Pairing: Coursemate! Haechan × Y/N (university setting)
Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, soulmate AU, not-so-slow-burn, music major vibes
Word count: ~5.5k
Warnings: Writing and drawing on skin, coffee, music equipment, sarcasm, “idiot” word, soulmate stuff…
Vibe: Two rival music students discover their anonymous soulmate messages were meant for each other all along, turning rivalry into love. 🎶✨
A/N: It’s been a few months… lol. I never really had the energy to write after finishing my last story. I still have two WIPs I want to release, but I’m debating whether it’s worth uploading since the plot’s messy and I’m stuck connecting the characters. So, I decided to start something new, this AU I’ve been loving to read. Writing this was refreshing, even if it’s a bit of a side-track from what I originally planned. Anyway… as long as it’s finally out of my drafts.
Happy Christmas, everyone! 🎄 Hope you’re having a lovely day, and may your socks stay warm for the rest of the winter. 🧦✨
In this world, the concept of a soulmate wasn't a vague spiritual feeling; it was ink and skin. Whatever marks you made on your own body, a reminder scrawled on a palm, a doodle on a thigh, a phone number on a wrist, appeared instantaneously on your soulmate's body in the exact same spot. It usually started around the age of eighteen, a chaotic transition into adulthood marked by sudden, phantom scribbles.
For you and Lee Donghyuck, the rivalry began long before you knew the ink connected you. It started Freshman year, Introduction to Sound Design. You had spent hours perfecting a mix, Donghyuck had walked in late, improvised a patch on a synthesizer that made the professor weep with joy, and then accidentally tripped over your power cord, erasing your unsaved project.
From that moment on, it was war. He was the chaos to your order, the prodigy to your practice, the loud, brash technicolor noise to your meticulously equalized silence. You were always vying for the same scholarships, the same studio time, and the same praise from the faculty.
But while you spent your days glaring at the back of Haechan's head in lecture halls, you spent your nights writing to a stranger. You didn't know his name, and he didn't know yours, a mutual agreement to keep the magic alive, or perhaps just a fear of reality ruining the fantasy. He was your escape.
He was the one person who understood the crushing weight of creative burnout, even if he expressed it through dramatic complaints about calculus rather than audio engineering. You hated Lee Donghyuck. You loved the boy in the ink. You just never imagined they could be the same person, or that the collision of these two worlds was inevitable.
—
The catalyst for that collision arrived on a humid Tuesday morning, a day that felt like every other mundane university day until it wasn't. The first thing you felt as consciousness returned was the familiar, phantom scratch of a ballpoint pen against your left inner wrist. It wasn’t yours, and yet the sensation was as intimate as a touch, a ghostly tickle that resonated through your nerves.
You groaned, slapping your alarm clock into silence and peering at your arm through bleary, sleep-crusted eyes. The ink was black, the handwriting scrawled and hurried, as if the person on the other end was rushing to finish a thought before a professor walked in or a bus reached its stop.
Calculus is the invention of the devil. Save me. You couldn't help the small, sleepy smile that tugged at your lips. Your soulmate was nothing if not dramatic. It was a trait you had grown fond of over the years, this unseen boy who carried his heart on his sleeve, quite literally.
You reached for a blue pen on your nightstand, you always kept a small jar of them there for these moments, and uncapped it with your teeth, the plastic clicking against your incisors.
Good morning to you too, Mr. Meltdown, you wrote back, the blue ink blooming on your skin and, presumably, his. If Calculus is the devil, what does that make 8 AM lectures? Surely there’s a special circle of hell for those.
You watched with bated breath as the response appeared almost instantly. The ink seemed to seep out of your pores, black and bold against your pale skin.
Purgatory. Definitely purgatory. Why are we here? Just to suffer?
You huffed a laugh and finally rolled out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. "Hang in there," you whispered to the empty air of your dorm room, knowing he couldn't hear you, but hoping he felt the warmth of the sentiment.
Northern Crest University (NCU) was a sprawling labyrinth of brick and glass, currently drowning in the humid haze of mid-September. The air smelled of damp earth and burnt espresso. You were a third-year Music Production major, which meant your life was a revolving door of soundproof rooms, expensive software crashing at the worst moments, and the unavoidable presence of Lee Donghyuck.
You were halfway to the Fine Arts building when a familiar hand clamped onto your shoulder. You jumped, nearly dropping your heavy laptop bag.
"Morning, sunshine! Or should I say, morning, person-who-clearly-hasn't-had-enough-coffee?"
You turned to see Minji, your closest friend and a fellow survivor of the Music Production program. She was already nursing a jumbo-sized latte, her eyes bright despite the early hour.
"Don't start," you muttered, though you leaned into her side as you walked. "The soulmate was having a crisis at 7 AM. Something about the inherent evil of derivatives."
Minji grinned, glancing at the ink peek-a-boo-ing from beneath your sleeve. "At least your soulmate is a math geek. Mine just leaves shopping lists on my calf. Yesterday I walked through the gym with 'buy more kale' written in cursive on my leg. It was humiliating."
"I'd take kale over Calculus rants," you sighed. "I have the Audio Engineering lab now, and I just know Donghyuck is going to be in one of his moods. He's been insufferable since he got that internship offer at the studio downtown."
Minji gave you a knowing look, the one she always used when you brought up his name, which was often. "You know, for someone you claim to loathe, you sure do spend a lot of time tracking his career milestones. Maybe you two should just get it over with and have a screaming match in the rain or something."
"I’d rather drop my MIDI controller into a bathtub," you retorted as you reached the doors of the lab. "I'll see you at lunch?"
"Try not to let him get under your skin too much," she called out with a wave, disappearing into the crowd of students. You returned her wave with a tired smile, but as soon as she was out of sight, a shadow loomed over you.
"Move it or lose it, slowpoke. Some of us have actual talent to display today," a voice chimed from behind you, dripping with mock-superiority.
You didn't even have to turn around. You knew that distinct, honey-soaked tenor anywhere. It was a voice that could hit a high C as easily as it could shatter your remaining patience.
Lee Donghyuck. Haechan to his friends, a nickname that meant "Full Sun," which you found ironic because he was usually the cloud blocking yours.
He breezed past you in the narrow hallway leading to the Audio Engineering lab, his leather jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, a pristine iced Americano in his hand. He walked backwards for a few steps, grinning at you with that mischievous, cat-like glint in his eyes that made half the campus swoon and the other half, specifically you, want to reach for the nearest heavy object.
"I have a name, Donghyuck, and I suggest you use it before I 'accidentally' delete your latest back tracks," you snapped, clutching your binder to your shield.
"I know your name," he winked, the sunlight from the hallway window catching the gold of his earrings. "But 'slowpoke' fits your morning vibe better. You look like you wrestled a tornado and lost. Rough night with the soulmate?"
You stiffened, your hand instinctively covering the blue and black ink on your wrist. "It’s called 'styling,' and my soulmate is none of your business. Get out of my way. If I’m late for Professor Lee’s lecture, I’m taking you down with me."
Donghyuck laughed, a bright, full sound that bounced off the lockers and echoed in the corridor. He spun around and fell into step beside you, his long strides making your brisk pace look like a desperate scramble. "Relax. Lee loves me. I’m his star student, remember? I can get you a hall pass."
"You're nobody's favorite," you muttered, though the lie tasted bitter.
The problem with Lee Donghyuck was that he was undeniably, frustratingly brilliant. His musicality was intuitive, his production skills were lightyears ahead of the curve, and he possessed a natural charisma that charmed the harshest critics. He was also loud, clingy, and delighted in pushing your buttons until you were vibrating with rage.
You entered the lab and sat at your usual workstation in the back corner. Donghyuck, naturally, slid into the seat directly next to you, despite the entire row of high-end Mac stations being completely empty.
"Personal space, Donghyuck. Look into it. It’s a revolutionary concept," you hissed, booting up your Logic Pro session.
"Doesn't exist in the industry, sweetheart," he quipped, spinning in his ergonomic chair. He leaned over, his shoulder brushing yours, scenting the air with expensive cologne and coffee. "Check your levels. You're peaking on the input. Your gain staging is a mess."
You glared at him, ready to argue, but when you looked at your monitor, the red clip lights were indeed blinking on your preamp. You adjusted the dial silently, hating that he could diagnose a technical error just by looking at a waveform.
As Professor Lee began his drone-like lecture on frequency spectrums and the physics of sound, you felt that familiar, distracting tickle on your forearm. You pulled your cardigan sleeve down, shielding your skin from Donghyuck’s prying, sharp eyes.
Guy next to me is breathing too loud. Is homicide justifiable in a court of law? Asking for a friend.
You bit your lip to suppress a giggle that threatened to disrupt the silent room. You glanced sideways at Donghyuck. He was currently spinning a silver pen between his fingers with practiced ease, staring intently at the whiteboard, looking for all the world like he was the perfect student.
You uncapped your pen under the safety of the desk.
Only if you hide the body well. Dig a deep hole, Mr. Math. Who is he?
The reply came with a frantic intensity that made your skin itch.
Some Music major. Thinks he's God's gift to audio interfaces. Drives me insane.
You froze. The irony was so thick it was suffocating. Your soulmate was stuck next to an arrogant music major, and you were stuck next to Lee Donghyuck. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
I feel your pain, you wrote back, the ink slightly shaky. I’m currently sitting next to the most annoying human being on the planet. He’s talented, sure, but he’s a menace to society.
Beside you, Donghyuck suddenly stiffened. He knocked his heavy metal water bottle off the desk, the hollow clang echoing like a gunshot against the floor. Several students turned to look.
"You okay?" you asked, feeling a strange surge of concern despite yourself.
He blinked, looking down at the rolling bottle with a startled expression, then back up at you. His usual cocky mask had slipped, revealing a flicker of something unsettled, something that looked almost like recognition. "Yeah. Just... muscle spasm. Weird. Must be the caffeine."
—
Midterms arrived with the subtlety of a freight train, turning the campus into a collective of sleep-deprived ghosts. The university library became your primary residence. It was 11 PM on a Thursday, the air thick with the smell of old paper and the hum of a hundred laptops, and you were buried under a mountain of textbooks on acoustic theory.
Your left arm was almost entirely covered in doodles.
Over the last few years, it had become a ritual. When the stress of exams or production deadlines got too high, your soulmate would draw. He didn't just write but he created art on his skin that migrated to yours.
