— from the operator. anon, sorry this is late! if you didnt already have your exam GOODLUCK!! of you did Im sure you did amazingly. I have my exams coming up soon 🥲
It starts small. A missed sentence in your notes. Then another. A paragraph you read three times without understanding a single word. Your room is too warm, then too cold. The highlighter in your hand slips because your fingers are trembling, but you convince yourself it’s just exhaustion.
Outside your window, the city is quiet in that strange late-night way that only makes you feel more alone.
3:04 AM glows from the corner of your laptop screen.
You still have three lectures left to revise.
Your chest tightens.
You stare at the page harder like maybe you can force information into your brain through panic alone.
The words blur. You blink rapidly. Breathe.
You try.
But suddenly your heartbeat feels wrong. Too fast. Too loud. You become horribly aware of your own body—your lungs not filling enough, your throat too tight, the pressure building behind your ribs.
No no no.
You push your chair back too quickly. It screeches against the floor.
Your notes scatter.
Your hands are shaking now. Actually shaking.
You inhale sharply, but it catches halfway, turning into this awful broken gasp that makes fear shoot through you even harder.
“I can’t do this,” you whisper.
And once the thought enters your head, it multiplies.
I’m behind.
I’m going to fail.
Everyone else understands this except me.
I wasted too much time.
I can’t breathe.
Your vision starts tunnelling.
You grab the edge of your desk because suddenly the room feels unsteady.
But then you have your phone in your hand and you see his name.
Won <3
Something in you cracks.
You don’t even think before pressing call.
The ringing barely lasts a second.
“Hello?”
The second you hear his voice, warm and sleepy and concerned all at once, your composure completely collapses.
He hears it immediately.
“Hey,” he says softly, voice sharpening with worry. “What happened?”
You try to answer, but your breathing breaks apart halfway through the sentence.
And Jungwon goes quiet for half a second.
Not confused quiet.
Focused quiet.
The kind where he’s already switching into taking care of you.
“Okay,” he says gently. “Baby, listen to me first.”
You press a trembling hand over your mouth.
“I can’t—” Your breath stutters painfully. “I can’t breathe properly—”
“You can,” he says immediately, calm and firm in a way that makes you want to cry harder. “I know it feels like you can’t right now, but you are breathing. Your body’s just panicking.”
Another sharp inhale catches in your throat.
“I’m gonna stay with you, okay?”
You nod before realising he can’t see it.
“O-okay.”
“Good.”
You hear movement on his end—rustling sheets, a drawer opening.
“Are you alone?”
“Mm.”
“Can you unlock your door for me?”
Your head lifts slightly. “What?”
“I’m coming over.”
“Jungwon, it’s late—”
“I know.”
His voice stays impossibly gentle.
“I’m still coming.”
The next ten minutes feel endless.
You sit curled on the floor beside your bed because somewhere during the call your legs stopped feeling stable enough to stand. Jungwon keeps talking the entire time.
Not forcing conversation.
Just… grounding you.
“Tell me five things you can see.”
You sniff shakily, staring around your dim room.
“My lamp.”
“Good.”
“The mug you got me.”
“The ugly cat one?”
A tiny, broken laugh escapes you despite yourself.
“Yeah.”
“There you go,” he murmurs softly, hearing the change instantly. “Keep going.”
By the time you get to the fifth object, your breathing is still uneven, but slightly less suffocating.
Then you hear hurried footsteps outside your apartment.
A knock.
“Baby?”
You stand too fast and nearly stumble.
The moment you open the door, Jungwon’s face changes.
Not dramatic.
Not panicked.
But his eyes soften immediately in that painful way people do when they see someone they love hurting.
You must look awful—tear-streaked face, oversized hoodie, shaking hands.
He steps inside quickly and shuts the door behind him.
And then he reaches for you.
Not suddenly.
Slowly.
Giving you time.
His hands settle carefully around your wrists first, thumbs rubbing lightly against your skin.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
That’s it.
Just hey.
Like he’s speaking to something fragile.
Your face crumples.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper instantly.
“For what?”
“I called you and—I know you were sleeping and I’m being dramatic and—”
“No.” His voice cuts through yours immediately, firm but soft. “Don’t do that.”
Your breathing catches again.
Jungwon moves closer until his forehead almost touches yours.
“You are not a burden for needing help.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Your eyes burn.
“I can’t calm down,” you admit in a tiny voice.
“That’s okay. I’ll help you.”
There’s something about the way he says it.
Like helping you is the most natural thing in the world.
He guides you toward the bed slowly, keeping one hand around yours the entire time.
“Sit.”
You obey automatically.
Jungwon kneels in front of you immediately after, still in sweatpants and a hoodie he clearly threw on in a rush. His hair is messy from sleep. There’s a faint crease on his cheek from his pillow.
And yet every bit of his attention is fixed entirely on you.
“Look at me for a second.”
You do.
“Good.”
He takes your trembling hands carefully into his own.
“Match my breathing, okay? Don’t force it. Just follow me.”
He exaggerates the inhale slightly.
Slow in.
Slow out.
Again.
You try.
The first attempt fails halfway and turns shaky.
Your chest tightens in frustration instantly. “I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Jungwon squeezes your hands gently.
“Don’t think about fixing it all at once. Just breathe with me one time.”
One time.
That feels manageable.
So you try again.
Inhale.
His thumbs stroke over your knuckles.
Exhale.
“There you go,” he murmurs softly.
Again.
And again.
Your breathing still trembles, but the horrible dizzy edge starts fading little by little.
Jungwon notices every tiny improvement.
“You’re doing well.”
You shake your head weakly.
“I’m really not.”
“You are.”
His voice stays steady.
“You called me before it got worse. You’re breathing. You’re trying. That’s doing well.”
You stare at him.
Your chest aches for an entirely different reason now.
“I’m scared,” you whisper.
The admission comes out so small it almost embarrasses you.
But Jungwon’s expression only softens further.
“Of the exams?”
You nod.
“What if I fail?”
He leans forward slightly, elbows resting against your knees.
“Then you fail one exam.”
“It’s not just one exam—”
“I know it feels bigger than that right now,” he says quietly. “But listen to me carefully.”
His fingers tighten gently around yours until you focus fully on him again.
“One exam cannot measure your worth as a person.”
Your eyes sting.
“You worked so hard these past weeks. I’ve seen you studying until your eyes hurt. Missing meals because you forget. Falling asleep on your notes.” His brows pull together slightly. “You care so much that you’re destroying yourself over it.”
A tear slips down your cheek.
Jungwon wipes it away immediately with his thumb.
“You don’t need to earn rest,” he says softly. “And you don’t need perfect grades for people to love you.”
That one breaks you.
Because somewhere deep down, you think maybe you do.
Jungwon sees it on your face instantly.
“Oh,” he whispers. Heartbreaking.
Like he hates that you’ve been carrying that thought alone.
He shifts upward onto the bed beside you and pulls you carefully into his chest.
You go willingly this time.
The second his arms wrap around you fully, something inside you unclenches.
He’s warm.
Warm enough that your freezing hands start thawing against his hoodie.
One of his hands slides up and down your back slowly.
Not rushed.
Just repetitive enough to soothe your nervous system.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your hair.
Your breathing hitches again, but softer now.
“I feel stupid.”
“You’re having a panic attack,” he says quietly. “Not failing at life.”
You clutch weakly at the fabric of his hoodie.
Jungwon adjusts immediately so you’re more comfortable, one hand cradling the back of your head.
“Can you tell me what started it?”
“The studying,” you mumble against him. “I couldn’t understand anything anymore and then I started thinking about failing and disappointing everyone and—”
“Did you eat dinner?”
You pause.
“…I had coffee.”
He sighs softly into your hair.
“That’s not dinner.”
“I forgot.”
“I know.”
No annoyance.
Just concern.
He pulls back slightly to look at you.
“When’s the last time you slept properly?”
You avoid his eyes.
Jungwon gives you the tiniest look.
“Baby.”
“…Yesterday?”
“That’s not a proper answer, Y/N”
You mumble something unintelligible.
His eyebrows rise.
“You slept three hours.”
It isn’t a question.
You look away guiltily.
Jungwon exhales slowly through his nose like he’s trying not to sound upset.
Not at you.
For you.
“No wonder your body crashed.”
He brushes your hair away from your face carefully.
“You can’t run entirely on stress and caffeine.”
“I don’t have time to rest.”
“Yes, you do, princess.”
“I really don’t.”
“You do if the alternative is collapsing.”
You go quiet.
Because he’s right.
And you both know it.
Jungwon studies your face for a moment before speaking again, voice gentler now.
“Do you trust me?”
“…Yes.”
“Then tonight we’re not studying anymore.”
You immediately tense. “But—”
“No.”
He says it softly but decisively while kissing you swiftly on the forehead.
“You’re done for tonight.”
Your eyes widen slightly in panic again. “I can’t afford to waste more time—”
“Resting is not wasting time.”
He cups your face lightly, forcing you to look at him.
“Right now your brain is overloaded. Nothing is sticking anymore anyway.”
You hate that he’s right about that too.
Jungwon strokes his thumb under your eye.
“So here’s what we’re gonna do.”
His tone becomes calm and practical—the voice he uses whenever he’s taking care of things for you.
“You’re going to drink water.”
You make a face.
“Yes, actually.”
Despite everything, you let out a tiny laugh.
“There she is,” he says quietly, smiling just a little.
Then he stands, grabs your water bottle from the desk, and returns without letting you protest.
He waits while you drink.
Then he disappears briefly into your tiny kitchen.
You hear cupboards opening.
A few minutes later he comes back with instant ramen and the last packet of crackers you forgot you owned.
“You cooked?” you ask weakly.
“Using the term ‘cooked’ generously.”
He settles beside you again.
“Eat a little.”
You try to refuse at first.
Jungwon gives you a look.
You eventually take the chopsticks.
He watches carefully to make sure you actually eat more than two bites.
And the entire time, he keeps touching you lightly.
A hand on your knee.
Your shoulder.
Your hair.
Tiny grounding reminders that you aren’t alone.
Later, when the panic finally fades into exhaustion, you end up curled against his chest beneath your blankets while he reorganises your chaotic exam schedule on your laptop.
“You colour-coded it?” you mumble sleepily.
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
“You like me.”
You smile faintly against his hoodie.
“I love you, actually.”
His fingers comb gently through your hair.
“You know,” he says quietly after a while, “if you fail something…”
🫧Genre : friends to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, comfort, late night confessions
🫧Synopsis : You accidentally fall asleep during movie night at heeseung’s apartment and wake up to find him sleeping at the very edge of the bed — except his hand is still holding onto your sleeve like he couldn’t let go even in his sleep.
🫧Drabble!
🫧WC: 2.3k!
—🌷
I wasn’t gonna post anything today but Lee Heeseung looking this angelic made me lose it aghh 😣 just look at him 🫶🏻 he looks so soft and cute in the Proya shoot,🎀 my pretty baby fr 🥹 missed him sooo much <3
⋆｡°✩ “You make me weird.” “Weird good or weird bad?” ✩°｡⋆
The first time you met , he stole your fries.
Not in a rude way. More like—he reached across the table during orientation week with the audacity of someone who already knew you and said, “You weren’t eating those.”
You stared at him.
He stared back while chewing.
And somehow, that became friendship.
It started with shared classes and late-night convenience store runs after practice for him and study sessions for you. Then came movie nights in his apartment because his TV was “bigger and morally superior,” according to him. You learned quickly that Heeseung was the kind of person who looked relaxed all the time while secretly taking care of everyone around him.
He remembered your coffee order after hearing it once.
Always walked on the outside of the sidewalk.
Texted “home safe?” without fail.
And worst of all—he was annoyingly pretty while doing absolutely nothing.
Which was exactly why your friends constantly accused you of being in love with him.
You weren’t.
Probably.
Okay, maybe a little.
But Heeseung was impossible to read.
He flirted like breathing came naturally to him. Casual compliments. Lingering touches. Smirks that made your brain stop functioning for several business days. Yet somehow he also acted completely oblivious whenever things got remotely serious.
So your friendship stayed exactly where it always had been: too close to be casual, too scared to become anything else.
Tonight was supposed to be another normal movie night.
Except halfway through the second movie, your head started getting heavy.
“You’re falling asleep,” Heeseung whispered from beside you.
“I’m awake,” you mumbled, eyes already shut.
“You literally answered three minutes late.”
“That’s called dramatic timing.”
He laughed softly.
The sound faded somewhere in the background as sleep pulled you under.
—
When you woke up, the movie credits were rolling silently across the TV.
The apartment was dark except for the faint blue light flickering across the room.
For a second, you didn’t move.
There was a pillow tucked perfectly beneath your head now.
A blanket draped over you carefully.
And beside you—
Heeseung was asleep at the very edge of the mattress like he’d exiled himself there on purpose.
You blinked.
There was enough space between you two for another person.
Like he’d been scared to accidentally get too close.
Your chest squeezed painfully at the sight.
Then you noticed it.
His hand.
Even asleep, his fingers were loosely wrapped around the sleeve of your hoodie.
Like some unconscious part of him needed to make sure you were still there.
Oh.
Oh.
You stared at him longer than you should have.
His hair fell over his eyes messily, lips slightly parted from sleep. He looked softer like this. Younger. Vulnerable in a way he never let himself be during the day.
And then—
His eyes fluttered open.
For two whole seconds, Heeseung looked peacefully confused.
Then he realized.
His gaze dropped to his hand clutching your sleeve.
His entire face went red.
He let go so fast you almost laughed.
“I can explain,” he blurted immediately.
You bit your lip hard.
“Can you?”
“Yes. Absolutely. There’s a very logical reason.”
“I’m listening.”
He sat up too quickly and nearly tangled himself in the blanket. “Okay, so—um—you move around when you sleep.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. Violently, actually. Very dangerous.”
You snorted.
“And I just thought—like—what if you fell off the bed?” he continued rambling, refusing to look you in the eye. “So I was making sure you didn’t roll away.”
“By holding my sleeve?”
