. “Thank you for asking.”

You talk easily at first, about small things, about the weather, about the wedding preparations that seem to follow you everywhere. Charles asks your opinion on flowers, on the guest list, on trivial details, listening attentively, nodding as if each answer matters. A server approaches, a young man fumbling slightly as he pours water, spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth.

Charles’ expression hardens instantly.

“Do be careful,” he snaps, sharp and cutting. “This isn’t a roadside stall.”

The server stammers an apology, face flushing as he hurriedly wipes the table. Charles waves him off with an impatient gesture, already turning back to you.

“Honestly,” he says lightly, as if nothing has happened. “Standards seem to slip more every day.”

Your chest tightens. You glance at the server retreating, shoulders hunched, and something twists painfully inside you. You think of Mingyu, of his patience, his quiet respect, the way he spoke to everyone as if they mattered. The contrast is jarring.

Charles fixes his sleeve, turning to you with a tight smile, and continues to talk. His voice is steady and composed, but the words drift past you without settling. Your mind keeps wandering back to Mingyu, to the warmth of his laugh, the way he looked at you like you were something rare. Martha’s words from the night before echo again, heavier now, harder to ignore.

“—and the guest list should be finalized by next week,” Charles says.

You don’t respond.

“Darling?” he tries again.

Nothing.

He says your name once more, firmer this time. “Are you listening?”

You blink, startled, pulled back into the present. “I’m sorry, what?”

He studies you for a moment, concern flickering across his face. “I was saying we need to decide on the venue for the rehearsal dinner. Mother prefers something formal. I thought perhaps the Whitmore estate would be suitable.”

“Sounds good,” you say automatically.

He continues, warming to the subject. “We’ll need to schedule fittings, and there’s the matter of the invitations. I want everything to be impeccable. People remember these things.” He smiles at you, reaching for your hand. “I want our life to begin properly.”

You nod, but the thought makes your chest feel hollow. You try to imagine it, standing beside him, building a life that looks perfect from the outside. But you can’t picture your heart racing the way it does with Mingyu, can’t imagine laughing without restraint, or feeling seen in the quiet moments.

Charles squeezes your hand gently. “You’ll be happy,” he says, certain. “We’ll be very good together.”

But inside, you know it isn’t the same. He doesn’t make your pulse quicken. He doesn’t linger in your thoughts when he leaves the room. Your heart doesn't beat for him the same way it does for Mingyu.

And that realization settles in your chest, heavy and undeniable.

You push your chair back suddenly, the sound scraping a little too loud against the floor.

“I need to go,” you say.

Charles looks up at you, startled. “Go? Now?” He sets his cutlery down, confusion clear on his face. “Where do you need to be? I can have the driver take us.”

“It’s something I just remembered,” you reply quickly, already reaching for your bag. “You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

He studies you, concern creeping in. “Are you unwell?”

“No,” you say, softening your voice. “I’m fine. Truly.” You manage a small smile. “Thank you for breakfast, Charles.”

You don’t trust yourself to say anything more. You turn and leave before he can ask another question.

The car ride is quiet. Your hands twist in your lap, thoughts racing, heart pounding with a strange urgency you don’t fully understand. When the driver slows near the salesroom, you step out almost before the car comes to a full stop.

You take a few hurried steps forward.

Then you stop.

Not far from the entrance, Mingyu stands with a woman you don’t recognize. She’s close to him, closer than you’ve ever been in public. She reaches up, brushes his hair aside with easy familiarity, laughing at something he says. He bends slightly toward her, smiling, relaxed in a way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t like the way it looks. You don’t like how quickly your throat tightens. You don’t like how small you suddenly feel.

Without thinking, you turn back.

You open the car door and slide in, avoiding the window. “Take me home,” you say quietly.

With only a month left to the wedding, everything around you moves at a relentless pace. There are fittings and meetings and lists that never seem to end. And yet, in the quiet moments between it all, your thoughts betray you. They drift to Mingyu. To that night at the salesroom. To the way you stopped going there after seeing him with that woman. You have not spoken since.

“I like this one. What about you, honey?” your mother’s voice pulls you back.

You lift your eyes to the mirror. The gown you’re wearing is white and luminous, silk falling softly against your figure, delicate embroidery catching the light with every small movement. It is beautiful. Effortlessly so. Anyone would look at you and see a bride ready for her future. You look at your mother’s reflection and nod, smiling.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s lovely.”

She smiles back, pleased, adjusting the veil with gentle hands. “You look radiant,” she says, proud.

The drive home is quiet, the gown carefully packed away, your mind still elsewhere. When you step inside the house, setting your things down, a familiar voice carries from the sitting room.

You stop short.

You freeze for half a second before your heart leaps. “Joshua?” you call out, disbelief turning into joy as you rush forward.

He barely has time to brace himself before you throw your arms around him. He laughs, arms wrapping around you just as tightly. “Missed me that much, huh?”

You pull back just enough to look at him, smiling so wide it almost hurts. “You have no idea,” you say, hugging him again, holding on like you’re afraid he might disappear.

Joshua pulls back just enough to look at you properly, his eyes narrowing in that familiar, annoying way that means he’s knows everything.

“Well,” he says slowly, lips twitching, “I’ve been told you’ve been acting… strange.”

You frown. “Strange how?”

He hums, pretending to think. “Quiet. Distant. Smiling at walls. Very unlike my little sister.” He leans closer, mock-serious. “Someone even said you look like you’re about to bolt at any given moment.”

You scoff and jab him lightly in the stomach. “Stop listening to gossip.”

He laughs, catching your wrist easily. “I knew it. Hit a nerve.” His voice softens as he lets go. “Big wedding coming up. Guess that’ll do that to a person.”

You shrug, suddenly finding the carpet very interesting. “It’s just… a lot.”

Joshua studies you for a moment, the teasing fading into something gentler. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I can see that.”

Joshua spots your mom hovering near the doorway and immediately lights up.

"Ma," he says fondly, stepping past you. He bends down and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

She laughs, swatting lightly at his arm. “Flatterer. When did you get so smooth?”

“Born this way,” he grins, then glances back at you, eyes sparkling. “Clearly the good genes skipped someone, though.”

“JOSHUA,” you protest, shoving him again.

Joshua laughs, pinching your cheeks, muttering how cute you are.

You both settle at the long dining table, the chandelier above casting a warm, honeyed glow over polished wood and porcelain. Joshua leans back in his chair, watching you with that familiar, knowing grin.

“So,” he says lightly, reaching for a napkin, “my little bookworm—found any new treasures lately?” His eyes flick past you, toward the doorway. “Martha tells me you’ve been frequenting the bookstore more than usual these days.”

Martha appears right on cue, placing a small plate between you—warm buttered scones dusted lightly with sugar, still smelling faintly of the oven. You shoot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. Traitor. Martha, unfazed, merely smooths her apron and disappears back into the kitchen as if she hasn’t just exposed you.

Joshua is already helping himself, breaking a scone in half and popping a piece into his mouth. “Mm,” he hums. “Still undefeated.”

“Just trying to give myself a break from all the wedding preparations,” you reply, reaching for one yourself. The scone flakes softly between your fingers, crumbs scattering onto the plate.

He turns toward you then, expression softening. “That makes sense,” he says gently. “Don’t push yourself too hard, yeah?” He dusts his hands together, clapping off the sugar and crumbs before resting them on the table.

Joshua stands, nudging your shoulder with his hip as he passes. “Go rest for now. You look exhausted.” He smiles, warm and teasing. “You can play tour guide later—I expect a full tour. It’s been far too long since I’ve been home.”

Two weeks slipped by. The city moved on, the house filled with florists and seamstresses and quiet congratulations, and suddenly the wedding was no longer an idea but a date looming only two weeks away.

Your father insisted on hosting a party in your name, something grand and respectable, something that would assure everyone that everything was exactly as it should be. You smiled when required, stood where you were placed, listened when spoken to. And all the while, missing Mingyu felt like a clean cut under silk.

If anything, the nearness of the wedding had only made it worse. The farther you forced yourself from him, the more he occupied you. Every time you thought of going to the salesroom, of finally speaking, of ending this ache properly, something tightened inside you—fear, duty, cowardice, you didn’t know—and you would turn back before you ever reached the door.

Now you sat before the dressing table as Martha did the work for the evening, brushing your hair, pinning them with floral hair pins.

The party echoes faintly downstairs—laughter, music, glasses clinking but it felt miles away. You already know how it is going to be— greeting people with a put on smile, mingling in small talk with people you've never even met, searching every face without meaning too for a particular someone—someone who won't even be here.

"I miss him."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

You lift your eyes to the mirror to look at Martha behind you. Your reflection wavers, lips parting as if the truth has been pressing against them for days, waiting.

"I miss him," you breathe. "I miss Mingyu."

Her hands still. Just for a second. When she meets your gaze in the mirror, there’s no surprise there—only a tired sort of pity that says I knew this moment would come. She exhales softly and resumes tying your hair, gentler now, as though you might shatter.

You don’t wait for her to speak.

“It’s everywhere,” you say, words tumbling out. “When I wake up, when I try to read, when someone laughs and it isn’t him. I keep telling myself it will pass—that it has to—but it hasn’t, Martha. It’s only gotten worse.” Your fingers curl into the edge of the dressing table. “I haven’t even seen him and still he’s… still there. Like he’s carved himself into me.”

She swallows, her eyes lowering for a moment before lifting again. “Oh, my dear,” she murmurs, barely audible.

“I try,” you continue, voice trembling now. “I truly try to think of Charles, of my family, of what’s expected. I try to be grateful. But when I imagine the rest of my life…” You trail off, shaking your head. “He doesn’t disappear from it. Mingyu doesn’t disappear. And that scares me.”

Martha’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm and grounding. “I was afraid of this,” she admits quietly. “Not because you’re wrong to feel it—but because love like that… it doesn’t listen to reason.”

Your eyes sting. “Am I terrible for this?”

She leans down, resting her forehead briefly against your hair. “No,” she says firmly. “You’re human. And you’re in love.”

"You're in love?" Your head snaps to the door.

Joshua stands there, one hand still on the knob. He’s dressed sharply—as always—in a dark three-piece suit, waistcoat snug, his hair is neatly combed back, but his expression is anything but composed.

He steps into the room slowly, eyes moving from your face to Martha, then back to you.

“Who are you in love with?” he asks, voice deceptively calm. “It’s not Charles, is it?” A short, humorless laugh escapes him. “The way you’ve been acting this past month—I doubt it’s Charles. So then who is it?”

You say nothing. Your gaze slips away.

Joshua’s jaw tightens. He studies you for a moment, something clicking into place. “Is this the person that caused your frequent visits to the bookstore??” he asks quietly.

Silence.

His voice rises. “I’m asking you something!”

The dam breaks. You fold in on yourself, sobs tearing out of your chest as apologies spill from your lips—soft, broken sorrys that don’t even make sense anymore.

Joshua says immediately, crossing the room. He grips your shoulders, firm but careful, forcing you to look at him. His eyes soften, then harden again with disbelief. “The wedding is in two weeks,” he says, slower now. “And you’re—” He exhales sharply. “In love?”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face. “Does he love you too?”

“I—” Your voice cracks. You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

Joshua stiffens. “You don’t— you don’t know?” His grip loosens. “Does he even know you love him?”

Another shake of your head.

His hands drop completely. He turns away, pacing the room like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he stops in front of you.

“Go tell him.”

You look up, stunned. “What?”

“Go tell him,” Joshua repeats, voice firm, resolved. “Tell him you love him.” He meets your eyes fully now. “Whatever happens after that—we’ll deal with it after. But you don’t get to suffocate like this in silence.”

Your breath catches. “But the party—”

“I’ll take care of it,” he cuts in without hesitation. “I’ll make excuses. I’ll lie if I have to.” His expression softens, just a little. “You’re my sister. I won’t watch you marry someone while loving another.”

The room feels suddenly too small. Your heart pounds so loud you’re sure they can hear it.

Joshua steps aside, gesturing toward the door.

“Go,” he says quietly. “Before you convince yourself not to.”

The music from downstairs still hums faintly through the walls as you slip out of the house, shoes in your hands, heart racing louder than the party ever could. You move down the back steps, past the hedges, into the waiting car Joshua arranged without questions.

Your chest aches the whole way. Fear, hope, guilt, relief—everything tangles together until you can hardly breathe. You think of his laugh, the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren’t watching, the restraint that always sat heavy on his shoulders. You think of the woman you saw him with and how it twisted something ugly and unfamiliar inside you. You don’t even recognize myself anymore, you think. But you know this—you can’t lose him without trying.

When you reach his building, you barely wait to steady yourself. You knock one too many times to be polite. The door finally opens.

Mingyu stands there, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up, confusion flashing into shock the second he sees you. Your name slips out of his mouth.

“I love you.”

The words tumble out before you can lose your nerve. “I love you, and I have for some time now. I tried to stop it. I swear I did. I tried to be sensible, to be good, but every time I stayed away it hurt worse.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going. “I hated seeing you with someone who wasn’t me. I hated the person I became because of it—jealous, restless, reckless—but I hated even more the thought of never telling you.”

He just stares, stunned, whispering your name like it’s something fragile.

“I don’t care if it’s inconvenient or foolish,” you press on, tears burning your eyes. “I don’t care if it ruins everything I’m supposed to want. I only know that I—”

“I love you too.”

The words cut clean through you. You freeze, just for a heartbeat, as if your mind can’t quite catch up. Your gaze drops to his mouth.

You finally kiss him with all the weeks you lost, all the words you swallowed, all the wanting that never had anywhere to go.

He exhales against your lips, hands finding your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The door shuts behind you without either of you noticing.You cling to him, fingers fisting in his shirt, heart pounding wildly as if it finally knows where it belongs.

Kissing him is nothing like you rehearsed in your head on all those sleepless nights. In your imagination it had been softer. This isn’t. This is messy and immediate and a little desperate, like both of you have been standing on opposite sides of a locked door and someone finally turned the key.

You pull back only long enough to breathe, but he follows you instinctively, forehead brushing yours, his nose grazing your cheek as if distance, even an inch of it, is suddenly unacceptable.

"Need you." you whimper around his lips.

His eyes search yours for a second, just making sure—and whatever he finds there breaks the last bit of restraint he had left.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. One hand slides from your waist to your back, flattening against your spine, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him startles you. You can feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven, matching the chaos in your own chest. Your fingers slide up into his hair, and he makes a quiet sound against your mouth.

He pulls away just barely, his thumb brushing your cheek, slower than any movement so far, as if he’s reminding both of you to breathe. Your chest rises and falls unevenly anyway. You don’t realize how tightly you’re holding his shirt until his other hand gently covers yours where it’s fisted in the fabric.

“You’re okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, but the word doesn’t come out. You can barely think past how close he is—how every place he’s touching you feels suddenly more sensitive than it has any right to. He kisses you again. Your shoulders relax under his hands, and you lean into him without realizing, trusting the steadiness of his grip.

His mouth leaves yours and for a second you think you did something wrong. Then his lips brush the corner of your jaw.

You inhale sharply. His hand slides slowly down your arm. Your fingers curl into his shoulder to steady yourself as his mouth traces lower.

He pulls your skirt up, revealing your wet undergarment. He pulls your panty down.

"Oh baby." He sighs as if he's seen the gates of heaven.

His face moves closer to your heat. He licks you slowly from hole to clit, humming pleasantly at the taste, making you clasp a hand over your mouth.

He slowly drags his tongue, circling your clit, before sucking it hard, making you arch your back.

His fingers and tongue work in harmony—curling inside you, as he ruins your pussy.

The stimulation causes you to clamp your thighs around his face. Mingyu's fingers dig on your hips, as he pulls away from you, gasping. "You good, love?"

You sigh out loud. Unable to form any words, you just nod. Giving you a small smile he dives back, tongue fucking you. His index finger moves tauntingly inside you, his thumb never leaving your clit.

Mingyu whispers soft endearments, each one followed by another long lick that makes your hips buck against his face.

"Mingyu—" you gasp as his tongue explores your insides. Your body starts throbbing profusely as heat builds up in your cunt, his digits going knuckle deep before pulling out again, just to thrust all the way in, hitting every single nerve that leaves you cumming in no time, letting out a soft, choked moan as your entire being spasms and trembles with exertion.

Mingyu laughs as he pulls his tongue out of you, his face still pressed on you. He gives your clit one final kiss before getting up to kiss your mouth.

His lips linger against yours, as though savoring the simple fact of being allowed to be this close to you. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like there is nowhere else he needs to be but here, with you.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling, his smile barely there but unmistakably tender. His hand slides from yours to your waist.

He exhales a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick with feeling. “For choosing us—for choosing me.”

He leans in, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid the moment might slip away if he doesn’t.

Morning comes softly in his house.

Light slips in through thin curtains, settling over the familiar walls and the quiet hum of a city just waking up.

You turn your head to see Mingyu still asleep beside you, one arm flung loosely above his head, hair falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look younger.

The sight of him sends a strange, tender ache through your chest. Last night feels almost unreal now, like something you might’ve imagined if the warmth of him weren’t still right here.

As you sit up slowly, you feel the mattress beside you shift.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You turn back to him, smiling before you can stop yourself. “Good morning.”

He blinks at you for a second, then smiles too—slow, disbelieving, like he’s still making sure you didn’t vanish with the night. He reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist, grounding himself. “You’re still here.”

“I am,” you say quietly. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

That does something to him. You can see it in the way his shoulders relax, the way he exhales. He sits up beside you, close but not crowding, as if he’s relearning how to be with you without restraint.

Neither of you talks about what comes next. Not the wedding. Not the fallout.

For now, there’s just the morning light, the shared silence, and the simple, terrifying truth that you chose each other—and for the first time in weeks, the weight in your chest eases.

Mingyu presses his forehead to yours, gentle this time, reverent.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says.

You believe him. It's going to be alright. You just need to talk to your father and—it will be fine, you tell yourself.

By the time you reach your house, the weight of reality settles in. You pause at the door longer than necessary, fingers resting on the handle. You draw in a breath, square your shoulders, and step inside, already wondering how to begin saying what can no longer be unsaid.

When you step into the sitting room, it feels like walking into the quiet before a storm.

Your father is seated on the sofa, spine straight, hands resting on his knees as if he has been waiting for this moment. Your mother sits beside him, her shoulders drawn in, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Joshua stands near the wall, leaning against it, arms crossed tight across his chest. His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed on the floor like he already knows what is coming.

“Where were you?” He asks too calmly, his voice stripped of warmth.

Your mouth opens, then closes again. You don’t trust your voice.

He takes a step forward. “Where were you?” he repeats, deeper now, heavier.

When you still don't answer, his control fractures. “You spent a night in another man’s house,” he says, his voice rising, anger breaking through at last. “And that too a regular fella. Did you forget that you are engaged.”

Your mother gasps, "darling—"

"He's not just anybody, I love him." You finally find your voice.

He lets out a sharp, humorless huff. “Love.” He paces once, agitated. “You embarrassed me in front of everyone for this childish love. I don't care, you can show all the love you want after you’re married to Charles.”

Your eyes sting. “I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

“Do you hear yourself?” he huffs. “After everything that has been arranged. The invitations. The guests. The name attached to ours.”

"I hear myself very well," your voice becomes bold. "This is the first time I ever decided something for myself,and you cannot tell me to change it."

“I don’t want to see you anymore,” he says at last, voice cold and final. “If you insist on shaming this family, then stay out of my sight.”

Joshua straightens slightly. “Pa—” Your father lifts a hand without looking at him.

Your mother reaches for his sleeve, shaking her head gently. Tears brim in her eyes, but she keeps her voice steady.

“Please,” she says. “This is still our daughter.”

Your father pulls his hand from your mother's grip and looks away from you, as though the sight of you pains him. "Stay out of my sight."

You turn to leave.

In your room, you sit heavily on the edge of the bed before letting yourself fall back against the mattress, still in yesterdays dress. You stare up at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks and shadows, feeling hollowed out and sore in places you didn’t know could ache but no tears come. Your heart is filled with satisfaction. After all for the first time in your life, you chose yourself, and the weight of that choice presses gently, relentlessly, against your chest.

A knock comes not long after.

You sit up.

Your mother enters first, her eyes glassy, lashes wet. Joshua follows her in, closing the door quietly behind them, as though sound itself might shatter you.

Your mother crosses the room in two quick steps and pulls you into her arms. You fold into her instinctively, breathing her in, the familiar warmth of her holding you together.

“Oh, my darling,” she whispers, her voice breaking despite herself.

Joshua lingers near the foot of the bed, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders tense. “You did nothing wrong,” he says firmly, as if daring the world to argue.

“I didn’t want it to happen like this,” you murmur into your mother’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” she says softly, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers. “But I would rather you be brave than obedient. I would not want my daughter to be stuck in a loveless marriage.”

Joshua exhales. “Don’t carry all of it tonight,” he says. “Pa is… Pa. He’ll come around. Maybe not soon. But someday.”

You look between them, heart aching but full. “I hope so.”

Joshua hesitates, then moves to sit beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. A crooked smile tugs at his lips. “Seeing you spend the night outside, I'm taking everything went well."

A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it. You glance at him, nodding, a shy smile curving your mouth.

Joshua lets out a satisfied hum. “Well,” he says, leaning back on his hands, “I’d really like to meet the bee’s knees who managed to make my sister fall head over heels.”

Your smile softens, something warm blooming behind your ribs. You don’t answer—don’t need to. The way your eyes drift, the quiet in your breathing, says enough.

Your mother watches the exchange, her expression easing. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek, slow and tender. Then she cups your face fully, studying you the way she did when you were small, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“Rest now,” she whispers. “You’ve been strong enough for one day.”

You lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling again as they leave. Your chest still aches, the future still uncertain, but beneath it all is a steady warmth. Because now, you have Mingyu with you now.

Things do not fix themselves overnight. You learn that slowly.

Your father still does not acknowledge Mingyu’s. Mingyu, to his credit, never pushes.

Joshua, on the other hand, is a lost cause.

They take to each other like they have been separated at birth and only just reunited. Inside jokes form within days. They argue over food, over music, over which one of them would survive longer in the wild.

Sometimes you sit between them, listening to them bicker, both talking over each other, and you realize you're playing gooseberry in your own relationship.

But you don't mind.

Your mother warms to Mingyu quietly, the way she warms to all things she trusts. She notices the way he listens when you speak, the way he reaches for your hand without thinking, the way his voice softens around you. She asks him if he’s eaten, if he’s tired, if he’s happy. She presses an extra helping of food onto his plate and says, “You’re too thin.”

You see the way his eyes shine at that.

Life is calmer now—not easier or perfect, but you're happier now. You and Mingyu build something slow and sturdy. Morning routines. Shared silences. Arguments that end in laughter or apologies murmured into skin. Love that does not demand you shrink or bend.

Some nights, when the house is quiet and the world feels far away, you lie beside him and think of the girl you used to be—the one who thought love was something that happened to you, not something you chose.

You chose this.

You chose him.

And when Mingyu turns to you in the dark, half-asleep, arm pulling you closer like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you know—with a certainty that settles deep in your bones—that whatever matters remain unfinished, whatever bridges yet await their crossing, you are, in that moment, precisely where you are meant to be.

[caratwonderworld]

yours

synopsis: Seungcheol always considered himself to be yours. That had always been true and will be true. He considered himself to be a rather good friend, thank you very much and always had your back behind the scenes. If only the transition between friends and lovers were as easy. The trials and tribulation of Choi Seungcheol as he battled his own instincts while falling hard for his old friend were never going to be simple.

Five times Seungcheol wanted to have a meal with you, and the one time while eating, you didn't leave things as they were.

word count: 8.4k

notes, warnings: part two to you always come to the party. it is important that you read it for the plot to make sense. best friend seungcheol x reader, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, non idol au, Seungcheol and reader are the same age. there's a lot of past lore. kind of insecure and hesitant seungcheol as this is his pov of the events from part one. a lot of the same plot, but his side. theres some texting, CRINGR attempt at humor… seventeen, twice, eunha(gfriend/viviz) and hyeri(girl’s day) members make cameos, reader lowkey don’t listen to seungcheol, THEY FIGHT AND ARGUE…. BUT MAKE UP (kinda), CURSE WORDS. ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION Important, this is fictional and does not express reality about the actual members of seventeen

authors note: hey guys. thank you for your love and support. I'm in tears. more from me at the end later. enjoy reading! <3 also this is based off of yours by damon's year. the lyrics also make sense in this context hehe. ALSO English isn’t my first language, apologies for any grammatical errors 💔

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Barbecue 🍖

Initially, when Seungcheol had asked if you were free for dinner, he was planning to just eat with you in silence. He had everything planned out: a place close to yours, delicious food, and candlelight for its ambiance. But when you mentioned not having seen the rest of your friends in a while, he couldn’t help but wonder out loud about having a group gathering instead. 

Which led to the current scenario, where he watched you gulp down a shot that wasn’t yours in the first place. You did it often, feeling paternal for the younger ones (which they were barely), and he saw the wince you took as the alcohol burned its way down your throat. It was as if the world was at half-speed. Everyone was cheering you on, but from his point of view, everyone’s voices were malfigured— almost haunting. 

He’d liked you for a good while now. He remembered seeing you join his and Jeonghan’s class back in high school, and he considered himself a goner since then. You had a hard time at first, since the class had travelled together from elementary to their bubbling teenhood. Seungcheol was proud to think that he took you under his wing, but if Joshua heard any of that, he’d laugh in Seungcheol’s face. 

Rather, it was you who took Seungcheol under your coat. 

Seungcheol was the youngest in his family, but at school, he could break from those rules placed on him and earned respect on his own terms. Class president, Captain of the Football team, friends with the cafeteria ladies, Top of the class, almost any achievement, and Seungcheol would already have it grasped or was on his way to making it. 

When you guys initially became friends, he felt the need to prove himself to you, as well. He’d always felt a pang of happiness when he’d been picked first for the seekers team when playing hide and seek at the ripe age of eight. He’d grown out of it, of course, but he couldn’t help but try to grab your bag one day, as you both walked home after school. 

The sky was turning more ochre by the second. It was going to be six any moment, and yet, both of your steps only grew slower. His panting had stopped earlier when you both dropped by the convenience store for ice cream. Football practice today was extremely brutal. He’d argued with a junior in the locker room before apologizing and running off to the school entrance, where you’d been waiting, smile on your face. Your eyes sparkled a lot back then. 

Without really thinking about it, he took your bag from your back and added to his load. 

You stopped and looked at him.

“Don’t carry my bag, especially when you’re tired. You don’t always have to be the strong one.” 

And without looking at his face, you’d snatch your bag and take his football bag in one go and run forward. 

He huffed, a smile on his face, and chased after you, the weight on his shoulder a tad lighter, watching you scurry on ahead.

Your youthful figure transitioned to the bent version of yourself in front of him, hoisting Hyeri’s almost-limp self off your hip. His head shook at this memory as Soonyoung coughed against his shoulder in the elevator. When did you find the time to take care of everyone, even mighty Choi Seungcheol? He’d then watched you hunch your back, unlacing Hyeri’s shoes before setting Soonyoung onto your couch easily, then preparing water for you. 

You’d dragged yourself onto his shoulders eventually. His stomach was still hungry for something. He didn’t know when he’d get to sit down with you and rest. He was tired, but he knew about your state too. To him, the silent was daft. It was dense, but not uncomfortably so. It was only uncomfortable because his throat felt scratchy, for what he was thinking but did not know how to phrase. He wished you could see yourself the way he saw you. A precious friend who also deserved to be protected and hidden away. 

“Why’d you do it?” He'd finally murmured, after thinking long. 

“What did I do, Cheol?” You had hissed, most likely from pain. 

To you, it was just another unforgettable moment, but to him, it was as if time stood still when he watched you slip the drink in without much complaint and restraint. Even though he was worried, he'd collected his thoughts and formulated a neutral response. “Drink Soonie’s punishment shot. You know you didn’t have to, right?” He couldn't help but press against your temple. He knew alcohol often left you in shambles. 

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He felt such fondness wrap around him as he heard your genuine response. Your voice sounded vulnerable in a way it hadn’t in a while. It was as if Seungcheol was transported back to the days of your youths, enjoying summer nights with ice cream battles and football practices all over again. Of course, he’d missed the days you all spent carefully, up to the tears he had shed at graduation, thinking you looked like a bright, summery dream in your own graduation cap. Now, in his eyes, he felt as if you had been shrinking as the days passed by, constantly cocooned in work. Seungcheol couldn’t think back to the last time when the two of you enjoyed a simple meal where he felt your shoulders droop, in happiness. He’d like to plan something soon enough, if you’d let him, that is. 

He’d waited until your breathing slowed, your body limp, and helped you into bed. Seeing the two girls sleeping side by side, he uttered a quiet confession next to your sleeping ears. 

“I want to be the strong one for you.” 

Knife-cut noodles 🍜 

Wonwoo had actually asked Seungcheol out for lunch earlier, but he had declined. It wasn’t because Seungcheol wasn’t hungry, but more so because it was a Tuesday. The only day when both you and Seungcheol could have lunch together. On Tuesdays, Seungcheol’s Lunch breaks started a whole thirty minutes earlier than yours, meaning he was free to travel around and had time to drive into Gangnam for no apparent reason. He was just loitering during his break. Of course. 

The two of you had called in late at night while you prepared your presentation, and he was sipping tea by your side, going through his unanswered emails. Sleep came to him especially late, and not until he heard your tired snores erupt through his speaker.

He felt guilty when he found out that Wonwoo eventually ended up leaving an important file behind at some random restaurant and saw your messages. Already on the way, he sent some messages into the group chat, only for them to fall on silent (more so distracted) ears. 

He almost stumbles into Mrs Kong’s restaurant, seeing a rather grumpy man at the front desk. 

“My friend, file, forgot it here.” He somehow lets out, breath almost lost from running into the store. Parking was insane around this area.

The uncle looks on, unimpressed. 

“You’re late, son. A pretty lady already picked it up looooong ago!” The man said with an attitude unbecoming of such a kind, youthful, and old face.

Seungcheol internally groaned. He knew how ambitious you were. He knew how amazingly well you were able to handle time crunches. He was the same; the two of you were cut from similar cloth. It was a bit amazing when he stopped to look at your work ethic from afar, but as the man who’d been in love with you for quite some time, he had understood well enough how anxious and nervous you probably got. If he was calculating your lunch break and driving time, you were probably only reaching your office by now. 

“Forget it then,” Seungcheol looked at the name tag on the uncle’s flower vest, “Uncle Pi Cheolin, may I have noodles to go?” 

The man grunted and punched in his order.

“With extra sesame oil, please.”

-

By the time Seungcheol reached your branch in Gangnam, curls of broth followed around him. The cold winter didn’t help, especially with the way his stomach was grumbling in this harsh wind. Seungcheol flashed his employee card, which honestly should’ve been an alarming notion to the receptionist on your floor. Why would an employee from the Yeouido Branch be at the Gangnam branch during work hours? But the receptionist knew you well, and by relation, knew Seungcheol well, who flashed an extra cheesy smile at Dahyun, who rolled her eyes in amusement. 

He left the insulated bag with warm noodles at your desk, fretting with its position on your table for a few minutes before ultimately scratching off the price of the food. He’d never do that to you. And he meant it, almost thirty minutes later, when he immediately sent you your money back. (He was genuinely surprised at how well you were able to estimate the price. A close 28,600 Won, for anyone wondering.) He felt terrible for lying to you about his own lunch, but he didn’t want you to feel guilty for his own impulsive decision. 

As he spent the rest of his self-proclaimed break in his car with a simple cheese kimbap, he hoped that you were genuinely enjoying your meal heartily. 

- 

“Seungcheol, hey! I’m really sorry for not clearing stuff with you about the folder. I feel bad that I wasted your time, and also hers. I know she didn’t get to have lunch, and I’m sure the commute also sucked ass for you,” Wonwoo’s muffled voice came from his phone that evening. 

“Oh, Wonwoo, don’t worry about it! It was also wrong of me to still go even though she clearly mentioned going. It was rash of me as well.” He’d said after a while, humor in his voice about the whole thing as he recounted the events internally. 

“It was rather rash, I’m not gonna lie, especially for you Coups,” Wonwoo whispered, “but you’ve always been like that when it involves her,” He teased.

Seungcheol’s hands stopped stirring the pot as he listened to Wonwoo’s joking words seriously. 

Seungcheol settled for a “Yeah, you’re right.”

Carrots and mushrooms 🥕 🍄‍🟫 

Seungcheol had an amazing day. One of the best weekends he’d had in a while. He’d gathered with some of the guys and had a great game of foot volleyball on Saturday, following it up by sleeping in on Sunday, which he hadn’t done since that time he’d caught a cold. Lunch had been a casual affair, boiling water for a boring flavor of cup noodles. His eyes were swollen, and he was slightly hungover, but even the boring broth of the cup noodles enticed his taste buds, especially with that dull thrum behind his eyes. 

When he’d woken up at 11, he’d texted you for maybe a quick lunch, but you’d refused, citing some work plans which left him dejected, which he openly expressed with a big thumbs down emoji. It would’ve been funny if it weren’t for the next 12 thumbs down emojis that followed, consecutively. No worries, though. He’d surprise you some other day and let you cool down on your own for the next 12 hours before Monday. Dreaded Monday, where the often sleeveless hoodie-wearing Seungcheol donned monotone, corporate wear, and his often crass language was replaced with finance jargon that nobody cared for. 

He planned to rest until the evening, but a sudden alarm at 4pm awoke him from his Netflix binge. 

Crap.

Crap indeed, because the rate at which Seungcheol wore a clean pantsuit set and the closest tie must’ve been a new record. By 4:22pm, he’d been out of his door, and by 4:48pm, he reached the wedding venue with 12 minutes to spare. Talk about being on a time crunch! 

Seungcheol greeted the groom and his family at the entrance, along with the bride’s family, and an old coworker at his previous company. He’d entered the hall, passing off the wedding gift in a grey envelope before walking over to his assigned table, where Joshua had already been seated. A side hug and a quick toast later, Joshua and Seungcheol cheered the newlyweds on. 

“Dude, what time will you arrive on Thursday?” Joshua had asked once the conversation had dulled. 

“For Seungkwan and Eunha’s match? Probably 5, after work.” He had concluded.

“Dude, Eunha’s injured. Our dear Gangnam branch head took over Eunha. I would think she would’ve told you earlier with how much she’s awaiting her victory,” Joshua had laughed, but Seungcheol didn’t feel like laughing. He knew you kicked butt at badminton. He also knew that you and Seungkwan played in high school. Seungcheol also knew you’d have to leave work early on Thursday for it. He didn’t know that you were going to be joining as a player until today. He processed his emotions, his head suddenly empty despite the commotion of wedding festivities around him. It wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t informed (that was a lie, he was dying and had flowers blooming out of his lungs, hanahaki style) but the fact that he knew for a fact that you’d been busy. With more collaborations between the Yeouido branch and Gangnam branch, he knew you’d been swamped. Seungcheol himself was drained, which was why he took the initiative to enjoy his weekends to the fullest. Hearing that you added more responsibility to your own plate caused him to unknowingly shiver. 

“Oh yeah, she’s probably still stuck in practice. But she said she’d finish up by six.”

Before leaving the hall, he couldn't help but take a picture of the sky.

- 

Seungcheol stopped by a nearby grocery store before letting himself into your home. His shoes were neatly arranged, and he had removed his coat in frustration, leaving it on your couch. But he only felt guilty and solemnly moved it to your coat rack along with his tie. 

Seungcheol breathed in and exhaled. He didn't know why he was feeling so exasperated about this whole situation. You were a grown adult who could make choices, such as the way you handled your time, your work, and most importantly, your friendships and relationships. The last time he'd been this frustrated with you was in college, when you'd applied for a TA's position while being sick and juggling a part-time job at the convenience store. He'd only been forgiven for blasting you out in your private DMs after he bought you ice cream for two days, consecutively, at the convenience store you worked at. (You folded rather quickly, looking back. But this was Choi Seunghceol we were talking about.)

The first thing he noticed when you walked in was the slight limp. He was humming a random melody and saw you in your badminton kit. It had been a while since he last saw you in sportswear, but you looked flushed. You didn't look surprised, and he wanted to smile at you when you smacked him, but he held back, still pretending to hold up the upset facade. 

The mushrooms were sizzling in the pan, and the strong scent of sesame oil was sizzling into the tiles of the room. He knew you were watching from behind, and he finally broke the silence.

"Carrot and mushroom stir-fry," Seungcheol pouted, upset and hiding his slight frown from you. He thought you had nodded until he heard the doors to your bedroom close, with muffled water streams following afterwards. 

Seungcheol dutifully continued to prepare the rest of the meal. He heard you setting up the table. In his head, he couldn't help but internally squeal at how domestic this all was. He shifted his eyes to the sight of his coat and tie next to your badminton bag on the coat rack and couldn't help but think of what it would feel like if this were the norm. His heart began to race, but he broke out of his trance when some oil from the pan popped and sizzled onto his hand that was stirring the contents. 

-

It didn't feel like an argument when Seungcheol began to express his doubts, frustrations, and worry about you, at first initially. But things change when emotions get involved, and he knew he struck a nerve when he mentioned questioning your actions. He knew he crossed a line somewhere there and almost retracted, if it weren't for the way you brushed off the conversation and tried to divert it into your casual banter. 

“Why are you even here? to lecture me?” You had said, mimicking a child's voice to the best of your abilities. 

Seungcheol didn't accept the olive branch immediately. He ignored the way you looked at him as he piled food into your own bowl, when he mentioned what had truly, honestly hurt him. he was shocked that he actually mentioned it to you, when he'd been denying it to himself all night. 

"Josh told me you said yes to Seungkwan today, and that your practice would finish up by six. And also that you’ve been preparing for a week already. Just knew you’d be too tired to cook,”

He felt a bit embarrassed. It wasn't like you guys were dating or married and you'd have to inform him of every life choice you'd make, especially those that had no concern for him. Maybe it hurt that perhaps even after all this time, you might still consider him just a friend tagging along for the ride, not as a genuine companion, be it platonically or romantically. 

He brushed all his thoughts aside as he started washing the dishes. He enjoyed the feeling of you dragging his folder sleeves, begging him to give you your sponge and dishwashing liquid, and he had only pouted and told you to go rest, sternly. He had also watched you waddle onto your couch, as he cleaned up the kitchen and table from the neat mess he made, before finally settling down on the couch next to you, comfortably wordless. 

He'd left late that night, but not before giving you a long hug and exhaling a brief apology into your hair. 

-

seungkwan boo

you: seungkwan where r u?

you: hello r u ok???

you: shes alone and ur Match is in like 7 mins wtf 

you: vro 

seungkwan boo: bathroom not too good rn 

seungkwan boo: I don't wanna leave it like this but i can't play rn

you: can I borrow ur extra jersey

Seungcheol snagged his shirt off in front of everyone. He didn't care that girls and guys from the neighbourhood were ogling at his figure, not when his eyes could only focus on the way you seemed to walk towards the court, your shoulders slumped. He shrugged on Seungkwan's Jersey, ignoring the way his biceps were restricted, and exchanged his shoes with Mingyu's. He also welcomed himself to your spare racket (the crazy expensive one, of course). 

A lot of people didn't know that the only reason he wasn't a badminton player was that he was only a slightly better football player, and boy, did he play football. He squared himself and jogged onto the court, catching up behind you. 

When Seungcheol joined you on court, he couldn't help but feel his pulse jump, enjoying the relief in your eyes. He got into position. His phone buzzed as he signed his name on the referee's sheet. It went ignored. 

-

new!

seungkwan boo: im otw onto court, I'm okay now! 

-

The only thing Seunghceol could think of was you shaking him with a force unprecedented. He could only smile, gummy and eyes crinkled in joy as you took this surprising victory alongside him. 

He could only relish in the hug you gave him, hearing the hoots from the court-side, after he felt the racket fall from his palm. 

Outside was a different story. He felt shy, as if he was stuck with his crush against his will (Half-true, Seungcheol would say). Seungcheol saw the silver medal sparkle against your chest, and he was proud. incredibly. He had wanted to say so much, but it seemed that all you left him nowadays was speechless. 

“I’m sorry,” you had started, “I know you were only worried that night, and I kinda just brushed you off. Have been brushing you off for a while now. I’m sorry you also found out from Joshua. Didn’t think it was that important.”

Your apology left him a bit surprised, but he covered it up with a response of his own, thanks to his quick thinking. he had genuinely apologised for his actions, hating the way the two of you had only shared brief conversations over the course of four days. 

“Just, care for yourself more.” He added, thoughtfully, “I’m also sorry. You just came back from a tiring day, and I questioned you like a crazy boyfriend in your own home.” He stepped closer, and with it came the two of you sharing a bubble of breath. He could taste the salt in the air, the humidity in the air, and most importantly, the brief tension that had arisen from his bold move. 

He then further made another bold move by comparing himself to a crazy boyfriend, which somehow broke the tension, yet made it stronger. Average Choi Seungcheol moment (you would've said, if it weren't for your own tongue being rendered useless). 

Eventually, the moment eased down, and all he could feel was how carefree he felt when you were around. His whole body felt weightless, and in this moment, he felt as if he were the luckiest man alive to share such intricate, minuscule moments in your presence. 

He had said something to break the silence and had thought back to various moments of his own sports achievements, with you by his side through most of them, of course.

A moment flashed behind his eyes as he remembered a random football game against some random elementary kids, where he'd shot an almost deflated football into the makeshift goal, but not before screaming out your full name and professing it was all for you.

Another time, when he'd been running a potato sack race, and he fell on his face, getting scratches along his cheekbones and lips, a fiery urge to win because his competition included a pretty-boy junior (poor Chan), you tutored in your free time. 

And the latest one, where he remembered looking at your face as it crumpled in euphoria from this joint win. If only he were stronger, he would've confessed brightly into your ears about how much he adored you. 

Looking at you, his determination to transition further from friends ignited a tiny bit more. 

“You’re Choi Seungcheol, our batch’s crazy, competitive, corporate boy.” You chuckled at him. 

He was crazy, competitive, was in love with you, worked in corporate, and did he mention, in love with you?

Soup and rice 🥣

Seungcheol had a terrible day if he was going to speak from the heart. He tried to find some silver lining along the course of the day, but all he could think about was how a new intern spilled their 'matcha of the day' onto his favorite shirt, which you had gotten him. It was a hot day, and the only way he could cover it up was by wearing his stupid coat. The same intern then, somehow cc'd a spam email to almost everyone in the building, which left Seunghcheol's monitor gone for a good thirty minutes, leaving him to read and reply to meetings on his phone. And most importantly, his car was left at the mechanic overnight due to some overheating. He got home by walking. He was going insane in this overworked summer heat. 

But at least, if he was having a bad day, he knew someone who was probably having a worse one: you (affectionately, of course)! Because reaching home at ten, an empty stomach after a long day, to see your building's elevator wonky, would mostly ruin his day. At least Seungcheol lived on the third floor. You lived on the seventh, typical city girl. 

bane of existence 🥰

bane of existence 🥰: just got off of work and u won’t believe my frickin chungus life rn 

you: wtf it’s like 10 y did u just finish work 

you: what happened 

bane of existence 🥰: long story BUT my apartment elevator is BROCKEN

you: 😂😂😂😂😂😂

bane of existence 🥰: u have NOTHINF to be laughing about . Now im about to be tired AND hungry 😂💔😂💔😂 

bane of existence: at least no work tmr 😎

It had only taken those messages for his hunger to erupt in his stomach. It was late, and he took a taxi to the closest convenience store near your apartment building. 

He would cook you a meal, but he was exhausted. And, he was sure you'd understand! Which was why his basket contained Triangular Kimbaps, electrolytes, Probiotic yoghurts, Convenient Lunch boxes, and four ice creams, all of the same flavour that you'd been picking since your immature days in high school. 

As he made the trek to your apartment unit, he couldn't help but feel his breath huff between his throat. It was uncomfortable, but knowing you, you would immediately sleep the hunger off, all in the day's exhaustion. He started climbing up the stairs faster, ignoring your old flip-flops outside of a random sixth-floor unit. 

When he finally beeped in your apartment code, he was surprised at the silence. No shoes, no work bag, Heck, even your car keys weren't in their usual spot. He made the brave decision to stock up the food in your fridge, and finally walked into your bedroom, seeing the door open. 

It was an invasion, but he pressed his ear in the direction of your bathroom, not hearing your shower. The room, however, had fresh notes of fragrance. He finally put down his thinking brain and gave you a quick call. 

“I’m in your house, where are you?” his voice let out, worried and anxious. 

“Why are you — actually, forget that, you being here is perfect. Come down to unit 603, I need your help with something.” 

-

He was put to work almost immediately. It was a good way to unwind, and surprisingly, he didn't mind it. He sewed eyes into teddies, diligently, and politely swooned at Granny Han. Granny Han also smiled at the young man's antics while you looked on endearingly. Eventually, Seungcheol's eyes began to wander.

“What is your Portable Air conditioner doing here?” Seungcheol had asked with the sewing needle between his teeth, “How are you going to sleep tonight?” 

When he heard that you'd been sleeping in the living room for a few days, he almost flew out of his metaphorical chair (since the two of you were comfortably lounging on the floor) 

“I’d been missing my alarm for work. Sleeping in the living room causes me to be uncomfortable enough to wake up straight away,” you had answered, unbothered.

Seungcheol couldn't believe it right now. His best friend was on the floor of her living room because she was missing her alarms. It couldn't help that you'd been doing overtime now, and that meant coming home late. He couldn't exactly imagine your state at your own abode, which was supposed to be a restful, safe space. 

He had called you stupid (which you were honestly being), and before the conversation could escalate, Granny Han bought steaming bowls of food. He was exceptionally grateful, since he had built up an appetite on the way to your place. 

-

It was twelve forty-three when Seungcheol had opened the door for the two of you. You had messily left your slippers next to the door, which he fixed for you, before scolding you gently. 

“Go to your room,” He had said, putting on his most intimidating voice.

“Cheol, just go back home.” You groaned (lovingly).

“I’m crashing over tonight, and I WILL be taking your couch. You have no choice but to sleep in your own room.” 

Now this was untrue. Despite the long years spent together, the two of you never stayed over. It was an unspoken boundary which rooted from the time he'd gotten drunk at college for the first time and woke up, hungover, on your bed, with you on the floor. He'd been ghastly and quite literally ignored you for two weeks afterwards. 

Seungcheol remembered that morning vividly. It was a Sunday, of course. You were drooling, and he couldn't help but swipe at it with his thumb. The sight of you waking up was making his heart race. He knew he had a tiny, stupid crush on you, but he was in college now! It was time to date around, get his heart broken once or twice, and that would be enough for him to remember that you guys were always just friends. He didn't realise that his lips frowned at the thought. His thumb almost made contact with your eyelids before he retracted when he realised what he was truly doing, and more importantly, where he was. He made eye contact with you and then- 

“Let’s just hang out for a bit before I crash for the night,” you offer, ignoring his blatant lie.

Seungcheol had already grabbed the ice creams and handed them to you. The two of you are already fitting each other on the floor. 

“Aw, is that why you came over tonight?” You teased.

“That — and a few other things.” 

In all honesty, Seungcheol had thought up a storm. He'd confess to you over dinner, then, depending on the situation, he'd offer you cream or the two of you would share a cone (or two). He'd smile to himself, and you'd steal some from him. 

Which wasn't that far from reality, minus the confession, of course. That would come later. Seungcheol purposefully left his ice cream hanging near you, allowing you to take sneaky bites, then playfully berating you. He couldn't help but laugh aloud, watching you try to take bites of his ice cream while he watched on. The stupidity of the ice creams being the same flavour, the fact that it was one, and that automatically made everything funnier. Seungcheol was having a blast, laughing along to your smile and even your smacks. Even when you slapped your palm over his mouth to shut him up, and he'd gotten nervously silent. He still laughed. 

His terrible day ended perfectly.

Pasta 🍝

Seungcheol was excited to visit Inje. He'd passed through the area, and from what he remembered, it was only a small county. With an elderly population, he knew there were vast farmlands and summer rays all around. When the group chat was deciding roles, he was planning to sign up as a designated driver, but he hesitated when he saw your name already signed up. 

bane of existence 🥰

you: I saw that you were gonna drive 

bane of existence 🥰: yess cheol I'm so excited were gonna have a BLAST. bonfire and marshmallows and allat 

you: heheh me tooooo

you: wanna split the driving tho? I can drive on the way back 

bane of existence 🥰: ohoh sure sure

you: so ill be w u in ur car, both ways 

bane of existence 🥰: u want me sooo bad 

you are typing...

Seungcheol was having cold feet. Not mentally, but physically. His feet were cold, and despite being in the peak of summer, his feet couldn't help but clamber up. It also was maybe because he was sitting next to you. He was acting all pouty, slightly angsty about having to wake up early, but it all disappeared when he looked to his left and saw you smiling to yourself. 

“When did you even have the time to make this?” Seungcheol chomped down on the baguette, “When did you even sleep?” He uttered under his breath, slightly envious at how perfect the sandwich had tasted (or maybe it had been his hunger speaking)

“Firstly, my precious Minghao, my precious Seungcheol,” Hearing such a random endearment, Seungcheol couldn't help but gulp down and look out the window, amused, “Chew before you speak. I can’t perform heimlich while driving,” you had paused, “I woke up at five, and slept early last night. Maybe ten?”

Seungcheol couldn't help but feed you, realising how small you felt in the car, hat on your head, ready for the holidays together. He didn't retract his fingers when he brushed against your cheek. You didn't mention anything either, mouth focused on chewing, eyes focused on the road, and ears focused on turning red. Seungcheol pretended not to notice. 

-

Seungcheol noticed the way you rested after driving, which was rare. He never really got to see you rest nowadays. Back when life was simpler, He'd remember grabbing ice cream with you almost every day after class, and eating lunch rowdily in the canteen with you, Jeonghan, and Joshua. Simpler, golden days. 

He grabbed your things and tried making it easier for you, if only you would let him. The others saw the way you were restless, trying to help around, passing on water to everyone. he ven almost caught trying to remark Seungkwan's car, which he thankfully stopped by doing it himself. He purposefully flexed his arm while doing it, not that he'd admit it to anyone. 

Seungcheol also settled into his tent, which was a bit further away from yours. Jeonghan had already put his stuff down, and he changed out his now sweaty shirt for a new, crispy T-shirt. 

It was tiring, of course. He was happy, though, to be around his friends, all sweaty and tired. It would be bad to be tired alone, but there was a sort of fruitful happiness that came with being tired and exhausted together. 

Seungcheol helped with Lunch. He helped hand in hand with the grilling of meat and passed meat off to everyone as they lined up. He watched as you passed the meat off and scarfed on your meal, mouth burning and all. If only you could slow down a bit so that maybe the two of you could eat together. But it was okay, you deserved to have a good meal after working so hard. He smiled to himself as he watched you scarf down your meal, a smile nobody really saw. When you came to place your bowl down, he tried ladling more soup into your bowl. The gall of you to give him tongue! He, of course, gave you a rivaling silly face in response. 

He watched as you detoured towards the sink and started washing your dishes. Sure, nobody signed up for it, and not that anybody really enjoyed it, but he hoped that you might just give him some company as he finally sat down to eat. You started scrubbing at the bowls and chopsticks instead. You became Chan's, Chan's became Wonwoo's, and eventually, you ended up just washing almost all the dishes. He watched on. He knew you were smiling while doing them, but the ease with which you took up the responsibility unnerved him a bit. A lot, actually. 

-

After Lunch, everybody went off to do their own thing. Jeonghan and Seungcheol went to play Foot Volleyball with Mingyu and Seungkwan while you lounged around with the others, catching up and discussing about nothing and everything. 

By the time evening came around, you guys realised that it was going ot be a hard night without fans inside, and bugs, seeing how dark it was becoming. 

Seungcheol took the opportunity to rent the items from the front desk, worrying about the rest. It was getting dark, and as much as he was tired, he didn't want anybody else to make the long trek away from the campsite to the entrance. 

Jihoon and Hansol walked slightly ahead of him, carrying some of the other items. The heat patches in Seunghcheol's packet seemed to weigh down on him. He'd picked them on impulse, getting reminded of your hunched posture and the way you seemed to stretch earlier today. 

"Dude, Seungcheol," Jihoon had broken the silence.

"Yeah?" Seungcheol had replied, not really paying attention.

"Are you okay?" Jihoon asked. 

Seungchoel could say yes, but he felt as if that were a lie to himself. He was doing well. His workload had decreased after the collaboration between his department's work was finished. He'd been consistent at the gym, He'd been eating good food, he'd been seeing his friends enough, and he'd called home almost every few days. Yet somehow, he wasn't fully satisfied with the way things were. Jihoon didn't need to hear all the tumultuous thoughts in his head. 

"I guess." He replied after a while. 

"If this is about her," Hansol turned back to look at Seungcheol, "I think it wouldn't hurt to be honest with her."

Seungcheol looked forward, seeing Jihoon and Hansol looking at him already. He smiled and nodded, thankful for their words.

-

Seungcheol stopped in his tracks when he first saw you hacking away at the wood in the corner. Everybody else asides from Joshua, was at the circle, enjoying their conversations, cracking open beers and sodas, but you weren't in the circle. No, you were at the darkening corner, laughing away, using a small axe to cut away at some logs. You were unbelievable. 

He couldn't help himself from walking ahead, shoving in front of Hnsol and Jihoon, who couldn't help looking at one another, worried about where this situation was going to go. 

It went quite terribly. 

“Why can’t you just sit down for a while?” 

“Oh, you’re back, it’s nothing, I just wanted to have a try, and Josh let me.” 

“We were just finishing up as-”

He didn't wanna hear it, at this moment especially. He was tired of seeing you run around all day. You seem to always be working, especially if he is around. Was it him? Was he the problem? Was there something about him that caused you to just go scatter around and do any task in your near vicinity that would cause you to ignore him? Or was it the need to have things done your way? Was it a control problem? Why did you always have to be involved, never catching a break, always there? Why couldn't you take a rest and let him take care of you for once? 

He couldn't hold back his tar-like, sticky, ugly feelings from erupting from his mouth, without a single thought of how it would feel to hear them. 

“Yeah, I can see that, but don’t you get tired after doing shit all day? You’ve been up since five and drove us idiots around, then you washed everyone’s fucking dishes. Now you can’t sit still for a few hours and have to cut down some stupid logs. I can’t understand you sometimes. Almost 15 years of friendship, and I can’t seem to understand if you’re just a fucking control freak who has to do everyone’s job, or if you just need to have things done your way. If you didn’t know, this is also your day off.”

The silence was uncomfortable and haunting. In your long years of friendship, Seungcheol had never spoken to you in such a way. Immediately, he wanted to retract and explain, apologise, or even add on. Joshua held on to his arm, trying to hold him back, but also to console him. It didn't really work. 

“Is that what you really think of me? A control freak?” 

No, never, I'm Sorry.

“You must think I’m insane if I’m just going to listen to you say all this bullshit. I don’t know if this is your misplaced anger for some other stuff, but I really don’t understand what crawled up your ass. I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me, Seungcheol, but I CHOSE to drive. I chose to wash the dishes, and if you listened to me just earlier, I was the one who asked Joshua to let me try. I understand you want me to rest, but I can’t help it if this is how I do it. Gosh, you can be so fucking annoying.”

Seungcheol was left standing alone as he watched you storm away. He felt like something in him was eroding. 

-

Jeonghan gave him an earful afterwards. But not before Hyeri almost grabbed his ears, drunk and angered. Thank you to Jihyo for redirecting her away. 

"I don't interfere in your relationship with her 'cus I know it's a sensitive topic between the two of you, but you've fucked up bad."

"I know."

"I mean, why the fuck would you say that to hear? I was all the way at the other side, and I heard the bullshit you were spewing. Ok, I get it, you love her to bits, and you got annoyed with her doing everything for everyone, but why didn't you talk with her, calmly, like any mature person would?"

"I know."

"You'd better get your act together and apologise properly."

"I know."

Sleep didn't come easily to either of you that night. 

-

Seungcheol didn't know if he wanted to thank Minghao or strangle him. 

You had taken him to a restaurant in the city. Seungcheol was ignoring the vibrations of his phone, settling into the seat as you two settled into a quaint restaurant. In a way, it was funny. The two of you were dressed in summery shirts, t-shirts with trees and flowers, wearing shorts in the heat. The two of you looked like tourists in your own city. 

Seungcheol had ordered an orange soda, and you had followed with the same. You had ordered a Carbonara, and Seungcheol also ordered the same. 

"Do you think we'll be okay, Cheol?" You'd asked innocently. 

"I think we will," Seungcheol replied. 

"I'm sorry we haven't hung out much. I know I declined on you a lot, and when we did have a meal the last two times, we were kind of tense. I'm sorry we haven't been able to hang out much. I would be annoyed too."

Seungcheol had nodded then and thought about his next words, carefully. 

"I think I wasn't annoyed at you. I was a bit, but also at myself. I kept on thinking, how can I help you out, but I never really talked to you much about it anyway. I never told you about how I felt about your workload that much anyway."

Your eyes were doe-like, listening earnestly. You felt a bit weightless, if you were being honest. 

"I kept trying to be by your side, but I think maybe I wasn't doing that well of a job-"

"No, Cheol never," You reassured him. 

"Isn't it funny that I was the one who fucked up last night, and here you are trying to comfort me?" He mused, honestly. 

You looked away, biting your lip. 

"I know that, you have your shit together. You're one of the most capable people I know. I'm amazed by how ambitious you are. I like how you live your life. You have worked so hard for everything that's in front of you right now. But there's still a part of me that wants you to need my presence, even if I'm just there. Actually, cut that, I wanna be strong for you. I know you don't exactly need it. But I just want to be yours. In any way, you'll have me." 

The carbonara was steaming in front of you. Your eyes were glossy as you listened to his earnest confession. 

Seungcheol's legs couldn't stop shaking. He had finally said what he'd been holding back for years. He wasn't planning for this at all. In his grand scheme of life plans, he had imagined confessing his dying love for you at the Eiffel Tower, making cryptic posts on Twitter, before hard launching you to the friend group, before they'd all laugh along and say"finally!"

"Seungcheol I-"

"We can talk about this later. Please, Eat. you didn't have dinner."

"And regarding what I just said. You can answer me later. Or never even, if you'd like us to forget about it. You can think about it at your own pace."

You had smiled at him and nodded.

He looked a bit dejected.

You stole some of his spaghetti while he was distracted anyways.

Sunny Side Up 🍳 (The last one!)

Seungcheol woke up on the floor of your apartment, head heavy. bicep heavy, too. Your head rested on his bicep, and he couldn't help but coo internally at the sight of your lips slightly parted and air escaping in quiet puffs. This was the second time he’d woken up beside you, and unlike his University self, he didn’t run away this time. Instead, he watched you as you woke up. He closed his eyes, worried this small sense of peace and happiness would go away too fast.

He thought back to the night before.

-

Clang,

Clang!

“That’s enough for tonight, guys,” Seungcheol said, victorious and giddy from all the chatter. 

-

"Guys. Don't mess around. usually she would offer her place as it's the closest, but she's very much drunk. Don't do stupid shit and get home safely." Seunghceol relayed to the group. 

"Hosh, since you didn't drink, you can take care of Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Jun, should be okay, right?" Seungcheol planned out. You were very much passed out on his back, looking serene with your smudged mascara. 

"Aye aye," Soonyoung saluted.

Seungcheol had delegated route plans to the sober members and tracked their locations as he walked you back to your place. It was a somber night. He thought back to your conversation with him at the pasta place, and your dynamic since. 

Things had gotten better, he would like to admit. The two of you tried to spend time together, away from work, on weekends. You had declined brunch, but Seungcheol had felt even more excited when he realised it was because you were doing things for your own happiness. He was the happiest when you invited him to your place the next day to make strawberry shortcake with the strawberries you had brought back from Sokcho. 

Sure, the two of you never brought up Seungcheol's love confession without the three words, but he could see a twinkle of admiration in your own eyes that mirrored his. Eh, but what would he know? He didn't mind as long as he was by your side and got to enjoy your presence without any sort of deadline or task on any of the two of your shoulders. 

Your eyes had sleep all over them, and without any sort of disgust, Seungcheol wiped at them with his own thumb. You had been awake, but you couldn't walk away from this feeling of eternal warmth that was encompassing you. 

"Cheol,"

He hummed, voice gruff from sleep. 

"Breakfast,"

"Let's make it together."

You had nodded into his chest in reply. Somewhere in there, you felt his heart bump and beat faster, and louder in retort. 

You cracked four eggs into the pan, letting the whites soak up the chill oil as a spicy scent filled the kitchen. Behind you, Seungcheol prepared rice with Seungkwan's Mother's marinated crabs. The scent of the marinade caused you to salivate from behind the pan. 

At the dining table, you sat facing the balcony, while he sat in front of you, protecting you from the light behind him. It was the early morning, and yet he had this dreamy glow encompassing him. 

He brushed his teeth in your bathroom, with you beside him. Looking back, you didn't realise how you never saw it with the two of you acting all domestic in front of everybody and yourselves, it was a cute sight, seeing you two act all lovey-dovey. 

Chika 

Chika

-

Seungcheol inhaled his food. You hadn't started yet, enjoying watching him as he stuffed his cheeks full of rice. Runny yolk ran between his bites, and yet he never made a mess on your table. 

"Choi Seungcheol, I like you."

Your dining table had specks of rice and chilli oil on it. Seungcheol looked at you, wide-eyed.

"I've liked you for a while now, actually. Maybe I never told you because I thought I never deserved this type of love, or maybe I just preferred to keep it to myself because of our precious relationship as friends."

He listened, shell-shocked. 

"I always shielded myself from things like comfort, and in a way, always thought I didn't really need it. But I was thinking about your words from August. I think in the way you always need to be around me, I think I'll always want you. You're a comfort to me. Someone who has always had my back, regarding even if it's stupid things like sewing up teddies, making me eat even if you're upset at me, drinking my shots for me, or even arguing with me over my well-being. In the same way you want me, I'll always want you. And I’m sorry if I never showed you that enough. I know it must’ve been hard, Cheol."

Seungcheol felt his eyes seering, and a second later, you disappeared and blurred from his vision. Tears blurred his sight, and you were by his side immediately. Your arms circled around him, and Seungcheol took in air, as if it were his first time ever opening his lungs into the world. His sobs racked your body. Seungcheol hadn't been expecting an answer. He was content with the days passing by regularly, and ignoring the lump in his heart and soul that screamed every time the two of you were together, if it meant comfort for you. 

"I love you, always and forever," He had whispered into your hair, after a while. “I’m always gonna regret not loving you openly. Thank you for liking me. Thank you.”

Your thumbs wiped away his tears. His own came to cup your cheeks and swabbed your own tears away, too. 

His forehead met yours, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He then pressed a kiss to your hairline.

You breathed in. He exhaled.

"May, I be, yours?"

"You've always been mine."

end ˎˊ˗

hi guys! Firstly, I wanna thank each and every single one of you reading right now. Yes you! Thank you so much for your support. I always read fics but I wanted to try writing some of my own. I’m relatively new here, so I’m still getting the hang of reblogging culture, commenting and stuff like that :) I hope you guys can be patient with me in that regard. I was so shocked when I woke up to likes from you guys. In all honestly, I thought this would go silently unnoticed. Thank you for your love.

I wanted to dive more deeply into my characterisation of Seungcheol and the MC. if you're still here, thank you! in all honesty, I just wanted to write something but I didn't know what. I was just coming up with random scenarios. I wanted an mc that was helpful, but not exactly a doormat without boundaries. reading all your reblogs and comments were really the highlight of my day, in all honesty. Much love and thank you for the ride. I was thinking of making a bonus SMAU with twitter posts of their progressing friendship to Love story.

I hope you enjoyed reading. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated but never compulsory :3

-M

[livmarauder]

ON MY TONGUE | w.jh (part one)

IN A UNIVERSE filled with soulmates, you never wanted one, never wanting to be tied down to a stranger for the rest of your life. However, fate always seems to work against you and gives you the worst soul mark you could ever have: a soulmate who seems to have a taste for spicy foods, something that you have a distaste for.