Sometimes it was intricate geometric patterns, sometimes little caricatures of the faculty that were dangerously accurate. Tonight, it was musical notes. A complex, soaring melody wrapped around your wrist like a delicate, inky bracelet.
You traced the lines with your fingertip, feeling the faint raised texture of where the ink had dried. It was a beautiful, melancholic tune, one you could almost hear in your head.
"Still here? You surely can't beat my score again, even if you try your hardest."
You jumped, nearly knocking over your water bottle as you slammed your book shut. Donghyuck was standing there, leaning against the mahogany bookshelf. He looked exhausted; the dark circles under his eyes were prominent, and the usual spark in his gaze was dimmed by the weight of the semester. He was wearing a baggy grey hoodie and sweatpants, his hair a mess of unstyled curls. It was a rare, vulnerable look for the campus happy boy.
"You shouldn't sneak up on people," you said, your voice a hushed whisper in the quiet library.
"Sorry, didn't mean that," he said, his tone unusually soft. He didn't tease. Instead, he slid into the chair opposite you and pushed one of two vending machine coffees toward you. "Hazelnut. Extra sugar. That's your trash taste, right?"
You stared at the warm can, stunned. "You actually remembered how I take my coffee?"
"I was getting one. The machine gave me a second one for free. Don't read into it, it’s just a glitch in the matrix. " He took a long sip of his own, wincing at the heat. He sat there for a moment, just watching the way the library lights reflected in your eyes. "So. The soulmate. He’s a regular Picasso, huh?"
You instinctively pulled your sleeve down, but you were too slow. Donghyuck had already seen the musical staff winding around your arm. "He draws when he's stressed," you admitted, finally popping the tab on the coffee. "It helps us both, I think."
"Does he know who you are?" Donghyuck asked, leaning forward. "Do you guys talk about... real stuff? Or is it just 'Calculus is hard' and 'My neighbor is a jerk'?"
His voice was like deep, mellow honey in the quiet night, the kind of sound that made you think you could fall asleep to it. It felt weird for him to be asking this, but then again, it was Donghyuck; whatever went on inside that brain of his was a total mystery.
"Sometimes it’s real," you said, feeling a strange urge to be honest with him. "He's funny. He's incredibly dramatic, and he hates mornings with a passion. We complain about the people who get under our skin. It’s like having a diary that talks back." You paused, looking at his tired expression.
"What about you? Does your soulmate send you cryptic messages, or are you too busy being Lee’s favourite to notice them?"
Donghyuck went quiet. The silence between you wasn't the usual sharp, competitive quiet; it was heavy, filled with unspoken things and the soft rustle of pages turning nearby.
"I notice them," Donghyuck said finally, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle in your bones. "Every single mark. Sometimes I think I know her better than I know myself, but then I see her in person and I realize... I don't think I've ever been more terrified of anyone in my life."
You looked up, caught off guard by the raw vulnerability in his tone. "Are you okay, Donghyuck?" you asked softly, the usual bite in your voice replaced by a genuine concern that surprised even you.
He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and stood up abruptly. The legs of his chair scraped against the hardwood floor with a jarring sound that shattered the quiet gravity of the moment. "Well, enjoy the caffeine. Don't stay up too late, Y/N. If you look like a zombie during the mix-down tomorrow, I'm not going to be the one to fix your phase issues."
He walked away before you could even murmur a thank you, his silhouette receding into the dark, towering stacks of the library. His pace was hurried, almost frantic, as if the air between you had suddenly become too thin for him to breathe. The heavy silence of the library rushed back to fill the void he left behind, leaving nothing but a lingering, cold draft in its wake.
Looking down at your arm, you felt a sharp, sudden pang of loss. The intricate melody you had been tracing, the one that had felt so alive just moments ago, stopped abruptly halfway through a measure. This unfinished musical thought felt like a physical weight on your skin, perfectly mirroring the unresolved tension tightening in your chest.
You grabbed your pen, your heart racing for a reason you couldn't explain, a frantic, staccato rhythm that seemed to echo the sudden emptiness in the room. Every nerve ending felt raw, electrified by the strange gravity of Donghyuck’s departure and the haunting stillness of the unfinished melody on your wrist.
Are you okay? You stopped drawing. Are you sleeping already ?.
You waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The coffee grew cold in your hand.
Finally, a response appeared, the handwriting shaky and faint, as if written by a hand that was trembling.
Just realized something. I think I’m in serious trouble.
What kind of trouble? you wrote, a sudden flare of panic tightening your chest. Are you hurt?
I’ve been an idiot, and I don't know if I can fix it.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that made your vision blur slightly. You stared at the black ink, waiting for more, for an explanation, for a sign that he wasn't about to disappear forever. He’d never sounded like this, never so defeated, so genuinely afraid. It wasn't the playful drama or the petty annoyance of a neighbor. You reached for your pen, your fingers trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but before you could press the nib to your skin, the library lights flickered.
The silence around you felt suffocating, and the cold draft Donghyuck had left in his wake seemed to settle permanently in your marrow. You wanted to scream at the ink to tell you more, to tell you how to help, but the skin remained hauntingly, terrifyingly still.
—
The next few days dissolved into an agonizing double-silence. Your soulmate didn't write a single word, leaving your skin cold and empty, while Donghyuck avoided you with a calculated precision that felt far heavier than his usual teasing.
He wasn't sitting next to you in Audio Engineering anymore. He didn't wait by the lockers to make a comment about your hair or your coffee. When you passed each other in the halls of the music building, he gave a tight, polite nod, the kind you give a singer, and kept walking. The silence he left behind was louder than his noise ever was.
"Did you two finally kill each other?" Minji asked, leaning against the hallway lockers as she watched Donghyuck disappear around a corner for the third time that morning without so much as a glance in your direction. "The silence is actually kind of haunting. It’s like someone hit the master mute button on the entire floor."
"He's just being weird," you muttered, clutching your textbook tighter.
"Weird doesn't cover it. He looks like he’re dealing with massive phase cancellation every time you walk into a room, like your presence just mutes his entire frequency," she replied, her brow furrowing. "Whatever happened in that library, it broke him."
You missed him. The realization hit you with the jarring force of a sudden feedback loop in the middle of the cafeteria. You missed the bright, abrasive edge of his laugh and the way he’d lean over to tweak your EQ without asking, his proximity a constant, grounding rhythm you’d taken for granted.
Meanwhile, your soulmate had gone completely radio silent. Your skin felt like a dead channel, static and hollow where there used to be a vibrant frequency. The blank space was a physical ache, a coldness that no amount of layers could fix.
"Okay, that's it. I can't do this," you muttered to yourself, shoving your tray away.
You finished your lunch and marched toward the music department's practice rooms. You had memorized his schedule long ago, partly to avoid him, and partly, you now realized, to know where he was. He had vocal practice in the basement rooms at 2 PM.
You found him in Practice Room 4. Through the small, reinforced window in the heavy door, you saw him sitting at the grand piano. His head was buried in his hands, his shoulders slumped. He wasn't playing. The room was deathly still.
You knocked once, didn't wait for an answer, and pushed the door open.
Donghyuck jumped, his head snapping up as if he'd been caught in a crime. "Y/N? What are you doing here? This room is reserved."
"Why are you ignoring me?" you demanded, slamming the door behind you. The soundproofing was so effective that the silence of the room became a vacuum, pulling the air from your lungs.
"I'm not ignoring you," he lied, his voice flat. He stood up and began shuffling some sheet music into a disorganized pile. "I'm busy. The department showcase is next week. I have to perfect my set."
"You are," you stepped closer, into the circle of light cast by the overhead lamp. "You haven't made a single 'short' joke in three days. You didn't steal my favorite pen. You didn't try to 'help' me with my vocal comping. What did I do, Donghyuck? Just tell me."
"You didn't do anything!" Donghyuck snapped, running a hand through his hair until it stood up in frustrated tufts. "God, you're so... you’re so incredibly stubborn. Can’t you just let it be?"
"Then what is it? Why are you acting like I’m a ghost?"
"It's complicated, okay? It’s more complicated than any mix we’ve ever worked on." He wouldn't meet your eyes, his gaze fixed on the piano keys. He was gripping the edge of the instrument so hard his knuckles were stark white.
You huffed, crossing your arms and feeling the familiar heat of an argument rising. "Fine. Be that way. Keep your secrets. I thought we were at least... friend."
Suddenly, you felt it. That familiar, electric itch on your inner arm. You looked down, your breath catching. It was happening right now.
I'm looking at her right now and I’m absolutely terrified. How do I tell her?
You froze. You watched the words forming on your skin in that scrawled, black ink, the handwriting you had known for years.
Then, slowly, you looked up at Donghyuck. He had turned away from you, his back facing you as he stared intently at a stack of sheet music, his posture stiff and defensive.
"Donghyuck," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Show me your hands."
"What? No. Get out, Y/N. I need to practice." He didn't move, his shoulders hunching as if he could hide within himself. He took a small step further away, towards the corner of the room, his stillness confirming every suspicion blooming in your mind.
"Show me your hands, Lee Donghyuck"
You step forward, fueled by a mixture of desperation and a sudden, crystalline clarity. You grabbed his right arm before he could retreat further into the shadows. He tried to pull away, a brief struggle ensuing, but you held on with everything you had, yanking his hand out and forcing him to face you.
There, clutched in his trembling fingers, was a black ballpoint pen.
And on his left wrist, in the unmistakable blue ink of your favorite pen, your ink, were the words you had written days ago: What kind of trouble?
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The air in the soundproof room felt like it had been replaced by pure electricity.
You looked from his wrist to his face. Donghyuck looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. His face was flushing a deep, violent red that reached the tips of his ears.
"It's you," you breathed, the words barely audible. "All this time... the Calculus, the doodles, the dramatic rants..."
Donghyuck let out a long, shaky exhale that sounded like a balloon deflating. His shoulders slumped, the fight leaving him entirely. "Yeah. It's me. Mr. Dramatic, Mr. Meltdown, in the flesh. Take your pick."
"Why didn't you tell me the second you knew?" you asked, your voice rising in a mix of indignation and sheer, overwhelming disbelief. "In the library! When you sat there with those coffees, looking at me like you were giving up, you knew then, didn't you? You sat right across from me, watching me trace your ink, and you didn't say a word. You let me keep writing to a 'stranger' while you were right in front of me."