“Yes.”
“At the edge of the mattress?”
“Yes.”
“You sacrificed your own sleeping space?”
“I’m generous.”
You laughed fully this time, and Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You noticed the hand thing immediately, didn’t you?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m never sleeping again.”
The dramatic misery in his voice made your smile widen.
He finally looked at you then.
And the teasing expression on his face faded just slightly when he realized you were still smiling at him softly.
Not laughing anymore.
Just looking at him.
Something shifted in the room.
Quiet.
Warm.
Dangerous.
“You really stayed all the way over there?” you asked quietly.
His ears turned red again.
“I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”
The answer came too fast to be fake.
And suddenly every little thing about Heeseung made sense.
The flirting that never crossed lines.
The lingering stares that disappeared when noticed.
The carefulness.
The way he always hovered close without ever assuming he was allowed to.
Your heart melted a little.
“You know,” you murmured, inching closer, “normal friends usually don’t hold onto each other in their sleep.”
Heeseung stared at you.
“Yeah,” he said weakly. “I’m starting to realize we may have passed normal a while ago.”
You grinned.
“So what now?”
He looked terrified for approximately half a second before his usual teasing expression returned.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I think logically… for safety reasons…”
You laughed. “Safety reasons?”
“Yes. Very serious matter.”
He shifted closer this time—careful, hesitant—until your shoulders touched.
Then he gently took your sleeve again.
Except now, he didn’t let go.
“There,” he said quietly, trying and failing to sound confident. “Much safer.”
Heeseung kept holding your sleeve like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric once.
Twice.
Your heartbeat became unbearably loud.
“You know,” you said softly, “if you wanted me closer, you could’ve just asked.”
He choked on absolutely nothing.
“I did not—”
“You were practically hanging off the bed.”
“That was strategy.”
“Mm. Sure.”
He narrowed his eyes at your teasing smile, but there was no bite behind it. If anything, he looked nervous now. Which was rare for him.
“You make me weird,” he admitted suddenly.
The words slipped out so quietly you almost missed them.
Your expression softened.
“Weird good or weird bad?”
Heeseung looked down at your joined sleeves for a second before laughing under his breath.
“Weird like…” He hesitated. “I don’t act like this with anyone else.”
The room went still.
“You don’t?”
“No.” His smile turned shy around the edges. “I don’t stay awake to make sure other people are comfortable. I don’t remember tiny things they say. I don’t…” He glanced at you finally. “I don’t get disappointed when anyone else leaves.”
Your breath caught.
And Heeseung—usually smooth, teasing, impossible Heeseung—looked genuinely flustered after saying it out loud.
“So yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You make me weird.”
You stared at him for a moment before leaning your head against his shoulder carefully.
“I think,” you whispered, “you make me weird too.”
He went completely still.
Then slowly—like he was trying not to scare the moment away—his head tilted gently against yours.
Neither of you said the word love.
But the way his fingers tightened around your sleeve felt dangerously close to it.
For a while, neither of you moved.
The movie had long ended, the screen dim and forgotten in the background, but neither of you made any effort to turn it off.
Because suddenly this—right here—felt bigger than whatever had been playing.
Heeseung’s shoulder was warm beneath your cheek.
His hand still held onto your sleeve.
And the silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore.
It was trembling.
“I think,” he said quietly, “I’m supposed to say something cool right now.”
You laughed softly. “That would be very on brand for you.”
“Yeah, but unfortunately I’m having a crisis.”
“A crisis?”
“Mhm.” He sighed dramatically. “Because I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times and somehow I still don’t know what to say.”
Your heart skipped.
“You imagined this?”
The second the words left your mouth, Heeseung froze.
Slowly, he turned to look at you.
“…I walked into that one, huh?”
“A little.”
He groaned, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “This is awful. I’m supposed to be smooth.”
“You’ve never been smooth around me.”
“That’s the problem.”
The honesty in his voice made your chest ache.
He lifted his head again, eyes softer now. Serious in a way that made your stomach flip.
“When we first became friends,” he said quietly, “I genuinely thought you were gonna hate me.”
You blinked. “Because you stole my fries?”
“Exactly. Criminal first impression.”
You laughed under your breath.
“But then you kept staying,” he continued. “And suddenly you were everywhere in my life.” His smile turned small. “You became the first person I wanted to tell things to. The first person I looked for in a room.”
Your breath caught again.
“And somewhere along the way…” Heeseung exhaled shakily. “You stopped feeling like just my friend.”
The words settled carefully between you.
Soft.
Terrifying.
Real.
His fingers loosened around your sleeve like he was preparing himself for rejection despite everything.
“I tried not to make it obvious,” he admitted.
“You failed.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You smiled gently. “You look at me like I hung the moon or something.”
His ears turned pink instantly.
“That obvious?”
“Painfully.”
For a second he just stared at you.
Then, quieter this time—
“I like you.” His voice almost cracked around the words. “Like… really, really like you.”
The teasing was gone now.
No jokes.
No hiding.
Just Heeseung looking at you like handing over his heart was the scariest thing he’d ever done.
And somehow that made you fall even harder.
Your hand slipped into his carefully.
“I was starting to think you’d never say it.”
He blinked.
“…Wait.”
You smiled.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, eyes widening. “You like me too?”
You burst into laughter. “Heeseung, I literally let you hold onto me all night.”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you were just polite.”
“Polite?”
“I don’t know! Let me panic!”
You laughed harder as he buried his face in his hands dramatically.
Then you tugged gently at his sleeve this time.
His eyes lifted to yours immediately.
“I like you too,” you said softly.
And the smile that spread across Heeseung’s face after that—
Jungwon stares at the notification while brushing his teeth, foam still in his mouth. He glances at the time again with a frown because—of course you are.
You’ve been trying to “fix your sleep schedule” for three weeks now.
Three very unsuccessful weeks.
He spits, wipes his mouth, and immediately types back.
[Won <3]: Why are YOU awake
[Won <3]: It’s 1am
The typing bubble appears instantly.
[You]: because i’m productive rn
[You]: wrote half my essay
[You]: reorganised my notes
[You]: made coffee
His eyebrows shoot up.
[Won <3]:MADE COFFEE?????
[You]: don’t judge me
[Won <3]: Babe you literally said you wanted to sleep early tonight
You leave him on read for a whole minute before replying.
[You]: i tried
[You]: my brain doesnt work at night unless i stay up
Jungwon sighs, flopping onto his bed. He knows this conversation. You’ve had it before. A lot.
You stay awake until disgusting hours of the morning, crash for four hours, survive on caffeine and pure stubbornness, then insist you’re “fine.”
And every time he hears you yawn over the phone the next day, he feels irrationally irritated because how are you both so smart and so bad at taking care of yourself?
[Won <3]: You need proper sleep
[Won <3]: Like actual sleep
[Won <3]: not random naps at 4pm
[You]: says who
[Won <3]: Says science???
[You]: science also says my brain works better at night
[Won <3]: Not enough to function on 3 hours
You send him a blurry photo of your laptop screen and messy desk.
[You]: LOOK HOW MUCH IM GETTING DONE THOUGH
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
[Won <3]: And tomorrow you’ll feel awful again
[You]: worth it
[Won <3]: No it’s not
Another pause.
He can practically picture you rolling your eyes at your phone.
[You]: won you don’t get it
[You]: i literally cant sleep normally
His fingers hover over the keyboard.
He should stop here. He knows he should.
But he’s tired, and worried, and frustrated because every conversation about this ends the same way—with you exhausted and him feeling helpless.
So instead he types:
[Won <3]: I DO get it
[Won <3]: You just refuse to try properly
Seen.
Nothing else.
He keeps going anyway.
[Won <3]: You can’t complain about being tired all the time and then stay up drinking coffee at 1am
[Won <3]: At some point it’s just self sabotage
Still nothing.
His stomach twists a little.
[Won <3]: babe?
No reply.
[Won <3]: Hello
Read.
That’s when he realises.
You’re not asleep.
You’re ignoring him.
Jungwon sits up straighter against his pillows, guilt arriving almost instantly now that the irritation’s gone. He rereads the messages and winces harder every time.
You just refuse to try properly.
God.
That sounded awful.
Especially because he knows you do try. He’s seen you lying awake at 3 a.m. with your eyes squeezed shut in frustration. Seen you stare at the ceiling while pretending not to cry because your brain wouldn’t slow down enough to rest.
And he still made you feel stupid for it.
[Won <3]: baby i didnt mean it like that
Read.
[Won <3]: I know you try
[Won <3]: I’m sorry
Read.
[Won <3]: Please answer me
Nothing.
Two minutes pass.
Then five.
Then ten.
Jungwon sends another message.
[Won <3]: I was being rude
[Won <3]: I’m just worried about you
Read.
His chest sinks a little every single time the word changes to seen without a response.
[Won <3]: don’t do the silent treatment pls ☹️
Read.
[Won <3]: i’m literally apologising
Read.
[Won <3]: love
Nothing.
And then suddenly—
No more reading.
No more seen.
No typing bubble.
Nothing at all.
Jungwon stares at the screen.
You definitely haven’t gone to sleep. There’s no way. Not this fast.
Which means you probably tossed your phone away because you were upset enough to stop looking at it altogether.
“Shit,” he mutters, already throwing his blanket off.
At 1:47 a.m., you hear knocking at your front door.
Your entire body freezes.
You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s nearly two in the morning. The apartment is dark except for your desk lamp, and your heartbeat starts climbing immediately.
Another knock.
Not aggressive.
Gentle.
You slowly stand from your desk chair.
Then you hear a muffled voice through the door.
“Love,” Jungwon says softly, “please open up.”
You blink.
“What?”
“I know you’re awake.”
Your stomach flips so fast it almost hurts.
You hurry to the door, unlocking it carefully before pulling it open just enough to peek through.
And there he is.
Grey hoodie. Messy hair. Slightly out of breath like he came here too fast.
His eyes immediately soften when he sees your face.
“Oh thank god.”
“You drove here?” you whisper.
“It’s twenty minutes.”
“At two in the morning.”
“You stopped answering me.”
The guilt hits immediately because he looks genuinely stressed. Like he’s been worrying himself sick.
You open the door wider, and Jungwon steps inside carefully, staring at you for a second before speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
Just like that.
No defensiveness. No joking.
Just soft, sincere guilt.
“I shouldn’t have said that stuff,” he says quietly. “I know you’re trying.”
You look away. “You made me feel dumb.”
His face visibly falls.
“I know.” He swallows. “And I hated it the second I sent it.”
The apartment feels strangely warm suddenly. Too warm for the ache sitting in your chest.
“I just…” he exhales, frustrated with himself now. “I worry because you run yourself into the ground all the time. And I know your brain works differently at night, okay? I do understand that. I was just being an asshole because I wanted you to sleep.”
You cross your arms tighter. “You made it sound like I was choosing this.”
“I know.”
“And like I’m lazy or dramatic.”
“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “I’m sorry, baby.”
You finally look at him properly.
His eyes are tired. Really tired. There’s a crease between his brows like he’s been anxious the entire drive over here.
“You came all the way here just to apologise?”
“Well…” His mouth twitches slightly. “Also to physically force you into bed.”
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“There she is,” he murmurs immediately, relief flooding his voice.
You roll your eyes, but the tension cracks a little.
Jungwon steps closer slowly, careful with you now.
“Sometimes your brain just works in ways I don’t understand yet. But I want to.”
That almost breaks you more than the argument itself.
Because Jungwon’s always like this once he realises he’s hurt you. Not just apologising to end the fight—actually trying to understand where he went wrong.
“I do get more done at night,” you mumble weakly.
“I know.”
“And sleeping feels impossible sometimes.”
“I know.”
“And I hate when people act like I’m just lazy.”
His expression softens completely.
“I know, love.”
Silence settles for a second before he reaches up carefully and brushes his thumb under your eye.
“Can I make it up to you?”
You mumble, “Depends.”
“I brought your favourite snacks.”
Your head lifts immediately.
He smirks faintly. “Yeah. Thought so.”
An hour later, you’re curled into his side in bed after being aggressively bullied into changing into pajamas.
“You’re evil,” you mumble as he pulls the blanket over both of you.
“You need sleep.”
“You sound like a father.”
“I sound correct.”
You snort quietly.
The room is dark now except for the faint orange glow of your bedside lamp. Jungwon’s hand rests against your waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles through your shirt.
“You know,” he says after a while, “you can still be productive without destroying your body.”
“Mhm.”
“That was not a convincing mhm.”
You smile sleepily into his shoulder.
“I’m listening.”
“You need balance.”
“You need to stop saying words like balance at two in the morning.”
“I need you to sleep eight hours.”
“There it is.”
“There it is,” he repeats proudly.
You laugh again, softer this time.
Jungwon presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“Just try for me tonight?”
You hesitate.
Then finally sigh dramatically.
“Fine.”
“Eight hours.”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Seven and a half?”
“You negotiate sleep like a hostage deal.”
“Because you treat bedtime like a personal enemy.”
You groan as he grins against your hair.
But a few minutes later, when your breathing starts slowing and your body finally relaxes against him, Jungwon’s smile fades into something softer.
Something careful.
He brushes your hair back gently and whispers into the dark—
“Still sorry, by the way.”
Half asleep, you mumble against his chest, “I know.”
And only then does he finally let himself relax too.
When you wake up again, sunlight is pouring through your curtains.
You squint blearily before reaching for your phone.
11:06 a.m.
Your eyes widen immediately.
Beside you, Jungwon stirs at the movement. “Mm… what?”
“We slept the whole night.”
That wakes him up fast.
He grabs his phone, checks the time, then slowly looks over at you with the most obnoxiously pleased expression you’ve ever seen.
“No way.”
“Oh my god, don’t start.”
“Baby,” he says, sitting up dramatically, “that is like eight hours.”
You groan and hide your face in the blanket while he starts laughing.
“You actually did it!”
“It was ONE time.”
“Still counts.”
You peek out from under the blanket just enough to glare at him, but he only leans down and kisses your forehead.