PAIRING: idol!jun x food journalist!fem!reader GENRE: Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (in Part Two), Enemies to Lovers (One Sided), Romance AU: Soulmates TOTAL PT 1 WC: 26.2k WARNINGS: mentions of food and eating, profanities, self-doubt, periods, anxiety, stress PLAYLIST: songs for red, love jun

LIV'S NOTES... firstly: HAPPY CARAT DAY to everyone who celebrates <3 this fic is genuinely a love letter to all my friends who have heard stories of red and jun! due to some unforseen circumstances, the fic is out a little later than i intended it to be but it's out! the fic also turned out to be slightly longer than i intended which means that it's split into two parts! part two will be out on the 21st of February 2026. official masterlist for the universe will be out then as well hehe! so, please enjoy the first part of the first installation of Soulmate Series: Written in the Stars. BIG THANK YOU to my love @mellowgyu for helping me to beta-read this monster, be a constant support in my corner and fix mistakes with me <3 i love you so much

PART TWO (WC: 26K)

WRITTEN IN THE STARS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI

THE SWEET LINGERING OF 2014

When Jun turned eighteen, he celebrated it in the practice room surrounded by his twelve brothers who were undoubtedly more excited than he was. Being the fourth oldest in the group, it was almost like there was a routine now when their members were about to have their soulmark coming of age. He doesn’t quite remember how they established the tradition but it was probably something that Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Jihoon had done – as the overall leaders.

He remembered when Seungcheol had turned eighteen and Jun felt overwhelmed for him; it wasn’t the easiest being the oldest of the group and being the person that everyone looked up to. Turning eighteen was sort of a milestone for them, to know what to expect when they too turned eighteen someday. 

He remembered how Seungcheol had blown out the candles on top of the cake set out for him by the staff and looked around as twelve pairs of eyes stared at him.

“Do you feel anything, hyung?” He remembered Seungkwan, who was normally scared of the older boy asking, making Seungcheol shake his head before he paused mid-shake.

Seungcheol's brows furrowed as he let out a groan, holding his head in his hands as the members scrambled around him, asking him what was wrong. “I just got a sudden headache.” Seungcheol managed to mutter out before Jun saw the staff noting it down onto their tablet.

That was the start of the routine: with Seungcheol getting the Pain Soulmark, Jeonghan celebrating next and getting a number written on his wrist and Joshua who thought he was markless, had shrieked in the toilet finding a faint silhouette of a handprint on his chest. 

Jun fiddled with his fingers as they wrapped up practice in the green room, looking at the cake that the staff had prepared as the rest of the members were buzzing with anticipation, more specifically Soonyoung.

“Jun!” Soonyoung exclaimed, making the former jump in surprise as the energetic boy grabbed both his shoulders. “Are you excited?”

Jun opened his mouth to respond but Soonyoung had already breezed past. “I can’t believe you’re getting your mark today and I’ll be getting mine in 5 days time!”

Jun blinked as Soonyoung continued to ramble on and on about how excited he was for the mark and how he couldn’t wait to meet his other half. He managed to tune the boy out as he glanced towards Chan and Minghao at the side who were staring at the older boy with amusement and unamusement respectively. The latter glanced at Jun, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if the older boy was okay. Jun let out a tentative smile and nod, not wanting to alert the younger boy of his nerves.

Jun watched as Minghao’s eyebrows furrow, seemingly not believing him but lets the topic drop as the staff gathered the boys, placing the cake in front of Jun. Jun glanced at the cake, nerves pricking the edges of his skin before he felt someone brush up against his side. He turned to see Minghao sitting to his right, placing a hand on his with a reassuring smile, stopping the unconscious fiddling of fingers that Jun was doing.

“Don’t be nervous.” Minghao whispered to him in their native tongue. “You’ve been waiting for this day for ages.”

He was right.

To say that Jun was excited to get his mark, would be an understatement. Ironic, he thinks, even as he grew up in a slightly broken home where his parents had gotten divorced when he was two years old. His father and mother got married knowing that they weren’t soulmates, almost as if they were trying to game the system. His mother told him that they were happily married for a while before his father had found his actual soulmate and that was the end of their marriage. He remembered her comparing it to a ticking timebomb. They loved each other but they didn't complete each others' souls.

He remembered how much pain she was holding even as she decided to raise him on her own, challenging every social norm as a single mother before fate finally brought her soulmate to her. Bumping into each other at a supermarket that was actually out of the way from where his mother normally goes, a true meet cute if you asked him.

Fast forward many years later, they’re happily married and Jun has never felt more loved.

He snapped out of his thoughts as the members began to sing happy birthday, making him give a small smile as he made a wish and blew out the candles right as the clock struck twelve.

“Do you feel anything?” Soonyoung burst out before yelping as Jihoon smacked the back of his head, hissing at him to calm down. Jun began to search his limbs for marks, words or anything that would be an indication that he has a soulmate. Coming back blank made his heart sink. He couldn’t be markless, could he?

He felt Minghao press more into his right side, a hug it seems as he watched the members quieten down upon seeing his reaction.

He takes a sharp inhale. “I don’t feel anything.” he softly said as he fiddled with his fingers, silently cursing himself.

He wanted to be strong for his younger members, especially because he knew that the thought of being markless scared the maknaes more than they’d like to admit, especially Chan. 

He plastered on a fake smile, swallowing his emotions before taking the plastic knife and cutting into the cake in front of him. “It’s fine,” he muttered out. “It might be something that can’t be seen or felt… I think I just need to be patient.”

The tension in the room was palpable. The members glanced at each other as Jun pretended not to notice, his heart wrenching slightly as he wished that he could cut the tension with the knife in his hand.

Jun felt himself going on autopilot, continuing to cut the cake as his head swirled with doubts. Why didn’t he get a soulmark? Was he just not fated to have a soulmate? Was there something wrong with him?

He felt his spiral halt when he felt arms drape around his shoulders, as someone leaned on him. He peered up to see Seungkwan hanging off him, almost nonchalantly. Seungkwan raised an eyebrow at Jun’s staring before nudging him, urging him to continue to cut the cake.

Before he could, the knife was plucked out of his hand making Jun peer up to see Seungcheol, who nudged Jun out of the way to sit in front of the cake.

“Move.” Seungcheol said, nudging Jun away again as he continued cutting from where Jun left off. 

Jun blinked at the older boy before a plate was shoved into his hands. “Eat your birthday cake Jun!” Jeonghan singsonged, sticking a fork into the cake. “You know it’s bad luck if the birthday boy doesn’t eat his own cake first?”

Jun managed a weak smile at the older boy before he noticed words appear on Jeonghan’s arm: a sign from his soulmate. Jeonghan glanced at it, a small smile on his lips before placing his arm behind his back, away from prying eyes.

“Oops, made the missus mad.”

“You shouldn’t even be lying so much in the first place.” Minghao muttered, bringing a piece of the cake to his mouth. “The poor girl probably has so many numbers and words staining her skin everyday.” Jeonghan flicked his forehead, making the younger boy yelp before turning back to Jun.

“Better eat up, otherwise the lie would be for nothing.” Jeonghan said pointedly, but Jun could hear the faint fondness in his tone that could've been missed if they hadn’t spent the past two years training with each other.

Jeonghan took a plate before skipping towards the other end of the room, no doubt to tease (read, infuriate) his soulmate by lying so that he can talk to her. Jun peered at the cake in his hands before looking around the room to where all his members sat.

Seungcheol, who was cutting the cake while talking to Joshua, who was helping him to plate them whilst nodding, invested in their conversation as he passed the plate to Jihoon without even looking at him. Jihoon then passed it to Mingyu and Chan, who were sitting in the corner eating the cake with Vernon and Soonyoung. Mingyu, Chan and Soonyoung were talking animatedly while Vernon watched them, smiling at their comments.

He peered to the other corner of the room where Jeonghan, Wonwoo and Seokmin were, cracking jokes before his eyes ended up at Minghao who was leaning against him and Seungkwan who was hanging off of him. He watched as Minghao fed Seungkwan a piece of cake before feeding himself some and Jun smiled fondly as his thoughts calmed down.

Maybe he wasn't destined to have a soulmate but fate was kind enough to send him something else, something better. It sent him twelve brothers who really knew him in their heart and they really knew his soul. He felt the lingering of something on his tongue, some sweet thing that he couldn't name as he felt his heart swell at the information that he had just digested which made his smile grow even wider and softer.

Minghao nudged him. "Are you okay?" he asked softly in their native tongue as Seungkwan turned towards him as well. Jun nodded, using his fork to cut through the cake and placed it into his mouth tasting the sweet cream of the cake before turning to the two younger boys and giving them a smile.

"Never better."

However, even as the taste of the cake faded, Jun remained oblivious to the sweet taste on the tip of his tongue.

THE ACCOSTED MALA TASTEBUDS OF 2016

The moment the clock struck midnight on your eighteenth birthday, you swore your soulmate hated his tastebuds.

To your parents, turning eighteen was on par or even more important than turning twenty-one. Soulmates was all your parents ever talked about, how they were friends turned lovers when they both had turned eighteen. Their only wish was that you and your siblings could experience the same. So, when you were on the cusp of turning eighteen, they pulled out all the stops.

“Mum,” you started, staring at the wall of decorations and table filled with presents that looked like it was one more present away from collapsing on the floor. “I think you might have gone a tad bit o–” Your older brother immediately covered your mouth before you could finish your sentence. “—outdone! She meant outdone mum! It looks amazing!” Your brother finished for you, giving you a side-eye that said ‘proceed with caution’ which made you roll your eyes at the older boy.

Your mum breezed at your brother's comment. “Thank you dear! Just trying to make sure your sister gets the same party that we did for you last year!” She exclaimed as she made her way to the storeroom to possibly get more streamers.

You silently mourned all the lost trees before turning to your brother, crossing your arms. “You didn’t need to step in Chris.”

“And let you ruin mum and dad’s best day ever?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Yeah right.”

“You do know it’s my birthday right?”

“Yeah but you don’t care as much about this as them, so let them have it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Unlike your parents, eighteen really didn’t mean that much to you, you were going to be bound to a stranger for the rest of your life which meant that the next few years of your life would be going on dates, questioning if this was the right person or if the soulmarks match up and if they didn’t, it was inevitable that there's either no second date, or a break-up.

You practically didn’t really believe in soulmates either. Why did the universe have to decide who was the best person for you to match with? Why couldn’t you make the decision yourself?

“Besides,” Chris continued, taking a seat on the streamer draped couch. “You are their one shot right now at proving their stories are true.”

“You’re talking as if you aren’t turning nineteen and that Hannah and Lucas are not going to have the same celebration when they turn eighteen.”

“But,” Chris pointed at you to emphasize his point. “You’re their only shot right now.”

You narrowed your eyes at your brother. "And whose fault is that huh?"

Chris feigned an offended look and exasperatedly gasped as you plopped down onto the couch next to him. “What?!”

You smacked his shoulder as he let out a yelp. “Don’t ‘what’ me,” you said, continuing to hit him despite his protests. “If you didn’t decide to join the label, you’d probably have found your soulmate by now!”

Your older brother Chris was also known as Bang Chan to the rest of the world. Having been musically talented since young, it was almost inevitable that he would end up becoming an idol in Korea. That meant crushing your parents' dream of him finding his soulmate early as he was still a trainee and that meant that dating was a huge no-no.

You were happy for him, you truly were. Being his younger sister, you had first dibs on listening to all his garage or attic produced music and you couldn’t be more proud of what your brother has achieved, especially with his upcoming debut.

What you weren’t happy with was the fact that while your parents were struggling with the news, Chris had the awesome idea to throw you under the bus in his stead. He stated that it was the reason you were born a year after him, making you the perfect candidate to live out their stories which turned their attention onto you.

You felt like throwing him under an actual bus as soon as he had suggested that.

“I’m sor- ow - sorry, can we plea– OW, stop assaulting me with the pillow!” Chris yelped out as you kept hitting him with the pillow. “I should be using things other than pillows for the pressure you put me under, its too much!” You spat out, hitting him a few more times before he caught the pillow and ripped it out of your grasp.

“Okay! Okay! I get it.” Chris said, dodging your movement of getting the pillow back. “I’m sorry for putting you under this much pressure but,” He shot you a look. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious as to what your soulmark is.”

“You know about my thoughts on soulmates Chris.” You said softly, sinking back into the couch as you eyed the decorations sprinkled across the family living room. “I just hate that my life feels like it's predetermined just because of this person that I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”

You couldn’t bear to look at your brother although you could already feel his eyes on you as silence enveloped the living room. “Maybe you aren’t scared of the person,” Chris started slowly, making you raise your head to meet his eyes, “but more of the uncertainity that comes with it.”

His tone was soft but his words were firm and hit harder than you thought it would. He had a point, he always did. “Don’t be scared, the universe decided them for you, whoever it is, they are meant to be half of your own soul. I was scared when I got my soulmark too.” Chris said softly, his fingers tracing the half tattoo on his forearm. “But they will love you for who you are, and what you will become. You’re amazing and they will definitely see all those trademarks too.”

Your nerves dissipated little by little as your brother's words sunk in. “Thank you Channie.” you breathe out as you give your brother a side hug. He gave you a side smile, hugging you back as he used his other hand to ruffle your hair.

“Can’t wait to see who will actually match this gremlin energy of yours.” He joked which made you let out a scoff, playfully giving him a small smack on his side as he continued to laugh before he abruptly quietened.

You peered up at him and your heart sank a little as you watched him stare at the half tattoo, his eyes filled with hope and longing. You felt a little guilty for chastising your brother so much, unlike you, he didn’t have a choice of taking steps to finding his soulmate unless he meets her at the label or through shoots. He would need to actually wait for fate to take the reign and bring her to him.

You reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “You know,” you started slowly, giving him the time to lock eyes with you. “I read somewhere that if you trace the soulmark, your soulmate can feel that you're thinking about them.”

Chris stared at you, his eyes widening slightly. “Did you just quote a soulmate myth?”

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly as you attempted to glare at your brother. “Don’t push it.”

His face broke out into a mischievous grin. “Look at you, Miss I-Don’t-Believe-In-Soulmates.”

You groaned at his words as you gave him a shove. “Shut up!”

He chuckled a little more before looking straight at you, his grin softening into a soft smile. “You really think she can feel it?”

You mirrored his soft smile. “I’m sure she can Channie. I’m sure you’ll feel it when she does it too.”

Chris gives you a smile back before bumping your shoulder. "So, tell me about the internship!"

Your grin got wider at that, making you sit up straighter, fully facing your older brother.

Ever since you could remember, food had been a big part of your life, almost like how music was apart of your big brothers. Like how producing and music came easy to him, baking came easy to you.

Baking had been your safe space for as long as you could remember. When you were younger, your mother had been trying to bake a red velvet cake for Chris's seventh birthday. Being six and looking up to your mother, you wanted to try it as well. Your mother relented after you had begged her multiple times and was shocked when you were a whiz in the kitchen.

You could crack eggs, take measurements as if it was written in your blood and mix with the hands of a master baker. You were a natural and that was where you fell in love with it.

From that experience, was where you earned the nickname, Red. Part of it was because you were a whiz in the kitchen, but the main reason was because your parents had caught you, dead in the night, the day after your brother's birthday, stuffing your face with the remaining cake. With all the frosting all over your mouth and having eaten almost half of the remainder, it was endearing to say the least.

As you grew older, you opened a food blog, upon Chris's request as a way for him to keep tabs on your food journey even when he was in Korea doing his music. You learned how to take proper pictures, what were the right words to use for describing the food you were making, how to hook people to the blog as well as how to put a touch of yourself in all the baked crafts that you created.

Which lead you to this exact moment.

Two months ago, Gourmet Traveler posted that they were looking for an intern for the summer break that was willing to learn all that they had to offer. Being a huge fan since you were young, you spent many late nights perfecting your CV, perfecting every blog post that you had as well as preparing a video to state why you were the perfect fit for the role.

You spent the better half of your exam period, checking your emails for a response and upon seeing the ad receive almost over 2000 applicants, you were almost sure that you didn't get it. You were a bit upset at first, it was definitely your dream to get in but Chris called you, gave you a pep talk about how they didn't know what they were missing and it made you feel a lot better.

However, when you were lazing around on call with Chris, animatedly talking about the plans you guys had when he came back for your birthday, a 'ping' was heard from your laptop. You lazily walked over to it, clicking as you hummed, listening to Chris talk about how you guys should go get frozen yogurt when he was back. You giggled and was about to agree until your eyes landed on the new email that just came in titled 'Congratulations' which was from the magazine company in-charge of Gourmet Traveler.

Your eyes widened as you open the email, screening through the email before letting out a squeal, startling your brother who dropped the phone on his face with a 'thud'. You heard him let out a muffled curse as he was about to start scolding you, but you immediately turned the camera around to the acceptance letter making his own eyes widen as you both started shouting together.

Which lead you to this moment.

"It's so fun!" You squealed out to your brother, squeezing his hand tighter. "They brought me along to interview one of the new home bakers the other day and let me put in some of the questions that I thought we should ask!" You say, recalling the look on your managers face when he had approved the ideas. "I also got to write my own mini-section for the article coming out this weekend!"

Your brothers eyes widen at that. "Red!" He shouts out, "That's amazing!" He nudges you with his shoulder. "I guess we know what we're doing this weekend!" His eyes sparkle, full of pride, as he pulls his hand away from yours, starting to count.

"We need one for each of us as a keepsake, we also need to buy one extra for us to keep in a frame." He rambles, listing it off on his fingers. "OH! I'm sure Dad, Mum, Hannah and Lucas would also like a copy! And the guys! They were so happy when you got the internship so that's," His eyes widen, "Fourteen copies!"

You laugh, choking slightly on your own saliva from laughing so hard as you shove your brother.

"You're such a dumbass!"

Chris lets out an exasperated gasp. "How can you say that?!" He shoves you back, "Is it wrong for me to be proud of my baby sister?"

You roll your eyes, the smile never leaving your face as he grabs your hand again with a sincere smile on his face.

"Seriously though," He starts, looking at you, his eyes shining with pride, "I'm really proud of you Red."

Your heart swells, squeezing your joint hands before the lights turn off making you jump with a small yelp. You turn towards the kitchen to see your parents bring out a cake with the candles already lit, slowly singing happy birthday. A smile made its way onto your way as you glanced at the clock.

23:58pm

You took a deep breath as your parents put the cake in front of you, your brother's hand anchoring you as he gave it yet another squeeze before letting go for you to have your moment. Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at the beautiful homemade red velvet cake in front of you that makes a smile appear on your face.

“Make a wish darling!” Your mum exclaimed, snapping you out of your thoughts as she clapped her hands together. 

You glanced at Chris who had a reassuring smile on his face before glancing back at the cake and closing your eyes, briefly making a wish before you opened them and blew out the candle right as your house was filled with a ding.

Your parents looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as you shifted nervously under their intense gazes.

“Do you feel anything Red?” Your dad asked, shifting excitedly on his feet. You nervously checked the underside of your arms before moving to your legs and shaking your head.

“I don’t–”

As soon as you said that, your face started burning up as a sharp burning numbing sensation hit your tongue making you gasp out. You immediately shot out of your seat as the sensation took over your tongue, making tears start to well up in your eyes. Chris was out of his seat, eyeing you, his face filled with shock.

“Red?! Are you alright?”

You wanted to scream at him, saying that of course you weren’t alright but sarcasm was definitely not the right approach while you were midway dying from the burning sensation.

“Water!” You managed to choke out, urgently gesturing to the water jar sitting on the family table. Chris immediately grabbed a glass, pouring like his life dependent on it, turning around to pass it to you. You grabbed it out of his hand and inhaled the water, feeling the burning sensation start to subside with each gulp you took.

Chris had given you a few more glasses before the spice fully subsided as you collapsed back on the couch, your eyes slightly rimmed with tears and slightly red. You watched your parents nervously glance at each other as Chris passed you a tissue paper to wipe the stray tears from your eyes.

Your tongue felt numb from the spice that had overtaken all your senses as a sourish aftertaste soon followed making you smack your lips as your face scrunched up slightly in disgust of the aftertaste. Swirling more water in your mouth in hopes to get rid of the taste, you turned to your parents.

“What was that?” you croaked out to them as they were shifting slightly uncomfortably from where they’re standing.

Your mum cleared her throat. “Well, sweetheart,” she started, as you watched her brain slowly piece the words together, “it seems like you have a taste soul mark.”

You froze, your hand stopping from dabbing at your eyes, looking between your parents for confirmation as to whether either of them were joking. When all you were met with was seriousness, you felt a heavy sigh flow up from your throat as you frowned.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me–”

“LANGUAGE!”

THE RED OF RED VELVET OF 2016

Jun felt himself collapse on the floor as soon as the video stopped recording. Catching his breath, he jumped slightly, hearing a soft 'thud' beside him before chuckling to himself at the view of his starfished team leader.

Minghao walked over to the two and sits down opposite Jun, an unamused expression on his face as he shakes his head at Soonyoung's antics.

"One of these days," Minghao muttered out, "You're going to hurt yourself really bad by collapsing like that." Soonyoung, who was still starfished on the floor, lets out a grunt in acknowledgment at Minghao's words but makes no further comment.

Chan who was the only one left standing after the intense practice, ran a hand through his hair as he kept slowly rehearsing the moves, slowly correcting himself, little by little. Jun watched in adoration, as their maknae continued to nail the choreography with ease.

Being in the performance unit was definitely something he was meant for but it didn't make the extra dance practices or intense choreography easier to get the hang off. Sometimes he was envious of the other two units, the hiphop unit just needed to look like they were having fun on stage and the vocal unit just needed to look ethereal. Them, on the other hand, needed their choreography to look flawless which meant extra practices and extra dances to remember.

Chan continued to hum the beat of 'Highlight' before walking over to his three hyungs, plopping down in between Jun and Minghao. "I think we're almost ready for the music video recording." Chan chirped up making Jun smile, despite still catching his breath. He was always envious at how much energy their maknae had, even after all those extra steps, Chan looked like he wasn't even panting.

Soonyoung sat up slowly. "Yeah and then tomorrow we need to figure out how to do the 13 member version for the concerts."

Minghao lets out a low groan. "You couldn't wait to drop that news tomorrow or something?" Minghao chastises lightly. "Couldn't just let us have the peace for the night?"

Soonyoung clicks his tongue. "As performance leader," he gives Minghao a cheeky grin, "I cannot."

Minghao rolls his eyes at the older boys antics. "Can't believe you're older than me." He muttered. Soonyoung lets out a scoff, about to retort when Minghao notices Soonyoung's eyes sparkle a little before changing, the dark brown slowly turning to a maroon red.

"Your eyes changed colour again." Minghao nonchalantly points out, gesturing towards his eyes making Soonyoung's eyes widen, any remarks dying, as he whips out his phone to document the change.

"Are you any closer to figuring out what it means?" Chan asked Soonyoung, who was still typing ferociously onto his phone. Soonyoung absentmindedly shook his head.

"No," He muttered out, still engrossed as he scrolled through his notes. "It's driving me insane! Like I can't believe I have a soulmate and I can't even communicate with them like Minghao can, all I have is the darned colour changes. Its almost as if the universe just doesn't want me to find—"

Minghao slaps the back of Soonyoung's head before he has the chance to continue making the older boy yelp in pain. Soonyoung shoots glares at Minghao, "What the hell was that for—"

Minghao raises a finger, silencing the boy before gesturing to Jun who was sitting there, quietly with his legs crossed. Soonyoung's eyes widen in understanding, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Sorry Jun." he mutters out making Jun glance up and shake his head slowly, a weak smile on his face.

"It's alright." Jun said softly, shrugging a little, "I'm used to it."

Even after two years, Jun was still the only one unsure if he had a soulmate or not, everyone else had gotten something on their 18th birthday except Chan whose birthday hasn't passed yet and was just a few months away. With every new soul mark that the group celebrated, Jun's hopes dimmed more and more.

After being told to not give up two years ago, Jun had done everything in his power to figure out what soul mark he had. He went onto his ipad in between practice sessions, just to read up on published articles of late blooming soul marks. He picked up some books in the library about the different types of soul marks that have been documented so far, each more unique than the last. Hell, he even tried to force the soul mark to happen by pinching himself after seeing Seungcheol's soul mark or even doodling on himself after seeing Seungkwan's but drew blanks everytime.

Maybe he was really unlucky and he really was going to be the only one without a soulmate.

He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the three younger boys share a glance, a silent conversation between them before shooting to their feet, shocking him.

"I think we're done with practice today." Soonyoung states, stretching a little before holding out a hand for Jun to grab. Jun stares at the hand, side glancing to the two other younger boys before looking at Soonyoung, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't we have another hour of practice today?"

It was true, the staff had booked the the practice room for eight hours today and left them around two hours ago, trusting that they would practice till the time was up. Soonyoung was normally the one in charge of the timings, being the performance leader and never let the group end earlier for any circumstance even with Chan's constant whines of wanting to end.

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "Well," he clicked his tongue, "I was being nice and offering but if you're that concerned," his eyes twinkled with a mischievous sparkle, "You can stay and practice by yourself."

Soonyoung starts to slowly pull his hand back, making Jun's eyes widen, grabbing onto it and pulling himself up. "No thanks." Jun chirped out making Soonyoung roll his eyes, a small smirk making it's way onto his face.

"C'mon." Soonyoung said, putting an arm around Jun's shoulder before glancing at his other two members, a smile on his face. "Let's go to get some food."

The four of them walked out of the practice room, up the stairs and onto the street which was buzzing with ambient noises. They talked about everything under the sun, random little tidbits and inside jokes filled the moments until they stopped at a familiar neon signage.

Jun blinked, not even realizing they had ended up outside his favourite Chinese restaurant. His eyebrows furrow before looking towards the other three boys, one eyebrow raising in question. "I thought you guys wanted to try the new Korean jeon place that was having that one for one deal?"

Soonyoung simply shrugged. "We changed our mind." Jun stared at him in disbelief, clearly not believing his answer but was pushed through the doors of the restaurant by the tiger boy before he could press even further.

"Good evening— Oh! It's you four!" The owner of the restaurant greets them, with a warm smile on her face as the four boys bowed, mirroring her expression. "Where are the other noisy nine that are normally with you all?" She teased, as the boys took their seats at one of the tables near the window of the store.

"Are the four of us not enough aunty?" Soonyoung whines out, making the old lady laugh as Minghao and Chan roll their eyes at their older hyung while Jun just shakes his head, a little embarrassed at their leader's antics. She pat Soonyoung's head. "Enough, enough," She says, soothing the boy. "It's just livelier when all thirteen of you are around."

Mrs Yang, as she told the boys to call her, was a lady in her sixties who had opened this restaurant after she moved from China twenty-odd years ago. Mrs Yang had opened the restaurant with her husband after they had been unable to find jobs in the corporate world and opted for their restaurants to be a 24/7 shop for those who just needed the comfort of a hot bowl of food.

The boys has stumbled across the restaurant before their debut, looking for food at the weird hours of the morning. She had welcomed them with open arms and for Jun, this place was like home far away from home.

Jun enjoyed the food so much that he found himself coming back to the restaurant whenever he felt down or just needed a hot meal that wasn't out of his budget. When Mrs Yang had learned about their debut, she purposely made a special menu for them that cost less than what other patrons paid.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan tried to argue with her about it but she was stubborn to say the least as she threatened them with the idea of lowering the prices for the thirteen of them even more.

She rounded the table to Jun and Minghao's side. "How are my two favourite boys?" She asked, in their native tongue making the two look at each other, a knowing smile on their faces.

"We're good." Minghao replied in Chinese before gesturing towards Jun, "Jun here really wanted to eat your food today."

Mrs Yang looks right at Jun, meeting his gaze before analyzing him.

"Thinking about her?"

Jun gave her a weak smile before looking back at the menu, analyzing it as if he didn't already know what he wanted. The night of his eighteenth Birthday, Jun sneaked out of the shared dormitories, needing to clear his head from the day. Having had practice the whole day, Jun didn't really have time to dwell on the fact of his soulmate and threw himself into the practice, making sure his moves were perfect and didn't really rest the whole day.

The other boys were worried, for sure. He saw the small glances that they gave each other when he was the first back on his feet after the breaks, they saw how he sweat a little harder than the rest of them and how he was unusually quiet, not a single mischievous comment coming out from his mouth.

Minghao and Seungkwan didn't leave his side for majority of the day and when Minghao had appeared in their shared room in his sleepwear with Chan no where to be seen, he knew that the members had a small meeting about him.

That's how he found himself back at the restaurant, drinking a hearty bowl of beef noodle soup, sitting opposite Mrs Yang. The restaurant was always quiet in the dead of the night. Mr Yang working hard to prepare the next set of ingredients needed for the wave of 5am customers who typically worked the night shift while Mrs Yang minced chili for their special chili oil, cut spring onions for garnish or plucked the heads off of bean sprouts.

Tonight she was doing the latter, slowly making her way through mountain in the left while she disposed the headless ones on her right, the heads throwing them into the plastic bag beside her.

She hummed along to an old Chinese song that flowed through the speakers of the restaurant that Jun recognized. It was one of his grandmother's favourite songs that used to play in the house when he was younger. It was at times like this that he missed his home in China and the food only amplified it more. He swallowed his emotions as he downed the last bit of his noodles, placing the bowl on the table with a soft 'thud' alerting Mrs Yang.

She gave him an easy smile, peering into the bowl, "Wahh," She said, the smile on her face growing bigger, "I guess we don't need to run the bowl through the dishwasher with how clean your bowl is."

Jun let out a weak laugh at the joke, sparing her a glance before going back to stare outside the window as he watched one or two cars whizz by.

Mrs Yang's eyes soften watching the forlorn boy who looked like he was close to breaking. She looked towards the kitchen where Mr Yang was standing, glancing between the two of them with a curious look twinkling in his eyes before gesturing towards her making her nod.

Jun was brought out of his thoughts when Mr Yang placed a small serving of a dessert that Jun wasn't expecting to see was placed in-front of him. His eyes widened, before looking between the older couple, his jaw dropping, "Nian Gao?" Jun sputtered out, making the older couple's eyes twinkle with delight.

"Happy birthday my dear boy." Mrs Yang said softly as Mr Yang placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Didn't think we would forget your birthday did you?" Mr Yang asked, his eyebrow raising, "We're old but not that old." Jun immediately shook his head, panicking slightly making Mr Yang let out a hearty laugh as Mrs Yang tsked at her husband, hitting his hand lightly.

"Don't disturb the poor boy like this on his birthday." She chastised her husband but there was no malice in her tone making Mr Yang laugh harder. Jun stared at the couple, longing in his veins, smiling a little sadly at the sight before looking down at the sticky cake in front of him.

The couple shared another glance at Jun's silence before Mrs Yang reached over the table and grabbed his hand that was resting there. "Want to talk about it?" She asked softly.

Jun swallowed. "I don't think I have a soulmate." He lowly admitted, his heart clenching slightly. The older couple were quiet for a beat at the confession before Mrs Yang's eyes hardened slightly on the boy. "That's nonsense."

Jun blinked at her stern words, "Everyone has a soulmate boy." She said, sternly locking eyes with Jun, "The minute you stop believing in that is when your soul doesn't long for them anymore or it feels complete without them next to you."

She raised an eyebrow at the young boy, "Do you truly feel like that?"

The question knocks the wind out of Jun's lung as he finds himself staring at her, his mouth open and closing like a fish before he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He really thought about it, her words striking him hard.

"I don't," He manages to answer making Mrs Yang nod her head. "Then she's still out there, longing for you as well."

It's crazy how those few simple words made Jun's doubts all disappear but she was right. If he didn't have a soulmate, he wouldn't feel this upset about not having something he didn't have in the first place. He wouldn't feel like something is missing from his life.

Mrs Yang gave Jun's hand a small squeeze. "Blow your candle already my dear boy." She said, pulling her hand back, "Make a good wish."

Jun smiled at the older couple who stared at him, their eyes filled with adoration and pride before he made a wish. He wished upon every single star in the sky that he would find her.

That's how they ended up here, the Yangs' had been helping Jun out by giving him hope and also checking with all their soulmate doctors that they knew. They always had something new to give Jun but with the search getting harder and harder each day, they were coming up short during his last recent visits.

"I always am." He answered, a reply to Mrs Yang's question, "I don't think she ever leaves my mind."

Mrs Yang gives the boy a sympathetic smile, reaching down and giving his hand a squeeze, "Good, as long as you don't give up on her." She says, her words a little fierce before turning to the younger Chinese boy.

"And you?" Mrs Yang asked. "Has she communicated with you?"

Minghao gave her a small smile. "We're trying," He mutters back softly, tugging at his sleeves to show the dark words of his soulmates thoughts on his arm, "Hard with the time difference and the language barrier but Shua hyung and Vernon have been helping me."

Mrs Yang gives the boy a toothy smile at that. "Good boys." She says, her smile widening at the thought of Joshua and Vernon. "I'll pack some extra food later for you to bring to them." The two boys give her an appreciative smile and thank her in Chinese before Mrs Yang clapped her hands.

"Right!" She said in Korean, getting the rest of the boys attentions, "I got a treat for you boys tonight." She gave them a wink with a promise to be right back before disappearing behind into the kitchen where she talked in fast Cantonese with her husband.

The four boys glance at each other before laughing to themselves as the couple loudly talked to each other. Not even twenty minutes later, the table was filled with various different dishes that the older couple whipped up making the four boys salivate.

"Dig in!" Mrs Yang said, clapping her hands as the boys eagerly began to dig in. "Woah!" Soonyoung gasped out after taking a spoonful of soup, "This is so good." Mrs Yang nods, her smile filled with pride, "It's Mala Tang," She said proudly, "Mr Yang and I thought it would be good for us to add it to the menu since Minghao and Jun mentioned liking it."

Jun took a sip of the soup and let out a sigh of contentment. "Really tastes like home Mrs Yang."

"I'm glad." She says, giving him a huge smile and patting his head gently.

They share stories with Mrs Yang about their recent practice and their upcoming concerts, Soonyoung sometimes getting out of his seat to dance the dance for her making Minghao shake his head at his antics as Jun and Chan laughed at their leader.

She clapped her hands as Soonyoung finished his one man show of 'Highlight'. "Bravo!" She cheered as Soonyoung took an exaggerated bow making Chan laugh as Minghao sighed and Jun smiled in between bites.

He quietly listened to Soonyoung animatedly tell Mrs Yang about his ideas for the thirteen member version of the song, placing more chili oil in his mala tang spoon as the clock struck 10pm. He took a sip of the soup, loving the spice and numbness on his tongue before it totally dulled in record speed, replaced by the strong taste of water.

Jun jumped in surprise, confusion flooding his features as he stared at the spoon as if it had offended him, which it did. "What in the world?" Jun wondered aloud before placing more chili oil into the soup before taking another spoonful of the soup and put it into his mouth.

Minghao who heard his murmurs, glanced at him, his eyebrow raised. Jun felt the numbness and the spice hit his tongue again before it was once again doused with taste of water.

"Not spicy enough for you?" Minghao asks teasingly as Jun frowned at the bowl getting the attention of the other three people at the table.

"No," Jun started, confusion still etched into his features, "I keep tasting water for some reason after drinking the soup."

Minghao's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?" He asked. Jun shrugged, "The mala taste of numbness and spice is there for like a second but then it gets overwhelmed by a really strong water taste." Jun said, taking another sip of the soup. He scrunches his nose in confusion as he tasted more water, the more he clicked his tongue.

Soonyoung at the other end of the table made a face before his eyes widened in realization as he turned to Mrs Yang who smiled as the gears turned in her head at Jun's words.

"Look's like your soulmate has finally found you." Mrs Yang said, making Jun tilt his head in confusion before it hit him. Chan and Minghao let out gasps as it hit them as well. Jun felt his heart thunder in his ribcage as his eyes widened.

Soonyoung rushed out of his seat, rounded the table and hugged the boy, squeezing him tightly as Minghao reached over to grab Jun's hand, "I told you so." Minghao said, in their native tongue, squeezing the boys hand.

Jun felt tears swarm his vision as his taste buds came to life, tasting the sweet taste of cream cheese frosting and chocolate cake on his tongue.

Red Velvet Cake.

He had finally found you.

10 YEARS LATER

"Fuck." You curse under your breath, running through the city in your heels was surely not the way you wanted to start your morning. It wasn't like you meant to sleep through all three of your alarms, you had stayed up to the early hours of the morning, working on your newest article for the magazine.

After you had graduated from high school, your old manager during your internship had called and offered you a position with the magazine after loving your work so much. Hence, you were known as the culinary and food expert at the Gourmet Magazine.

"Hey Mina," You greet as you brisk walked through the company glass doors. Mina, the receptionist looks up from her computer before giving you a bright smile, greeting you with your name as you gave her your card to scan you in.

"Long night?" She asks, glancing at the time on her computer making you give her a weak smile as you shrug, "You know how it is when we're wrapping up articles." You answered tiredly, making her nod her head sympathetically.

Mina had been the receptionist at the company since you started working full-time here. She was always around and she somehow always had the brightest smile on her face. She was also one of your closer friends in the company, always having an extra coffee for you whenever you were working late and always brought you donuts or other forms or sweet treats. She was quite literally your life saver.

"I hope the article goes well," She says softly, passing you back your card as you give her a warm smile, thanking her before she open the gantries for you. Your heels click on the marble floor as you press the button for the elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor.

You briskly walked in, dumping your stuff on top of the table of your cubicle before sinking into your chair, letting out a sigh of relief as you check the clock. Five minutes to spare, you roll your shoulders, finally catching your breath before a head peaked over your cubicle divider.

"There you are," Nari teased making you roll your eyes, a smile on your face as you came face to face with your cubicle sharer. "Was wondering if you were going to make it for the special meeting today or not."

You huff out a scoff, "And risk getting my ass handed to me by Minho?" You mutter back, shaking your head, "He would kill me if I missed the meeting."

Nari rolled her eyes at that, "As if." She scoffed, "You're literally his favourite journalist in the field. I think he would rather choke on his own guts before chewing yours out." You scrunched your nose at the image, "Gross." You said making Nari laugh.

Nari had joined the same time as you as a fellow intern for the food magazine. The two of you had solid portfolios and because management couldn't choose, they decided to offer both of you the spots. You and Nari became friends pretty quickly even though she was a year older than you were and the two of you chatted about everything under the sun. After the internship was over and the two of you finished high school, you were both on boarded together and have been working as cubicle besties since then.

Your phone buzzed making you glance at it before fishing through your bag for your laptop and the hard copy of your article and column for the week. "C'mon, you menace." You called to Nari, "Let's go see what Park wants before he hands us something bad for being late."

Nari appears beside you in record speed with her own laptop and hard copies in her hand, "He loves us too much to actually do that." She says, a mischievous grin on her face making you roll your eyes. "Well, let's not actually give him a reason then."

The two of you continue to chat as you made your way into the meeting room, where your magazine manager, Park Minho already stood. Beside him, sat his personal assistant, Lina who had a frown on her face as she was typing up a storm on her laptop in front of her, her fingers flying across the keyboard at record speed.

As you and Nari pushed open the glass door, Minho looked up before grinning at the sight of you two, "There are my two favourite food journalists!" He announced, doing an exaggerated arm opening movement making both you and Nari roll your eyes at his antics.

"Don't let Terry hear you say that," Nari teased, as she took a seat at his other side. You flashed Lina a grin who flashes you one back, tiredness etched into it before she went back to typing on her computer.

"Well, if Terry's articles and food columns actually hit 1500 views over the weekend," Minho began, eyeing the two of you with an easy grin on his face, "He shall get that spot then."

Your eyes widened as you looked at Nari who had a similar look on her face before looking back at your manager, "We hit 1.5k views?" You asked in disbelief making Minho nod as he flashed you both grins of pride, "Yep! Just over the weekend!"

You and Nari high-five each other, the smiles on your faces not dimming, "Was this what this meeting is for?" Nari asked, her eyes still sparkling making Minho shake his head, "Firstly," He pointed towards the papers on yours and Nari's computers, "I need to collect your columns and articles for this week."

The two of you share a look before passing them to him, he flipped through them briefly before passing them to Lina who tucks them into her file beside her. "Secondly," He starts before gesturing towards the projector screen, "The higher ups have been super impressed with the work that you both have been putting in and they recently wanted to offer you an assignment that is specially catered to the two of you."

You and Nari glanced at each other before looking back at the screen as Minho changed it to the next slide. Upon reading the words etched onto the slide, you felt your blood run cold.

"Food for the Soul: A Soulmate Assignment?" Nari asked, her tone ecstatic as you just stared at it with your mouth open. Minho nodded his head eagerly, seeming not to notice both your expressions as he continued, "Since both of you have a soul mark related to food cravings or taste, the higher ups thought that they wanted to create a series where you look for your soulmates through the foods and see if you can find them."

He flips to the next slide, "Of course, the trip is also fully-paid, you just need to inform Lina and I of the location you think your soulmate is in and we will get you the accommodations as well as give you money for you to spend to write the series."

Minho finally turns to you and Nari who have different expressions etched onto your faces as you just stared blankly at the projection screens, "Of course, we have to work out a timeline, what your series will actually entail but this is the basics of the assignment." Minho finishes, with a satisfied grin on his face as he takes a seat back into the rolling chair of the meeting room.

"Any questions?" He asks making Nari shake her head with a huge smile on her face before he turned to look at you who still stared at the board, a million thoughts running through your head. You felt faint.

After the incident of your eighteenth birthday, you held a huge dislike for your soulmate and his taste buds. You were aware that you and your soulmate definitely didn't live in the same country with the amount of times you would wake up with the taste of Americano on your taste buds before you even had your first cup of coffee and the amount of times you would eat your late dinner with the taste of toothpaste on your tongue.

At the start of your journalism journey, it was difficult to say the least. For every single assignment, you had to work around the times when your soul mate was having his meals so as to not have it clash with the food that you were writing your reviews for.

You had learned that the hard way when you were tasting the cakes of the newest rising bakery in town, only to almost spit out the delicious creamy cakes when you taste the sour and spicy taste of some fish dish that your soul mate was having. Safe to say, you worked your absolute hardest to give the bakery the best review it could ever get and business was still booming to this day.

You had tried to make a schedule for when your soul mate eats his meals and he was consistent for a while but within a month or so, that schedule will change sporadically throughout the month leaving you to just shred the schedule and go "fuck it", to try to find other workarounds. Which of course, there weren't.

This lead to your certain distaste for him and his taste buds as he never really had anything sweet and opted for every single spicy or sour food he could find his hands on. However, as much as you didn't like him or the idea of him, he was… sweet sometimes.

He must've gotten a schedule down for you, because unlike his outrageously sporadic schedule, you kept your meal times to a certain range in the day and it only strayed sometimes when you were in the middle of assignments or on work trips.

Because for the week during your periods, he ate milder stuff and kept to a proper schedule like it was clockwork. More sweet stuff than spicy or sour and sometimes he would sneak a chocolate during the middle of your day which made you smile as you taste the creaminess on your tongue.

You would be nice as well and eat something spicy during the week after, during one of your meals as a quiet 'thank you' to which he always replied with either another sweet chocolate or something sweeter. Still, that didn't mean you were okay with having a soul mate, he was normally a blip in your imagination until your tongue tastes something unfamiliar which makes you frown and curse him out even more.

Now you were expected to make a series to force yourself to find him? The biggest assignment of your career where you get to travel for 3 to 4 months and it was all to find someone that you didn't want in the first place.

You gnawed on your bottom lip before feeling Nari nudge you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You eyed her before realizing that all three of the people in the room were staring at you. You cleared your throat before straightening up, flashing Minho a weak smile.

"Sorry, spaced out there for a moment." you say, looking between him and Lina, "What did I miss?"

Minho gives you a curious look before clearing his throat as he gestures back to the presentation, "Well, I was just saying that you and Nari have a week, you can brainstorm with each other or separately and decide what your game plan is and where you think your soulmate is."

He peers at his watch before tapping it with his fingers, "Right, Lina and I need to run for a meeting with the Chief." He said, standing before pushing his chair and shooting the two of you a bright white smile, buttoning his suit jacket. "If you two have any questions, just shoot them into my inbox!" He says cheerily as Lina stood by his side, her signature frown still on her face as she gripped her laptop and files like they were her lifeline, which they probably were.

With that, he gives the two of you a wave before stepping out of the room. Nari turns to you as soon, her excitement radiating off of her. "I can't believe this!" She all but squeals as she grips your hands in hers, her eyes twinkling.

"A paid assignment to go find our soulmate!" She said, her tone dreamy as her eyes glazed over a little, "It's almost like a dream come through!"

You manage to give her a weak smile. "Yeah." You mutter out, your eyes moving downwards to stare at the scratch marks on the wooden table as the faint taste of kimchi fills your tastebuds.

"A dream come true, alright…"

You stare at blinking cursor on your screen, the blank document reflecting the opposite of every single thought in your brain before you groan out in frustration. You push your laptop off of your lap and onto your bed as you sink further into the pillows.

It had been almost a week since you had your meeting with Minho and you were nowhere close to drafting up that working plan for him about finding your soulmate. You felt like a zombie the past few days, sure you were present in the meetings, there for your discussion sessions with Nari but it felt as if you were on autopilot for all of them.

You half-heatedly listened to Nari as she explained to you her idea. Nari, like you, had a food related soul mark but for her, it was related to what her soul mate was craving at different times. They didn't taste each others food, but whatever her soul mate was craving, Nari found herself craving the same thing. It didn't matter who craved it first, the two of them ended up having the same meals anyway.

If you had gotten that soulmark instead, you felt that it wouldn't make a difference because he would've craved an immense amount of spicy and sour food and you weren't sure that your tastebuds could handle more than one meal of spice or sour foods a day. It just wasn't in your system to have it.

As she animatedly told you her plan, how she thought that her soulmate was situated in Italy, he always had a certain craving for different Italian foods such as pizzas and pastas and how he seemed to also crave a certain Italian wine.

You envied her a little bit, she had a plan and she wanted to meet the man that was part of her soul. You on the other hand, felt a pit in your stomach whenever you felt someone ask you about your soulmate.

You had been on a few dates here and there, with people who hadn't found their soulmate yet either but nothing ever truly stuck. You were committed to your work and you definitely didn't stand in the other persons way when the date eventually went eastward when they found their respective one.

"Don't worry," They used to assure you as they paid for your drink. "I'm sure he's out there looking for you as well."

You weren't sure about that. As much as you haven't been trying to find your mysterious man, he also wasn't making it easy to pinpoint where he was on the map. Your parents had given you a journal for your birthday, something cheesy with stars on it and titled it 'Your Soulmate Journal' for you to document everything related to your soulmate for you to find them. They had also given one to your brother for him to document the certain feelings he felt when he touched the mark or whether it glowed brighter and in which direction.

You used it to document the food he ate instead. Sometimes if you wanted to wing the assignments, you used the food journal of his tastes to get ahead, to get the variety that you normally wouldn't eat yourself. It worked for a while but at the end of the day, you felt guilty for your soulmate. You didn't want anything to do with him but you were using him to get ahead, so you stopped and just documented what he ate, trying to find a pattern, just to satisfy your parents every time you saw them for Sunday dinners, just to say you were trying.

You glance at the journal on your desk and sighed, getting up to take it before flipping through it.

18/9/2017 Loser boy ate the spicy numbing food again. Been talking to Minho and Nari about what the foods were to try and get more info. Admittedly, maybe he has taken the hint from the amount of water I keep dousing my tongue in after he eats the food, but he's been getting a milder one. Either that or I'm getting better at eating his god-awful spicy food.

25/12/2018 Found out what the hell that spicy food is. Nari came into work and brought an extra portion of lunch for me today. It smelled good but as soon as I tasted it, it felt like my tastebuds were tasting him. She told me its something called Mala tang, something she had discovered in the city and it was to die for. I agree with her on that considering I nearly died from it during my birthday but I didn't mention that to her. I thanked her as my stomach did flip flops as I ate quietly. The food wasn't bad but considering my low spice tolerance, I definitely can't eat this everyday. My question to my loser boy, why the hell do you?

You grimace as you recalled the last memory before flipping a few more pages.

10/6/2019 Is today his birthday? It could be a coincidence but he had cake just now. Not that he hasn't had cake before. But it's always on this specific day. I flipped through the last three years of entries and I think it is. He had three different kinds today… Chocolate, Vanilla and Strawberry, all filled with cream. It felt like he ate a lot more sweet stuff today than normal. Maybe he was trying to communicate with me?

18/10/2021 I fucking hate him. I thought I had his schedule down, but I somehow woke up at 4am in the goddamn morning, because he decided to eat Mala Tang again. He put extra spice this time though. Is he doing it on purpose? I would normally only taste mint now but I'm tasting so much food, its annoying. I've tasted Mala Tang, some kind of sweet and sour pork and some kind of black pepper beef. I fucking hate him. I hate that he made me hungry at 4am in the morning.

29/6/2022 God, hes been eating at weird timings again. The last time it was like this, it lasted for a few months where I'd wake up with different food tastes in my mouth. What does he work as? A food taster? Some moonlighter? Why does his food schedule go haywire every few months? The only conclusion I can come up with is that he travels a lot. There's no other explanation. Unless he hates me which I can't blame him because I hate his tastebuds.

You flipped through it more until you came to the most recent one which was a tally.

Tallied results: Korean food - 6890 times Chinese food - 3568 times

You internally groan, just looking at the first two. You weren't stupid. He was definitely in Korea from the amount of times he had eaten Korean food over the last few years that you had documented. But he seemed to take a liking to Chinese food, considering that he eats Mala at least twice a week from your count.

You glance towards the framed polaroid on your desk and frown a little more. The picture of you and your older brother Chris, stares back at you making you sigh. You had an inkling for years that your soulmate was in Korea, which was why you never really traveled there with a fear of running into him on the street, breaking this little bubble that you were keen to keep.

You knew that Chris was disappointed. Your parents traveled there to visit him as least once every quarter with your siblings but you never went. It started with small excuses at first, like you can't take leave from work, you needed to finish the article, you were traveling for a work trip, et cetera.

Chris also hummed in understanding but you could see the look in his eyes that he knew you were lying to him and that you were keeping something from him. He just didn't press you enough to figure out what you were hiding from him.

You stared at the polaroid for a beat longer before sighing and pulling out your phone. Checking the time and doing the mental math, you went into facetime and hovered over the call button on his contact. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth before deciding 'fuck it' and hitting the button.

His ringtone rang once. Twice. Thrice.

As you started to second guess yourself and hovered over the disconnect button, the ringing stopped and changed to 'connecting'.

Your eyes widened but before you could calm your nerves, Chris appeared on your screen with makeup on with a concerned expression on his face.

"Hi-" You managed to say before Chris interrupted you.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, urgently making you stop and frown, "What—"

"Is something the matter?" He asked again, before rattling even more. "Did something happen with mum and dad? Wait- no then you would've called an ambulance first. Is it Hannah? Or Lucas?"

"Chris—"

His eyes widened, "Oh my god! Did you just get fired?? Is that why you look so worried?? Do you need money??"

"Chris." You called, getting a little more frustrated but he payed you no mind as he continues on rambling.

"Well, we didn't plan for this but we can go to Plan Contingency B! Where you move to Korea with me and then we can figure out the rest of the stuff. Let me call my manager and then we can have you situated her—"

"Christopher Chahn Bahng!" You exclaimed, making him pause at the mention of his full government name, looking at you as his face pales even more.

"Oh god! Is it worst than that?" You wanted to slam your head into the wall at your brothers expression.

Before he could launch into another spiral of rants, you spit out, "Chris, I need to talk to you about my soulmate."

At that, he freezes, his jaw dropping open.

You never talk about your soulmate willingly since your eighteenth birthday. Your parents or siblings always had to pull it out of you whenever you met up with them for dinners or on calls. You never brought it up first, considering it to just be a small blip in your life, much to your parent's disdain.

You stayed silent, letting the initial shock sink in as well as letting his brain process.

"Chris?" You call out softly after counting to hundred in your head, "Can I continue?"

Chris closes his mouth, taking a swallow before nodding, "Er, yeah." He clears his throat as he sat up straighter, "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that."

"Neither did I when you started your full rant about contingency plans." You quipped back making a small flush appear on his cheeks, "When you call me in the middle of the night after my concert —which you normally never do, a brother can worry."

Your eyes widen at that, "Oh shit!" You mutter out. He shakes his head and holds up his free hand before you could even begin to apologize, "You can apologize by telling me what's got you awake at 1am in the morning when you have work tomorrow."

You took a deep breath before you told him about everything, the assignment, how you thought your soulmate was in Korea and how conflicted you were about everything. Chris just listened, never interrupting you as he shuffled around his hotel room, dressing down for the night after the concert. The only times he spoke was to ask a few questions here and there, just to clarify and piece the story together better.

"So," You breathe out, finally catching him up on everything, "What do you think?"

Chris was quiet for a moment, his makeup now fully removed as he sunk lower into his bed, "Is that why you haven't wanted to visit me the last few years?" He asks, softly. Your heart drops at the question before you give a small nod, "I knew the chances of me bumping into him were small but," You shook your head, "I just didn't know if I wanted to meet him yet." You hesitate a little before admitting, "Or if I was even ready to meet him."

Silence enveloped the room as the two of you digested everything that you had talked about before Chris sighs over the phone and runs a hand through his hair.

"I understand." He finally says, giving you a small smile and a shrug, "It was your anti-soulmate defense system talking," he says, a slight tease in his tone before it drops, "But this might be a good thing you know?" He says gently, "You were going to have to face him eventually and meeting him might give you a better piece of mind Red. You need to give him a chance."

You nod, rubbing your eyes, "I know," you mutter out, "I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon."

Chris nodded, empathetically, "I know Red," he whispers out, "But running away from him isn't going to work forever. I think this might be the universes way of telling you to face your fears."

You heave out a sigh before rolling over onto your back, your hand reaching out to grab your pillow before cuddling it, "I didn't think that my biggest assignment of my career was going to revolve around him Channie." You softly admit making him frown as he stared at you through the phone.

"I'm sorry Red."

You shake your head as you feign a brave smile, "It's okay." Your voice wavering slightly as you try to reassure him (and yourself). "I need to finish typing up my game plan."

Chris visibly hesitates and opens his mouth to say something but rethinks it and just nods.

You bid him goodnight and was about to hang up when he calls out to you.

"Red?"

You raise an eyebrow, "Yeah?"

He chews his bottom lip, "Would you like to stay with me when you come?" Your eyebrows furrow at the suggestion, "Is that even allowed?" You ask making him shrug, "I probably need to talk to my manager about it but Jeong-in probably won't mind if you bunk with me plus…" He trails off, hesitating slightly making you raise an eyebrow, "Plus?"

"It'll be nice to live in the same house again, that's all." Chris softly says making your heart clench slightly at the tone of his voice making you relent, "Alright." You relent, giving him a small smile. "Check with your manager and we can plan from there."

Saying that the next few weeks felt like a fever dream would be the understatement of the century.

If you weren't at home, you were at work pulling different all-nighters to wrap up the remaining projects, interviews and articles you were assigned to write before this assignment. If you weren't at work, you were at your parents house having family dinner where they would ask you countless amount of questions about your proposal which you always answered halfheartedly or with an awkward edge in your tone.

If you weren't at your parents house, you were at home, writing and rewriting your soulmate assignment proposal as if it was the last thing you will ever work on— which it might be if Minho kept asking you to rearrange or add more things to give your assignment a little more pizzaz.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the icing on the cake was that your soulmate's eating schedule had changed for the umpteenth time, which caused you to have zero appetite to eat upon tasting whatever spicy or sour poison your soulmate had chosen to have right before you woke up.

You know you shouldn't be blaming your soulmate who was none the wiser about the situation that you found yourself in but you couldn't help it. Not when suddenly, your whole life just revolved around him.

Your work, your family dinners, hell, even your sleep schedule dependent on him. So, by some act of pettiness (and sleep deprivation), you decided to fight back with an ample amount of sweet things whenever the first drop of spice or sourness hit your tastebuds.

You retaliated with that for a few days until it seemed that he picked up that you were angry with him which he answered by eating cleaner food, food that didn't linger in your mouth which made your heart clench slightly, feeling guilty that you had taken your angst and frustration out on him.

So when Nari's jaw drops open upon seeing what you were eating during a normal Tuesday lunch, a week before you fly off, you sort of feel the urge to crawl into a hole and rethink your lunch option.

"Are you eating Mala?" Nari asks, her eyes fixated on the instant noodles you were about to shove into your mouth. You stare at her, your mouth agape, the food about to enter as you peer down at your lunch option before looking back up at her and shrug, using the chopsticks to put the food into your mouth.

"Wanted to see what the hype was about." You state as nonchalantly as you could even though you could feel your cheeks burn, as if you were caught doing something forbidden. "Plus, he was nice during hell week for me."

Nari stares at you as if you had grown a second head, "Did your period come early?" She finally asks, making you choke on your food as you stare at her, absolutely flabbergasted by her comment.

"No—" You choke out, taking a few sips of water to calm yourself down before continuing, "You can't ask me that in the middle of work! What the hell Nari?"

"Well!" Nari sputters out dropping her lunch on the table as she takes her seat opposite you, "I have the right to question if you're acting strange!"

You roll your eyes at her dramatics, picking up one of the ingredients with your chopsticks, "You're crazy." You mutter out, eating the ingredient making her narrow her eyes at you. Knowing that she heard you, you return it with a teasing smile making her scoff at your antics.

"Are you ready for next week?" Nari asks, opening up her lunch, a stir-friend special from the Chinese place down the road. You swallow your food before nodding as you take a sip of your water, "Yeah, just wrapping up the article on 'Milan's Bistro' and the special column on my take of 'Charles Boyle's Pizza Ratings' for the Writer's Takes, which should be published this Friday if Minho gives me the green light." You say making Nari chuckle slightly at your column for the 'Writer's Take'.

"Did you start rating some pizza places out of twelve then?" She asks making you give her a mischievous smile, "Of course," You exaggerate, "What kind of connoisseur would I be if I didn't use his famous metric system as a fellow food enthusiast?"

Nari laughs at your words making you laugh along with her before the two of you converse about her columns and articles she has left.

"Did Minho finally agree with your proposal?" She asks you towards the end of your meal. You hummed out a 'yes' making her let out a sigh of relief, "I thought he would never accept it." She states, recycling her takeout container as you let out a tense exhale.

"I didn't think he would either." You mutter out, turning to the water cooler to refill your bottle. "Can't blame him though, this proposal was definitely the worst one I've written by far for all the assignments that I've done."

Nari frowns at your words, "Don't say that." She sternly says making you shrug, unapologetic, "It's fine Nari, really." You assure her as you plaster on a small smile, locking eyes with her concerned gaze, "My heart just isn't into this assignment as much as it should be and he knows that, which is why he was pushing me to give it my all."

"Still," She argues, her frown deepening making you shake your head, "It's something to not want to find your soulmate but being forced to find them for the sake of your job." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry that you have to go through that."

You felt guilt sink in a little at her words.

You had shared your experience with Nari around your fourth brainstorm session when she was concerned about why your document was still semi-blank. You had hesitated to share with her but after taking a glance at her concerned face, you told her everything.

Still, after everything that had been going on, you realized that you weren't as against meeting your soulmate as you thought you would be. How he was thoughtful when he shouldn't be. How he always knows when you were heading to bed by eating a little sweet treat before you brushed your teeth to give you just that little burst of serotonin. How he always knew when you were having a hard day by the amount of coffee that you drank and would pop a mint before you did because he noticed that you did that everytime you had finished your coffee, not liking the lingering taste in your mouth.

It almost felt like he was apologizing for all the times he knew you were pissed off at him because of his irregular eating schedule. However, you were still a woman of your word and having to dedicate your life to someone who was written for you in the stars, just didn't sit right with you.

So you just gave Nari a shrug. "It's alright." You mutter out, grabbing your water bottle before walking with her out of the break room. "Who knows," You start, a joking tone in your words as you try to break the tension, "Maybe he's right and I will believe in soulmates after this."

As soon as Chris whips the door open for you, you collapse into his open arms, not caring whether it came off as clingy as you breath in your brothers comforting scent.

He jumped at first but slowly relaxed into your arms as you feel him let out a chuckle as he wraps his arms around you. "Long flight?" Chris asks lowly making you nod into his chest.

"Forgot how long it takes to get to Seoul from Brisbane."

He chuckles at that as you pull away, making him step aside to let you step into his shared apartment. You walk in and sigh, feeling the days weight lift off your shoulders as your brother carries your luggage in, before shutting the door close with a soft thud.

You take in your surroundings noticing how homely the apartment felt despite not having a lot of memorabilia around the living room area.

"Nice place." You call out as Chris made his way back into the shared area, right after dropping off your luggage in his room.

He shrugs, almost nonchalantly before he walks into the kitchen. "We try," He says simply as he whips the fridge open. "Want something to eat?" He asks, looking straight at you making you nod.

He pulls some stuff out of the fridge as you slide into a chair at their kitchen island.

"Where's Jeong-in?" You ask, noticing that his door was open and his lights were off.

"He's at the recording studio tonight." Chris says, ripping a packet of ramyeon open. "He wanted to get a bit of recording done for the new album."

You let out a hum of acknowledgment before you unlock your phone, answering a few messages from your parents as well as Nari and Minho who asked if you had landed. You continue to scroll, opting to answer a few work emails that were not as pressing, leaving the pressing ones for tomorrow instead.

"Checking your new article statistics?" Chris asks as he places a bowl of freshly made raymeon in-front of you making your stomach growl. Your mouth waters slightly as you nod, taking the chopsticks from him after placing your phone facedown on the counter.

"The article has 859 views concurrently and counting." You chirp happily, taking a bite of the noodles and humming contentedly. Chris watches you with slight amusement on his face as he leans against the counter. "Wouldn't have expected anything less from you Red." He says, his voice full of pride making you give him a sweet smile before continuing to scarf down your food.

The two of you indulge in small talk as you finish your food, him talking a little about his new album and giving you a few sneak peeks.

Him asking how the flight was, while you complain about the amount of non-direct flights from Brisbane to Seoul.

"It's a little insane." You say, placing your chopsticks on the rim of the bowl before pushing it to the side. "You would think that there would be more direct flights."

He chuckles, picking up your dish to rinse it off before placing it into the dishwasher. "Now you know how I feel." He teases lightly, wiping his hands on the cloth next to the sink. "You can't tease me anymore for how dead I look after every flight when I come visit now."

You roll your eyes at his words. "Fine fine." You relent, slipping out of the chair as you grimace slightly, feeling icky from the amount of traveling you had done. "I really need a shower."

Chris nods. "Your towel is on the blow up mattress in the room." He starts as he gestures to your room for the next few months. "After you shower, we can discuss about your plans for the week and how to get there."

You give him a quick hum in acknowledgement before skipping towards his room to wash the airport smell off of you. Twenty minutes later, you hum one of his songs under your breath before drying your hair as Chris scrolls through the places you had listed for your soulmate assignment.

You shut the hair dryer off before collapsing on his bed as he continues to analyze your itinerary. "So," You begin, stretching a little, "How's the itinerary?"

Chris nods, giving you a smile. "It's good but that's a lot of places to get through this week." He gives you a small look. "Are you sure you're going to be able to get through all that food tomorrow?"

You let out a sigh, trying to collapse further into the pillows. "I'm only allowed to be here for three to four months Chris." You shake your head. "I just want to narrow the places first so that I will have an easier time with the article."

"But this looks like a food suicide mission Red." Chris lets out, pointing towards the places that was listed on your spreadsheet. "You wrote that you have to get through nine restaurants tomorrow and it's definitely not cheap."

"This coming from the ever loving leader of Stray Kids, a premier fourth-generation Kpop phenomenon." You mutter out making your brother scoff as he pushes the laptop off of his lap. "I'm serious Red, don't you want to space it out a little more or remove some of the items on your list at least?"

You shake your head. "Again, I can't do that Chris." You say, feeling a little more frustrated by the second, "The timeline is already unbelievably short. Not to mention I need to write an article that means something to my soulmate. Which means I need to find the guy, and go, 'Hey, I don't quite want a soulmate but for the sake of my job, I need you to spend the day with me so that you can tell me about your favourite food and then we can go our separate ways.'" You rant as your brother watches you with an unreadable look on his face.

"How am I meant to do all that in four months if I take my time?"

Chris watches you for a beat, analyzing you as you go through your spiral before sighing and pulling you into his embrace. "Sorry." He mutters out as he wraps you slightly tighter in his arms. "Forgot how much pressure you're under to do this."

You let yourself breath a little, feeling his words hit home as you relax into his embrace. "It's okay." You finally let yourself say, slightly muffled due to his clothes, "I'll figure it out."

"You always do." Chris mutters out as you nod into his chest. "Wanna watch a movie?" He asks softly making you nod.

"Breakfast Club?" You ask, pulling your head away from his chest as he frowns.

"Again?" He groans out, as you give him a small frown in return. "What's wrong with the breakfast club?" You whine out as he shakes his head.

"I swear we've watched that movie at least once whenever we see each other." Chris quips back. "Are you not sick of the movie?"

"It's a classic."

"Deadpools a classic, but you don't see me asking to watch it whenever you bring up movie night."

You snort. "As if! I've seen you watch that at least twice whenever you're back home with us." You wave your hand a little animatedly, "Plus how is Deadpool a classic? It's a superhero movie."