The realization hit you like a physical wave, the timeline of the past few days rearranging itself in your mind. Every lingering look and sudden departure now carried the weight of this secret. "You were going to let me go on thinking my soulmate was some mystery boy in a different university, while you continued to drive me crazy in the studio? How long were you planning on playing this game, Donghyuck? Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just going to wait until we graduated?"
"Because you hate me!" Donghyuck finally looked at you, his eyes brimming with a desperate kind of honesty. "Y/N, we’ve spent the past years at each other’s throats. I annoy you on purpose because it was the only way I knew how to be around you. If I told you I was your soulmate? I thought you'd be crushed. I thought you'd feel like the universe played a cruel joke on you."
"Disappointed? Why? " You stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time.
"Yes! You wanted some poetic, funny, and caring guy who lived his life. Not the guy who talks sarcasm and steals your hazelnut coffee." He gestured to himself with a bitter laugh. "I'm loud. I'm a lot to handle. I’m not the 'soulmate' people write books about."
You looked at the ink on your arm. I'm looking at her right now and I'm terrified.
The tension that had anchored your shoulders for the past years suddenly snapped, replaced by a wave of relief so intense it felt like drowning in warm water. Every biting remark, every competitive glare, and every sleepless night spent wondering who the boy in the ink was finally converged into a single, breathtaking point of clarity. It was him. It had always been him. The warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips, a perfect resonance that finally found its match in the boy standing before you.
"No, listen to me." You stepped back into his space, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. You didn't grab his arm this time. Instead, you reached out and gently took the pen from his hand. You uncapped it, the click echoing in the silence.
He watched you, breathable and confused, as you took his left hand and turned it palm up. His skin was warm, his pulse fluttering rapidly against your thumb.
Right over his pulse point, directly below your old blue ink, you began to write in bold, black strokes.
I don't hate you.
You felt the phantom sensation on your own wrist as you wrote it on his. The connection was a loop, a closed circuit.
"I don't hate you," you said aloud, looking up through your lashes to meet his gaze. "I think you're annoying. I think you're way too loud for 9 AM. And you definitely owe me for three years of stolen coffee."
Donghyuck swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his eyes tracked your every movement.
"But," you continued, writing the next word with deliberate care. But. "I also think you're the only person in this entire university who actually pushes me to be better. You're the only one who sees when I’m struggling before I even realize it myself. And your melodies..." You reached up and traced the faded music notes he had drawn in the library, now mirrored on both of your skins. "They're the most beautiful things I've ever heard."
Donghyuck’s eyes softened, hope blooming in those dark depths like a slow-motion sunrise. "Really? You're not just saying that because the ink told you to?"
"The ink just gave me a way to say it," you whispered. You capped the pen and let it drop to the floor. "I missed you, Donghyuck. I missed the guy who writes to me at night, and I missed the guy who makes my life a mess during the day. I think... I think I need both of you."
He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob, and leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. The proximity was dizzying, the scent of him, cedar and warm honey, enveloping you.
"I missed you too. These last few days were the worst mix I’ve ever been a part of."
"So," you whispered, your heart hammering a rhythm that he could surely feel. "What happens now?"
Donghyuck pulled back just enough to look at you, that signature mischievous glint returning to his eyes, though it was tempered with a new, profound affection.
"Well, first, I think you owe me a very long apology for calling me a 'menace to society' on your forearm."
You laughed, a genuine, light sound, and shoved his shoulder. "I stand by what I said. You were tormenting me!"
"It was flirting!" he defended, grinning. "Very high-level, sophisticated flirting." He caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. The ink on your wrists pressed together, a physical seal on the truth.
"Do you want to get dinner? Somewhere with actual tables and no vending machines?"
"Is this a date, Lee Donghyuck?" you teased, though you already knew the answer.
He beamed at you, like a sun finally breaking through the clouds. "It's destiny, Y/N. But yeah, it's a date. And since I'm the 'invention of the devil,' I’m paying."
—
Dating your soulmate was exactly as chaotic as you had imagined.
It was a strange, wonderful hybrid of your old rivalry and a new, deep intimacy. You still bickered over bpm and background vocals, but now the arguments usually ended with him pulling you into a corner of the studio for a kiss that tasted like victory.
It was two weeks later. You were back in the Audio Engineering lab, the familiar smell of ozone and electronics filling the air. Professor Lee was lecturing on the importance of spatial audio.
Donghyuck was sitting next to you, his thigh pressed firmly against yours under the long desk. He wasn't even pretending to take notes.
You felt that familiar, heart-stopping tickle of a pen on your inner arm, high up near the crook of your elbow where your sleeve hid the mark from the rest of the class.
You glanced down, shifting your arm slightly.
You look really pretty when you're concentrating on the compressor settings. It's making it impossible for me to focus on anything else.
You fought the heat rising to your cheeks, staring intently at the whiteboard. You reached down with your left hand, finding his knee under the table and giving it a sharp, playful squeeze.
He jumped slightly in his seat, let out a muffled "Oof," and quickly turned it into a fake cough to avoid the professor’s glare.
You uncapped your pen, writing discreetly on your own wrist.
Pay attention, Lee. If you fail this midterm, I’m telling everyone you actually like acoustic folk music.
You saw him look down at his wrist, a look of mock-horror crossing his face, followed by a wide, challenge-accepted smirk.
Make me.
You rolled your eyes, but the smile you were hiding was the brightest thing in the room. You wrote back one final message before returning to your notes.
Coffee after class. My treat this time.
Donghyuck read the words as they appeared on his skin, then leaned over, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"It's a date," he whispered, his voice vibrating through you.
As the lecture continued, the ambient noise of the university began to thin out, the hum of the overhead vents, the distant clatter of the library, and the persistent rhythm of pens hitting paper all receded into a soft, distant static. In that soundproofed pocket of silence you had created together, the world felt less like a series of chaotic frequencies and more like a composition in progress.
You didn't know what the next track would sound like, or if the melody you’d been writing since eighteen would ever truly reach a final bar, but as you felt the warmth of his hand over yours, you realized that the resolution didn't matter. It was the resonance, the way your lives finally vibrated at the same frequency, that made the music worth hearing.
In the end, it wasn't the ink that defined them, but the choice to turn the noise of a rivalry into the harmony of a life lived together, one scrawled note at a time.
thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I didnt beta read this so I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻
pairing: grad student!haechan x grad student!reader
genre: fluff, slight angst
word count: 10.2k
synopsis: academic validation and beating lee donghyuck are your only motivations in life. spoiler alert: you end up achieving only one of the two.
author’s note: this was supposed to be released for holo LMAO better late than never? anyways ladies this is fiction <3 do NOT ever give a male english major the time of day - signed an english major (p.s. i mention christmas exactly one time in this so this counts as a holiday fic)
warning(s): sexism in academia, brief descriptions of sexual harassment
playlist: rose-colored boy by paramore ― enemies by lauv ― always, everytime by the wrecks ― let it happen by gracie abrams ― running home by jade lemac
Act I) And when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is UUUG-LAY.
When it comes to receiving bad news, you would consider yourself pretty good at handling it. You’ve always been the type to compartmentalize and try to find the most rational way to react. Having such an analytical personality is part of the reason why you decided to pursue an English degree in college. Sure, some may consider you cold and elitist, but to that you respond―well, yes!
That being said, you’re about 30 seconds away from hurling up your breakfast burrito and $8 matcha latte in a projectile fashion.
You stare at Dr. Min, the Program Director of the English Department and your mentor, like she just dropkicked you in the gut. Normally, your mouth would be agape with despair and horror, but you smartly keep your lips sealed tight due to previously mentioned urge to spill chunks all over her pristine office.
The situation is worsened by the fact that there is a creature standing right beside you, looking only slightly disgruntled. Like he just received a cup of cold coffee level of disgruntled. As if Dr. Min didn’t just casually destroy your entire world.
The creature goes by the name of Lee Donghyuck. He’s barely a human, simply masquerading as one with his fluffy hair and glowy skin. Rather, he’s just a walking, talking literary reference to the most pretentious authors ever. His sole reason for existence is to compete with you for teacher’s pet. The two of you have been vying for Dr. Min’s attention since you both got into grad school. More specifically, you both have been competing for the eventual letter of recommendation that you’ll need from her in order to get into the highly prestigious PhD program. She’s super selective of who she will write the letter for, so you and Donghyuck essentially have been in a constant WWE brawl to kiss her ass.
“Two graduate faculty members are on sabbatical, so the amount of staff available to vote on your papers are an even number,” Dr. Min had explained, “Hence, why we’re in this situation. You both have the same amount of votes.”
“Can’t you just be the tiebreaker, Dr. Min?” Donghyuck asks, carding a hand through his brown hair. It’s still tinted a light purple hue from when he dyed it to cosplay Rafayel from Love and Deepspace for Halloween. Yes, he does play a gacha dating sim about random men who look AI-generated. Of his many sins, this is low on your list.
Dr. Min shakes her head, smiling apologetically. “You know I always abstain from voting when it comes to my mentees’ papers.”
“So, what’s going to happen now? Which one of us will be going to the symposium?” you ask, finally managing to gather yourself and speak up. Despite your best efforts, you feel another wave of nausea hit you when Dr. Min glances your way. There’s something about the way she’s so poised and collected that always makes you think she’s silently judging you.
“That’s what I’ve called you both here for,” she trails off, clapping her hands together. “I’ve decided that, for the first time in this university’s history, we will be sending two representatives to the annual Shakespeare Scholars Research Symposium!”
Dr. Min pauses, most likely expecting celebratory cheers from the two of you. However, she’s met with stone-cold silence. You and Donghyuck just stand there stiffly, arms hanging limp by your sides and faces scrunched like you just ate the dog food flavored jelly bean from the BeanBoozled game.
“Don’t get too excited, now,” Dr. Min jokes awkwardly. “Why the doom and gloom?”
“But…our papers are way too similar. It wouldn’t make sense for both of us to go,” you protest.