He’s out the door by 6:30 every morning , but he always lingers for a second by the bed. Even if he’s running late, he’ll lean down to press a kiss to your forehead while you’re still buried under the duvet, his voice low as he tells you to go back to sleep.
He actually keeps a drawer in his desk. It’s a mix of things you always lose, such as spare hair ties and your specific lip balm along with those sickly sweet coffee pods he personally finds undrinkable but stocks anyway just for when you drop by.
He’s known for being terrifyingly focused in negotiations, but he still finds five seconds to send a text that just says, "Still thinking about how you laughed at dinner." Then he locks his phone and go right back to closing a multimillion-dollar deal.
The CEO Heeseung persona dies the second he enters the elevator. When he’s in the penthouse, his tie is loose, his sleeves are rolled up, and his only priority is you.
His wallpaper is a candid photo of you sleeping. He uses it as a sort of mental reset button during particularly brutal board meetings.
He never makes a thing out of it, but your favourite flowers just... appear. Every couple of weeks, the vase in the entryway is full again, always the white roses, your favourite.
When he’s really tired, he gets clingy. He will pull you onto his lap soon as he sits down, and then he hides his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes you in.
He once spent an hour badgering the family chef to teach him how to make your go-to comfort food. Now, if he sees you’re stressed or studying late, he’ll cook a version of it that’s probably a bit burnt or salty, but he looks so proud of it you’d never tell him.
If you text him saying you’re feeling under the weather, the "important" business dinner is over. He will let his assistant take care of the rest and show up at the door twenty minutes later with takeout. Then he will hold you until you fall asleep.
At those stuffy company events, he’s never not touching you. While he’s nodding along to some executive’s story, his thumb is constantly tracing absentminded circles over the back of your hand, keeping you anchored to him.
He claims to be a tsundere, but you know him better than anyone else and how sentimenal he is. He has a box hidden in his cupboard, It doesn't hold documents or keys; it’s filled with every single note of good luck note you’ve ever tucked into his briefcase. He considers those more valuable than any contract he’s ever signed.
He has a specific wokrk voice that is dangerously calm and cold when he’s frustrated. But the second you walk into the room, his eyes soften visibly, and his posture shifts from intimidating CEO to just... your husband.
He loves it when you steal his expensive dress shirts. He’ll see you walking around with the sleeves hanging past your hands and just look away with a tiny, satisfied smirk, feeling like he’s absolutely won at life. (which, tbh he did)
No matter how late his flight lands or how jet-lagged he is, he refuses to go to bed until you’re there. You’ll often find him waiting up on the sofa, shirt unbuttoned and exhausted, because the day doesn't actually end for him until he’s seen you.
𝟓𝟐𝟔────────𝒊 olderbf !hee x 𝒇 !rea 永遠の愛🧘🏽♀️◜ fluff kissing skinship
HEESEUNG𓈒 who waits for you in the same spot every time, beneath the yellow street light by your house. his hands are in his pockets, shoulders not resting until you’re in his arms, head shooting up at every small sound to see if it’s you.
the waiting is what he hates the most. and it’s not because it’s long─it’s the thought of “what if she doesn’t come tonight?”
yet, you always do.
and when you finally do slip out of the house, carefully and quiet, he sees you immediately. his shoulders slump in relief, finally breathing properly again.
“hi..” his voice coming out softer than expected, a sigh of relaxation.
he doesn’t rush you (he never does). just watches you walk over, checking to see if you’re okay, or if anyone’s watching.
the moment you’re close enough, his hand fall into yours like an instinct.
“you’re late, hm?” he murmurs─except there’s no bite in it, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
when you mumble something about almost getting caught by your roommates, his voice drops.
“careful..” it’s gentle but firm at the same time, hand tightening around yours slightly. “i don’t want you to rush. i’d rather wait then have you in trouble.”
the thing is that, he always says things like that. that your safety matters more to him then seeing you. but the way he’s holding your hand says something completely different.
his hands move up to cup your face, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“did you bring a jacket? it’s gonna be colder tonight” he asks, already frowning from knowing the answer.
“no..” you shake your head, and he sighs softly. before you could say something else, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders.
“you never listen..” he mumbles as he’s adjusting the position of the coat, a small smile tugging at his lips.
his arms wrap around you slow enough so you can pull away if you wanted to. but when you settle against him, he pulls you closer and exhales quietly.
“missed you,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.
his thumb begins to trace slow patterns against your arm, like this is enough for him for at least another ten years.
for a few minutes, it’s silent and neither of you say something. then you tilt your head up, heeseung noticing immediately.
his eyes flickers to your lips for a second, then back up to your eyes.
“are you sure, my love..?” he asks quietly.
you love that about him, always checking to see if you’re okay─it’s quite silly but something you appreciate.
you don’t answer with words, just with a small gesture: leaning in.
the kiss is slow, soft, not planning to rush it anytime soon. his hand comes to cup your cheek softly, and the other hand resting on the back of your head.
when he pulls back, the air around you is warm and his forehead is against yours.
his arms tighten around you once again, murmuring sweet nothings.
“you know i would’ve stop if you asked, right?”
silence.
then—
“but.. i don’t think i could ever stay away from you.”
authors note i hope you guys enjoyed this ! they took dada away ..
this wasn’t in the script ? — heeseung lee oneshot
summary. despite being in a public relationship for 3 years, both of you were private about it. after years of interrogations by fans, media and even your friends, you both decide to go live for a Q&A session, breaking the silence.
pairings. celeb!heeseung x celeb!reader
content / warnings. just tooth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, nicknames (baby), they get sentimental, hee is a FLIRT, mentions of the industry and it’s downsides, they’re in love your honor, slightly suggestive in one question but nothing much.
w.c. 1.3k
You adjust the camera with careful hands, trying to ignore the way your heart won’t settle, even after all this time.
The frame shifts slightly before you fix it, exhaling softly as the silence stretches between you and Heeseung.
“We’re really doing this, huh?” you say, half-laughing, half-hoping he’ll say no—but when you turn, he’s already looking at you, steady and certain, like he decided long before you did.
“We said we would,” he replies quietly, voice steady in a way yours isn’t. He took your hand in his, before kissing it. “I’m right beside you, baby.”
You swallow, nodding once, more to yourself than to him, before reaching forward again. Your finger hovers over the screen for a second too long.
Three years of dodging questions.
Three years of silence. Of subtle hints.
And now… this.
“Okay,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, before pressing the button.
The screen flickers.
For a split second, it’s just the two of you—unchanged, unseen.
Then, YOU ARE LIVE! shows up on the screen.
Numbers begin climbing faster than you expected. Comments flood in almost instantly, too quick to read, too loud even in their silence.
“Hi everyone,” Heeseung starts first, his voice calm and grounding, but you could feel the excitement in it.
welovetheace: WOAH THIS NEW
dialtragedy2790: wait i’m scared r they announcing a pregnancy?
You choked on your saliva at that. “What—No! No pregnancy announcement,” You reply with a huff in which he just laughs at.
“We’re here today because…” He looks at me, smiling before turning to the camera again. “…We want to talk about us. Answer questions and reveal things we never did over the past few years.”
“That’s right, I know all of you are dying to know—we went public three years ago, but that’s just it. Just an official statement from our agency and that’s basically it.”
You laugh, “Some of you even accused us of being a PR stunt!” You narrow your eyes at the screen while Heeseung smirks.
“Not so PR stunt if I kiss you right here, no?”
(name)lover: oh here mr flirtypants go
heedagoat: she’s stronger than me i would’ve died
hevanly: the way you can tell she’s used to his bs 😭😭
You clear your throat as you change the topic.
“So, I told you guys to ask me some questions about our relationship on Instagram and to say the least, we were entertained by your questions!”
You smile at the screen, your hand ready with your phone full of questions—some picked by you, some Heeseung and of course, filtered by the assistance of your dedicated Manager, Jen.
“Let’s just get into it, then?” He looks at you, gaze loving.
lovestrucked2508: he is looking at her like she’s his whole world… I’m sick.
———
“The first question—What’s something fans were right about—but you never confirmed?” You read, Heeseung hums.
“Oh! That we were already dating during that award show, remember?” He looks at you, grinning.
“The one that you wouldn’t stop staring at me?” You scoff, he nonchalantly shrugs.
“In my defense, that dress? With the split? You were killing me, baby.” He holds his heart, as if you are actually assassinating him.
You can already imagine what the comments are like.
“Oh stop it, you were not helping it. Even other celebs were suspecting it that time!” You laugh.
number1ace: WE WERE NOT CRAZY AFTER ALL
You read another question, “Who gets sulky more easily?”
“Heeseung.”
“(Name).”
You gasp, mock-offense. “You do! I literally have to put up with your little pout every time I say no!” Your finger boop said pout he’s forming right now.
“Well, I can’t help it. That’s just how my lips are. Besides, what type of girlfriend refuses her boyfriend’s cuddles?”
“The type that has schedules to attend, and not stuck in bed with you all day!”
He pouts.
jujuprincess: THAT POUT omg she’s so strong to deny him
“Okay, moving on!” He reads. “How did going public affect your relationship emotionally?”
He thinks of a second, before answering.
“To be completely honest, nothing. Both (Name) and I are aware that once we go public, the lack of privacy, interrogations, people over analyzing our actions and words— are a given,” He turns his attention to me. “I guess, we’re both mentally strong people?” He chuckles.
“Because while yes, the world knows we’re each other’s person, but the moments that we kept to ourselves? That’s what ground us as a couple. Because the (Name) off screen is for my eyes only, and that made me feel like…nothing really changes.”
You smile at his sentimental answer, while agreeing with him.
“What’s your ‘normal date’ actually like?” He reads another one.
“It’s our favourite, actually. Locking our doors and spend the whole day sleeping,” I chuckled.
“While hugging each other, of course.” He laughs, “We both have demanding schedules, so when we’re tired and have eachother? (Name) here becomes my teddy bear.”
You roll your eyes, faux annoyed. “His grip—God—It’s like he has magnets in him.”
“But I never see you complaining.” He winks at you.
f4taltroubl3: why is she calmer than me and I’m not even in the relationship
The questions continue, some light-hearted and funny, some headliner-worthy you could feel your manager stressing out as she monitors your live from her screen.
“What’s a moment where you felt proud of each other as artist?” You read, and immediately answer.
“Uhm, while I am proud for all the awards he achieved…what makes me even prouder of him is that his tendency to stay commited to his intentions. By his side, you can really see how much hardship he went through. However, through it all— his mindset never wavered, and that’s so significant in this fabricated and chaotic industry. As a fellow artist, I respect him so much. As a lover, I’m so proud of him.” I held his hand, and smile.
Heeseung’s breath hitches as he stares at you answering.
“That means so much to me, baby.” He says, voice soft enough it passes as a whisper only you hear.
LHS1COMINGSOON: the way u can tell they protected this relationship a lot, oh my heart.
He reads another one: “When was a moment you felt ‘this is my person’?”
He smiles before answering, “Before her, I’m someone who avoids talking to people or in general shut myself out from the world when things get tough, and then get back on track myself. But…when we started dating, I realised instead of wanting solitary, I crave her. In my silence, I search for her. She grounds me even more that past me can do it myself.” He chuckles.
“Loving (Name) is so easy. You just can’t not fall in love with her.” He kisses your hand again, and you feel your face heating up, as well as the lump in your throat forming.
“Tch, what a sap.” You smile, blinking quickly to avoid tearing up.
He just grin at that.
beliftlabdestroyer: The way they talk about each other is so gentle
heeseung4life: No wonder he fell for her
“Who is more affectionate in private?” You scoff, “I fear this is obvious, you guys.”
Heeseung looks at you, before smirking.
“Oh really now?” His hand creeping up your inner thigh.
“Yup.”
“But the last time I checked, it wasn’t me who was on their knees last n—”
“Okay—! Next question.” You glare at him, “Have you talked about your future seriously?”
Heeseung hums, “Future…” He shrugs. “Both of us really hold onto the concept of Carpe Diem, but…” He tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I’m so sure we’re each other’s future too. Maybe a family of our own?” He smiles.
You grin, “Well—that’s a given. But, too early to talk about that.”
gojosatoruineedthatdih: wait lowkey imagined a kid with both of their genes….we’re not ready
After the last question fades and the comments slow just enough to breathe, you glance at Heeseung, unsure who’s supposed to end it. For a moment, neither of you speaks—until he quietly thanks the viewers, his voice softer than it’s been the entire time.
“Thank you for supporting us,” you add, voice steadier than you expected.
You reach for the screen to end the live—
—but he stops you. Just for a second.
Not dramatic. Not obvious.
Just enough to gently intertwine his fingers with yours and kiss your temple.
“Now you can end it,” he murmurs.
And of course—
the camera catches everything.
note: hi loves! projected one of my thoughts about hee in here wanna guess which one? 😋 also! i considered using y/n but i never really tried it before, so tell me, is (name) too distracting? or just nice? or just stick to y/n? also! i miss heeseung :(
genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.
warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.
summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?
word count : 20k
Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)
part two
You have always been first in your class.
Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.
You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you.
A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence.
Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.
At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.
You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl.
You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone.
On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake.
You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.
That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you.
Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.
You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.
So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.
But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.
Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.
It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.
And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties."
"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."
Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice."
"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"
Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."
You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts.
That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.
He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm.
Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory.
"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.
"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy.
That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them.
He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.
"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"
"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."
"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.
This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.
Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out.
Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.
"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
✹✹✹
The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.
Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better.
You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.
He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."
"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day.
From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face.
You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.
Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.
But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.
You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.
True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.
During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance.
To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.
That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.
Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.
You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.
✹✹✹
Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.
On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.
"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?"
"I have an idea."
"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.
"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.
"Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."
"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"
"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"
"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.
"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."
"But-"
"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.
"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."
"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.
"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet."
"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.
That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.
"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you.
"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."
You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him.
Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably.
Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.
"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.
But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.
Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before.
You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.
"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.
As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.
That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.
✹✹✹
You came first in your grade this semester.
True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.
So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.
You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.
"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.