"Superhero movies can be considered a classic."

"It's not old enough to be considered a classic you buffoon, although you could be from how old you are."

"How dare you?! I'm only a year older than you."

"A year closer to death you mean."

"I'll show you death."

THE BEEF NOODLES OF FATE - Week 1 out of 16

When Chris suggested that you should have a driver with you today, you had refused and told him that you wanted to explore Seoul independently and away from the spotlight which might be hard if you went in a JYP issued car.

The two times you had come with your family to see your brother's concerts, you realized how many of them knew when you would be arriving due to the cars that were sent to pick you up from the hotel. It gave you the shock of your life, seeing the amount of people waiting for you outside your hotel, wanting to get a glimspe of your brother.

Due to the fact that you were working on an assignment that caused you more migraines than any other ones, you knew that you needed a quiet day.

Now, however, you were regretting not taking up his offer.

You had forgotten to charge your phone when you had arrived home yesterday and left the apartment with low battery, only realizing after you had gotten onto the train which had been a hard walk already.

You tried to minimize your use of your phone as much as you could but by the 7th location, your phone had inevitably died.

Which leads you to where you are now.

You let out a small groan as you continue to walk down the street, looking for any signs or indicators that could get you out of your predicament. Chris mentioned that he was going to be working late at JYP and wouldn't be home till the early hours of the morning.

You had asked the lady at the restaurant for directions but unfortunately, due to your minimal sense of direction, you had gotten lost somewhere.

Judging from the clock at the 7th place you went to, you would guess that it was roughly around 10pm. Meaning that if Chris were to save you, he would only be able to in three to four hours depending on what time he gets home and realizes that you aren't there.

You hope that it was the former rather than the latter.

"At least it can't get worst than this." You mutter out to yourself before feeling something prick the edge of your skin making you look up to see that it is starting to drizzle. You let out a huff as you felt the rain pelt against your hoodie, dampening it. "Just my luck." You sarcastically mumble to yourself before you sprint down the street.

It starts to rain heavier as you try to look for a restaurant or shop that's open this late at night before you spot one in the distance. The neon sign of the restaurant acting like a beacon as you run towards it, feeling the rain soak you a little more.

A bell chimes as you enter the shop, a gust of warm air hitting you making you shiver slightly as the glass door shuts with a soft clang behind you.

You huff out a sigh as you take in your appearance, seeing the rain had drenched you from top to bottom. You were glad that you had decided to wear darker colours today before you left Chris and Jeong-In's dormitory. The smell of delicious Chinese food fills your nose as you look around the restaurant, your eyes widening at how cozy the interior looks despite it looking slightly run down.

"Oh hello!" A voice chirps out beside you making you turn to see an elderly Chinese lady with a warm smile on her face. You give her a sheepish smile as you watch her take in your appearance as a frown overtakes the smile on her face.

"Goodness!" She yells out, looking at you with wide eyes. "You're drenched dear."

You feel a small flush rise to your cheeks, opening your mouth to speak but are interrupted by her dragging you deeper into the restaurant. She makes you sit at one of the tables before disappearing behind the counter and speaking some fast Mandarin— or was it Cantonese, to the person in the kitchen before returning with a set of fresh clothes and a towel.

Your eyes widen as you stand up, sticking your arms up to try to stop her when she shoots you a stern look. "Don't argue with me on this." She says with a hard look making you shudder before taking the clothes from her with a soft 'thank you'.

She waves her hand as if it wasn't a big deal before pointing towards the kitchen doors. "There's a small bathroom just through there and up the stairs." She says, her warm smile back on her face. "If you get lost, just call for Mr Yang."

You give her a curt nod before awkwardly walking towards the kitchen through the hanging curtain. You see an older man, sitting on the stool there who shoots you a warm smile and points you towards the way you need to go making you bow before sprinting towards the tiny bathroom.

You change and dry your hair in a couple of minutes, looking at the fresh set of clothes which appear to be a K-pop groups merch, noticing the logo as you inspected it before putting it on. They must be real big fans of Seventeen to be having a hoodie and sweatpants of the group.

You walk out of the kitchen to see Mrs Yang already seated at the table you were at, a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of her. She notices you and gives you a warm smile. "Sit." She simply says. "A hot bowl of soup would be good for you, to make sure that you don't fall sick."

You feel your cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment as you awkwardly take the seat opposite her as she takes the clothes from your hands. "I'll put these in the dryer for you so that you can rewear them before you leave dear." She says and was off behind the kitchen curtain before you could even protest.

You stare at the delicious food before tentatively digging in. Through your experience with your soulmate, Chinese food was a big staple of what you tasted almost weekly so this food should give that familiar taste.

You blew on the soup before taking a sip making your eyes widen at how amazing it was, feeling yourself get almost hungrier from just that sip. You immediately dig into the food, feeling the amazing flavours hit your tongue as you began to scoop more noodles and beef slices into your spoon.

You think you finish the food in record time as Mrs Yang appears again, a proud satisfied smile on her face as she looks at the clean bowl.

"Wow!" She exclaims as you place the bowl down with a small thud. "You remind me of a boy I know, he really loves our beef noodle soup as well!"

You give her a warm smile, feeling the soup nourish and warm you up. "I can see why, it's really good." You say softly. "Please let me know how much it is later."

She shakes her head and gives you a small wave of her hand before she takes a seat opposite you. "There's no need." She says, her warm smile never fading. "We just wanted to warm you up because you were absolutely drenched by the rain. Plus, seeing the way you enjoyed eating our food is enough payment for us."

You blush a little at her words before you take in more of the restaurant, the soft accompaniment of the raindrops hitting the pavement and the soft melody of the old Mandarin song accompanying your little analysis.

Mrs Yang abruptly stands up, startling you slightly as you watch her waddle her way over to the front door. She flips the sign to 'close' making your eyes widen as you scramble to stand up. You pause when you hear her let out a really hearty laugh, turning to fix her with a face of confusion.

"Where are you running off to dear?" She asks, a teasing smile on her face as you feel your cheeks slightly warm at that. "Erm," You point towards the sign, "Aren't you closing?"

She laughs again, waving her arms as she gestures for you to sit. "The dryer hasn't finished it cycle yet." She points out. "Are you planning to leave without your clothes?"

Your eyes widen in realization, your jaw dropping slightly as your brain races for an excuse, an explanation, particularly anything at this point. However, before you could embarrass yourself even further in-front of the old lady, she speaks again.

"Plus, Mr Yang and I don't get many customers when it rains." She says softly, reaching you to push you gently back into your chair. "We used to get these four rowdy boys coming in whenever it rains but they're too busy with their music or whatever."

You smile a little at her nostalgic tone. "Do they live in the neighbourhood?" You ask making her smile larger, her eyes wrinkling with the smile crinkles as she nods. "Something like that."

You glance at the corner of the room where the digital clock was and deflate slightly. It was only 11:45pm, which meant that Chris would probably only be home in an hour or two before realizing that you aren't there and would only roughly pick you up in three hours.

"Why the face dear?" You hear Mrs Yang asking as you meet her gaze, a frown on her face. "Well…" You trail off slightly, contemplating how to put your predicament into words without embarrassing yourself even more as you glance towards your dead phone on the table.

Mrs Yang notices your glance and makes a sound of understanding. "Ah!" She exclaims making your gaze land on the older woman. "Do you need to charge your phone dear?" She asks making you hesitate slightly before nodding slowly.

She waddles over to you with her arm stretched making you tentatively put the phone into her wrinkly hands. She calls for her husband in Mandarin making the man peer his head out through the kitchen curtain with his head tilted.

She says a few words to him in Cantonese making him gives her a firm nod, an easy smile on his face before disappearing through the curtain again. In less than five minutes, he reappears with a tea pot and two tea cups that he places on your table. The smell of the tea makes you feel slightly warmer inside as you watch Mr Yang pluck the phone from his wife's hands and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before taking your phone to the cashier counter to charge it.

You smile a little to yourself at the fond interaction as Mrs Yang takes her seat opposite you again. Mrs Yang pulls the teacups in front of the two of you before pouring the tea slowly. She places one in-front of you making you thank her quietly as you take a sip, the warm liquid filling you up as you feel warmth spread throughout your chest.

The Mandarin song changes to a slower one that has Mrs Yang humming along to it, sipping the tea with absolute delight on her face as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. You let your eyes flit across the room once more, seeing all the different types of memorabilia dotting the walls making a small smile appear on your face.

"I really love the interior of the place." You note out simply. "Feels very much like home."

Her grin widens even more at your words as she eyes the place that she and Mr Yang built up.

"When Mr Yang and I came here thirty years ago, we felt a little homesick while looking for a job." She says, her eyes slightly glazing over as she eyes a picture behind you of a younger version of the two of them, standing in-front of the restaurant on opening day.

"After we had given up, we decided to open this restaurant instead." Her expression morphs into a wistful as she retells her story. "So when we were constructing this place, we took inspiration from our old house back in Chengdu. A few of the pieces on the walls are some of the items we brought along with us."

She points to a beautiful cyan bamboo weaved hat that was hung near the entrance of the restaurant, that looks slightly vintage but had multiple beautiful roses on them. A bunch at the side was blue, the opposite side was red while there was one giant one painted in multiple shades of purple.

"That was the first craft that Mr Yang and I made together." She says, her smile wide as she recounts the memory. Your mouth drops open slightly as you stare at the work, slightly in awe. "It's really beautiful," You say, admiring the line work of the art a little more. "I really love the roses."

If possible, her smile widens even more at your words as she nods with a slight bit of pride on her features. "Mr Yang and I spent hours hand-painting them after our wedding. He wanted the two of us to work on something together that represents the two of us."

She pulls up her long sleeves. turning her arm closer to you for you to see. You lean in closer, squinting slightly before your eyes widen in realization as you stare at the rose tattoo etched onto her arm.

The rose was almost a splitting image of the ones painted on the bamboo craft, the only difference being that it was a singular rose and the rose was split into half, one half a crimson maroon whereas the other side was a vibrant blue. You let your eyes trail along the line work of the ink, noticing that the colours diverged seamlessly together almost as if it was intentional, leaving in its trail a beautiful shade of purple.

You meet Mrs Yang's gaze, a little more starstruck as she gives you a prideful smile.

"It's beautiful." You whisper out, taking one last glance at the tattoo before leaning back against your chair. Mrs Yang stares at the tattoo for another beat before rolling her sleeves down and looking back at the bamboo craft on the wall.

"It was one of the only things we brought along with us from our house in Chengdu." Mrs Yang says, her tone full of nostalgia. "We brought a lot of other stuff as well but," She shakes her head slowly, "It's one of the only things that represent the both of us as soulmates."

You quiet down at her words, your heart clenching slightly as you digest her words. She turns to you, her expression morphing into one of curiosity. "How about you my dear?" She asks softly, her eyes glinting a little. "Do you have a soulmate?"

You feel your heart rate pick up slightly at the question, unsure of how much you wanted to share with this lady that you just met. However, upon looking at the steaming cup of tea in front of you as well as the empty bowl beside it, you realize that a little truth never hurt anyone.

"I haven't met him yet." You say softly, after swallowing your nerves and wiping your sweaty palms against the borrowed sweatpants. Her features soften at your confession as she reaches out to tug your hand into hers, giving it a firm squeeze, shocking you slightly.

"I'm sure he's out there, yearning and longing for you as well my dear." She says softly.

Her words make your mouth go try and your heart thud faster against your chest making you give her a nervous laugh. "I don't know." You say, slightly awkward as you glance towards your joint hands. "I think we're a bit too different for each other to be each others halves."

You feel Mrs Yang stiffen slightly at your words making you glance up to meet her eyes, an unreadable expression on her face as she takes you in, her eyes scanning your facial features. You feel slightly uncomfortable at her calculating gaze but as soon as you want to mention it, her expression drops to something softer as she gives your hand a squeeze again.

"Soulmates aren't meant to be similar to you dear." She says softly. "They are meant to be the one that completes your soul, fill in the gaps so that the two of you feel complete when you are together. Independently, you both will survive without each other but being together," She pauses, glancing towards the bamboo craft hanging near the door making her smile, "makes everything feel as if it was meant to be, as if it was written in the stars."

You feel your breath hitch at her words as she stares softly at you, her wistful smile never wavering as you feel your heart beat slightly harder in your chest. She pauses, as if she was waiting for your response making you swallow hard as you open your mouth to try and sputter a response together.

Before you could, Mr Yang's footsteps interrupt you and his wife making the two of you turn towards the older man who has your phone in his hand. He reaches your table in two big strides, a small smile on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, glancing towards your joint hands making your cheeks heat up slightly as you gently pull your hand away from his wife's grasps. He clears his throat before sliding your phone across the table, speaking as you pick it up to turn it on.

"You were getting a call from someone named Chris a couple of minutes ago." He says, resting a hand on his wife's shoulder as your eyes widen before glancing towards the time on your device, noticing that only an hour had passed.

You open your phone quickly to see a bunch of missed calls and text messages from your older brother as well as a few from his roommate making you let out a sigh, knowing you were going to get an earful from the older one as soon as you got home.

As if Chris could read your thoughts, your phone immediately rings, a picture of you and him appearing on the lock screen. You hesitate for a beat before sliding your thumb across the screen and putting the phone to your ear.

"Hell—"

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

You flinch slightly at his sudden outburst, pulling the phone away from your ear as his voice booms out through the phone as if you had him on speaker. You glance in disdain at your phone as he continues his rant about safety and how he was about to lose his mind before you give Mr and Mrs Yang a sheepish smile.

"Sorry." You mumble out making Mrs Yang lets out a small laugh, waving her hand. "It's no problem dear." She says, glancing at the phone as your brothers voice continues to flow through it. "Family member?"

"Older brother." You say, a slight bit of disdain in your voice as Chris continues to rant, not knowing that you were only picking up on every fifth word of every sentence he was spouting.

You give them one more smile, gesturing for a second before standing and walking towards the door of the restaurant. You compose yourself a little before putting your phone back to your ear.

"— and I can't believe you didn't even think to bring the powerbank that I got for you for your birthday! Do those presents mean nothing to you, I swear to GOD—"

"CHRIS!" You yell into the phone, making him pause mid-rant as you inhale slowly. "I'm sorry for not picking up the phone or bringing that brick of a power bank that you got for me for my birthday." You apologize, gnawing on your bottom lip.

"I'm safe and would really love a pickup please." You say slightly softer this time. Chris was silent for a moment before a loud groan fills your ears. "I'm five minutes away Red." He says, his tone still slightly tense.

You blink at that. "What?" You say, a little taken aback by his statement. He scoffs and you imagine him rolling his eyes as he mutters something to himself.

"You forget that I have your location on my phone huh?" He says as you hear the buzzing of the car in the background, not knowing how you didn't notice it before. "I checked your location when I was in the office, realized that you weren't home so I left early to come get you after I couldn't reach you."

You felt guilt creep into your veins as you process his words and let out a small sigh, knowing how much you worried him. "I'm sorry." You say again, softly and more sincere this time. Chris lets out a sigh on the other end. "You're safe." He says, repeating your words from earlier, "I'll be there in three minutes, just wait outside for me."

The two of you hang up after you agree before you turn back to the elderly couple. Mr and Mrs Yang stand near you with your bag and another in their hands making you blink as Mr Yang passes you your bag while Mrs Yang passes you a large paper one.

You take it from her slightly tentative as you peer inside to see your clothes plus a couple of takeaway boxes making your eyes widen. You whip your head up to meet their gazes, your jaw dropped open as you try to sputter for a way to say that you didn't need this much food.

Mrs Yang halts you by raising her hand and giving you a stern look.

"Don't worry about it dear," She says, "We made too much food and from your phone call with your hyung, it seems like he might be hungry as well, so share the food with him."

"But the clothes—"

She waves you off again. "Please keep them!" She says before muttering a little lower, "Lord knows we have too many." She has a small knowing smile on her face as she glances up at her husband who laughs, sharing an inside joke from what you could tell.

"Are you two big fans of Seventeen?" You ask, not being able to help yourself as you glance between the two of them. The elderly couple let out another laugh at your confusion before Mrs Yang waves her hand. "Something like that." She says, a similar tone used when she said those same words just an hour before.

A horn outside the shop breaks the warm atmosphere making you look outside to see Chris's car. You turn back to the elderly couple.

"Thank you so much for everything." You thank making the couple give you a warm look as Mrs Yang steps forward to grab your hands into hers.

"I hope you come back soon dear." She says, her eyes glinting with sincerity as she gives your hands a squeeze. "We would love to feed you again and learn more about you."

You feel your chest warm slightly at her words before giving her a small nod as a smile crosses your face. "I will." You whisper out, giving her a small nod before she lets your hands go. You walk out of the restaurant and head to Chris's car but not before giving the elderly couple another wave.

Chris's cologne immediately fills your nose as soon as you shut the door before turning to your older brother who looked slightly more disheveled compared to when you left this morning.

Before he could open his mouth to chastise or fuss over you, you beat him to it.

"Thank you for picking me up and I'm sorry, I should listen to you next time and take the car and I will bring out the pink energy brick out with me tomorrow as well."

Chris blinks at your apology before a huff escapes him, he shakes his head and places his hands on the wheel again.

"You're so lucky that I'm more relieved than mad." He says, his tone still slightly tense with an undertone of tiredness. You give him a small smile before turning to place your bags in the backseat.

"We should come back to this restaurant sometime." You say as Chris puts the car into drive and slowly pulls away from the restaurant. "I think you would like their beef noodle soup."

You see Chris sneak a glance at you, a glint of confusion in them. "I thought you didn't like Chinese food?"

You shrug, looking out the window as the streets whizzed past. "Maybe I was too quick to judge." The double meaning in your sentence wasn't lost on you. Mrs Yang's words lingering in your thoughts as they play over and again.

Were you really too quick to dismiss this person who is meant to be your other half?

In the midst of her cleaning, Mrs Yang's eyebrows furrow as she hears the bell chime again, signaling that a customer has just arrived. She glances towards the door, her expression never changing until she spots the four that she has been feeding religiously for the last ten years.

"Aigooo." She coos out as soon as the tallest of them comes closer to her, dressed in a black hoodie with a luggage behind him. "I thought you all were only going to be back the day after tomorrow?"

Jun lets out a laugh as the elderly woman pulls him into a hug, accepting it by wrapping his arms around her tightly and giving her a shining smile. "Our schedule ended early." He cheekily says, his grin never wavering. "We were craving some food that tastes like home so we asked the driver to bring us here instead of back to our homes."

Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao stand behind him, with matching grins on their faces as Mrs Yang pulls each of them into a hug. Mr Yang, hearing the commotion steps out of the kitchen, his eyes and smile widening as he sees the four familiar boys.

"Wow!" He exclaims, bringing each of them in for a hug. "You boys look like the airport didn't even affect the four of you."

The four give him a sheepish smile before the elderly couple shoos them into the center table, eager to feed them.

"What can I get for you boys today?" Mrs Yang asks, her eyes glinting as she looks between the four boys. Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao share a teasing glance, before Chan turns to Mrs Yang.

"Mrs Yang," he singsongs out, "I hope you have your amazing beef noodle soup today!" He ends his sentence with a glance towards Jun, a smug grin on his face as the other shrinks slightly, a little flushed.

Mrs Yang glances between the two of them before turning her gaze to the tallest one.

"Did you miss our food so much that you brought the three boys along with you again?" She questions, a teasing smile on her face.

Jun flushes slightly at the accusation, lifting up both his hands to wave them as he lets out a sheepish laugh. "No no." He says, trying to defend himself through his laughs.

The other three collectively roll their eyes before Soonyoung turns to Mrs Yang, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Jun's soulmate was actually the ones who brought us here."

Mrs Yang's eyes widen as her hand flies to cover her open mouth before she turns to Jun. "Oh my gosh!" She exclaims. "You met her already?"

Jun shakes his head, scratching his nape as he fixes her with a semi lovesick grin. "She was having some Chinese food earlier." He says, his grin turning more lovesick by the second. "I tasted it when she was eating and it felt like she was enjoying it. It tasted almost like your beef noodle soup."

Mrs Yang freezes at that, but Jun doesn't notice as he keeps rambling on. "So, I thought that she was trying to tell me that maybe she was thinking about me or something." He says, the tips of his ears turning pink. "I thought maybe if I have it here, we would end up having the same dinner so that she knows that I'm thinking about her as well."

Jun locks eyes with the older lady who immediately composes herself, a small grin appearing on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well." She starts, clearing her throat as she glances at the four of them. "You've come right on time! Mr Yang just made a new batch of beef soup with amazing tender slices."

She claps her hands. "I'll bring them out for you four!"

With that, she scurries into the kitchen, her heart racing as she runs through the words that Jun has just relayed to her.

It could just be a coincidence right?

She leans against the metal counter, processing the information when her husband glances over at her. He frowns, noticing her spacey look.

"Lo-po?" He asks, the endearing name rolling off of his tongue as he steps closer to his wife, intertwining their hands together. "Are you alright?"

Mrs Yang looks up and gazes into her husbands eyes, hesitating slightly before nodding slowly.

She feigns a small smile. "I'm alright lo-gong." He analyzes her face, frowning slightly.

"Are you sure?" He asks, bringing his wife closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Mrs Yang nods her head as she squeezes his hands in reassurance. "I'm fine dear." She glances through the kitchen curtain, looking at the tall boy who was laughing at something his members said, his grin bigger than it had been in months.

"I just hope that fate brings the two of them together."

THE SCALLION NOODLE MEETING - Week 3 out of 16

Two weeks later, you find yourself back in front of the glowing neon sign. You didn't know how or why but you felt a pull to this place that you couldn't explain.

You had tried to keep yourself busy the past two weeks. You visited almost all the different places on your list, eating tons of delicious food that tasted vaguely familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Most of the time, you went by yourself during the non-peak hours, favouring the smaller crowds so that you could have some time to yourself and be able to document the flavour profiles correctly. Other times at night, you went with Chris who was determined to stick by your side as much as possible.

Today, however, you ended up cancelling all the restaurants on your agenda and you just unconsciously made your way here.

For two weeks, her words had been playing on repeat in your head. You found yourself thinking about the person who she meant, the person who was connected to your very soul. Somehow, you had started to yearn for him as well but you were stubborn, you wouldn't allow yourself to.

You continue to stare at the neon sign, unsure of whether you should go in when a voice interrupts your inner monologue.

"Are you going to stand there the whole day?"

You jump at the sound of the man's voice, whipping around to see a guy in a black hoodie, wearing a mask that obscures his face, the only thing visible being his eyes.

"God." You mutter out, glaring slightly at the man. "Do you normally sneak up on strangers and scare the daylights out of them?"

The man blinks at you before letting out a small laugh.

"Only when they're standing in-front of a Chinese restaurant, contemplating every single life choice they've ever made."

His sarcasm makes you roll your eyes. "Gee, thanks."

He gives you a shrug, his eyes glinting playfully. "You're welcome." If you could see under his mask, you were sure that he would be smirking at you. "So," The man says, glancing between the neon sign of the restaurant and you. "Why are you standing outside the restaurant as if you're contemplating life choices?"

You let out a huff, crossing your arms. "And why would I tell you, a complete stranger that?"

He shrugs. "Maybe you need someone to work through those life choices with."

You let out a huff, about to retort when the bell on the door rings and a bunch of different conversations flow out of the restaurant. You turn to see Mrs Yang, wide eyed as she stares at the two of you. You feel your face flush slightly, as if you've been caught red-handed but you hadn't done anything wrong.

"Why are the two of you standing outside and arguing?" She asks, apprehension in her voice making you give her a sheepish smile as the guy scratches his nape.

"We weren't arguing Mrs Yang." The man says, glancing in your direction before looking back at her. "We were just… talking."

He glances at you, hoping that you would catch on. You turn to Mrs Yang, nodding with an awkward smile on your face. "Yeah, just talking."

Mrs Yang glances between the two of you, entirely not believing a single word the two of you says but she nods anyway.

"Well, come in." She says, sternly as she opens the glass door wider, ushering the two of you in. "It's way too cold to be talking outside."

You and the man scurry into the restaurant, which was packed like sardines. "I'm sorry but it seems like we only have one table left." She says, apologetically as she gathers the menus for you and the man. "Mr Lim and his family are having a gathering today at the further side of the restaurant which means that we had to close off a certain section."

She glances between the two of you, clutching the menus in her hand. "Would the two of you be okay with sharing a table?"

You visibly freeze at the suggestion, eyes wide as you blink at the woman. She wants you to share a table with the insufferable man who made fun of you, five minutes ago? You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the suggestion.

"I'm okay with it as long as she is." The man says, eyes locking with yours making your heart nearly bounce into your throat. You want to protest, to say anything against this suggestion but as you lock eyes with Mrs Yang again, the words die on your tongue.

You analyze her for a beat, taking in her dark rings under her eyes, how frazzled her hair looks compared to the first time you met her and felt a pit of guilt at the bottom of your stomach. You internally sigh, composing yourself and hoping that you will not kill this man with your chopsticks as you share a table with him before giving her a nod and the best smile that you can muster.

"Sure." You breathe out, glancing at the man again with a few daggers in your eyes as you give him a sickly sweet smile. "Let's share a table."

That's how you find yourself in a secluded corner of the restaurant, awkwardly sitting across the man, a menu in hand as you try your hardest to not accidentally kick the stranger in his legs. When you came the first time, you didn't notice how small the table was until this lanky man sits across from you.

You drag your eyes down the menu, contemplating what to order as you try to ignore the burning sensation at the left side of your head. The stranger had been staring at you since Mrs Yang had shown both of you the table before leaving, slightly frazzled as she went to attend to the Lim's gathering.

When you couldn't take it anymore, you let your eyes whip towards the stranger who jumps slightly as you abruptly lock eyes with him, a fiery intensity in them. "Why are you staring at me?" You hiss out making the stranger blink as he leans back against his chair.

"Trying to see if you made your decision yet." He says, fiddling with his mask. "It's going to be rush hour soon so we would have to wait a lot longer if you haven't."

You feel your eye twitch slightly at the admission. "Well, I'm sorry." You mutter out, eyes turning back to the menu, "it's only my second time here so I'm a little unsure of what to get."

You feel the man tug your menu down from your face, making you lock eyes with him again. "Want a suggestion?" He offers, making your eyes flit from one of his to the other, trying to gauge if he was joking. When it's clear that he isn't, you sigh, a little tired from the interaction before nodding.

"Sure." You say, placing the menu on the table and crossing your arms. "What could go wrong?"

A lot actually.

You find yourself thinking as Mrs Yang places a bowl of fried chicken in front of you seasoned with more red peppers than you have ever seen in your life. You feel your hands start to clam up and become sweaty as you inhale the spices through your nose.

"Dear." Mrs Yang tentatively says, seeing your face. "Is everything alright?"

You try to compose yourself as you wipe your hands on your jeans before locking eyes with her and giving her a weak smile.

"Yeah," You mumble out as you quick glance at the food again, "I'm alright."

If Mrs Yang weren't convinced, she doesn't say anything and just leaves you to stare at your food as your tablemate analyzes your reaction.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." He bluntly states making you whip your head up to lock eyes with him.

"The food looks spicy."

"I would hope so, it's spicy chicken."

You frown at that and stare at the amount of peppers on your food again, wondering if you could will them to disappear the longer you stare at them.

"You can't handle spice." He states, the cogs in his brain turning as he watches you gnaw on your bottom lip, looking at the food apprehensively. "You should've told me that you can't handle spice."

"Well, I didn't expect to be accosted by your recommendation." You bite back, giving him a small glare even though you know it's not his fault. The stranger however, doesn't take it to heart as his eye lines crinkle at your words, a sign that he's smiling under his mask.

"Are you too scared to try it?"

You frown at his words, feeling your eye twitch as he eggs you on, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"It's hard to take you seriously when you're still wearing your mask." You say, hoping to change the topic as you cross your arms. "Why are you even wearing that anyway? Are you a celebrity or something."

He hums at your question before tugging his hood downwards, covering a little bit more of his forehead. "Something like that." He says making you stare at him, quizzically.

"What does that even mean?"

He sighs before locking eyes with you. "How about we make a deal."

You squint at him. "You're just trying to change the topic."

"You did that too a moment ago."

He got you there.

You sigh, unfolding your arms as you lean against the table. "I'm listening."

"I'll order us something different and pay for our meal if you promise to not tell anyone that you saw me here."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "What's stopping me from ordering what I want anyway and letting you starve because you refuse to take off your mask?"

He's silent for a beat as he blinks at you.

"You have a point."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the stranger, who leans back in his chair.

"But," He starts, crossing his arms, "I think you're smart enough to not pass up a free meal."

You contemplate his words for a second. You know he's egging you on, he's done nothing but be playful and egg you on since the moment he scared you outside the restaurant. By right, you should refuse, let the insufferable stranger suffer while you eat the Yangs' tasty food in front of him.

Which is why, it surprises you and him when the words that follow after was, "Fine, I'll bite."

His eye lines crinkle again before he waves Mrs Yang over and says something to her in Chinese. The elderly lady looks between the two of you, an unreadable glint in her eyes before she nods at the lanky stranger and takes the two plates of spicy chicken away.

"You speak Chinese?" You can't help but ask, making him nod.

"I'm Chinese." He says simply reaching to the side to get the jug of water that Mrs Yang brought earlier.

"Oh." You mutter out, feeling slightly embarrassed as he pours the water into your empty glasses. "I couldn't tell."

He waves you off. "It's alright, you can't really see my face and I gave you no indication whatsoever so," he shrugs, "it's not a big deal."

You feel slightly better, relaxing a little as you watch him tug his hood down again.

He cautiously looks around making a frown appear on your face. "You don't have to tell me who you are if you're uncomfortable by the way." You say making the stranger lock eyes with you as you feel a small pit in your stomach at the way his eyes keep glancing around. "I could always request for another table if you're uncomfortable."

He hesitates for a second before shaking his head. "No, a deal is a deal."

You open your mouth to retort but he moves before you can, looking downwards before bringing his fingers to his ears and plucking off the mask as if it was second nature.

When he looks up, your eyes widen as you immediately register who he was.

"You're Jun from Seventeen." You state, looking at his features as he gives you a sheepish smile.

"Surprise?" He mutters, a weak laugh escaping his lips. You stare at him for a little longer, watching his confident facade shatter slowly as he looks at you with a little more apprehension after he realizes that you knew who he was.

"It all makes sense now." You say as everything clicks in your head.

The man in-front of you frowns in confusion. "What?"

"I came here two weeks ago, drenched in the rain and Mrs Yang gave me a hoodie and sweatpants from your group to change into." You say, as your eyes flit around his face, taking in his features. "I thought they were big fans of your group but you probably gave it to them."

He stares at you for a minute. "Are you a detective or something?"

You let out a snort, as you try to keep your growing smile off of your face. "I'm just observant."

"A little too observant."

"Well, sue me then."

You roll your eyes as Jun gives you a mischievous grin.

Mrs Yang appears at the corner of your eye making you turn towards the elderly lady as she places two new bowls in-front of you two. She eyes the two of you, noticing the lack of Jun's mask before a knowing smile creeps onto her face.

Your eyebrow raises at her expression but before you can ask, she bids the two of you a good meal before rushing back to the Lim gathering.

You look down at the bowl, noticing the lack of any red peppers or flakes making you smile as you notice the bowl only had what looks like tossed noodles with a sauce, topped off with spring onions and a fried egg. The smell of the spring onions floods your nose making your mouth water slightly.

"Scallion oil noodles." Jun says as he passes you a chopstick from the side box. "Mr Yang cooks them really authentically, it's one of my favourite dishes from here."

"And here I was thinking that you like to put your own taste buds through hell for fun." You mutter out making Jun roll his eyes. You use your chopsticks to place the food into your mouth as you take tentative bites.

The immediate flavour explosion in your mouth makes your eyes widen as you taste every single ingredient on your taste buds. You stare at the noodles, a little shell shock before you shove a few more bites into your mouth.

You can't fathom how you've never eaten anything like this in your few years of being a food journalist. You've definitely tasted this flavour profile before, no doubt from your soulmate but eating it and tasting it is definitely two different things

Jun who has also eaten the noodles, gives you a smile as he chews, watching as you happily slurp up the noodles, satisfaction written all over his face.

"So," He starts, taking a sip of his water, "Since you know who I am, I think it's only fair that I know your name right?"

You give him a side-glance, in between your bites before your eyes narrow slightly as you swallow your food. "I think there's a certain irony to your statement with you being a very famous idol."

Jun gives you a small pout. "C'mon." He says, the pout deepening. "I'm already paying for your meal, the least you could do is give me your name."

You want to retort that the meal was the expense of keeping his secret but as you watch his pout deepen a little more, you internally curse before giving him your name.

He repeats your name with ease as you feel your heart skip a beat upon him pronouncing your name. You furrow your eyebrows at the pinch in your chest before shrugging it off as just a weird prickle, maybe from the amount of oil in the noodles.

"Do you like the noodles?" Jun asks, gesturing to your bowl that is already half empty.

You nod, taking a few more bites of the springy noodles, humming contently. "I don't really like Chinese food but this is really good."

The idol freezes at your words, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth as he looks at you, his eyes wide, noodles forgotten. "You don't like Chinese food?" He asks, a little baffled as he just continues to stare at you as if you just said something really incriminating.

You shrug, swallowing the noodles before taking a sip of your water. "Just had some bad experiences with Chinese food." All because of your soulmate but you left that part out, not wanting to divulge in that with a complete stranger, even if he was famous and known for being kind-hearted and a good person.

Jun eyes you for another second, a gentle curiosity swirling in his eyes. "Then why did you come here? They only serve Chinese food here."

You hesitate a little at his question. You knew it was coming but you couldn't tell the idol that you came here because of an unexplainable pull, you would sound a little strange and kind of crazy. So, you settle for half of the truth.

"I wanted to come back and repay Mr and Mrs Yang for their kindness. I was going to actually pay them the money for the meal that they gave me last week."

Jun fixes you with a look of amusement and a slight smirk before shaking his head.

"You clearly haven't seen Mrs Yang's stubborn side if you think you can just repay her back."

You frown at his statement. "What makes you think she won't accept the money?"

Jun fixes you a look as his eyebrows raise. "Did you offer her money two weeks ago after she fed you?"

"Yeah but—"

"Did she accept the payment or did she fix you with one of her motherly stares that got you to shut up?"

Your silence answers him, making him laugh as he shakes his head. "Trust me." He says, using his chopsticks to cut the fried egg into smaller pieces. "Pigs will fly before she accepts your money."

You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips as you shake your head before continuing to eat your food. The two of you eat in silence, occasionally making small talk about the food as Jun shares with you a few small anecdotes about how Mrs Yang and her husband was a few years ago. The stories make you laugh as he recounts them with an exaggerated passion, his hands moving around animatedly here and there.

"So what do you do?" He asks, polishing off his food as he grabs a tissue paper from the container at the side. "Other than stand outside Chinese restaurants and contemplate your life decisions."

You scoff before taking a sip of your water to cleanse your palette. "I'm a food journalist."

His eyes widen. "Wow! That's really cool!"

Your brows furrow. "Says the guy who is apart of one of the biggest boygroups on the planet." You say, animatedly moving your arms. "Plus, aren't you also an actor?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I mean it, you must be a really good food journalist if you got sent here for an assignment."

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you stare at the man, shock running through your veins. "What? How did you know that?"

He gestures to your handbag. "You still have the tag from the airport hanging off the third zipper."

You turn and internally curse as you see the white string and tag from the airport. You feel your cheeks heat up as you rush to rip it off, crumple it and place it into your bag to try to save yourself from a little embarrassment. You clear your throat before looking back at the idol who was trying very hard not to laugh, even with his hand over his mouth.

You send him a narrow glare (or at least try to) as you point at him. "Don't laugh."

"I'm not! You can't even see my mouth!"

"Your eye lines tell me otherwise!"

That makes the idol crack up, his eye lines crinkling more which makes you freeze, realizing just how pretty he is.

You weren't blind by any means, the minute he took off his mask, you could tell that he was good-looking even without the full-face of makeup. With your brother in the industry, you had watched every MAMAs award show that he had been apart of and with Seventeen up there as one of the bigger boy groups, you've definitely thought that they were good-looking, especially Jun who always looked like he belonged on the stage.

The idol finally calms down, his smile not leaving his face as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. "So, what's your assignment about?"

You freeze at the question, gnawing lightly on your lip as you give him a once over, wondering if you should be honest or not. He notices the look on your face, his eyes softening. "If it's too personal, you don't need to tell me." He says, his voice reassuring as he gives you a soft smile. "I just think it's really cool that you get to travel and just eat food, I think one of my bandmates would kill to do that."

You feel a small smile creep onto your lips as you relax slightly, hearing the awe in his words. "Let me guess, DK?"

He laughs, nodding. "Or maybe Hoshi." He says, leaning his elbows on the table, his posture relaxing as he realizes that you were more comfortable now as you let out a laugh.

"Sounds like him."

His smile widens "So, I assume you're somewhat familiar with my group then, if you're able to make associations like that."

You feel a bit of warmth on your cheeks as you clear your throat. "Well, my brother's involved in the industry as well, so after a while, you kind of have to know who is who after watching all the different concerts and award shows."

His head tilts at that, a look of curiosity flashing across his face. "Oh!" He says with a slight understanding, "Is your brother an idol too?"

You nod, a small sense of pride settling in your chest as you pick up your phone before turning it to face him, a picture of you and Chris as your lock screen.

His eyes widen in realization. "You're Bang Chan's sister?" He asks, gawking a little as you nod.

"Wow, I've only ever heard about your younger sister, Hannah." He says, his smile widening a little more. "What a small world, Vernon, Mingyu and Minghao always talk about how cool your brother is."

You smile a little more, thinking about your brother who was probably working his ass off in the studio right now and having the best time. "Yeah, he's the coolest."

His smile widens, grabbing the water jug to refill his empty cup, leaving you with your thoughts. You think back to his previous question, wondering if you should answer it or not. Jun has been nothing but honest with you since the start of your meal, even honouring his side of the deal even if he didn't need to. You would've stuck by your words if he had decided to not shown you and asked Mrs Yang for another table instead.

Your mouth made the decision for you before you could even comprehend it.

"I'm doing a soulmark assignment."

Jun freezes mid-pour as he turns to you, his eyes wide. "Oh, that's pretty cool." He says, nodding slightly. "Have you already met him?"

You shake your head, using your chopsticks to move your food around, letting it sop up the scallion oil. "The assignment was about to write about the places that we think our soulmate has been to based on the soulmark we're given."

His eyebrows furrow. "That's pretty vague."

You let out a snort. "You're telling me."

"Is the goal for you to find them at the end of it?"

You shrug. "All I know is that I'm here for four months, a tight schedule for sure to figure out which restaurant means the most to my soulmate." You say, the tone of your voice turning slightly bitter towards the end as you say 'soulmate'.

Jun notices, fixing you with a small curious grin. "I take it you're not the biggest fan of your soulmate?"

You slouch slightly, letting out a sigh. "Let's just say that our flavour preferences make us very very different people."

"You have something against his food preferences?"

"I have something against the fact that he's trying to kill my tastebuds in the process."

"Is he the reason why you have a grudge against Chinese food?"

You lift up your hand in mock defense. "Hey, I don't have a grudge against Chinese food." You point out, making Jun's expression morph into one of amusement. "I just have a grudge against my soulmate who puts chili oil on almost everything, as if the food needs that extra bit of spice."

Jun lets out a laugh before shrugging. "Can't say I fault him for it, chili oil is definitely one of the best things ever."

You snort, placing your last bit of noodles into your mouth, chewing then swallowing as you polish off your food. "I'm sure the two of you would get along great." You sarcastically remark making Jun laugh again.

"So, what are you a fan of?"

You ponder for a moment. "I'm a big fan of sweet stuff like cake, ice-cream, macaroons. Oh! Affogato as well." You watch Jun make a face as a shudder goes through his body making you raise an eyebrow at the man. "Not the biggest fan of sweet stuff?"

Jun immediately shakes his head. "Can't say that I am. Sugar makes me feel really ill sometimes, especially if there's too much of it. My soulmate is the biggest cake fan though, she really loves eating it."

You smile at that. "Sounds like we would get along great as well."

Jun laughs, smiling at the implication of the two of you meeting each others' soulmate when his phone rings. He glances at it before his face pales and his eyes widen.

"Shit." He mutters, staring at his phone for another beat before wiping his mouth quickly and slipping his mask on in record speed. The actions make you jolt as you blink at the idol who was moving at the speed of light, shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets.

"What?" You ask, finding your voice as he reverts himself to his pre-meal mode. He looks at you, his eyes softening a little from the panic that was in them moments ago as he pulls down his mask.

"I forgot I have practice in half an hour, so I need to get going now." A small frown appears on his face as he finishes his sentence, looking a little crestfallen that your time together was coming to an end. You blink at him, before glancing at the time, your eyes widening as well as you realize that you and Jun had been eating and talking for almost two hours.

"That makes two of us then." You say, a laugh bubbling in your throat as you pack up your stuff. "I forgot that I got an interview with the owner of a restaurant for my assignment in half an hour as well."

Jun lets out a laugh at the realization as he stands, towering over you slightly as he fixes you with a cheery smile. "Guess we aren't so different after all."

You roll your eyes as he pulls his mask back up before gesturing for you to move first. "After you."

You give him a polite 'thank you' before the two of you head to the front counter where the cash register was. Mrs Yang's eyes flit between the two of you, the same knowing smile on her face.

"How was the food my dears?" Jun's eye lines crinkle again. "Amazing as always Mrs Yang." He says before gesturing to you. "I think our food journalist will definitely be putting it in her article."

You let out a small scoff, giving him a quick side-eye before looking at Mrs Yang, your expression changing to one of adoration. "The food was lovely Mrs Yang. Please help me thank Mr Yang for the food as well."

She waves you off, a wide smile on her face despite how tired she looked from the chaos of the rush hour. "It was our pleasure to feed you." Her eyes flit between the two of you again. "Both of you."

You think back to your words to Jun a while ago and take out your purse from the depths of your handbag. "Before I forget, please take this Mrs Yang." You say, producing a few bills. The older woman fixes you with a stern look as she shakes her head.

"Dear, I already insisted the last time that you don't need to pay me." You open your mouth to protest but she holds up her hand again, her eyes narrowing slightly as her

Your mouth snaps shut at that as you slowly put the bills back into your wallet making Mrs Yang's stern expression instantly drop, replacing it with a prideful one, knowing that she has successfully won the argument again.

Mrs Yang - 2, You - 0

You glance at Jun who fixes you with a look, his eyes glinting as if to tell you 'I told you so' making you roll your eyes as Jun passes a few bills to Mrs Yang, paying for your meal and his. Mrs Yang hands him the receipt before reaching to the counter behind her and taking the plastic bag that was seated on it.

"Before I forget," She starts, giving the big white plastic bag to Jun, "I packed a few things for you and the boys to enjoy."

Jun's eyes widen as he takes the bag from her with zero protest, almost as if Mrs Yang trained him to just accept everything she gives to him — which she probably did, considering how long they've known each other.

"Thank you so much!" Jun says as he peers into the bag, his eyes flitting from one box to another. "You really didn't have to."

Mrs Yang waves him off. "Nonsense." She states. "If I don't feed you guys, God knows that you all will starve by how much dancing you all do."

Her comments make you let out a laugh which you try to cover up as a cough as Jun gives you a side-glance. He looks back at her, his eyes softening more. "Thank you."

She gives him a smile of adoration before turning to the back counter once more and producing a smaller white plastic bag which she holds out for you. Your eyes widen, about to protest again but falter as soon as you see the expression on her face.

You sheepishly take the bag from her, peering inside to see a few food containers filled with some scallion oil noodles, a few servings of spring rolls, a meat dish as well as a box of stir-fried vegetables.

"For you and your brother."

Your heart squeezes at her words, feeling warmth spread through your chest as you try to swallow your emotions. You look up, giving her a soft smile. "Thank you so much."

She mirrors your smile. "It's no problem at all my dear, I hope we see you again soon."

You nod, your grin growing wider. "I'll bring my brother with me next time." You reassure her. "He was raving about how good the beef noodles were, made a lot of his friends jealous."

She laughs as you recount the video Jeong-In had sent to you when your brother brought Mrs Yang's beef noodles to work and was just making a show out of it in-front of his members. They looked like they were seconds away from chasing your brother down the hallways of JYP if he made a single new sound and talked about how good it was and that he wasn't sharing.

"I guess I'll see the two of you soon then." Mrs Yang says as she walks to open the door for the two of you. "I hope you two enjoyed each others companies."

You and Jun glance at each other before you turn back to Mrs Yang. "It was definitely an experience."

Jun narrows his eyes at your words. "But I was an angel."

You scoff. "And I'm a multi-billionaire." You say, the sarcasm just rolling off your tongue making Jun shake his head and walk through the door.

The two of you bid Mrs Yang goodbye once more before she closes the restaurant door behind her. You turn to Jun, a little awkwardly as you shuffle your handbag onto your shoulder.

"Well, it was nice meeting you." You say, giving him a smile. "I hope you don't sneak up on me the next time we cross paths again."

Jun laughs, shaking his head a little before locking eyes with you and giving you a wink. "It'll only happen if you contemplate life outside a Chinese restaurant again."

You roll your eyes, not bothering to keep your smile off your face this time as you give him a wave before making your way to the right of the restaurant. You scroll to your itinerary when Jun calls out your name, making you turn to face him.

Your eyebrow raises as he looks at you, blinking as if he didn't realize that he called out your name, until it rolled off of his tongue. Before you could question further, Jun jogs over to you and hands you his phone. You take it before your eyes widen at the 'new contact' page staring right at you.

You blink before looking up at him, your eyes still wide as saucers as you fix him with a look of confusion. "What?" You ask as you stare at him, completely dumbfounded by his actions.

He shrugs, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I had a lot of fun talking to you today and," he hesitates slightly, "I want to try to change your mind about Chinese food before you meet your soulmate."

You narrow your eyes at him. "What's the catch?"

His eyes widen as he lifts both arms in surrender, the big plastic bag rustling as he does so. "No strings attached, I promise." He says, absolute assurance in his voice. "I just know what it's like to be on the receiving end of the taste mark and my soulmate has been quite pleasant with their food preferences so…" He shrugs. "Let me at least try to convince you that your soulmate isn't all that bad."

You blink at him again, slowly digesting his words before looking down to peer at the cursor, pulsing as it awaits an input.

"You don't need to!" Jun suddenly exclaims, his free hand starting to wave animatedly as he starts to ramble. "I just thought that I should introduce you to better Chinese foods that will give you a better impression of the person before you meet them and brush them off completely. I mean, as someone with a taste mark as well, I also know that food sometimes doesn't taste as it seems and—"

You interrupt him, mid-ramble by grabbing his free hand and placing his phone back into it. Jun blinks before looking at his phone to see that you sent a message to yourself after inputting your contact into it.

He turns back to you as you give him a small smile. "I'm in if it's more free food."

He blinks before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head. "Don't think that was part of the deal." He ends the sentence with a teasing chastise tone of your name making you shrug.

"Too bad, it was." You cheekily reply before adding. "Also call me Red."

Jun tilts his head to the side. "Red?" He repeats, the word rolling nicely off of his tongue. "Why Red?"

"I'll tell you when we meet the next time but, I figure it easier to call me that than my actual name, lesser syllables."

Jun eye lines crinkle, a sigh that he's smiling under his mask before nodding. He glances towards his phone before taking a few steps backwards. "I guess I'll see you soon Red."

You nod, flashing him a smile. "See you soon Jun."

PART TWO (26k)

©livmarauder2026 If you would like to join the taglist for this universe, please fill in this form! If you would like to join my permanent taglist, please fill in this form!(only blogs that are 18+, which means have age or age indicators will be added to the taglist, thank you!) Thank you so much for reading hehe and I'm so excited to share more of this universe with you guys!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ TAGLIST: @choco-scoups @luvrung @cherrymayz @hopecutie @caratchronicles @fancypeacepersona @belladonna-is-alive @txtsoobean @reiofsuns2001 @huiimoon @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @vwintershire @nidda13 @yethoughts @cottonfluffclouds

[luvrung]

wanna taste? ᯓᡣ𐭩 kmg

pairing: classmate! kim mingyu x f!reader

wc: 3.5k

synopsis: your culinary classes were a little bit brighter with your classmate mingyu. his dishes were some of the best you've tasted, and it didn't help he was so handsome, kind and endearing. you hope by proposing a night of cooking together in preparation for your finals you can get a taste— not just of his cooking, but something a bit more satisfying.

tags: chef!mingyu, culinary student gyu, pwp, like 2 seconds of plot here, smut mdni!!! size kink, kitchen sex, fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, big dick mingyu 🤓, ateez wooyoung mentioned briefly

fic 2/13 of the svt diamond records series.

note: second installment of the series is here and sorry (not) for this one.. this is just pure filth w a touch of plot. this is how mingyu gets us.. once again, playlist is perfectly in tune w the storyline, as is the theme of the series! thank u to my favs @belovedgyu @cherrymayz @livmarauder for being my betas this fic <3

now in rotation: taste - snoh aalegra | kiss it better - rihanna | tastes so good - sabrina claudio | tio - zayn |

dividers by @cafekitsune

Your seat mate has to be the finest man you've laid eyes on. You go to a culinary school, but the hottest thing in that kitchen is Kim Mingyu. His white chef coat is always so tight around his stupidly perfect build, causing your brain to short circuit whenever he's busy stirring— arms on full display and flexing.

You swear, you're going to end up burning a dish if you spent any more time staring at him again. How he doesn't catch you is a mystery. You would ogle him every time you talked, but a man who looked like that had to be used to it.

You're stressing over finals coming up, knowing you have to create a unique dish for the head chef to taste. You have free reign on your work— it can be a dessert, side dish or main entree as long as it has uniqueness and is well done. Your head chef doesn't want twenty spaghetti dishes; she wants to see originality.

Between you and Mingyu, no one else stood a chance to bag the top position. Everyone complimented your dishes whether you worked together or solo, your tastes complimenting each other. You are a great team and know how to cook up an original recipe with ease.

When you propose the idea for Mingyu to come to your apartment in a few days with some dishes he wanted to cook for the final, he wastes no time to agree.

"Sounds fun! I have a few recipes I've been dying to try I think you'd like. I'll stop by the grocery store and you tell me what you need."

"Oh no, it's okay Mingyu! I was planning on getting my own things you don't have to!" You wave your hands frantically, not wanting him to spend money on you. He waves you off with a hand, swearing he didn't mind.

"Don't even worry about it. You're letting me use your place to cook, that's good enough!" You try arguing but he wasn't going for it, a goofy grin on his face as he shakes his head, arms crossed.

He was absolutely adorable, like a kid trapped in a 6'2 buff guy’s body.

You agree to cook together in three days on Friday, your final being on the following Tuesday.

The rest of the week you're giddy, mind racing over the thought of having Mingyu in your house. That man is meticulous about his food and you've made sure your kitchen is stocked with any utensils and ingredients that may be needed.

By the time Friday rolls around, you have already deep cleaned your house and kitchen. You were feeling a little delusional and made sure your bedroom was straightened up as well. You know, in case you had to cook in the bed…

You settle on looking nice but not overly dressed up. If you wore a mini skirt bending over in your oven, you knew you'd be trying a little too hard. A pair of flowy black pants that framed your body nicely and a tight fitting tank top made do, your hair clipped back out of your face cutely.

The sound of your doorbell makes you jump, nerves spiking as you open the door for your classmate, his arms full of grocery bags as he greets you cheerfully.

"Thank you for allowing me in!" He grins, his large arms wrapped around paper grocery bags as he refuses to let you take them, kicking his shoes off and entering your kitchen.

"Oouuu, nice kitchen! This is perfect." He hums an approval as you both dig through the bags, pulling out the ingredients for various recipes.

He plans on making a dish with sautéed duck, and another with stir fried vegetables and salmon. Your mouth practically waters as he shares his lineup, turning on the stove and oiling pans.

"What were you planning on making?" You help him carefully dice vegetables and herbs as he works on the main course.

"Honestly, I was thinking the dessert route. I have a oreo cheesecake and pumpkin tiramisu I wanted to work on."

You glance at Mingyu who stops dead in his tracks. The look on his face is hilarious, as you can practically see him planning on stealing the whole pan.

"Those sound crazy! I can't wait to have a taste."

He hums, a lazy smile on his face when he turns back to seasoning the duck breasts.

He asks a million questions about yourself; things that you typically didn't have time to discuss during your classes. You discover that he likes to sing, though he swears he's too shy to full on sing around you. You catch him quietly humming along to a few songs you play as he cooks, bringing a smile to your face.

You work around each other, asking one another to taste the first batches, checking if more seasoning or sugar is required. Your cheesecake goes in as Mingyu plates the sautéed duck, urging you to hurry and get a bite.

"Take a sip of this wine after, it pairs so well together." He insists, a satisfied look on his face after a hefty bite. You take the fork he offered and pick up a piece with his watchful eyes on you.

"Oh my god Mingyu.." You nearly moan out, the flavors of the dish standing out as you close your eyes and nod your head in approval. "This is insanely good!"

You look back at him, his eyes lingering on your face while he sipped on his glass. His gaze is heavy, suddenly making you overly aware of yourself. You pick up your own glass and note how the blend of flavors paired together.

"You weren't lying about the wine.." You shyly mumble, gaze settled on his tanned arms.

He calls your name, catching your attention as you tilt your head in anticipation.

"Did you really want to just cook tonight?"

Your stomach drops as you fight to keep your expression neutral. How could he just so casually drop that like nothing?

You turn back around to your tiramisu, ignoring his question while you slide it in the fridge so it can form properly.

"I'm going to take that as no since you didn't respond."

The smirk on his face is teasing, his tall frame leaning against your counter as he sizes you up from afar.

"I don't know what you mean? We can watch a movie and eat your dishes after we finish if you like?" You suggest, hands fumbling with a thread on your tank top.

"Right…"

"Mingyu, what are you impl-"

"I know how you feel about me."

You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to make eye contact with him. Mingyu was already looking gently down at you, though his eyes gleamed mischievously.

"I overheard you and Wooyoung talking on facetime a few weeks ago.. Something about how 'big Mingyu is,' and that you'd like to 'see what else was big on him?'"

You want to die on the spot from humiliation.

"I- I- that… that was a joke."

"There's some truth behind every joke!" He smiles playfully, not seeming bothered by your loud mouth best friend getting you caught up. Wooyoung really needed to invest in some headphones in public.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, I think you're hot."

This man was so forward it was throwing you extremely off what little game you thought you had.

"Mingyu… just finish up your salmon." He laughs, shaking his head as he reaches around you. He boxes you in momentarily, his clean scent hitting your nostrils as he grabs the glazed salmon and vegetables.

"Wow… You really short circuit when you're around me huh?" You scoff, smacking his arm. "I finished this like.. fifteen minutes ago."

You hated admitting he was right, you were too focused on staring at his broad back at the stove that you didn't realize he finished up with the dish.

"Well let me try some then!"

You cross your arms over your chest. He grabs the same fork you were using, chopping off a bite and guiding the piece to your mouth.

"C'mon, open."

You obey, allowing him to feed you a bite of glazed salmon and carrot, his hand under your chin in case anything dropped. You hum in approval, licking your lips after to clean the small drop of glaze from there.

"You truly are skilled in the kitchen Kim Mingyu." He grins widely at that, enjoying your praises.

"Wanna find out how skilled I am at other things?"

"Now you're just making fun of me!" You groan, his laughter echoing in the kitchen.

"Nonsense, I'm serious babe." The use of the petname shifts something in you, his gaze suddenly burning like fire through you.

"Seriously, stop messing with me Mingyu. I'm sure you've called three other girls babe this week."

He gasps dramatically, hand coming over his heart in false outrage. You roll your eyes playfully as he reaches out for you with his free hand.

"I could never cheat on my favorite cooking partner. Nobody else in that class has anything on you!" His puppy-like eyes plead with you, a pout on his lips.

You will not fold, you will not fold, you will not fold-

"You have something on your lip."

You reach to wipe your finger across the plump skin before Mingyu pulls your hand away, leaning down to catch your lips against his own.

His lips move feverishly against yours, a strong hand planted at the back of your neck to hold you in place. You feel your knees go to jelly as your brain struggled to keep up with the fact your crush was making out with you. In the middle of your kitchen.

His tongue swiped along the skin of your lips, biting on the bottom lip with a soft tug. You gasp, hands planted firm on his well built chest.

"I think I got it." He smirks down at you, clearly proud with his actions.

"Are you sure? Might have gotten some on your own now." Your teasing smirk grows on your face, the energy in the room completely electrified now. He puffs out a laugh, bending back down to kiss you once more.

His large hands slide to your hips, leading you to the counter directly behind you. They roam down to your ass, giving a hard squeeze there, before he lifts you up. Setting you down on the counter, he steps in between your legs, guiding them farther open with a nudge of his thigh.

His waist is directly level with the counter; an advantage of his height. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms tangling around his neck.

He pulls back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you from how sloppy the kiss had gotten. He trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, as your fingers glide through his light brown locks.

"Shit, Mingyu the cheesecake is still in there!" You remember frantically, out of breath and trembling from his attack on your lips and neck.

He breaks away for a moment to step towards the oven, pulling out the perfectly golden cheesecake with a mitt. Any longer and it would've definitely burned. He turns the oven off and throws the mitt on the opposite counter, making his way back towards you.

"Now that there's no distractions, let's see just how 'big Mingyu is?'" He teases, hands sliding under your shirt, reaching your uncovered breasts with an eyebrow raise.

"I hate bras."

"I do too."

He yanks the fabric over your head, top half bare as the cold air causes your nipples to harden instantly. His trail of kisses lead down your neck, descending towards your boobs. He reaches for the left one, slowly sucking on the nipple there while his hand tweaks the other with a sharp pinch.

You throw your head back, moaning out in pleasure as he continues his assault on your breasts, stimulating the buds there to the point you felt delirious. His unoccupied hand trails down to your pants and gives a tug, wanting you to lift your hips for him. You comply, shifting up a bit as he slides your flared pants and underwear off.

You spread out, fully bare for him on your counter, suddenly feeling insecure at his full attention.

"God, you're beautiful. I need to admire you just like those little cakes you make." Your cheeks heat up as he kisses all along your body, hands busy as nothing is left untouched by Mingyu.

His hands make their way to your center, pulling your thighs apart just as much as he wanted while you stare down at him. Your chest is heaving and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Gyu… Please…" You whimper, finally growing impatient.

"So needy.. haven't even gotten my hands on you yet." He clicks his tongue, strong fingers gliding up and down your plush thighs. You whine eagerly, reaching out for him.

"Patience." He grazes your clit with his thumb, sending a shock through you as you jolt unexpectedly.

He chuckles at your reaction, a long finger breaching through your aching cunt. You take his finger easily, already soaked just from making out, as you sigh. He pushes a second finger in, curling up to hit the spot you desired.

"Look at you, taking me so easily." He hums, his gaze locked onto your pussy as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, moans spilling from your lips.

He kisses you again, the wet sounds of your pussy echoing as he works you open with his fingers. His lips swallowed up your moans as you grind down into his fingers, desperate to relieve that ache between your thighs.

Mingyu picks up his pace, thumb rubbing circles along your clit as a third finger fills you, his pace ruthless. You spasm around him, crying out desperately as you feel the coil inside you get tighter, and your orgasm approaching.

"Gyu! Fuck!"

His lips are hot and searing as he works his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting along the skin there. You're a mess under him, your juices leaking down his hand as your head rests back on the cabinet behind for support.

His long fingers stretched you sinfully, his thumb gliding across your clit with ease from your wetness. You feel the peak of your climax approaching, a familiar sensation building in your lower core.

"Cum all over my fingers, give it to me baby." He whispers hot against your ear, your grip on his bicep tight as his words push you over the edge. Your whole body shakes as your orgasm hits you intensely. You see stars while Mingyu helps you ride through it, swirling his finger on your sensitive clit.

"That was so hot," He slides his fingers out of you with a squelch, bringing them to his mouth for a taste as you catch your breath.

"You're insane, oh my god…" Your head lulls forward onto his shoulder as he chuckles. He grabs at your cheeks, pulling your face back up towards his. He kisses you slowly, a hand resting on your still trembling thigh. You slide a hand down towards his length straining in his pants and you nearly gasp into his mouth.

From the outline of it alone, you could tell he was going to absolutely wreck you.

"Mingyu… I'm gonna need you to fuck me now, genuinely quit playing." You run your fingers along the waistband of his jeans, sliding a finger past the band into his boxers.

He groans as you hold him, hot and heavy in your hand and you feel a fresh wave of arousal gush from your legs. You want him so bad, desperately helping him unbutton his pants and tug them down. He steps out of his jeans and boxers, thick cock on full display and you whimper at the sight.

"Does it meet your expectations miss?" He jokes, stroking himself a few times while you nod frantically.

"Shattered them, actually."

You both laugh, a break in the lust filled tension.

He slid you forward, hips directly level with the counter. The tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, both of you groaning from the contact.

"I hope I prepped you enough.. If you ever want me to stop, please tell me to." Mingyu's gaze is serious, not wanting to hurt you at all.

"Gyu, you'll have to pry me off of you at this point now." He laughs, readying himself to enter you.

He pushes in slowly, breathing heavy, as inch by inch, he slides in. Your eyes screw shut, nails digging into his biceps as his thick length buries further into your cunt.

"Doing so well baby, you take me so well." Mingyu sighs as he pushes all the way in. He rests his forehead against yours, giving you a moment to get adjusted to his size.

"I'm okay… need you… to move now." You moan out, swirling your hips in desperation.

His hips begin to move slowly, thick cock gliding in and out of you with ease. He stretches you out, a whiny moan leaving you from the slow drag of him filling you up.

His rhythm remains steady, careful to not get too ahead of himself while you grip down on him dangerously tight. You feel every vein from each rough drag of his cock through your throbbing walls.

"Need more Gyu!" You cry out, wanting his pace to quicken as you try to meet his thrusts.

Mingyu drunk up every one of your sounds, the sight in front of him going to his dick with every moan and gasp you let out.

"So needy for me." He lifts you up, bouncing you on his cock. His arms are supporting you, all his hours in the gym paying off as he fucks up into you, the sound of skin slapping filling your ears.

He's rough, his hands gripping you so tight, you know there will be marks in the morning. The counter dugs into your thighs while Mingyu thrusts into you, your pussy leaking all down his cock with a vulgar squelch.

His groans are music to your ears as you slide a hand down to rub circles on your clit, in search of your second climax of the night.

He sat you back on the counter, the change in angles making his cock bury deeper inside of you with a loud moan. You were mumbling gibberish, drunk on the feel of his big dick pounding into you, and his strong arms wrapped tight around you.

"Gyu, I'm so close… oh!" His hand grips your neck suddenly, squeezing at the sides. The hand on your neck helps keep you in place, your brain going fuzzy as you feel your high fastly approaching.

"Taking my cock like you were made for me." He mumbles, his hand staying wrapped around your throat as he fucks into you roughly, the counter sharp against you.

Your thoughts are mush, as with a final snap of his hips you're seeing white and squeezing him tight, thrashing around under him with a cry of his name. You feel weightless, his pace picking up once again and his breaths grow ragged against your skin.

"Fuck, I'm cumming, where do you want it?" He chokes out, thrusts growing erratic.

"In me. I'm on the pill please fill me up Gyu."

Your words are like encouragement to him, both hands gripping at your waist as he fucks you like a rag doll, chasing his orgasm. You whine from overstimulation, clamping hard on him when he gave one last deep thrust— spilling his hot seed inside of you with your name on his lips. His hips stutter a few times, thick ropes of cum spilling out as he gives you every last drop. He buries his head into your chest, catching his breath momentarily.

"This turned out better than I expected." You joke, running your fingers through his damp hair.

He looks up with a confused expression.

"I was hoping we would end up like this by the end of the night." You smirk down at him.

"So you were plotting something!"

"I wanted more than just a taste of your meals Gyu. I wanted a taste of you."

He stares up at you from your chest, smiling lazily. Capturing your lips once again he kisses you. He slides out, watching his cum slowly slide out of you onto the counter. His cock has no chance to recover, already twitching with need again.

"We made such a mess in here… This counter needs so much disinfecting my god."

"That, and the food... we gotta put this up." You groan, sitting up. You felt sticky, Mingyu's cum still deep inside of you.

"Fuck that, we'll get it later." He helps you off the counter carefully, your knees wobbling when you stand.

"But Serv Safe-"

"Forget Serv Safe rules for now, I need a taste of something else," He tosses a glance at the cheesecake. "Cheesecake can wait, I got something else to indulge in."

He picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder with a yelp.

"Show me your bedroom, I'm not done with you yet."