As much as you hate to admit it, you and Donghyuck are often interested in the same topics and themes when it comes to your research papers. This time is also no exception. For this paper, you decided to write about the female empowerment in the classic 1999 romcom 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the original source material, Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Meanwhile, Donghyuck (because he’s incapable of not riding on your coattails) decided to write about gender identity in the classic 2006 romcom She’s the Man compared to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
“Well, the concepts are certainly similar, but the actual content is different,” Dr. Min replies, “Besides, I think we need more pop culture in academia.”
When you and Donghyuck fail to respond again, she huffs. “Come on, you guys! I know the two of you are competitive, but it’s a wonderful opportunity. This is going to look amazing on your CV when you apply for the PhD program.”
The mention of the PhD program makes you and Donghyuck perk up like meerkats, and you know Dr. Min did it on purpose.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Dr. Min. We would be happy to represent the university together,” Donghyuck quickly says, putting on the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes sparkle in a way that reminds you of those shiny plastic dolls that end up having a demonic spirit in them. Then he looks over at you and beams through grit teeth, “Wouldn’t we?”
A fake smile of your own slowly spreads across your face like paralyzing venom as you glare at Donghyuck. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” Dr. Min nods, satisfied. “I’m glad to see that you two are getting along better. I’ll see you on Friday at the airport, bright and early.”
You and Donghyuck say your goodbyes to her before marching out of her office like the twins from The Shining. The moment the door closes behind you, the two of you recoil from each other like being within 6 feet of one another will make your skin melt off. You both start speedwalking to the exit of the building at the same pace, completely parallel to each other on opposite sides of the hallway.
“You are such a two-faced liar,” you hiss in a hushed whisper, “Always making me look like the difficult one while you’re all happy-go-lucky, kumbaya.”
“Well, if it always looks like it, then maybe it’s the case, don’t you think?” Donghyuck sweetly retorts.
“Ooh, burn,” you say sarcastically, “Your words might actually have some merit if there wasn’t steam coming off the top of your overinflated, egoistic head. I know you’re just as pissed about this as I am.”
“Oh, Y/N. You are always so shortsighted,” Donghyuck sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Don’t you see the bigger picture?
“Oh, this will be good,” you say wryly, crossing your arms and waiting for him to continue.
“Elementary, my dear Watson―” he starts.
“Doyle never wrote that line―” you quickly interrupt.
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be Watson. You’re Moriarty.”
“Why do I feel like I have to go through the Labors of Hercules in order for you to get to your point whenever I talk to you?” you demand.
“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, this symposium will be a great opportunity to settle this once and for all. You know they always give out a Best Research Paper award at the end. We may have tied today, but our tiebreaker can be that award. Whoever wins gets the recommendation letter from Dr. Min,” Donghyuck smugly explains.
“You know, maybe there’s not just Helium in that skull of yours,” you smile, “I think that’s a great idea. I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day. ”
“You are so eloquent when it comes to insulting me, yet I don’t see any of that fire in your actual writing?” Donghyuck questions, blinking innocently.
“Oh, I’ll show you―”
You’re just about to rattle off another one of your eloquent insults when a loud howl of wind from the outside interrupts you, making the two of you jolt. Just as you reach the doors to the building, you see through the glass that the sky is a smoky, hazy gray. Rain is starting to fall, and it looks like it's about to become a torrential downpour in a little bit.
You curse under your breath, thinking about your five minute walk to the bus station and whether or not you can beat out the thunderstorm.
“Well, this certainly has to be a bad omen,” Donghyuck says unhelpfully.
You jerk your head towards him and jab a finger in his direction. “This isn’t over. I have to catch the bus before I get waterboarded by this rain. I’ll deal with you on Friday. Until then, stay out of my sight.”
Donghyuck shrugs, fishing out an umbrella from his backpack. Because of course he needs to flaunt the fact that he has an umbrella and you don’t.
“Sounds good to me,” he replies casually.
Steeling yourself for the rain and wind to pelt your face, you open the door in one fell swoop and walk outside―except you’re not getting wet because Donghyuck is trailing behind you and holding his umbrella above your head.
“Uh, why are you following me?” you ask as he moves to walk beside you, even though you know his car is parked in the opposite direction.
“Curb your main character syndrome, Y/N. I have somewhere to be, and it happens to be in the same direction,” he sighs.
“Where?” you probe, suspicious.
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” he answers snottily.
“Then why are you sharing your umbrella with me? Did you get visited by three ghosts on Christmas?” you demand.
“Is it really sharing if you’re just standing next to me and happen to be in the radius of my umbrella?” he ponders.
“You’re like a bridge troll that asks people three riddles before letting them pass,” you sigh.
“Please. As if you could ever solve my riddles.”
You respond by flipping him off, and he just grins.
The two of you walk the rest of the way in silence, the sounds of the rain growing heavier and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise. Occasionally, his elbow bumps your arm due to your proximity to each other. The mixture of the thick humidity in the air and the drifting scent of his fabric softener makes your head swim.
When you make it to the bus station, you don’t say bye to him, nor does he say it to you. Instead, he swiftly turns on his heel and walks back. He doesn’t look back at you either, so your eyes linger on his back for just a tad longer than they should.
You notice that one of his shoulders is damp, the sleeve of his shirt sticking to his skin, as raindrops roll down his arm.
Act II) Ooh, see that, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?
Donghyuck is being eerily quiet this morning, and it’s starting to unnerve you.
He didn’t even jump at the opportunity to compliment Dr. Min’s new haircut (that she got specifically for this conference) the moment she arrived at the airport. When the three of you walked over to the security check line, he just stood there, thumbs tucked underneath the straps of his backpack as he bounced on the balls of his feet. If he heard even a second of the conversation you and Dr. Min were having, he gave no indication of it.
He’s never this silent unless he’s scheming something.
At one point, you started eyeing the security cameras nearby to see if you had accidentally gotten yourself on a prank show. As if this was all an elaborate setup by Donghyuck in order to humiliate you, and you weren’t going to the symposium after all. For a brief moment, you imagine Dr. Min also being in on the ruse and laughing with him about how awful your paper was and how funny it is that you actually thought you had a chance.
Maybe your therapist was right about you having paranoia issues.
Your delusions begin taking over your mind until you finally can’t take it anymore. Once the two of you get situated on the plane (Dr. Min got put up in first class, and you and Donghyuck were relegated to economy as lowly grad students), you finally ask:
“Okay, what is your problem? You’re acting weird―er than usual.”
Donghyuck is looking straight ahead, peering at the folded tray table on the seat in front of him. It takes him a second to acknowledge your words, turning towards you with a strained smirk.
“Wow, are you worried about me?” His voice trembles.
It isn’t until he turns towards you that you finally get a good look at his face. His normally glowing complexion is completely blanched, and his expression is strained, twisted into a grimace. In other words, he looks completely terrified. It scares you a little too.
“Jesus,” you breathe, leaning in, “now I kind of am. Are you sick?”
“I guess that’s one way to describe it,” he laughs, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Mentally and physically, yes. But not, like, in a stomach flu kind of way.”
You pause, studying his face. “Are you…afraid of flying?”
He opens one eye and glances over at you. “How much aura would I lose if I said yes?”
You lightly shove his arm. “Be serious. You have no aura anyways.”
“Ouch. That’s one of the more hurtful things you’ve said to me recently.”
“Seriously, are you okay?” you ask firmly.
“Of course,” he replies, inhaling but his breath hitches, “I’ll have to be. This paper isn’t going to present itself.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“What good would that do? Besides look super lame and give you another thing to hold against me,” he jokes.
You snort. “Why would I hold this against you when I have actual legitimate reasons to find you lame?”
Donghyuck looks genuinely taken aback, eyes widening like a newborn doe. His voice is quiet and hopeful, almost innocent, when he says, “...Yeah?”
He sounds so sincere that you feel your face grow warm. “That is so rude. What kind of monster do you think I am? No matter how much I hate you, I’m not such a terrible person that I would make fun of your phobias.”
He blinks. “No, that’s not what I meant―”
“Whatever. I don’t want you to think I have something over you now, so we’ll make it even,” you announce, “I’ll tell you one of my fears too.”
“Y/N, you don’t have to―”
“When we were going through security earlier and you were being super quiet, I fully thought you and Dr. Min had planned an elaborate prank on me in which I wasn’t actually going to the symposium and that you were only letting me believe I was when, in fact, my paper was terrible,” you confess, blurting everything out in one breath.
Donghyuck stares at you, completely bewildered. “So, you think I’m such a monster that I would―”
“My point being,” you continue, “that I have an irrational fear of being left out. Because I’m not good enough.”
“Y/N―”
“But this doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna kick your ass at the symposium. I will be getting that award. Just…sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking the opposite,” you quickly add, realizing that you may have just given away a little too much of yourself.
That’s the thing with Donghyuck. It’s really easy to forget about everything else when you’re bickering with him. You’ve never had to worry about what to say to him. He’s so smug and annoying and irritating that it makes you feel like you can do anything if it means being able to beat him.
Maybe that’s why you freaked out so much when he was so quiet this morning. Maybe that’s why you’re telling him this now.
“You know, you could’ve just said spiders or something,” he finally says after a long pause, a shit-eating grin finding its way to his lips. The color has come back to his face, and he’s got that mischievous spark in his eye again.
“Firstly, I’m not afraid of spiders. Secondly, you’re an unbelievably huge asshole.” You cross your arms. “I can’t believe―”
“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and gently tugs on the sleeve of your sweater. His touch makes you fall silent. “I’m only going to say this once. And if you try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it, so listen carefully.”
You roll your eyes, waiting for another terrible joke.
“Look at me,” he whispers, leaning in to make sure your eyes meet his. His brown eyes are so dark that they almost look black, like pools of obsidian, yet his gaze is so warm and firm as if you were being enveloped by a warm sunrise. The soft expression on his face anchors you to your seat, and you can’t bring yourself to look away despite knowing you probably should.
“You are brilliant,” he states, as if they’re the truest words in the world.
His sincerity catches you completely off guard, and your mind goes blank. All you can think about is the way he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything else.
The two of you flinch when you hear the roar of the airplane’s engine, indicating that it’s about to take off. Donghyuck clenches his jaw and pulls away, and you can see his entire body tense as he grips the armrest so hard that his knuckles turn white.
Ripping your eyes off of him, you reach under the seat for your backpack and fish out your AirPods with trembling fingers. You’re still so shaken from earlier that you randomly select a playlist before handing one of the AirPods to Donghyuck. When he raises an eyebrow, you simply reply, “To help you relax.”