"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."
"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."
"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year.
"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.
"Most expensive thing on the menu."
"So you are only here for the food."
"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display.
"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."
"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."
"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"
Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces.
"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."
"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.
"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."
Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."
"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."
Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.
"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"
"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."
"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"
"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."
His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"
"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?"
"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.
"Purple."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn.
"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring.
"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."
"You do remind me of navy blue."
"And why is that?"
"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."
You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?
You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"
"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."
"Yellow is carefree and happy."
"Exact. Now your turn, red."
"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."
Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"
"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."
"And right now, how do you feel?"
"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."
"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."
Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"
"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."
"I do too."
You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.
"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.
"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.
"Please tell me you won't be cooking."
"Shut up. What about you?"
"I’d be a dancer."
"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face.
"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"
"I just never expected it. Can I-"
"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout.
"I didn't even finish."
"I knew what you were going to say."
"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down.
"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."
"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."
"Death might be around the corner."
"Stop it."
"Close your door tonight."
"You are deranged."
Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."
Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.
But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner.
You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit.
Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk
Minho : Poor baby
Yn : Is that you at my door?
Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting.
"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.
"It's pitch black, I can't see."
"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice.
"What's there to miss?"
"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden.
"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you.
"Trees can't hurt you."
"No shit Sherlock."
"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words.
"Why?"
"I’ll tell you a story."
"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly.
"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"
"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"
"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."
"What did you use?" you ask quietly.
"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."
"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.
"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."
"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story.
"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."
Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.
He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.
He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on.
You just made his world stop.
✹✹✹
The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.
You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems.
You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant.
Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.
“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you.
“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.
“He likes you! Go talk to him!”
“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”
“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only.
“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.
With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it.
You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.
You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.
"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.
You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"
"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."
"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.
"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."
"You look nice. Now leave me alone."
"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.
Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.
The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.
You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it.
"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.
Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.
He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.
"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.
"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."
"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."
"Next time, don’t stay alone."
“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."
You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"
"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."
"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."
You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place.
But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."
"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."
"I’ll ask her."
You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.
"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.
You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.
As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face.
"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."
"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."
"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."
"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.
"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"
"I only tell my friends."
"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."
"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.
"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."
"That’s very sweet of you Minho."
"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.
"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.
"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”
Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.
"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.
"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."
"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods.
"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."
"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.
"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."
This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.
"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."
"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.
"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.
"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"
"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.
"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.
"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."
You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."
He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"
"But then I’d be lying."
"Asshole."
"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.
You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.
"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."
"Of course. Don't dream of me."
"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.
For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.
✹✹✹
It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study.
Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.
That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is.
You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning.
As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.
But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.
He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.
"Yeah."
"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."
You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it.
"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.
"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"
"You'll catch a cold."
"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."
"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."
"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."
"Yn, I don’t-"
"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."
"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."
You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his.
You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.
He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.
"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."
You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."
He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."
You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.
Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.
But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.
He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you.
Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room.
He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile.
"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.
"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.
You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.
You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.
You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.
Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.
"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.
"Sure."
You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.
As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.
When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."
✹✹✹
Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.
Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him.
And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.
That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.
But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue.
That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.
But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.
He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.
"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."
"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname.
"Never."
"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."
"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.
Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow.
Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips.
"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.
"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat.
“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.
You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.
This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles.
“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands.
“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.
“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it.
This was something friends think about, right?
"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.
"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"
"Because it's getting longer."
"But it suits you."
Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?
"I’ll still cut it."
Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.
He didn't cut his hair.
The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.
That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.
He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.
He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-
"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.
"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.
"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.
"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.
You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.
"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.
"Yeah?"
"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.
"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."
"How can I help you feel yellow?"
"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.
“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you.
"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.
"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.
Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.
He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again.
You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.
✹✹✹
2 months later
"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading.
"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."
You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time.
"What are you doing?"
"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me."
"Don't mind me. Do your thing."
"And what are you doing?"
"Enjoying the sun."
"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"
"Nope."
"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too.
Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course.
Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.
It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving.
So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere.
You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin.
It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.
As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you.
His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into.
"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him.
"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own?
"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again.
"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you.
He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?
"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.
"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey.
"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed.
His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly.
✹✹✹
You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it.
You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.
Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe.
You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body.
You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.
You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.
It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago.
Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now.
You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly. You hated how weak you felt in that instant.
"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds.
You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"
"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him.
You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."
"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.
"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?
"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?
"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.
"Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.
You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"
"it's nothing."
"Yn..."
"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people.
Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.
In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."
"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly.
"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.
"Remind me to never cry in front of you again."
Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will.
"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."
"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment.
"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."
"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up.
"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie.
"Where to?"
"I’m craving ice cream."
"And why do you need me?"
"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone.
"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you."
True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.
Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.
You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.
You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.
When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you.
Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now.
"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him.
Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down.
No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves.
You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic.
Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you.
He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"
"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?"
"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face.
"Not like that you look scary."
"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music.
"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key.
'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing.
You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance.
"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."
"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck.
"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.
You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?
You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life.
"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.
"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again.
Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you.
"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity.
"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features.
"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it.
"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome."
"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."
"You don't like it when people touch you, right?"
"Yeah."
"Can I ask why?"
You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you.
"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him.
"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."
"You didn't," you reply instantly.
"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"
"I will."
"Okay."
"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.
You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer."
And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply.
Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds.
That's four seconds more than the first time.
Progress.
✹✹✹
You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days.
Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting.
You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her.
The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her.
You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold.
You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are.
With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called.
"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.
You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay.
“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart.
She deleted your number.
You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain.
Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her?
Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.
You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.
To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.
"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.
"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."
"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"
"Yn-"
"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.
The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself.
Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.
But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-
"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.
You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."
"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."
"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.
"You won't understand."
"Then make me."
"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."
You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing.
You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.
Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."
"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.
"Please, let me make it better."
You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure.
Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob.
He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug.
You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho.
The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.
You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.
Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along.
Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm.
"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.
"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace.
"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head.
"I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.
"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.
"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."
You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."
"I know."
Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.
In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.
You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first.
There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.
"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.
"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."
To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore.
"I want to tell you."
"You don't need to."
"I know, but I want to."
"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.
"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.
"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.
"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.
"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"
Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.
"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."
"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."
Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.
"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."
Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.
He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.
But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.
Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.
"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."
His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?
"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.
You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.
Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.
Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."
You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.
You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.
"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."
"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"
"It will take time."
"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.
"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you."
"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.
"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."
"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.
"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"
"We do."
"Then make a wish."
You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.
"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.
The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."
Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.
The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.
As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.
You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'
Epilogue
You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.
But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.
And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.
It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.
The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.
he looks different in the best way possible his lips are soo freaking kissable i just want to hold his cutie pootie face in my hands the makeup is sooo good my god i miss you my darling we will get you back don't worry
where you constantly fall asleep on your boyfriend.
word count - 900
warnings: nothing really, lots of fluff and lots of sleep
masterlist
it was a ritual you’d subconsciously fallen into.
the first time it happened, you were watching a movie, head resting on his lap as your legs sprawled across the rest of the sofa.
his hand kept playing with your hair — slow and gentle — and it was lulling you into sleep.
“do you think she’s going to escape?” he’d asked, referring to the film.
“mm.” you could only hum, eyes heavy and body exhausted.
he waited a moment before looking down at you, “baby?” confusion laced his voice.
you didn’t hear anything else he’d said, deep in dreamland, softly snoring away.
since then, heeseung had become your designated ‘bed’. whenever you hung out — whenever you did anything, really — you’d wind up sleeping on him.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
you’re at some party with heeseung and his friends, just stood in a corner, chatting.
his arm is wrapped warmly around you, keeping you tucked into his side as his hand runs softly up and down your arm.
he noticed the way you began to slouch, your own hands circling his waist. he didn’t think anything of it yet, deciding that maybe you’d been stood up for too long and were just using him as a resting post.
but then his friends kept glancing at you, small, humoured smiles gracing their faces.
“what’s up?” he asks them with a grin of his own.
jake chuckles before answering, “your girl’s just fallen asleep whilst stood up.”
heeseung’s eyebrows shoot up, really? he thinks.
cautiously, he cranes his neck down to catch your sleeping face, then he smiles to himself and pulls you into his chest.
one of his hands cradle your head, the other rubbing your back before he continues conversing with the group.
he didn’t plan on being there much longer, not if you were tired.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
heeseung had brought you over to their dorm on one of the days, kept you both in his room, talking about anything and everything.
for the most part, you were sat on his desk chair, spinning mindlessly as he watched from his bed, back resting on the headboard.
he didn’t like the distance, but… it was either this, or him just talking to himself whilst you sleep.
deciding to take the risk, he calls you closer. you looked very awake, not tired. “baby,” he whines.
you stop spinning to face him, “yeah?”
he pats the other side of his bed, “come here, i feel like i’m shouting when i talk to you.”
a small laugh escapes you as you stand up and saunter onto his bed, well, mostly onto him. “i wasn’t that far away, hee.”
“you were.” he pouts dramatically, lips pursed almost invitingly.
you lean up slowly and kiss the pout away, he chases your mouth as you pull back and collapse back into him. “i’m here now.”
your voice changes, a new rasp to it. one that only came out when you were sleepy. heeseung notices immediately.
“you’re not gonna sleep, right?”
subconsciously, you shuffle closer into him, cheek flat against his chest, “…no”
even you thought you weren’t tired. but as soon as your body was next to his, you were gone.
maybe it was his warmth. or how soft he felt. or how calm he always was around you.
heeseung sighs deeply. as much as it warmed his heart to have his special person fall asleep on him continuously, he did miss talking to you each time it would happen.
a loud growl rumbled. his stomach.
carefully, he unlatched himself from you and tiptoed out of the bedroom, making his way to the kitchen.
“yo,” jay called out, washing dishes beside the fridge, where heeseung was currently raiding. “i made some ramen.”
hee’s eyes leave the fridge, scanning the counters to find it. once he does, he decides to sit with his friends, not wanting to disturb your such peaceful sleep.
sunoo's the first of them to speak up, "where's y/n?"
it was a known fact between them all that wherever heeseung went, you'd go too - and vice a versa. so it was quite unusual to see one just sat down eating, without the other.
he gulps down his food quickly, "she's asleep on my bed."
the rest of the boys nod, quickly understanding, before going back to eating or watching the tv.
only ten minutes had passed before your feet came softly padding through the hallway, halting briefly when you reached the living room, eyes looking for him.
you drop yourself next to him on the sofa, jungwon on your other side, throwing teasing smiles at heeseung.
"you alright?" he mutters, close to your ear.
your cheek rests against his bicep, voice muffled as you respond, "missed you." your eyes are already closed, it's as though he has some sort of spell on you.
he grins to himself, melting at your actions. he sets the bowl of ramen down on the table in front of him and pulls your legs onto his lap, protectively splaying his hand on your thigh.
"get some more sleep, yeah?" he pulls your body into him now, arm wrapping around you and head resting atop yours.
that was it, you were out. you didn't even notice when he carried you back to bed at the end of the night.
hiiiii... can u write something like, doctor jungwon with nurse reader... and the reader suffers an accident...
Dr. Yang, Can You Not?
Pairing: Surgeon! Jungwon x Nurse! Fem! reader
Synopsis: Being a nurse means long hours, short breaks, and trying not to stare too long at Jungwon, or so we call, Dr. Yang Jungwon, during rounds. No one said falling for a surgeon would be part of the job description, but here we are.
Author's Note: This was honestly the hardest thing I’ve ever written 😭 It took so much time and research because I wanted to reflect the reality of hospital life. Writing a story where the characters are both grounded was a challenge, but I learned a lot from it. Huge thank you to the anon who requested this. I’m so sorry it took forever to finish. I poured my heart into it. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I struggled writing it 😭💉 Happy reading! 💗
Content Warning: Please note that this is a fictional story. While I did a lot of research to make the hospital setting feel real, this does not accurately represent actual medical procedures or protocols. This was written for entertainment purposes only. This story mentions blood, injuries, fainting, medical emergencies, and heavy emotional moments. Also includes cursing and unfiltered language at times. Please read with care!
Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n @layzfy @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20
Being a nurse isn’t easy. It’s not like the shows, and it’s not like what people outside the hospital think it is. There’s no time to breathe when you’re responsible for lives. You learn to control your emotions, move fast, and think faster. And even then, mistakes happen.
You knew something was off the moment the shift slowed down. The patient was fine, but the chart wasn’t. There’d been an update, a new dosage written in right after you made the rounds. Jungwon, or so everyone calls, Dr. Yang, had caught it. He said nothing then, only glanced at the chart and walked off. He asked to speak to you in the staff lounge an hour later. He didn’t sit. He didn’t lecture. “Walk me through what happened,” he said, arms crossed. He seemed calm but unreadable.
You shifted your weight. “It was bed 14. The chart was updated, but I didn’t double-check. I was covering trauma for Jina, running back and forth. I saw the old dosage and went with it. I didn’t mean to cut corners. I…I missed it.” He didn’t interrupt. You continued, “The update must’ve come through after I’d already prepped, and I know that doesn’t excuse anything. I was responsible for checking again, but I didn’t, Dr. Yang.”
For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then he exhaled lightly. “Patient’s fine. No harm done. I logged it as a near miss.” You nodded, but it didn’t feel like relief. Only a confirmation of what you already feared, that it had been close. Too close. “You’re not careless,” he added. “You’ve been consistent. One mistake doesn’t change that. But next time, don’t rush. Even if you’re covering, you say something.”
“I will,” you said. You meant it. He looked at you for a moment longer and asked. “Are you alright?” You hesitated, “I’m just mad at myself.”
That seemed to land with him. Not sympathy, he wasn’t the type, but understanding. “Good. You should be. Means you won’t let it happen again.” He turned toward the door, paused with his hand on the knob. “If it starts feeling too much, don’t wait until it breaks you. Say something sooner.”
And that was the thing with Jungwon. He wasn’t that warm, but when it mattered, he was present. And in a place where lives hang by a thread daily, that meant everything.