You thought Mingyu would be craving a bite of your cheesecake first, not thinking things would end with him wanting to take a bite of you more importantly.

taglist: @hopecutie @livmarauder @choco-scoups @cherrymayz @paradiseonthemoon @caratchronicles @mellowgyu @evemds @joshuaholic

[belovedgyu]

can i call you rose? || jeon wonwoo

⚬ pairing: jeon wonwoo x lawyer fem! reader ⚬ word count: 4k ⚬ genres: fwb au, neighbors au, a lil angsty, smut, the reader is mentioned to be older than wonwoo ⚬ warnings: mentions of food, spice/nsfw mentions and smut - filth, filth filth, use of adult toys, and other mature themes MDNI

credits to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers

<3 synopsis: bound by your very own limitations, you often wonder what it would be like if it was just the two of you and nobody else when it comes to your neighbor wonwoo, especially on days like these...when he brings you roses.

<3 songs recommended - can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls - at my worst by pink sweat$ - just the two of us grover washington jr and bill withers

author's note: part of my valentine's day event, lmk if you'd want to be tagged :)

It is not everyday that your neighbor-cum-fuckbuddy, Wonwoo, gets you large bouquets of flowers.

That isn't to say that he is some cynic. No! Just someone who prefers buying you things of utility—like chocolates, or books, or games that the two of you can play together before eventually forgetting them on your screen as you succumb to the heated kisses either of you initiate.

Today, however, feels like a day where morning started at 6 p.m. with the sun rising in the west because there he is—at your door—grinning ear to ear like a fool with a bouquet bigger than his head at seven in the morning.

"Happy rose day!" He beams as you blink at him, confused and petrified.

Your first instinct is to reach forward and press your palm to his forehead to check for his temperature.

"You're not burning up," you mumble, "did you eat something weird? Sleep funny? 'Cause it's only January yet."

He rolls his eyes, taking your palm away from his forehead and pressing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’m perfectly fine,” he says, amused. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted to do something nice?”

“You always do something nice,” you counter, eyes drifting back to the absurdly large bouquet. Red roses spill everywhere, plump petals dewy and fresh. “You just… don’t usually do this that too in so much advance.”

Wonwoo shrugs, a faint pink creeping up his ears—something you notice only because you’ve spent so long memorizing him. “I know. But well, I figured that every girl in the world must be receiving flowers on rose day and you always talk about how much you love the roses from that lady at the farmer's market and I won't be here for the real rose day cause I need to be at that stupid conference..."

Your heart warms up. You let him in, slowly shutting the door behind yourself. "So you went to the farmer's market…at six in the morning just to buy me roses? I thought you went to bed at six, Won!"

You hit him lightly on the head with the bouquet he just bought for you, two loose flowers topple over his hair—one clinging to his collar, the other dropping right into his arm.

"Hey!" he protests, following you to your bedroom where he has been more times than any decent neighbor should be, "do you know how competitive flower shops get? I had to fight an ajusshi for it.”

You laugh, placing the flowers in a pretty vase by your bed. “You did not have to.”

Once you have snipped off the excess leaves with your scissors and stuffed it well in a glass jar that matches it's ruby petals, you bury your face into the roses. They smell like morning and effort and him. When you look back up, he’s watching you like waking up at an ungodly hour, fighting random middle aged men and bargaining over flowers in the middle of a very busy farmer's market was worth all it just because he gets to see that smile.

“They’re beautiful,” you say. “Thank you.”

He hums, pretending to inspect your bookshelf while very obviously basking in your reaction. “Good. I was worried you’d think it was too much.”

You set the bouquet down carefully and step closer, looping your arms around his waist. Wonwoo relaxes instantly, arms coming around you, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Well,” he murmurs, “don’t get used to it. Tomorrow I’m back to not doing your half of the dishes when we do dinners together, no matter how much you pout."

“Deal,” you say, smiling into his chest. “But you’re keeping the ‘grinning fool at my doorstep first thing in the morning’ thing. I like that part.”

When you feel him stiffen a little, his swaying with you in his arms stuttering a bit, you think you've said something too wrong, crossed a boundary you didn't know existed. Well, boundaries aren't really a forte of the two of you. It was a boundary that neighbors don't purposefully walk into each other naked—one that you both crossed multiple times. It was also a boundary that neighbors don't act on the desire ignited by the disrupture of the previous boundary by fucking each other—again, one that you shattered multiple times.

You wonder where this boundary of wishing that your neighbor's face is the first one you see, again and again lies in the warzone of all broken treaties?

"Well, I would." He says, detaching himself from you but keeping his arms steady on your waist, "But don't you think it would be awkward for the days when you let those other guys sleep over in your bed with you?"

The breathy voice of his and the crude implication that follows causes your cheeks to flame.

The fact that the two of you fool around sometimes hasn't stopped you from taking in more lovers, honestly. You still go on dates, hoping that by the end of it, you'd have someone who'd make you want to give up this arrangement with Wonwoo. How badly you hope to find him in the faces that sit opposite to you in all those fancy coffee-houses, how badly you wish their touch ignites the same nerves that Wonwoo's does, how badly you wish that you escaped this abyss of almosts and maybes. And yet, here you are, orbiting him like his gravity just never loosens its hold on you.

You swallow, fingers tightening just a little at his hoodie. “You know they don’t stay,” you say quietly. “And you know it doesn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo’s jaw flexes. For a moment, he looks like he’s doing mental math—counting losses, weighing risks, deciding whether honesty is worth the mess it makes.

“I know,” he says. Then, softer, “That’s not really the problem.”

You tilt your head up. His eyes won’t meet yours now; they’re fixed somewhere over your shoulder, at the wall you’ve both pretended doesn’t exist.

“Then what is?” you ask.

He exhales a small laugh, humorless. “The problem is that I wake up and think about whether you’ve eaten. And I buy too many roses at six in the morning because you once said you liked the way they smelled. And I pretend I don’t care who you bring home because it’s easier than admitting I don’t like imagining anyone else learning the things I already know.”

Your chest tightens. The room feels suddenly smaller, like the air has been pulled closer around the two of you.

“Wonwoo…”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he says quickly, finally looking at you. His gaze is steady, careful. “I know what this is. I agreed to it. I just—” He shrugs, helpless and honest in a way he rarely allows himself to be. “Some days it slips.”

You reach up without thinking, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. He stills like he always does when you touch him gently, like the world recalibrates around that point.

"I get it," you admit, "it slips…for me too."

You realize just how heavy the air around you weighs now, pushing you both further and further into each other's arms. And you know exactly what follows—hours of mind-numbing love-making to make you both forget the significance of the conversation that almost happened…the significance of what the two of you could be.

As if acting on a rehearsed script, your lashes begin fluttering close and you lean in closer to his lips. Only today, your co-actor goes off scripts and takes a step back.

"And the solution to that is fuck and forget?" He questions.

You unwrap your arms from around him and cross them over your chest instead, ignoring how sour the taste of rejection is. "I mean…it helps."

"Does it?" He scoffs. "Because honestly, no matter how good the sex is, I don't think it is a permanent solution to the heavy regret I feel because I won't be here to spend Valentine's with you cause of that stupid conference I have to attend."

You don't like the entitlement that drips in his tone. "Oh so I am responsible for managing your guilt now?"

He flinches, just a little. It makes your chest ache immediately.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not blaming you. I’m saying I hate that I’ll miss it. I hate that the idea of you spending Valentine’s Day with someone else makes my stomach twist, and I hate myself more for feeling like I have any right to that.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and fragile.

You glance at the roses by your bed. They’re impossibly red, almost embarrassing in their sincerity. You think of the farmer’s market, of him half-asleep and stubborn, arguing with an ajusshi for flowers that would wilt in a week but mean something now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say quietly. “Every time I go on a date, I’m hoping it’ll fix this. That I’ll come home and feel…normal. Detached.” You laugh under your breath. “And every time, I end up comparing them to you. Like that’s fair to anyone.”

Wonwoo looks at you and the teasing softness he usually wears is gone. What’s left is raw, and so heartbreakingly human.

“So stop,” he says. “Stop pretending this is casual. Stop pretending we don’t already act like something more when it’s just us."

It prompts you to think of all the times you moan for him with no restrain, not worrying how raw it sounds. Of all the times straddle him and kiss him like you mean it, like he's yours to stamp your claim upon.

'Something more when it's just us.'

How he braids your hair—damp from sweat and tears—when he's spooning you after. How he lathers more peanut butter than jelly to your sandwiches because that's how you like it. How he fixed the window panels in your room just last week because you remarked once in passing that they creaked too much.

'Something more when it's just us.'

The bored texts you send him during meetings at work because he's the only one who ever responds to all of them. The gaming jargon that has assimilated in your everyday vocabulary—courtesy to him.

'Something more when it's just us.'

But that's the thing—it isn't just the two of you.

Oh how simpler things would be if it were. Because if were just the two of you, you wouldn't mind the obvious difference between the lives you both currently live and wish to live for a foreseeable future. You're older than him, so close to becoming partner at the law firm you've given your everything to over a better part of the last decade. Meanwhile Wonwoo is fresh out of post-grad—burnt out and exhausted, still figuring out if he even wants to continue with academia or begin somewhere else all over again.

You're not even sure for how long is he going to be in the rental apartment next door. Next month? The month after?

"Fine, I'll give it a thought." You say, despite it all. "We'll have this conversation once you're back from your conference."

You silently pray that the conference and interacting with his industry's leaders will give him enough clarity that'll make him stay somewhere you can be with him.

Wonwoo studies your face for a long second, like he’s trying to memorize it in case this is the last time he’s allowed to look so freely. Then he nods, slow and deliberate, accepting the truce for what it is.

“Okay,” he says. “When I’m back.”

Then, almost hesitatingly, he adds, "Can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"That you'll sincerely give this a thought—"

"Won, I told you I would."

"No please," he interrupts then licks his lips, "tell me you won't try to distract yourself from me…that you will truly consider this, without trying to prove something to yourself."

You know just what he is implying.

"You don't want me to get involved with anyone while you're gone?" You verbalize, carefully leaving it open for further explanation or clarification on his part.

Bashfully, he nods.

"But it's not because I want to control you or anything…just—"

"I get it Wonwoo." You assure him, "I will try to be as fair to this—to you—as possible."

As you loop your arms up around his neck and brush your lips gently against his, you realize how exposed you feel at the fact that he has somewhat cracked your pattern, your act. That somehow, he knows that you only let other men in to distract yourself from him and what could it be if something real were to ever happen between you both.

The mere thought riles you up, your lips begin to work furiously against his, almost dominating his mouth as you plunder all the breathy sounds he makes against your tongue. He tastes like bitter coffee and his fingers threading in your hair smells like all the flowers he must've considered but decided against in favor of the red roses on your desk.

His lips are almost the same shade as them by the time you part, wet and breathless.

"Let me properly thank you for the flowers," you whisper teasingly.

He grimaces, "You don't have to, really. I wasn't expecting anything in return of them."

But you are already toying with the buttons on his shirt, flicking them open one by one with a pout.

"Really?" you ask, "but don't you think it's unfair of you to do something so romantic for me, get me all hot and bothered and then leave me with a promise that I cannot take anyone else's help to get me through it while you're gone?"

You undo the last button of his shirt, letting it fall open and expose the hard ridges on his abdomen which you graze with your nails. Finally, you let your fingers to drop on the waistband of his boxers peeking out of his jeans, tucking them into the elastic and just pulling at it playfully.

He hisses, his lips curving into a smirk.

"Poor baby," he says, "I do think it is so very unfair of me to leave your greedy cunt waiting like that…which is why—" He grabs your wrists and pulls you into his chest. Then, leaning down into your ear, he murmurs in that smoky voice of his that always makes you melt, "the flowers aren't the only rose I brought for you."

His wet tongue licks against the shell of your ear as you try to make sense of what he just said.

"Wonwoo—"

He squeezes your hips once, territorial and sensual, before pushing you onto your mattress. The impact causes the thin strap of your loose silk nightgown to slip halfway off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts for his hungry eyes.

He palms the soft mound, making you moan and shut your eyes close but not before watching his free arm reach inside the pocket of his loose pants to retrieve something.

"I always care about you, baby…I would never want to leave you lonely and needy." He latches his lips onto your sensitive nipple, alternating between massaging it with his tongue and rolling it between his puckered lips until both your nipples are as hard rocks.

You writhe and moan, arching your body further into him, your fingers struggling around the waistband of your panties to slide them off your legs.

"Wonwoo," you scratch your nails into his head, letting him kiss your chest a little more and then tug at his hair to make him look you in the eyes, "touch my pussy."

But he only smirks, leaning down to smooch your lips. "There it is," he mumbles, "that filthy little mouth that I adore so much."

Your head falls back as his lips begin traveling down from your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind.

"Quit playing, Won." You whimper, "I am serious, at least give me a finger."

You know how bossy and demanding you can be in bed, and you are also aware just how much it riles him up for you can feel him loose control already as he begins groping your flesh with more intensity than before.

"Won!" You warn him again, almost sobbing as he bunches your nightgown all the way up to your abdomen. "Something, please!"

You try to lace your fingers with his—an act he happily obliges with one arm, although, his other one tightens around something else, almost as if he's shielding something from you in his fist. Your brows scrunch up as you eye him suspiciously while he kisses your knee.

"Oh I will give you something," he smirks, holding your gaze. "Just something new, baby."

He uncurls his fingers to show you what he has been holding in his palm—a small, cylindrical, red plastic toy shaped like a rose.

It takes some moments for it to sink into your psyche just what it is…the rose vibrator—something that you joked to him about after spotting it being promoted under some stupid tweet.

"Oh God," you gasp. "You did not—"

"I told you, I wanted to buy you all the roses you ever mentioned." He nips at your thigh playfully before straightening up.

Without warning, he presses the button and the toy comes alive, barely a few inches above your weeping core. He repeatedly tests it out to see all the different settings, your eyes widening with each one as the whirring noise grows more and more. Settling on the gentlest one at first, he presses it against your clit.

"Wonwoo!" you cry out, not knowing how to react at the strange sensation. He doesn't respond, only circles it around your bundle of nerves to see where it settles the best.

As sex forward as you've been all your life, it truly is an enigma how you've never owned or used a sex toy on yourself; the possibility simply never struck with all the people frothing at their mouths to get in bed with you. But now that your fuckbuddy has put you in a sticky situation of not taking any lovers, you guess this buzzing piece of plastic shall do until he returns.

Not that you're complaining though, because the more he presses it to your core, the whinier you get. It feels so different from his coarse, meaty fingers but at the same time, it is much more consistent on your aching folds.

"Woah…does it really feel that good?" He mumbles, amused, as he watches you get wetter and wetter under its ministrations.

Promptly, he clicks the button again to increase the intensity. At the same time, you feel him push his thumb inside your fluttering hole which instantly tightens around him greedily.

"Aw, you still need me. How cute?" He teases, beginning to push his thumb in and out of you while stroking the toy lazily around your swollen nub.

"Alw…always need you Won." You manage, pushing yourself up on your elbows to grab hold of his neck and pull him into your lips.

The kiss is messy, wet, because your mouth keeps hanging open limp the more he settle into a rhythm with the toy all while lazily pumping his thumb in and out of your soaked valley. In the middle of the kiss, Wonwoo flicks the toy up to the furthest setting, pressing the vibrating tormentor snug to your cunt—small, constant but so unrelenting.

"Think you can come just from this, doll?" He drawls in a low rasp, licking at your earlobe as you hug him closer.

You let out a soft, choked sound, his words making your cunt throb. Your hips ground against the toy instinctively, your entire body twitching as if it is on fire.

"I'll take that as a yes." He hums, swiping your cunt with the fingers of his free hand, collecting the slick that has pooled there. "You're already making a mess baby. I'm jealous, you never get like this with me so quick."

Your legs tremble as you continue to buck against the toy in his fist. You bite your bottom lip, panting like an animal yet always coherent enough to tease him, "I guess I don't need you after all—AH!"

Your words must've gotten through him for he jerks the toy closer until its suction is aimed straight at your clitoris at the highest possible setting. A small tear rolls down your lid as you feel your restrain begin to break, the heat in your belly boiling so hard until it aches.

"You always need me," he says, watching your body contort beneath him, "but let us see what all fun you can have with this while I am gone, doll."

The pressure seems almost brutal when you come, because unlike his fingers, the toy doesn't relent even when you cry out his name throughout waves after waves of the hot pleasure that surges within you and escapes through your cunt, ruining the sheets below.

Wonwoo's fingers graze the soft flesh of your thighs as they jerk from the aftershocks, the toy buzzing against your folds, just not as snug as before now that he's not the one handling it. You let yourself grind against it lustfully, trying to savor what's left of the lustful feelings in your core.

"Fuck I love this!" You murmur, wanting to pick the little toy up and mash it against your used up folds again. "Mhmm, thanks Wonu."

"Why do I feel like I just dug a grave for myself?" He laughs, already removing his pants to join you in bed, naked.

"Never," you giggle, sitting up on your haunches and helping him undress "it might be good, but it does not come with the abs that I love so much to lick…" your tongue trails between the hard ridges of his abdomen, "or the shoulders I love to throw my legs on when you pound in me," your nails dig into the rigid muscles of his shoulders, scratching all the way down to his pecs, "or the back that I love clinging on to when I come."

With that, you loop your arms around his neck and pull him in the bed with you. His hair is ruffled from all the tugging you pushing from your fingers, his glasses dropping too low on his nose as he watches you worship his body with your eager tongue and roaming nails. You can't help but giggle as you roll him around until you straddle him, thinking just how much of an adorable loser he really is.

"Nor does this," You pick the toy and chuck it over the to the other side of the bed, "come with a face of a grinning idiot that I very much like to see on my door at fucking seven in the morning."

He falls back into your pillows with a soft laugh that stirs something beyond just lust or admiration within you. And for the first time, you don't resolve to instantly jumping his bones the moment you feel it. Instead, you melt, letting yourself fall onto him, head pressed to his chest, counting his heartbeats. He hesitates at the sudden change in plans, but does nothing to push you further or push you away, just slowly rakes his fingers across your naked back.

"I am going to miss you," you mumble, your voice half muffled into his skin, "God I am going to miss you so much."

"I will be back before you know it." He replies, shifting to cover your intertwined bodies with one of your soft sheets.

You nod, knowing that you didn't mean that you'll miss him through his week-long visit to the conference but that you'll miss him for what is bound to follow it. Maybe you just had been suppressing it in your gut each time your intuition screeched at you when it comes to him. Maybe you know that all those prayers you keep mumbling to your false-Gods won't instill within him the resolve to stay here, in the city, with you.

Yet you hope.

Because sure, it's true that the odds are stacked against you when it comes to him. It is also true that circumstances just refuse to give you both ever a fair chance to build a space for one another in your lives.

But it is also a fact that when it comes to just the two of you…there's something more.

Something unnamed, unexplainable but oh so full of life and thrill.

And you'd be damned if you never give it a chance to bloom beyond just stolen kisses and unrequited touches.

"Yeah, you'll be back before I even know it." You mumble, long after he has fallen asleep.

this one's for @lovelylonelinesssvt <3 ly boo hope u have fun at the harry styles concert!!

please consider reblogging/commenting/interacting with the fic in any ways possible :)

permanent taglist: (valentines taglist in subsequent reblogs)

@mellowamour @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits @J3nnch3ls3a @princessjazzyjazz @livelaughloveseventeen

@sousydive @izzyy-recs @livmarauder @vwintershire @cherrymayz

VALENTINES TAGLIST FORM

MASTERLIST

PERMANENT TAGLIST

[belovedgyu]

"FAN"cast || kim mingyu

⚬ pairing: actor! kim mingyu x author fem! reader ⚬ word count: 15.7k ⚬ warnings: (pls read carefully) mentions of food, alcohol, smut warnings: sex against a wall, squirting, oral (f. receiving), v minor possession kink, he repeatedly calls her a sweetheart hehe, switches to his POV sometimes ⚬ genres: fluff, romance, tiniest bit of angst but not really, not to toot my own horn but i fink i just wrote a killer romcom. jungkook, @jakedustry and @livmarauder make minor appearances!!

synopsis <3 as a serious author who has been trying to earn a serious repute in the industry, romance rumors with a superstar is never really a good news. and when the said superstar leans into those rumors, it gets even more annoying to deal with - especially when you have to shoot a movie with him!

not beta read and written in a single day cause im cray cray like that, dont judge!! pleek support authors by REBLOGGING and reviewing our works!

credits: to @strangergraphics for the pretty dividers <3

playlist - - robbers by the 1975 - borderline by tame impala - stargirl interlude by lana del rey and the weeknd

author's note: part of my valentine's day event, lmk if you'd want to be tagged :)

There is something about the scalding airport coffee, that you over-saturate with at least double the amount of sugar than what you would usually go for, that always screws all your exhaustion-weighed muscles back into your place and gives you that additional skip in your step as you checkout. 

That, when paired with the radiance on your skin and your self-satisfied grin as you feel the weight of your recently completed manuscript tucked proudly under your arm, would make no one suspect that you have just gotten off a sixteen-hour long flight. After a full summer of nursing tans under the West-coast sun and enjoying the Californian lifestyle, it feels so good to be back with yet another story that you want to eagerly share with your team and eventually, your readers. 

Talking about the readers…it is definitely strange just how many of them have recognized you and asked for your autograph today. While you do expect such a reaction when something new comes out, it is definitely uncalled for when you’re just simply returning from a vacation. Your latest book was published over a year ago and though it was a best-seller on every lists that matter, the frenzy had since died down only to be reignited again this winter when your fans began fancasting famous actors and actresses when they caught wind about one of the prominent production houses acquiring rights to adapt one of your books on screen. 

You didn’t know much about the social buzz, you had learnt better than to go online to gauge fan-reaction when it comes to your art. But you do know the name that often seems to pop up when it comes to the dream casting of the male leads of your books. 

Kim Mingyu. 

Arguably one of the most sensational names in the current cohort of young actors with an unimaginable fan following across all social media platforms and a generational talent backed by critical acclaim. 

People—your readers—always tell you just how similar he is to the romantic leads that you write. 

Take the current one for example, who is hovering near baggage claim with a dog-eared paperback of one of your best-sellers while you sign autographs for her and her sister. 

“Any news about the cast for ‘The Art of You’?” she asks. 

You politely shake your head, even if there is some news about it, you are yet to turn your work phone back on to read the texts or emails from Hunter, your manager, pertaining to the subject. 

“It’s still in the talking stages.” You answer, accepting another paperback to sign from the guy beside her. 

“Well I don’t know if you saw…but Kim Mingyu was seen wearing this coffee-stained white cable-knit sweater at dinner that totally reminded me of Matthias from that first date scene in ‘The Art of You’ when Allie spills coffee over him,” she squeals. “He had the classic Matthias tortoise-shell glasses on too!”

Your fingers stutter around the pen, it is such a peculiar outfit—the sole reason why you decided to write it in was the distinct nature of it and its relevance to that specific scene and storyline. It is certainly odd that someone with a full team of stylists would be caught wearing something like that in a similar setting. 

“Oh,” you give her an awkward laugh, “is that so?” 

When she nods eagerly, expecting you to say more with her camera pointed right in your face, you feel yourself flush even deeper. This—the recording, the unforeseen prodding—this is exactly what you did not sign up for when it comes to being a published author. 

You lug your bag over your shoulder, watching your manager Hunter drawing closer and closer to you behind the sparse huddle of ten odd people that have surrounded you. 

“That’s a weird coincidence.” You mumble to the girl who is still expecting a better response from you, before adjusting your sunglasses and letting Hunter pull you closer to herself. 

But before you can fully walk away from them, you catch a round of murmurs between the girl who was recording you and her friend. 

“She totally got flustered when you said his name!” “I know right? I think it’s true.” “What a fairytale if it is…”

⸻

You don’t even wait for her to fasten her seatbelt before you ask Hunter, “What was that about?”

She clears her throat. Odd. Because Hunter never clears her throat like that. 

“Just some fans…y’know, excited to see you.”

“No, that was definitely very strange,” you say, already unlocking your work-phone to go through any important emails or texts that you must have missed. There are none. “Awh, come on Hunty, just tell me what it is! I don’t see anything specific in the mail.”

Hunter peels her eyes off from the road, only momentarily, to give you this very plastic, very fake grin. 

“I think it’s best if you hear that from your beloved publicist.”

Instantly, you feel all the radiance and heat that you had nurtured under your skin on your vacation perspire at the back of your neck. 

“Is–is it something serious?” you ask, “No, but…Jungkook would tell me if something terrible happened on the publicity front, won’t he?”

Hunter sighs, rubbing her brows with this given-up look she gives you each time you show even an ounce of trust towards your friend and publicist Jeon Jungkook. 

“All I’m gonna say is this,” Hunter says, slowing the car down at the red-light, “you trust that bunny-teethed boy way too much.”

Your head oscillates from Hunter, your manager, on your right to Khadija, your literary agent on your left before finally setting on your publicist whose ears are turning pinker with every moment passed without any words from you. 

You try to exert authority in the room—you are their employer after all—by tightening your posture and holding your head high, but your sigh betrays you by shuddering right before you speak. 

Three pairs of eyes turn to you, concerned and anticipating. 

“A dating rumour.” You repeat Jungkook’s last words from before his smile had disappeared, bit by bit, as you sank down on the seat you are currently seated on when he said: ‘Oh, nothing serious. Mingyu has been spotted wearing and doing shit that is so much associated with you and your works that people think something’s going on between the two of you. Just a dating rumor.’

“A dating rumour.” You let your head fall back, contemplating consequences. 

Beside you, Hunter snorts. “Except it isn’t “just a dating rumour” when the studio wants to milk this by casting Mingyu in the lead role for ‘The Art of You’.” She turns to you, “See I told Jungkook to control this when it started…I knew something like this would happen.”

In front of you, your publicist scoots closer, trying to garner your attention away from your manager before she fully convinces you to fire him. 

“But think about it!” Jungkook insists, “these are just fan-made theories from your readers that have no validity to them…it only stirs up interest among public and if the studio does decide to cast him, that only means more sales for us because his fans would certainly be rushing to their nearest bookstores to get your books to look for ‘clues’.”

Jungkook gives you an expectant look, before conclusively adding with a shrug. “His fans will gravitate to benefit you, your fans are already doing him a favor by hyping him up as Matthias—that’s basically cross pollination. What’s the harm?”

Beside you, Khadija quips in, “The harm is, Jungkook, that I am trying to have the literary industry take her seriously. Dating rumors with a world renowned actor only brings unwanted attention to her personal life…and while it might work for actors, it is never favorable for authors.”

Hunter, who has been quite beside you for far too long, rests her head on her fist and sighs, “You can never write a character that’s an actor if this gains more wind than it already has. Scandal, scandal. Drama, drama.”

“Not just that,” Khadija adds to it, “in fact every book you write about romance will be taken by the public as a morsel of your love-life. It’ll be all ‘oh did she write this about him?’ and nothing more.” 

You stare at Jungkook with a worried frown, waiting for him to present something more concrete than just ‘higher sales’ in defense of these very valid concerns about the long-term consequences of this little rumor. 

Jungkook straightens in his chair like he’s been waiting for this exact cue, palms pressed to his knees, eyes wide and earnest.

“Okay, okay,” he says quickly, holding up both hands before either ladies on your side can berate him more. “I hear you. I do. And you’re not wrong. All of that could happen. But it also doesn’t have to.”

Jungkook powers through anyway. “First of all, no confirmation. No denial. We don’t say a word. We let it fizzle on its own because people on the internet have the attention span of a goldfish with Wi-Fi.”

“That’s optimistic,” Hunter mutters.

“It’s strategic,” Jungkook shoots back, then turns to you again. “Second, this isn’t a scandal. There are no blurry photos, no secret dinners, no leaked texts. The man wore a sweater and drank coffee like a civilian. That’s not dating, that’s…autumn.”

Khadija’s eyes widen with disbelief. “That is not the only thing that has happened, you—” she turns to you, “he’s only mentioning the sweater incident because you heard about it at the airport. There have been far weird consequences…it’s almost like Kim Mingyu is campaigning to get the lead role for all your books.”

“Yeah, tell me why did that man have a whole magazine photoshoot wearing a pink linen shirt with blue orchids in a museum out of all places like that’s not exactly how Nathaniel proposed to Evie in your book ‘Method loving’.”

Jungkook jumps in to defend the guy like Hunter just personally offended him, “okay that magazine photoshoot was not—”

Hunter cuts him off, “she’ll always be known as the silly little romance author who—”

“Okay I am going to stop you there because I have so many opinions about the phrase ‘silly little romance author’.”

“Oh get over it, you know what I meant.”

“Enough you guys!” You finally stand up, your hands firm around your hips. “I have heard enough.”

You bite your lip as your team shifts around you uncomfortably. 

“I don’t think this—me being linked to a superstar romantically—is a good idea. It has too many long term shortcomings.” 

You cross your arms before your chest, fixing Jungkook in his place in front of you, “Kookie, this should have been handled way before it snowballed to this extent. But bygones are bygones, I want you to handle the narrative before my new manuscript gets green-lighted to be released and before the production for the movie begins.”

Jungkook slumps a little, but nods regardless, already pulling his phone out to make calls and do what he does best. Hunter gives him that ‘told you so’ smirk meanwhile Khadija has already forgotten the discourse as she flips through what is going to be your next best-seller.

It has been such a weird day. And while you were basking in the sunshine trapped deep inside your skin and the feel of the warm beach sand loose under your toes just a few hours ago, now all you want to do is take a suffocatingly hot shower, draw your curtains tight and sleep all the jet lag away. 

But before you leave the living room as your team scrambles to handle the slight damage and prepare for all the big plans that would soon begin unfolding now that you’re back in business, you turn over your shoulder to give them one last verdict. 

“Call the production house and tell them that I request them to cast literally anyone as Matthias but Kim Mingyu.”

Turns out, it is not so easy to just pick and choose the actors of your choice for your own story when a studio that is about to invest millions into it is involved. Especially not when the smarty-pants with finance degrees from Harvard and Yale at the said studio have already made predictions about the potential hefty gains that a particular casting would bring in based on the current metrics. 

After a whole week of back-and-forths with the studio representatives over emails and calls that lasted for hours to no avail, they have invited you in for one last-ditch attempt to convince you about Mingyu because a sole disagreement is definitely not worth stalling such a profitable project over. 

You enter the elevator in a daze, mumbling a quick 'thank you' to whoever was holding it for you without looking up from the freshly painted pink ribbons on your nails as you contemplate. 

When you had spoken with the director and the casting manager some four days ago about considering someone else apart from the popular fan-vote by citing the example: ‘I mean, everyone wanted Sabrina Carpenter to play Rapunzel but that didn’t happen, how about we consider someone else too? Someone new?’, they had tried to make peace with you by saying they’ll be casting a new face for the female lead.

And when you still insisted, they had told you that upon your earlier request, they had reached out to the agents of the actors whom they deemed would be a good call but all of them were either unavailable or nervous due to Kim Mingyu’s interest and his name being associated with the project for so long—which was just a professional way of saying that the (not so) little shit was most probably threatening other actors from taking the role. 

Your nails dig into your fist at the very thought of such blatant bullying.

You are supposed to meet the director along with Kim Mingyu today to work out whatever it is that is worrying you. And even though there is a certain stubborn part of you that is convinced that there’s no way you can be at complete peace with this casting, you are open to the possibilities. 

The elevator door opens with a ping and you realized you never pushed the button for the floor that you were supposed to be on. Yet, here you are regardless. Perhaps the person in the elevator was also going to the same floor as you. 

Whatever. 

You begin walking out of the elevator and towards the director’s office, feeling how the weight of someone’s presence around you still hasn’t shifted. You clutch your bag hard, not because you think it is about to be snatched in this multi-billion dollar building, but because you are intrigued about the person who has been walking just two steps behind you. Perhaps they are going to the room adjacent to the one you are supposed to be in, that would explain it. But you are too shy to look up and see for yourself who it is…an awkward eye-contact, that tight-lipped smile and a stuttered ‘hi’...you’re doing everything to avoid it.

By the time you reach the director’s office, you expect your companion to keep walking further. But a bigger, strong hand grabs the doorknob, twists it and opens the door for you. It is then when you blink up, confused…only to be greeted by a watered down version of the dazzling smile that has been a staple across billboards and advertisements ever since his debut in a blockbuster hit. 

Kim Mingyu. 

An unmistakable shiver runs down your spine at the sight of him so close to you. You look and feel so small compared to him. Not just in size, but the very charismatic and open warmth of him that is so large that it feels like a hug even though he isn’t touching you.

He smirks, tilting his head just slightly and the world tilts towards him—you feel your own gravity tipping further and further into him to a point that you have to clutch the doorway to station your balance. 

“After you,” he mumbles in a gentle voice. 

Your head jerks from his face, to the empty office, to the elevator then back to him. 

“You were…in…” you point to the elevator, “oh my gosh I’m so sorry I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, you have pretty poor spatial awareness.” He laughs, nudging you in and once you are both inside the office, he closes the door behind with a soft click.

You wait for him to say something else, or give you a cue…anything. But he doesn’t. He simply walks around the small table, eyeing the several magazines and begins flipping through the one that has his face on its cover. 

So cocky. 

“I guess we are both before time.” You mutter under your breath, checking your wrist-watch before slipping your bag off your shoulder and taking a chair. 

As if just like you, he had been waiting for a cue as well, you hear a chair scrape against the floor as he sits down after you. 

Is he nervous?

You get the answer to that question when he slumps back with that comfortable kind of ease that makes the office seem like his bedroom. The way his legs stretch on either side of your tightly pressed ones, almost bracketing them under the table without touching doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It is such a simple gesture, but it eases you nonetheless. 

You busy yourself with nothing on your phone, just opening and closing your text messages, trying your best to conceal the shiver in your fingers from him. You don’t look at him, not properly at least, but the two times that your eyes were able to make it past his broad chest and onto his face, you caught that soft smile as he watched you. 

“So,” he says lightly, finally breaking the silence, “why don’t you want me to be in your movie?”

The question prompts you to look at him, your eyes wide and mouth slightly parted at the directness. Before you can rush to smooth this over by throwing some half-lies and diplomatic reasons at him, you notice the amused twitch in his lips and that playful glaze in his eyes. It makes you stare at him, for some reason, like it is irresistible not to.

Perhaps that is why he is such a successful actor—one cannot simply not look at him. 

And because you are staring with such rapt attention, you finally catch it. 

The slight mullet. 

The linen white shirt. 

Your mouth drops open…because he looks very much like a medieval Prince who has been cursed to live in the current timeline where he falls for an eccentric librarian who believes that her aunt’s forgotten library is a time portal in itself—which is exactly the plot of the book that you have just finished writing on your vacation and which is currently being edited to be released. 

If someone had photographed him coming here looking like this, or if he decides to grow the mullet even more and lean into that Princely look, you’re going to have problems. A very specific, a very personal one because this would only stir the already overheated pot more. 

And here he is asking you why don’t you want to be associated with him? 

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!!

You realize the intensity of what kicking an actor as big and influential as Kim Mingyu might entail only after you have already hit his shin—hard—with your wedged heel. 

He instantly recoils his leg away from you with a confused scowl. “Did you just…” he blinks, “what was that for!?”

“It was an accident.” You hiss.

“No it wasn’t! You totally kicked me deliberately.”

“Well maybe stop spreading your legs in other people’s spaces!” You can only wish he realizes the metaphor hidden in your statement—you need him and the mention of his name around you to be gone. 

Whatever banter that could have happened soon dissolves when the door creaks open and the director Izabelle, her assistant and the casting director join you with their polished smiles which are enough to tell you that they have come armed with all the tricks they can use to make this work. 

But you are a tough cookie—at least that’s what you tell yourself even though you are unable to scowl strictly, like how you planned to, and end up smiling at them instead. 

Mingyu is already in a much better place confident-wise as he reaches forward to give them all friendly side hugs asking questions about their health, family and things that only people who have worked closely together might ask.

You feel awfully a lot like an outsider in a room of people who are meeting to discuss something that you created. 

Thankfully though, Mingyu doesn’t mention your weird behavior, just shrugs and ropes you into the conversation by saying ‘yeah we were just talking about that’ on some topic that you definitely weren’t talking about. 

Once everyone is seated, you feel the energy shift a little. The discussions go on for a better part of the next hour with not a lot of inputs from Mingyu beyond an occasional grin that he shoots your way every time you talk about Matthias. So far, the discourse has yielded nothing concrete because you stand your ground about wanting a new actor to play Matt and Izabelle presents pretty compelling arguments against that. 

So you re-strategize. 

“If he’s casted, then people will just see Kim Mingyu, not Matthias Knight.”

The director’s assistant intervenes with the stats he must have jotted down on his tablet. “Uh actually, our social media intern Olivia ran surveys and arrived at the conclusion that people are very much against anyone who isn't Kim Mingyu to play Matthias.”

Across from you, the actor shoots you a wink. 

“You believe your interns more than the writer of the story herself?” You feign offense. 

The assistant’s eyes widen as he scrambles to apologize. “That’s not what I—”

“So are you concluding that I can not play Matt without even seeing me act?” Mingyu interrupts, straightening his spine up to appear more serious, “I would say you are making unfounded assumptions against me if I didn’t know any better. Do I not ‘look’ like Matt to you? Because I have read him, and I know I can act like him.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are you even here, Mingyu? Shouldn’t it be your agent doing these negotiations while you go try to start new rumors about us.”

A weighted silence engulfs the room. You didn’t mean to rip that band-aid off unwarned, you wanted to give him the benefit of doubt…but you’re also tired of everyone tiptoeing around the obvious elephant in the room. 

Mingyu blanches, scratching the back of his neck and shrinking a little. “Is it that bad?” 

The director Izabelle's eyes oscillate between you both, then to her assistant. “Wait, am I missing something?” 

The casting director purses her lips tight, gesturing between you and Mingyu in this specific way with a quirk of her brows. Recognition flashes across the director’s face. 

“Oh…that,” she gulps, turning to you. “Glad you brought that up. We actually sensed that the recent gossip might have been the reason behind your aversion. But we actually have some solutions that we’d like to suggest.”

You shift in your seat, ignoring the weight of his eyes from across the table. 

Izabelle's assistant takes the cue to start explaining. “Before that, we have some clarifying questions. Are you both dating anyone currently?”

“No.” You both speak in unison. 

You weren’t expecting Mingyu’s answer to put you at ease—but it does. Maybe because it makes you worry less about some random partner of his hating your guts for how the internet swoons over the mere idea of you and him. 

“And you are vehemently against the idea of people linking you with him romantically?” The question is directed to you. 

“Precisely,” you answer, your tone clipped, “it is too damaging for my career in the long term.”

Before the assistant can speak further, Mingyu interrupts him. 

“Scared of the spotlight?” He teases, circling the ring on his pinky with his thumb. 

“No.” you deadpan, “scared of the reputation of being an ex-girlfriend who writes sad books about how a superstar broke her heart.”

“Why are you betting against us? You could be the girlfriend who writes happy books about how love triumphs all.”

“We aren’t dating, Mingyu.” You draw that line. “I write about fictional people. Not you. Not me. Characters. And I’d rather remain that way.”

You know he was only teasing, but watching his smile fade by a beat makes you feel a little triumphant. 

From your right, the assistant clears his throat drawing both your attention towards himself, “so, circling back to the issue at hand…since you are so against being associated with him, we are planning to crush out that rumor not by remaining silent or making any major statements, but through something that feels genuine and believable.” 

Mingyu’s fingers stop thrumming against the table, and it is only when it halts that you realize that whatever tune he was playing against the wood felt so relaxing to your ears. 

“How so?” He asks. 

This time, it is the director who answers, “How about the two of you present yourself as these really great friends to the public? We can push the story that you two met at a party and became friends, she began reaching out to you to ask you questions about the acting industry and your experiences to research for a book she was writing and you got close. That’s it. Don’t act like lovers, but don’t try to avoid each other either.”

The assistant adds, “yeah our intern Olivia, also concluded from her research that any hushed out narratives only fuel the general public’s intrigue and if you both appear as ‘just friends’, the interest might soon die down.”

“To seal it shut,” Izabelle says, “we can also have Mingyu romance the actress we cast as a publicity stunt. The chemistry between the two leads will intrigue the public more than that between the actor and the author.”

You feel a pang of something hot and heavy drop down in your gut when she says that, even though it shouldn’t.

Mingyu shakes his head slowly as he gives his first serious input since this meeting started, his tone heavy with that sense of finality that leaves no room for negotiations. 

“I don’t do P.R. relationships.” 

Oh…so this is where he draws the line? He has problems being shipped with his co-star which is often harmless and even motivated—but not a single one when he was giving the internet all that fodder by cosplaying your characters.

“That’s fine,” the director raises her hands in surrender, “whatever makes the two of you comfortable. Just let us know if this sounds good?”

You wrap your arms around your midriff, slouching a little. You fiddle with your pendant, trying to make sense of your thoughts and make a decision amidst this unspoken tension that has settled in the room and weighs down on you most of all the others. 

The director tries one last ditch attempt. She calls your name softly, “Look…we really want to make this movie and this issue is very fickle and manageable. The production house is dead set on casting Mingyu as the male lead, it’s too profitable to ignore.”

“And I really want to act in this movie.” Mingyu adds sincerely, his voice not at all authoritative, but a kind plea instead that pulls at your heartstrings. 

Usually, you are very good at sensing things of that nature, but nothing in Mingyu’s soft request is accompanied by any ulterior motives. If anything, it seems like he is an honest admirer of your stories who wants nothing more than just to grab a chance of being a part of it when the opportunity has presented itself. Even though you know the production house is certainly being a little manipulative in this case, you are also aware of the truth that saying no to this might disappoint a lot of people—fans, investors, him. 

But would it disappoint you? You, who had no real visions about a dream cast or things of that nature when the offer of turning your book into a movie was made to you. You don’t harbor a grudge against him, not really. In fact, you would be lying if you said that your heart didn’t surge with this warm, fuzzy, prideful feeling for a second when you got to know that the biggest actor in the scene right now was interested in and being considered for the role. 

You draw in a deep breath, and hear someone slide something towards you. Mingyu passes you a glass of water with a low smile. “I swear I am not that annoying of a company…you just have to hangout with me a little and lie about being my bestie who lets me proofread her scripts and asks me for insider information.”

That manages to pull an honest smile out of you. You wrap your trembling fingers around the glass, cold condensation settles like relief over your sweaty palm. 

“Fine,” you mumble into the glass, an act that causes some of the water to slip past your lips and onto your chest. 

Your eyes flick up to him, only to find his own unreadable ones slipping over the curve of your chest as the drops roll down and disappear into the sweetheart neckline of your dress. 

You feel your skin heat up under the warmth of his attention and you fluster. 

“I can work with that, but only if he loses the mullet.” You announce, but the words aren’t yours…they're hypnotised, curious, needy as you continue staring at him.

Mingyu doesn’t reply to that, just gives you that casual nod with his lips caught between his teeth that makes your stomach clench. 

The fourth time you meet him for these orchestrated hangouts is two months into the production. It is one of those high-end cafes whose clientele includes anyone who is a someone. Playback singers to pop icons, all stripped off their usual glam and performance just sipping on the ridiculously overpriced matcha for brunch. 

You’ve never been to places like these before—you never had to. Even if they might have your book waiting face down on page 203 back home, anyone who isn’t a superfan of yours passes you without as much as a second glance for they don’t recognize you by face. 

But it is different with Mingyu. With him, you cannot simply go to the local sandwich shop to ‘catch-up’. Because one, it is too performative and raises suspicion against the two of you only doing this to make a point when the pictures come out. And two, it is impossible for him to not get swarmed in public. 

So Jungkook, your publicist, along with the public-relations team hired by the production house is tasked with searching for places like these where the paparazzi are always on the curb at some distance waiting like vultures with cameras while the indoors are private and quaint enough for no one to really bother you. 

“I like this place because of the ambience.” Mingyu says, scarfing down the scrambled eggs you couldn’t finish and wordlessly slid towards him. 

Your fingers don’t pause at your keyboard as you continue reworking the prologue for your final draft. 

“I like it because I don’t have to pretend to talk to you here.” You hum, remembering how your cheeks ached after all the fake smiling you had to do when you last hung out with him in public knowing full well cameras were pointed at you. 

It is rare for the two of you to do this alone—usually, you have Hazel, the actresses cast against him as his love interest, along with you as you pretend to be just a bunch of friends hanging out after work and bonding over common interests.

But today, Hazel bailed last minute citing a mean headache that made her want to rest until her next schedule. 

So here you are, hanging out with the guy you were rumored to be dating. The social media intern was right though, the rumor did die down when it lost all its heat because the real spice—the hidden signs, the speculations, easter eggs and drawing links—is all gone, vanished into thin air. 

So far, only Mingyu has been the one who was asked about it directly during one of his press tours because Hazel is too new to be getting interviewed in the industry and all the rare interviews that you give usually stick to the literary theme and is often approved by Jungkook before getting to you.

Mingyu handled it well, you’d give him that. Such a great actor, his body language didn’t falter, not even once, while he gave them the parroted story about your friendship with enough charm and ease that it convinced most shippers to leave their accounts vacated. 

Across from you, he finishes the last of your bagel before making a low sound that is akin to a whine. 

“Why are you so mean? This is the third time you’ve gone for me, unprovoked, in the last hour.” 

You sigh, adjusting your glasses up your nose, “why are you so loud? This is the fifteenth time I’ve told you to shut it.”

That shuts him up. For a full two minutes. 

“What are you working on?” His voice comes out muffled as he rests his cheek on one of his fists. 

Your lips twitch as you steal a glance at him from over your laptop—cheeks stuffed full of food as he chews soundlessly, eyes curious and expectant as he waits for you to answer. You had never really pegged him to be so cute…but he is, in that effortless way that makes him so endearing that it annoys you. 

Because you shouldn’t be feeling like this. 

He is not your friend, not really. If anything, he is just another task, another meeting listed on your Google calendar that you have to mark off every two weeks. 

“Wish I could ask you the same but you never work.”

“Come on don’t be like this,” he insists, dabbing a napkin across his lips. “We are supposed to be friends.”

You don’t think twice before blurting out. “You’re not my friend.”

He flinches a little, just a slight twitch and all of a sudden the wall is back between the two of you—up and rigid. 

You didn’t know it was possible for a six-feet-two man to look like a kicked puppy, but the heartbreak on his face makes him look so small and harmless. 

And it splits you open. 

Because you hadn’t meant to hurt him like that…especially when he has been nothing but cordial to you. 

“Look, Mingyu…I’m sorry,” you say, a little embarrassed and disgusted at your own snide as you slowly shut your laptop to face him fully. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I always choose my friends. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have chosen you; but just that we met upon such unfortunate circumstances and this was thrust upon us. I need some time to make sense of this, that’s all.”

Something delicate flashes over the hurt in his eyes when he nods. You feel his thumb drawing small circles over the back of your palm and you realize that you had reached forward to hold his hand with both of yours while talking to him. 

This. 

This lack of control over your own emotions and reactions is what has made you so wary of the people around you and the relationships you have with them.

Especially people like him—foolishly open and honest. Those who make life feel so simple and fluid. Those who know how and when to speak something and to whom. 

Meanwhile with you, it is all or nothing. You either open your heart to them at moments like these or shut them out so cruelly before they can get a chance to perceive you and have some sort of understanding over you. 

Because having someone know you makes you vulnerable. You hate being vulnerable. 

You gingerly retrieve your palms away from his. 

Maybe it is just a trick that your eyes and the dim lighting of the place plays on you…but you think you see his long fingers stretch a little at the loss of your touch, almost as if he wanted to chase it and hold your hand between his bigger, more comforting one once again. 

With him, and his eyes, touch and attention always pulled towards you, you feel magnetic. 

“I get it.” he mumbles, drawing and undrawing the strings of his hoodie. “We don’t have to do this so often if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I think it is the public aspect of it,” you reply, folding your arms under your chest on the table, “I have to put on this act of having known you for so long even though I barely know you, and I know it is so silly because this brunch is precisely the type of opportunity for me to get to know but I…”

You sigh, rubbing the heels of your palms over your eyes. “I am sorry I am complicating this.”

“No you’re not,” he shakes his head, “acting can be draining, especially if you don’t feel the part you are assigned.”

You can see this additional layer of carefulness around him now… it is truly admirable how quickly he was able to adapt himself to make this easier for you once you told him what the problem was. You can hear caution laced in everything he says, like he is afraid of saying something that might push you further away from him and into a shell that people around you try to break all the time. But he doesn’t. 

The two of you work in silence for a few minutes after that—him reading and replying to some emails on his phone while you struggle to put what you feel and what you want the readers to feel by proxy in words. You haven’t written anything worthwhile in a long, long time. 

Occasionally, a few people stop by your table for a brief conversation with him as they come in or leave. All of them from the industry, all of them Mingyu’s friends. You do not stare at them, not obviously at least. But you do steal glances, your fingers pausing over your keyboard here and there to focus better on their effortless conversations. Pleasant and light and almost joyous. 

Maybe it is just him making it easier for people around him to come talk to him, to adore him. 

Or maybe it is just everyone except for you who realize that not every relationship is bound by rules and expectations…that sometimes, things just flow. 

You give up when no matter how hard you rack your brain, you still can’t come up with a proper opening. 

Watching you begin to pack, Mingyu signals for the attendant and after paying for the meal and a hefty tip, he wordlessly slides your bag bulging with your books, planners and computer over the table and slings it on his shoulder. 

He doesn’t really reach out for you beyond his usual moony smile. 

You halt before he can open the door, placing your hand over his own at the doorknob. 

“I want to feel the part.” You say, watching his brows dip in confusion. So you clarify, a bit slower this time, “what you said earlier about not being able to act if you don’t feel the part…well, I want to do it, feel like your friend, I mean.”

You can’t stop fiddling with the sleeves of your oversized jacket, but he looks so cool like he always does. No weird tension, no big deal at your little dramatic rant that could have just been a ‘Mingyu I want to be your friend but I hate that we have to do this for cameras.’ 

He just reaches down for your hand, squeezing it between his long fingers like telling you without words that he is very glad you asked. 

“I’d love for you to feel like that.” 

You don’t try to remove your hand from his hold this time. “How about lunch at my place this weekend?” 

(mingyu’s pov)

When you had invited him for lunch, it slipped your mind that you already had plans with Khadija, Jungkook and Hunter to go out for drinks on the weekend. 

But this was your first attempt at forming something meaningful out of this situation that was birthed from chaos and mess. So you decided to meet with him anyways and after a full noon of cooking together and eating just half of all the dishes you had experimented on with him, you find yourself rushing to get ready in your room while he lounges outside on the couch in the living room, finishing the last bit of hummus that he had to salvage after you messed it up twice. 

“I am so sorry for doing this Mingyu,” you huff out, getting out of your room in the shimmery pink scarf that you have tied for a top and your favorite pair of denim that hugs the soft dips of your curves without suffocating your flesh. 

He peers his head over the armrest of the couch as he half lies on it, his mouth slightly parted with his long, dark hair falling messy over his head. You snort at his pleading doglike longing stare as it follows you around while you search for your strappy heels. 

If you hadn’t been so busy and actually looked at him watching you, you would have seen him shift uncomfortably at the sight of you—undone and dazed. Like you had done something to strip him of all of his senses just by getting all dressed up in a cheeky outfit and encasing a blushing joy under your skin. 

Unaware of the effect you have on him, you flop down on the couch beside him, picking up the two earrings you had been debating between all day long and placing them on either ear before turning to him, “Which one?”

He clears his throat, sitting up straighter and answers in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “This one.” He smiles, pointing to the one with the pearls. 

You sigh, satisfied that he chose the one you were leaning towards and put it on. Then, you loop the long chain of the matching pendant between your fingers and begin fastening it around your neck. Or at least, you try to. The lock keeps getting stuck in your strands or you keep losing hold of it. 

He watches you struggle, this look of half amusement, half admiration at your little frustrated grunts before scooting closer to you. You feel his longer fingers enveloping your skin as he pulls at the chain and offers, “Let me.”

Wordlessly, you turn your back to him, bunching up the loose waves of your hair in a ponytail. Some of it manages to escape your hold, cascading down over his hands softly. He hitches for a moment, letting himself breathe in the scent of your floral shampoo—just one, little inhale that feels like a homecoming after eons of yearning. In the middle of your bare back, there’s that big knot of fabric tied together holding your top in place and digging a little into your soft skin. 

His eyes almost flutter shut, but he clutches the delicate chain of your jewelry and focuses on the little red mole below your left shoulder, using it as an anchor out of his dream where everything is suspended and senseless except for the idea of you in his arms while he kisses that mole over and over again. 

“I’m sorry for cutting our day together short.” You mumble that apology again even though he has told you multiple times that it’s fine and you should go have fun. “I should be here spending time with you instead of running around getting dressed and ditching the afternoon we planned.”

“Don’t apologize, really.” He says, placing his palms on your bare shoulders to signal that he is done. “Besides, after getting scolded by you last time I brought work to keep myself busy.”

He flips the script that he has to memorize for the scheduled shoot by Tuesday. 

You beam up at the sight of it, “oh, what scene are you guys filming?”

“The one with Matt and Allie’s first kiss.” 

“I wanna see what it looks like…did they change it significantly from the books?”

“Uh, not really.”

But you are already practically glued by his side, reading the screenplay held in his hands. The press of your tender body against his rigid one makes his head spin as his mind floods with all the other places in his body that he’d love to feel you against. Your beautiful face between his hands, swollen lips stretched in that shy smile of yours as he kisses you. Your cushy chest mashed against his own—heavy with need as you make out with him on top. Your smooth waist and how good it would feel to hold it while he—

“Show me how you’re going to act this.” You beam up at him with this wonder in your eyes that makes him almost feel guilty of imagining you in ways that speak to the raging desires of the most depraved parts of his mind. 

Almost. 

Because Kim Mingyu likes you very much…and he doesn’t want to feel shy about wanting you.

If he did feel shy, he wouldn’t have asked around to find out more about you, read every single interview you ever gave and every single book that you ever wrote after getting blown out by one of your novellas that he had read once on set just to pass time. If he did feel shy, he wouldn’t have asked his long term friend and your publicist Jeon Jungkook for intel about your upcoming books so he could alter his appearance to fit whatever characters you were falling in love with through your words. If he did feel shy, he would have used his much stronger connections in the industry to shut down the dating rumors long, long time ago. If he did feel shy, he wouldn’t be so persistent about pursuing you after getting his ego bruised by your sharp humor multiple times. 

On the contrary, he’d do anything to make himself deserving to be your lover. 

Even if it means acting his ass off and delivering an Oscars-worthy performance in your living room just cause you asked him to, then so be it. 

“Sure,” he smirks, “but I need a partner to act this scene out.”

“Yeah I can do Allie’s lines,” you reply, tucking your hair behind your ear and gearing up for the job seriously, like you do not realize that this is a kissing scene he’s talking about…

He hands the script over to you, telling you that he has already memorized his dialogues. 

“Don’t expect me to be a professional, I am just going to read this.” You give him a disclaimer, even though your shoulders are practically jumping with your bubbling excitement. 

“Alright, let’s go…whenever you’re ready.”

⸻

(the reader’s POV)

You make a show of clearing your throat and begin reading the description of the scene where Matthias is walking Allie back to her dorm from the library during an autumn evening, their last one on campus together. 

Your voice slips into a softer cadence as the scene takes shape and Allie finally speaks, “Matt, do you ever feel like different moments of our life have different weights to them?” Your eyes flick up to Mingyu, you don’t have to read this from a script, it is a dialogue that is etched forever in your heart. “Like if you let some of them slip along with the others, something will shatter when they fall?” 

“Matt slows down,” you continue, eyes skimming the page, “like he’s afraid if they reach the dorm too fast, something will end before it has even begun.”

Mingyu shifts closer, like the blocking is already written into his bones, and speaks without the paper, without any hesitation. “Sometimes…but then I remember that it is us who assign meaning to these moments and not the other way around, y’know? ‘Define the circumstances, don’t let them define you’ theory.”

Your breath hilts. For half a second you forget you’re supposed to be reading as he continues staring into your eyes. All the worries that you had about Mingyu not being to emulate Matthias evaporate that very instance because this man in front of you… he isn’t the playful superstar basking in his hard earned glory and demanding what he deems fit. He isn’t the skillful actor who has managed to convince half the world that he has been your close confidant for ages even though you have barely known him for two months. He isn’t the clingy guy asking for attention in sneaky ways and finishing off your food with a pout like he was born to. 

This is a man in love. With all the hearts bursting pink behind his eyes and that honest smile weighed down by devotion towards the woman in front of him…he is Matthias who has been in love with Allie for as long as he can remember. 

They weren’t lying when they said Mingyu is a generational actor because holy sh—

“I know I am gorgeous to stare at, but read your lines!” The mask slips. 

“Oh okay,” you splutter, recovering your scattered thoughts. “Allie glances at him…she wants to joke, but she doesn’t. Her mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Then, finally, after they’ve stopped fully, she whispers, ‘I want to define this evening with you Matt.’”

You lift your gaze again, meeting his. The room has shrunk down into a cocoon of warmth and force…a force that is making the two of you shift closer and closer. 

Mingyu is near enough now that you can see the tiny crinkle near his eyes when he speaks. “I want to define it too.”

⸻

(Mingyu’s POV)

Matt and Allie are supposed to kiss next. But Mingyu had stopped following the script way back when he forgot he is supposed to be acting after your big, kohl-lined eyes bound his soul and nudged it out of his ribs and into your palms some five minutes ago. 

He doesn’t lean in and continues to speak out of script, wondering at what point would you tear your wide, glassy, entranced eyes away from him and onto the script to notice that Mingyu has gone wayward from it. 

“I am tired of pretending to be normal about you,” he says, his voice breathy and careful as he wonders if you think this is him improvising Matthias. “I am tired of acting like I don’t want to give this a better name. I am tired of pretending to be just your friend like every inch of my skin doesn’t ache to feel you closer than friends ever should.” 

He thinks…no, he knows that you have caught onto him because your lips part with a broken gasp of his name. How can you not? This is your story, your characters, of course you know Mingyu isn’t Matt anymore. He hasn’t been since that very first dialogue.

He didn’t even try to be. 

He waits for you to react by shifting away from him like you always do, by scolding him for crossing a boundary you have carefully put around yourself. 

But you don’t. 

Instead, he feels your fingers shiver like they always do when you’re overwhelmed as they curl around the collar of his dark hoodie and you pull him towards yourself until there is no space left between the two of you. 

Your lips, softer than he imagined and slippery with a thick coat of your tinted pink gloss, glide against his own slowly at first. So tender and bashful, like you’re not sure if this is something you should be doing. 

But it is precisely what he wants you to be doing. 

So he winds his arm around your waist while cradling your head into the other as he deepens the kiss. You blink, startled, when he pulls you so close that you’re sitting on him more than on the couch. But then, he feels you thaw against him as your body slumps over his harder one in surrender. Your strands tickle between his fingers as you continue to explore his mouth with your lips. Eager and hurried one moment, then fragile and uncertain the other. 

He feels it in his very bones when you mumble his name against his lips like a prayer right before he angles your face to kiss your cheek and jawline better, your eyes fluttering close at the feeling of your own gloss on his lips now ruining your makeup. 

Those same eyes fly open when in a fit of passion, his fingers dig into the flesh of your bottom with this steady heat and he gives it a firm squeeze before flipping you so that you’re flush on your back on the couch as he hovers above you—all ragged breaths and stained mouth. 

The cold metal of the pendant he helped you tie gathers under your chin. 

Mingyu eyes it with his lidded gaze before dipping his head down and kissing the little pearl encased in its golden shell, effectively planting a hot, open-mouthed kiss on your throat. He moves down to kiss each swell of your breasts as you writhe before returning back to your face to make out with you again. 

Your breaths tangle together like hot steam meeting unforgiving fog leaving everything around itself wet and parched at the same time. 

For a second, he worries that he’s crushing you with his body-weight—you are so much smaller than him! But you whine like you’re complaining, your brows furrowing with this needy urge when he shifts away. You wrap your thighs around his waist and pull him back closer, all while keeping your mouth attached to him. 

Just when you’re beginning to rut against his hips—a small, stuttered movement that refuses to be contained in your shy body—you both hear the loud gasp of someone else in the room. 

Mingyu is quicker to recover than you as you simply freeze in this utter mortification, your fingers hooked over his shirt with such intensity that you might rip the fabric off. Mingyu doesn’t pull away from you instantly, but he does make the both of you sit upright, gathering you in his warm arms as Hunter’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. 

“Wha…you…wait…” She stammers while you shrivel up. 

You’re still tangled with him with your thighs pressed against his and his arm looped around your upper body keeping you straight up as you continue brushing nothing out of your hair. 

“I called you but—”

You put an end to the awkwardness when you manage to pull your reluctant limbs away from him, grabbing your purse out of the chair and jog over to her, dragging her out with yourself. 

“I was just helping him rehearse a scene!” You explain before disappearing out of the door. 

Mingyu wants to call out your name to tell you to enjoy the evening… or maybe that this kiss was nothing short of ‘everything’ for him… or maybe to tell you that you are leaving your house unlocked with him still inside of it. 

But the heat of the kiss and of the moments that led up to it has already melted all his words and senses.

Mingyu spends the rest of the evening—all five hours that you’ve left him here alone—cleaning up your space. Of course, he doesn’t dare touch your bedroom. But he does wipe the kitchen counter clean off all the sauces you spilled while cooking with him. He washes the dishes, carefully wiping every single one of them with clean towels before storing them methodically in the cabinets before packing up the leftovers in glass dishes and aluminium foils in your refrigerator. He organizes all the books you were showing him earlier back into their place but not before dusting the entire small library of yours clean. He vacuums the rug in the living room and then sprays disinfectant around all the surfaces just for good measure. 

Once the place breathes fresh and smells like a clean home where you could relax better, he allows himself to slouch down on your couch. The same couch where you had held onto him like he was your anchor in that kiss that hit you both like a tsunami. The same couch where you had said his name, moaned for him, like it meant something. The same couch where you told your friend you were just helping him practice his lines at. 

The memory of your flustered self blurting out that excuse makes him chuckle.

Do you even realize just how unintentionally sexy you are? 

Because if practicing his lines with you always entails the scorching make-out session that had followed, he’d fire all his acting instructors and work with you full time for that little reward. 

He hears the fragile giggles and the unfocused click-clacks of heels hitting the tiles behind it before he sees the front door open as you practically spill inside. Your hair is messy and catching between your lips, a kohl on your right eye smudged at the heel of your palm and those little laughs that bubble straight out of your chest, making the entire home throb with a pulse of its own. 

With you, life returns to every inch of it and it no longer matters how clean or messy your apartment is. 

You try kicking your heels by the door like one would do with their sneakers, getting frustrated with each passing second when they don’t come off. You lean against the doorway, trying to lodge your fingers into them and jerk them away, forgetting that they’re the strappy kind whose straps you had tied all the way up your shin. 

He walks over up to you with a smile that is impossible for him to hide and crouches down. One of his large hands comes up to hold your waist as he stations you in place, meanwhile the fingers of the other one work around the thin knotted ropes on your legs, carefully tugging it open. He runs his palm reverently over the imprints it left on your skin and you sigh when your blood flows normally again under the warmth of his touch. Then, he proceeds to do the same with your other leg all while you remain clutching his hair to maintain your balance. 

Just as he places the heels in a tidy corner, Hunter enters your apartment too after paying the cab below. Not as drunk, but definitely buzzed. 

“Oh, you’re here.” She mumbles, too embarrassed from the earlier encounter as he straightens up and you slump against his chest. “She didn’t drink as much as it seems like, she’s just very lightweight.” 

Mingyu feels you smush your face deeper into his cushiony chest, your hot breaths graze through his shirt as you continue taking deep drags of his perfume. He rubs your back like you are something so precious to him at this moment and doesn’t even ask you if you can walk. He simply goes ahead and lifts you in his arms, containing you like you’ve never been before. 

Upon Hunter’s instructions, he carries you to the ensuite in your bedroom. She tries to make you stand up straight and brush your teeth while he makes your bed and fluffs your comforter outside. When you continue insisting against it, refusing to coordinate and demanding your computer because you just had an insane idea about a new story, Hunter walks out, clutching her forehead. 

“It’s okay, you rest. I’ll take care of her.” He offers without even thinking twice. 

Hunter considers it for a moment, but the raging headache makes this seem like an offer too generous to pass. She slips into your bed that he just made, leaving some space for you. 

“I helped her change into her pajamas.” Hunter hums, “just make sure she brushes her teeth and drinks some water.”

When Mingyu walks into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar to ease her concerns if Hunter had any, he finds you sitting on the lip of the bathtub, swaying a little while narrowing your eyes to focus on the glaring screen of your phone while your fingers furiously type in your notes app. 