He wordlessly takes it and puts it in his ear, taking in the song. A few more seconds pass by before he, stifling a laugh, asks, “So, your idea of relaxation is playing death metal at full volume?”
You gasp, looking back down at your phone and realizing you had selected your road rage mix by accident. Too embarrassed to admit it, you reach over to take the AirPod out. “Fine, be ungrateful then. I’ll listen by myself.”
Donghyuck tuts and leans his head away from your hand, nearly hitting it against the window. “Excuse me, I am trying to relax.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“Can’t hear you over the sounds of my relaxation,” he says in a sing-song voice.
“Whatever,” you sigh, but you’re fighting a smile.
Throughout the flight, you occasionally sneak glances at Donghyuck, checking to see if he’s uncomfortable. He’s always fast asleep, head leaning against the window and lips slightly parted. To your relief, he looks much more serene than he did at the start.
He still doesn’t budge when the flight attendant comes around to hand out Biscoff cookies, and you’re tempted to steal his pack for yourself but decide against it. Instead, you begrudgingly put them in his lap. If you were anywhere else, you one-hundred percent would, but it doesn’t feel right this time.
After scarfing down your cookies, you drift off yourself and don’t wake up until a crackly announcement from the captain that your flight will be landing soon startles you awake. When you look over at Donghyuck, he’s still asleep. Shifting in your seat, you hear plastic crinkling in your lap, and you look down in confusion.
A pack of Biscoff cookies.
Taking a shaky deep breath, you lean back against your seat. The two-pack, cinnamon-flavored shortbread cookies sit in your lap like a ticking time bomb. You think about sharing an umbrella under the rain. You think about Donghyuck’s fear of flying. You think about how he thinks you’re brilliant. You think about these damn Biscoff cookies.
Suddenly, you wish you weren’t sitting arm-to-arm with Donghyuck; you wish he was always a hallway’s distance from you. Because that was the distance that you can think clearly when he’s around you. Because that was the distance before―
Before.
Act III) Nonsense! You don't need a man to wear a beautiful dress!
“Somehow, there was a misunderstanding and only a single room was booked for the both of you.”
Well, so much for distance.
Dr. Min looks like she wants to crawl in a hole. “I am so sorry, you guys. The hotel is used to each university only bringing one student, so they weren’t expecting two. And the hotel is fully booked for the symposium, so they don’t have an extra room.”
You and Donghyuck exchange defeated glances, too exhausted from the flight (for many reasons) to even react.
“None of the nearby hotels have any available either,” Dr. Min continues, “so, I can’t believe I have to ask this of you guys, but would you mind sharing a room? The room also has a sofa pull-out bed, and maybe you guys can rock-paper-scissors for it.”
This certainly throws a wrench in your Avoid Lee Donghyuck Like the Plague weekend plans, but Dr. Min looks so stressed that you really don’t want to further complicate things for her. When you look over at Donghyuck (something that you had been explicitly trying not to do), he’s already looking at you, waiting for your answer.
“It’s fine,” you finally say, sighing, “We’re all grown-ups, after all.”
Dr. Min turns to Donghyuck, expectant. He just shrugs, replying, “If Y/N’s okay with it.”
“Great. Thank you guys so much!” Dr. Min exclaims, clapping her hands together before handing you the room key. “You guys can take some time to get some rest and freshen up. Don’t forget we’re going to have dinner with a few of my colleagues tonight too. Meet me here at 7:30 sharp.”
The two of you say your goodbyes before trudging over to the elevator. You don’t say anything to each other even as you enter your cramped room, equipped with a single queen-sized bed and a sofa pull-out couch that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the 60s.
You and Donghyuck just stare in disbelief for a moment before he turns towards you and holds out a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Huh?”
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You don’t even have time to react as Donghyuck starts counting down, lowering his fist on every word.
Without thinking, you pick scissors, only for him to pick rock.
“Looks like I get the bed,” he says smugly.
“You ambushed me. That’s not fair,” you demand, crossing your arms.
“Two out of three?”
“Rockpaperscissors!” you blurt at the speed of light, trying to catch him off guard.
This time, he picks scissors while you pick paper.
“You suck,” you snap, shoving his hand away and stomping towards the pull-out couch before dropping your bag on it. Donghyuck’s laugh rings throughout the room like a bell from behind you.
This feels more like before―when he pissed you off more than anything. Donghyuck from before was too nice, too soft. It’s actually better that you’re sleeping on the musty pull-out couch; this is more of your dynamic with him. Before he shared his umbrella with you. Before he told you about his fear of flying. Before he called you brilliant. Before you nearly had a panic attack over some Biscoff cookies.
“I’m getting ready first,” you say petulantly.
“Be my guest,” he replies, raising his hands up like he’s surrendering, “Take as long as you need.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Because of the double standard, of course. Women have to uphold a much higher beauty standard, and there is more societal pressure for them to feel like they have to dress up―”
“Holy performative male.” You roll your eyes. “Do you cry when you think about women getting their periods, too?”
“Only when I’m drinking my matcha and reading Sylvia Plath.” He winks.
After grabbing a change of clothes and your skincare regimen, you promptly push past him and close the bathroom door in his face.
.
.
.
In the end, it does take you a while to get ready. Between doing your skincare, putting on a full face of makeup, and styling your hair, you made sure to put in extra effort since you could be potentially networking with Dr. Min’s colleagues. You even brought your best evening gown in anticipation.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Donghyuck is sitting on the bed with his laptop, furiously typing away. His eyes briefly glance up at the sound of the door opening and returns to the screen before he does a double take, eyes widening when he finally sees you.
“What are you doing?” you ask, nodding towards his laptop.
“Oh.” He stops for a moment. “My presentation notes. For the presentation. Tomorrow.”
“What a vast vocabulary you have there, English major,” you tease, sitting on the edge of the bed so that you can slip your heels on. “Are you that nervous for tomorrow?”
Donghyuck laughs, but it’s more like a breathless huff that he releases. “Something like that.”
“You’re talking in riddles again. Whatever, just hurry up and get ready. We have to be down there in forty minutes,” you say after glancing at your phone.
Clearing his throat, he gives you a quick two-finger salute before closing his laptop and grabbing his stuff. He stiffly walks around you at an odd angle, as if you had an invisible force field around you, and keeps his eyes straight ahead.
While Donghyuck is getting ready, you scroll on TikTok, watching meditation videos and tutorials on breathing exercises in order to relax. You so badly want to make a good impression on Dr. Min’s colleagues (and, subsequently, on Dr. Min too) that you’re making yourself nauseous from imagining all the ways things could go wrong.
You’re in the middle of a third attempt to completely clear your mind for a meditation exercise when Donghyuck steps out of the bathroom. Like the pain he is, he completely destroys any hope of a clear and sound mind as he walks over to you.
Donghyuck is wearing a navy blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top two buttons undone, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair is lightly gelled, and you hate how effortlessly handsome he is.
“What are you doing?” He asks, gesturing to your phone that’s still playing a video of a woman sitting cross-legged and telling you to breathe in and out.
Hurriedly, you lock your phone and put it away in your purse. “Nothing.”
“Why are you watching meditation videos? Nervous?”
“Why do you ask if you already know?” you retort.
“I enjoy the validation,” he replies smoothly, “So, is that a yes?”
“Yes, if you must know, I am nervous. Not all of us are natural-born ass-kissers, you know,” you hiss, “I need to get on their good side. Connections are everything in academia.”
“Ah, but you don’t need meditation or ass-kissing to make a good impression. You forget the simplest method of all,” he points out.
“And that is?”
“Being yourself,” he beams.
“Thanks for the advice, Sesame Street. You think I wouldn’t be doing that if it worked?” you ask wryly.
“How would you know if you’ve never tried it?” He crosses his arms.
You stand up, suddenly feeling slightly offended. “What are you implying?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“That is so rich coming from you. You’re the fakest of us all,” you snap, jabbing a finger in his chest.
“I never said it works for me.” Donghyuck smiles, tilting his head.
You pause, blinking as your hand falls limply to your side. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?”
When you can’t think of a response, he shrugs. “Or maybe you don’t.”
You watch him walk past you to get the room key from the nightstand, slipping it into his wallet, before grabbing your purse from the bed and handing it to you. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
And just like that, dinner is the last thing on your mind.
.
.
.
“It’s so surreal seeing you two in such fancy clothes. You guys look amazing!” Dr. Min gushes, as the three of you take your seats inside a fancy restaurant whose name you can’t even pronounce. A salad from here probably costs a month’s worth of rent. Luckily, you’re not paying.
“You look stunning tonight as well, Dr. Min,” Donghyuck instantly responds, turning up his ass-kissing to 100.
You just sip on your glass of water, trying to distract yourself with a task by picking up and setting down your glass continuously. Eventually, a waiter comes by and dramatically refills your glass without you even asking. You murmur a quick thank you before going right back to your routine.
“Oh, here they are!” Dr. Min stands up and waves to someone behind you, and you quickly set your water back down. You smooth out the bunched up dress in your lap and tuck your hair behind your ears. As Dr. Min ushers her colleagues over to your table, you feel Donghyuck’s warm hand gently on your knee, stilling your leg that you didn’t even know you were furiously bouncing.
He doesn’t say a word, only looking at you for a second before pulling away, standing up and plastering on a big grin to greet Dr. Min’s colleagues. Your leg burns like his fingerprints individually branded you.
Mind whirring, you shakily stand up and hope that your face is doing something similar to a smile.
“Donghyuck, Y/N, these are my colleagues. This is Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory,” Dr. Min introduces, gesturing to two middle-aged men in suits who are both wearing glasses. Frankly, they look identical to you, but such is the case with the elites in academia.
You all say your greetings before sitting down, and thankfully, Dr. Min orders the food for you, rattling off fancy French dishes that you couldn’t even begin to spell. She also orders a few bottles of super expensive wine, though you and Donghyuck choose to abstain. Despite your initial nerves, the dinner isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. The conversation flows naturally between everyone, and you even get a few laughs from Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory, which gives you a slight confidence boost. It isn’t until dinner is starting to wind down, and the professors are flushed and slightly slurring that Dr. Gregory turns towards you, saying, “You know, Y/N, you’re such a pretty girl. If only you would smile a bit more. You’d be a real stunner if you smiled more.”