🚑
You were slumped on the break room couch with your wrinkled scrubs and hair clipped up with zero effort. Jina had her feet on the table, unbothered by hospital etiquette, while Ara tried to get the vending machine to accept her crumpled bill for the fourth time. “Just accept your fate. No snacks for you,” Jina mumbled while eyes half-shut. “I just want a chocolate bar,” Ara said, pressing the buttons with the desperation of someone clinging to hope. “This hospital is cursed.”
“I could’ve told you that,” you muttered. “I almost gave the wrong dosage to bed 14 today.” That woke Jina up. “Wait, what?”
You shrugged. “Dr. Yang caught it. He asked me to walk him through it. No yelling, though. It’s only that terrifying calm voice.”
“Oh no,” Ara groaned, flopping onto the chair beside you. “The ‘walk me through it’ is worse than yelling. It’s like guilt, shame, and a midlife crisis all in one sentence.”
“I kept waiting for the part where he tells me I’m off the schedule next week,” you said.
“And did he?” Jina raised an eyebrow.
“No. He said I’m not careless. Which somehow made me feel worse.”
“Because now you have a reputation to protect,” Ara said, poking your leg with her foot. “Welcome to hell.” She added. “Nurses from the third floor were hanging around the corridor again.” You didn’t look up from your notes. “What for?”
“Dr. Yang was in OR 3. Apparently, the supply room suddenly became the most visited place in the hospital.” Jina gave a tired laugh as she unwrapped her sandwich. “It’s funny. The way they pretend to be casual with clipboards in hand.” You shook your head. “They’ll be disappointed. He barely even looks up unless it’s patient-related.”
“That’s what makes him kind of intimidating,” Ara said. “Not in a mean way. He’s just strict and focused.” Jina nodded. “Still better than the others. He won’t call you out in front of a patient. He corrects you once, and that’s it. But you remember.”
You responded, “It’s the way he talks. He never raises his voice, but you know when he means business.”
Ara smirked. “The ‘walk me through it’ line?”
You smiled faintly. “Exactly.”
“I swear, we’re running on caffeine and instinct at this point,” Jina muttered. “Mostly instinct,” you said. “Barely any caffeine left.” Ara sighed. “Two more hours. Let’s make it.” You all stood up slowly, the weariness showing in the way your bodies moved. No complaints, though.
Someone mentioned a patient needing to be checked on in the ICU, but no one asked who would go.
You were already moving.
🚑
Everyone looked like shit but the thing was, no one complained too much. Because this was real work. Messy, exhausting, nonstop and honestly, no one had time to be pretty at 4 AM. Jina was slouched in the nurse’s station chair. “If I die, make sure they clean my brows before the funeral.”
“You’re not dying,” Ara said. “You’re just decaying slowly.”
You leaned your head against the counter. “Why does this shift feel like three years?”
“Because it is,” Ara answered. “Time bends here.”
Someone was wheeling a portable vitals cart down the hallway with one squeaky wheel screaming for help. Another nurse was trying to untangle IV tubing. Then, Jungwon walked past.
Everyone straightened, not because he was scary in a mean way, but because, somehow, he made you want to be on your A-game. He wasn’t the type to raise his voice or humiliate anyone. He only had that stare. You weren’t feeling any fear. It was only respect… and fine, a lot more fear. Jina whispered, “I swear I saw four nurses almost break their necks earlier just watching him.” Then, you sighed, grabbed your tablet, stood up, and headed down the hall to follow up on a urine output. Another hour in the hospital.
🚑
You were replacing the ECG leads on Mr. Choi, the elderly patient in room 305, again, for the third time this week. He’d somehow peeled them halfway off while adjusting his pillow and now acted like the whole thing was a crime against his freedom. “They itch,” he grumbled, crossing his arms as you prepped new stickers. “They always itch, Mr. Choi,” you said, not looking up. “But you don’t pull them off unless you want a lecture and a delay in meds.”
“I wasn’t pulling, I was just adjusting.”
“Mmhmm,” you muttered, pressing the last lead down. “Try adjusting your expectations next time.” The monitor beeped back to normal. You were currently logging the change when footsteps approached. You didn’t have to look up. Jungwon stepped in, making a quick scan of the room. “What happened?”
“Monitor alarm. Leads were off,” you answered. “I reattached and checked his rhythm. Stable, Dr. Yang.”
Jungwon nodded once. “Noted. Thank you.” Then to Mr. Choi, “Please avoid touching anything connected to your heart.”
“I was itchy,” Mr. Choi replied while unfazed. Jungwon raised a brow but said nothing. Mr. Choi snorted and asked you something, acting as if Jungwon wasn’t still in the room. “He always like that?”
“Like what?”
Mr. Choi said, “Serious and stern. He looks like he hasn’t slept since med school.”
You shrugged while double-checking your chart. “He works harder than anyone here.”
“Still,” Mr. Choi leaned in slightly. “You two close?”
You gave him a confused look. “Close?”
Jungwon was already turning to leave when Mr. Choi piped up,
“Is he your boyfriend?”
Jungwon stopped walking for half a second, then glanced over his shoulder. “She has standards, Mr. Choi.” And with that, he walked out. You rolled your eyes, more at Mr. Choi than anyone else, as you adjusted the blanket over him. Mr. Choi chuckled. “I didn’t say he was a bad pick.”
You grabbed the used gauze wrappers off the tray. “You need sleep, not gossip.”
🚑
You walked alongside Jungwon. Both of you were fresh off the emergency. Then, “You didn’t hesitate,” Jungwon said after a while, eyes ahead, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “Your hands were steady.”
You responded. “Only because I wasn’t thinking. If I did, I’d probably pass out.”
“Still, you didn’t.” His voice wasn’t praising, though, and you could tell he was honest.
You glanced sideways at him. “I thought you were gonna snap when the interns froze.”
“I was too busy watching you fix it,” he replied, catching you off guard. You didn’t respond to that. Instead, you pushed the med room door open with your shoulder. Inside, a couple of nurses were slumped in chairs. You sank into the chair near the sink and muttered, “We all look like expired yogurt.” Someone snorted. “Speak for yourself. I’m aged cheese.”
Laughter broke out softly among the tired group. Mr. Choi, poked his head out from his door down the hall, despite clearly being told to stay inside and rest. His voice carried just enough. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asked, pointing a bony finger toward Jungwon, who was still standing and looking like he was re-running the code blue in his head. You rolled your eyes before anyone else could speak. “Mr. Choi, that’s Dr. Yang.”
But before you could add anything else, Jungwon glanced straight-faced and said, “That’d be inappropriate, Mr. Choi. She hasn’t even bought me dinner.” A few of the nurses choked on their drinks. You were more surprised than anything, but he was already walking off, as if he hadn’t just dropped a line like that mid-shift.
Mr. Choi gave you a smug little grin. “He’s funny. Keep that one.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose and muttered again, louder this time, “That’s Dr. Yang, Mr. Choi.”
You didn’t like to admit it, but fine. Dr. Yang was handsome. Everyone knew it. He had that put-together look that didn’t fade even after sixteen-hour shifts. Smart, obviously. Strict, but not in a way that made nurses cry in the break room. He never raised his voice. He never embarrassed anyone. He just had this way of watching, of waiting for you to catch your mistake, and that alone was enough to make your palms sweat. People either avoided eye contact or found excuses to hang around him. Neither was a good look. Not here, especially not when you were trying to survive the night without mislabeling another patient chart. Besides, it’s not like you saw him in any new light. You’d always known what he was like.
That didn’t mean you weren’t hyper-aware of how he had just made a joke… wait, was it really a joke? ugh, Dr. Yang is so unreadable.
You shook it off, reaching for the clipboard again.
🚑
You had been rushing. Everyone was. It was one of those nights where the ER felt like a war zone, and every second counted. You didn’t double-check the medication. You trusted the label and moved on, but it wasn’t the correct dose. And now, Mrs. Han was in respiratory distress.
The room was already tense. Monitors blared, voices raised, and people rushed around. Jungwon stepped in, glanced at the scene, and didn’t hesitate. Orders flew from his mouth. You followed them silently, your hands moving even as your stomach twisted. It wasn’t until after Mrs. Han had stabilized, wheeled off to the ICU, that it hit. The error. Your error.
You were the last one left in the trauma room, standing beside the cart, staring down at the vial.
“(Name).”
You turned. Jungwon was standing by the door.
“Walk me through it.”
You swallowed. “I-I grabbed the vial from the backup tray. I didn’t recheck the dosage. I thought it was-“ You shook your head. “I was wrong.” He didn’t interrupt. “I know I should’ve rechecked,” you finished. “I didn’t. That’s on me.” There was a long silence.
His eyes were unreadable. “Do you know what could’ve happened if we hadn’t caught it?”
You nodded.
“You’re lucky we were in a room full of capable staff,” he said. His voice wasn’t cold, though disappointment was obvious. “But next time, we might not be.” You looked down. “I don’t expect perfection,” he continued. “But I do expect care. And tonight, you were careless.” It stung. Not because he was yelling; he wasn’t. That would’ve been easier. But because he sounded like he meant every word, like he’d expected better from you and trusted better.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
“I know,” he replied. “But don’t make me say this twice.” Then he turned and left, not slamming the door, not throwing a glance back. Gone because he had patients to check and didn’t have time to carry your guilt for you. You stood there longer, trying not to let it show on your face: frustration and shame. Then you squared your shoulders.
There was still a shift to finish.
🚑
You didn’t mean to cry. You told yourself you’d hold it together until the end of the shift. But after the adrenaline wore off, it hit you all at once. The weight of what happened and what could’ve happened. You found an empty supply room. No one ever checked here unless they were restocking. You slid down against the wall, hidden behind metal shelves stacked with gauze and tubing. Your shoulders shook before you realized you were crying.
You weren’t afraid of being scolded again. That already happened. You were worried that you’d become a nurse people didn’t want to work with. That Jungwon wouldn’t trust you again. The door creaked. You wiped your face quickly, seeing Jungwon, but it was useless. Your eyes were red. Your breath gave you away. He didn’t speak right away. Just stood at the entrance, silent, before gently closing the door behind him. “I figured I’d find you here,” Jungwon said.
You didn’t look up.
“I’m not hiding, Dr. Yang,” you muttered.
“I didn’t say you were.” He walked closer.
“I’m fine,” you added, quietly. He crouched down, not too close, enough so you wouldn’t have to raise your head to see him. “You made a mistake,” he said calmly. “And it scared you. That’s normal.” You didn’t reply. “I was hard on you,” he continued. “Because I know you’re better than that.” That made you look up at him, surprised. “If I thought you weren’t capable,” he said, “I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
The tears started again silently, not because of the mistake, but because he still believed in you. He noticed. You could tell, but he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stood up and reached for a box of gauze on the shelf. Pulled a piece from the sterile pack and handed it to you as if it were a tissue. You laughed barely as you took it and dabbed at your face. He didn’t smile, but his voice was gentler now.
“Come on. They’ll start thinking you passed out in here.”
You stood. As you opened the door, he paused beside you.
“(Name).”
You glanced up.
“I’m not giving up on you. Don’t give up on yourself.” Then, he walked away. You followed him out of the supply room minutes later, face wiped clean but eyes still swollen. You thought he’d already disappeared into his rounds, but when you turned the corner by the nurses’ station, he leaned slightly against the counter. He looked up the moment he heard your steps. He said, “Drink some water and eat something, if you can.” You gave a slight nod, ready to keep walking, but then he added, “If you’re not steady, I don’t trust you next to my patients.”
It was teasing, almost.
Was he…?
But before you could respond, he reached behind the desk and placed something on top. A granola bar. You stared at it. Then at him. “You carry snacks now?” you asked cautiously.
His lips curved upwards a little bit. “I carry them for nurses who forget to eat.” That wasn’t in the manual. That wasn’t part of any protocol. And suddenly, despite your pounding head and sore feet, you felt something, not from shame or pressure, but something else entirely. “Thank you,” you murmured. He gave a slight nod. And as you walked away, that granola bar in hand, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps you didn’t see him in the same light anymore.
Maybe… he didn’t see you the same, either.
🚑
It’s your day off. Yey!
You were halfway through reheating leftovers when your phone buzzed. An unknown number. You almost declined it, assuming the hospital admin asked if you could cover another shift because, of course, something told you to pick it up. “Hello?”
“It’s Jungwon.”
Your back straightened. You stared at your microwave as if it had betrayed you. “I got your number from admin,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting. “You left your ID. I figured you’d need it before your next shift.”
“Oh. Right,” you said. “Thanks, Dr. Yang. I didn’t notice.”
“You’re off today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah… I barely got out of bed.”
You could hear a street in the background. He wasn’t at the hospital.
“I’m passing near your neighborhood. You want me to drop it off?”
That was embarrassing. You almost said no. Almost. But you didn’t.
Ten minutes later, you opened your gate, and there was Jungwon in jeans and a jacket. Of course, his hair is still neat because even off-duty, the man probably came with auto-pressed laundry. You, on the other hand, looked like a glitch in the system. He handed the ID over. “Here. Try not to leave it next time. You’ll get locked out of med storage again.”
You took it, trying not to cringe too hard at how you probably smelled like instant noodle seasoning. “Thank you, Dr. Yang.”
He looked at you with a tinsy tiny bit of amusement. “You look like you lost a fight with sleep.”
You snorted. “Sleep won.”
He chuckled softly, then nodded toward the small garden beside your gate. “Nice plants.”
You did a sheepish smile. “They’re mostly dying.”
“Well, it’s still nice.” Then he stepped back. “See you on Monday.” Then he left.
🚑
You clocked in early. After last week, you weren’t about to give anyone a reason to question you again, especially not him. “Early,” came a voice behind you. You turned to see Jungwon standing a few steps away, watching you with that unreadable expression he always seemed to wear in the mornings.
You didn’t falter. “I had things to double-check.”
He nodded, stepping closer to glance at the tablet in your hand. “That’s good.”