Your spectacles are pushed up against your hair, which is obviously making it harder for your eyes to focus. He wraps an arm around you to still you before you can slip into the bathtub and pulls the glasses back in front of your eyes. Instantly, in his embrace, you relax, forgetting whatever new novel you had begun working on as the phone skids out of your fingers and onto the bathroom rug. 

He places it back on the sink as you slur, your lips pressed close to his shoulder, “Head is hurting.” 

“Then let us take this off.” He says, removing your glasses. “How does washing your face sound right now?”

“Tempting,” you hum, “but it's so cold….”

“We can use warm water baby.” 

“And will you hold me? I love being held…especially by someone big and warm, like you. But I live alone so I have no one to hold me.”

Mingyu’s brows jump up in awe as you pout and complain. In your dynamic, he has always been the clingier one, the one who overshares random facts about himself to you at midnight citing the necessity of friends knowing these little details about each other, something you often ignore and leave on read.

You are the smarter one, the wittier one with dry sarcasm and hard set boundaries that you make sure everyone around you knows and respects. Variant and resolute and oh so beautiful even when you hide that bewitching smile by pursing your lips hard. 

The fiercely intelligent writer who writes about love like she’s the only one who understands the concept of it. A master of stories who speaks about the underlying themes of her tales that not a lot are able to grasp but when they do, it leaves them aching to create something akin to her works. 

But like this, so open and small in your teddy-printed pink pajamas as you stare up at him with your expectant doe-eyes, it makes you look so heartbreakingly human.

And yet, his devotion only surges as he carefully helps you up and makes you stand against the sink between his arms on either side. He doesn’t trap you, he contains you. He keeps you from falling over nothing by holding you by your waist with one arm and brushing your teeth with the other. 

“There you go,” he praises when even in your dazed state you follow his command of spitting the froth out. 

But instead of rinsing your mouth with the water cupped in his palm, you turn to him, lips still stained with the toothpaste as you grumble, displeased.

“Are you going to do that with her too?”

He blinks, “who?” 

“Hazel,” you pout, “are you going to kiss her like you kissed me too?”

A low laugh escapes out of his chest, he brings the water closer to your lips and you obediently comply while he assures. “No sweetheart, never.”

“You are always laughing at me.” Your words come out garbled as you swish the water lazily around your mouth. 

“Okay, no talking until we’re done here,” he states, “and I only laugh because one, you are adorable and two, laughing is my nervous tick and you make me nervous.”

He gently splashes the warm water over your face and you clench your eyes shut, letting him wipe your skin with his careful palms before dabbing it with an equally cozy towel. 

“Me? I make you nervous?” You ask as he puts little drops of moisturizer over your skin before rubbing it in with his gentle fingers. “Stop shitting me Kim Mingyu, you basically run this world.” 

And yet I malfunction when it comes to you, he wants to say—but doesn’t. Because the more his fingers massage the knots in your shoulders while rubbing your vanilla scented lotion into your skin, the more you doze off against him. 

By the time he finally gets you into bed with Hunter, his muscles feel heavy from the confession he has stitched deep inside of himself. It hits him like something inevitable when your breath grazes his fingers as he tucks the comforter over your chest and he realizes just how badly he wants days and nights like these to become a regular occurrence every day. Till the end of his days. 

(the reader’s POV)

Things have been weird between you and Mingyu since he hung out with you for lunch and ended up taking care of you when you returned home drunk. You don’t expect it to be back to how it used to be between the two of you, not after you dragged him in for a kiss and almost dry humped him on your couch. 

But you also didn’t expect him to bail out on this little picnic situation with you, Hazel and Izabelle, calling it ‘too phony.’

His demeanor towards you hadn’t changed though, not even a bit. But the two of you have since spent only some time together, here and there, on the set and in private, away from the cameras. And when you had steeled your nerves enough to ask him if he regretted kissing you, he had just tilted his head and said no. 

That should have been the end of it. 

You initiated a kiss in the heat of the moment—he is an attractive man and you were acting out a very romantic scene. And then he kissed you back in an even hotter moment—because you were all dolled up and again, he was too acting out a very romantic scene. 

But it’s not. 

Because it feels like things have been left unsaid and incomplete…a painting of something beautiful abandoned midway through. 

So, when he texts you, inviting you for this get together he is planning with the team at his place to celebrate the filming being finished halfway, you don’t think twice before letting him know that you want to come earlier than the rest to help him set up and return the favor of him cleaning your apartment and tending to you in your drunk state. 

You smooth over your dress one last time before pressing the doorbell to his penthouse expecting a smiling assistant or his manager to open the door. But it is the sight of all six-feet-two of him in a lemon-printed apron dusted with flour that lets you in with his usual grin. 

‘I only smile so much because you make me nervous.’ 

You aren’t sure if he actually said those words to you or if you read them somewhere and dreamed it up. 

Regardless, you feel your confidence shrinking with every step you take inside of his house. You are unable to meet his eyes when you hand him the champagne you brought in and only give him a faint, fake smile when he thanks you for it. 

What made you think you’d be able to order him around or be sarcastic with him like you used to after you practically used him like your lipstick remover the last time you two were alone? 

But this is Mingyu, and this is what he does…making people feel at ease around him is almost a skill inherent to him. 

So he works around you without any tense glances or snide remarks, just brimming with joy as he asks for your opinions about what tablecloth would look better with the flowers he had chosen. 

You’re both cutting up the fruit for the decoration of the enormous cake he has baked, two hours until the guests start arriving, when your resolve breaks.

“Why do you not come to the scheduled outings anymore, Mingyu? And don’t tell me it’s a ‘schedule thing’ because we had this planned months ago.”

His knife pauses midway through the strawberry. He presses it harder when he answers, “I told you, I think we’re overdoing that now.”

Then, he turns his back to you to open the fridge and check up on the iced-cake even though he did that not more than five minutes ago. 

“We’ve made our point,” he says, “no one, other than a handful of obsessive fans who will always be there, is shipping us anymore. It's a forgotten buzz, they won’t even hint at this during the press tour.”

You ignore his explanation. “Is it because I kissed you? Is that why you’re avoiding me?”

He turns around, an unmistakable confusion etched deep into the creases of his face. “What? Where’s that coming from?”

“You tell me.” You snap, pressing the lemon you’ve been squeezing for the meringue harder than you need to. “We only meet in private now—on set! Did I act…did I act inappropriately when I was drunk? Oh God, no…don’t answer that—”

You try to stop the tears but they’re there— fluid, hot and stubborn. You make the mistake of wiping your eyes with the same fingers that you were working on the lemons with. The sting is an instant burn, making you cry out more in pain. 

“Oh fuck.” Mingyu is by your side in a flash, leading you to the sink and washing your eyes for you. “It’s okay…it’s okay, just let it out…it’ll subside.”

But it doesn’t. Because your eyes aren’t the only organs that hurt. Your chest has been caving in since that very day, hollowing your ribs and wringing you inside out. 

Mingyu helps you until the sour pain dissipates, carefully washing your eyes and wiping your face with a towel—an act that brings back the memories of the night you ruined everything with him by failing to control your extremes. 

This is why you don’t let people in. Because whenever you try to, you ruin whatever pure thing you could have had with them by acting reckless. 

You bite the inside of your cheek until you feel the metallic taste of blood burst on your tongue—anything to prevent any more tears from slipping out. 

But they do and Mingyu only hugs you close into his chest, holding you away from the world, away from your own ruinous thoughts until your breathing evens out. You clutch onto his hoodie harder, because if he didn’t hate you earlier, you know that he definitely does now. He might not even want to hangout with you in private after you just ruined his merry plans for a hearty get together by putting him in an awkward spot and crying in his kitchen just hours before it. 

You try to press yourself closer into him, trying to overdose on the feeling of him, on the scent of him before you lose the right to consume it. Before he decides never to speak with you. 

You feel his breath fan over your hair when he speaks, “You didn’t do anything wrong…God, how could you ever? I am so sorry for making you feel that you did, sweetheart.”

His palm rubs over your back. 

“You’re lying,” you hiccup, “it’s okay, you don’t have to. Just tell me—”

“Shh, listen to me.” He pulls you away so that you can face him and immediately winces at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and creased forehead. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t improvising that day when I said all those things to you.” 

Your fingers curl over his wrists as he cups your face. 

“I wasn’t acting. I wasn’t playing Matthias.” he confesses, “everything I said that wasn’t in the script, and even what was in there, it was me talking to you.”

He licks his lips before resting his forehead against yours, “I am not normal about you.”

The image of him from that day on your couch, moments before the kiss, saying those same words that entranced you to act on your suppressed desires towards him, flashes behind your fluttering lids. 

“I haven’t been, for long.” He says, “ever since I read the way you write about love. Ever since I saw you lost in your own thoughts in that elevator, too occupied by your own worries to give a damn about who else was in there with you—”

“You didn’t even make a sound!” You interrupt, laughing through tears. 

“Because I was too afraid to disturb you,” he smiles, “I held my breath all the way up.”

“Oh God…”

“I am a goner for you…desperate and pathetic…I ache for you to touch me and smile like stupid when you consider me worth talking to because I’m nervous of saying something stupid in front of someone as smart as you. Like even right now, I don’t know if I am able to express my love for you as well as the leads in your books do.”

A broken, ugly sob emanates out of your lips, filling the floaty space between you both. His thumbs come up to catch your tears before they fall onto the ground, like even they are precious to him.

“Words aren’t my thing,” he says, “but theatrics— that’s what I am good at. Good at pretending to be like the characters from your books. Good at pretending to be fine with just being your friend. But not anymore…not after I’ve experienced what holding you feels like. Not after I have felt your body slump against mine, all unguarded yet safe…I can’t—”

His voice dies down, and you sense how it is not always easy for Kim Mingyu to talk, just like how it is not always easy for you to finish all your stories. 

But you want to give this one the happiest ending, you want to see the boy with the moons in his eyes in front of you smile like he did when you had kissed him stupid. 

So you stretch up on your tippy-toes and bury your fingers into his hair to pull him closer. The kiss this time around is nothing like its predecessor. While your first kiss with him had felt like a test, moody and unreal, this one hits you like an explosion. A confirmation of everything your soul had suspected each time you’d find him looking at you with those dreamy eyes. Like the final bow on a Christmas present that you spent all year thinking about. 

Your lips move a little frantic against him, like your body is having a hard time processing this new onslaught of information. Kim Mingyu is in love with you? The idea makes you smile against his lips. 

His arms explore the length of your waist before travelling down to wrap around your thighs and then, he pulls you up, making you lock your legs over his hips and behind his back. That deepens the kiss like never before, making your bodies slot so well against each other that your heartbeats begin to sync on their own. 

He kisses you like he is completing his confession directly against your tongue, and you respond to it with an eager understanding. The haze he concocts around you is so thick that you don’t even notice it when he has you pressed against a wall. 

Only when he removes his lips from yours, and begins to take a step away from you that you feel your back slide against the cold, hard brick surface. His breathing is uneven and hot against your wet lips as he visibly strains himself from something. 

But it seems like you are on an agenda to break his resolve when you hook one of your legs around him again, pull him closer and moan against his jaw. “More, Mingyu…please.”

He doesn’t speak, but his hands do wrap back around you like a reflex, grounding you in the present moment. This quiet, surreal tension sits heavy behind his ribs. He knows so well that by “more” you don’t mean that you just want him to kiss you more, but everything that follows too. 

Yet, he wants to hear it from you. You can see that desperate plea in his eyes as he hovers around you, not quite touching, giving you space to gather your thoughts and just ask. 

Always the gentleman, always so careful with you...especially with you.

“Mingyu,” you breathe, “can we…please?” 

“Right now?” 

“Right here.” you gulp, “please…I really want to.”

“Fuck sweetheart, don’t beg. I could fucking die for you if you asked me like that.”

“I’ve dreamt about you taking me up against a wall far too many times than I should admit,” you mumble bashfully, feeling the blood rush to your face, but nothing can seem to stop you anymore. 

You feel his fingers tighten over your hips as he closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath. When he opens them again, the heat from his gaze locking with your needy one sends something dangerous to curl around in your veins and settle into your abdomen like a low flame. 

A flame that transforms into a wildfire when places a feathery kiss over your lips before falling onto his knees before you. He kisses you all over your hips, your upper thighs while his palms slide up and down over your smooth legs, making you whimper as heat pools in your core. He keeps his eyes steady on you while hooking his fingers around your underwear which has gotten so wet that it is practically useless and slides them off your legs and stuffs them into the back pocket of his jeans. 

You don’t even get a moment to breathe before he is burying his face under the skirt of your dress and kissing your core harder than he has ever kissed your lips.

Your head hits the wall with that first, long swipe of his tongue over your swollen folds and you find yourself bucking your hips in a confused motion when he repeats it over, and over again. 

His lips gently wrap around your pulsating clit and he sucks, knocking whatever air was trapped inside your lungs out of your body with a hitched cry. 

One of his freakishly long arms comes up, mapping your skin on its way, before settling over your abdomen in a way that keeps you from losing balance as he makes you put your thighs over his shoulders—all while eating you out like a starved man.  

“You’re so fucking sweet baby,” he groans as his tongue caresses more wetness out of you, “sweeter than I ever imagined.” 

The fact that he has imagined this too makes your head spin, leaving you at a loss of coherent words. 

"I think I am going to get addicted to this."

You feel his fingers tighten over your flesh when upon a particular pressure of his tongue over you, you squeeze his face inadvertently between your thighs. 

“Mingyu—” you gasp, feeling him place a lazy, open mouthed kiss over your clit before his mouth travels down a little, now teasing your opening with his slick tongue while his nose nudges against your thrumming nub. 

He grunts even louder when his tongue slips past your entrance and the sound of it, raw and rough between your thighs, sends you over the edge earlier than you were anticipating. He continues to lick you, throughout your shuddering release, and even as black begins dotting your wide-eyed vision, you trust him to not let you fall as you succumb to this raw pleasure as he continues worshipping you with his tongue to his heart’s desire.

⸻

(Mingyu’s POV)

By the time he is able to convince himself to detach his mouth from your sweet, drenched core, you have gone listless and sweat-soaked above him. Holding himself back from kissing you—any part of you—he realizes, isn’t his strongest skill. He carefully places your legs back on to the ground, holding you by your waist because you keep on quivering, he barely manages to wipe his mouth clean with the back of his palm before you’re slumping against him like you always do when you let your guard down around him to let him unravel you like a miracle only he gets to witness. 

You squeeze him hard between your arms, mumbling little ‘thank yous’ and ‘mine, all mine’ while his hands explore your curves, slow and trembling. 

He can’t believe he just got to do that…what did he ever do to deserve to have you fall apart in his arms, right on his tongue, like you just did. 

His fucked out smile is so full of glee as he buries it in your neck. The tent in his jeans strains harder than ever and judging by how you are basically coiled around him like a second skin, he knows you feel it too. 

So it isn’t much of a surprise when he feels your hips begin jerking against him, desperate and erratic. He lodges his thigh between your own, making you yelp as you feel the rough fabric of his denim right against your naked folds. It is so rough and harsh, but you can’t stop rubbing yourself against him, not even when a patch of it begins staining with your glossy wetness.

He lets you rut against his thigh, his tone encouraging when he whispers, “Go on baby, ride me like that…take all that you need from me, it’s all yours.” 

You bury your tears-soaked face between his collarbones, your nimble fingers working unfocused over the buttons on his shirt as your second release inches nearer. You are so close to coming that you feel it soak every single nerve in your body, gliding past all twitching muscles as they clench around nothing. Your fingers twist around his shirt, your teeth clamping down on his skin and your nails dig at his biceps but right before the band snaps, he jerks his thigh away and replaces it with his fingers. 

The crash is so confusing and overwhelming that you don’t realise he has slipped two fingers past your entrance as the orgasm spirals through you like angry waves lapping the edge of an overflowing sea. 

It is only when you clench around him almost suffocatingly that it hits him of how unprepared you are—even after two orgasms—to even handle his two fingers inside of you. 

“Babe…” he whispers in your hair, almost apologetically, “are you okay?” He pulls apart, just an inch, to look at your face. “Am I…am I hurting you?”  

You shake your head vehemently, “no—no, god, no. Just…slow, please?” 

“Of course,” he nods, wiping your tears with his thumb, “of course baby, we go how you say.”

With that, he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, slowly and steady, until you sigh with the stretch instead of whimpering because of it. He massages your clit with his thumb in tight, controlled circles to ease it even more. And once you’ve stopped flinching each time he scissors his fingers inside of you, he begins setting a maddening tempo and curling his fingers against your walls to find the spot that makes you shake the most. 

You double over at a certain brush of his fingers while he’s playing with your fragrant tresses between his free hand. The reaction makes him repeat it, just to test it out…and this time, you choke on your own breath. He smiles realizing that it’s this spot that he should be aiming for when he buries himself inside of you next and pulls his fingers out of you to avoid further stimulating you. 

He allows you to catch your breath as much as you can while he slowly undoes the zipper of his denim, keeping his eyes locked on your glazed ones. He’s smiling again, and this time, you know it’s not because he’s cocky, but because he’s nervous of somehow doing something wrong with you. 

One of your arms comes around to soothe his neck assuringly as he pulls himself out of the restraint of his clothes meanwhile the other wraps around his length. You move your wrist over it in slight, jerky movements, feeling it twitch and leak at the tip with precum and your mouth visibly waters. His lips part in wonder when you spit on it without a warning, jerking his cock even more before looking up at him with those same, begging eyes. 

He swiftly removes your dress in a smooth motion, undoing your bra shortly after to join the rest of your clothes on the floor. His own shirt follows suit, but then he runs out of patience and hoists you up by the curve of your thighs. 

It is admirable, how your bodies synchronize in this harmony because you are following all his cues without any instructions by wrapping your arms tight around his shoulders, feeling your sweat soaked skin slide against his tanned muscles. 

“Sure you don’t want me to take you to bed?” he asks one last time, sliding his length up and down your folds, coating himself with your excess wetness that leaves no requirement for a lube. 

“No, do you?” You reply, before adding in a smaller, more worried voice, “am I too heavy for this?” 

“Sweetheart, I can stand here carrying you all day, all night and then some more if it means that I get to bury myself in that irresistibly tight cunt of yours over and over again.” He whispers, kissing you sweetly as you blush, “I was just asking to see if you’re comfortable like this.”

“I am,” you tell him with an honest smile, “now please…just, fuck me.”

His laugh comes out raw and hazy, like smoke when he says, “always so polite, my sweet girl.”

⸻

(the readers POV)

That is the last thing you are able to hear before you feel him angle his cock in a way that just the tip of it enters your fluttering hole. He isn’t even halfway in, but fresh tears are beginning to gather around your lashes because the stretch is a burn you’ve never felt before. 

“You okay?” He asks, his voice strained. 

“Ye…yes,” you blabber, “don’t stop, Mingyu. Keep…keep going. It hurts more if you stop.”

You think each time you open your mouth, it undoes some latch within him that unleashes something ferocious and dangerous in him. You make a mental note of being vocal with him—it’s not like you have any choice when you can barely keep anything in as he continues filling you with all the glorious length of him. 

And once he is fully inside of you, flushed with hips pressed hard against yours, you feel your nails drag against his back as you struggle to make sense of it all sandwiched between his hot, rigid body and the cold tile. 

Your ankles lock tighter over the waistband of his jeans when he pulls back only to thrust back in harder. There’s an unspoken urgency now as the clock ticks behind you—one which makes you meet his thrusts by bouncing the best you can while pressed down like this. Hard muscles flex under the tanned skin of his biceps as he aids your movements while fucking you raw against the wall. 

His mouth finds yours with a fierce gravity while your bodies move against each other in a drunk tandem of their own. Midway through the kiss, he hits that spot again—the same one that had made you see stars just a few moments ago and this time, when it’s the bulbous tip of his dick that bullies it over and over again, you find yourself squirting all over the place. 

He breaks the kiss midway to stare down where your bodies are connected, watching your overused folds stretched out around his thick cock while you continue to drench him. 

“I am sorry…I am so…so sorry,” you cry out but do nothing to stop yourself from drowning in this sea of hot white lust. 

“Sweetheart, never apologize for that,” he says, his own stomach clenching when you grasp him tighter, “I wanna see you make a mess, it only means I made you feel so good, didn’t I?”

“Yes Mingyu,” you bite down on his shoulder as his fingers come down to fiddle with your clit, “you make me feel so…so good.” 

“Then take it baby, take it all like the sweet girl you are.”

It shouldn’t turn you on to the point of insanity when he calls you a sweet-girl while bullying your cunt with his dick until you feel him in your very guts. But it does. God—it does to a point where you lose control over everything when you fall apart again with the prayer of his name riding your lips like it is the only word you ever learnt. In that heady, charged space that reeks of sweat, sex, him and you, he follows suit too, half in you and half out of you as he slips out, jerking himself rough until his hot semen makes a mess between your thighs and over your abdomen.  

You whimper at the sticky, warm feeling and the sound twists something carnal in his chest. Your toes barely touch the hard ground below before he is turning you around and having you arch for him bare with your sweaty palms planted over the wall. 

You think he is going to fuck you again, like this, from behind. But he just kisses the mole you know you have below your left shoulder and kneels back down. You feel his steamy breath over your ruined core. 

“You’re so pretty baby,” he whispers, and you feel his words against your skin as he parts your flesh to reveal the evidence of what just happened to his lustful eyes, “and you’re mine…all of this, all mine.”

(a year later)

You brush your fingers through his hair as he cuddles closer to your chest after your night routine of him helping you put lotion over your body. It is the night before a major literary award show of yours as you relax together with him in your hotel room, barely catching any sleep. 

Not because of nerves or excitement, but because your heart keeps doing somersaults inside your chest remembering that little clip you saw before. You’re itching to see it again and you know Mingyu hasn’t dozed off either judging by the little kisses and his attempts to suckle on your nipples through the silk of your nightgown. 

So you break your own rule of no phones in the bed after seven in the evening by grabbing it from the dresser and quickly searching for it to play the clip again. You smother him with your chest in the process, but he’d be the last one to complain in this scenario as he grins like an idiot, pulling you closer. 

The screen flashes with a bright light in the dark room and he whines when it pierces his tired vision. But you don’t care, you want to hear the pride in his voice again when he had said that…you want to see the way a light pink blush had settled right under his eyes at the mention of it. 

It is a short clip plucked out of an interview he gave at the red carpet of an award show last month. The interviewer asks him in a cheery voice towards the end of the segment, “Any celebrity crushes right now, Mr. Kim?”

And without missing a beat, he gives the camera his honest smile, the one he often only shows around you—unpolished, real, nervous, before answering.

“Yeah, my missus.” 

Someone snipped it out of the whole interview and posted it across different platforms where it has now garnered millions of views and hundred-thousands of comments. Each time you look at it, you can’t help the warm giggle from bubbling out of your lips as you read through the comments which are all overwhelmingly positive.

‘Never seen him like this!’‘ They tried to cancel us for speaking the truth, but we clocked his tea so hard more than a year ago 😭’ ‘We’ve BEEN telling you guys they were a thing!’ ‘Wait are they married?? Why is he calling her his missus? Someone explain, English isn’t my first language.’ ‘imagine finally getting to marry the guy you’ve always written books about, girlie is living everyone’s dream 🤩’

“Okay I am reporting that one for false information because that was the other way around!” You seethe, sitting up as best as you can with his strong arms caging you. “You should hold a press conference to tell them about our love story.”

“Or,” he suggests, propping his chin over your chest, “you can write a book about it.”

“I told you Mingyu, I write about fictional people. Not you. Not me.” 

“But don’t you think the world deserves to know our fairytale of a love story?” “Mhmm,” you hum, sliding your glasses on and pulling your laptop onto your folded legs like you used to all those years ago, “maybe I’ll write a short fanfiction on Tumblr about it. Fifteen thousand-ish words?” 

mark zuckerberg, now this is how u do meta.

REBLOG HOES <3

permanent tags:

@mellowamour @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits @J3nnch3ls3a @princessjazzyjazz @livelaughloveseventeen

@sousydive @izzyy-recs @livmarauder @vwintershire @cherrymayz

@novalpha @honglynights @eskoupe

[yourfavtangerine]

Serendipity - part 2

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut

Serendipity: the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

Wc:~6.6k

Part 1

Summary: After the secret dates turned your arranged marriage from obligation into love, you and Mingyu finally say "I do". But the families waste no time trying to mold you into perfect heirs and hostesses. Yet every push only pulls you closer: drawing firm lines, stealing quiet nights, and choosing each other over legacy until the pressure finally recedes.

Warnings: social pressure, family expectations, controling parents, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, oral, multiple rounds + encounters

The morning of the wedding dawned too bright, too perfect, like the universe had conspired to make everything look expensive and inevitable.

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite of the Grand Lumière Hotel, the same venue your mother had booked eighteen months ago when the merger talks first turned serious. The dress was ivory silk, simple in cut, devastating in execution. It skimmed your body like liquid light, the neckline dipping just low enough to feel daring, the train pooling behind you in soft folds that whispered with every tiny shift of weight. Your hair was swept into a low bun, a few strands left loose to frame your face. The makeup artist had done her job flawlessly: dewy skin, soft smoky eyes, lips the color of crushed rose petals.

You looked like a bride. You felt like someone playing a very expensive part.

A soft knock. Your mother slipped inside, already dressed in pale champagne, diamonds glittering at her throat and ears. She stopped short when she saw you, hand flying to her mouth in that practiced, teary way society-page photographers loved.

"Oh, darling" she breathed. "You’re exquisite."

You offered a small smile, the one you’d been practicing in the mirror for weeks. "Thanks, Mom."

She crossed the room in careful steps, heels clicking on marble, and adjusted the veil that had been pinned into place an hour ago. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she smoothed the tulle.

"Everything is perfect" she said, almost to herself. "The flowers arrived on time, the string quartet is rehearsing downstairs, and the guest list…" She trailed off, eyes shining. "Two hundred and eighty confirmations. Your father is beside himself with pride."

You nodded. Two hundred and eighty people you barely knew, most of them board members, investors, rival CEOs and a handful of distant cousins who only appeared for weddings and funerals. The real guest list: the friends you’d wanted to invite, had been quietly culled down to twelve. "Intimate" your mother had called it. Strategic, you’d thought.

She caught your eye in the mirror. "You’re quiet."

"Just… taking it in."

Her smile softened, but there was steel beneath it. "This is a good day, sweetheart. For all of us. The companies are stronger together. And Mingyu..." She paused, choosing her words with care. "He’s a good man. Steady. Kind. He’ll take care of you."

You swallowed the automatic response that rose in your throat and replaced it with "I know."

She squeezed your shoulders once, then stepped back. "I’ll send the photographer in. And your father will walk you down in twenty minutes." A final pat, maternal and possessive. "Chin up. You’re radiant."

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

You exhaled slowly, fingers brushing the diamond choker at your throat, a gift from Mingyu’s mother, delivered yesterday with a note that read: "To welcome you properly into the family." It felt heavier than it should.

Your phone buzzed on the vanity. A text from the one person who wasn’t part of today’s script.

Mingyu: "You okay?"

You typed back immediately.

You: "Breathing. You?"

Mingyu: "Staring at my cufflinks like they personally offended me. Dad just gave me the "legacy" speech again. Third time this week."

You: "Mine reminded me how perfect everything is."

Mingyu: "They’re not wrong. You’re going to kill me when I see you."

A small, real smile tugged at your lips, the first one all morning.

You: "Save it for later. We only have to survive the next eight hours."

Mingyu: "Eight hours and then it’s just us. No parents. No cameras. I’m counting the seconds."

You: "Me too."

You set the phone face-down and looked at yourself again. The woman in the mirror didn’t look terrified. She looked composed. Collected. But inside, your heart was racing, not from fear, but from something dangerously close to anticipation.

The ceremony was beautiful in the way expensive things always are. Crystal chandeliers, white roses in towering arrangements, a string quartet playing Pachelbel’s Canon as guests murmured and phones were discreetly angled for candids. Your father’s arm was steady under yours as he walked you down the aisle. He smelled of aftershave and quiet pride.

Mingyu waited at the altar. He wore midnight black, tailored to perfection, shoulders broad, waist narrow, the single white rose in his lapel a small rebellion against the sea of tradition. When he saw you, his breath caught visibly. His eyes, those warm, dark eyes you’d fallen into over café tables and aquarium tunnels, went glassy for a second before he blinked it away and smiled. The kind of smile that made your chest ache.

You reached him. Your father placed your hand in Mingyu’s. The transfer felt symbolic in a way that hadn’t occurred to you until that moment: handing off responsibility, legacy, expectation.

Mingyu’s fingers closed around yours. Warm. Sure. He squeezed once, a silent "I’ve got you" and didn’t let go.

The officiant spoke. Vows were exchanged: traditional ones, carefully edited by both sets of lawyers so nothing too personal slipped in. Rings slid onto fingers. A kiss, chaste for the cameras, but his lips lingered just long enough that you felt the tremor in them.

The room erupted in polite applause.

Photographs took another hour. Posed shots with parents, with siblings, with board members who shook Mingyu’s hand like they were closing a deal. You smiled until your cheeks hurt. Mingyu’s thumb kept brushing small circles on the inside of your wrist whenever no one was looking.

Finally, the reception.

The grand ballroom had been transformed: gold accents, candlelight, a six-tier cake frosted in ivory and topped with sugar orchids. Champagne flowed. Toasts were made: your father spoke of unity and shared vision; Mingyu’s father spoke of legacy and continuity. Both managed to mention grandchildren in the same breath as quarterly projections.

You and Mingyu sat at the head table, knees pressed together under the cloth. Every time someone approached with congratulations, he slid his hand to your thigh, just resting there, grounding.

When the band started the first dance, he stood and offered his hand.

"Ready to pretend we’re newlyweds?" he murmured.

You slipped your fingers into his. "We are newlyweds."

His smile turned private. "Yeah. We are."

He led you to the center of the floor. The lights dimmed. A slow, jazzy rendition of "At Last" began.

One hand at the small of your back, the other holding yours against his chest, he pulled you close. You rested your cheek against his shoulder, breathing in cedar and clean cotton and him.

"I meant every word" he whispered against your temple. "Even the scripted ones. Especially the ones I didn’t get to say."

You tilted your head back just enough to meet his eyes. "Tell me now."

He swallowed. "I love you. Not because of contracts or families or boardrooms. I love you because you laugh at my terrible jokes and steal bites of my food and make me want to be better. I love you because you chose me when you didn’t have to. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it."

Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

"I love you too" you whispered. "For exactly who you are. Not the heir. Not the merger. Just you."

He kissed you then: slow, deep, unhurried. The room faded. The cameras, the expectations, the whispers. Just the two of you, swaying in the middle of a ballroom that suddenly felt too small to contain what was building between you.

The song ended. Applause again. You barely heard it.

The rest of the night passed in fragments: cutting the cake, more photos, stolen moments in quiet corners where he’d back you against a wall and kiss you until you were breathless, murmuring "soon" against your mouth.

When the last guest finally left, your parents hugged you both, tight, proud, already talking about the next family gathering. Mingyu’s mother pressed a small velvet box into your hands: a pair of diamond studs "for everyday wear." Your father shook Mingyu’s hand like he’d just won a bid.

And then, finally, it was just you and him.

The honeymoon suite was obscene in its luxury: rose petals on the bed, champagne on ice, a balcony overlooking the city skyline. The door closed behind you with a decisive click.

Mingyu leaned back against it, loosening his tie with one hand while watching you kick off your heels.

"You survived" he said softly.

"We survived."

He crossed the room in three strides, cupped your face, and kissed you like he’d been holding it in for hours. This time there was no audience. No restraint.

Hands roamed. Zippers slid. Fabric pooled on the floor.

He lifted you easily, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed. Rose petals scattered under your back. He laid you down like you were fragile, then hovered above you, eyes dark and reverent.

"No rush" he murmured, kissing along your collarbone. "We have all night. All the nights."

You pulled him down, needing the weight of him, the heat. "I want you now."

He groaned against your throat. "Thank god."

Clothes vanished. Skin met skin. His mouth was everywhere: neck, breasts, stomach, worshipping, memorizing. When he settled between your thighs, he looked up one last time.

"Tell me you’re sure."

"I’ve never been more sure."

He entered you slowly, watching your face the entire time. The stretch, the fullness, the way your bodies locked together, it felt like coming home.

You moved together, slow at first, then deeper, harder, chasing the edge. His hands pinned yours above your head; your legs hooked around his hips. Whispers turned to gasps, gasps to moans.

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears in your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of being wanted so completely.

He followed moments later, burying his face in your neck, shuddering through the aftershocks.

For long minutes you stayed tangled, breathing each other in.

Eventually he rolled to the side, pulling you against his chest. Fingers traced lazy patterns on your spine.

"Tomorrow the real world starts again" he said quietly.

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone. "Let it. We’ve got this."

He tilted your chin up. "Yeah. We do."

The next morning, sunlight spilled across the sheets. Your phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand.

Mingyu groaned, reaching for it first. He scanned the screen and laughed, low, disbelieving.

"What?"

"Both our mothers. Joint text. They’ve already booked a "welcome to the family" brunch for next weekend. And your mom attached a list of fertility clinics. "Just in case you want to start planning.""

You snatched the phone, read the messages, and let your head fall back against the pillow with a groan of your own.

"They really don’t waste time."

Mingyu tossed the phone aside and rolled on top of you, bracketing your wrists gently.

"Let them plan" he said, voice low and steady. "They can plan whatever they want. But this-" he kissed you slow and deep "this part? This is ours."

You arched into him, already wanting more. "Ours."

He smiled against your mouth. "And no one gets to touch it."

The phones kept buzzing. You ignored them.

The first week back in the city felt like stepping off a dream straight into a boardroom.

You and Mingyu returned from the brief, carefully curated "honeymoon" escape: five days in a private villa on Jeju Island that his father had insisted on booking ("for appearances," the note had read) to find the penthouse already invaded in subtle ways.

A new set of keys had been left on the marble kitchen island. Your mother’s handwriting on the attached card: "Darling, I had the locks rekeyed while you were away, just in case of emergencies. The designer will be by tomorrow at 10 to discuss updating the guest rooms. We want everything perfect for when the family visits. Love you."

Mingyu read it over your shoulder, jaw tightening for half a second before he exhaled through his nose and set the card face-down.

"She didn’t even ask" he muttered.

You leaned against him, forehead to his shoulder. "She never does."

He wrapped both arms around you from behind, chin resting on top of your head. "We change the locks tomorrow. New set. Only we get copies."

You nodded against his chest. "And tell her no to the designer."

"Already drafting the text."

The message you sent together, polite, firm, joint, was simple: "Thank you for thinking of us, but we’d prefer to handle the apartment ourselves. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for visitors. Love you both."

Your mother’s reply came within minutes: "Of course, sweetheart. Just want to help. Call if you change your mind."

It felt like the first small victory. But victories were short-lived.

Mingyu’s father called the next morning at 7:42 am, exactly the time he knew Mingyu would be finishing his coffee and reviewing quarterly projections.

Mingyu put it on speaker so you could hear.

"Son. Good to have you back. The board’s eager to see the two of you at the quarterly dinner next week. Full attendance this time, spouses included. It’s important we present a united front now that the merger’s public."

Mingyu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Dad, we just got back. Can we skip this one?"

A pause, long enough to feel pointed. "It’s not optional. Investors want to meet the new Mrs. Kim. See the stability. You understand."

You mouthed "I’ll go" from across the island. Mingyu shook his head once, sharp.

"We’ll discuss it" he said evenly. "But no promises."

Another pause. "Your mother already RSVP’d yes for both of you. The seating chart is finalized."

Mingyu’s jaw ticked. "Then un-finalize it. We’re not props."

The line went quiet for so long you thought it had dropped. Then: "Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Mingyu. Legacy isn’t built on sentiment."

The call ended. Mingyu stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed him.

You walked around the island, slid between his thighs where he sat on the barstool, and cupped his face.

"Hey."

He exhaled, forehead dropping to yours. "I hate that tone. Like I’m still twenty-two and interning."

"You’re not." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "You’re my husband. And we decide what we do."

He pulled you closer until you were seated on his lap, arms banded around your waist.

"I know" he murmured. "Just… takes practice saying it out loud to them."

You threaded your fingers through his hair. "We’ll practice together."

That night you cooked dinner, nothing fancy, just his favorite galbi-jjim recipe that he’d taught you during one of your secret pre-wedding dates. He hovered behind you at the stove, arms around your middle, chin on your shoulder, offering unnecessary commentary.

"Too much sesame oil."

"You always say that."

"Because it’s true."

You elbowed him lightly. He laughed, the real one, low and warm and kissed the side of your neck.

Dinner was eaten on the living-room floor, picnic-style: blanket spread, wine poured into mismatched mugs because the crystal was still in boxes. You talked about stupid things: your latest freelance project (a rebrand for an indie bookstore chain), his plan to push for more sustainable materials in the next development phase, until the conversation drifted inevitably back to the quarterly dinner.

"I don’t want to parade you around like a trophy" he said quietly, setting his chopsticks down. "They’ll ask about kids. They always do."

You reached for his hand. "Then we tell them the truth: we’re not ready, and it’s not their business."

He laced your fingers together. "They’ll push."

"Let them push. We push back."

He studied you for a long moment, eyes soft, searching, then leaned forward and kissed you slow and deep, tasting of gochujang and wine and gratitude.

Later, in bed, he moved over you with a kind of deliberate tenderness that made your chest ache. Slow rolls of his hips, hands cradling your face, whispers against your lips: "You’re mine. Not theirs. Mine."

You came undone beneath him whispering the same truth back.

The quarterly dinner arrived like a storm you couldn’t avoid.

The venue was one of the Kim family’s signature properties: a sleek rooftop restaurant overlooking the Han River, glass walls, ambient lighting, waitstaff who moved like shadows. You wore the emerald dress from your third secret date, the one that had made Mingyu stare too long and he wore the same midnight suit from the wedding, tie loosened the second you stepped out of the car.

His hand stayed at the small of your back the entire evening.

The board members greeted you with practiced warmth: handshakes, compliments on the wedding photos ("such a striking couple"), subtle probes about your plans now that you were "settled".

You answered each one the same way: polite deflection wrapped in steel.

"My work keeps me busy, exciting projects coming up."

"We’re enjoying settling into our own rhythm."

"No timeline for children, we’re taking things at our pace."

Mingyu’s grip tightened fractionally every time someone pushed.

His mother cornered you near the dessert table.

"You look radiant, darling. Marriage suits you."

"Thank you."

She leaned closer, voice dropping. "I’ve spoken with a few specialists. Discreet. Excellent reputations. If you’d like-"

"We’re not planning anything yet" you said calmly. "When we are, we’ll decide together."

Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes cooled. "Of course. Just… don’t wait too long. Timing matters in families like ours."

Mingyu appeared at your side like he’d materialized from thin air, arm sliding around your waist.

"Everything okay?"

"Perfect" his mother said brightly. "Just girl talk."

He pressed a kiss to your temple, deliberate, possessive. "Good. Because I need to steal my wife for a minute."

He guided you toward the balcony doors.

Outside, the night air was cool against heated skin. The city glittered below like it had the night of your third date.

He backed you gently against the railing, hands framing your face.

"You were incredible in there" he murmured.

"So were you."

He kissed you, slow, deep, unhurried. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"I’m so fucking proud of you."

You smiled against his mouth. "Proud of us."

A beat of quiet. Then: "Let’s leave early."

You raised a brow. "Won’t they notice?"

"Let them."

You laughed softly. "Okay."

You slipped back inside only long enough to say polite goodbyes, vague excuses about an early meeting tomorrow. His father’s frown followed you to the elevator, but neither of you looked back.

In the car, Mingyu tugged you across the backseat until you were straddling his lap, dress rucked up around your thighs.

"Couldn’t wait" he muttered, kissing along your neck.

You grinned, fingers in his hair. "Good thing the partition’s up."

The driver (discreet, well-paid) pretended the glass was soundproof.

Back at the penthouse, clothes hit the floor in the foyer. He carried you to the kitchen island, sat you on the edge, and dropped to his knees between your legs like a man starved.

His mouth was relentless: tongue circling, fingers curling inside you, free hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave faint marks you’d admire in the morning. You came shaking, one hand braced on the marble, the other tangled in his hair, moaning his name like a prayer.

He rose, kissed you so you tasted yourself, then lifted you again, straight to the bedroom.

This time he took you from behind, slow at first, then deeper, one hand between your legs, the other wrapped around your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

When you both collapsed, sweaty and spent, he pulled you against his chest, legs tangled, hearts hammering in tandem.

"I love you" he whispered into your hair. "More than any of this."

You turned in his arms, kissed the hollow of his throat. "I love you too. And we’re doing this right. Our way."

He smiled, small, tired, real. "Our way."

The next morning your phone buzzed with a forwarded email from your mother: a fertility clinic brochure, highlighted.

You deleted it without opening.

Mingyu’s phone buzzed seconds later: his father, scheduling a "strategy meeting" for next week. Mingyu silenced it, rolled over and kissed you awake instead.

"Coffee?" he murmured against your lips.

"Only if you make it shirtless."

He laughed, the sound muffled against your neck and obeyed.

The weight of everyone else’s plans felt… distant. Not gone. But no longer heavy enough to crush what you’d found.

The invitation arrived via courier: thick cream cardstock, gold-embossed crest of the Kim family holding company, delivered to the penthouse at exactly 9:17 am on a Thursday morning while you were still in your robe, sipping coffee and scrolling through client feedback emails.

Mingyu opened it first. He read silently, jaw tightening with each line. Then he handed it to you without a word.

"In celebration of the successful integration of the Lee-Kim merger and the one-month anniversary of our families’ union, we cordially invite you to a private family gathering. Date: Saturday, 18th October Time: 6:00 pm midnight Venue: The Evergreen Estate, Hanam-dong Dress: Formal Hosted by Mr. & Mrs. Kim Tae-hoon and Mr. & Mrs. Lee Min-seok"

A small handwritten note was clipped to the back in Mingyu’s mother’s elegant script: "We’ve missed seeing you both. It’s time to gather properly as one family. Bring your smiles and good news, if there is any. We look forward to toasting the future."

You set the card down carefully, like it might bite.

Mingyu leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, staring at the invitation as though it had personally insulted him.

"They’re not even asking" he said quietly. "It’s presented like we already said yes."

You traced the embossed crest with your fingertip. "Because in their minds, we did. We’re married. We’re the merger’s public face. Showing up is part of the contract."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "I’m tired of being part of the contract."

You stepped closer, sliding your arms around his waist from behind. He relaxed fractionally into your hold, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders.

"We don’t have to go" you murmured against his back.

He turned in your arms, hands settling on your hips. "If we don’t, they’ll spin it. 'The newlyweds are too busy adjusting.' 'Perhaps they’re keeping private news.' It’ll be gossip by Monday."

You rested your forehead against his chest. "Then we go. But on our terms."

He kissed the top of your head. "Our terms."

The Evergreen Estate was exactly what the name implied: sprawling, manicured, old money disguised as tasteful restraint. Lanterns lined the gravel drive, security at every gate, valets in crisp uniforms. Inside, the main hall smelled of fresh lilies and polished wood. A string quartet played softly in the corner. Servers circulated with champagne flutes and bite-sized canapés.

Your parents arrived first: your mother in sapphire blue, already scanning the room like she was checking attendance. Your father shook hands with Mingyu’s father as though sealing another deal.

Mingyu’s hand found the small of your back the second you stepped through the arched doorway. He wore charcoal gray, sharp, understated, the single silver cufflink you’d given him glinting under the chandelier light. You’d chosen black: a sleek column dress with a high neck and long sleeves, subtle enough to blend in, bold enough to remind everyone you weren’t here to be decorative.

Heads turned. Smiles were offered. Compliments flowed like the champagne.

"You two look radiant." "Marriage agrees with you." "So good to see the families united at last."

Mingyu’s responses were polite, clipped. Yours were warmer but no less guarded.

Dinner was announced at 7:30. Long tables arranged in a U-shape, place cards meticulously positioned. You and Mingyu were seated at the center, flanked by both sets of parents.

The first course passed in small talk: merger synergies, stock performance, upcoming charity galas. Safe topics.

Then Mingyu’s mother leaned forward, voice bright.

"We were just discussing timelines" she said, smiling at you both. "The board has been asking about the next generation. Stability is so important in these early years of integration."

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth. Mingyu’s hand found your knee under the table, steady, grounding.

"We’ve discussed it" he said evenly. "We’re not rushing."

His father chuckled, low, paternal. "No one’s rushing, son. But nature has its schedule. And the shareholders like certainty."

Your mother chimed in smoothly. "Exactly. Y/N’s always been so independent, such a wonderful quality, but family comes first now. Perhaps it’s time to consider stepping back from freelance work. Focus on what really matters."

The table quieted. Eyes flicked between you and your mother.

You set your fork down deliberately.

"I love my work" you said, voice calm but clear. "It’s not going anywhere. And children, if and when we decide to have them, will be our decision. Not a shareholder vote."

Silence stretched. Mingyu’s thumb stroked small circles on your knee: approval, pride.

His father cleared his throat. "Of course. But perception matters. The market responds to legacy."

Mingyu’s voice cut through, quiet but steel-edged. "Then let the market respond to results. The merger’s numbers are up twelve percent since the announcement. That’s legacy. Not speculation about my wife’s womb."

A ripple of discomfort moved through the table. Your father tried to smooth it over. "We’re all just excited for the future-"

"No" Mingyu said, louder this time. "You’re excited for control. And we’re done pretending it’s excitement."

He stood. You rose with him. The quartet faltered for half a measure before resuming. Mingyu looked around the table, first at his parents, then yours.

"We’re grateful for the families coming together. Truly. But this-" he gestured to the table, the estate, the unspoken expectations "this isn’t gratitude. This is pressure. And we won’t be pressured."

He offered you his hand. You took it.

"We’re going home" he said simply. "We’ll see you when we’re ready to see you. Not before."

No one spoke as you walked out.

The drive back was quiet. Mingyu’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over and covered his hand with yours.

He exhaled shakily. "I didn’t mean to blow it up like that."

"You said what needed saying."

He glanced at you, eyes soft in the passing streetlights. "You were magnificent."

"So were you."

Back at the penthouse, the door had barely closed before he had you against it, kissing you like the world was ending and beginning at the same time.

Hands frantic. Mouths desperate. Clothes shed in the hallway.

He lifted you; your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you to the living room. No bed. No patience.

He sat on the couch, you straddling him. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise as you sank down onto him, slow at first, then faster, chasing release like it could erase the evening.

You rode him with purpose, nails on his shoulders, forehead pressed to his, whispering broken praises.

"You’re mine." "We’re enough." "They don’t get to touch this."

He flipped you beneath him, hooked your legs over his shoulders, thrust deep and deliberate until you were crying out, back arching, vision whiting.

He followed with a low sound, burying himself to the hilt, shuddering through the aftershocks.

You stayed locked together for long minutes, sweat cooling, breaths syncing.

Eventually he eased out, gathered you against his chest on the couch, pulled the throw blanket over both of you.

His fingers carded through your hair.

"I meant it" he whispered. "We’re done letting them dictate."

You nodded against his collarbone. "Tomorrow we send the message. Together."

He kissed your temple. "Together."

The next morning (Sunday) you drafted it side by side at the kitchen island.

"Subject: Boundaries

Dear Mom, Dad, Mr. & Mrs. Kim. Last night made it clear that our families have different expectations for what this marriage means. We are grateful for the union and for the business successes it has brought. But our home, our careers, our timeline for children, and our private life are not open for discussion or negotiation. We will continue to honor family ties on our terms: scheduled visits when we invite them, joint events when we choose to attend. Unsolicited advice, surprise appointments and assumptions about our future will no longer be welcome. We love each other deeply. That love is real, chosen and ours alone. Please respect that. With affection, Mingyu & Y/N."

You hit send together.

The replies came in waves: hurt, defensive, conciliatory, silent.

Mingyu’s mother called twice. Your father sent a long text about "disappointment" and "responsibility."

You turned both phones to Do Not Disturb.

Then you made breakfast: pancakes, because Mingyu liked them with too much syrup and whipped cream. You ate on the balcony, feet in each other’s laps, watching the city wake up.

He fed you a bite from his fork. You licked syrup off his thumb.

Later, in the shower, he washed your hair with slow, careful fingers. Under the spray he murmured against your wet shoulder "I’ve never felt more free."

You turned, kissed him through the water. "Me too."

The pressure hadn’t vanished. It still lingered at the edges: phone notifications, future invitations, the weight of legacy. But it no longer lived inside your home. Inside your home, there was only space for two people who had chosen each other, again and again, against every expectation the world tried to impose.

The silence after the message felt louder than any argument.

For three full days after the first reactions, neither set of parents responded. No calls, no texts, no surprise deliveries of "helpful" brochures or passive-aggressive fruit baskets. The penthouse stayed quiet, almost suspiciously so. You and Mingyu moved through the space like you were testing the new boundaries, half-expecting someone to burst through the door with a clipboard and a lecture.

Monday morning arrived without fanfare. You woke to sunlight slanting across the bed, Mingyu’s arm heavy across your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He smelled like sleep and cedar and the faint trace of last night’s shower gel. You stayed still for a long minute, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Then your phone buzzed once, soft, almost apologetic on the nightstand. You reached for it carefully so you wouldn’t wake him. A single text from your mother: "I read your message again. We’re sorry if we overstepped. We only want the best for you both. Take the time you need. We love you."

No signature flourish. No emoji. No follow-up guilt trip.

You stared at the words until they blurred, then set the phone down and turned in Mingyu’s arms.

He stirred, eyes cracking open, dark lashes still heavy with sleep.

"Morning" he mumbled, voice gravel-rough.You kissed the tip of his nose. "Morning. Mom texted."

His brows lifted slightly. "And?"

"She’s sorry. They’re giving us space."

He exhaled long and slow, like air leaving a balloon that had been overinflated for months. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him until you were sprawled across his chest.

"Mine hasn’t said anything yet" he said quietly. "But Dad’s assistant canceled the 'strategy meeting' that was on the calendar. No reschedule."

You traced idle patterns on his collarbone with your fingertip. "Progress."

"Progress" he echoed.

He caught your hand, brought it to his lips, kissed each knuckle one by one.

"I want to celebrate" he murmured against your skin. "Properly. No parents, no boardrooms, no mergers. Just us."

You smiled down at him. "What did you have in mind?"

His grin turned slow and wicked. "Stay in bed all day?"

"Tempting. But I have a client call at eleven."

"Cancel it."

"Can’t. Big rebrand pitch. If it lands, it’s my biggest freelance contract yet."

He groaned dramatically, but his eyes were soft. "Fine. Then tonight, dinner here. I cook. You wear that silk slip thing you think I don’t notice you put on when you want attention."

You laughed, low and pleased. "Deal."

The day passed in ordinary rhythm, your call went well, Mingyu had back-to-back meetings but texted you ridiculous selfies from the construction site he was inspecting ("proof I’m wearing a hard hat, safety first, wife-approved"). By evening the penthouse smelled like garlic, sesame oil, and the slow-braised short ribs he’d been perfecting for weeks.

You set the table on the balcony, simple white linens, candles in mismatched holders, the city lights glittering below like they belonged to someone else entirely. You wore the silk slip, black, bias-cut, barely-there straps and nothing else. When Mingyu saw you step onto the balcony, he froze mid-pour, wine bottle hovering over a glass.

"Fuck" he breathed.

You smirked. "Language, Mr. Kim."

He set the bottle down, crossed the space in three strides and kissed you like he’d been waiting eight hours to do exactly that. Hands slid up your thighs, bunching silk, thumbs brushing bare skin.

"Dinner’s going to burn" you whispered against his mouth.

"Let it."

You laughed and pushed him gently toward the table. "Food first. Then dessert."

He groaned but obeyed, pulling out your chair with exaggerated chivalry.

Dinner was perfect: tender ribs falling off the bone, kimchi pancakes crispy at the edges, chilled soju that burned pleasantly down your throat. Conversation drifted lazily: your client loved the pitch deck, his team green-lit the eco-friendly material switch he’d been fighting for, you both agreed the new couch was too big but too comfortable to return.

After plates were cleared, he poured the last of the soju and leaned back, watching you over the rim of his glass.

"I keep thinking about last week" he said quietly. "The way you stood up at that table. No hesitation. No apology."

You shrugged one shoulder. "I learned from the best."

He reached across the table, took your hand. "I love you more every day. Did you know that?"

Your chest tightened pleasantly. "I suspected."

He stood, rounded the table, and pulled you up into his arms. The kiss was slower this time, less frantic, more deliberate. Like he had all the time in the world now.

He lifted you easily, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside. Clothes came off in pieces: your slip pooling on the living-room floor, his shirt unbuttoned and discarded somewhere near the couch. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were both bare, skin flushed from wine and anticipation.

He laid you down gently, but there was nothing gentle in the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

"No rush tonight" he murmured, kissing down your throat, across your collarbone, lingering at your breasts until your back arched. "I want to feel every second."

His mouth moved lower; stomach, hips, inner thighs, teasing until you were trembling. When his tongue finally found you, it was slow, reverent, precise. He took his time, learning every hitch in your breath, every involuntary roll of your hips. Two fingers slid inside, curling just right, and you came apart with a soft cry, fingers tangled in his hair, thighs shaking around his head.

He kissed his way back up your body, tasting like you, eyes dark and pleased.

When he settled between your legs, he didn’t enter right away. He simply rested there, hot, hard, pressing against you while he kissed you deep and lazy, sharing the taste of you.

"Tell me again" he whispered.

"I love you."

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face the entire time. When he was fully seated, he paused, forehead pressed to yours.

He moved then, long, deep rolls of his hips that made you gasp every time he bottomed out. Hands linked above your head. Eyes locked. No words needed; everything was said in the way he held you, the way you clung to him, the way your bodies knew exactly what the other needed.

You came again, sharper this time, clenching around him until he groaned low in his throat. He followed moments later, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a broken sound of your name.

Afterward, he didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed inside you, softening slowly, kissing your eyelids, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Eventually he eased out, cleaned you both with a warm cloth from the bathroom, then crawled back under the covers and pulled you against his chest.

You listened to his heartbeat slow.

"Think they’ll stay away?" you asked quietly.

"For a while." His fingers traced your spine. "Long enough for us to forget they exist sometimes."

You smiled into his skin. "I like that plan."

Weeks turned into months.

The families kept their distance: polite texts instead of calls, invitations that included "whenever you’re free" instead of assumptions. Your mother sent a small bouquet for your birthday with a card that simply read: "Proud of you. Always."

Mingyu’s father forwarded an article about the company’s sustainability pivot with a single line: "Your idea. Well done."

No pressure. No timelines. Just quiet acknowledgment that the boundaries had been heard.

You kept your freelance work, landed two more major clients and started a small side project: a collaborative design studio with a friend from art school. Mingyu pushed through the last of the old-guard resistance at the company and got approval for a new mixed-use development with public green space at its heart.

Life settled into something soft and real.

Lazy Sunday mornings became ritual: coffee in bed, newspapers scattered, him reading aloud the ridiculous headlines while you sketched idly on his bare chest with your fingertip.

One crisp October afternoon, exactly six months after the wedding, you found him on the balcony, staring at the skyline with a small velvet box in his hand.

You stepped out behind him. "What’s that?"

He turned, sheepish smile tugging at his mouth.

"I know we’re already married" he said. "But the ring they gave you at the ceremony… it was beautiful, but it wasn’t us."

He opened the box. Inside was a simple platinum band, thin, unadorned except for a tiny, flawless emerald embedded flush into the metal. The exact shade of the dress you’d worn on your third secret date.

"I had it made" he said softly. "Wanted something that reminded me of the night I realized I was in love with you. Not the merger. Not the families. Just you."

Tears pricked your eyes. He took your left hand, slid the original wedding band off, replaced it with the new one.

"Will you marry me again?" he asked. "Not for them. For us. Whenever we’re ready. Small. Private. Real vows."

You looked at the ring, simple, perfect, then up at him.

"Yes" you whispered. "A thousand times yes."

He kissed you then, slow, deep, full of everything the first ceremony had lacked: choice, love, certainty.

Later that night, tangled in sheets that still smelled like him, you traced the new ring with your thumb.

"We built something better than they ever planned" you murmured.

He pulled you closer, lips brushing your temple.

"We built a home" he said simply. "And we’re just getting started."

[dreamon8]

SEUNGCHEOL | READY TO LOVE? 2

PAIRING: Seungcheol! x f!reader

PART 1

CONTENT: Friends to lovers, Slow burn + mutual pining, Best friends with insane chemistry, Idiots in love / emotional idiots. Smut.

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, infidelity and cheating, strong language and profanity, emotional distress and angst, jealousy and possessiveness, friends to lovers with complicated dynamics, unprotected sex, rough and intense intimate scenes, breakup and relationship conflict, alcohol consumption, adult themes and mature situations. This is 18+ only; reader discretion advised.

Only for adults (18+). If any of this is offensive to you or if you're under 18, please don't view it! All based on fictional events, none of this is real.

SUMMARY: After a heated argument with your boyfriend, you share an intense night of passion with Cheol, complicating your friendship amid jealousy and hidden feelings. As you navigate breakups, emotional turmoil, and group dynamics, you confront your desires, leading to a heartfelt confession and the decision to begin a committed relationship.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Tell me to stop and I will. Right now.”

You shake your head, almost violently. Your fingers dig into his neck, pulling him back down.

“Don’t stop” you breathe, so softly it’s almost nothing. “Please.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you again, hungrier this time, and now his hands don't stay still. One slides up under your shirt, warm skin against yours, tracing the curve of your waist until it reaches your bra. The other goes down to the button of your jeans, unfastening it with a quick, expert movement. You gasp against his mouth when you feel his fingers brush the skin just above the waistband of your underwear.

He pushes you gently toward the sofa, without stopping the kiss. You fall back seated, and he kneels between your legs, spreading them with his hands. He pulls your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, and you do the same with his, needing to feel his skin against yours. When your chests meet, fully bare from the waist up, you both let out a low moan at the same time.

His lips trail down your jaw, your neck, biting softly right where your pulse beats. You tilt your head back, giving him more space, and he takes advantage to go lower: wet kisses over your collarbone, along the edge of your bra, until with an impatient tug he unhooks it and sets it aside.

The first time his mouth closes over your breast, you arch your back hard, a louder moan escaping you. He licks it slowly, sucks it, nips it lightly, while his free hand massages the other. You writhe beneath him, hands tangled in his hair, pulling when the pleasure gets too intense.

—Cheol… —you whisper his name like a plea.

He looks up for a second, lips glistening, eyes almost black.

—Tell me what you want —he asks, voice deep—. Tell me and I'll give it to you.

You swallow.

—You —you reply—. All of you.

He lets out a low sound, almost a growl, and straightens just enough to pull off his jeans and boxers in a quick movement. You do the same with yours, helping him with trembling hands. When you're skin to skin again, with nothing in between, you both stay still for a second, just breathing, looking at each other.

His erection presses against your thigh, hot and hard, and you feel how you're already completely wet just from having him like this. He slides a hand between your bodies, touches you slowly, two fingers parting you carefully, exploring. When he pushes one inside, you squeeze your thighs around his hand and moan his name again.

—Fuck, you're so… —he starts, but doesn't finish the sentence. He just adds a second finger, moving them inside you with a slow rhythm that drives you crazy.

You squirm, seeking more friction, and he speeds up, his thumb pressing right on your clit until you feel like you're going to break. But just when you're on the edge, he stops, pulls his hand away, and you protest with a frustrated moan.

—I want to come with you inside me —you say, no filter, no shame left.

He looks at you like you've just given him the best gift in the world.

He positions himself between your legs, spreads you wider with his knees. The tip of his cock brushes your entrance, and you both exhale at the same time. He leans in to kiss you as he pushes slowly, inch by inch, until he's fully inside. The stretch is perfect, almost painfully intense, and you dig your nails into his shoulders.

You stay still for a moment, breathing against each other, adjusting. Then he starts to move: slow at first, deep thrusts that make you feel everything. You lift your hips to meet him, matching his rhythm.

—Harder —you beg against his mouth.

He obeys. He grabs your hips, lifts you a bit off the sofa, and starts fucking you for real, faster, deeper. The sound of your bodies slapping fills the living room, mixed with your moans and the slide of skin.

You feel the orgasm building again, stronger this time, and you clench around him. Cheol groans your name, his sweaty forehead against yours.

—Come with me —he whispers—. Please.

Two more thrusts and you shatter: pleasure rushes through you entirely, making you arch against him, scream his name as you contract around his cock. He follows almost immediately, burying himself deep, moaning low against your neck as he comes inside you, hot and long.

The silence that follows is different from any other silence you've shared with him.

It's not the comfortable one of watching a show, nor the one of dozing off on the sofa. It's heavy. Full of things.

You're lying on the sofa, your chest still rising and falling slowly. You feel your body hot, your skin still sensitive where he touched you. Cheol is beside you, half propped up, one hand still on your waist, as if he can't quite believe you're there.

Neither of you speaks at first.

You breathe.

You listen to his breathing mixed with yours. The tick-tock of the clock. A car passing on the street.

You're the first to break the spell.

—No… —your voice comes out hoarse—. We can't pretend this didn't happen.

Cheol snorts a laugh, without humor.

—No fucking way —he replies, looking at you—. Not after this.

You turn toward him. His hair is a bit messy, lips red. He has that strange look, between tender and lost.

—And now what? —you ask, no filters.

He opens his mouth to answer, but doesn't get to.

Your phone rings.

You both freeze. The ringtone sounds too loud in the room's silence. You look at the screen.

Your "boyfriend's" name.

You feel your whole body tense. Cheol sees it too. Your expression says it all.

—Are you going to answer? —he murmurs, voice low, tense.

You don't answer his question. You press accept almost on reflex, sit up a bit, turning your back to Cheol without meaning to, as if that could hide the obvious.

—Yes? —you say, trying to sound normal.

On the other end, he sighs.

—Hey… —he says, soft—. I've been thinking. About earlier… I'm sorry. I overdid it. Anger got to me, jealousy, everything. I didn't want to leave like that.

—Yeah… —you murmur, throat dry.

Cheol watches you, his body still naked under the makeshift shirt. His eyes harden little by little.

—It wasn't fair what I said —your boyfriend continues—. You're not the only one to blame here. I've been weird too, I've played into it too. Just… —he hears a noise in the background at his place, lowers his voice—. I'm just scared of losing you.

The irony slaps you. You don't even know what to say.

—You didn't have to say it like that —you manage to articulate—. It hurt.

—I know. That's why I'm calling. I don't want it to stay like this. We can talk tomorrow, if you want. Or I can come now, if you're awake…

Your heart races even faster. Not because of him, but because of the situation. “Come now”. With Cheol sitting a meter away, hearing your side of the conversation.

—No, not now —you reply quickly—. It's late.

—Tomorrow, then —he says, with slight relief—. Just… don't go anywhere, okay? Don't make any hot-headed decisions. Let me talk it out. I love you, for real.

The last sentence hurts. Not for what it stirs in you toward him, but because you feel like you're betraying it.

—Okay —you whisper, without promising anything specific.

—I'll text you tomorrow. Rest, yeah?

You hang up.

You stay a couple of seconds with the phone still pressed to your ear, as if that could delay the inevitable.

When you finally lower your hand, Cheol is still there. He's sat up, stood up once, put on his boxers or pants. He's half-dressed. His expression is a mix of contained rage and hurt.

—What did he say? —he asks, voice barely controlled.

You lick your lips, feel your throat closed.

—That… —you breathe deep— he got carried away by jealousy. He's sorry. He wants to talk tomorrow.

—And you? —he insists—. What did you tell him?

You blank for a second.

—That… okay. That we'll talk tomorrow —you confess.

You see Cheol's jaw clench as he grits his teeth.

—Great —he says, with a bitter smile—. Perfect.

You sit up, hugging your knees, searching for something to cover yourself better even though he's already seen everything. It's not physical modesty. It's something deeper.

—It's not that easy, Cheol —you murmur—. We just… —you can't even say “fucked” or “made love”—. We just crossed a huge line. My head is a mess.

—My head is a mess too —he replies, a sharper step—. But at least I know what I want.

His words cut you.

—And what do you want? —you ask, almost challenging him.

He stays silent for a second. Then looks at you, direct.

—You —he says, no beating around the bush—. I've wanted you for a while, even if it took me time to admit it. And today was the first time I didn't run from that.

Your stomach tightens.

—Cheol…

—And while I'm here, trying to process that I just slept with my best friend, with the person who matters most to me —he continues, voice rising a bit—, you're telling your boyfriend that you'll see tomorrow, that you'll talk, that he shouldn't make hot-headed decisions.