The pungent scent of wine on his breath wafts over to you as he continues, “Don’t be so uptight, you know?”
Your entire body freezes, and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. This isn’t exactly your first time dealing with creepy old men, but you’ve never had to do so with creepy old men that could control your future in your career. Especially not with your mentor’s colleagues―the mentor that you revere and want so desperately to impress.
You feel your face burn with shame and humiliation, as you try to think of something to say that will diffuse the situation but also not offend Dr. Gregory. Dr. Min and Dr. Collins look uncomfortable as well, but they don’t seem like they know what to do either.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke,” Dr. Gregory finally says after noticing the tense atmosphere, “You young people never have a sense of humor.”
“Pray tell, what was the joke?” Donghyuck asks, his words dripping with a venomous sweetness. He’s gripping the cloth napkin in his lap with such strength that you think he might rip it. He’s seething with so much rage that you can feel it radiate from his body like heat waves. You’re worried he’s about to jump across the table and attack Dr. Gregory, so you slowly reach under the table and place your hand on top of his.
It’s not worth it, you want to tell him.
Without looking at you, Donghyuck releases the napkin and flips your hand with your palm facing upwards before lacing his fingers through yours, keeping your entwined fingers tucked into his lap. He holds your hand tightly but not enough to hurt. Just enough that you know he’s not going to let this slide.
“Explain the joke,” Donghyuck continues to press, “What’s so fucking funny?”
Dr. Gregory just stares at him in a drunken daze, and Dr. Min hesitantly glances between the two, finally stammering, “N-Now, that language isn’t appropriate, Donghyuck. However, Dr. Gregory needs to apologize to Y/N, too. Gosh, Dr. Gregory, you always get too drunk for your own good.”
“You know, Dr. Gregory,” Donghyuck starts, completely ignoring her, “you’d be a real stunner if you went to an AA meeting instead of lurking around at research symposiums and sexually harassing female students.”
“How dare you accuse me of―” Dr. Gregory begins sputtering, face turning even redder.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke. What, you old perverts don’t have a sense of humor?” Donghyuck raises his voice, so that the surrounding tables can hear him. He stands to his feet, taking you with him, before using his free hand to slam a glass of water in front of Dr. Gregory. He uses so much force that the glass clatters loudly against the wooden table, and water splashes all over the table and Dr. Gregory’s lap.
“Sober up, you piece of shit. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re drinking your fancy wine through a tube in your neck.”
Donghyuck drags your chair out of the way, making sure to scrape the metal against the floor so that it makes a screeching noise, and leads you away from the table and out of the restaurant. Against your better judgment, you look back at the table. The three professors just sit there, shoulders slumped, looking smaller and smaller as you walk away. In the past, they stood tall like the highest peak of a mountain that you could never reach. Now, you can’t help but think that they look so…pathetic.
Donghyuck doesn’t speak to you as you make your way back to the hotel; he just holds your hand like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. After a few minutes, he takes your intertwined fingers and puts them in his pants pocket. He’s walking so fast that you start to stumble over the uneven pavement in your heels.
“Wait, Donghyuck―”
You nearly trip, but he quickly turns around and catches you. His hands are on your waist, warm and firm, as he carefully steadies you.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say quietly.
Donghyuck takes in a deep breath, his hands linger around your waist as if he was the one being steadied. When he speaks, he unconsciously pulls you in a bit closer. “Yeah, I should’ve done a lot worse.”
“Come on, you’re a grad student who’s cooped up at home all day writing research papers. You’re not exactly Mike Tyson,” you try to tease. You’ve never seen him this angry before.
“I could definitely kick his teeth in.” He looks a little too determined for your liking.
“And then get an assault charge?” You sigh. “I’m not paying your bail.”
He seems to soften up a bit as he studies your face. His hands flinch at your sides, seemingly realizing that he’s cradling you against him, before he takes a step back. His palms drag against your dress as he lets go of your waist.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, as he lifts them back up before putting them back down.
“Of course.” You give him a halfhearted smile. “Not exactly my first rodeo with this kind of stuff.”
You can see a muscle in his jaw spasm.
“It was nice seeing you cuss him out though. Took the words right out of my mouth. But, you know, I would probably get called a bitch or something if I said it.” You shrug.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Misogyny?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you on your performative male shit again?”
“Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am a staunch feminist. An ally, if you will.” Donghyuck raises a fist in the air, and you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. When you meet his gaze again, he hesitantly chews on his lip for a moment before continuing, “But…I’m also sorry that you had to listen to him speak to you like that. I wish there was something I could do that was more productive than kicking his teeth in.”
“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin, “I suppose I could forgive you if you ordered room service. I’m starving. All that bougie French finger food Dr. Min ordered basically evaporated into thin air the moment I put it in my mouth.”
You give him a mischievous grin, and the tension visibly leaves his body.
“Deal.”
.
.
.
That’s how the two of you end up lounging on the bed together, a pepperoni pizza and chicken and waffles feast sprawled out in front of you. One of the television channels is playing a rerun of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, so you and Donghyuck keep your eyes glued to the screen like children with their iPads. Occasionally, one of you will comment on how much both of you hate Gale and kick your feet when Peeta says his iconic “if it weren’t for the baby” line.
Once the movie is over and the food is completely cleared out, you both flop onto your backs, feeling like stuffed turkeys with how much you ate. The two of you lay there in content silence for a second before you let out a sigh.
It was a lot easier to not think about anything when you had all these distractions, but now that the night is winding down, reality is setting in quickly.
“Tomorrow is going to be so awkward,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Dr. Min is probably pissed.”
Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. “Surely, you don’t mean she would be pissed at us. Not when it was her creepy ass friend’s fault.”
“Well, we certainly didn’t act very professional either.”
“Y/N. Look at me, please.” You feel his hands gently swat yours away from your face.
Begrudgingly, you turn your head towards him. His face is a lot closer than you’re expecting, and your eyes wander as you start to count all of the moles on his smooth skin. Your gaze briefly flickers to his heart-shaped lips before hurriedly traveling back up to his eyes.
“You are not the one who should be worried about tomorrow,” he states firmly, “Dr. Min is the one in a position of authority. It’s her job to protect you.”
“I hope that’s the case,” you mutter.
“It is. She will.” He sounds so sure.
“Well, it doesn’t matter―”
“It does.”
“―I just need to get through this presentation, and I’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.” Truthfully, you probably will since academia circles run small. Donghyuck knows that too.
“Do you―” He hesitates, scanning your face carefully. “Are you going to file a report against Dr. Gregory?”
You laugh humorlessly. “Would anyone believe me?”
“You have three witnesses.”
“That I would be asking to jeopardize their own careers for me,” you point out, “I know we’ve had quite a spirited rivalry, but even I wouldn’t try to sabotage you like this.”
His expression is twisted into something you can’t quite discern. “What―”
“I’m not going to file a report,” you state matter-of-factly, “It’s not worth it.”
Donghyuck goes quiet, clearly trying to collect himself, before whispering hoarsely, “It’s your decision.”
He stares at you for a very long time when you don’t respond. Without even realizing it, the two of you had turned your bodies toward one another on the bed. Your legs are curled upwards, and if you wanted to, you could shift just slightly and bump his thighs. If you wanted to, you could reach out and brush the stray curl from his eyes.
“Y/N.” He murmurs your name so softly that you almost don’t hear him. In fact, the syllables blend together almost as if he were sleeptalking.
“Yeah?” You hold your breath.
“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you decide to do, just know that I’m on your side. Always.”
You don’t remember what you said back; you don’t even remember what he looked like when he said it, no matter how desperately you try. You almost wonder if it was just a dream.
All you know is that you wake up wrapped in Lee Donghyuck’s arms the next morning. His bicep is under your neck while his hand is cradling the back of your head. His other arm is slung over your waist, fingers splayed across the small of your back. The hem of your evening gown has ridden up to your thighs, and your bare legs are tangled with his. Your cheek is tucked snugly into the crook of his neck, and every time he exhales, you feel his lips brush the crown of your head. He smells like faded cologne and warm skin.
Sunlight streams into your eyelids when you blearily blink, but you’re so distracted by the peaceful expression on Donghyuck’s face that you barely notice. Without even thinking, you brush the stray curl from his eyes. He slightly stirs at the movement before pulling you in closer, stilling once again after another second.
Against your better judgment, you lean forward, burrowing your face into his neck and feeling his skin against yours. As you listen to the sound of his breathing, it doesn’t take you long to fall back asleep.
Act IV) But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
When you wake up, you’re under the covers. Donghyuck is gone.
Except when you turn to the right, he’s curled up in a cramped fetal position on the pull-out couch with no blanket. His back is facing you, but you can see his shoulders steadily rise up and down.
You’re more impressed by how deeply you were sleeping to not notice him tuck you under the covers and then set up the couch.
Shit, what if you drooled on him and that’s why he moved?
Your hand frantically flies to the corner of your mouth, but it’s dry. Almost cracked. Then you realize that you slept in your makeup, and your skin is probably gasping for any sort of hydration.
Swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you quickly begin your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face, and taking the hottest shower you can handle. You stand still, letting the scorching water run down your body, as you recall the events from the night before. In the end, not even the scalding temperature can burn away the feeling of being enveloped in Donghyuck’s arms.
Furiously scrubbing your face, you wish you had just gotten up and moved to the pull-out couch when you woke up the first time. Instead of cuddling Donghyuck like a psycho. He probably felt you clinging to him like a koala and promptly escaped, even though you were the one who lost rock-paper-scissors.
Better yet, you wish you had never come here in the first place. Maybe then your professional and…personal lives wouldn’t be in complete shambles.
Eventually, the water starts to run cold, and you have no choice but to step out into the steam-filled bathroom. Your phone chimes on the corner of the sink, and you reach over to check it―
Your heart is nearly regurgitated out of your mouth.
It’s a text from Dr. Min inviting you to breakfast. Just you and her.
.
.
.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me privately.” Dr. Min is nervously wringing her hands as you awkwardly push around the omelette in front of you.
Honestly, you had contemplated waking Donghyuck up and dragging him down with you, but then you came to your senses. You’re not sure when the switch happened that he’s the first person you turn to for help, and it freaks you out exponentially. Especially when just 48 hours ago, you would’ve rather hacked off your arm than ask him for anything.