You turned your attention to the patient notes again. And it’s as if he could read your mind. “We all make mistakes, but most people don’t take responsibility the way you did,” he continued. “That matters more than pretending to be perfect.”
Your throat felt tight, but you managed, “I don’t like being anyone’s disappointment.”
“You’re not,” he said. “Not to me.”
You didn’t respond. Well, you couldn’t, but something inside you loosened. You didn’t need to smile. He didn’t need to stay. He turned to go, but as he passed, he said. “I’ll see you on rounds.” And just like that, he was gone.
Mid-Morning Break.
You walked down the hallway with two other nurses, Suho and Mei, equally sleep-deprived. “My feet are about to give up,” Mei groaned, adjusting her ponytail. “I swear one more emergency, and I’m just gonna roll myself into a supply closet and nap.”
“You already did that last week,” Suho pointed out, bumping her with a shoulder.
“I wasn’t caught, was I?”
You smiled faintly, their banter pulling you out of your head. The conversation changed between patient updates and who had the worst shift this week. It was a tie between Suho nearly getting puked on and Mei assisting during a dislocated shoulder pop-in. Then Mei slowed her steps, nudging you lightly. “So,” she said, dragging out the word like a tease. “You and Dr. Yang?”
You look at her confused. “What?”
“Don’t play innocent,” Suho added. “He doesn’t talk to anyone like that. I’ve seen him reduce interns to dust with just a stare. But with you? I mean, that voice of his went down an octave.”
“Probably because he was giving feedback,” you muttered.
“Yeah, feedback with undertones,” Mei said, raising a brow. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t notice how he looks at you.”
You exhaled. “He’s strict. He’s focused. He’s not the type to flirt in the middle of a hospital.”
Mei laughed. “Maybe not the type to flirt but the type to admire.”
“Guys, it’s Dr. Yang,” you reminded them, emphasizing his title. “And we’re all professionals.”
“Sure,” Mei said, smug. “But don’t act surprised when he offers to ‘professionally walk you to the vending machine’ again.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer because no matter how much you told yourself not to think about it… You were.
🚑
You were reviewing the chart for Mr. Yoon’s post-op medication when Dr. Kim stormed in. He was loud, always had been, but today, he seemed on edge. “Nurse,” he barked, slapping a clipboard on the desk. “Why wasn’t Mrs. Han’s dressing changed on time? It’s written here that it was scheduled two hours ago.”
You momentarily were thrown off. “I- I was assisting Dr. Nam with Mr. Yoon’s complication. I had already prepped the materials for Mrs. Han, but I asked Jeongmin to-”
“Don’t pass the blame,” Dr. Kim snapped. “If you can’t keep up, maybe you shouldn’t be here. Patients don’t wait on excuses.” You clenched your jaw and swallowed your pride. You knew you worked hard, but it felt like your chest shrank right there in front of everyone. And then, like timing written into the day itself, a new voice cut in. More calm and instantly commanding. “Dr. Kim,” Jungwon said as he stepped into view. “I asked her to stay with Mr. Yoon.”
Dr. Kim stiffened. “That’s not relevant to-”
“It is,” Jungwon interrupted. “He was crashing. She stabilized him. I’m the one who pulled her from the schedule. If you have a problem, bring it up with me.” The whole station went quiet. Damn. Dr. Kim mumbled something about “communication” before turning and walking off, still grumbling under his breath. You stayed frozen for a second. Then you turned to look at Jungwon.
“Thanks,” you said. You could feel the heat crawling up your neck.
“I told you,” he said. “You care. You make the right calls. That matters.” You gave a weak nod. He looked at you for another second. Then: “Don’t skip water just because you’re busy.”
“Huh?”
He held out a paper cup. “Coffee machine’s still broken.” You took it without protest. Then he turned, walking off without another word. And though people surrounded you, somehow, the only thing you noticed was that paper cup in your hand.
🚑
You’d finally clocked out, hands still smelling faintly of alcohol swabs, and your back sore from standing too long. You opened your locker slowly, half-asleep, when a soft knock at the door made you turn. It was Jungwon. He didn’t walk in fully. His hair looked a little messy; clearly, he hadn’t gotten a chance to rest. “I figured you were still here,” he said. How was he able to know where you are every time?
You tried not to look too startled. “Yeah… decompressing.”
He nodded once. “Me too.” Then he stepped forward, holding out something in a napkin.
You squinted. “What’s that?”
“A red bean bun. They were giving them out in Pediatrics. I grabbed one. Then grabbed another one. I don’t know why.” He shrugged, setting it down near your things. “Thought maybe you’d want one. He continued, “You were good today.”
You let out a half-scoff. “I almost got chewed out again, Dr. Yang.”
“And you still stood your ground,” he replied. “That’s why I said good.” His voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t overly kind, either. It was sure like he believed it completely.
You didn’t mean to, but your eyes watched him a little longer this time. You always thought of him as composed, brilliant, slightly intimidating but right now… he only looked human. Tired, real. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
He gave a faint smile. “Eat then go home.” And as he turned, he added without looking back, “You always forget to take care of yourself. Don’t make me keep reminding you.”
The door swung shut behind him.
🚑
The breakroom felt alive for once. Eyebags and half-buttoned uniforms didn’t stop the nurses laughing like it was payday. You sat slouched between Jina and Ara, poking at a plastic-wrapped sandwich you weren’t planning to eat. The three of you had just finished a rough rotation. “Okay, but tell me the truth,” Ara whispered loudly. “Would you say yes if Dr. Yang ever asked you out?”
You groaned, “Don’t. Ask. Don’t start.”
Jina snorted into her mug. “You didn’t even deny it.”
“I’m tired,” you deadpanned, dragging your hand down your face. “This is harassment.” You continued, “He’s literally right there,” you added through clenched teeth, glancing toward the corner where Dr. Yang was washing his hands post-surgery, sleeves rolled. He looked like a health campaign poster. Unfortunately, Jina smirked. “Watch this.”
“Dr. Yang!” Ara called sweetly across the room.
You nearly slammed your forehead on the table. “I swear if you say-”
“If someone like her asked you out,” Jina said, jerking her thumb at you, “would you say yes?”
The room went silent. Jungwon dried his hands calmly. “I don’t date coworkers.”
You exhaled through your nose. “Exactly. See?” you muttered.
He turned, tossed the towel aside, and added coolly, “But I never said I wouldn’t make an exception.”
The breakroom erupted.
“OH MY GO-”
“Okay, but WHAT-”
“I need air-”
Ara threw a pillow across the table. Jina screamed. You stared blankly ahead. “Unprofessional,” you muttered, cheeks burning, but the smile tugging at your lips said otherwise.
🚑
You were eating out with Dr. Yang.
Yeah. You read that right.
You were sitting across from Dr. Yang Jungwon, chopsticks in hand, in some little restaurant that he, of all people, apparently knew about. He was the same man everyone in the hospital either feared, admired, or had an embarrassing crush on. Now here he was, casually dipping grilled meat into sauce like he hadn’t just invited you out.
Okay, don’t look at me like that. I know what this looks like. But you don’t get to judge me. It’s Dr. Yang, hello?
You cleared your throat, forcing your eyes to stay on your plate. “I still think this is kind of… inappropriate.”
He didn’t even stutter. “Inappropriate?”
You nodded. “We work together.”
He shrugged. “We’re not in work right now. We’re off-duty. Technically, we’re just two people eating dinner.”
You tried not to roll your eyes. “Do you always say stuff that conveniently works in your favor, Dr. Yang?”
Jungwon smiled, a little smug. “Only when I want to make a point.”
You tried to hide the way your heart was beating so fast. This man. This frustrating, composed, dangerously intelligent man. You poked at your rice. “Just to be clear, this is friendly dinner. Not a date.”
He met your eyes. “Sure.” And then, right as you sipped your drink, he added, “Unless you want it to be.”
You nearly choked.
“Dr. Yang-.”
“It’s Dr. Yang on duty,” he said. “But right now? It’s Jungwon.”
SHITTT. You hated how warm your face felt, but couldn’t even deny it anymore. This man was dangerous. You leaned back in your seat. “You know…” You began, “You’re always so hard to read.”
Jungwon raised an eyebrow, sipping his water. “Am I?”
“Mmhmm,” you nodded, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl. “So tell me then. What were your thoughts on me?”
“The first time we met?”
“Yeah.”
He set his glass down slowly. “You were…fast.”
“Fast?”
“Quick on your feet. Quicker with your mouth,” he said with his lips twitching. “I thought you were a bit arrogant.”
You gave him a look. “That’s rich coming from you.” Which, to your surprise, he laughed. Woah. That was the first time you’ve seen him laugh like this. “But,” he added, “I also saw how you handled that mess on the third floor. I remember thinking, ‘Okay… she’s not just talk.’”
You raised a brow. “So you didn’t like me.”
“I didn’t know you,” he replied. “But I was curious.”
You paused for a moment. “And now?”
He didn’t answer right away. He properly looked at you. Not in the way people do when thinking of the correct answer, but he already knew it and was deciding if he should say it aloud. “Now I think I want to know more.”
You stirred your iced drink lazily.
“I used to think you were married,” you said out of nowhere.
Jungwon looked up from his plate. “Really?”
You nodded. “Yeah. When I first met you years ago.”
He tilted his head. “Why?”
You shrugged. “You walked around like someone with a ring on his finger. You look like you have a family waiting at home.” Jungwon let out a low chuckle and answered. “That’s one way to describe me.”
“Well,” you added, smirking slightly, “I was wrong. Obviously.”
He leaned back in his seat. “So what else did you assume about me back then?”
You took a sip of your drink. “I thought you were distant. The type who wouldn’t remember anyone’s name unless they were on your level.”
He was amused. “That bad, hm?”
“But,” you said, letting the words slow down, “then I watched you work. The way you talk to patients’ families. The way you don’t raise your voice when you’re mad… And you always back up the people, even when no one’s around to see it.”
His eyes were on you. “So what do you think of me now?”
You matched his tone. “I think you’re nothing like I assumed.”
He smiled. “And you? I assumed you were all walls. Smart, yes. Efficient but distant.”
You looked at him.
“And now?”
He shrugged gently. “Now I know better.” He picked up his drink again, eyes not leaving yours. “You know,” he said, “you surprised me too.”
You tilted your head. “How so?”
“At first, I thought you hated me,” he admitted. “You never smiled when I passed by. You were always busy avoiding eye contact.”
“That’s called being professional,” you shot back with a small laugh.
“Mm,” he hummed. “That, or you were trying really hard not to fall for me.”
You choked. “Excuse me?”
He leaned in just slightly, wearing that maddeningly calm expression of his. “It’s only a theory. No judgment.”
You were trying to play it cool. “Your ego’s showing, Jungwon.”
He smiled. “Perhaps or probably I’m finally saying what we’ve both been thinking.” You opened your mouth to argue, maybe to deny it, maybe not, but the waitress arrived with dessert, breaking the moment. He picked up his spoon, but his eyes didn’t leave you, and just before digging in, he said, “But if I’m wrong… you’re free to prove me wrong next time. Over dinner again.”
You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh, blush, or throw your spoon at him. All three, probably.
Dr. Yang, your foot. This man was trouble.
It has been a few, maybe longer, minutes. You were halfway through your dessert, still mentally reeling from Jungwon’s earlier comment, when a hacking cough cracked. You looked up, and just a few tables away, a woman clutched at her throat, her face already beginning to swell. Her husband jumped from his seat, panic in his eyes. “Help! Someone, please! My wife- she’s having an allergic reaction!” he shouted, knocking his chair over.
Your spoon clattered onto your plate. Jungwon was already standing. Without a word, you followed. The moment snapped both of you into motion. You weren’t just a nurse, and he wasn’t just a surgeon. You were trained professionals. This was instinct. “Do you have an EpiPen?” Jungwon asked immediately, crouching beside the woman.
“N-No,” the man stammered. “She didn’t know-this hasn’t happened before-”
“Call an ambulance,” you told him. “Now.” Her breathing was wheezing now, hands clawing at her throat. You gently eased her back against the booth seat while Jungwon checked her pulse, his voice calm. “We need antihistamines,” he muttered. “Fast. See if the staff has a first-aid kit.”
You ran to the counter, flashed your ID, and barked quick instructions. By the time you returned with the kit and a rushed dose of diphenhydramine, Jungwon had her stabilized as best he could, loosening her collar, elevating her legs slightly, keeping her from collapsing into unconsciousness.
You administered the antihistamine carefully. She was still gasping, but the panic in her eyes had softened. The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. Jungwon kept speaking softly to her, assuring her she would be okay. And when the EMTs finally arrived and loaded her into the stretcher, the husband turned to both of you, breathless and shaking. “Thank you. Oh god, thank you so much.”
You nodded, brushing your hair back, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. When the commotion cleared, Jungwon looked over at you. “You were quick,” he said.
You exhaled. “You were calmer than I thought you’d be outside the OR.”
He smiled faintly. “We’re not just good in scrubs, apparently.”
The restaurant had returned to calm after the chaos. You sat back down at the table across from Jungwon, now half-empty, the plates barely touched. He was quiet, and so were you. “Are you alright?” he asked, pulling you back from your thoughts.
You nodded. “Yeah…a little surreal.”
“That’s the thing about emergencies,” he murmured, looking out toward the restaurant doors where the paramedics had wheeled the woman out. “They don’t care if you’re on a day off.”
You gave a soft laugh. “Guess we never really clock out.”
He folded his arms. “Seems like fate has a cruel sense of humor. Just when I thought I might get through dinner without someone collapsing.”
“Dinner,” you repeated. The dessert was melting into the plate now. “Right. This was supposed to be… normal.” Before he could reply, a paramedic re-entered the restaurant, scanning the tables until their eyes landed on him. “Dr. Yang?” they said, half-breathless.
Jungwon stood. “Is she stable?”
“She’s responding to treatment now. We’re monitoring her vitals en route. Allergic to shellfish. First time reaction. You saved her life, sir.”
“And the nurse,” Jungwon added, glancing at you. “She helped just as much.”