His summary makes you feel naked in another way.

—I didn't promise him anything —you defend yourself—. I just said we'll talk tomorrow.

—That's already something —he replies, hurt—. It's leaving the door open.

You stand up from the sofa, needing to be on your feet. The tension burns.

—What do you want me to do? —you snap—. Tell him “hey, by the way, I just slept with Cheol, bye”? Tonight, over the phone, like that, suddenly, with the adrenaline still high?

—I want you to be honest —he retorts—. With yourself. With me. With him.

You take a step toward him.

—I'm trying to be —you reply, voice trembling—. I've been a different person for exactly half an hour, going from “friend” to this, and you already want me to have my whole life figured out.

—I don't want you to have it figured out —he corrects—. I want to know if you're really willing to break what you have… for this. For what we just did. For what we feel. Or if I'm just your escape when things get bad with him.

The last sentence hits hard.

—Don't say that —you whisper, hurt—. You're not my escape.

—Are you sure? —he laughs, but it sounds more like tears than laughter—. Because from the outside it looks like you come to me when you're bad with him, but then, as soon as he calls, you go back to that place.

It's hard to breathe.

—It's not black and white, Cheol —you run a hand through your hair, pulling a bit—. There are a lot of things. I need… I need to think. I need time to understand what I feel, what I want to do, how to do the least damage possible to everyone, starting with you.

His eyes harden a bit.

—You can't want to do “least damage” and keep acting like this was an accident —he says—. You can't go back to him, like I was a midnight mistake.

That's where something explodes inside you too.

—And you? —you throw at him—. Don't you have anything to fix? Don't you have anyone to talk to tomorrow? Or is your conscience spotless because she got out of the car first?

Cheol goes still. You've hit the nail on the head.

He breathes deep.

—No, it's not spotless —he admits—. But at least I know I'm not going to show up tomorrow smiling like nothing happened.

Silence. Yours, and his.

He turns a bit, looks for his sweatshirt, pulls it over his head with tense movements.

—What are you doing? —you ask, with a thread of voice.

—I'm leaving —he says, without looking at you while he fastens his pants or puts on his shoes—. I need air. I need to not say anything I'll regret more.

—More? —you repeat, with a knot in your throat.

He stops, already dressed, hand on the living room door.

He turns to you for the last time that night.

—I'm not your plan B —he says, slowly, so each word sinks in—. I don't want to be the guy you sleep with when the other one fails you, while you decide if you stay with one or the other.

You shrink a bit. Not because you intend to use him, but because you know that's the fine line you're dancing on.

—That's not what you are —you whisper.

He shakes his head.

—Then prove it to me —he replies—. Not today. Not now. When the shock wears off, when you talk to him, when you talk to yourself. When you know what you really want… call me.

His gaze softens for half a second.

—I only ask one thing —he adds—. Don't come back to me just because you're broken. Come back because you've decided you want me. Not the idea of me.

And he leaves.

This time, no hug. No goodbye kiss.

Just the sound of the door closing and the echo of his absence.

You stay there, clothes half on, skin still marked by him, and a phrase hammering in your head:

“I'm not your plan B.”

The following days are a blur.

With your guy, the conversation you have the next day isn't easy or brief. But in any case, the result is the same: you break up with him.

No slamming doors this time. There's sadness, reproaches, and a dull sense of ending. You go home with a heavy body, but with one certainty: you can't stay with him pretending you don't feel what you feel for another.

With Cheol… you don't talk.

Not a message. Not a call.

You have the chat open a thousand times. You type “Hi”, delete it. You type “I left him”, delete that too. You don't want it to seem like you're doing it “for him” and at the same time… you are doing it, in part, for yourself and what you feel for him.

You skip a couple of group hangouts. You make excuses: work, tiredness, “I have a headache”. The truth is you don't dare see him, you don't know what face to put on, you don't know if he's with her, if he's left her, if he's angry, if he hates you, if he misses you.

One day, lying on the sofa with your phone in hand, you open Instagram almost out of habit.

And there you see it.

It's a photo on her feed. A recent photo: you can tell by the clothes, the place, the date.

Her and Cheol.

Her with sunglasses on her head, perfect smile; him beside her, arm over her shoulders, half leaning on her, in profile, with that smile you know so well. The background looks like one of those chic spots they sometimes go to, an event, some backstage anywhere.

The caption:

“It's always easy with you. 💫”

The comments full of “so cute”, “couple goals”, “I ship you”, “my favorite couple”.

You feel something twist inside you. Not just jealousy. It's something else:

It infuriates you.

Because you know for him it wasn't “just sex”. You saw it in his eyes, felt it in his hands, in his kisses, in his words. But that photo feels like a stab.

You start asking yourself ugly questions:

“Am I his plan B now?”

“Did he expect me to drop everything in 24 hours while he's taking photos with her?”

“What the fuck are we?”

And things don't get better when, a little later, Jeonghan sends you that same photo in a private message with a simple text:

“Have you seen this?”

No emojis. No jokes. Just that.

That, actually, is almost worse, because it makes it clear that he knows something's up.

You stare at the screen, with the photo there, Han's message, Cheol's chat empty for days.

And you know the next step is going to hurt:

Either talk to Cheol, or run into him at a group hangout, with all the tension on the table.

Days later, a message arrives in the common group:

Jeonghan: “Dinner at my place, bring whatever you want. And bring the drama too, it's been lacking lately.”

Your first impulse is to say no. Write “It doesn't work for me today, sorry.”

But you don't send it.

You've been avoiding everyone for days. Days locked in your head, with your breakup, with the image of Cheol and her on Instagram burned into your retina.

You look at yourself in the hallway mirror. You look tired, but not broken. And suddenly, you get angry at yourself.

“I can't keep running forever.”

You delete the excuse message.

You write:

“Okay. I'm coming.”

The responses come instantly:

Soonyoung: “YEEESSSSS” Mingyu: “Bring dessert or you don't get in” Jeonghan: “Confirmed: the circus opens its doors tonight.”

There's no direct message from Cheol. Not an emoji, not an “ok”. Nothing.

You spend the entire afternoon with a knot in your stomach.

In the end, you end up buying some dessert on the way, because your head isn't in the right place to cook. The trip to Jeonghan's house feels eternal.

When you ring the doorbell and hear the commotion behind the door, you feel like turning around. You don't.

Han opens with his usual smile.

—Look who deigns to appear —he says, giving you a hug that lasts a tad longer than normal—. I thought you'd fled to another country.

—I've been busy —you reply, vaguely.

He pulls away, looks you in the eyes for a second. He sees something, because he lowers his voice.

—We'll talk later, you and me —he whispers, and returns to his normal tone—. Come in, go on. Bring the food, or Mingyu will steal it from you in the hallway.

You enter.

Almost everyone is in the living room, soft music in the background, the table full of plates. Laughter, noise, that warm chaos as always.

And him.

Cheol is at one end of the sofa, with a beer in hand, talking to Minghao about something you don't hear. He's wearing a black sweatshirt, hair a bit messy. No sign of her nearby; at least, not in this room.

Your heart stops for a second when he looks up and sees you.

No automatic smile this time.

Just surprise. Then, something more contained. He sets down the beer, sits up a bit.

You don't greet each other from afar. You don't know how.

It's Jeonghan who breaks the tension.

—The missing one has arrived! —he announces—. Come on, applause, so she feels part of the family again.

They throw napkins at you, make jokes. You go around greeting one by one: hugs, cheek kisses, “how are you?”, “how's everything?”.

When you get to Cheol, things slow down.

You stand in front of him, with that half-second where you don't know what to do. In the end, you take the first step: you lean in, give him a quick hug, almost protocolary. It's not like before.

He reacts slowly, but wraps an arm around you. He smells the same as always, and that throws you off more than it should. His grip is brief, contained.

—Hi —he murmurs, so low only you hear it.

—Hi —you reply, pulling away.

Your eyes meet for one more instant. You notice the tiredness in his too. There are a thousand unspoken things there.

Before anyone notices too much, Mingyu shouts from the kitchen:

—Has anyone brought sweets or do I have permission to die of craving already?

—Me —you lift a bag—. I'll leave it on the counter.

You escape to the kitchen with that excuse.

Despite the commotion, the tension between you and Cheol is noticeable.

You don't seek each other out as much as before, but you don't blatantly avoid each other either. It's like an invisible magnetic field attracting and repelling you at the same time.

You sit in a corner of the sofa. Cheol, in a chair across from the table. There are people in between, but your eyes cross occasionally without meaning to.

Jeonghan observes everything, of course.

At one point, he plops down next to you with a bowl of chips.

—You've missed episodes —he says, taking one.

—Don't give me spoilers —you reply, not really in the mood.

—Hard, because you're in the main plot —he answers, glancing sideways at Cheol.

You usually play along. Not today.

—I'm not in the mood for nonsense, Han —you murmur, resting your elbows on your knees.

He gets a bit more serious.

—Have you seen the photo? —he asks, direct.

—Yes —you admit, without looking at him—. I saw it the other day.

—And you? —he adds, quietly—. Have you posted anything?

You laugh without humor.

—I've uploaded the breaking news of my love life to my head, for now —you reply—. That's enough for me.

Jeonghan sighs.

—You know I'm not going to stop poking until this blows up, right?

—I know —you answer—. And part of me hates you for it.

—And part of you thanks me for it —he adds, with a half-smile—. Even if it's later.

He gets up, leaving you with that idea in your head.

On the other side of the room, Minghao sits near Cheol.

—You two don't look the same as before —he says, calm, looking at his phone.

—We're fine —Cheol replies, almost on reflex.

—No —Minghao looks up—. You're not. Neither you nor her.

Cheol squeezes the can in his hand.

—Since when are you a psychologist?

—Since I know you two —the other answers, without malice—. If you're going to keep pretending nothing's wrong, at least don't do it so badly. You give yourself away every time you look up to see if she's laughing or not.

Cheol doesn't respond. He takes a long sip.

At some point in the night, you decide you need air. You get up, go to the kitchen for water, even though you're not thirsty.

You turn on the faucet, fill a glass, rest your hands on the counter, breathe deep.

You don't hear when he enters. You just notice his presence.

Cheol leans on the doorframe for a few seconds, watching you from behind. Then he approaches slowly.

—Can I? —he asks, pointing to the glass cabinet.

You nod without looking at him.

—It's your house as much as mine —you reply, on autopilot, like you always said before. Today the phrase sounds different.

He grabs a glass, serves himself water too. You stay for a moment in the kitchen, side by side, with the counter in front as the only barrier.

The noise from the living room comes muffled.

Uncomfortable silence.

In the end, you both break it at the same time:

—I…

—You…

You laugh softly, without joy.

—You talk —you say.

—No, you talk —he says, almost at the same time.

You breathe.

You're the one who dives in.

—I've broken up with him —you blurt out, suddenly.

Cheol looks at you. It takes him a second to process it.

—When?

—A few days ago —you reply—. Right after… —you don't finish the sentence. No need.

His eyes soften a bit.

—Are you okay? —he asks, sincere.

You shrug.

—Define “okay” for me —you try to joke—. I haven't died, if that's it. But… it was ugly. And I don't even know how to feel yet. It was the right thing. But it hurts anyway.

He nods, looking at his glass.

—I… —he starts, and you hesitate for a microsecond if you want to hear it—. I'm not with her. Not fully.

You look at him, eyebrow raised.

—“Not fully”?

—We've… paused —he searches for the word—. We haven't put a super clear label on it. We argue. A lot. She knows something's not right. That our thing isn't balanced. That I'm somewhere else half the time.

The image of the photo on Instagram pierces you.

—It didn't look very “paused” in that photo —it slips out, more acidic than you wanted.

He looks at you, surprised by the tone.

—It's work —he says—. An event. Just because there's a photo doesn't mean we're okay.

—The words in the caption sure seemed like it —you retort, unable to help it—. “It's always easy with you”. “Couple goals”. How nice everything.

Cheol clenches his jaw.

—And what was I supposed to do? —he replies, a bit defensive—. Put “MY LIFE IS CHAOS BUT HERE I AM SMILING”?

—No —you cross your arms—. Just… I don't know. Seeing you still there, so normal, posing with her, while I was a mess, newly single, not knowing what to think about what happened… it hurt.

The last words crack a bit.

He lowers his gaze to the glass. Sets it on the counter.

—And why didn't you tell me? —he asks, softer—. You haven't written. You haven't called. I haven't either, I know. We've both been… fucked up. But if you were so bad… why did I have to guess it from your absence and not from you?

You bite the inside of your cheek.

—Because I didn't know what to say —you admit—. How to tell you “I left my boyfriend and I don't know where that leaves me with you”. Because I didn't want you to think I did it just for you. And at the same time… I did it for you too. Do you know how fucked up that is?

He lifts his gaze, this time locking it on yours.

—And do you know how fucked up it is —he replies— to sleep with the person you've wanted for years, tell her you don't want to be her plan B, leave so as not to pressure her… and see there's not even one message after? Not one.

His voice isn't harsh. It's hurt.

You shrink a bit.

—You were right —you whisper—. When you left. You were right about what you said.

—I didn't say it to be right —he denies—. I said it because… I don't know how to be “the other one”. Not with you.

Silence.

You run a hand over your face.

—I don't want you to be “the other one” —you murmur—. Nor “the meanwhile”. Nor “the one-night mistake”.

—And yet… —he raises his hands slightly, not in reproach, but in a gesture of “look where we are”—. We're here. You single, me half with another person, with something huge between us that neither wants to look straight at fully.

You hold his gaze.

—I left him —you repeat about your ex—. Because I couldn't stay with him knowing what I feel for you. Even if I don't have it clear yet how to handle this.

—And I'm leaving the other girl little by little —he replies—. She's understanding it, but she doesn't deserve it either. Dragging her while I finish assuming what's there with you.

That he says “what's there with you” makes you swallow.

—Then… —the question comes out on its own—. What are we now?

His laugh is brief, without humor.

—Right now —he says— we're two idiots who love each other and don't know what to do with it.

That phrase, so simple, strips you more than any other.

—I… —you start—. I don't want to lose you.

—Me neither —he replies, quick.

Your hands are a short distance apart on the counter. A couple of centimeters. You feel the impulse to take his. He seems to be in the same.

You don't.

—I don't want to rush into saying “come on, now we're this, official, done” —you continue— and then discover we don't know how to function like that.

—Neither do I —he nods—. But I also don't want to stay in this eternal limbo where you're not my friend from before… nor my something from now.

The word “something” hangs in the air.

—And if we give ourselves… —you search for the term— a bit more time to sort our heads? Without other people. Without partners. Just you and me. And the rest of the group.

—Friends who slept together once? —he ironizes.

—Friends who slept together once and maybe… —you bite your lip—. Maybe want more. But with our heads a bit more in place.

He looks at you with intensity.

—And if, in that time, someone else appears? —he asks, quietly—. Another him, another her. What are you going to do.

—I don't want anyone else —you reply, without hesitating this time.

The clarity of your answer surprises him.

—I want… —you don't finish the sentence, but no need.

He comes a tad closer, just one step, without touching you.

—I don't want anyone else either —he admits—. But I'm going to need that, when you decide to take the step… you take it for real. Not halfway. Not with one foot in and one out. I don't want to be your “let's see what happens”. I want to be your decision.

You swallow.

—Then I need —you say— you to hold on a bit more. And to trust me. That I'm not going to stand by watching you go back to her, nor look for another him to fill gaps. Even if my head takes longer than we'd like to stop being afraid.

He stays silent, looking at you.

You can tell he wants to touch you. Hug you. Kiss you. You see it in his tense shoulders, in the almost imperceptible movement of his hands.

In the end, he nods slowly.

—I don't promise to be patient forever —he says, with a sad smile—. But… I'm going to try. A bit more.

You realize you're holding your breath. You let it out slowly.

—And I'm going to try not to run every time this scares me —you add—. And talk to you. Not just lock myself at home looking at your photos with another and getting angry in silence.

—You could start by deleting the screenshot you took of the post —he says, half joking, half serious.

Your face gives you away.

—I didn't—

—Of course you did —he laughs softly—. I know you too well.

That “I know you too well” loosens the knot a bit.

You stay looking at each other a few more seconds. No kiss this time. No hug. But yes, a different feeling: you've put words, even if not solutions.

From the living room, Soonyoung shouts:

—Are you eating something without us?

—If there's secret dessert, share! —adds Seungkwan.

You step half a pace away from Cheol, with a small smile.

—We have an audience —you murmur.

—We've always had one —he replies, rolling his eyes.

Before leaving the kitchen, you dare to do something small but important: you brush his hand with yours, barely a second, like a silent promise of “I'm not running”.

He lowers his gaze, sees the gesture, and responds by squeezing your fingers for an instant, quick, before separating.

—Let's go —he says—. Or Jeonghan will come to record.

A couple of weeks pass since that conversation in the kitchen.

There are no grand declarations, but there are small changes:

There are no other partners in the way anymore.

You talk more, even if sometimes it's silly messages.

In the group, you try to act “normal”… but nothing is really the same.

One night, you're all having dinner at a usual spot, a long table, noise, shared plates. You've arrived before Cheol, you've sat between Soonyoung and Jeonghan.

He enters a bit later.

You notice him before seeing him: the energy changes, several voices greet him at once.

—Look who deigns —says Seungkwan—.

—Traffic —Cheol excuses himself, and when his eyes find you, his face softens a bit—. Hey.

There's an empty seat right across from you. He could sit there.

He doesn't.

He walks around the table and drops into the empty chair next to you, without asking. As natural as always… but now with another weight.

You don't say anything, but inside you appreciate that gesture.

The conversation flows: work, anecdotes, plans. You listen, laugh, comment. Sometimes you forget there's an elephant at the table; other times, you feel it breathing down your neck.

At a moment when everyone is distracted arguing about what dessert to order, you feel something under the table.

Cheol's hand, seeking yours.

He doesn't look at you. He keeps talking to Mingyu about something else, as if nothing. But his fingers brush yours, slowly, waiting for permission.

It takes you a couple of seconds to react. Then you turn your palm and intertwine your fingers with his, very slowly, without looking up.

His hand squeezes yours gently.

It's the first time you've held hands like this in front of everyone. No one sees it. Or so you think. Jeonghan, obviously, raises an eyebrow from the other side of the table, but says nothing. Only a minimal smile escapes him.

Cheol leans a bit toward you, as if he's going to tell you something about the food.

His voice reaches you low, just for you.

—How are you handling it? —he asks, disguising the question as a normal comment.

You know he's not talking about work. Nor the dinner.

You squeeze his fingers a bit more under the table.

—Good —you reply, glancing at him sideways, the corner of your lip lifting—. Clearer.

His eyes seek yours for a few seconds, as if checking that you're serious. He nods barely.

—Me too —he says.

There's no more. Not here, not now. But the message is sent: you're not in doubt, you're not wavering between options. You're choosing.

And that gives him a dangerous calm, because now that he's more sure of what you want… he's going to allow himself to desire you more openly.

Mingyu, as always, is the culprit.

“Party at my house on Saturday. Dress code: mafia / suit / handsome gangster. And we play Mafia. No no's accepted.”

The group lights up instantly. Memes, outfit ideas, bets on who will go the most ridiculous.

You find the idea amusing. You have a black dress in the closet that you almost never use: body-hugging, elegant neckline, a side slit that leaves your leg exposed when you walk. A blazer on top, heels. Makeup a bit heavier, sharp eyeliner. Sparkly earrings.

You look at yourself in the mirror before leaving and think, for the first time in many weeks:

“I look spectacular.”

And, deep down, you know a part of you is dressing up thinking of him.

You arrive at Mingyu's house and there's already noise, colored lights, laughter. You open and Soonyoung greets you with a ridiculous hat and suspenders.

—Oh my god —he says, looking you up and down—. The mafia mom.

—Shut up —you reply, though a smile escapes you.

You go out to the living room.

And there he is.

Cheol is wearing a dark suit, black shirt, no tie, a couple of buttons unbuttoned. The jacket fits him perfectly, hands in pockets, defined neck, that leader air that in the mafia context suits him too well.

He's laughing with Vernon about something, but when he sees you enter, he literally stops mid-sentence. His gaze runs over your body from top to bottom, without hiding it this time.

His expression goes through surprise, admiration… and something clearly darker.

He approaches.

—…wow —is the first thing he lets out, laughing through his nose—. Did you come like this on purpose to fuck up my night?

—Good evening to you too —you reply, trying to sound casual, though your heart is racing—. I just followed the theme.

—You are the theme —he murmurs, lower, coming a bit closer—. Are you aware of what you're wearing?

You burst out laughing.

—It's a dress, Cheol. I'm not naked.

—Mentally yes, you've left me naked —he answers, in a joking tone but with a serious look.

You lean toward him, playing.

—Do you like it?

—I love it —he replies honestly—. A lot.

He laughs after, to lighten it.

—You look spectacular —he adds, softer—. Seriously.

You smile at him genuinely.

—You don't look bad either, mafioso.

—I knew I had to put on a suit for you to look at me like that —he jokes.

Mingyu interrupts you, shouting:

—Come on, sit down! We're starting Mafia before Soonyoung climbs on the table.

You all sit in a circle. Cards, lights a bit dimmed, game atmosphere.

You end up right next to Cheol, as if pushed by chance and a bit by Jeonghan who gestures for you to take that chair.

You start playing. Cities, mafiosos, fake debates.

Every time Cheol speaks, he brushes your knee with his. Sometimes it's an accidental touch; others, clearly not so much. You're hyperaware of everything: his hand resting on his thigh so close to yours, his low voice when he theorizes about who the mafia is, the looks he gives you from time to time with an almost private smile.

In one of the rounds, you're mafia and he's a citizen.

You kill him in secret.

When he “dies”, he puts a hand on his heart, theatrical.

—I've been killed by someone I trust —he says, looking at you blatantly.

You stick your tongue out at him.

—You trust people too much —you retort.

The others laugh, but Jeonghan lets out a:

—Deep —with a suspicious tone.

Later, during a pause in the game, you approach the improvised bar for something to drink. Cheol sticks to you like a shadow.

—Seriously —he whispers, close to your ear—. You're overdoing it.

—With what? —you ask, innocent.

—With that dress. With that eyeliner. With the way you look at me and know exactly what you're doing to me.

His reproachful tone is playful, but his eyes aren't.

—You're not helping either —you reply—. You've been stuck to me all night.

—Because if I sit far away I spend the time turning my head to see you —he admits—. And this way at least I save energy.

Minghao passes by, hearing only the last sentence.

—How romantic —he comments, and leaves.

The night advances. The music goes up. Some dance, others keep playing. You go to the bathroom to retouch your lipstick. You look in the mirror and see your cheeks a bit flushed, not just from the alcohol, but from everything you're feeling.

You leave the bathroom, still putting the lipstick away in your purse, when someone grabs your wrist in the hallway.

You turn, surprised.

It's Cheol.

He doesn't say anything at first. He just looks at you as if he's been holding back all night.

The hallway light is dimmer. The noise from the living room isn't as loud, it filters faintly.

—I was looking for you —he says, softly.

—I went to the bathroom, I didn't flee the country —you reply in a whisper, half amused, half nervous.

He looks at you a few more seconds, in silence.

Then, without giving you time to process, he takes a step forward and gently corners you against the hallway wall. One hand on one side of your head, the other on your waist, his eyes locked on yours.

There's no aggression, but there is urgency.

—I've been holding back all night —he murmurs, voice low and hoarse—. Seeing you like this. Laughing. Touching my leg accidentally. Looking at me like… like if…

He doesn't finish the sentence. You cut him off with a whisper:

—Like what.

He swallows.

—Like you were already mine —it escapes, honest.

You don't have time to respond. He leans in and kisses you.

It's not like the kiss from that night at your place, loaded with pain. This is pure contained desire. His mouth falls on yours with hunger. He presses you against the wall, sticking his body to yours, one of his knees slipping between yours without giving you barely space to think.

You respond as if you'd been waiting for exactly this.

Your hand goes straight to his nape, tangling in his hair, pulling him toward you. The kiss turns quick, wet, with your lips opening under his, fitting perfectly. You feel his hot breath against your cheek, his chest rising and falling accelerated.

He pulls away for an instant, just to speak against your lips.

—I promise —he whispers— that I'm trying to behave. But you come out with that dress and ask me to be a saint.

You laugh low, breathless.

—I don't want you to be a saint —you whisper back.

That completely throws him off. He kisses you again, deeper. His hands go down your sides, caressing the fabric of the dress as if it bothered him that it's there, getting in the way.

For a few seconds you forget where you are. That there are people twenty meters away. Only his kisses exist, your back against the wall, the rub of his suit against your almost naked body under the fabric.

Until you hear, far away, Soonyoung's voice:

—Has anyone seen Cheol? It's his turn to be the master!

You pull apart suddenly, breathing hard. He rests his forehead on yours for an instant, chuckling.

—Fuck… —he murmurs—. This is not a good idea at all.

—But it's not bad either —you add, still with swollen lips.

He looks at you, eyes dark and bright.

—I'm going to lose my mind with you —he says, without drama, just stating a fact.

He gives you one last short kiss, more chaste, on the corner of your lips.

—Let's go before they come looking for us here —he adds.

You head back to the living room as if nothing happened. Or at least, you try. You have to spend a second in the bathroom to check your mouth in the mirror and make sure you don't look freshly devoured.

The night ends late. People half asleep on the sofa, others cleaning up, promises of “we'll do this again at another house”.

Cheol, as so many times, says:

—I'll take her.

No one questions it. It's the most normal thing in the world.

You go down to the garage. The echo of your steps sounds louder in the empty structure. The air is colder, and your skin prickles under the coat.

You get in the car. He starts it. For the first few minutes, there's a strange calm, almost domestic. The radio plays low, a song you don't know.

But the atmosphere is charged.

Your legs are still crossed, the dress rides up a bit when you sit, leaving your thigh exposed. You feel Cheol's fleeting gaze, trying to focus on the road and failing at times.

He breaks the silence with humor.

—The hallway thing didn't help much for me to drive calmly —he says, half laughing.

—You started it —you reply, arching an eyebrow.

—I don't deny it —he admits—. But if you bite your lip again like in the game, I'll park the car right here.

You look at him in profile, bite your lip on purpose.

He laughs, incredulous.

—You're cruel —he whispers.

Halfway through the drive, at a traffic light, without saying anything, he places his hand on your bare thigh.

It's not a casual brush. It's a slow caress, his fingers going up a bit on the skin, squeezing lightly. His eyes keep looking forward, but his jaw is tense.

—I've wanted to touch you all night —he confesses—. Properly. Not just like “we're friends and we hug”.

Your skin burns under his fingers.

—Well, now you can —you reply, in a low voice.

His hand squeezes a bit more, fingers sliding a little under the edge of the dress. The car keeps moving, but the atmosphere inside is on another level.

He doesn't respond with words. He just turns his head a bit, looks at you for a second —eyes dark, almost black under the street lights— and then back to the road. But his hand goes up. Slowly. Deliberate. His fingers brush the lace edge of your panties and stop there, pressing, not entering yet.

—Fuck, you're soaked —he growls low, as if surprised and not at the same time—. All fucking night with that dress, showing legs, smiling at everyone but me as if you didn't know what you were doing to me.

You try to breathe normally, but the air inside the car is already heavy, dense, smells like his cologne and the tension that's been building for hours. He slips a finger under the fabric, just one, and slides it between your lips, collecting the wetness without hurry.

—Cheol… —you whisper, opening your legs a bit more without realizing.

—Don't talk yet —he orders, voice deep, authoritative—. I just want to feel how wet you are for me. Because it's for me, right?

You nod, unable to form words when he pushes the finger all the way in with one slow thrust. The car swerves a little; he curses under his breath and corrects the wheel with the other hand, but doesn't withdraw the right one. On the contrary, he adds a second finger and starts moving them inside you, slowly, deep, as if he had all the time in the world.

You grip the seat, nails digging into the leather. Every time he curls his fingers, he hits that spot that makes you arch your back. The dress has ridden up to your waist already, panties pushed to the side, and he's fucking you with his hand while driving through almost deserted streets.

—I've been hard all night —he confesses, voice rough—. Watching you move in that dress, imagining how I'd rip it off you later. I wanted to bend you over the first table I found and shove my cock in you until you screamed my name so everyone knew you're mine.

His fingers speed up, the wet sound of your pussy filling the car's silence. You moan without control, hips moving on their own against his hand.

—Not here… —you try to say, but it comes out as a gasp.

—Yes here —he cuts—. Now. Because I can't take it anymore.

He turns the wheel sharply and pulls the car into a dark alley, barely lit by a distant streetlight. He turns off the engine, unbuckles his belt and yours with quick, impatient movements. He grabs you by the nape and kisses you with hunger, teeth clashing, tongue invading your mouth as if he wanted to devour you.

In two seconds he has you on top of him, the seat reclined back. The dress hiked all the way up, panties ripped off with a tug —he didn't even bother to take them off—. His cock already out, hard, thick, brushing your entrance while he holds you by the hips with force that will surely leave bruises.

—Mine —he growls against your neck, biting the skin—. This pussy is mine. Say it.

—Yours —you reply breathless, lowering onto him at once, feeling how he fills you to the hilt.

He lets out an animal moan, hands digging into your ass as he impales you over and over. The car rocks with each brutal thrust, the windows starting to fog. He fucks you like he wants to break you, like he wants to etch himself inside you forever.

—Harder —you beg, scratching his nape, pulling his hair.

And he obeys. He lifts you and slams you down on his cock over and over, sweaty, breathing heavy against your chest, biting the fabric of the dress to reach a nipple and suck it hard.

—You're going to come on my cock —he orders—. And then I'm going to come inside, so deep you feel it tomorrow every time you sit. So you remember who fucked you.

You explode first, screaming his name, walls clenching around him as you tremble on top of him. He follows seconds later, growling against your neck, filling you with erratic thrusts until there's nothing left.

You stay like that for a while, panting, sticky, with the smell of sex impregnating the whole car.

After, he kisses you slow, almost tender, but with his hand still on your thigh as if saying: this isn't over.

—Now I'll really take you home —he says finally, voice hoarse—. But tomorrow you come to mine. And this time I won't let you leave.

He starts the car again, but it takes him a few seconds. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, breathes deep, as if he needed to regain control of his own body.

Then he turns the key, the engine vibrates again, the dashboard lights illuminate his profile in blue.

You're still with the dress askew, sensitive skin, the pulse still in your ears. You readjust as best you can, but his hand stays on your thigh, thumb drawing slow circles, possessive, as if he needed to remind himself —and remind you— of what just happened.

The car gets moving. The city passes outside, lights, traffic lights, shadows. Inside, the air is still dense, but there's something different: less urgency, more… strange calm.

—Do you really think I'll be able to sleep after this? —you murmur, still with your voice affected.

He laughs low.

—I won't —he admits—. But at least I want you to get to your bed in one piece.

You look at him in profile.

—The thing about tomorrow… —you say, going back to his phrase—. Was it a threat or a promise?

—Both —he answers without hesitation—. Tomorrow you come to mine. No group. No excuses. No one calling in the middle.

You swallow. That clarity gives you goosebumps.

—And if I chicken out —you provoke, more from nerves than real desire to run.

His hand squeezes your thigh a bit more.

—You're not going to chicken out —he replies calmly—. You squeezed my hand under the table, you got in my car after the hallway thing, and you let me… —he bites his tongue, lowers his voice a bit—, let this happen. You know perfectly well where you're going.

You don't contradict him. Because he's right.

You do the rest of the drive almost in silence. The radio plays in the background, but neither pays attention. You go with your head resting on the headrest, looking from time to time at his hands on the wheel, his marked knuckles, the vein in his neck still a bit swollen.

Every so often, his eyes slide toward you, quick, as if checking that you're still there.

When he finally parks near your building, he turns off the engine, but doesn't move.

The street is quiet. Barely a car passing in the distance, a couple of streetlights flickering.

He turns toward you, resting his elbow on the headrest.

—This isn't “just once” anymore —he says, no beating around the bush.

There's no reproach, it's a statement.

You hold his gaze.

—I know —you reply—. And I don't want it to be either.

He nods once, as if that phrase loosens an internal knot.

—Tomorrow we talk seriously —he adds—. About everything.

—Leader's promise? —you try to soften.

He leans toward you, gives you another kiss, slow, without hurry. Nothing like what happened a while ago. This one tastes like… decision. Like affection.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on yours for a second.

—Promise of everything —he murmurs.

You keep that etched in when you get out of the car. The cold night air hits your legs, you readjust the dress, pick up your purse. He gets out too to walk you to the building entrance, as always.

You walk slowly.

At the door, you stop. The building lights illuminate you softly.

—What time tomorrow? —you ask, almost shy.

—Whenever you want —he says—. I have the day off. I'm… —he laughs a bit— available for you to come turn my life upside down.

You give him a soft tap on the chest with your fingertips.

—Your life was already upside down before you met me.

—Yes, but now I like the chaos more —he answers.

He kisses you again, short, on the corner of your lips. A small, intimate gesture that makes your knees tremble a bit more than everything before.

—Go up —he says finally, stepping back—. Tomorrow text me when you leave home.

—Okay.

You turn, enter the building. Before the door closes, you look back.

He's still there, hands in pockets, leaning slightly on the car, watching you. He gives you a nod with his chin, a small smile, as if saying “go easy”.

You go up with your heart racing, but not from guilt this time. From expectation.

The next morning arrives with less chaos than you expected.

You wake up late, your body still a bit heavy, invisible marks of his hands on your skin. You stay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, mentally reviewing everything that happened.

It's too much to process all at once, but there's something that keeps coming back to the surface:

“I don't want anyone else.”

“Now you come to mine. And this time I won't let you leave.”

You grab your phone. You have a message from him from twenty minutes ago:

“I'm alive. Coffee, food, bad series… choose. Come whenever you want.”

You bite your lip, feel that mix of nerves and excitement you haven't felt in a long time.

You write:

“Shower, coffee and I'm on my way. Get ready.”

He replies almost instantly:

“I've been ready for weeks.”

You laugh alone in bed.

You get up, shower, choose comfortable clothes but ones you know he likes: something simple, t-shirt and jeans, little makeup. You don't need a disguise; it's not group night, it's your day.

You leave home with your heart racing and a new feeling: you're not going to see “just” your best friend. Nor “just” someone you've hooked up with a couple of times. You're going to see that person with whom, finally, you're going to decide what you are.

You go down to the street with your heart racing. This time no taxi or anyone else's car: you walk, like the many times you went “just to see him for a bit”. The path is the same. You aren't.

When you reach his building, your hands are slightly sweaty. You press the buzzer. His voice, distorted by the intercom, makes you smile without meaning to.

—Who is it?

—The chaos on legs —you reply.

—Come up —he says, and you hear the buzz of the door opening.

He opens in socks, sweatpants and white t-shirt. Hair a bit messy, face washed. Smells like freshly brewed coffee.

For a second, the image is so familiar that it makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

—Hi —he says, leaning on the frame, looking you up and down with that mix of affection and desire he no longer tries to hide.

—Hi —you reply.

You don't know if to hug like always, give a kiss, high-five. He solves the dilemma: he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest.

He hugs you tight. It's not a short, obligatory hug. It's long, one of those that realign your bones. You smell his neck, his soap, a trace of cologne.

—You came —he murmurs over your hair.

—I told you I was coming —you rest your chin on his chest—. You invited me. Quite insistently, too.

He laughs a bit.

—Come in —he says, letting you go slowly.

The midday light enters through the living room. There are two mugs on the coffee table, a series paused on the start menu, an open package of cookies. Everything screams “everyday”.

If you didn't know everything behind it, you could fool yourself into thinking it's “just another day”.

It's not.

You sit on the sofa, in your usual spot. He drops down next to you, leaving half a meter of space between you at first, as if you're testing each other.

He passes you a mug.

—Coffee to think better —he says.

—And if thinking doesn't suit us? —you joke, taking a sip.

—Then at least we'll be awake while we screw up —he replies.

You both smile. The humor eases the knot a bit, but doesn't untie it.

You set the mug on the table. He does too.

—Okay —you say, breathing deep—. You said “we talk about everything”.

—I did say that, yes —he nods, looking at you—. Where do you want to start?

You blank for a second. Then you decide that, for once, you're going to go straight.

—With the easy part —you murmur—: I love you.

You let it out like that, no anesthesia. You feel your heart rise to your throat after saying it. You'd never said those words to him in that way. Not like this.

He blinks once. He doesn't seem surprised, but touched.

—I love you too —he replies, without drama—. For a while now. More than I let myself admit, even to myself.

Short silence, heavy, but sweet.

—That's the only thing I have 100% clear —you add—. The rest… are layers.

He nods slowly.

—The layers —he repeats—. Come on. One by one.

—I broke up with him —you say—. I told you more or less, but… it was final. I don't want to go back there. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. And yes, you're partly to blame —you look at him—, but the biggest part was mine. I wasn't there anymore for a long time, even if I pretended.

Cheol listens without interrupting.

—I could tell you I'm sorry —he says then—, but it wouldn't be entirely true.

—Why? —you ask, curious.

—Because if he hadn't snapped, if you hadn't seen what he said to you… maybe you'd still be in something that didn't fulfill you —he answers—. And I'd still be lying to myself.

You bite your lip.

—And you? —you ask—. The photo? Her? What's there now?

He runs a hand over his nape.

—We're not together —he replies—. Not as “together”. We weren't already when she posted the photo, actually. There are things left to close properly, talk calmly, but… —he looks at you—. I'm not going to continue with her. I can't. Not after all this. And it's not “for you” only, it's for me too. It would be hurting her on purpose.

—I don't want us to become two people who use others as cushions —you murmur.

—Me neither —he says—. We already have enough mess between us two.

—I'm terrified —you admit, without frills—. That this won't work. That we won't know how to be anything else than “friends who love each other a lot and hook up”. That we'll hurt each other. That one day you'll wake up and decide it wasn't that big a deal, that you were confused.

He leans a bit toward you, elbows on knees, hands clasped.

—I have fear —he replies— that you'll get scared and run again. Or that you'll feel I'm suffocating you, that I'm asking for more than you can give right now.

He looks you in the eyes.

—And I also have fear that, by not taking the step, we'll stay halfway forever.

—Halfway how? —you ask.

—You with your “I don't know”, me with my “maybe later”, both of us touching and loving each other but without daring to say “this is it”. And that, in the long run, hurts more than screwing up trying.

You think about it. He's right. You knew it, but hearing it out loud puts it in another place.

—I don't want half measures with you —you say in the end.

He allows himself a small smile.

—Me neither.

You lean back a bit on the sofa, turning toward him.

—And the others? —you ask—. The group, people, the world. You know how things are. Your life isn't as… quiet as mine.

He shrugs.

—The group already knows halfway —he admits—. Or at least, they've smelled it for a thousand years. Jeonghan has been shipping us since before we did. Minghao has already given me two passive-aggressive talks. It won't catch them so by surprise.

—And the outside stuff? —you insist—. Rumors, photos, people opining…

He sighs.

—That worries me less than losing you —he says—. I swear. Is it going to be a mess? Yes. Will there be people talking? Of course. Will it be easy? No.

He looks at you with that seriousness that makes you tremble a bit.

—That's why I need to know if you're willing to hold on with me —he adds—. Not alone, not against the whole world. With me, with them. And with your things too. You're not just “the girl who's with me”, you have your job, your life. I don't want to step on it.

It catches you a bit off guard that he thinks about that too.

—I'm worried about the opposite —you confess—: becoming just “Cheol's girl”. That people stop seeing my stuff to see me just stuck to you.

—If it happens, we fight it —he replies, sure—. You're not going to be “stuck to me”. You know me: I'll push you forward when I can. And if someone disrespects your stuff, I'll eat them with potatoes.

You laugh, imagining Cheol fighting internet comments.

—How romantic —you joke.

—I know —he smiles—. I'm a charm.

The laughter lightens the serious conversation just enough.

In the end, the layers end and the essential remains.

You turn fully toward him, put one leg up on the sofa, rest your elbow on the backrest.

—So… —you start—. What are we?

He holds your gaze. He doesn't run, doesn't joke.

—We're you and me —he says first—. And that's already a lot.

You give him a look.

—Don't come at me with a zen answer, leader. I need words.

—Words are scary —he replies, but gives in quick—. But okay.

He breathes deep.

—I want to be with you —he says—. Not as “friend who sometimes sleeps with you when he has a bad day”. As…

He gets stuck for a second, laughs, embarrassed.

—Say it —you encourage, soft.

—As boyfriend, fuck —he lets out—. As partner. As call it whatever you want, but so if someone asks me “what is she to you?”, I don't have to invent a metaphor. I can say: “she's the person I'm with”.

Your chest makes a weird click.

—Do you want to be my boyfriend, Cheol? —you ask, in a low voice, but with half a smile.

He rolls his eyes.

—I knew you'd make me say it —he complains, with affection.

—I'm asking you seriously —you nudge him with your knee.

He composes himself. Wipes his hands imaginarily on his thighs.

—Yes —he replies—. I want to be your boyfriend. I want you to be my girlfriend. I want everything that implies with you. The good and the scary.

Your eyes water a bit without warning. You don't cry fully, but the emotion rises.

—I want that too —you say—. To be with you. To call you my boyfriend. For you to call me your girlfriend. And… see what we do with all this without hiding.

Something falls into place with that phrase.

There are no applauses, no fireworks. But inside, things rearrange: you're no longer “a complicated mess”, nor “a painful ambiguity”. You're something that has a name.

He approaches slowly, closing the space left on the sofa.

—Can I do something cheesy now? —he asks.

—Depends on the level of cheesy —you reply.

He puts a hand on your face, thumb caressing your cheek. He looks at you with so much tenderness that it makes you want to hide.

—I can kiss you as my girlfriend —he says, in a low voice.

Your laugh comes out choppy.

—Yes, that… that's allowed.

He kisses you. No hurry, no urgency. It's soft, sweet, a bit clumsy at first from the nerves. His lips move over yours as if memorizing something he has a whole life ahead to repeat.

You grab his t-shirt, closing your eyes, letting yourself fall into the feeling that, for the first time, you're not doing something forbidden. You're doing what's right.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on yours.

—Fuck —he murmurs, laughing softly—. This feels really good.

—A lot —you agree.

You don't spend the rest of the day talking only about deep things. You'd be incapable.

After that conversation, he puts on the series he had prepared. A fun trash, perfect for background. He serves you more coffee, prepares you something to eat, scolds you because you haven't had a decent breakfast.

At one point, while he's in the kitchen fiddling with the pan, you get up and approach from behind. You wrap your arms around his waist, rest your cheek on his back.

—What are you doing? —he asks, smiling without turning.

—Hugging my boyfriend while he cooks —you reply, testing the word out loud.

He laughs, leans back a bit to press closer to you.

—Say it again —he asks.

—My boyfriend —you whisper, against his t-shirt.

—I'm going to get too used to that —he says, satisfied.

He turns in your hug, careful not to drop anything, and steals a quick kiss from you, tasting like whatever he's cooking.

—This is the B side of being with me —he jokes—. Lots of drama, but as compensation, good food.

—I accept the pack —you answer.

When you return to the sofa with the plates, already more relaxed, another topic surfaces underneath.

—When do we tell the others? —you ask, poking food with the fork.

—Soon —he replies—. But we can have a few days just ours, if you want. Without announcing it like it's a comeback.

You laugh.

—No “boyfriend teaser” —you add.

—Exactly —he smiles—. Though Jeonghan is going to say he knew since prehistory.

You know not everything will be easy from here, but, for the first time, you feel you're going toward that together. Not on opposite sides of the same line.

Cheol looks at you in a moment of silence, with the TV remote in hand, the series paused.

—If at any point this gets too much for you… —he says, serious—. Tell me. Don't swallow it alone. Don't disappear again.

—Only if you promise the same —you reply—. No eating problems alone “to protect me”.

He nods.

—Deal.

You hook pinkies, like you did with silly things before. Now that gesture seems like a contract.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990

@cherrylovescheol

[dreamon8]

SEUNGCHEOL | READY TO LOVE?

PAIRING: Seungcheol! x f!reader

THIS IS PART 1 OF 2 OF THIS STORY.

CONTENT: Friends to lovers, Slow burn + mutual pining, Best friends with insane chemistry, Idiots in love / emotional idiots.

WARNING: SMUT, . This is 18+ only; reader discretion advised.

SUMMARY: You were “a friend of a friend” until you became Seungcheol's best friend: late-night ramen, edits in your living room, absolute trust, and zero (conscious) intention of anything more. Everything gets complicated when you start dating the guy from the café, and out of pride and fear, Cheol also gets into a relationship with a younger girl. Crossed jealousy, Jeonghan's poisonous comments, and group games bring to light that your complicity is not “just friendship.” A dinner with all the couples, a game of charades, a brutal argument with your boyfriend, and another with Cheol's girlfriend end up leading you to a night where you finally stop denying the obvious… even though neither of you is prepared for the consequences.

It shouldn’t have been more than a “nice to meet you” and a handshake.

At first, you were just “a friend of a friend of a friend.” The kind of person who shows up to a random gathering once and then disappears. In fact, when you walked into that bar that night, you were convinced no one would pay much attention to you. You were tired, just craving a beer and not much else.

“Guys, this is my friend” your friend introduces you, nudging you forward a little. “The one I told you about, the one who works in social media.”

There’s noise, laughter, glasses clinking. A big group. You smile out of politeness, wave your hand. Among all those faces, there’s one you’ve seen from afar many times, but never this close.

Seungcheol.

You’re not really from his world. You don’t come from cameras, stages, or spotlights. Your life happens more in front of a computer screen than a TV one. But he looks at you like that doesn’t matter at all.

“I’m Cheol” he says, as if you weren’t going to know who he is. He offers his hand, and you shake it. “I know” you reply, a small nervous laugh slipping out. “But nice to meet you anyway.”

He laughs too.

“I like her” he comments, turning to the others. “She’s one of us already.”

You’re not. Not yet. But that will change faster than you expect.

The first few months are a mix of last-minute plans, messages in group chats you don’t fully understand, and names that take time to match to faces. But there are two constants:

You always end up sitting near Cheol.

You always feel comfortable by his side, even when you’re not talking.

There’s no weird tension. No butterflies, at least not the kind you recognize as dangerous. He’s just… someone you can breathe easily around.

One night, you’re all at Mingyu’s place. Enough food to feed an army, loud music, that typical feeling of organized chaos. You’re standing in the kitchen, struggling to open a bottle with a stubborn opener.

“You’ve been fighting with that for five minutes,” a voice says behind you.

You don’t even turn around.

“I’ve got it under control.” “Sure” Cheol laughs, reaching out his hand. “Give it here. If you break another bottle, Mingyu will kill us.”

You hand it to him; he opens it effortlessly and gives it back to you.

“Thanks, Hulk.” “Hulk? No, leader” he corrects, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Leader of what, if you can’t even boss your own socks around?” “Hey” he looks at you with fake offense. “I’m very respected.” “Uh-huh. Sure. Where? In your mirror?” you hold his gaze, amused.

You hear a loud laugh from the doorway. It’s Jeonghan, leaning against the frame, watching the scene like he’s binging a show.

“I love this. She talks to him the way we do” he says, delighted. “Cheol, you needed someone who doesn’t laugh at all your jokes.”

Cheol rolls his eyes.

“Go bother someone else, Han.” “And miss watching you two deny your obvious attraction since day one? Not a chance.” He grins from ear to ear.

“You’re delusional” you say at the same time Cheol says, “Shut up.”

You look at each other. Then you both look at Jeonghan.

“See?” he shrugs. “Matching couple already.”

You lift the bottle in a mock-threat.

“I’m going to throw this at your head.”

“Threats of violence already. This is progressing fast” he adds, pleased with himself, and disappears to annoy someone else.

Cheol huffs, but he’s smiling.

“Don’t listen to him.” “I won’t” you answer. “Besides, you’re not my type.” “Ouch.” He puts his hand over his chest again. “And you don’t even know how amazing I am yet.” “You’ve got fans for that” you take a swig of your beer. “I’m here to keep your ego in check.”

He nods, as if signing a contract.

“Deal.”

And without realizing it, that deal gets fulfilled.

Months go by. And suddenly, you’re no longer “the friend of a friend.” You’re “the one who’s always late but always brings food,” “the one who sits in a corner editing while everyone else is loud,” “the one who stays until the end because she lives near Cheol and you two go home together.”

Your days start to fall into a weird pattern:

Mornings working from home, filming and editing. Some afternoons at your friend’s café, helping out for those months. Nights that end with a message from Cheol:

“Ramen?” “I’ve had a shit day, can I come over?” “I’m bringing ice cream, open up.”

It becomes this running bit between you: he doesn’t ask if he can come, he just tells you when he’s arriving.

One of those nights, you’re in pajamas, hair up in a messy bun, a face mask on, when the doorbell rings.

“No way…” you mumble, but you’re already laughing.

You open the door without checking the peephole. It’s him, holding a plastic bag, cap pulled low.

“I brought ramen and drama” he announces, walking in like it’s his place. “Wow.” He looks you up and down. “You’re blinding tonight.” “Shut up” you nudge his shoulder as you close the door. “Don’t complain, you know this is how I look in my natural habitat.” “Your natural habitat is terrifying” he replies, but he’s already putting the bag on the coffee table and taking off his shoes. “Come on, take that off your face, I can’t take someone who looks like Shrek seriously.”

You go to the bathroom, catch your reflection in the mirror, and end up laughing. You wash your face and come back with your hair up in a ponytail.

“Better?” “Now I recognize my friend” he says, giving you two thumbs up.

You both sit on the floor at the low table. While he sets out the glasses, you take out the ramen containers, your laptop open nearby, ready to show him a video you’re editing.

“So, what happened to you today?” you ask, stirring the noodles. “Work” he sighs. “People having opinions on everything, schedules changing, a shoot that dragged on forever.” “Wow, such a hard life, being famous” you mimic him with a dramatic voice. “Poor victim of the system.” “I’m opening up emotionally and you attack me” he pretends to be offended. “See why I only trust my best friend?”

The word hangs there for a second.

“Best friend.”

It’s not new. You’ve both used it before. But there’s something in the way he says it today, so naturally, that gives you the tiniest flip in your chest.

You smile at him.

“Your best friend is listening. But while she eats. Talk.”

He talks. You do too. You tell him about your annoyances of the day, the absurd stuff in some comments online, how exhausting it can be having to be “on” every time you post. He actually listens, not just nodding mindlessly.

Halfway through, he steals a bite of your ramen with his chopsticks.

“Hey” you protest. “You’ve got your own.” “Yours tastes better” he says like it’s a scientific fact. “It’s the same flavor.” “Not the same” he looks at you. “Yours always tastes better.”

And there it is again: that feeling of “we’re perfect like this.” No complications. No questions. Just jokes, shared looks, and a comfort you rarely have with anyone.

Of course, that peace doesn’t work for everyone.

“It’s fascinating” Jeonghan says one day, watching you from the other side of the couch.

You’re at one of their places, watching something on TV you don’t even remember. You’re on the couch with your legs tucked up, Cheol next to you, so close your arms brush every time either of you moves. It’s normal. It’s always been normal.

“What is?” Cheol asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. “How blind you two are” Jeonghan replies, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Don’t start” you mumble. “No, seriously” he insists. “Nobody told you that people who have supposedly ‘never thought about it’ don’t act like this?” “Han, you’re annoying” Cheol throws a cushion at him half-heartedly. “Tell me that again when you see her with someone else” his tone is light, but his eyes flick to Cheol for a second. “Let’s see how zen you are then.”

You turn toward Cheol automatically, expecting some joke back. But his jaw tenses for a moment before relaxing again.

“You’re dramatic” he says at last. “Not everything is a soap opera, Han.”

Jeonghan smiles, satisfied, like he’s just thrown a rock in a lake and is waiting to see the ripples.

“We’ll see” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes, lean your head back against the couch, and decide to ignore him. Jeonghan’s always poking, exaggerating, inventing stories. It’s his favorite sport.

And Cheol is your friend.

Just that. There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing to consider.

That’s what you repeat to yourself. And what he repeats too, even if neither of you is really aware of how tightly you’re holding on to that idea.

The café isn’t your “real” job, but it’s become your second home.

You started there almost by accident: your friend needed someone to cover another worker for a few months and asked you as a favor. You said yes thinking it’d be a few shifts, something temporary to clear your head from so much screen time. In the end, you’re there more than you thought, juggling coffee orders with checking your social media work during quiet spells.

It’s a small café, with slightly worn wooden tables, plants in the corners, and a blackboard where someone writes a motivational quote every day that you and your friend make fun of.

That day, the quote is:

“Today could be a great day.”

You look at it while you’re wiping down the counter.

“What a fantasy” you mutter. “Today could be another day, like all the others.” “Pessimist” your friend throws a napkin at you. “By the way, your guy at the back table is here again.” “What guy?” you ask, not even looking up properly. “The one in the white shirt, always orders the same thing, stays a while with his laptop. The one who looks at you like you’re dessert on the menu.”

You turn around, ready to deny it… but there he is.

Back table, near the window. Laptop open, half-empty cup of coffee, sleeves rolled up. And yeah, when he looks up, he looks at you. Not in a creepy way, more like he’s curious.

You do what you always do: your job.

“Can I get you anything else?” you ask, walking over to his table. “Another coffee, please” he says, smiling. “Same as before.” “Okay.”

When you come back with the coffee, he closes his laptop a little and stretches, clearly wanting to talk.

“You come here a lot” you say, setting his cup down. “Guilty” he replies. “I work nearby and this is the quietest spot around. Plus, the coffee’s good.” “That’s what everyone says” you tease. “Maybe we’ve got you all fooled.” “Not me” he looks at you a bit longer than necessary. “I know how to tell good coffee apart.”

You feel a small flutter in your stomach. It’s not like you haven’t felt this before, but it’s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with that kind of explicit interest.

“Then you’ll keep coming back” you answer, balancing the tray on your hip. “If you’re the one serving me, for sure” he fires back, shameless.

Your friend, from behind the counter, is watching you both with exaggerated eyebrow movements. You hold back a smile.

“That depends on the shift” you say. “But the coffee is the same, whoever’s here.” “Yeah…” he bites his lip, hesitating a second. “And what if I want to come when you’re here?”

The question catches you slightly off guard. Not in a bad way, but you’re not used to someone being so direct with you.

“You’ll have to leave it to luck” you say, but your tone softens. “Or…” he gets bolder, “you could at least tell me your name.”

You tell him. He repeats your name, tasting it like a new word.

“I’m Minseok” he tells you his, and now it’s your turn to repeat it. “Nice to meet you” you add, realizing you really mean it.

From that point on, his visits repeat.

Not every day, but often enough for you to start waiting for them a little. He always sits at the same table, orders the same thing, and each time there are a few more words exchanged. It starts as basic stuff: work, schedules, the weather, the background music. Then one day, he breaks the pattern.

“Hey” he says as you’re clearing his empty cup. “Do you have plans this week?” “Depends on the day” you reply, toying with the cup handle. “Whichever works best for you. I was wondering if you’d like to… I don’t know, go out for dinner sometime. Outside of here” he smiles. “I can’t promise the coffee will be as good, but the place is nice.”

Your own smile appears without you forcing it.

You play it cool, out of habit.

“And if I’m a terrible customer outside the counter?” “Then I’ll just call it an adventure” he shoots back quickly.

You hesitate for a second. Not because he seems sketchy. On the contrary, he seems kind, knows how to talk, has that bit of confidence that draws you in. You hesitate because it’s been a while since you opened up to something that might be more than a couple of nights and nothing else.

You think about Cheol for a brief second, without really knowing why. Like a reflex. As if you were internally checking with him by default.

But then you come back to the moment.

“Okay” you say at last. “Dinner.” “Good” his eyes light up. “I’ll text you, yeah?” “Yeah.”

Your friend silently celebrates from behind the counter, waving a cloth in the air like a victory flag.

When your shift ends that day, you go home with a mix of soft nerves and curiosity. You’re not thinking “this is it, the love of my life.” Not even close. You’re just a bit excited to feel something again, even if it’s small.

His message comes that same night.

“I’m the guy from the café (the one with the good coffee, not the crappy bar). How’s Thursday?”

Thursday ends up being the first of several days. One dinner, then another. A walk. Silly texts. Short calls.

Nothing serious yet, but something starts to form.

And without realizing it, you start talking about him… a lot. Not to everyone. To your friend at the café, to a couple others. And, like Jeonghan said back then, with a name that pops up more than usual in your sentences:

“The other day I went to dinner with him…” “He really likes this or that…” “He sent me this and I laughed so much…”

The only person you still haven’t told everything to is Cheol.

Not because you don’t want to. There’s just something in you that keeps putting it off. “I’ll tell him when it’s more of a thing,” you tell yourself. “It’s not that important yet. Right now he’s just some guy.”

But guys, no matter how much they start as “just some guy,” can slowly turn into more. Even if you don’t notice at first.

Until one day, when you’re all sprawled around in Jeonghan’s living room, the coffee table a graveyard of half-empty bottles, fried chicken bones and cold fries. The TV’s on some show no one’s really watching except Mingyu, who laughs late at the jokes.

You’re sitting on the floor, your back against the couch, between Cheol’s legs. He’s got one knee bent on either side of your shoulders, one hand hanging over your chest, absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair as he talks about something stupid with Wonwoo.

“You’re bored” Cheol murmurs suddenly, leaning down toward you. You feel his breath on your ear. “I’m dying of heat, that’s different” you reply, swatting at his knee. “Turn the AC up, leader.” “Why don’t you do it, you already run everyone anyway” he teases, but he’s smiling.

Someone at the other end of the room only hears that half of the conversation.

“Yeah, let her do whatever she wants now, her single days are numbered” Soonyoung sings, draped over the arm of the couch. “What?” Minghao asks, turning his head with interest. “What did I miss?”

You feel three pairs of eyes swing your way. And one very specific gaze burning into the side of your face.

You lift your head, but instead of looking at Cheol, you look at Soonyoung with a “say one more thing and you’re dead” smile.

“Don’t star,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Don’t start what?” Jeonghan appears from the kitchen with a fresh beer, smelling gossip from a mile away. “Come on, spill.”

Soonyoung rats you out without an ounce of remorse:

“That maybe she won’t be coming to hangouts alone for much longer.” “Aaaah” Jeonghan drags the sound out and points straight at you. “I knew it. She’s had her phone glued to her hand for weeks.” “So do you, and I don’t see you dating anyone” you shoot back instantly, earning a few laughs.

Now you do feel it: the shift behind you. Cheol’s body pulls back slightly, like he’s sitting up. His knee stiffens next to your shoulder. You don’t need to see him to know his eyebrow just went up.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asks. His tone isn’t harsh, but it’s missing its usual lazy amusement.

You pretend it’s nothing.

“Nothing. People making stuff up” you answer, stuffing a cold fry in your mouth. “‘People’ with names and faces?” Jeonghan is already thriving. He drops onto the couch right next to Cheol and nudges him with his elbow. “Your best friend’s got a suitor.” “He’s not a ‘suitor” you protest, air-quoting. “He’s just… some guy who comes to the café.” “A handsome-guy-who-comes-to-the-café-and-asked-for-her-number” Soonyoung adds mercilessly.

This time, you do look at Cheol. He’s got his beer halfway to his lips, eyebrow raised, eyes slightly narrowed.

“And this has been going on since when?” he asks, like he’s handling schedule changes, not something that might actually bother him.

But you know better. You know him.

You shrug.

“Not long, really. It’s nothing serious.” “It is something” Jeonghan sing-songs. “Our girl’s growing up.” “Shut up,” you throw a cushion at him.

Cheol doesn’t say anything else, but you feel his hand stop playing with your hair. For the rest of the night he still talks, still laughs, still joins in. But there’s something… off. Like a new space between your bodies, even though you’re physically just as close.

The night ends like usual: people yawning, half-heartedly cleaning up, empty promises of “next time at my place.”

As usual, Cheol offers to walk you home.

“I’ll go with you” he says, standing and brushing crumbs off his shirt. “You don’t have to” you reply out of habit. “It’s never ‘have to” he tosses his keys in your direction and smiles sideways. “Come on, get up.”

You both head out into the cool night air. It feels clean after the smell of food and too many people in a small space.

You walk in silence for a few meters. It’s a strange silence: no music, no immediate jokes, no easy laughter.

You break it first.

“You’re really quiet.” “So are you” he answers, hands in his jeans pockets.

You stare ahead, then glance sideways at him.

“Jeonghan’s an idiot, you know that.” “Yeah, but he’s right about one thing today” he says, still not looking at you. “About what?” “That you should’ve told me about the… ‘non-suitor” he air-quotes. “That sounds like ‘Important News My Best Friend Should Know.’”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You’d done it on purpose: not telling him until you were sure it was something. Now you feel like you’ve hidden something serious.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you,” you start. “It’s just…” “It’s just what.” “It’s just I didn’t want to make a big deal out of something that might be nothing. He asked me out once, I liked him, that’s it.” “How many times have you gone out?” he asks. There’s no clear reproach in his tone, but the question is heavy.

You hesitate a second.

“A couple. Three.” “‘A couple, three’” he repeats under his breath, letting out a humorless laugh. “So you’ve been seeing him for a while.”

You stop, making him stop too.

“Cheol, what’s going on?” “Nothing.” “Don’t say ‘nothing.’ I know you.” “Exactly” he finally looks at you, his eyes dark under the streetlight. “And since you do, you know what I’m worried about.” “That he’s a serial killer? A stalker? That he doesn’t like ramen?” you joke, trying to lighten the mood. “That he’ll hurt you” he replies without missing a beat. “That he’ll get bored, play with you, get your hopes up and then disappear. Those types of guys… you know how they are.”

Your first reaction is feeling… touched, in a good way. He’s protecting you. The second is a small sting.

“Not all guys are like some you’ve hooked up with” you say. “Yeah, but I’d bet anything he doesn’t know who you really are” he snorts. “He just sees that you’re pretty, funny, easy to talk to, and…” “And what?” you cross your arms. “And that’s it. He doesn’t know you stay up editing videos until three a.m., that you stress over small things, that you laugh when you’re nervous. He doesn’t know you freeze when someone looks at you too directly. He doesn’t—” he cuts himself off, like he just realized he said too much.

Something tightens in your chest. Part of you wants to smile and say “wow, you know me way too well, it’s scary.” Another part bristles.

“And what about you?” you fire back. “What do you do when you hook up with someone at a bar, huh? Give them a compatibility test before you kiss them?” “It’s not the same” he frowns. “Of course it is, Cheol. I’m allowed to go out with someone without it being some epic love story” your voice rises against your will. “I don’t need your approval.”

He takes a step back, like your words physically pushed him.

“I didn’t say you did.” “Well, you’re judging him without even knowing him.” “I don’t care about him” he snaps, and you go silent for a second. “I care about you.”

There it is. The line that knocks everything sideways.

You look at him, chest rising and falling a bit faster, a strange mix of anger and something you shouldn’t be feeling in this context.

“Then trust me” you say more softly. “If it goes wrong, it goes wrong. I’ve broken on my own before.” “That’s exactly what I don’t want” he murmurs. “For you to break again.”

You start walking again, slower this time. The tension hasn’t disappeared; it’s just changed shape.

He half-switches the subject, telling you a story from work, like nothing happened. You play along, laughing, clinging to the familiar normalcy.

But that night, when you walk into your place and close the door, you lean back against it for a second in silence.

In your head, his line plays on loop:

“I don’t care about him. I care about you.”

And without meaning to, you start wondering what bothered you more: his reaction… or how much you cared about what he thought.

Things with the café guy move forward… “fine,” at least on the surface.

It’s not perfect, but:

He texts you almost every day. You have a favorite restaurant. It’s not weird anymore when he sleeps over some weekends. Your friends know him. The group has heard about him a thousand times, though they haven’t seen him much.

On paper, you should be calm. Content, even. Not head-over-heels, but comfortable.

The problem is that every time you think about how “fine” everything is, another face shows up in your mind. Cheol’s, with that frown he gets when something doesn’t fit right.

Cheol hasn’t vanished, but he’s shifted places in your life, like someone rearranged the furniture without asking.

Before:

He’d text you anytime. He’d show up with ramen or ice cream unannounced. You’d end up with your head on his shoulder on any couch, in any house.

Now:

He asks more: “are you busy?”, “are you with him?”, “I’ll call later, it’s fine.” He drops by your place less. At hangouts, when you and your guy are both there, he tries to sit somewhere else. Tries.

It’s not something the others don’t pick up on.

One afternoon at Mingyu’s place, Jeonghan drops down next to you on the couch while you’re watching Cheol across the room chatting with Seungkwan.