Besides, this is nothing you can’t handle. You’re pretty sure.
“No problem.” You try your best to look cool and composed.
“I wanted to apologize for Dr. Gregory’s behavior last night. He got way too drunk, and it was completely unacceptable. He also wants to extend his sincerest apologies. I will make sure this never happens again.”
You’re not sure what to say in response. She’s waiting for you expectantly, almost as if she wants you to exonerate her from her guilt. Normally, you would rush to tell her that everything is okay and it’s all in the past now. But the expression on her face reminds you too much of last night, of how small she seemed.
“Okay.” You nod stiffly. “I appreciate you letting me know.”
There’s an awkward, drawn out pause between the two of you before Dr. Min clears her throat. “Okay. Good.”
You start getting up to leave, but you hear a shrill, “Wait!”
In all your years of knowing her, you’ve never seen Dr. Min look this nervous before. She can barely even maintain eye contact with you as she fidgets with her sleeve. “I, um, need to talk to you about something else. About the symposium.”
So much has happened that you’ve barely even thought about the symposium. It almost relieves you to hear about something so normal, considering how…not normal everything has been.
That is, until she says her next words:
“There’s been a bit of a mix-up. Initially, they were planning on having a keynote speaker. However, the speaker ended up canceling, so the schedule was made without his inclusion. The problem now is that the speaker informed us last-minute that he’ll be able to make it after all. So, I’ve been asked by the organizers to cut one of my students from the program, since I was the only one who brought two.”
You shakily inhale when it dawns on you that this is the real reason she called you down here. That it was always going to be you. The truth of being inferior feels like someone just knocked the wind out of you. You’re struggling to breathe properly, but you will yourself to maintain your composure; you’ll be damned if you have a panic attack in front of Dr. Min.
But all that goes through your head is not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.
“It’s not because your paper isn’t up to par,” she quickly insists, “in fact, your paper was brilliant―”
She couldn’t have picked a shittier adjective. That word is another gut punch.
“―it’s just that Donghyuck is more of what they’re looking for. What they’re expecting.”
That makes you pause. “What?”
“The judges have their…biases. They’re much more inclined to respond to him,” Dr. Min responds vaguely, almost as if she’s too afraid to say what she really means aloud.
“Because Donghyuck is a man?”
“Trust me, as a woman, I understand. It’s ridiculous that academia is still such a deeply patriarchal system. I’m just trying to play by their rules. If Donghyuck gets the Best Research Paper award, it’ll look really good for the university,” she explains as if it’ll all make sense to you now.
“So, you acknowledge how academia has fostered an incredibly sexist environment, yet you want to continue upholding that culture?” you ask incredulously, “Or is it because you’ve, against all odds, already succeeded in this environment so you don’t want to upset the status quo? You’re willing to close the door behind you if it means that you can retain your position?”
“I have always championed for more female scholars in our field, Y/N. This is different. It’s beyond that,” she answers defensively.
“Because your reputation is on the line?”
Dr. Min purses her lips. “I am doing what is best for our school. I hope you’ll understand that some day. I’m sure Donghyuck will as well.”
“We’ll see about that.” You clench your jaw.
“Don’t further complicate things,” she warns, clearly perceiving your words as a threat, “I really am sorry that this happened. I know this would have been a wonderful addition to your CV and your application to the PhD program. I promise I will write you that letter of recommendation if things go smoothly today.”
You actually laugh at her, a hysterical shriek bubbling in your throat. “You were my hero, you know.”
Without waiting for her response, you get up from your seat and walk away, never once turning around to look back at her. You’re not sure how you gathered up the strength to return to your room without collapsing once, but you swear you’re going to faint when Donghyuck peeks his head out of the bathroom when he hears you come in. He has a running blowdryer in one hand and a round brush in the other. He looks so happy to see you that you feel nauseous.
“Hey! I was wondering where you went. For a moment, I thought my snoring scared you off―what’s wrong?” In an instant, he’s set everything down and is making his way over to you.
You sidestep him before dragging your numb body to the edge of the bed, sitting down with your back turned against him. Squeezing your burning eyes shut, you try to remember the breathing exercises you had been watching the day before.
“Are you sick?” You hear Donghyuck’s soothing voice in front of you, but you don’t dare look at him. “Do you need anything?”
You shake your head, feeling a sob rack your body.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He sounds so scared that you know you won’t be able to tell him the truth. You’re not cruel enough to make him throw away this opportunity for you.
“Nothing,” you finally manage to get out. When you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you, desperately scanning your face. What a sight he’s probably getting with all the tears and snot. “I’m not presenting today. There was a scheduling issue, and they had to cut someone from the program.”
“What? Why would they cut someone when it’s their own fault? And why you?”
You shrug halfheartedly. “Dr. Min didn’t tell me. Maybe my paper was just not as good as yours.”
“No,” he responds immediately, “that’s impossible. There had to have been another reason. If anything, Dr. Min should have cut me. I was the one who acted out of line.”
You smile bitterly. “When you do it, you’re a badass. When I do it, I’m a bitch.”
It was a sentiment you had echoed last night, but you had no idea just how ironic those words would turn out.
“Then take my place.” Donghyuck says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
“What, no,” you say in bewilderment, “Dr. Min has made it clear that she wants you to present. Besides, your name is on the program.”
“Fine. I won’t present either.” He crosses his arms and looks away like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Are you insane? What’s the point of all this if neither of us presents?” you demand.
“I’m not going to do it if you’re not.”
“Don’t you want the recommendation letter from Dr. Min?”
He stares at you in disbelief. “You think I care about that?”
“In case you forgot, you’re the one who suggested the competition―”
“Y/N, that was before―” he pauses, wetting his lips, “before this.”
Neither of you seem to know what this is.
“It hasn’t been a competition to me for a while now. The letter, the award, this whole symposium, none of that matters to me. I just care about you.” Donghyuck’s voice breaks slightly. “The only thing I want is you.”
“But you hate me. We’re…sworn enemies.” Your voice is barely a whisper.
That gets a chuckle out of him. “Maybe, initially. Maybe I didn’t like how much smarter you were than me. Maybe I didn’t enjoy the way you would always rip me a new one during class discussions. But―no matter how much I fought it, I started looking for you in every room I stepped into and only cared about what you had to say. I told myself a million different reasons for why I was acting the way I was. I thought whatever was forming was loathing, that you were just someone that I needed to prove I was better than. I convinced myself that I needed to tease and annoy you in any possible way because it was a tactic to gain the upperhand. When in reality, I was just doing whatever I could to get your attention. I suggested the competition because I would finally stop thinking about you if we settled our rivalry once and for all. But, Y/N―”
Donghyuck gently reaches up and cups your cheek with his hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You subconsciously lean into his touch, eyes fluttering.
“Y/N, the award has always been yours. You’ve won from the very start, and I never stood a chance. I’m not doing this without you.”
The boy you’ve spent your entire college career trying to outshine looks at you like you’re his North Star.
Your fingers slide up his forearm before gently closing around his wrist, cradling his hand against your face. Tilting your head downwards so that you’re level with his kneeling position, you place your forehead against his. Donghyuck lets out a soft gasp like you just sent an electric shock through his body.
“You have to do it. Something good has to come out of this shitshow,” you insist firmly.
He tries to pull away to protest. “No―”
“You said you’d be on my side.”
He looks at you like you’ve physically hurt him.
“Okay.” He finally relents, slumping his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
You surge forward, wrapping your arms around him. Donghyuck catches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, burying his face in your neck and holding you like he exists only to do so. He holds you so lovingly that you almost break and tell him the truth.
But you don’t.
Instead, you let him go and tell him to hurry up and get ready. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you even as he walks away.
When the two of you finally make your way down to the conference room where the symposium is being held, Dr. Min is already waiting. You slightly flinch when you see her, and to your dismay, Donghyuck seems to notice. He gives you a quizzical glance before looking at Dr. Min, gauging her facial expression. Dr. Min, on the other hand, pretends like nothing happened, and it scares you how good she is at it.
“There you guys are! Come on, Donghyuck is up first.” She ushers you both behind a makeshift stage that they’ve set up. “Okay, make sure to take a few deep breaths. Don’t bury your nose in your notes. Make sure to make eye contact with the audience.”
Donghyuck isn’t paying attention to her whatsoever. Instead, he’s peering around the stage, clearly up to something. You don’t even have time to ask him what he’s planning before the announcer calls his name.
Suddenly, Donghyuck doubles over, clutching his stomach in pain. “Owww!”
He drags the last syllable, getting progressively louder the longer he holds the word. Both you and Dr. Min slightly jump at the volume of his voice.
“What’s wrong?” she asks frantically.
“Oh, my stomach is killing me,” he moans dramatically, “I think it might be the shitty French food we ate last night. Oh, I’m going to throw up.”
He makes dry heaving noises, and Dr. Min takes a step back. “Um, okay. Let’s get you to a bathroom.”
“What about the presentation?” he asks in between vomiting sounds.
“You can’t present if you’re sick. We’ll―”
“Oh, I have a wonderful idea.” He claps his hands together. “How about Y/N presents in my place?”
You should’ve known Donghyuck would have something up his sleeve.
“And look! A copy of Y/N’s paper magically showed up, so she’s all set! Wow, Shakespeare must be in the building with us on this beautiful afternoon.” He whips out the folded pieces of paper in his back pocket that you had thought was his paper. When he notices your death glare, he places the back of his hand on his forehead. “Oh, I feel so sick…”
“Lee Donghyuck, I’m going to kill―”
“We don’t have time for this,” Dr. Min snaps, snatching the paper from Donghyuck and shoving it into your arms. “I don’t know how you two planned this, but I’ll deal with you afterwards. Just go and present.”
“But I―”
Dr. Min grabs your shoulders and essentially manhandles you onto the stage. You stumble out in front of a giant crowd full of confused scholars who definitely just heard all the ruckus Donghyuck made. Awkwardly shuffling over to the podium, you clear your throat into the mic by accident, causing a piercing feedback noise.
“Oh, uh, sorry about that. I’m not Lee Donghyuck. He had…other issues to deal with. My name is Y/N, and I’m here to present on―”
You pause for a moment when you look down at your paper. Written in red ink are loopy, sprawling letters at the top of the page that read:
You are the badass.