You nodded politely, still seated, feeling your ears grow warm under their praise. The paramedic smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you outside the hospital. I’ll, uh… let admin know you intervened. They’ll probably want to document it.”
“Of course,” Jungwon said with a light sigh. “No such thing as off-duty, I guess.”
With one last salute of gratitude, they left. Then it was just the two of you again, in the now strangely quiet restaurant corner. You broke it. “Sorry,” you said, half-laughing. “I think I cursed this night.”
“Don’t apologize,” he replied smoothly. “You handled that better than most would. You didn’t hesitate.”
You shrugged. “It just kicked in. Probably out of habit.”
He tilted his head. “Instinct. That’s not something you teach. That’s something you are.” He added. “And for the record… it was still a nice dinner.”
You glanced at him. “Even if it ended with chaos?”
He smirked faintly. “Of course. It proves I picked the right person to spend it with.”
“You didn’t pick,” you teased a little. “You cornered me in the hallway and guilted me into eating on our day off.”
“And yet,” he countered, “you didn’t say no.”
You gave him a look. “That’s not fair.”
He smiled at you. “It’s not untrue, either.” You glanced around the restaurant again. Everything had settled into normal again, but your heart hadn’t. You looked back at Jungwon, sitting across from you, his usual professionalism softened enough that it unsettled you in the best way. He didn’t look away. “You know, you’re too pretty for your own good.”
That shut you up.
You stared at him.
He was already smiling, already reaching for the check. “You still want coffee?” he asked. “Or should we call it a night and let the world surprise us again tomorrow?”
You said, “Let’s see if the next emergency lets us finish a cup first.” And with that, the two of you stood and left.
🚑
The rain hadn’t let up all morning; strangely, neither had your luck. It was supposed to be a quick errand. A quick stop, and then home, but fate never warned you before it turned cruel. The screech of tires. And then-
Nothing.
A blur of sirens and panic. Then suddenly, darkness.
…
Back at the hospital, the very one you called your second home, the emergency doors slammed open. “She’s one of ours!” a nurse cried, rushing alongside the gurney. “It’s her- it’s (Name)!” Chaos was everywhere in the ER. A resident dropped her clipboard. A tech gasped. The head nurse’s hands flew to her mouth.
“She was hit near the corner by the pharmacy. Driver ran a red light,” the paramedic reported quickly as they wheeled you in, blood already staining the sheet beneath you. Then someone whispered, “Has Dr. Yang been told?” They didn’t have to wait long.
Because Jungwon came running.
His coat wasn’t even fully on. His tie was loose, his ID still dangling from his collar. The moment he saw your face. Bruised, unconscious, and barely breathing, his expression collapsed. “No- what happened?!” he demanded, eyes scanning every inch of you.
“Dr. Yang, you need to stand back,” one of the surgeons said, placing a hand on his chest.
“She’s going into surgery,” another voice called. “Internal bleeding. We need the OR now.”
“I’ll go in,” Jungwon said instinctively, reaching for gloves, but a hand gripped his arm. “You can’t,” said Dr. Nam, one of the senior staff.
“What?” Jungwon snapped, not even trying to hide the shake in his voice.
“You’re too involved.”
“She’s a nurse!” he shot back. “She’s my nurse-”
“Exactly,” Nam said quietly. “You care too much. You know the protocol. You know what it risks- your judgment, her outcome.” Jungwon’s jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving you as your unconscious body was wheeled toward the OR. “She needs me.”
“She needs a surgeon with a clear head,” Nam said gently but firmly, and it broke him. He didn’t argue again. He was rooted in place, his hands curled into fists, watching the doors close. All he could do was watch.
🚑
In the hallway, time didn’t pass. Jungwon sat slumped against the wall. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every time someone walked by, he looked up, hoping. And all he could hear was the last thing you’d said to him, two days ago over dinner:
“Let’s see if the next emergency lets us finish a cup first.”
Now here you were unconscious. On the other side, he couldn’t cross, and for the first time in his life, Jungwon felt utterly powerless. And completely terrified of losing you.
The clock ticked. Hours bled into each other. Jungwon sat just outside the operating wing. His elbows were resting on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. His white coat was discarded somewhere, forgotten. He wasn’t wearing his pager. He wasn’t in rounds. He wasn’t answering calls. The nurses knew better than to ask.
Dr. Yang, poised and always on time, was now the man who hadn’t moved in three hours. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t blinked when your bloodied ID badge slipped from a nurse’s tray and landed near his feet.
He picked it up, his fingers closing around it as if it were made of glass. Your picture was still perfect. “You should rest, Dr. Yang,” someone whispered. He didn’t look up. “Do you want something warm? You haven’t moved-”
“I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
A clipboard fell behind the station; he flinched. One of the interns passed by and muttered, “Isn’t that Dr. Yang? Why’s he just-”
“Shut up,” A nurse hissed. “That’s her. The nurse he-”
Everyone knew. Jungwon stared ahead, eyes bloodshot, skin pale from stress and cold. The man who held steady during surgeries and cardiac arrests was now coming apart at the seams, silently. Every second he waited, he replayed everything. The way your smile looked over coffee. Your voice teasing him. And now… Now you were behind a door he couldn’t open.
Please wake up.
Please stay with me.
Please don’t let this be the end before we even began.
🚑
“Dr. Yang,” came the voice he barely registered. Jungwon didn’t look up at first. He was still sitting in the same spot. His leg had bounced unconsciously for the last half hour. “Jungwon.”
He finally glanced up. It was Dr. Nam, his colleague, and more importantly, someone who knew him well enough to speak past the professional wall he always wore. Nam’s face softened when he saw the state Jungwon was in. “They stabilized her. Surgery was a success.”
“She’s okay?”
“She’s not awake yet. But she made it,” Nam said. “She’s in recovery. I thought you’d want to-” Jungwon stood up so fast before he could even finish. His hand trembled slightly as he pushed the hair out of his eyes. The color returned to his face in waves. “You can go in,” Nam said gently. “Only one visitor. The nurses know.”
He didn’t say thank you. He couldn’t.
Jungwon was already walking.
The heart monitor beeped steadily. You were there, pale against the hospital sheets, an IV in your arm, your breathing soft and even. The oxygen mask fogged slightly with each exhale. Jungwon stopped at the door. He wasn’t prepared. He swallowed hard and stepped inside. Then, his knees gave in. He bent beside your bed, one hand grabbing the rail for support, the other reaching finally to hold yours. His forehead dropped to your hand, his shoulders shaking as the tears came. “You scared me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You stupid, reckless…-you.” He pressed his lips to the back of your hand and held it there. “Don’t do that again. Don’t ever make me feel like that again.”
He laughed bitterly, brushing away a tear with the heel of his palm. “You haven’t even woken up, and I’m already lecturing you.” He stayed there, crouched beside you, refusing to let go. The strong, untouchable Dr. Yang is now just a man breaking beside the person he was so close to losing.
🚑
You woke up slowly, blinking against the lights. The scent of antiseptic and the distant sound of chatter told you exactly where you were, but you didn’t remember how you got here. Then you turned your head. Jungwon was there.
Slumped in the hospital chair. His hair was pushed back messily, seemingly where he’d run his hands through it too many times. His coat was folded over the armrest, and an untouched paper cup of coffee was sitting on the small table near him. He hadn’t noticed you were awake yet. He looked… tired. No, worn out. So you spoke first, voice scratchy.
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
His head shot up immediately. His eyes met yours and just for a moment, they widened. Then came a breath of relief. An almost whispered-
“You’re awake.”
He stood.
“…you’re truly awake.”
You tried to smile, though your face barely moved. “I was out that long?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just sat beside you and shook his head slowly. “You scared the hell out of me.” You glanced at him, his dark circles, the crease between his brows, the exhausted worry in his eyes, and mustered a dry joke. “You look terrible.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Everyone’s said that.” Then he leaned forward. “But I’m not the one who almost…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
You swallowed softly. You could see it now, all the weight he’d been carrying while you were unconscious. “I thought you’d be the type to keep calm under pressure,” you teased.
He smiled faintly. “I am unless it’s you.” Your breath caught, but he carefully reached out and took your hand before you could say anything. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Don’t do that again,” he whispered. “Don’t make me wait like that again.”
🚑
You’d been back to your shifts, back to the same elevator dings. People still gave you longer glances than usual. It’s not every day a nurse almost dies in the middle of her day off and ends up back in her hospital bed. But things were starting to feel normal again or something like it. It was late. Most of the lights on the floor had dimmed, save for the nurse’s station and the glow from a few patient monitors. Finally, you were done with your rounds and just about to log out when Jungwon showed up by the lockers. It looks like he’d been waiting. “Shift ended?” he asked.
“Ten minutes ago,” you replied, tugging your ID off. “You?”
He nodded. “Technically, but I stayed.”
You gave him a look. “Why?”
He hesitated, then said, “Thought I’d walk you out.”
“Seriously?” You furrowed your eyebrows.
“Yeah.” He shrugged a little. “Hospitals look different at night.” So you walked past the pharmacy, through the hallway with the vending machines, and then out the staff exit where the breeze was gentle and the parking lot half-empty. “Are you alright?” he asked as the two of you stood by the bike rack, neither in a rush to leave.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’m back.”
He looked over at you. “Back, but you’ve been different.”
You raised a brow. “How?”
Jungwon hesitated. “You’re more careful with your words.”
You looked away. Maybe you were.
“You, too,” you said.
He smiled. “I have something I’ve been holding back. Protocol says I probably shouldn’t say it,” he added. “But I’ve been thinking about you before the accident and after.” You turned to him slowly. “I don’t want to make things weird,” he continued. “And I know we’re not supposed to… cross lines, but whatever happened that day, when I thought I might lose you, it made it pretty clear I’d regret not saying anything.”
“…You’re not making things weird,” you said.
He looked up at you. “No?”
You shook your head. “Scary.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Terrifying.” Then he spoke again. “You know, Nam’s been asking if we’re seeing each other.”
You raised a brow. “And what did you say?”
“That if we are, we’re both incredibly good at pretending we’re not, and if we’re not, maybe we should stop pretending we don’t want to.”
You sighed. “This place has a lot of rules.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why I’m not asking for anything messy. Only clarity.”
“You’re doing this here?” you said while looking around.
He shrugged. “Would’ve done it over dinner, but someone already agreed to that and didn’t seem to regret it.”
🚑
It didn’t happen in a moment with fireworks, or a sudden realization under a rainy sky. No. It happened calmly and quietly, like most things between you and Jungwon did. You were both sitting in the lounge during a lull, not technically on break, but not in a rush to move. Your legs were folded on the couch, a tablet in your lap. Jungwon sat across from you, reviewing a report, hair slightly messy from hours in the OR. You glanced at him. “You know you could sit here, right?”
He looked up. “You mean next to you?”
“Unless you’re afraid of proximity.”
He chuckled, stood, and made his way over. “Is this one of those times,” he murmured, “where we pretend we’re not already something?”
You tilted your head toward him. “Depends. What are we?”
He glanced at you with a slight smile on his lips. “I think I’d like to stop pretending we’re not together.”
You look at him a little surprised. “That simple?” you asked.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” he replied. “Unless you want it to be.”
You looked down at your hands for a second. “You’re not worried? About the hospital. About how it’ll look?”
“I’ve thought about all of that,” he said. “And I still want you.” It’s been years of tension, glances, late-night shifts, near misses, and unspoken feelings. So you nodded, which made him smile. Jungwon put his hand on top of yours. “So, you’re my girlfriend now, right?” he said.
You scoffed, but your smile betrayed you. “If you’re going to act like that, I might change my mind.”
He leaned back on the couch with one arm lazily draped behind you. “It’s too late. I already mentally updated your name in my phone.” You nudged him gently with your shoulder. You were his and he was yours. Simple as that. Even in a hospital full of rules, something between you had finally gotten its own space.
🚑
You were both jotting notes outside patient rooms. The hall was full of chatter, but it was clear that no one interrupted when it was you and Dr. Yang. He glanced sideways at you, but you caught it. You always did. “You missed lunch,” he said while his eyes never left the file in his hand.
“So did you,” you muttered back.
“I’ll ask the cafeteria to send something up,” he replied as if he hadn’t done it for you three days in a row.
“I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
You allowed yourself the faintest smile. Behind you, two new residents whispered in awe.
“They’re so-like-is that even allowed?”
“They don’t even act like a couple, but also? You feel it.” Someone else chimed in, “That’s the Dr. Yang. You think anyone’s gonna tell him who he can or can’t date?”
And no, no one ever did. You stood beside him in the conference room later that day as he presented a case to the department heads. His voice didn’t change when he quoted your observation. There was no favoritism and no tells, but when the meeting ended, as everyone went out, Jungwon stayed. “You handled that case well,” he said softly, packing his laptop.
You raised a brow. “Professional compliment?”
He glanced up. “Strictly professional.”
Then, he added: “Come over later.”
“To your place?” you asked.
“Where else would my pretty girlfriend go?”
You whispered, “We have early rounds tomorrow.”
“Then come early.”
After that, he walked off.
Why does he always get to walk off after ending a conversation with smooth lines?
🚑
Later that evening, you stood in his apartment. He walked over and set a glass of water beside you, then stood before you, hands bracing the counter on either side of your hips. “You look tired,” he murmured.
“I am.”
“You should lie down.”
You looked up at him. “So should you.”
Jungwon gave a dry laugh. “Are you suggesting we both rest?” In which you leaned forward, and he met you halfway. His lips pressed to yours. A few slow kisses here and there. He pulled back, “I missed this,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re right next to me at work… It’s not the same.”
Your voice was soft. “I know, but we can’t afford to slip. Not there.”
“No,” he agreed, “but here? I can love you as much as I want.” You closed your eyes and kissed again, deeper this time. The closeness contrasts with how far you kept apart during the day. No one else got this version of him, and you had it.
🚑
You were the only one left at the nurses’ station. Your fingers moved slower with every letter you typed into the patient charting system. Most of the night shift hadn’t made it in and was short-staffed again. You didn’t even bother complaining. What was the point?