“So, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend and you’ve abandoned our leader” Han comments, elbowing you. “Shut up” you answer, but the joke doesn’t land fully. “I haven’t abandoned anyone.” “I don’t blame you” he shrugs, with that light tone you know hides intent. “If I had a partner, I’d be glued to them too.” “I’m not glued to anyone” you roll your eyes. “We barely see each other, we both work a lot.” “Right, right” he drags the word out, clearly not convinced. “Meanwhile, the other guy is climbing the walls.”

You follow his gaze. It’s pointed straight at Cheol.

“Don’t talk crap” you mutter. “He’s fine.” “Sure” Jeonghan laughs. “That’s why he hasn’t looked directly at you in twenty minutes.” “You’re exaggerating” you cross your arms. “I’ll just say one thing” he leans in a little closer. “The day you really see him, you’re going to feel it in your bones.”

“Han.” “What?” he raises his hands. “I’m not saying when. Could be today, could be in six months. Or maybe you need him to have a girlfriend first.”

The word “girlfriend” gets stuck in your chest.

You let out a disbelieving snort.

“Cheol with a girlfriend” you repeat, like it’s some abstract concept. “I can’t picture it.” “Start practicing” Jeonghan replies calmly. “Statistically, he’s due. And you know how he is: if he decides to take care of someone, he really takes care of them.”

You say it on reflex, without thinking:

“He’s not going to take care of anyone the way he takes care of me.”

The sentence comes out too sure. Too… yours.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, very pleased.

“We’ll see about that.”

You leave it there, uncomfortable. But the seed is planted.

You don’t know the exact moment when something snaps in Cheol.

Maybe it’s one night you cancel ramen because your guy “had a bad day” and you want to stay with him. Maybe it’s after a petty text argument between you and Cheol. Maybe it’s just the build-up of watching you leave the house dressed up while he stays home with leftovers.

Either way, one day the group finds out at once:

“Cheol’s bringing someone,” Seungkwan announces in the chat. “HAAAA 😂” writes Soonyoung. “I don’t believe it.” “Pics or it didn’t happen,” Minghao. “It’s real,” Jeonghan adds. “I’ve seen her.” “And?” Mingyu asks. “She’s cute. Young. Pretty deep in the industry. They get along well.”

You read it all from your couch, phone in hand, your guy next to you watching a show you’re not paying attention to.

“Cheol’s bringing someone.”

The screen suddenly feels too bright.

Your guy speaks:

“What’re you looking at?” “Nothing” you lock your phone fast. “Just the group, dumb stuff.”

You face the TV, but you don’t see anything. You only hear your own thoughts:

“Cute. Young. Deep in the industry. They get along well.”

You shouldn’t feel anything. Not that type of thing.

In theory, this is good for you both: you with your life, him with his, each happy, still friends. That’s what you always said you wanted.

But there’s this tiny thorn wedged somewhere between your stomach and your heart that grows every time you picture Cheol with someone who isn’t you. Someone he’ll make food for, buy ramen for, text “did you get home safe?” to.

You catch yourself thinking:

“Cute. Young. In his world. Of course. It makes more sense than me.”

And you hate yourself a little for comparing.

One afternoon, you swing by their studio. You were nearby and thought you’d say hi. You didn’t text ahead, like always.

When you go in, Jeonghan is sprawled on a couch with his phone in his face, and Cheol is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, staring at something on his screen.

“Surprise inspection” you announce, poking your head in. “The boss is here” Han says without looking up. “Hide the incriminating evidence, Cheol.” “Shut up” Cheol turns his head toward you and his face softens. “Come here.”

You sit beside him on the floor, back against the wall too. He tilts his phone a bit toward you.

“Look at this” he shows you some dumb video someone sent.

The three of you laugh for a while. It feels good. Almost like before. Almost.

Until his phone rings again. Not a text this time—a call. He looks at the screen and the corner of his mouth lifts a little in a way you only see in profile.

“I’ll be right back” he says, standing to answer outside. His voice when he says “hello” is different from the one he uses with you.

Jeonghan wiggles his fingers in the air like he’s playing a tiny violin.

“Nice soundtrack, huh?” “Is that her?” you ask, unable to fully hide it. “Who else?” Han sits up a bit. “God, you’re loving this, aren’t you?”

You shoot him a sharp look.

“I’m not doing anything.” “You’re chewing the inside of your cheek” he points out. “And your foot is bouncing on its own.” “I’m restless because you’re unbearable.” “Sure. Not because your ‘best friend’ is talking to his new girl three meters away.”

You don’t answer. You look toward the door Cheol went through, trying not to hear the distant sound of his laugh in the hall.

“She’s nice” Jeonghan says, more neutral. “Really.” “I’m glad” you manage, not even sure how you sound. “And she’s a big fan of yours, by the way.” “Of me?” you blink. “Of your stuff. Your socials. She’s watched a ton. She was nervous about meeting you.”

Something tightens even more inside you.

“A fan of yours.” “Younger.” Everything fitting in all the expected ways.

“You should be happy” Jeonghan watches you. “If it really were as simple as ‘everyone has their own person,’ this would be healthy as hell.” “Yeah” you answer. “Super healthy.”

He smiles, but without humor.

“The problem” he says quietly, “is that it’s not simple. And you know it.”

Before you can snap back, Cheol comes in again. He pockets his phone and sits back down beside you, just as close as always. He smells like his usual cologne. But now, that closeness weighs differently.

“What were you talking about?” he asks, oblivious. “Nothing” Jeonghan says, enjoying the double meaning. “Just about how balanced your life is lately.”

Cheol gives him a suspicious look but doesn’t push. He turns to you.

“You staying for a bit?” “Yeah” you say. Not because you’re particularly comfortable, but because you don’t know where else to be.

You’re not there when Cheol consciously decides to “date” this girl for real. But you hear the secondhand version from the worst possible source.

“He said he wants to really give it a try” Mingyu tells you one random afternoon while you’re grabbing food together after a shoot you dropped by to watch.

You try to keep your tone neutral.

“With her?” “Who else?” he laughs. “She’s nice, you’ll like her. Don’t make that face.” “What face?” you frown. “That one. The ‘I don’t know why I hate hearing this, but I’m going to pretend I’m thrilled’ one,” he mimics.

You stuff food into your mouth to buy time.

“I’m just surprised” you say eventually. “He recently said he didn’t have time for anyone.” “Well, love’s like that” Mingyu waves his hand dramatically. “It shows up, messes you up, and suddenly there is time.”

The word “love” grates on you. You can’t picture Cheol in love with someone you barely know. You don’t want to. But the thought that he might be “making room” for someone else lodges itself in your brain all day.

That night, when you’re on the couch with your guy, you see Cheol online and… don’t text him. A few weeks ago, you’d have sent a meme, a voice note, something dumb. Tonight, nothing.

You don’t know who started creating distance first, but you’re both getting better at it.

After that, the little clashes begin.

He’s bothered by things your guy does and says. You’re bothered by things you see in his thing with her. Neither of you admits why.

Like one night, you all go out. You arrive with your boyfriend. Cheol arrives with her.

She is, objectively, cute. Well-dressed but not over the top, knows how to move in that world, greeting everyone politely. When she sees you, her eyes light up.

“Finally, I get to meet you” she says, giving you a soft hug. “I’ve watched so much of your stuff. I love it.” “Thank you” you respond, a bit awkward. “Cheol’s talked about you.”

It’s true. He’s mentioned little things. Where she works, how they keep bumping into each other, that she’s “fun.” The “very young” part you fill in yourself.

You situate yourself between your guy and her at one end of the table, with Cheol on the other side. At one point, everyone’s talking at once, and you notice—once again—that when Cheol laughs, he’s looking at you. Not at her. Not at anybody else. You.

Jeonghan, obviously, notices.

“This is a circus” he mutters, bending down next to you to ask if you want another drink. “Excuse me?” you look at him. “You jealous of her, him jealous of your guy, and those two blissfully clueless…” he tsks. “If I recorded this, they’d give me an award.”

You glare.

“I’m not jealous of anyone.” “Sure” he sings. “And I’m shy.”

Eventually, the whole group starts including all the partners more and more often. And the big idea comes up:

Book a simple restaurant. Get everyone together with all the boyfriends and girlfriends for a chill dinner. Make it all more formal, with jokes and intros.

You’re secretly excited. For several reasons:

You want to properly introduce your boyfriend to the group. You want to see with your own eyes how Cheol is with her in a “couple” context in front of everyone. And some twisted part of you wants to prove you’re doing fine too, that you’ve “moved on” as well.

The days leading up to the dinner, though, you’re weird. Stupid fights with your guy (“you’re never available,” “you’re always with them”), stupid fights with Cheol over text (“you didn’t answer me all day,” “I was busy, sorry”).

After a few days, the big dinner arrives where everyone gets to know each other. The place isn’t anything fancy. A cozy restaurant with wooden tables, warm lights, and background music no one’s actually listening to. But tonight, for you, it feels bigger, louder, more… final.

You arrive with your boyfriend. You walk in on his arm, laughing at something he just said, trying to be present. For a moment, you manage it.

Until you see Cheol.

He’s standing by a long table, laughing with Mingyu, hands in his pockets. Next to him, she’s there. Gorgeous in a simple dress that fits her Gorgeous in a simple dress that fits her perfectly, hair down. When she sees you, she smiles genuinely.

“Here they are, the lovebirds” Soonyoung sings as he greets you with an over-the-top clap. “You’re unbearable” you answer, but you’re too busy watching the way Cheol’s eyes have landed on you.

In that second when your gazes lock, the noise of the restaurant seems to dim. His eyes travel slowly from your shoes up to your dress, your hair, your mouth. Not in a crude way, more like he’s unconsciously taking inventory: what you’re wearing, how your lipstick looks, the way you’re standing.

His girl turns slightly toward him.

“Shall we go say hi?” she asks, kind as ever.

Then everything speeds up again.

You all come closer. Your boyfriend greets with a confident smile, a handshake, a light joke. You hug Jeonghan, Mingyu, everyone. When you reach Cheol, there’s a half-second of awkwardness between going for cheek kisses or just waving.

He ends up leaning in and hugging you. It’s short, but firm. He smells like his usual cologne.

“You look pretty” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “You don’t look bad yourself” you answer, half joking.

She steps forward.

“Hi again” she smiles. “I’m really glad you came.” “Me too” you say. “I wanted to see you together.”

The words taste strange coming out, but no one seems to notice.

You all sit. The couples try to sit together at first, but the table’s long, there are dishes, chairs, waiters. Jeonghan watches the chaos with a fox-like grin.

“Okay, this is a disaster” he says, clapping once. “We’re doing this properly or we’re gonna run out of space.”

He literally starts moving chairs.

“You here, you there…” he nudges you gently toward a seat. “You, sit here. Cheol, next to her.” “Why don’t I sit there?” your boyfriend asks, confused. “So you don’t fall asleep as a couple” Jeonghan improvises. “If you all sit glued together you’ll ignore everyone else and this’ll look like a boring married-people dinner. Mix it up, mix it up.”

He places the couples strategically:

You and Cheol side by side, facing Mingyu and Soonyoung. Your boyfriend further down, next to Cheol’s girl. She ends up right across from her own boyfriend… with your guy at her side.

“Total coincidence.”

You send Jeonghan a look that clearly says “I’m going to murder you.” He just winks.

Dinner starts with silly stories, food, jokes. It’s easy to laugh. Cheol is very close, his shoulder centimeters from yours, his knee brushing yours from time to time “by accident.” Whenever you turn to say something, you find him already looking at you.

You talk like always:

“Remember when you almost burned down my kitchen with the ramen?” you tease. “That wasn’t my fault, it was the stove” he defends himself. “Sure” you pop another bite into your mouth. “The stove turned itself on, right.” “I’m not going to defend myself in front of witnesses” he laughs.

The others glance over, smile, and then go back to what they’re doing. They’re used to this.

Your partners, not so much.

At one point, you hear your guy laughing at something Cheol’s girl just said.

“It’s true, he’s so absentminded” she says about Cheol. “Once he left his phone in the car and spent an hour looking for it.” “I believe it, I believe it” your boyfriend replies. “I have to keep an eye on this one too,” he points at you, laughing. “Her head’s always somewhere else.”

You look at them and force a smile.

“It’s my brand” you say. “Head in the clouds.”

Cheol glances sideways with a tiny smirk.

“Your head is everywhere except where it should be” he mutters, just for you. “Same for you” you shoot back. “You’re always everywhere and nowhere at once.” “Well” he shrugs. “Someone’s got to manage the chaos.”

The food goes on. So do the drinks.

Sometime between the main and dessert, Jeonghan stands up and taps the table lightly to get attention.

“This is way too calm” he announces. “And since I’m not in the mood to get more drunk, we’re playing a game.” “God” Wonwoo groans. “Not your games again.” “Oh, shut up, you love my games” Han’s already asking the waiter for paper and pens. “We’re doing a sort of Pictionary with charades.”

He explains, dramatic as always:

“In pairs. One stands with their back to the other. The rest of us write things on little papers and stick them on their back. Their partner sees it and has to act it out—no talking—so they can guess what it says. Got it?” “No” Seungkwan says. “Doesn’t matter, you’ll get it.”

And then he drops the bomb, with an innocent smile:

“I’m picking the pairs.”

Of course.

He starts assigning people, pointing:

“You with you… you with you…” he arranges them strategically. “Let’s see… _ and Cheol, obviously, because otherwise this is a crime against entertainment.” “Why ‘obviously’?” you protest, though you’re already smiling. “Because you two are this group’s comedy duo and I’m bored of your ‘we’re nothing’ act” he says casually. “Up, both of you.” “I wanna play with her” your boyfriend adds, half joking, half not. “You will, next round” Jeonghan lies. “Let me enjoy this first.”

Cheol stands without arguing. He reaches a hand out to pull you up. You take it, feeling the heat of his palm and how he holds you for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

They put you in the middle, your back to him, everyone else around writing on little sheets, folding them and sticking them to your back with tape while you laugh because Mingyu’s manhandling you like you’re a mannequin.

“Don’t make it impossible” you protest. “Trust your partner” Jeonghan says, winking at Cheol.

First round. Cheol steps in front of you, looks at your back, and snorts.

“Shit” he mutters. “What?” you try to turn. “Staaay still” he grabs your shoulders gently and straightens you. “Okay, watch.”

He starts miming.

First he acts like he’s lifting something heavy, hunched over, pushing forward. Then he puts a hand on his chest, silently screams, overacting like crazy. After that, he points at Wonwoo, then at Mingyu, then at you, then smacks his own forehead, exasperated.

You’re cracking up.

“Are you… lifting weights? Are you Mingyu at the gym?” you guess. He shakes his head and repeats the motions. Hand over heart, hand to forehead, a big “I’m so done with this” gesture.

Then it clicks.

“You’re… you taking care of everyone?” you say.

Cheol nods like crazy, points at your back.

“You’re ‘dad of the family’?” you keep going. He wavers, giving you an “almost” sign.

Another word comes to mind.

“Are you ‘Daddy Cheol’?”

The whole group explodes.

Jeonghan claps.

“She got it!” he yells. “It literally says ‘desperate Dad Cheol.’” “Idiots” Cheol laughs, but he’s clearly proud you got it so fast.

Next paper.

This time, when he reads it, he chuckles under his breath and shakes his head like “you assholes.”

He steps closer than the game requires, looks into your eyes for a moment like he’s sizing you up, then starts.

He points to himself, lifts his hands like he’s directing a group, points at the ceiling, mime-distributes something. Suddenly, he switches it: he comes up to you, points at you, taps his chest a few times, then points at you again. After that, he wraps his arms around invisible air next to him. Rests his cheek against nothing, with an expression of complete peace.

Your heart jumps a little, but you keep your face straight.

“Okay…” you think out loud. “You’re… you, with the group? Leader?” He half nods, half shakes his head. “Yes but no.” He points again, hugs the invisible shape by his side, this time a little closer to you.

You can sense everyone holding their breath, waiting.

The answer comes out by itself.

“‘Safe place’?” you say first, instinctively. Cheol freezes for a second. That isn’t what’s written on the paper, but the phrase hits him as hard as it hits you.

Jeonghan clears his throat behind you.

“That’s not what it says, but I kinda wanna applaud” he says, half amused, half moved.

Cheol straightens, shakes his head, and keeps miming—repeating the leader gestures, the caring, the side-hug.

Then you see it.

“‘Favorite person’?” you ask, half joking, half serious.

Silence stretches for a couple long seconds.

Cheol goes completely still, eyes locked on yours. Then, very slowly, he nods.

“It says ‘his best friend’” Wonwoo cuts in, flashing the paper and breaking the tension.

Everyone laughs, makes over-the-top “awww” noises. Jeonghan gives you a look, one eyebrow way up.

You turn back to Cheol, unable to stop your smile.

“I nailed it anyway” you say, voice a bit softer. “Always” he answers without looking away.

And the rounds keep going.

Every phrase they slap on your back, he gets with you in seconds:

A miserable reference to one of your videos. An inside joke about ramen. A gesture only you two understand from one particular night.

You laugh, high-five, grab his forearm without thinking every time you almost fall over from laughing too hard. For a while, you genuinely forget anyone else exists, forget your partners are there, watching.

They play too.

Your guy and Cheol’s girl team up for another round. They get along pretty well. She laughs at his jokes, he tries a bit too hard to be funny. Jeonghan watches it all with that twisted little grin, like he knows something isn’t as innocent as it looks.

And in reality, something is happening.

While you’re in the middle of the room mid-charade with Cheol, your boyfriend and Cheol’s girl hang back a bit, sharing a pen, laughing. He tosses her a joke, she throws one back, and at some point later, when everyone’s shuffling chairs to look at dessert menus, he asks for her number “to send her the game app” they sometimes use.

She hesitates a second, then gives it to him, because in her head it’s harmless. He doesn’t think twice about it either.

You don’t see any of this. Neither does Cheol.

For you, the night ends with a “we crushed it” feeling and a warm buzz in your chest—you’ve spent the night right where you wanted to be: with him, like always, functioning effortlessly.

When it’s over and everyone’s crowding in the doorway of the restaurant—hugs, cheek kisses, “text you later,” “we have to do this again”—your guy wraps an arm around your waist.

“You coming?” he asks, meaning, “to my place.” “I’m going to say bye,” you answer, looking at Cheol, who’s a bit further back talking to Mingyu and Jeonghan.

Your eyes meet again. He walks over, hands in his pockets.

“Going with him?” he nods toward your boyfriend. “Yeah” you answer. “You with her?” “Yeah.”

There’s this short, awkward silence, and at the same time, it’s heavy. You should just say something light. A “see you,” a joke.

Instead, you both blurt out at once:

“I had a really good time tonight.”

You laugh a little at the timing.

“It felt like before” you add, before you can stop yourself. “Like always” he corrects.

Your boyfriend calls from the curb.

“Are we going?” “Coming” you reply, not taking your eyes off Cheol.

His girl touches his arm, smiling.

“Shall we?” “Yeah, one sec” he says, but he doesn’t stop looking at you either.

You hug. Fast. Only it’s not that fast. He squeezes a bit harder than he should. You hold onto his back for a heartbeat longer.

“Get some rest” he murmurs into your hair. “You too” you whisper back.

Then you both let go and head in opposite directions, with this strange feeling: happy, but with an unease you don’t know where to put.

What neither of you knows is that while you get in the car with your guy and Cheol leaves with her, the foundations of your other relationships have just cracked a little more:

Your boyfriend has her number in his pocket. She’s starting to realize Cheol was way too focused on you.

And all of that is going to blow up very soon.

You go upstairs to your place together like a hundred times before. He instinctively reaches for the key to open your door for you.

“I’ve got it” you mutter, taking it a little more sharply than you meant to.

You open up. Your place smells like your perfume and the candles you lit in a rush before leaving. You drop your bag on the usual chair, kick off your shoes, walk toward the living room.

He stays by the door for a few seconds, hands in his pockets. You feel his eyes on your back.

“Are you really going to pretend nothing happened?” he finally says.

You turn around.

“What are you talking about?” “Tonight” he steps closer. “The way you were with Cheol.”

You let out a tired sigh.

“Don’t start, please. I’m exhausted.” “Well, I’m done” his tone isn’t soft anymore. “So done.”

He comes to the center of the room.

“You wanna know how you looked to me?” he asks. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like you went to that dinner with him and I was some random extra who tagged along.” “That’s not fair” you say, folding your arms. “I was with you too.” “Oh yeah? When?” he laughs, humorless. “Between Pictionary rounds, while you were plastered to him laughing like you were dying? When you couldn’t take your eyes off his face?”

Your cheeks burn.

“It was a game, for God’s sake. We were all—” “No. We weren’t all” he cuts in. “It was you two. And the rest of us orbiting around you.”

His words hit deeper than you want to admit.

“He’s my friend” you repeat, like a mantra. “My best friend. You’ve known that from day one.” “I know” he nods. “What I didn’t know is that he was always going to be the center of your fucking universe.”

The sentence lands heavy.

“Don’t say stupid things.” “Stupid things?” he steps closer, hands tense. “Do you know how many times you said ‘Cheol’ tonight? Do you know the face you make when he talks? It’s a face I’ve never seen pointed at me. Not once.”

Your stomach flips.

“You’re exaggerating.” “I’m finally opening my eyes” he laughs bitterly. “And it hurts, okay? It hurts to stand here in YOUR place and feel like a guest.”

You want to lash back, but you only manage to defend yourself.

“You were pretty comfy with her too” you shoot. “I saw it. I saw you.” “Because she’s nice” he replies without hesitation. “And because for a while, I felt like someone actually saw me.” “I see you” you say, hurt. “No. You see him” he throws back. “You filter everything through him. What you like, what you don’t, what you do, what you don’t do.” “That’s not true” you whisper.

He stares at you.

“Really?” he says, softer. “Can you look at me and say you’ve never thought about what Cheol would think of me? Of this? Of us?”

You’re silent. He takes that as his answer.

“Look at you” he continues, no longer yelling, just wounded. “You can’t separate your life from him. And I don’t want to be the third wheel in a relationship that’s supposed to be for two people.” “We’re not in a three-person relationship” you say. “This is about you and me.” “Then prove it” he challenges. “Tell me right now that if he said ‘come with me,’ you’d stay here.”

The question freezes you. Not because you have a solid answer, but because you don’t.

You stumble.

“It’s not that simple…” “For me it is” he shakes his head. “And I think I’ve got my answer.”

He moves toward the door.

“What are you doing?” your heart is pounding. “What I should’ve done ages ago” he says, grabbing his jacket. “I’m not going to compete with something you won’t even admit exists.”

He stops in the doorway for a second, not looking back.

“I hope you figure yourself out” he adds more softly. “For you. And for him, since he’s apparently the main character in your life.”

He leaves. The door shuts with a dull thud.

You stand in the middle of the living room, barefoot, still in your dress, feeling the echo of his words bounce off the walls.

“I’m not going to compete with something you won’t even admit exists.”

Your hands are shaking. You drop onto the couch, bury your face in your hands. You don’t fully cry, but your eyes sting.

On pure reflex, you reach for your phone.

Your fingers move before your brain can overthink:

“Are you awake?”

You send it to Cheol.

Silence.

You see him pop up “online” for a few seconds… and vanish. No reply.

Anxiety creeps up your throat.

You type another:

“I know it’s late. I just… can you tell me everything’s going to be okay?”

Send. Turn the screen off. On. Off again.

Nothing.

You don’t know that, right now, he’s in a car arguing.

Cheol’s driving. She’s in the passenger seat, arms crossed, looking out the window.

The silence has been unbearable for several minutes before she breaks it.

“Do you realize how that dinner went?” she asks, still not looking at him. “It was fine” he answers automatically. “It was fine for you two” she clarifies. “For the rest of us… not so much.”

His hands tighten on the wheel.

“Can we not start this too?” “Start what, ‘this too’?” she turns toward him, hurt. “Cheol, do you really expect me to pretend I didn’t see the same thing everyone saw?” “What did you see?” he takes a deep breath.

She lets out a humorless laugh.

“Two people who are supposedly with someone else… and who didn’t let go of each other all night. Two people who look at each other like the rest of us shouldn’t even be there. You and her, playing, laughing, touching. And me, right there, trying not to feel invisible.”

He shakes his head, defensive.

“You’re important to me.” “I don’t doubt that” she says. “But she’s more important. You don’t say it. You show it. And actions hurt way more than words.”

Red light. He brakes.

“She’s my best friend” he repeats, wearing the phrase thin. “I can’t act like she isn’t.” “I know” she whispers. “And I’m not asking you to erase her. But…” “But what.” “But I can’t be your second choice” she says slowly. “I can’t be with someone whose first impulse, when he’s happy, pissed, upset… is always her.”

The light turns green. He hits the gas.

In the back seat, his phone vibrates. It’s your first message. He doesn’t hear or see it yet.

She keeps going:

“This isn’t normal, Cheol.” “What’s not normal?” he snaps, voice rising. “What you two feel” she says, eyes on his profile. “What you feel for her. What she feels for you. And worst of all: what you both refuse to admit.”

The words hang, heavy.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about” she replies. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve been in love with my best friend. I know how it looks from the outside. And I know how it feels to be the one who came too late.”

He swallows.

“I don’t want to hurt you” he says, knuckles white on the wheel. “You already are,” she says sadly. “And you’re hurting yourself too. And her.”

You pull up outside her place. He parks, pulls the handbrake.

Silence again.

She unbuckles her seatbelt slowly.

“I don’t want to make a scene” she adds. “But I think you need to think. Without me around.” “That’s not…” he starts.

She cuts him off with a small, sad smile.

“I love you, Cheol. I really do. Just not enough to sit and watch you love someone else without saying it.”

She opens the door, steps out. Before closing it, she adds:

“When you’re ready to be honest with yourself… with her… then you’ll be able to be honest with anyone.”

Door shuts. She walks toward her building without looking back.

Cheol stays in the car, hands still on the wheel, breathing hard, heart pounding.

That’s when he feels his phone vibrate again.

He grabs it. Sees your messages:

“Are you awake?” “I know it’s late. I just… can you tell me everything’s going to be okay?”

All the air leaves his lungs.

He calls you immediately.

The sound of your ringtone in your empty living room startles you. You see his name on the screen and freeze half a second.

You swipe to answer.

“…Cheol?” “I’m on my way” he says first, no greeting. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” “Hey, you don’t have to come, I just…” you begin, running on autopilot. “I want to” he cuts in, firm. “I’m not leaving you alone if you need me.”

There’s no room to argue in his tone. Still, you try.

“What about her?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

“She went home” he says, not elaborating. “We fought.”

Silence. Yours, and his.

“Okay” you say at last. “I’ll wait.”

He hangs up. You check the time. You stand, not sure what to do with yourself. You change into something more comfortable, but you’re still wearing your makeup, your hair slightly ruined from the night. You turn on a small lamp in the living room. You turn off the TV you’d never really been watching.

Every sound in the stairwell makes you go look at the door.

When the doorbell finally rings, your heart jumps into your throat.

You open. He’s there: jacket, hair a little messy, eyes tired. He looks you over like he needs to reassure himself you’re okay physically.

“Hi” you say softly. “Hi” he answers.

You both step inside. He closes the door behind him and stands there for a few seconds, not sure how close to get.

“What happened?” he asks eventually, in the gentlest tone he’s used all night.

You lean back against the sofa, needing something solid behind you.

“He left” you say. “We fought. A lot.”

You spill it in almost one breath, as if saying it makes it more real:

“He said I’m always thinking about you. That you’re the center of everything. That he doesn’t understand what he’s doing with me if I measure everything through you. That… that I don’t know what I feel. For him. For you.”

Your voice cracks on the last word.

Cheol closes his eyes for a moment, jaw clenched. When he opens them, there’s pain there, guilt, and something burning behind it.

“And you… what do you feel?” he asks carefully. “Not about him. About me.”

It sounds unfair. Still, you know it’s the only question that actually matters right now.

“I don’t know” you lie. Then you correct yourself. “Or I do know, but it scares me to say it.” “Why?” he takes a step closer. “Because this isn’t supposed to happen” your chest rises and falls faster. “Because we’ve spent two years saying we’re friends. That we’re fine like this. That we don’t want to ruin it. And right now… it feels like everything’s falling apart anyway.”

He swallows.

“She…” he begins, meaning his girl. “She said something similar. That tonight felt like being out with me and my ‘other half’ at the same time. That she can’t be a side character in our story.”

Your eyes meet when he says “our.”

“Maybe she’s right” you whisper. “She is” he admits. “Just not in the way she thinks.”

Silence. He steps closer. You’re no longer half a room apart, you’re two steps away.

“Tell me the truth” he says. “Did it hurt seeing me with her tonight?” “Yes” you answer, without thinking. “Did it bother you that I didn’t sit next to you at first?” “A lot.” “Did you wish— even for a second— that I was the one going home with you after dinner?”

Your mind goes blank. Your body’s already responded; the guilt of what happened with your boyfriend is scorched over everything.

But in the end, you nod, slowly.

“Yes” you whisper. “I did.”

He takes a deep breath, like your confession is a physical blow.

“Me too” he admits. “I wanted to go with you. Take you home. Go in. Like always. Like before. And I couldn’t. And it pissed me off. So much I could barely look at anyone else.”

You step toward him, like he’s pulling you in.

“This is wrong” you say, but your voice is weak. “This is the only thing that feels real right now” he says back, almost in a murmur.

Your eyes drop to his mouth for a second. He notices. His hands, tense at his sides, twitch.

“I’m scared” you confess, voice breaking. “Of losing you. Of crossing a line and there being no way back.” “We crossed it a long time ago” he says. “We just refused to admit it.”

He’s right in front of you now. You can feel his breath, smell his cologne mixed with night, car, nerves.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything” he repeats. “Look at me and say all of this is crazy, that there’s nothing here but a confused friendship.”

You bite your lip.

You look at him. And you see years of shared stuff, laughter, ramen, late nights, fights, looks that now mean something entirely different. You see the one person who knows all of you.

You try to lie. You can’t.

“I can’t say that” you whisper. “Because it’s not true.”

Something in him breaks, audibly, even though there’s no sound.

He closes the last bit of space between you.

“Then…” his voice drops a register. “Let me, just once, not do the right thing.”

His hand comes up to your neck, fingers wrapping firmly but gently. The other lands on your waist, pulling you in.

You don’t stop him.

He kisses you.

It’s not tentative; it’s like he’s been waiting years for this and it all bursts out at once.

His mouth crashes into yours, urgent. He pulls you tightly into his chest, dragging you a half-step closer until your body fits against his. Your hands grab his shirt on instinct, then climb to his shoulders, his neck.

You open under him almost without thinking, letting him in, letting him set the pace. There’s anger there, hunger, and a fierce tenderness in the way his thumb strokes your jaw as if to take care even while he’s falling apart.

He kisses you like someone who’s been quiet too long.

You kiss him back the same. You cling to him, press closer, a soft sound escaping into his mouth when he gently pushes you back until your spine hits the living room wall. He follows, one arm on either side of your head, his body not pinning you but holding you up.

For a moment you both pull back just a fraction, breathing each other’s air.

“Fuck…” he mutters, resting his forehead against yours. “This is so wrong.”

Your fingers tangle in the hair at his nape, tugging him closer again.

“Then why does it feel so good” you whisper, before finding his mouth again.

The second kiss is slower, deeper. Less clumsy, more deliberate. You taste him, he tastes you; it’s new and yet stamped with the same familiar rhythm that’s always been between you.

His hands slide from your face to your hips, gripping harder, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You feel the heat of his palms through your thin shirt, and without thinking, you arch into him, closing the space. The pressure of his body against yours pulls a sigh from you that dissolves into his mouth.

Cheol pulls back just an inch to look at you, eyes dark, breath uneven. His thumb brushes over your swollen lower lip.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Tell me to stop and I will. Right now.”

You shake your head, almost violently. Your fingers dig into his neck, pulling him back down.

“Don’t stop” you breathe, so softly it’s almost nothing. “Please.”

That’s all he needs.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990

[yourfavtangerine]

Serendipity

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, fluff, smut

Serendipity: the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.

In a world bound by family expectations and corporate alliances, you and Mingyu are arranged into a marriage neither truly wants. Desperate for control, you begin meeting in secret, dates just for you away from expectations. What starts as reluctant negotiation quietly blooms into stolen glances, lingering touches and whispered confessions, until the line between duty and desire disappears completely.

Wc:~5.6k

Warnings: heavy family expectations, arranged marriage, slight angst/emotionnal vulnerability, smut, oral f receiving, nipple play, protected sex

Part 2

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of Café Lumière, casting warm golden patches across the wooden tables and mismatched chairs. It was one of those small, tucked-away spots in a quieter part of the city, far from the bustling downtown where anyone connected to your family might spot you. You'd chosen it deliberately: neutral ground, low foot traffic on a Tuesday and enough ambient chatter to make a serious conversation feel less like an interrogation.

You arrived ten minutes early, nerves buzzing under your skin like static. Your fingers toyed with the edge of your phone case as you claimed a corner table near the back, half-hidden by a tall potted fern. Black coffee sat untouched in front of you; you'd ordered it out of habit, but the thought of drinking anything right now made your stomach twist.

The marriage had been decided three weeks ago, announced over a tense family dinner that felt more like a board meeting than a celebration. Your parents: old-money entrepreneurs who'd built a modest but respected import-export business, had been quietly negotiating with the Kim family for months. The Kims were in a different league: real estate, luxury developments, a portfolio that spanned half the city's skyline. Your father's company supplied high-end fittings and materials; a merger through marriage would lock in exclusive contracts, stabilize supply chains, and elevate both families' status in elite circles.

You weren't consulted. Not really. There had been vague mentions of "a suitable match" and "future security," but the decision was presented as something done. "Mingyu Kim" your mother had said, sliding a photo across the table like it was a business prospectus. "Twenty-eight, heir to Kim Holdings. Tall, handsome, polite. You'll meet him soon enough."

You'd stared at the photo: sharp jawline, dark hair swept back casually, eyes that looked almost too kind for someone born into that kind of wealth. It hadn't helped. The idea of marrying a stranger, arranged like some relic from a past century, felt suffocating. You had a job you loved (graphic design at a small creative agency), friends, a life that was yours. The wedding date was already penciled in for four months from now.

So you'd done the only thing that felt like reclaiming any control: you'd messaged him privately through a burner app your cousin had once recommended for "discreet" family matters.

"Hi. This is Y/N. The one you're supposed to marry. Before we sign our lives away, can we at least talk? Without parents hovering?"

His reply came faster than expected.

"Kim Mingyu here. Yeah. I'd like that. Name a place and time. I'll be there."

No pretension, no corporate jargon. Just straightforward.

Now here you were, waiting.

The bell above the door chimed. You glanced up and there he was.

Mingyu Kim ducked slightly under the low doorway frame, all long limbs and effortless presence. He was taller than the photo suggested, easily 187 cm, maybe more, broad shoulders filling out a simple black hoodie and dark jeans. His hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run a hand through it on the way in, and a black cap pulled low partially shadowed his face. Even in casual clothes, he looked expensive: clean lines, good fit, the kind of understated quality that screamed money without trying.

He scanned the room, spotted you and offered a small, hesitant smile. It reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that made him look younger, less like the heir apparent and more like someone genuinely nervous.

You lifted a hand in a half-wave. He wove through the tables toward you.

"Hi" he said, voice low and warm, a little rough around the edges like he hadn't spoken much today. "Y/N, right?"

"Yeah. Mingyu?"

He nodded, sliding into the seat across from you. Up close, he smelled faintly of cedarwood and fresh laundry. His hands: large, veined, surprisingly careful, rested on the table. He didn't fidget, but his thumbs brushed together once, betraying a flicker of anxiety.

"Thanks for coming" you said, breaking the silence before it could thicken. "I wasn't sure you'd agree to this."

"I wasn't sure you'd ask." He gave a small laugh, self-deprecating. "Honestly? I was relieved. The whole 'meet at a formal dinner with both sets of parents staring' thing sounded... intense."

You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "Tell me about it. My mom already has color schemes picked out."

He winced sympathetically. "Mine has venue lists. And guest counts. Like it's a corporate merger."

"It kind of is" you pointed out dryly.

His expression sobered. "Yeah. It is."

A barista called out an order nearby, giving you both a moment to breathe. Mingyu flagged her down politely and ordered an iced Americano, no sugar. You asked for a refill on your now-cold coffee, mostly to have something to do with your hands.

When she left, he leaned forward slightly. "So... how much did they tell you about me?"

"Enough to know you're the golden boy heir. Business degree, works in the family company, apparently good at everything." You paused. "And tall."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "They always lead with the height. It's weird."

"It's accurate" you said, lips twitching despite yourself. "You had to duck coming in."

"Old building" he defended, but there was amusement in his eyes. "What about you? They told me you're... creative. Independent. Didn't want to be here any more than I did."

You raised an eyebrow. "They said that?"

"Not in so many words. But your dad mentioned you have a 'real job' and aren't interested in boardrooms." He shrugged. "Sounded like code for 'she's not thrilled about this.'"

"Fair." You traced the rim of your cup. "I'm a graphic designer. Freelance on the side. I like making things, logos, posters, album covers sometimes. It's not glamorous like real estate empires, but it's mine."

"Sounds better than spreadsheets and site inspections" he said sincerely. "I do like building things too, though. Not the creative part, the actual construction side. Visiting sites, seeing something go from blueprint to reality. It's... satisfying."

You studied him. This wasn't the arrogant chaebol son you'd braced for. He seemed grounded, almost earnest.The coffees arrived. He thanked the barista with a polite nod that made her smile a little too brightly. You noticed.

"So" you said once she was gone "why agree to this? The marriage, I mean. You could probably push back. You're the heir, they'd listen to you eventually."

He took a slow sip, considering. "I could. But... it's complicated. My dad's health isn't great. Heart issues. The board's been circling, waiting for any sign of weakness. Marrying into a stable partner company buys time, stability. For him, for the business." He met your eyes. "And honestly? I've dated. Casually. Nothing serious. Family always finds out, scares people off, or turns it into a headline. This... at least it's honest upfront. No pretending."

You nodded slowly. "My parents want security. The business has been stagnant. Your family's contracts would change everything. And they think..." You hesitated. "They think if I'm married off to someone 'suitable,' I'll stop being so... stubborn about independence."

Mingyu's gaze softened. "Are you stubborn?"

"Sometimes." You smiled faintly. "Mostly I just want a say in my own life."

"Same."

Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. More like two people realizing they were on the same side of an absurd situation.

He fiddled with a sugar packet, then accidentally tore it open too fast. White granules scattered across the table. "Shit, sorry."

You laughed, the first real one since sitting down. "Smooth."

He groaned, grabbing napkins to sweep it up. "I'm usually better at this. I swear."

"First-date jitters?" you teased lightly.

His ears pinked. "Is this a date?"

"Secret pre-marriage negotiation?" you countered. "Close enough."

He grinned, sheepish but genuine. "Then yeah. Jitters."

You helped him clean up the mess, fingers brushing once. Neither of you pulled away immediately.

The conversation eased after that. You talked about stupid things first—favorite movies (he liked action but secretly watched rom-coms; you admitted to binge-watching cooking shows despite burning toast), worst family vacations, the time he tried to cook for his cousin and set off the smoke alarm.

Then it deepened.

He told you about the pressure of being the only child, the endless expectations. How he'd once dreamed of opening his own restaurant, something small, personal, but family obligations swallowed the idea whole.

You shared how you'd turned down a steadier corporate design job to keep your freedom, how your parents saw it as rebellion instead of passion.

Hours slipped by. The café filled, then emptied again. Sunlight shifted to late-afternoon amber.

Finally, Mingyu checked his watch. "I should go before someone recognizes me. Paparazzi love slow news days."

You nodded, suddenly reluctant. "Yeah. Me too."

He stood first, towering over the table. "This was... better than I expected."

"Same." You rose, meeting his eyes. They were warm, searching.

"Can we... do it again?" he asked quietly. "Before the big day. No parents. Just us figuring this out."

Your heart did a strange flip. "I'd like that."

He smiled, full, bright, the kind that made his eyes disappear into crescents. "Good. I'll text you."

As he walked out, cap pulled lower, you watched him go, feeling something shift inside you. Not love, not yet. But curiosity. Hope, maybe.

A week had passed since the café, seven days filled with tentative texts that started polite and quickly turned playful.

"Morning. Survived another board meeting?"

"Barely. Dad asked why I was smiling at my phone. Told him it was stock prices. Close enough."

"Smooth. What are you up to today?

"Thinking we should meet again. Somewhere fun. No suits, no pressure."

"Like...?"

"Aquarium? Weekday afternoon. Quieter. I can pretend I'm researching marine real estate for the family portfolio."

"You're ridiculous. But yes. Thursday?"

Thursday arrived crisp and overcast, the kind of weather that made staying indoors feel justified. You met Mingyu outside the entrance of the city's largest public aquarium, a sleek modern building with curved glass walls that reflected the gray sky. To minimize recognition, yours from occasional society-page mentions, his from being heir apparent, you'd both opted for low-key disguises: baseball caps (his black, yours navy), hoodies, sunglasses even though the sun was hiding.

He spotted you first, waving subtly from beside a ticket kiosk. As you approached, he pushed his cap up a little, revealing that easy smile that had started living rent-free in your head since the café.

"You look like you're about to rob the place" you teased, eyeing his all-black outfit.

"Says the one in a hoodie that says 'Don't Talk to Me Before Coffee'." He grinned, nodding at your chest. "Accurate?"

"Very." You adjusted your cap. "Ready to pretend we're normal people?"

"Desperately."

Tickets bought (he insisted on paying, waving off your protest with a quiet "Let me, please"), you slipped inside. The lobby was cool and dimly lit, the air carrying that faint salty tang of seawater. Few visitors wandered the halls, mostly parents with young kids and a couple of tourists. Perfect cover.

Mingyu led the way toward the main exhibits, his long strides slowing to match yours. "I Googled some facts last night" he admitted sheepishly. "Didn't want to look completely clueless."

You laughed softly. "Nerd."

"Guilty."

The first tanks glowed with soft blues and purples, schools of tiny neon tetras darting like living confetti. Mingyu stopped at one, crouching slightly to eye level with a particularly bold clownfish.

"They're braver than they look" he said. "Poke around anemones like they own the place."

You leaned in beside him, shoulders almost touching. "Kind of like you in boardrooms?"

He snorted. "Nah. I'm more like that pufferfish over there, big show, but mostly bluff."

You glanced where he pointed: a round, spiky ball floating serenely. "Cute bluff, though."

His ears tinted pink under the cap brim. Progress.

You moved deeper into the building, conversation flowing easier than before. He told you about a disastrous attempt to keep a betta fish in college ("It stared at me like I owed it money"), and you confessed your childhood dream of being a marine biologist before art took over. The aquarium's ambient soundtrack: gentle bubbles, distant whale calls audios, wrapped around your words like a buffer from the outside world.

Then came the tunnel.

A long acrylic passageway curved overhead and around, the massive main tank surrounding you on three sides. Sharks glided silently above, their shadows rippling across the floor. Rays skimmed past, wings undulating like slow-motion birds. Schools of silver fish flashed in synchronized turns. The blue light bathed everything in an otherworldly glow, making the space feel suspended, intimate.

You both stopped in the middle, heads tilted back.

"Wow" you breathed.

Mingyu's voice came low beside you. "Yeah."

For a minute, neither spoke. Just watched. A hammerhead cruised overhead, close enough that you could see the faint scars on its skin.

He shifted closer, arm brushing yours. This time it wasn't accidental. Neither of you moved away.

"I've never brought anyone here" he said quietly. "Not like this. Usually it's business dinners or charity galas. Never... just to look."

You turned your head, finding his profile illuminated in soft azure. "Why here, then?"

He exhaled slowly. "Felt safe. No reporters, no expectations. And..." He glanced at you, eyes dark in the low light. "I thought you'd like it. The colors. The quiet. Felt like something you'd draw."

Your chest tightened pleasantly. He'd thought about you. Not just logistics, the actual you.

"I would" you admitted. "I'd draw the way the light bends through the water. Or how the sharks look almost gentle when they're not hunting."

He smiled, small and real. "Show me sometime? Your sketches?"

"Maybe." You nudged his elbow lightly. "If you keep buying the tickets."

"Deal."

You lingered in the tunnel longer than necessary, walking its length twice. Hands brushed again, deliberate this time. Fingers hooked for a heartbeat before releasing, testing boundaries. When a group of schoolkids barreled through, giggling and pointing, Mingyu instinctively stepped in front of you, shielding without thinking. Protective. Sweet.

After the tunnel came the jellyfish exhibit, floating orbs pulsing like living lanterns in dark tanks. You stood shoulder to shoulder, mesmerized.

"Do you ever feel like that?" he asked suddenly.

"Like a jellyfish?"

"No. Like... drifting. Beautiful, but no real direction. Everyone watching, but no one really seeing."

You swallowed. "Sometimes. Especially lately. With the wedding stuff. Everyone has opinions, plans. I just want to... exist for a minute."

He nodded slowly. "Me too. The heir thing, it's loud. Always someone expecting the next move. Here, it's quiet. I can just be... me."

You looked at him then, really looked. The cap shadowed his face, but the vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable.

"You're doing okay at being you" you said softly.

He met your gaze. "You're making it easier."

The admission hung between you, fragile and honest.

Eventually, you wandered out to the gift shop and café area. Outside the main exit was a small stand selling soft-serve and popsicles—nothing fancy, just colorful treats in the late-afternoon chill.

Mingyu bought two vanilla cones dipped in chocolate, handing you one with a flourish. "Peace offering for dragging you through fish facts all day."

You took it, licking a drip before it fell. "You didn't drag. I had fun."

He watched you for a second too long, then caught himself and looked away, smiling into his cone.

You found a bench near the entrance, away from the main path. Sat close enough that your thighs touched. Ate in comfortable silence punctuated by small talk: favorite flavors (both pearl loyalists), worst dates either of you had been on (his involved a girl who live-streamed the entire dinner; yours was a setup where the guy asked for your dad's business card mid-appetizer).

As the cones dwindled, he spoke again, quieter. "I didn't expect to look forward to this."

You turned. "The secret meetings?"

"All of it. Talking to you. Not performing." He paused. "I was ready to hate this arrangement. Brace for polite resentment. But you're... not what I thought."

"Good or bad?"

"Good." His voice dropped. "Really good."

Your heart thudded against your ribs. "Same."

A breeze stirred, carrying the faint ocean scent from inside. You shivered slightly.

He noticed. Without asking, he shrugged off his hoodie, revealing a plain gray t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and draped it over your lap. "Here. You're cold."

It was warm from his body heat, smelled like him: cedar, clean cotton, something indefinably comforting.

"Thanks" you murmured.

He didn't take it back.

When the cones were gone and the sky darkened to early evening, you both stood reluctantly.

"Next time?" he asked, hands in his pockets like he was trying not to reach for yours.

"Definitely." You smiled up at him. "But maybe somewhere warmer."

He laughed softly. "Deal."

The goodbye was a hug, longer than the café farewell, arms wrapping fully around each other. His chin rested briefly on your head; you felt the steady beat of his heart against yours.

As you pulled apart, he tugged his cap down again. "Text me when you get home safe?"

"I will."

He watched you walk toward the parking area until you turned the corner. Only then did he head the other way.

That night, your phone buzzed.

"Home safe?"

"Yeah. Still wearing your hoodie. It's cozy."

"Keep it. Looks better on you anyway."

You smiled into the dark, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

The arrangement hadn't changed. The wedding date still loomed. But the dread had shifted, replaced by anticipation. By the quiet thrill of someone seeing you, really seeing you, and liking what they saw.

The city lights glittered like scattered diamonds far below as you stepped out of the elevator onto the rooftop of L'Étoile Noire, one of the city's most exclusive venues. Mingyu had chosen it deliberately: his family's holding company owned a minority stake, which meant guaranteed privacy, no walk-ins, no photographers lingering at the entrance, and a private booth already reserved under a discreet alias.

He waited just inside the glass doors, hands in the pockets of his tailored black suit. The fabric hugged his broad shoulders and long legs perfectly, the crisp white shirt underneath open at the collar by one button, enough to look effortlessly sophisticated without trying too hard. His dark hair was styled back but still had that soft, touchable wave you'd noticed at the aquarium. When he saw you, his expression shifted from polite anticipation to something warmer, unguarded.

You'd chosen a deep emerald green dress, sleeveless, fitted through the bodice, flowing into a subtle slit at the thigh. It caught the light as you moved, and from the way Mingyu's gaze lingered, starting at your face, dipping briefly, then returning to your eyes, you knew the effort had landed.

"Wow" he said quietly, stepping forward. "You look... incredible."

Heat crept up your neck. "You clean up well yourself. I almost didn't recognize you without the hoodie and cap."

He laughed softly, the sound low and genuine. "I figured I'd try to match the place. Come on, our table's this way."

He offered his arm. You took it, feeling the solid warmth of him through the suit jacket as he led you past the main dining area, sparse tonight, intimate lighting from string lights and candles, to a secluded corner booth enclosed by sheer curtains that fluttered gently in the evening breeze. The city sprawled out beyond the glass railing: twinkling towers, the river snaking silver under bridge lights, distant traffic humming like a lullaby.

The table was set for two: white linens, low candles, a single orchid in a slim vase. A bottle of chilled white wine already waited in an ice bucket.

Mingyu pulled out your chair. "I asked them to prepare your favorites based on what you've mentioned before. No pressure if you want to change anything."

You sat, touched. "You remembered I like seafood and hate mushrooms?"

"Every detail." He settled across from you, loosening his tie just a fraction. "I want tonight to feel... real. Not like another obligation."

The waiter appeared discreetly, poured the wine, and vanished again with a quiet promise to return when called.

You clinked glasses. The wine was crisp, floral, perfect.

"To secret dates before we're forced into the spotlight" you toasted lightly.

"To choosing this instead of running from it" he countered.

The first course arrived: seared scallops with a light citrus glaze, plated like art. Conversation started easy, recapping the aquarium, laughing about how he'd nearly tripped over a toddler chasing a toy shark. But as plates cleared and mains arrived (grilled sea bass for you, filet for him), the mood deepened.

He set his fork down midway through. "Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"I've been thinking about you constantly since last week." His voice was low, sincere. "Not just because of the arrangement. Because... you're easy to talk to. You make me laugh. And you see me, not the heir, not the portfolio. Just me."

Your fork paused. "I feel the same. I was so ready to resent this whole thing. Resent you, even. But you're thoughtful. Funny. Kind in ways that sneak up on you."

He smiled, small and almost shy. "Like when I spilled sugar at the café?"

"Exactly like that." You reached across the table, fingers brushing his knuckles. He turned his hand over immediately, palm up, lacing your fingers with his without hesitation.

The touch sent a quiet spark up your arm.

"I used to think arranged marriages were just cold transactions" he admitted. "But talking to you these past weeks... I started wondering if maybe it could be more. If we could make it more."

You squeezed his hand. "I've been wondering the same."

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath. "Good. Because I'm falling for you. Not the idea of you, not the merger. You."

The words hung in the air, heavy and beautiful. Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it.

"I'm falling too" you whispered. "Harder than I expected."

The rest of dinner passed in a soft blur: shared bites, stories of childhood mischief (his involved sneaking into his father's office to "redecorate" with sticky notes; yours was convincing your art teacher you needed extra clay for a "very important" project), gentle teasing about his secret love for baking shows.

Dessert arrived: molten chocolate cake with fresh berries and a scoop of vanilla gelato. He fed you a spoonful, laughing when a bit of chocolate smeared your lip. His thumb brushed it away, lingering just a second too long.

By the time coffee came, the city lights had fully taken over the night sky. Mingyu paid discreetly, no fuss, no show, then stood, offering his hand again.

"Walk with me?" he asked. "Just around the rooftop. No rush to leave."

You took his hand. He led you to the railing, away from the table but still private. The breeze carried hints of his cologne: warm, woody, intoxicating up close.

He turned to face you fully, the city glow outlining his features. "I've wanted to do this properly since the café."

"Do what?"

"This."

He cupped your face gently with both hands, large palms warm against your skin and leaned down. The kiss started soft, tentative: lips brushing, testing. Then deeper as you sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his lapels. His mouth was warm, tasting faintly of wine and chocolate. One hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer until bodies pressed together; the other threaded into your hair.

It wasn't rushed. It was deliberate, slow exploration, breaths mingling, a quiet hum of contentment from him when you parted for air only to kiss again.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he whispered "I've been dying to do that."

"Me too" you breathed. "Since the tunnel at the aquarium, maybe."

He chuckled softly, nose brushing yours. "Took us long enough."

You stayed like that for long minutes, kissing lazily, hands wandering innocently over shoulders and waists, stealing the night air between confessions.

"I don't want this to just be before the wedding" he murmured against your lips. "I want it to be real. After, too. Every day."

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, dark, earnest, shining under the string lights. "Then let's make it real."

He kissed you again, slower this time, sealing the promise.

"Wanna come to my house?" He asked.

"Sure" you answered.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, sealing you and Mingyu inside the small mirrored box that carried you upward to his penthouse's level. The city lights streaked past the glass wall in silent streaks of gold and white, but neither of you paid attention to the view.

Mingyu stood close, closer than necessary in the generous space, his suit jacket already unbuttoned, tie loosened and hanging crooked from his collar. His breathing was measured but deep, like he was trying to keep control of something rapidly unraveling. You could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the night air that still clung to his clothes.

Your own pulse hammered in your throat. The kiss on the rooftop had been a promise; this ride was the beginning of keeping it.

He turned his head slightly, catching your eye in the mirrored reflection. The corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction, just enough to make your stomach flip.

"You’re quiet" he murmured, voice rougher than usual.

"So are you."

His hand found yours, fingers threading together slowly. His thumb stroked over your knuckles once, twice. Then he lifted your joined hands and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your wrist.

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened directly into his private foyer, dark marble floors, low recessed lighting, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering skyline like a private movie screen. He didn’t bother with lights; the city glow was enough.

He tugged you forward gently. The moment the doors closed behind you, he turned, backing you against the nearest wall with careful but undeniable intent. His palms framed your face again, just like on the rooftop, but this time there was no hesitation.

He kissed you like he’d been starving for it. Deep, slow, hungry. Lips parted immediately, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that felt practiced even though it was brand new. You made a small, involuntary sound into his mouth, half sigh, half plea and he groaned in response, the vibration traveling straight through you.

His hands moved: down your neck, over your shoulders, tracing the bare skin of your arms before settling at your waist. He pulled you flush against him; you felt every hard line of his body, the unmistakable press of his arousal against your stomach.

You broke the kiss only long enough to gasp, "Bedroom?"

"Too far" he rasped, kissing along your jaw, down the column of your throat. "Want you now."

But even as he said it, he was already guiding you backward, through the open living area, past sleek furniture you barely registered, down a short hallway. His mouth never left your skin.

The bedroom door was already ajar. Moonlight and city light spilled across a massive bed with dark sheets. He kicked the door shut behind you without looking.

You reached for his tie first, yanking it free and tossing it somewhere. Then his jacket, shoulders shrugging it off as you pushed it down his arms. His shirt came next; your fingers fumbled the buttons until he laughed softly against your lips and helped, stripping it off in one fluid motion.

God, he was beautiful.

Broad chest, defined abs that flexed under your palms as you ran your hands over him. A faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. You traced it with your fingertips; he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Your turn" he whispered, voice wrecked.

He found the zipper at the back of your dress and drew it down inch by inch, knuckles grazing your spine. The fabric pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it, suddenly in only lingerie and heels.

Mingyu took one long, reverent look, eyes dark, pupils blown and exhaled shakily.

"You’re killing me" he said, almost to himself.

Then he was on his knees.

He kissed the soft skin just above the lace of your panties, open-mouthed and slow. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive crease where leg met hip. When his tongue traced the edge of the fabric, you threaded your fingers into his hair and tugged.

"Mingyu-"

He looked up at you through dark lashes. "Tell me what you want."

"Everything."

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and drew them down your legs, following the path with kisses: inner thigh, knee, calf. When they were off, he stood again, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct; he carried you the last few steps to the bed and laid you down like you were something precious.

He shed the rest of his clothes quickly: trousers, briefs, until he was bare above you. Thick, hard, flushed. The sight made your mouth go dry.

He crawled over you, caging you with his arms, and kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. His body settled between your thighs; the hot length of him pressed against your core, sliding through slickness without entering yet.

You arched up, seeking friction. He groaned into your mouth. "Patience, baby. Want to take my time."

But he didn’t make you wait long. He kissed down your body: collarbones, breasts (lingering there, tongue circling one nipple until you were whimpering), stomach, the dip of your waist. When he reached your core, he spread you open with gentle thumbs and looked up one last time.

"Beautiful" he breathed.

Then his mouth was on you.

Slow licks at first: broad, flat strokes of his tongue that made your hips jerk. Then he focused, circling your clit with precise, maddening pressure, sucking gently, humming when you cried out. Two long fingers slid inside you, curling just right, stroking in time with his tongue until your thighs trembled around his head.

You came hard, back arching, fingers twisting in the sheets, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, oversensitive and boneless.

Only then did he crawl back up, kissing every inch of skin on the way. When he reached your mouth, you tasted yourself on his tongue and moaned into the kiss.

"Need you" you whispered against his lips. "Please."

He reached for the nightstand, tore open a condom packet with his teeth. Rolled it on with practiced ease.

Then he settled between your thighs again, the blunt head of him nudging at your entrance.

"Look at me" he said softly.

You did.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face the entire time. When he was fully seated, hips flush to yours, he paused, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.

"You feel…" He swallowed hard. "So perfect."

You wrapped your legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back. "Move."

He did.

Slow at first, long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. Then faster, harder, finding a rhythm that had you both gasping. His hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect strokes.

You came again, sharper this time, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath.

"Fuck, gonna-" His rhythm stuttered. "Where-"

"Inside" you gasped. "Please."

He buried his face in your neck, thrust once, twice more, deep, desperate and came with a low, broken groan, hips jerking as he spilled into the condom.

For long moments neither of you moved, just heavy breathing, sweat-slick skin, hearts hammering against each other.

Eventually he eased out carefully, disposed of the condom, then returned with a warm cloth from the bathroom. He cleaned you gently: between your thighs, your stomach, before tossing it aside and pulling you into his arms.

You curled against his chest; he tugged the comforter over both of you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

"I meant it earlier" he murmured into your hair. "I’m in love with you."

You tilted your head up, found his eyes in the dim light. They were soft, unguarded, shining.

"I love you too" you whispered.

His smile was small, almost shy. He kissed you: slow, sweet, nothing like the earlier hunger.

"I don’t want the wedding to just be a contract" he said quietly. "I want vows that mean something. I want this, us, every day. Not because we have to. Because we choose to."

You nodded, throat tight. "Then that’s what we’ll do."

He pulled you closer, tucking your head under his chin. One hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing together.

"Sleep" he whispered. "I’ve got you."

[imnotshua]

soft launch | hvc

٠࣪⭑ pairing: pitcher!vernon chwe x f!reader ٠࣪⭑ for: the aju league collab! ٠࣪⭑ summary: An intervention from your well-meaning but frankly cruel friends leaves you without access to your credit cards, which you suppose is a blessing in disguise, but the debt is still looming over your head. It’s just as well the offer from your ex boyfriend turned Yankees pitcher comes at the perfect time. For a couple of celebrity infested parties, a little hand holding in public, and a few vague posts on instagram, Vernon will pay off your debt in full. Hell, he’ll even throw in tickets to a game or two. ٠࣪⭑ genre: fake dating au! exes to friends to lovers. comedy, fluff, eventual smut ٠࣪⭑ chapters: 1 of 5 (complete), posting weekly ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ chapter warnings: mentions of sex toys, drinking, debt, joke about foot fetish, lack of baseball/nyc knowledge from author (baseball just isn't a thing in england), and an unrealistic amount of free time for vernon as a result (oops). unbeta'd, because this got so fucking long and i can't ask my poor, wonderful, friends to read all that for me. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post!٠࣪⭑ wc: 14.2k, fic total 60k+٠࣪⭑ a/n: so i kept meaning to post this but life got literally crazy lmao. i hit the block limit or something bc it wouldn’t let me post this fic all at once, so now i’m posting on saturdays. the good news is, the fic is complete and now i can solely concentrate on worm guy jun around my shambles of a life! hurrah!٠࣪⭑ thank yous: enormous thank u 2 @sailorsoons and @100vern for hosting the collab! and double thanks to jewel for making this banner, she always makes such fun ones! go check out the rest of the aju league fics here!

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“You guys fucking suck, I hate you.”

Joshua doesn’t pay you any mind, because he’s busy chopping your cards into little pieces. 

“Shhh, babe, this is for your own good,” says Lara, who’s going through your purse just in case there’s any more.

“You know I can just order new cards, right?” you try, desperately. “This is pointless.” 

Seungcheol, who’s sitting on your lap to stop you from ‘running away’ (despite your protests that they’re all in your apartment) says “That’s why Vernon’s changing all your passwords.”

Your eyes slide over in horror to Vernon, who doesn’t look up from your phone. “How did you get into my accounts?” you snap.

Vernon scoffs, a smug, lopsided smile on his face. “You’ve had the same password for everything since we were fourteen, I’m doing you a favour.” A pause. “Guys, should I set up autopay?” 

“YES!” the group choruses, while you push uselessly at Seungcheol’s back because your legs are going numb.

Joshua and Lara deduce that there’s probably more cards in your bedroom and you’re squirming to get up, but Seungcheol’s got you pinned.

“HEY!” you yell at their backs. “Don’t look in my nightstand! That’s where my sex toys are!”

“Oh yeah, we’re definitely looking in there,” says Lara seriously, and Joshua nods. 

And after a moment–

“Oh! Well this is more than I expected.”

“Oh my God,” says Joshua, sounding far too excited. “This dildo has hearts on it!”

There’s the sound of more rifling, and then Lara calls out, “Score for the peach shaped thing?”

Vernon looks up, confused. ‘Like a rose toy?’ he mouths at Seungcheol, who shrugs. 

You sigh, resigned. “Nine point five.”

“Damn, okay, I’m getting one.”

Twenty minutes later, they’ve found your last two cards, and Vernon declares he’s all done locking you out of your own accounts, when Seungcheol suggests brunch.

You huff, rubbing the feeling back into your thighs. “Can’t, I’m broke now.”

“Aw, hun,” says Lara, rubbing your back affectionately. “You were already broke.”

“I have a really good job,” you insist, pouting.

“And what good is that when you’re twenty-four thousand dollars in debt?” deadpans Seungcheol.

“Well–”

“What did you spend it all on anyway?” asks Vernon.

“Sex toys,” say Lara and Joshua in unison.

You scowl at them.

Vernon slings an arm around your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll get yours this time.”

You angle your head to look at him, big puppy eyes and a fake smile of adoration. “Wow, I always wanted a sugar daddy.”

“I still think you two behave super weird for exes,” says Seungcheol, scrolling through his phone looking for a new spot, even though you’ll end up in the same restaurant down the street you always go to. 

“It’s not a relationship if you break up at sixteen and you’re both still virgins afterwards,” you say.

“I wasn’t a virgin,” insists Vernon. 

You roll your eyes. “Half a handjob doesn’t count, loser.”

Lara makes a face. “Half a handjob?”

“Well my wrist got tired,” you explain.

“I’m so glad I didn’t know either of you back then,” she says, and you shove at her shoulder.

Seungcheol sighs, locking his phone. “Nancy’s?”

There’s a series of enthused nods as if it would’ve been anywhere else, and the group moves over to the door to start putting on their shoes. 

“Uhh–” starts Lara, watching you slip on your flats. “Don’t you need to change first?”

“Oh–” you say, looking down at your Moomin pyjamas. “You know this is your fault for staging an intervention before noon on a Sunday, right?”

Your friends all start complaining at you over each other, until you’re retreating with your hands raised into your bedroom and telling them to go ahead without you while you change. “I’ll meet you there in ten, order me the usual?”

Not long after you can hear the front door click closed, and you’re digging through your drawers to find that one skirt that’ll go nice with your new boots, but there’s a quiet noise of movement from the other room. Your hands still on your clothes.

“Who’s here?” you shout.

“Just me,” Vernon calls from the other room, and you relax. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m not lending you my car again,” you say, pulling the skirt out victorious. “Aren’t the Yankees paying you good money now? Buy your own.”

“No, I don’t– yes, they are but– why do you still have a car in the city–” he starts and it makes you laugh because he almost sounds– nervous? 

Vernon is hardly ever nervous around you. Once– when you were fifteen and, after nine years of friendship, he asked if you’d go to the movies with him. Very sweet. You watched The Scorpion King 3. Another time, in his bedroom while his parents were out, and it was awkward for like a whole week afterwards. Funny in hindsight, agonising at the time. And that one time four years ago when he borrowed your car and returned it with a scratch in the bumper. He nearly cried and promised to have it fixed when he had the money, even though there was a huge dent of your own doing right next to it. A year later, he was signed to the Yankees and he made good on his word and then some, had the bumper and the driver door (that you’d damaged while opening it onto a lamppost) replaced.