You tried to focus, but your eyelids felt like sandbags. “Why are you still here?” a familiar voice asked gently behind you. You didn’t even turn; you knew it was him. You shook your head. “Don’t start. We’re two nurses down. I couldn’t just walk out.” You felt him step closer, then saw a hand reach around you to press the ‘Save’ button on your screen. The screen dimmed.
“Charting can wait.”
You finally looked up. Jungwon was there with his clean coat. He looked at you like you were the only thing in this building that mattered. “I don’t want you pushing yourself to burnout.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Touché,” he said with a smirk.
You let your head fall against his body as he moved behind your chair, gently wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You exhaled, closing your eyes for just a second. “I didn’t even realize I was this tired,” you whispered.
“I did.” He kissed the top of your head.
You smiled weakly. “This is inappropriate.”
“Then fire me.”
You let out a tired breath. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”
He squeezed your shoulders gently. “That makes two of us.”
🚑
You and Jungwon walked side by side, hands intertwined, his thumb caressing over your knuckles occasionally. It was one of the rare nights you both got off early, and you made a promise not to talk about the hospital. For tonight, you were just two people in love. “I still can’t believe we’ve made it this far without anyone forcing us to do another 48-hour shift,” you joked softly.
Jungwon chuckled. “Don’t jinx it. Someone from scheduling might be hiding behind that hotdog cart.” You laughed. Then-
“Help! Please! Someone help!”
Your head turned at the same time. A small crowd had started to form near a bench just across the street. A woman was kneeling beside someone collapsed on the ground, panic rising in her voice.
You looked at Jungwon. He was already looking at you. There was no hesitation and no words. The two of you took off in sync, cutting through the street. Your heels hit pavement hard, your heart already in nurse mode. Someone stepped back to give space as you and Jungwon moved in. You slid down to your knees beside him, checking for vitals while Jungwon crouched opposite you. “Mid-50s,” he murmured quickly. “Breathing?”
“Yeah. Weak pulse. His skin’s clammy, might’ve triggered a vasovagal response,” you said, lifting his legs to restore blood flow. “Could’ve been pain or standing too long.”
“He’s coming to,” Jungwon said after a few moments. “Eyes fluttering.” The man stirred, groaning lowly. You leaned in. “You fainted, sir. Don’t sit up yet.”
When it was clear the man was stable and help was on the way, you and Jungwon stood. He looked at you, chest rising and falling. His hand reached instinctively for yours again. You took it. “Didn’t we say no work talk tonight?” you said with a tired smile.
“I didn’t say anything,” he replied. “You’re the one who ran first.” You rolled your eyes, your fingers tightened around his. Then, he looked at you as he always did.
You were the one thing in this world he never wanted to lose.
𝜗ৎ ── when you decide to take a short walk while your boyfriend heeseung is out grocery shopping, you unexpectedly find new members to add to your humble family . .
월요일의 순수함 . . scene ₊ᰔ bf ! heeseung x reader relationship fluff slight cursing wc276
麦星 ‘s ── library
────────────────────────
it was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary of your usual monday morning. your shared apartment with your bf heeseung felt at solace whenever you would have these mornings to yourself when he was out grocery shopping and running errands you were too busy to care for. although on this monday morning you felt unusually light. you decided to throw on a coat and take a small walk around the neighborhood to feel the sun on your skin, you needed it anyways.
you only reached the corner of the street when you heard them. small innocent ‘meows’ that tugged your heartstring too hard for you to ignore.
۶ৎ
heeseung just got back home. he flicked the door open with his free hand and found you laid on your back on the couch in a half dazed, the sun shining through the window and hitting your face just right.
he smiled, knowing that you were the one he came home to, it brought him a peace and comfort he never thought he would ever receive. but soon those thoughts were disrupted when he felt scratches on his calves
“OW- WHAT THE FUCK?” he saw them. two kittens meowing, and clawing their way into heeseungs heart.
you woke up not to long after, “shit i fell asleep where’s the cats-” and you suddenly found where your home was.
heeseung on the bed with the two cats, cradling in one arm and feeding it milk with the other. he looked up at you a smiled. the type of smile that could erase any doubt in your mind that this is where you belonged.
content advisory: f!reader , fluff , kissing , crack , a bit suggestive. wc. 596!
the bell above the door chimed as you stepped out, eyes scanning the receipt you heeseung had just paid for. next to you, he stood as a reluctant pack mule, bags hanging from each hand and only getting heavier with every stop.
"ha! the cashier actually included the discount!" you chirped, tucking the slip of paper safely into your bag.
"discount at what cost? she still charged me $50 for a simple top," heeseung scoffed, looking down at his burdened hands with a mock-serious frown.
you glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow as a laugh escaped you. "need i remind you? you said you loved it.”
he playfully rolled his eyes, unable to argue with his own good taste. the streets of downtown seoul were pulsing with the usual weekend crowd, but the noise felt like background static—nothing could bother you when you had him as your anchor.
you ducked into the next boutique, greeted by the heavy scent of roses and endless racks of silk and denim. letting go of heeseung’s arm, you drifted toward the nearest display like a moth to a flame.
heeseung wasn't exactly a fan of the mall marathon, but he was a fan of you. with a quiet sigh and a small, fond smile, he adjusted the bags in his grip and wandered toward a different section, already scanning the hangers for something that looked like 'you.'
he wandered through the aisles, the heavy shopping bags crinkling against his legs as he navigated the narrow space.
"yn?" he called out, his voice slightly raised over the muffled lo-fi music playing through the boutique speakers.
"i'm in here!" your muffled voice drifted from the back corner where the velvet curtains of the fitting rooms hung.
he made his way over, stopping just as the curtain slid back. you stepped out, adjusting the waistband of a new pair of dark-wash jeans. "okay, be honest. how do these look?" you asked, turning slightly to catch your reflection in the three-way mirror.
heeseung didn't answer immediately. his breath hitched, and his gaze lingered a second too long. the denim hugged your curves in all the right places, fitting like a second skin. he tried to find a witty remark, but his brain felt momentarily scrambled. he just nodded slowly, the tips of his ears turning a bright, tell-tale shade of crimson.
"you look... gorgeous, yn. seriously," he managed to say, his voice a little lower than usual.
you beamed at the compliment, feeling a rush of heat to your cheeks. then, your eyes dropped to his hand, noticing he was clutching a soft, cream-colored fabric. "what’s that?"
he snapped out of his daze, blinking as if he’d forgotten he was holding anything at all. "oh—right. i saw this on the rack over there. thought it was your style."
he handed you a delicate, off-the-shoulder knit top. you grabbed it with an excited "thank you!" and disappeared back behind the curtain.
a few minutes passed before the rings of the curtain slid across the rod again. you stepped out, the top draping perfectly over your frame, matching the jeans better than anything you had picked out yourself. "heeseung, look! it's so pretty. you actually have a really good eye."
he looked you up and down, his shy smile returning. the way the light hit you made him feel like the luckiest guy in the world. "it looks perfect on you," he whispered, sounding genuinely impressed with his own find.
"i'm definitely taking it," you decided, leaning in to give him a soft, lingering kiss on the cheek. "thank you, stylist lee."
the two of you made your way to the counter, where heeseung handed over his card once more. after the clothes were neatly folded into another branded paper bag, he reached out and added it to the collection already straining his fingers. you couldn't help but chuckle at the sight—he looked like a walking department store, buried under a mountain of handles and logos.
"alright, we can go home now," you said, checking the time on your phone as you stepped back out into the cool evening air. "it’s getting late anyway."
heeseung adjusted the weight of the bags, shifting them so he could still stand close to you. "we can hit up more stores if you’d like," he offered, his voice steady despite the workout he was getting. "i really don't mind."
you grinned, hooking your arm back through his and leaning your head against his shoulder. "i know you’re tired, heeseung. and it’s fine honestly, i just want to get back and try everything on again."
he nodded, a soft, content expression settling on his face. "if that's what you want."
"plus," you teased, your voice dropping to a playful, low hum that made him go still. "i can try on that lingerie you bought me earlier. you know, as a little award for being so patient today. and buying me all of this."
heeseung’s pace faltered for a split second, his eyes widening as he looked down at you.
"in front of you, of course," you added with a mischievous wink.
the exhaustion seemed to vanish from his face instantly. a slow, desperate sort of smile spread across his lips, and he tightened his grip on the bags as if he suddenly had all the energy in the world. "definitely," he said, his voice a bit raspy. "let's get home then."
he started walking a little faster, leading the way toward the car with a newfound sense of purpose. you just laughed, following his lead through the glowing neon lights of the city.
˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆ 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑 DEC. 17TH — christmas market date with husband!jay [ 1.3k words ]
“You almost forgot your coat, honey.” Jay said with his soft voice as he walked towards you.
You turned around, shaking your head slowly, refusing to take it and he looked back at you with a confused expression. He was still holding your coat in his hands. And as he looked outside for a second and spotted the way people were covered from their head to their toes, he looked back at you, insisting a little more to make you take it.
“Honey it’s cold outside, you'll regret not taking it if we just go like that.”
You liked how caring he could get but you were also stubborn and you didn’t want to put it on as you preferred the new jacket you bought the other day.
“I’ll be fine.” You assured him, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips and he quickly understood that it was of no use to keep arguing over it. Instead he put it back on the back of the chair he took it from and joined you back, his hand on your lower back as he walked behind you.
As soon as you stepped outside and felt the cold breeze, you wondered if the jacket would really be enough but you didn’t really think about it any longer and simply went along with your choice; especially since you wanted to prove to your husband that you knew yourself better and that you were okay with the slight cold.
Jay locked the door. No going back.
You both went towards the car and you let out a slight sigh of relief as soon as you sat on the passenger seat. Jay started the car, flashing a smile at you from time to time as you two were talking about your plans for Xmas and your gift ideas for the guests.
You loved these little moments with him, because he was always so gentle, creative and always listening to you. He was truly the right person to marry and that was what you thought every single day.
After a few five minutes of driving, Jay struggled a bit to find a parking spot, but still managed to find one. You chuckled a bit at his irritated look when he complained about how he took more time to park the car than to actually arrive at the destination.
“Let’s just enjoy the night.” You said softly, wrapping your arm around his waist as you two started to walk towards the Christmas market.
There were a lot of people already but you didn’t mind. It felt even better to see so many people with happy faces at the end of the year. The kids were running around, playing together and it made you smile fondly.
Jay pressed a kiss to your temple and pointed towards a crepe stall. “Do you want one ?” He asked, already getting his credit card out to pay for both of you.
You nodded enthusiastically, hoping the warmth of it would help calm down your body as it kept shaking due to the cold.
You watched from afar as he ordered. He didn’t even ask you what you wanted and he didn’t need to. After so many years of being together, of course he knew you perfectly well and of course he already knew what would be your pick anyway.
You didn’t wait long before he joined you. You both put down your small paper plate on the table and started eating. Jay quickly finished his but you were taking your time to enjoy it, or rather to enjoy the warmth of it a little longer.
“You’re not taking so much time usually.” He noted, not as a reproach but he almost sounded worried. “Do you not like the taste ? If so, I'll finish it and buy you another one.”
You laughed slightly at his words. Everything seemed so simple with him every time. But he was just too caring about you and he truly wanted you to feel good and to eat food you enjoy.
You shook your head. “No no. No need, it's good.” You assured him and as he noticed a bit of sugar on your lower lip, he chuckled softly. “Of course it is.” He said as he wiped it off with his tissue.
Such a gentleman, you thought. But you didn’t say it to feed his ego, after all he knew already and so you only smiled and thanked him.
Jay observed you carefully as you talked about some of the stalls that piqued your interest when you walked through the market before.
“You’re cold.” He interrupted you, a smug expression on his face as he craved to hear you admit it. He loved you of course, but he also loved to be right, especially about you and when you pathetically tried to lie he bursted into laughter.
“Don’t lie to me. You can’t lie to me y/n.” He said with a smirk and leaned closer, whispering while he looked at you with an arrogant expression. “Admit it.”
You let out a long sigh. “Fine. But I was really fine earlier.”
Jay didn’t even say anything. He shook his head as he knew this moment would arrive. He took off his own warm jacket and handed it to you. “There you go.” He said and you didn’t wait before taking it and putting it on.
Your smile was so big when you felt his warmth and his smell envelop you that your eyes closed for a few seconds, making you look absolutely adorable in his eyes.
“You’re a lucky woman.” He said, shaking his head as he was the one feeling slightly cold now all because of your stubbornness. You caressed his cheek and then his hair. “Don’t be mad.” You said with pleading eyes. “Never at you.” He only said, kissing your cheek with his usual tender.
The way you suddenly ate your crepe so fast made him chuckle. He truly knew you by heart as he had guessed the reason for your sudden super slow eating correctly.
After that short pause, the two of you started walking among the market participants, carefully looking at what they were selling. It was huge and at some point both of you felt tired.
You looked at Jay, nuzzling your head into his neck. “I want to go home, I’m tired.” Jay nodded and his hand kept moving in circles on your back. “Sure. Whatever you want, love.”
You looked around and suddenly had an idea.
“Whatever I want…?” You repeated with a softer voice that indicated you were about to ask something right away. Jay threw his head back, letting out a small laugh before focusing his gaze back on you. “What do you want ?”
You hummed and pointed towards the huge ferris wheel that had attracted your attention before.
“You want a ride on that ?” He asked and when he saw the light in your eyes, he couldn’t refuse you. He pulled you close and walked towards it. There weren’t many people waiting to go on it, but you figured it was probably due to the fear of heights that a lot of people had.
You finally got in and as it went up, you kept staring at the view. It was absolutely beautiful. That was one of the reasons you liked ferris wheels. It was particularly romantic with all of the lights that people placed for Xmas.
“The view is so beautiful.” You said out loud, sharing your enthusiasm and happiness about it with Jay.
“Yeah, never seen anything more beautiful.” He replied and you smiled, not even seeing that he said it while looking at you.
stormborns
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