“I’m sorta seeing someone,” he says.

“Okay?” you say, confused, as you’re pulling the skirt on one-handed and trying to find the good brand of tights that don’t have a ladder in with the other. “You want my approval or something?”

You can tell his expression just from the way he sighs and you suppress your laugh. 

“Can we just talk face to face?” He complains. “It’s weird through a wall.”

“Not unless you want an eyeful of my tits and I’m guessing your new girlfriend won’t like that.”

“She’s not my girlfriend– uh– she’s kind of married.” 

You gasp while shrugging on your big turtleneck sweater. “Vernon–”

“She’s in the middle of a divorce, but it’d be messy if word got out.”

“Do I know her?” There’s a long pause. “Dude, is she famous?”

“Um. No,” he says. “But her husband is my teammate.”

You whistle low. “Jesus Christ. Are you the reason they broke up?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “But it won’t look that way from the outside. They’re still trying to keep their split out of the press for the kid’s sake–” Your mind whirls. Stepdad Vernon is not something you ever would’ve pictured for him. Especially not stepdad to his own teammate's kid. “–so we’re dialing things down for a little while. Someone caught wind and she’d worried it’ll be picked up by the press. Says we should date other people.” 

You’re still wondering when he got so messy, putting in your earrings and smoothing your hands over your hair, when your brain catches up. “So what’s this got to do with me?” There’s yet another long pause. You can hear the way the floorboards creak under his feet. “Vernon?”

“Can we– fuck this is so embarrasing– can we pretend to date for a bit? Play it up for the media?”

Your hands still again. “For how long?”

“Just until after they announce they’re divorcing.”

You give yourself a once over in the mirror before you leave the room, trying to imagine yourself as Vernon’s pretend girlfriend. If you’d go together. If it’d even be believable. You don’t buy it yourself.

Vernon looks at you with an unusual unease when you step back into the room. Opens his mouth to speak and struggles to find the words, but he should know better than to feel that way around you. All these years being friends, you’ve been there through each other's biggest mistakes and the ugliest relationships and you’ve seen each other when you’re puking up the remnants of the night into a trashcan on the street. If anyone’s going to judge him, it’s not going to be you. 

“I can make it worth your while?” he says at last.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, as if adding to your lore isn’t enough of an incentive. 

“I could pay off your cards.”

You blink at him stupidly. “What? Vernon, that’s a crazy amount of money.”

Vernon laughs. “Last week you heard me talking about buying my parents a house in the Hamptons.”

“Yeah but that's your parents.”

He shrugs. “So what? You’ve basically been in my life for the same amount of time.”

“Oh sure,” you say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Making friends with you in the hopes of being able to hang out in your cool treehouse is totally equal to birthing and raising you.”

He laughs again, and you’re staring at him like he’s insane.

“Seriously,” he says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Hand me my phone real quick?”

Vernon tosses it to you, snorts when you struggle to catch it. “What are you doing?”

“Looking up how much you’re being paid that you’re able to call twenty-four grand not a big d–” You’re cut off by your own gasp, staring hard at your phone as if your eyes are deceiving you. “Well, yeah okay. That makes sense.”

You make your way over to flop on the couch, head tipped back on the wall, and Vernon sits slowly next to you. 

“How would this work then?” you ask. “Do we have an announcement or get photographs done or what?”

“I think a soft launch kind of vibe would be better.” Vernon leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Maybe we just hang out together and let people see and draw their own conclusions.”

You laugh. “We hang out all the time anyway, and we’ve been photographed together before.” 

The screenshot was printed as a magnet and it’s on Joshua's fridge, the five of you in the park eating cake. Vernon Chwe and friends celebrate after he was signed in the biggest deal of the year was the caption on some gossip page. The funny thing was it was a celebratory picnic for Joshua's breakup with his horrid boyfriend, i.e. the worst person on earth.

“I meant like, just us two.” He sighs, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Holding hands or something.” 

Your lip curls into a sardonic smile, put on your best valley girl accent. “Oh my God, guys, Vernon Chwe wants to hold my hand.”

He knocks your shoulder with his. “Can you be serious about anything?”

“You wouldn’t be friends with me if I were.” You suck in a breath, closing your eyes. “You’re really gonna pay off my debt?”

In contrast to your initial words, it’s a moment of rare vulnerability for you. It’s only recently that you’ve told your friends about it. The debt has been looming over your head for a while, tangled up in poor, frenzied (and costly) decisions, and you’ve been at a loss for what to do to curb your shopping addiction. Therapy has proved little help so far, though Lara did suggest that your current therapist has less than ideal reviews as of late, and maybe it’s time to find a new one. She probably has a point. 

This morning’s intervention was your friend's attempt to help, and though you resent having the decision taken out of your hands, you do appreciate their concern. 

“I can do it right now,” Vernon says. “Is that a yes?” 

“Throw in tickets to a couple of games and I’ll do it. I wanna see Giancarlo Stanton’s dump truck up close.”

“Wowww.” Vernon laughs. “You know I would’ve got you tickets any time, right?”

“Sure, but it’s way more fun to barter for it.” 

Vernon rolls his eyes. “Two games.”

Your smile stretches wide. “Four.”

“Three.”

“Sold!” you cheer. 

And then he’s grinning at you, and you him, and he’s saying, “Thanks, I really appreciate this.”

You wave him off. “You wanna text the guys and tell them we’ll be late?”

He digs out his phone from his pocket. “Sure. Why?”

“If I’m gonna hold your hand down the street then I need to put on make-up and that’s gonna take another fifteen minutes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Ugh, your hand is so clammy,” you complain.

“Shut up, oh my God.”

The walk has been… eventful. You’re no stranger to being caught in tourists' photographs in New York City, or random Tiktokers asking you questions on the street with a phone pushed in your space. What are you listening to and tell us where you got your outfit and what do you make and how much is your rent type of questions. But it’s different, holding hands with Vernon and strolling down the street has passersby widening their eyes, taking covert (but still painfully obvious) photos of the pair of you, and two people who stopped him to ask for signatures, eyes not so subtly sliding over to you, and then down to your interlocked fingers. 

Vernon hasn’t had many serious girlfriends since his career took off. There was one in college, they were together for a couple of years, but once he got signed they didn’t really have much time for each other. You suppose that this must be something of a novelty for his fans.

And it’s only when you walk into Nancy’s, Vernon holding the door for you to step through, and your friends stare at you open mouthed from the centre of the room, that you realise you hadn’t decided if you were going to tell them it’s all pretend. 

Vernon takes that decision away from you, because he’s letting go of your hand just to slip his own around your waist, and you have to swallow down your laugh at the incredulous look on Lara and Joshua’s faces, and the elated one on Seungcheol's. 

“I told y'all,” he all but shouts, and they have to shush him when other diners turn to stare. Vernon guides you over to the table, and you ignore Lara’s pointed expression.

There’s a moment of quiet when Vernon’s hand slips over the back of yours on the table, and says, like an afterthought, “Oh by the way, we’re dating now.”

Lara gapes, Seunghcheol looks smug. Joshua asks, “What happened in the last thirty minutes?”

“Well, after you left we made out sloppy style and I gave him the rest of that handjob,” you deadpan. 

“Riiiiiight,” says Lara. “I have another question– what the fuck?”

Vernon keeps his expression measured. “You see, Lara, when two people like each other very very much–”

“Were they this awful in high school?” Lara interrupts to ask Joshua.

“Oh–" says Joshua, head tilted and eyes narrowing at you. "Like way worse.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Joshua, Lara, and Seungcheol stayed the rest of the afternoon, which turned into ordering pizza for dinner and watching some shitty movie that Seungcheol chose. He fell asleep halfway through, and Lara and Joshua kept sending sidelong glances toward you and Vernon, hands clasped next to you on the couch. It took forever for them to leave, but Vernon stayed behind solely to give the impression he was staying the night. Now you’re washing the dishes and Vernon is drying, and you say– “So are we seeing each other afterwards?”

Vernon’s already got you tickets for Friday’s game, Yankees vs Blue Jays. You and a friend. You’ve just asked (a very enthusiastic) Seokmin from work, since he’s into baseball and won’t grill you as much as your other friends. 

“It might take me an hour to get away,” he says.

“That’s fine, you can come meet me and Seokmin somewhere whenever you finish up?”

Vernon nods. “Sure.”

“Should we go over how we’re gonna act in front of people? I can’t hold your hand for four hours again. I’m gonna get carpal tunnel syndrome.”

There’s a brief pause before he says– “You could put your hand on my leg? Like while we’re sitting next to each other.”

You nod, trying to picture what else would seem natural. “Okay, yeah. And you could touch my ass when we hug. I’ll call you a pervert and slap your hand away to really sell it.”

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “What about kissing? Are we public kissers?”

“We were,” you say, but you wonder how much of that is because you are, and because Vernon went along with it. Joshua would be suspicious if you suddenly weren’t, though you suppose he won’t be with you on Friday, so what does it matter? “We could just do a little hello kiss. A peck.”

“Got it.”

“What do you wanna tell people about how we got together?”

“Maybe we just stick close to the truth? We used to go out and we decided to give it another shot.”

“Borrring.”

Vernon chuckles. “You choose then. I don’t care.” 

You hum while you think. “What iffffff– you’ve been desperately in love with me all these years and never thought you’d have another chance, until the other day, when I wore the same perfume I had when we were together, and you just had to confess your undying love for me, and then made out for ages and got carried away and we fucked on right there on the floor.”

“Sounds fake–” he mumbles, and you splash him with water from your scrubbing brush. “Hey!”

“Let me be the main character for once,” you complain, going back to scrubbing off a stubborn stain on the pan. “I’ve never dated someone famous before.”

Vernon rolls his eyes. “You’re always the main char–”

“Anyway–” you cut him off. “That’s the story and I’m gonna tell Seokmin tomorrow so you’re beholden to it.”

“Fine. But you’re telling the story if we’re ever asked.”

You grin. “Deal.” You hand over the pan to Vernon, and dry your hands, moving over to lean against the counter. He passes you the dried pan back, to slot in the cupboard above your head, then he straightens the cloth over the handle of the drawer. “So how long are we doing this for?”

“Uh– ”

“Well, when are they gonna tell people about their divorce?”

“Rachel seemed to think it’ll be a month,” he says. Rachel. You try to picture her, conjuring up an image of a brunette, slip of a thing, with full lips and round eyes. Not that Vernon has a physical type beyond ‘pretty’. She’s probably funny though, witty and sharp, and a little softness under the surface. He likes people who make him laugh. “But if it’s longer, would you mind?”

You hum, thoughtful. “Damn, over a month without sex? Without a real date?”

Vernon laughs, shaking his head. “No one said you had to stop dating.”

“Dude–” you say, seriously. “If I'm publicly dating you, I’m not hooking up with someone else just to be outed as a cheater. I’m not trying to be trash-talked in a shitty magazine. Anything written about me should be good enough to hang on my mom’s fridge.”

There’s a moment of quiet and Vernon looks at the ceiling, his brows knitting together. Slowly, he says, “I didn’t think of that.”

You shrug. “It’s fine, I could do with a break from dating anyway.” You’ll get your money’s worth out of the treasure trove in your nightstand, at least. “Especially after the last guy I dated.”

Vernon moves over and flops down on the couch. A little odd, considering you thought he’d be heading home, but whatever. “Which guy?”

“The hedge fund guy.”

He frowns. “Did I meet him?”

You shake your head. “Nah. The others only met him twice, and you were somewhere on the west coast.” You move to sit down next to him, and say, “He was, like, really into feet. And normally I wouldn’t mind that but I caught him sniffing my dirty socks, had one in his pocket to take home and everything, and that weirded me out. The sneaking around part, I mean. If you wanna sniff my shit just ask, man.”

 Vernon grimaces. “Yeah, that’s– you really know how to pick them.”

“Careful,” you say, smirking. “I picked you once too.” He smiles, a little fond, opens his mouth to speak and then falters. “What is it?”

 “Are you sure about this?” he asks. “What we’re doing?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the p. “You already paid off my cards, dude. I can hardly pay you back now. Promise me one thing though– we’ll ‘break up’ in a chill way?”

Vernon looks at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“This thing has to end at some point so you and your real girlfriend–”

“Not my girlfriend,” he interrupts, but you carry on anyway.

“–can be together. And I don’t wanna be forever known as the girl Vernon Chwe cheated on. Like we should still be able to hang out without everyone thinking I’m a wet blanket and you’re an asshole life ruiner.”

He thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “That’s fair, yeah.”

He hums, eyes cast up in thought. “After we’re done I could set you up with one of the guys? I know some you might like.”

“God no,” you laugh. “Having my two-time ex boyfriend hooking me up with someone is so embarrassing. Let me catch my own fish.”

Vernon stares at you. “You have the weirdest expressions sometimes.”

“That is an expression, dummy.” You flick the TV back on. “You wanna watch something else before you go?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Is that a new purse?”

“Uh– no.”  

You’re taking your lunch break in the park, since your Wednesday schedule lines up nicely with Lara’s and Joshua’s. 

“It is,” says Lara, grabbing it from the bench. “Where’d you get the money?”

Without a minimum monthly payment to worry about anymore, you figured you deserved a little treat, but you forgot to account for your eagle eyed fashionista friend.

So you roll your eyes, picking at your food. “My parents got me gift cards for my birthday.”

Lara’s eyes narrow. “Your birthday was months ago.”

“Yeah! Well! It had no expiration!”

“You’re so full of shit,” she says flatly, tossing the purse back onto the bench. “You said your mom gave you a book and your dad forgot until three days later.”

You give her your sweetest, most innocent smile. “Wow, you really remember everything I tell you. That’s so cute.”

“Don’t try to deflect,” Lara says, leaning forward. “You’re not supposed to be spending money, remember? Intervention? No cards? Ringing any bells?”

You jab your fork into a bit of cucumber and pop it into your mouth before answering, “My parents came through a week later, after I put on the waterworks. I didn’t spend borrowed money.”

There’s a moment of silence while Lara considers this. “But why would you wait this long to spend your gift cards?”

You open your mouth to invent another excuse, but a familiar voice cuts through the chatter of the park.

“Hey, look who’s found time for us,” says Joshua, strolling toward the bench with a carrier of iced coffees. 

He passes one to Lara before plopping down beside you, and you take yours from the carrier, replying with a sharp “It’s been four days, asshole.”

“You’ve been avoiding us, though. The group chat has never been this quiet.”

You scowl at him. “Since when do you even check the group chat?” Joshua smiles wide and faux-innocent, so you give him the finger. 

“So, what are you doing on Friday? We’re thinking of hitting that new karaoke place near Bryant Park.”

“Can’t,” you say, trying to hide your disappointment. “I’ve got Vernon’s game.”

There’s a beat of silence, an exchanged look between your friends, before Lara says, “You’re going to that?”

“Uh, yeah? We’re girlfriend-boyfriend. Why wouldn’t I?”

Joshua chuckles, sipping his coffee. “We were talking yesterday, and it’s kinda weird that nothing’s changed.”

You laugh. “I feel like I should be offended?”

“When you’re into someone you’re disgusting to be around. Even with Vernon, in school it was, like–” Joshua stretches out his arms. “–this huge thing. But this time–” he shrugs. “–you’re exactly the same except you’re holding hands.”

“We just mean you’re not…” Lara trails off. “You’re not very couple-y. Like, at all. Not even an Instagram story.”

You frown. “We’re very couple-y when we’re on our own. We have natural chemistry, you know?”

“Natural chemistry but you didn’t kiss even once on Sunday.” Lara gives you a pointed look. “We’ve seen you with your exes, remember?”

“Please. Vernon’s not into PDA’s–” You’re interrupted with a scoff from Joshua and you work to keep your expression schooled into something casual. “–now, and I respect that. Besides, if I kissed him he’d get a semi in like three seconds, and none of you want that.”

“Yeah.” Joshua grimaces. “Yeah, no I don’t wanna see that.”

You throw a bit of chicken at him. It lands on his shirt and he brushes it off onto the floor. He leans back, still eyeing you with that knowing look– the one that says he knows when you’re full of shit.

“Just saying,” Joshua says, going back to his food. “We don’t mind if you want to be real around us.”

You wave him off, but it's true, what they say. You’ve always lacked subtlety in every area of life. When you’re with someone you have no inclination to hide your feelings about them from your friends, and your soft launches are everyone else’s hard launch. All day, you overthink the situation, until you’re finally in the privacy of your own home, when you text Vernon.

You [18:42] the gang is Skeptical of Us

nonie [18:54] wdym

You [18:56] they said we’re not couple-y enough

nonie [18:57] ok? 

nonie [18:57] do they want us to make out in front of them or wat

You [18:57] no. shua doesn’t want to see ur semi 🫶

nonie [18:57] bro

You [18:57] speaking from past experience ofc

nonie [18:57] i was a teenager….

You [18:57] yeah well what’s changed?

nonie [18:58] uhhhh i don’t have a crush on you anymore

You [18:58] nonie you wound me

He hearts the message and you snort.

You [18:58] what are we gonna do around our friends?

nonie [18:59] idk. pet names or some shit 🤢

nonie [18:59] we could cuddle for next movie night 

nonie [18:59] you can sit in my lap or something

You [18:59] ok 🤢 promise you won’t get hard?

nonie [18:59] fuck off omg bro

You [19:00] ily2 💘 You [19:00] are you free? we need to take pictures for instagram to get lara and joshua off my back

nonie [19:01] gimme an hour

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Your elevator’s making that sound again,” says Vernon, kicking off his shoes after letting himself into your apartment.

“Dude, I keep telling you to take the stairs.”

“You live on the fifth floor.”

You laugh. “Aren’t you an athlete?” 

“Shut up,” he says, and it only makes you laugh harder. “So– I hung out with Cheol yesterday and he asked me to convince you to let him get someone’s number. Someone from work–” 

“Eleanor, yeah, he’s been horny for her since my birthday party.”

“Whatever,” grumbles Vernon, flopping onto your couch. “The point is he believes this is real.”

“Well, duh–” you agree, sinking into the space beside him. “He was always gonna. Lara is easily swayed. It’s Joshua we need to fool the most.”

Vernon’s mouth flattens. “You really think he doesn’t believe us?”

“You do?”

Vernon runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should lay it on a little thicker around them?”

You make a face. “I don’t see why we had to lie to them at all.”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I figured it’d be easier if we’re not keeping track of who knows what. Immersion, or whatever.”

“Immersion smimmersion,” you mock. “Don’t you think it’ll fuck up the dynamics?”

It’s his turn to make a face. “We’re not actually dating, y’know? After this we’ll just go back to being friends.”

You sigh. Diving into situations headfirst has always been an issue for you, and only when the ripples keep spreading is when you have second thoughts. Joshua has known you both the longest, your parents being best friends, and Vernon’s next door neighbour elementary through high school. He has (so he says) painfully vivid memories of you making out in the treehouse, by the lockers, on the bleachers, or leaning over the fence at the field. You haven’t thought of it in years. Vernon’s clumsy hand up your shirt, your fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, your cherry gloss smeared over his lips. Joshua has known you through every partner, through every break-up, through every messy situationship. He knows you love fiercely, and with everything you have, and he knows Vernon doesn’t commit to just anyone, how he fixates on his person.

“There’s no way he’s gonna buy this if we’re not all in,” you say, chewing on your lip. 

“So– what do you wanna do?” he asks, tipping his head back against the wall. 

You pause a hair’s breadth too long, and Vernon raises an eyebrow. 

“Should we– ugh– like… Kiss?”

The eyebrow doesn’t move. “Like pecks or actual making out?” Vernon’s laugh comes out sharp at your reaction. “Did you just gag?”

You scoff as you shove at him. “Believe it or not the appeal of kissing you has somewhat dimmed over the past decade.” 

“Yeah well–” he says, rubbing his shoulder. A pause from him, this time. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and back up. “Should we practice now? I will if you will.”

You freeze. He’s staring at you with something like earnestness in his expression, and a whispered “What?” falls from your mouth. 

“I don’t mind if you still have garlic breath. I can handle it.” 

You’re suddenly in enemy territory. “So brave, Vernon, you’re a real fucking pioneer,” you snap.

But then he’s tugging you into his space by the crook of your elbow, leaning closer, and you– you just gape, but are you letting him?

It’s only when the corners of his mouth tug upwards that you realise he’s dicking you around. The sound you make is halfway between a laugh and a choke, and Vernon's mouth spreads into a triumphant grin. “Can’t believe you fell for that.”

You huff a laugh and cross your arms over your middle, an embarrassed heat flaring in your chest. “Your acting has gotten better,” you offer begrudgingly.

Vernon stretches, lets out a yawn. “All that media training finally paid off.”

You hum your disgruntled agreement, and Vernon looks at you again.

“Don’t say you actually wanted to…” His smug bravado slips away with the end of his sentence. 

Here’s your chance. With your middle finger you trace circles into the fabric of the couch in the small gap between you. Your nervous tell, clocked immediately by those who know you, by Vernon. You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “Practicing isn’t such a bad idea. If we need to really sell it, at some point. For credibility.”

Vernon shifts in his seat, twists his body to face you, and there’s a lick of tension running down your spine. “So that’s what this is? Credibility? Not because you want to kiss me?” 

“What if it’s both?” It’s infinitesimal, but you catch it, the way he sucks in a breath. “Well,” you say, and you look up at him, make your eyes big and sincere. “Are we doing this or are we gonna sit here and spiral?”

He wipes his hands on his jeans. A pink flush creeping up over his ears. “You wouldn’t–”

“I would–” you argue. “Kiss me.”

“Kiss me first,” Vernon counters, jutting out his chin.

You lean in closer. “You kiss me first–”

“No you kiss me–”

“You kiss m–” 

And then he’s in your space, a hand on your thigh and you’re jolting back, bashing your head on the wall. “Oh!” 

“Uh–” 

You both freeze. 

“You really thought I meant it,” you say quietly, a jubilant smile slowly spreading across your face.

Vernon scoffs and looks away. “Please–”

“You did!”

“I was calling your bluff,” he argues. His hand is still on your leg.

“Uh-huh, are you sure about that? Get your dirty dickbeater off of me.” 

Vernon jerks his hand back into his lap, and you grin at the flush creeping up his neck. Let it never be said you won’t match his freak. He shifts over, leaves a bigger gap between your legs, and grabs the phone from the table. 

“Are we gonna take some pictures or what?” 

“Sure,” you say, watching the easy expression he’s wearing. You never could tell what’s really going on inside his head. “How should we do this?”

Vernon’s tongue skims the edge of his teeth while he thinks. “Soft launch, yeah? Put on a movie you’d watch with someone you like and sit closer.”

You load Netflix, finding that old movie with Hugh Grant that you were supposed to watch with the last guy, while Vernon heads over to the kitchen to pour some popcorn in a bowl. He sets it down on the table. It still looks a little off. Too perfect. 

“Should we get drinks or something? I have wine.”

Vernon shakes his head. “I don’t drink during the season.”

Right. Of course. “Hot chocolate, then?”

“You trying to knock me out?”

“It’s eight PM,” you say. “If hot chocolate is enough to sedate you then the Yankees have a problem.”

He snorts and nods toward the cupboard, and you stand up to help. “You got marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

You fetch the powdered chocolate and marshmallows while Vernon digs around your fridge. Pulls out the milk and a pan to heat it on the stove like he’s fully at home. Come to think of it, you can’t remember the last time you hung out at his place. Any get-together is either at your apartment, or Joshua’s. Lara has unfortunate roommates, and Seungcheol’s place would simply burst if more than three people tried to sit down in there. Vernon has more space, and it’s nicer, and it comes with the luxury of a working elevator and a doorman– and the last time you saw it was when he gave you all a tour right after he got the keys. 

“Hey– why don’t we ever hang out at your place?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, his mouth falling flat. “I like it here better.”

You lay out two mugs– your favourite, yellow ditsy florals and thick ceramic, and one for Vernon, a Supernatural mug left here years ago by an old boyfriend.

Vernon’s lip curls in distaste. “That one sucks. Can I have the green one of those instead?” he says, pointing at your mug. 

You laugh, putting it back in the cupboard and pulling out the matching one. “I didn’t know you were so against the Winchesters.”

Vernon hums. “You know, a real girlfriend would’ve memorised which one I liked by now.”

You narrow your eyes as he fills the mugs. “And a real boyfriend wouldn’t put marshmallows in before the milk.”

“They melt better.”

“That’s anti-aesthetic propaganda.”

When you settle back onto the couch, the screen glowing too bright in the dim room, Vernon slides a fraction closer, shoulder brushing yours. And it’s… fine. Not totally abnormal. You’ve been squished together on couches before, but this is– it’s different. After a minute, he shifts a little closer again, and drapes an arm along the back of the couch behind you. Not touching, but it’s there. You wonder if you’re supposed to lean against him, or something, reminding yourself it’s only weird because the touch is intentionally boyfriend without intent to go further.

“This okay?” he asks, bumping your knee with his.

“Wow,” you say. “Look at you asking consent to knock our knees together.”

“Shut up.” You feel him relax beside you, sinking into the cushions, thigh pressing against yours. The opening credits roll. Hugh Grant’s face appears, doing that thing where he looks charmingly inconvenienced by life.

“God,” Vernon mutters. “He always looks like someone just told him his stocks are crashing.”

“Be nice,” you say. “He’s my emotional support British man.”

“Isn’t he into BDSM?”

“I don’t know, why do you know that?” You laugh, and turn to look at him. Vernon’s got that disarming sideways smile on his face. 

“You’re all stiff,” he says, tapping your shoulder. “Relax.”

“Yeah, well–” you start. “Aren’t we supposed to be taking a photo? Why are we basically cuddling?”

“You’re not even touching me. I’m creating the impression of intimacy,” he insists, reaching forward to take a sip of his drink. When he sits back, his arm goes back around you, resting on your shoulder this time and gently tugging you in. “C’mon– it’s play pretend.”

You sigh, exaggerated, and lean back just enough that your arm rests against his side. It’s subtle. Plausible. Something a girlfriend would do without even thinking about it.

“This is so stupid,” you say quietly.

“Uh-huh,” he agrees.

Vernon plucks your phone from your lap, and opens the camera. Takes a snap of the movie playing, the matching mugs, your jean-clad thighs pressed against each other. 

“Put your hand on my leg– no, the other hand.” 

You place your hand just so, your pinky brushing the inner seam. His thigh tenses for a fraction of a second. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s fine.”

“Joshua’s gonna zoom in on this,” you say quietly. “Enhance. Analyze.”

“Uh-huh,” Vernon replies, almost absentminded, as he takes more photos from slightly different angles.

“Seungcheol’s gonna eat it up.”

“He already thinks I’m in love with you,” Vernon replies. 

You snort. “He’s a romantic.”

Vernon hums, noncommittal, eyes still on your phone screen, taking more pictures. “Or deluded.”

The silence stretches, until he’s dropping your phone back into your lap and shifting away saying, “That should be enough, do your thing with the GIFs.”

“Wait wait, come back. I need a selfie.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow, but he settles back into place anyway. “What happened to the soft launch?”

“I meant just me, idiot. Whenever I’m soft launching I post a selfie while I’m hugging them– you never noticed?”

He swallows, looks at the TV. “Uh– no? I guess I don’t look at Instagram much.” 

You tilt your head, because you’re pretty sure it’s his most used app, given how many reels he sends the group chat. 

90s Hugh Grant says something charming and Vernon scoffs.

“I don’t get why everyone loves him.”

“He has cardigan appeal.”

He glances down at you, mouth quirking. “You like cardigans?”

“I like emotionally unavailable men in knitwear, and ready-to-move-in-with-me women in leather jackets,” you say. “It’s a real problem.”

He laughs softly, and his arm drops around you again, casual enough to make it feel like it’s supposed to be there. You do your best to let yourself relax into him, tuck your head into his shoulder, and you bring up your phone. You take a few photos, making sure Vernon’s face is just out of frame, but a sliver of his neck is visible, as is the hand on your shoulder. You shift a little closer, press your side into his. Snap a couple more. He smells really good. Something faintly peppery and warm.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “You’re doing great. Very believable.”

“Mhm. You done? I should go.”

There’s a small twinge of disappointment in your gut, having sort of assumed he’d want to finish the movie with you, but you push yourself up and out from under his touch. “Yeah, I’m done. You got plans tonight?”

Vernon shakes his head. “Just an early start.” He stands and heads over to the door. “Got practice.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” you say, as he’s slipping on his shoes. 

“You’ll tell the guys I stayed the night?” 

You shrug. “If it comes up.” It’d be strange to offer tidbits like that up unprompted. “See ya.”

A little later, after you’ve posted the selfie and one of the pictures Vernon took to your close friends stories with some pixelated love heart gifs, you’re doing your skincare before bed, when Vernon texts you. 

nonie [22:09] forgot to ask stance on other PDAs?

You [22:10] ✅: holding hands, affectionate touch (waist/leg/arm), cheek/mouth kisses You [22:10] ❓: making out, hand on butt You [22:10] 🚫: hand on tit, neck kisses, forehead kisses 

nonie [22:11] forehead kisses?

You [22:12] solely reserved for ✨Actually In Love✨ people

nonie [22:12] noted

You [22:14] is your girlfriend cool with all of this?

nonie [22:14] she’s not my girlfriend

Your fingers hover over the screen. You should’ve asked more questions about them. About her. Vernon’s not a bad guy. He doesn’t cheat– not that this would be cheating– what you mean to say is that he’s not someone who hurts people. 

You [22:15] do you love her?

nonie [22:15] we were just fucking around

You [22:15] not what i asked

The three dots appear and disappear in quick succession, but in the end, Vernon doesn’t reply with an answer to that.

nonie [22:18] still on for friday?

You [22:20] yeah duh. like i said. wanna see giancarlo’s dumpy 😍

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

On Friday morning, Vernon groans into the receiver when he picks up the phone.

“Rude,” you say, with a tsk. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

“What’s rude is calling me before nine,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “What’s up?”

“I’m at the salon,” you say. “Thought you could pick my nail colour for tonight.”

There’s a pause and it sounds like he’s sitting up. “What?”

“I figured I should look nice for my first public appearance as your secret girlfriend so I’m having my nails done.”

“Okaaaaaay,” he says. “But why are you asking me?”

“Dude, this is boyfriend privilege. Bonus points because I can tell the guys you paid for my nails.”

“Am I paying for your nails?”

“No, obviously not,” you say. “But what does that matter? Pick a colour, dude, Angie’s waiting.”

“Navy and white.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you’d pick your team colours, oh my God.”

“How much are your nails?”

“Don’t you start too. Lara’s already been on at me for the bag all week–”

“Just tell me,” he interrupts.

You groan and tip your head forward, and Angie reprimands you wordlessly for moving too much with a tap to your hand. “Sorry, Angie,” you say, sweetly. “How much for these?”

“Do you want nail art?”

“Mmmm,” you say, thinking out loud. “Yeah, make them pretty.”

“One-eighty.”

“D’you hear that?”

“Yup,” he says. 

There’s a long pause. 

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” you ask. “Where’s my scolding?”

“Call Lara for that–” he says, muffled around a loud yawn. “Going back to sleep.” 

“Sleep tight, princess,” you coo into the phone. “See you tonight.”

He clicks off and after a minute you get a notification from Venmo–

Vernon paid you $250

And then a text– 

nonie [08:57] make sure angie gets a tip

You flush. It’s one thing to pay off your debt in exchange for a favour, or like, buying you a coffee or whatever, but paying for your luxuries is different. He’s not your boyfriend. He’s just Vernon.

You [08:57] vernon You [08:57] you don’t need to do that

nonie [08:58] get my jersey number too

Is it bad that you don’t know it? Yeah, you think, yeah it’s pretty bad. So you angle your phone closer to your body as you google his number. 

“Angie,” you say after a moment. “Can you put a ninety-eight on my ring fingers?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’re late, unfortunately. Got stuck in traffic and in the end you had to abandon your car and take the subway. You make it to your seats by the time they’re in the third or fourth inning. The stadium hums with that familiar buzz of energy, and the low rumbling thunder of thousands of hopeful voices layered together. The Blue Jays are batting, and Vernon’s out on the mound, stretching his shoulders, so composed in front of this sea of people.

You’re in the Legends Suite with Seokmin from work– who you'd invited mostly because he loves baseball, but also because he doesn’t know Vernon, and won’t call you out on your lack of changed behaviour around him. Ever since you picked him up, Seokmin’s been alternating between inhaling food and asking too many questions. How’d you meet (school. You went to school with the Yankees pitcher??) and how’d you get together (he never stopped loving me. You dated the Yankees pitcher twice??) and can you score me tickets to another game? 

“Holy shit,” Seokmin says, leaning over the railing. “You weren’t kidding about these seats. You can practically smell the sweat off the players.”

“Gross.” You take a sip of your drink. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He shoots you a grin. “I already tagged you in a story promising you my firstborn.” Then, his gaze flicks toward the field. “Your boyfriend’s getting started by the way.”

You follow his line of sight– Vernon standing tall on the mound, glove at his chin, eyes trained on the batter. The crowd’s already cheering, cameras flashing. He’s completely in his element, calm and unreadable, and you’re brought hurtling back to when you were kids, and you were dragged along to all his games. Moral support he’d called it. You always said he just wanted to prove he had a girlfriend to the other guys.

“Yup,” you say. “There he is.”

He winds up, throws– the sharp crack of the bat sending a foul ball sailing into the stands. The crowd erupts in cheers and groans. You clap politely next to Seokmin, who yells loud, and you know you made the right choice bringing him. He is as perfectly dramatic as is necessary for these sorts of things. 

Vernon turns back toward the dugout for a moment, eyes scanning the stands. Then, quick as anything, he lifts a hand, gives the smallest wave in your direction. No smile, no theatrics, just a flicker of acknowledgment. You wave back, both hands high above your head, smiling huge. It’s hard to see his expression clearly, but you swear you see him huff a laugh.

Seokmin coos. “Aw, lovebirds.”

You knock his arm, eyes back on the field. “Shh, I’m watching the game.” A moment passes before you lean closer, voice low. “Okay, but can we talk about Giancarlo Stanton’s ass for a second?”

Seokmin nearly snorts out his beer through his nose. 

“That thing’s insane,” you say. “It should have its own insurance policy ala Regina George’s hair.”

He’s laughing so hard he has to put his drink down. “You shouldn’t objectify men’s bodies like that y’know.”

“I’m not reducing him to his body parts, Seokmin. I’m sure he’s a fine person with or without an ass that could be seen from the International Space Station.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

At the start of the next inning, your throat already growing hoarse, Seokmin nudges you with his elbow. “Hey, see that guy just over there? That’s Mingyu Kim. He nearly broke the home run record last season. Dude’s insane, you’ve gotta watch him.”

“Mingyu?” you repeat, scanning the field. “Which one?”

“The tall one. Coming up to bat now, number six.”

You spot him easily– stupid tall, broad shoulders under the pinstripe jersey, helmet casting shadow over his eyes. His blinding smile flashes on the jumbotron for a split second when he catches a line drive and takes off fast. You lean forward, appraising. “Okay, wow, he’s hot. Good arms.”

Seokmin whips his head toward you, scandalized. “You can’t say that!”

You laugh, caught off guard. “Why not?”

“Because your boyfriend is right there playing for the same team!” he says.

“He’s not–” you start, but Seokmin’s confused expression cuts you off. You flounder for a moment. “I mean– it’s not that serious. Yet.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Not that serious? You’re sitting in the Legends Suite with his number painted on your damn nails.”

You instinctively fold your hands in your lap as if that’ll hide the proof. “Okay, first of all, the nails are for team spirit.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, unconvinced. “Team spirit and romantic subtext.”

You give him your best poker face. “You just want me married off so you can stop hearing about my dating horror stories.

“Maybe,” he says, grinning. “But if Vernon looks up here again and sees you drooling over Mingyu Kim, ESPN can call me for the inside scoop.”

You laugh. “Relax. I’ll keep it in my pants.”

Seokmin shakes his head, muttering, “Yeah right.”

“Okay, fiiiiiine, I’ll stop talking about asses I’m lusting after.”

“Good call, Mrs. Chwe.”

You throw popcorn at him, but Seokmin just grins. 

Another inning later, and down on the field Vernon steps back onto the mound, glove raised, focused like you haven’t seen him in years. The camera pans close, and you’re struck by how he looks almost the same as he did all those years ago. You almost feel guilty for not having been to one of his games since he first made it big, that one time all your friends got tickets to celebrate him, and when he found out you were all there he flushed red faced and embarrassed. Made you think you were encroaching, or something, and you figured if he wanted any of you there, he’d simply ask. Of course he never did. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You [22:04] congratulations!!!!!

nonie [22:29] we literally lost

You [22:29] but you looked great! 

nonie [22:29] that sure takes the sting away, thanks

You [22:30] we’re gonna go get dinner and drinks, are you still coming?

nonie [22:31] yeh i can leave in 20

You [22:32] i’ll drop you our location

The bar is just far enough away from the stadium that it’s not crowded with people who came straight from the game, a conscious choice, so Vernon hopefully won’t be mobbed by fans as soon as he walks in. It’s loud in that comfortable, Friday night kind of way– everyone buzzing to be free from work, the clatter of bottles, music turned up just loud enough to make you lean in to talk. You and Seokmin have commandeered a corner booth, a pitcher almost already gone, plates of fries and sliders scattered across the table. You’re warmed through and light, the world pleasantly soft around the edges, when Vernon turns up.

He’s fresh out of the shower– hair still a little damp, skin flushed and scrubbed clean, hoodie hanging loose over sweatpants, cap pulled low over his face. The faint scent of his soap cuts through the beer and fried food as he slides into the booth beside you, hip bumping yours, and kisses your cheek. Feels so alien you have to cover your laugh in your drink, and he kicks you gently under the table.

“You two look like trouble,” he says, voice low, reaching out to shake your friend’s hand. “Hey, it’s Seokmin? Right?”

“That’s me.” Seokmin beams, taking his hand. “And she’s the one who’s trouble. You missed her speech.”

“Speech?” Vernon asks, one eyebrow raised.

“She made me toast to your ‘heroic defeat,’” Seokmin slurs. “And then– then she told the bartender you were the love of her life.”

You gasp, slapping his arm. “Stop making things up!”

“Alright, fine, that last part I embellished,” he says, laughing. “It happened in my heart.”

Vernon’s trying not to smile, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “I’m not the love of your life?”

“Hmmm no,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “I’m starting to think Mingyu Kim might be instead.”

Vernon clicks his tongue. “We’ve been dating for five minutes and you’re already trying to leave me for my teammate?”

“I don’t even know the guy,” you huff, but you’re smiling too. “Wanna introduce me?”

“You’re drunk,” Seokmin says, leaning in with an accusatory finger.

You lift your glass. “And lustful!”

He laughs, pouring himself more beer while Vernon just shakes his head, leaning back and flagging down a waitress. He doesn’t order a drink– just water and something to eat– but he doesn’t seem to mind the chaos of you and Seokmin. Vernon is consistently himself– relaxed and casual and quietly bemused. It’s partly why you’ve stuck close all these years, even after you broke up. Vernon is dependable, not in a physical sense, since he’s away with work so often, but in a way everyone knows he’ll always be himself, that even when he’s a famous superstar he’s still the same Vernon you met when you were four years old.

You talk about the game, about Giancarlo Stanton’s ass again (Seokmin nearly chokes on a fry), about how Vernon goes everywhere in tracksuits and doesn’t own enough Hot Guy clothes and you’re gonna have to bring him shopping. Vernon wonders aloud if someone with a shopping addiction should even be allowed in Nordstrom, and you complain about needing a fix. 

(He gives in easily, promises to let you take him shopping the next time he has a full day off.)

The more you drink, the closer you lean– head on his shoulder, your hand brushing his arm when you laugh. He doesn’t flinch away, maybe because this isn’t completely out of the ordinary, because he knows you grow more affectionate with everyone when you drink. What’s unusual is Vernon leaning into it, to be wrapping his arm comfortably around your waist instead of your shoulder, to be tipping his head against yours when you rest against him. Leaning into the bit is going so easy with him. 

At some point, Seokmin pulls out his phone. “Okay, group selfie time, before she passes out.”

You pout. “I’m not gonna–”

He ignores you, turning around and stretching his arm out. You and Vernon lean in to squeeze into the frame, your cheek pressed against his. Seokmin’s smile is big and bright, you’re beaming, and Vernon is as cool as ever, a neutral expression, one arm wrapped around your middle, hand resting easy on your hip.

“Perfect,” Seokmin says, checking the photo. “Very cute. You’re all moon eyed.”

You pull a face and Vernon huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I’m serious,” Seokmin says, putting his phone down. “You’re like, annoyingly good looking together.”

You smile, too fuzzy to process it fully. “S’easy when you’ve been friends forever,” you say, just for something to fill the gap. 

The night drifts on until your eyes start drooping, and your words blur together. You’ve half-finished another drink, your cheek back on his shoulder, mumbling something about ordering more fries, when Seokmin stands.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” he says. “You gonna get her home?”

Vernon looks up, one arm still around you as he nods. “Yeah, dude. I’ve got her.”

Seokmin smiles lazily. “Good to meet you, dude. Thanks for the tickets.”

“Any time,” Vernon says, genuinely.

He waits until Seokmin’s gone before looking down at you. You’re barely awake. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, ever so gentle. “Let’s get you home.”

You hum something unintelligible and let him help you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you through the noise of the bar, out into the cool night air. You lean into him without thinking, head tipping against his shoulder again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The cab smells faintly of lemon cleaner and lingering stale smoke. Vernon gives the driver your address, then settles back into the seat. You’re slumped against the door for all of thirty seconds before you tilt toward him, your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Your hoodie’s soft,” you mumble.

He hums in response, looking out the window. Streetlights flash over your reflection, over your glassy eyes and your smudged eyeliner. You look comfortable. 

“Hey,” you say slowly, shifting against him. You press one of your hands into his. “Look.”

He blinks. “What am I looking at?”

“M’nails,” you slur proudly, wiggling your fingers. The light catches on the polish, navy and white pinstripes, the tiny, chrome 98 glinting in the passing lights.

Vernon catches your wrist lightly, turning your hand this way and that to see. “Very cool,” he says, all casual, though there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You smile wide and pleased, and flop back against him again. “You didn’t even notice them earlier.”

“I was a little busy pitching,” he laughs.

“I meant at the bar,” you murmur, pouting. “Thanks for paying for them. Don’t do that again.”

He exhales another laugh through his nose. The driver’s watching you through the mirror, trying not to, but the stolen glances keep coming– subtle, curious. Vernon’s used to people watching him. Normally it’d make him sit up a bit straighter, would make him consider how close you are, and how your hair brushes his jaw when you move. But you’re supposed to be together, so he leans in, doesn’t press your hand back into your own lap like he feels he should, keeps his fingers loosely curled around yours. 

You tilt your head up toward him, voice gone a little hoarse. “Tell me about her.”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Your girlfriend,” you murmur. “You don’t talk about her. I wanna know what she’s like.”

Vernon catches the driver’s gaze flick up again in the rearview mirror, the obvious spark of interest in his eyes. He looks down at you– flushed cheeks, soft mouth, utterly oblivious– and clears his throat.

“You’re my girlfriend, dumbass,” he says under his breath.

You shake your head, slow and unaware. “No, no, Rachel. I wanna know who’s got you so fucked up you’re playing pretend with me.”

He swallows. He hasn’t seen Rachel since she said she wanted to take a break, encouraging him to be seen dating other people while she navigates her divorce. And now he’s got to keep up the pretence of being with you just so he doesn’t blow up her life. Max doesn’t know, and though Vernon doesn’t care much for this particular guy who just so happens to be on his team, he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary tension for everyone else. So instead of a few stolen hours at her place in the middle of the night, his contact with her has been reduced to a few texts, and one, brief phone call last week. 

The driver’s eyes lift again. Vernon holds them for a few seconds, just enough to make the man look away, then he turns back to you.

“It’s complicated,” he says under his breath, tone gentler now. “Let’s not do that right now.”

You blink at him, confused but already losing focus, your head lolling back onto his shoulder. “You’re so private, Nonie,” you murmur, the words slurred with exhaustion and too much alcohol. 

He lets out a quiet laugh– fond, almost inaudible– and shifts just enough so you’re comfortable against him. The city slides by outside, all blur and colour and motion. You’re asleep before you even hit the bridge. Vernon watches the lights play over your face, and he doesn’t say anything else, just keeps his eyes on you until the cab slows in front of your building.

It’s an effort to get you balanced enough to walk into the elevator, but he manages, and you slump against the mirrored wall, fogging it with your breath, as he presses the 5 button and you’re both lurched upwards with a wretched sound.

“Ugh– we’re not s’posed to use the elevator,” you protest, eyes half closed. “Gonna get stuck.”

Vernon braces himself against the wall as it jolts again. “If you think I can carry you up five flights of stairs, you’re deluded.”

You snort. “I coulda made it.”

The corner of Vernon’s mouth quirks. “You can barely stand.” 

The elevator shudders to a halt, a couple of inches above the floor, so he’s careful as he walks you out. He hooks your arm around his shoulder and halfway drags your stumbling feet to your door, then roots in your bag for your keys as best he can while you lean against him.

He can feel the warmth of your breath on his neck as you murmur, “sorry, Nonie.” 

“It’s no big deal. Not like you make a habit of it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You wake to the faint murmur of Vernon’s voice– quiet and low, coming from the other room. Your head aches in a slow, dull throb, and your mouth tastes rancid, like stale beer and grease. It takes a few moments for your surroundings to make sense: your bed, on top of the sheets in your clothes from last night, a thin blanket draped over your legs, the light too bright through the blinds.

You blink away the sleep, and sit up slowly, stretching your tender body. The smell of the night is still on you, and you haven’t felt this gross in years. You find your phone in your jacket pocket on the floor, and you’re going through your notifications– mostly comments on Seokmin’s photos that you’ve been tagged in from last night. 

seokmin you hung out with vernon chwe??? Who’s the girl? - that’s his gf - - Me when I lie - - -they’ve been spotted together a few times! - - - - And yet they’ve got no photos of each other on their profiles except for group ones

Vernon’s voice rises, still quiet but now clear enough to make out. You freeze, your phone forgotten in your hands. There’s a sound of admonishment from him while he listens to whoever’s on the other end. 

“Listen,” he’s saying. “I told you already, I just crashed on her couch. She was so drunk I didn’t wanna leave her to choke if she–”

Another long pause. 

And his answer comes out frustrated. It takes you aback. “It’s not like that,” he says. “Rachel, you remember me seeing other people was your idea, don’t you? You know I only wanted to date you, and she’s my best friend, I figured this would be better than actually dating someone–”

He’s interrupted again, and his tone changes– a little firmer. “You were the one who said you didn’t want to hook up before the news is out–”

Your chest goes tight. Is she jealous of you? This isn’t even real. You glance toward the doorway. His back is turned, one hand on the kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear. There’s tension in his shoulders, and in the quiet way he breathes before he speaks again.

“Yeah,” he says, turning. “It’s just a temporary measure.”

You cast your eyes away before he can catch you looking. It’s not like you didn’t figure they were still a thing, it’s just surprising to hear she’s worried about his relationship with you. Surely he would have already told her that this is just a favour, just pretend, one friend helping out another in exchange for… well. For money. 

When he wraps up the call you stand a little too quickly. Makes you dizzy, so you rub your eyes as you try to shake it off. He looks up when you walk in, face smoothing out into something neutral. 

“Hey! You’re awake.”

You nod. “Yeah. Sorry– I, uh,” you rasp. “I didn’t mean to get so wasted.”

He shrugs, pushing his phone into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. You were out like a light before the cab even stopped.”

You manage a small laugh, though it comes out tight. “Sounds like me.”

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t.”

He studies you for a beat, appraising you with careful eyes, Instead of calling you out, he nods toward the counter. “Coffee’s there.”

“Thanks,” you say, and you pour yourself a cup. 

“Okay. I’m gonna drink this and head out. Got a game this afternoon.”

“Should I come? For like, moral support or whatever.”

Vernon looks at you softly. “Could you cope with the noise with that headache?”

“No,” you admit, wincing. “Probably not.”

“Then nah, don’t worry about it. If you’re free in three weeks, I’ll fly you out for the weekend. Figure we should be more public by then.” 

“Sounds good.” You smile. “Where are we going?”

“Miami.”

You whistle low. “Nice. Will Mingyu Kim be there?”

Vernon laughs out loud. “New rule. You can’t flirt with my teammates while we’re together.”

“He’s so hot though.” You purse your lips in a sulk. “What if he’s the love of my life?”

“Please,” he scoffs. “You fall half in love with every guy you meet.” 

“I’m a romantic, Vernon,” you say pointedly. “It’s like you don’t even want me to find a sexy, rich husband.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder tight and he’s all warm against your side. “Sure I do. Just pick someone else, yeah?”

You ignore him, rolling your eyes, and you take a sip of your coffee.

“By the way, could you not laugh when I kiss your cheek? Kinda gives the game away.”

The memory of last night swirls. “In my defence,” you start. “I was wildly unprepared. You should give me a three minute warning if you’re gonna kiss me.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow. “You never needed a warning before.”

“We were actually dating then,” you explain. “And you never kissed my cheek anyway.”

“Only ‘cause you wanted to make out all the time. Freak.”

You gape at him. “Never heard you complain about that once, asshole.” 

He shrugs, all easy nonchalance. “Yeah, well, you were a good kisser.”

Hm. So was he, now that you think about it. There was this once time at school, a behind the bikeshed moment–

“I still am a good kisser, actually,” you point out, deflecting yourself from the thought of kissing Vernon. “Not that you’d know.”

He grins. “I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your first fake date takes place on a Tuesday. Vernon brings you to the movies, and you give him shit for being a one trick pony. But it’s nice. Kind of reminiscent of when you were kids. He gets the tickets and the popcorn, you get the drinks, and he holds the door for you on your way through to the screen. He’s picked a good spot, near the back but not too close to the teenage couple who’ll spend the whole movie loudly making out. It’s fairly full already, and there’s a few double takes when you and Vernon step past, his cap pulled low in a faux-attempt at wanting to go about unnoticed, his hand casually pressed to the small of your back.

“We’re in the couple seats,” he says under his breath, nodding toward the aisle of two-seaters.

“You’re committing so hard to the bit,” you whisper back. 

The lights dim halfway through the previews, and you start rummaging in your purse. Vernon glances over. “What are you doing?”

You offer him a guilty half-smile for a second before pulling out a crinkled bag, the scent of cheese immediately filling the air around you.

“Did you–” he breaks off, whisper-laughing. “You brought Taco Bell to the movies?”

“I didn’t have dinner yet!” you hiss, tearing open a wrapper. “Besides, I got one for you too.” You hand him a barely-warm quesadilla like it’s a gift.

He stares at it, then at you. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Now eat, quick, before they kick us out,” you whisper, taking a huge bite. 

He shakes his head, still smiling as he unwraps his own quesadilla. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be helping my reputation, you’re really testing me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not grateful,” you mumble around a large mouthful.

The movie starts, and for a while, you’re content– chewing, laughing quietly at each other when his hand accidentally brushes yours reaching for napkins. Then, after your food wrappers are tossed back into your purse, his hand lands warm and heavy on your thigh.

You startle, nearly dropping your drink. “What are you doing?” you hiss, shoving him lightly. “We’re in the dark, dumbass, no one’s gonna see that.”

“Thought it’d look convincing.”

“Yeah, to the soot sprites maybe,” you whisper back. “If you wanna sell it, put your arm around me instead.”

He draws his hand back, an embarrassed flush already pink on his ears, even in the dark. There’s a quiet beat, then his hand slides across the back of your seat, and settles over your shoulder. His fingers skim lightly over your collarbone before going still.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

You keep your eyes on the screen. “Perfect,” you whisper, voice low. “Now pretend you actually like me.”

He chuckles quietly, a low, warm sound. “Bro, that part’s easy.” You pull a face, ready with a comeback, but he tacks on– “You know, ‘cause you’re like, my best friend.”

“Liar,” you scoff. “Seungcheol’s your bestie.”

“Nope. Cheol’s never seen me vomit, but you have.”

“Ah, right, of course. Forgot that was the benchmark.”

“Mhm.” 

You glance over, but he’s looking straight ahead, face lit in flickers of blue and gold from the movie. Turning back to the screen, you whisper. “That means Lara’s my best friend, then. She’s held my hair back more often than you.” You catch his smile out of the corner of your eye, and his thumb moves absently against your shoulder, barely there strokes. After a little while, the movie starts getting good, and you almost forget it’s there.

Three whole hours and too much popcorn later, you’re back out in the night. Vernon lives in the other direction but he says he’s walking you home anyway. 

“So what did you think?”

“It was good. Long though. And nowhere near as good as There Will Be Blood.” You hum in thought. “You know what the problem is, I’m sick of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Vernon gapes. “He’s one of the best actors of our time!”

“Yeah, well so what when he’s obsessed with barely legal women?” you retort. “Lets talk about how Hollywood is propping up another fifty year old creep! Besides, his face pisses me off.”

“You know people say I look like him?”

You laugh loud. “They do not! Are you serious?”

“They do,” he insists, smile curling his lips. “Go online right now and you’ll see.”

“Bullshit,” you say, pulling out your phone to type vernon chwe leonardo dicaprio into the search bar. “Oh. Huh. Wow, people are really convinced.” You look back up at your friend, who’s standing close enough to peer at your screen too, and so you reach up, take his chin in your hand and angle his face in different directions. “I sort of see it. You look like a much nicer person though. Less sinister. Good eyebrows.”

A smile tugs at his lips, eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Less sinister and good eyebrows? Maybe I should put it on my wikipedia page.”

You laugh, knocking into his shoulder lightly. “Put it on the back of your baseball card instead.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile lingers as the two of you fall into step again. The city hums around you with the sound of traffic, someone playing saxophone down the block, a couple arguing outside a bodega. It’s unseasonably chilly enough that you have to tug your thin jacket around yourself a little tighter, and Vernon looks over at you. Serves you right for choosing style over function.

“Cold?” he asks.

You shrug. “A little. It’s not so bad.”

“Want my hoodie?”

“You think I’m gonna ruin this look with that? No way.”

Without a word he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. Then after a beat, he just slips his hand into yours and tugs it into his coat pocket, his fingers curling loosely around your knuckles. Casually considerate and completely unnecessary.

“You’re getting really into character,” you tease.

“I’m committed to the bit,” he says, an echo of your earlier words, eyes on the sidewalk. “Practicing my method acting.”

“Keep going like this and soon enough you’ll be Leonardo’s semi-lookalike protégé.”

That earns a quiet laugh from him, and you think about how easy this all feels, walking home like this hand in hand. You wonder how Rachel must feel, knowing this is what he’s up to while she’s dealing with her divorce. You know the whole dating other people thing was her idea, but you wonder if she even wanted that at all. Maybe she just wanted Vernon to put up a little fight. You’re growing curious about how it started with them two, but that’s a conversation to have behind closed doors, not out in the street for anyone to hear.

When you reach your building, you stop at the front steps, turning to face him, batting your eyelashes big and fake. “Thanks for walking me home, fake boyfriend.”

“Of course,” he says. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“A terrible one.”

He nods, mock-serious. “Can’t have that in the tabloids.” He steps back. “Text me when you’re inside, okay?”

“Sure thing, DiCaprio.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as he starts backing away. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you call after him, grinning as he rolls his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets.

You watch him go until he turns the corner, then you unlock the door, walk past the rickety elevator in favour of the stairs, and when you reach your door on the fifth floor, your phone vibrates.

It’s Vernon, a screenshot of a grainy, dark photo he’s been tagged in on Instagram by one of his fans– the two of you in the movie theatre. You can’t see it completely, but with the angle his arm is at, it looks like it was taken during the brief moment his hand was on your leg. 

nonie [22:19] told you it’d look convincing

You snort as you unlock the door.

You [22:20] tOlD yOu It’D lOoK cOnViNcInG

nonie [22:20] your 12 years old

You [22:20] my 12 years old what?

nonie [22:20] lets break up

You [22:20] ok but im keeping the money 

Before bed, you upload a picture to your close friends stories again– your ticket stubs, a glimpse of Vernon’s hand holding the popcorn, blurry in the background.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s sort of fun, being Vernon’s pretend girl. Not just because he’s paid off all your debt (bar your student loan) and you can breathe deeply again, but because you love to have a story, and though you can’t tell this one yet, it’ll be great for the retirement home when everyone thinks you’re senile. People are starting to gossip. 

You haven’t done this in years, hung out together on a regular basis, just one on one. Sure, you’ll occasionally meet for coffee or go out for a drink, but it’s never been intentionally just you. The invitation was always offered to the group, and if no one else could make it, it’s no big deal. So you’d just wear whatever you had on, not bother with make-up if you weren’t already wearing any. It’s just Vernon. But now, with the whole pretense to keep up, and the possibility of being caught in pictures, you’re putting in a little– okay– a lot of effort. 

It’s Thursday night, and Vernon is taking you to some hole in the wall pizza place. He meets you off the subway, kisses your cheek (again) and this time your eyes don’t bulge out your head. He tells you he likes your outfit (a baby blue sundress), and you know it’s only for show, but you twirl anyway, laugh out loud when he rolls his eyes. 

The hole in the wall is exactly the kind of place you’d expect Vernon to find– tucked away in a narrow alleyway that smells like heaven instead of trash, the queue full of people like him who know the city like the back of their hand. The slices are huge, you order two pepperoni, and one with goats cheese and shallots to split, and a hot honey dip. 

It’s the kind of evening that makes everything look soft and romantic. Everything tinted a little orange with the setting sun, wisps of clouds float overhead, the kind of warm haze that makes everyone look so flushed and warm and pretty. The park isn’t so busy at this hour, but there’s couples not totally unlike you and Vernon (but they’re real, at least) sitting together and talking the evening away, and small groups of friends, one of which are sitting on the grass, playing gentle music from a bluetooth speaker. You take a seat on the edge of the fountain, folding your legs, and Vernon does the same opposite, setting the food between you. 

“So,” you start, plucking off a piece of pepperoni and popping it in your mouth. “It’s Seungcheol’s thirtieth next week. Joshua’s hosting a party.”

Vernon tears a bite off his slice and nods. “Yeah. Big milestone. Are you going?”

“We, you mean,” you correct. “You know he’ll sulk like a toddler for weeks if you don’t show up.”

He shrugs, all easy and unbothered. “I’ll come if I’m back in time. I’m playing in Philly that afternoon.”

You pout, mock-upset. “You have to come. I can’t be trusted to answer all the inevitable questions about our fake relationship. You know I’ll make up something stupid.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You’re supposed to drop the fake part when you’re in public, remember?”

“Like anyone’s close enough to hear.” You roll your eyes. “Our insane chemistry is visible from afar though, no need to worry.”

He holds your gaze for a moment– until you look away. “Do you think people are buying it?”

“Us?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.” You sigh, tilting your head to watch someone cycle past with a little dog in the basket. You’ve been checking online for your names for the past week, but they’ve come up with nothing solid. That’s what these public outings are about– hoping you’ll be seen together, casual enough to be believable. Vernon had suggested a pap walk for today instead, but you’d told him they look too obvious. Celebrities should be caught in a casual moment in a shitty zoomed-in-photograph for it to be believable. “The gossip sites are debating whether we’re friends or more. They’re saying it’s cause you’re in loads of my instagram posts but only group ones. And someone uploaded our yearbook photos with Joshua, so it's like 'are they just besties?'”

“What about our friends?”

“I dunno. We haven’t hung out with them enough lately.”

“How so?”

You give him a pointed look. “You ducked out of movie night–”

“Practice ran late, it’s hardly ducking out.” 

“And I had to skip lunch yesterday because a client wouldn’t stop yapping,” you say, taking another bite of your food. “So you’re gonna come, right? Don’t leave me alone with the wolves.”

“You mean our best friends in the whole world?”

“Yes, exactly.”

He sighs. “I’ll see if I can get a flight instead of the bus.”

“Sucks to be the environment, but yay!”

“Yay!” he echoes sarcastically, and you wipe your greasy fingers down his face and he shouts out in disgust, drawing curious looks from people nearby. “Eurgh, the fuck is wrong with you?”

You fall back, laughing so hard your stomach hurts as Vernon scrubs at his face with a napkin. God he’s helpless, he’s missed at least three spots. You sit back up, fighting your laughter back down, and take the napkin from his hands. “Here– oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not gonna do anything.” 

He eyes you with suspicion but lets you clean him off anyway, his skin warm under your touch. Reminds you of when he’d let you practice eyeshadow on him when you were teenagers, under strict instruction that you Don’t Tell The Guys. He’s always been good like that. Occasionally, rarely even, you wonder what it would’ve been like had you not broken up, if you’d have been one of the high school couples that made it all the way to your first divorce by the age of twenty-seven. 

You toss the crumpled napkin into your empty tray between you and lean back on your hands, smiling at the picture you’ve made of him– faint pink on his cheeks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“There,” you say. “You’re all pretty again.”

“I’m always pretty,” he grumbles.

“Okay, true,” you concede. “Now you’re pizza-commercial pretty. The guy who gets the last slice because he’s charming and good at throwing a ball and everyone likes him.”

He laughs quietly, ducking his head as if embarrassed by the compliment, even though it was mostly a joke. “Did I ever tell you you’re annoying?”

“You knew that going in,” you say. “Are we gonna split this or what?”

Vernon tears the pizza in half, offers you the slightly bigger one. You take a bite and lick your fingers clean. “Mm, s’really good,” you murmur, and Vernon nods.

The light’s fading now, the sky turning peachy pink, the fountain’s surface rippling with movement and dappled reflections of the setting sun. A little breeze kicks up, teasing the hem of your sundress against your knees. Vernon stretches out his legs, dangling them over the edge of the fountain and you settle into a comfortable quiet while you finish the rest of the food. 

“This has been nice,” you say when you’re done and the empty trays are stacked. “Good fake date.” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “I am to please.”

“Ahh, Vernon,” you say, stretching out the kink in your back. “You’re the fake boyfriend of my dreams.” Vernon raises an eyebrow and you laugh. “What?”

“Nothing… I just–I’m curious what your dream boyfriend is like? Everyone you’ve dated has been so…”

“Different?” 

“I was gonna say weird but–”

“Include yourself in that statement, idiot,” you chuckle.

“Seriously though,” he says. “What kind of person do you want?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“C’mon. Tell me.”

This is part of the problem. You’ve never known what you want. Ever since you were a kid, things have been temporary, a fleeting moment. Your hobbies, your interests, your celebrity crushes, the clothes you wear, the music you play, the paint on your bedroom walls, your parents' marriage, your jobs– and yes, your relationships. The only thing that’s stayed rock solid, throughout it all, are your friends. 

You sigh. 

“I want someone steady. Someone who isn’t gonna get freaked out by the things I say and disappear. I want boring but fun and dependable but spontaneous and someone who’s funny but doesn’t care that I’m funnier than them. And hot. With a really good ass.”

Vernon looks at you, a little sad, a little like he wants to laugh. “So you want the moon?”

“Semantics,” you say with a shrug.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lara calls only a few minutes after you get home. 

“Girl– your Instagram is going crazy.”

Oh. You’d turned notifications off ever since you started soft launching Vernon on your stories. “What do you mean?” 

“You have like– thousands more followers.”

You scramble to put her on speaker and load instagram. Eleven-thousand, no… now twel– thirteen thousand. You close the app before you vomit. 

“I guess someone saw us?”

“Duh,” says Lara. “Vernon’s been tagged in a bunch of stuff.”

You get a text from Vernon at that very moment–

nonie [20:53] u seen this?

He includes a link to a DeuxMoi post. A grainy photo of you and Vernon, sitting by the fountain, you eating your pizza, him beaming at you– captioned Sunset Date for Yankees Pitcher and Mystery Woman.

“Jesus– they could’ve taken a better picture,” you complain.

Lara just laughs, and the conversation moves on quickly, but you load Instagram again the moment the call ends, and watch your followers steadily climb. You had considered that you’d become someone people were interested in by sheer association with Vernon, and it’s not like you hate having more followers, but now you’re looking at your (many) DMs, and there lies emboldened chats from your parents, and that’s something you hadn’t anticipated.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

thank you so much for reading! taglist will be added on the next reblog.

to those who read the teaser, thank you soooooooooo much for your patience– a lot happened in my personal life between then and now, but at least the fic is written!

all interaction is appreciated more than you could know, so if you liked this chapter, please consider reblogging with any thoughts to help get this fic seen outside my following!

part 2 is coming next saturday!

lots of love, bee