Looking back up at the expectant crowd, you take the pages of your paper and rip them in half, the sounds of paper tearing echoing throughout the room.
“I originally planned on presenting about female empowerment in the 1999 film 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the source material, The Taming of the Shrew. However, I cannot, in good faith, speak on this topic without first recounting my own experiences this past weekend. Isn’t it a Shakespearean twist that all we do is sit around and discuss political and sociological issues being acknowledged in works of literature yet we can’t recognize those same problems in our own field? I hope my words force us to acknowledge our own internalized biases.”
.
.
.
In the end, you don’t receive the Best Research Paper award.
In fact, security escorts you out of the conference room shortly after you finish speaking.
You’re not sure what the repercussions of what you just did are going to be, but you can’t find it in you to care. When you’re deposited in the hotel lobby, Donghyuck is already waiting for you.
“How’s your stomach?” you ask sarcastically.
He just shakes his head and chuckles incredulously. “You always find a way to one-up me.”
“So, you’re admitting defeat?” You close the distance between the two of you, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch.
Donghyuck swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Y/N, I―”
You throw your arms around his neck and bring him down to press your lips against his. He snakes an arm around your waist and lifts you up, pulling you tightly against him. He kisses you like he’s on his dying breath, and he holds you like you’re everything he ever dreamed of. For the first time in your life, you know you are.
“Complete and utter defeat,” he whispers against your lips.
Academic validation and beating Lee Donghyuck are your only motivations in life. You end up achieving only one of the two.
.
.
.
It isn’t until when you get back from the symposium the next week that you discover multiple sexual harassment claims were filed against Dr. Gregory after your speech and he was fired by the university. Additionally, Dr. Min was put on administrative leave for allegations of discrimination and abuse of power. She apparently is also being investigated separately by the organizers of the symposium for attempted bribery of the judges by not disclosing the fact that she habitually took them to dinner (who were actually Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory).
“Now, that’s some Shakespearean karma.” Donghyuck winks when he shows you the news article.
“I guess we’re not getting those recommendation letters.” You sigh.
He throws his head back and laughs.
Lacing your fingers through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk down the sidewalk―the sounds of the rain growing heavier against your shared umbrella and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise.
synopsis | having accepted your professor’s request to group with donghyuck for the final project, your unfiltered demeanor appeared to have piqued his interest. and through his impenetrable persistence, donghyuck slowly came to realize his liking for you was no longer just a personal challenge.
word count | 26k +
warning | mention of parental negligence, domestic abuse, mention of alcohol + alcohol addiction, mention of adultery, mention of verbal abuse
note | here is what i have for now. not too far from the end tbh.
parts | one, two, two five, three
Donghyuck has not stopped thinking about the confession he made.
It felt too much like a spur of the moment, and while a serial victim of the spur of the moment himself, he has never been fond of what it can make people do. Anything done within that slowed-down universe was an idiotic crime, an act of no-thinking, jaywalking down a freeway, squeezing a roll of wasabi down your throat, and backing a car straight into the garage door.
Or, the worst of all, admitting to yourself that you are, in fact, in love with someone.
He stared down the main campus street, which he knew you walked by every other day after your morning class ended, and he breathed at the lack of souls littered across the road. You probably already walked past here and were waiting at the bus stop. He would know because that was your routine, and he was a little late today in coming by to be a block in your route.
He had been too occupied with his ceaseless mind, one that continuously interrogated him about his romantic interest and whether they were real or not. The question had come late to him that night after his friends left his home, and he sat immobilized before his blank computer screen.
Everything felt regular when he was still fixated on the game; he raged and chatted, clicked on the mouse, and tapped the keyboard. But the second he turned all the machines off to prepare for the end of the day, the silence without your sleeping presence haunted him. The book you lent him sat on his nightstand, a symbolization of him leaving a space in his home for you; out of all the places in his big bedroom he could have put the book, he put it close to where he sleeps.
Donghyuck jumped off the high horse and never got back on. His doubt fluttered like the lashes that adorned your eyes because he wasn’t sure. Was he in love? How would he know? How would anybody know? Was he even capable of fully understanding what love means? Was anyone fully capable of understand such a fickle, multi-layered, necessary concept?
He could not use his parents as an example; he had never seen them be in love with each other, and neither did he ever feel truly loved by them. He could use Jeno’s parents as the standard, but sometimes the way those two old folks bicker with each other felt like there was more than meets the eye when old age had begun tainting a once youthful love. Jaemin has only recently been involved in a one-sided attraction, much like himself was at this moment.
Even though his friends had nodded his way when discussing his affection for you, seeming in perfect unison that there was no denying that he has strong feelings for you, Donghyuck could not shake off the notion that he might be mistaken. And he would hate to be mistaken about love. He would hate to cause any party involved any pain and awkwardness.
Mostly, he would hate to cause you pain. It was something he swore against unconsciously to himself. He would never hurt you intentionally; he would never bite you back; he would never
press against your bones despite his overwhelming desire to consume you whole. You love them. He repeated to himself. You will not hurt them. It was not a reminder. It was not a threat. It was a reassurance of the truth.
“Hello?”
Your calm voice hit his ear and filled his heart. Within that instant, he was aware how much to the brim the sink of his chest has with a grotesque loveliness that could only come from you. Whenever he so much as received a drip of your existence, he churned up the faucet to keep it coming so he could drown in it. He was aware, in that instant where you spoke a one-syllable word, where your voice traveled to his ear and his processing mind, that you make him shake and breathe, and he is in love with you.
Then he snapped out of it.
“Where are you? I don’t see you at the bus stop!” Donghyuck exclaimed as he looked around the empty area his legs had brought him to. He peered down the street further, then back into the campus. There was not a trace of you at the campus bus stop.
You shuffled with your phone for a bit; the rustling of your clothes sounded through the receptor as you pressed your ear against your shoulder, with your phone jammed between, so you could focus on writing your notes and holding up a page of a textbook. You remained silent, thinking through your writing, and Donghyuck waited patiently on the phone for you.
“I am at the library,” you replied when you were done writing.
“Who is it?” Jeno asked as he received the note you gave him. His voice was clear enough to be picked up by the other end of the call.
Donghyuck raised his brows faintly as he processed the distant voice. When recognition hit him that it was Jeno speaking, he pulled an annoyed face and tilted his head, visibly dissatisfied. This was not part of your daily routine. He knew Jeno usually walked you to the bus stop, but then you two would go separate ways. Wasn’t Jeno supposed to be on his weekly fun trip to the gymnasium, where he would visit his basketball friends anyway? Why was he with you?
“It’s Donghyuck! Lee Donghyuck!” he screamed into the phone impatiently, his voice straining to reach the tone of comical devastation which he was not equipped to reach.
Sounds of shuffling could be heard on the other side. You could be shifting away from Jeno to talk more in private, you could have just pulled your phone away from your ear after Donghyuck’s impromptu screaming, or you may just be doing other ordinary things that Donghyuck absolutely wanted to get in on. Either way, the boy on the other end of the phone was restless about not being around you.
“Please don’t scream into the phone. You surprised me.”
Your meek voice changed Donghyuck’s demeanor immediately. He never intends to raise his voice around you unless it is for exaggeration or comedic purposes. What he just did was, one could say, for both exaggeration and comedic purposes, though. He sighed in defeat and relaxed, his shoulders slagging into a body shrink so he would appear smaller and more gentle. It was how he felt all the time whenever he was with you: small and delicate, like a sleeping boy cradled in a great embrace or a human being with flesh that cuts and bleeds.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the phone. “I was just surprised to hear Jeno.”
You glanced briefly to the side where Jeno was chatting with Jaemin about something that was clearly not about the schoolwork they had invited you over to help with. Jaemin pointed to something he saw on Jeno’s phone and made a joke that got both of them erupting into silent laughter. Jeno almost doubled over in joy but held onto the table's edge. His hand soon turned into a fist that tapped against the wooden surface.
You cannot be bothered to scoff or feel disdain for their lack of work ethic. This was not your first time working with people who clearly need to be more competent to finish the task to the perfect condition. It has been like this since high school, and your distancing away from your peer’s ability magnified after your childhood began its tragic trail.
Everything has to be done not to the best of your ability but to the best of perfection. If your most remarkable attempt is nowhere near where perfection is, then you are no good at all.
Your work and intelligence being a reflection of your worth were what your parents’ abusive education taught you. Be smart enough to find out sooner if someone is unfaithful to you. Be perceptive enough to realize you would be giving birth to a child you cannot love properly. Be useful enough so you can follow instructions to the bone. Be diligent enough so you do not get in an adult’s way. Be resilient enough so trauma does not hinder your everyday life.
You have gotten used to it. In fact, you preferred it. You were the only person who could finish a project or do a task how it was supposed to be done, so you preferred to take it all upon yourself. Even back then, when you sent the documents regarding the project to Donghyuck, not all of it was about aiding him in the process. You have fished through all the loopholes and potential mishaps to limit any form of individuality Donghyuck could provide so that everything could be done how you want it.
You have done what you could to help Jeno and Jaemin, writing detailed notes and explaining complicated questions. Whether they actually wanted to spend the effort to do their school work was up to them. As long as your grade would not be dragged down and you would not be affected, their problem was none of your concern.
You returned to your laptop where your project work was displayed and informed, “Yeah. Jeno said he needed some help with his classes, so he invited me to study at the library.”
“The school library?” Donghyuck clarified in question. Then he furrowed his brows in disbelief. “Jeno is studying?”
Donghyuck was not sure why he acted so surprised. Regarding academic success, Jeno remained leagues above him due to his self-sabotage. The illusion of Jeno being athletic and joining different sports groups, and therefore, would be academically challenged and having less time to focus on school work, was nothing but a mere illusion. Some of his athlete friends may be the pin that holds the stereotype together, but Jeno was not one of them. That boy knew how to keep himself above average in most aspects of life except romance.
It was just that Donghyuck had never seen Jeno study before. Jeno seemed to be the type to lock himself in a room and stick his nose in the books in silence, and when he was done, he would show himself to the world again. Donghyuck has never seen that boy open a textbook, write down notes, or practice problems outside of the classroom setting. He has always pursued his academic success privately, making it baffling for Donghyuck that he agreed to sit in a library with you.
Hold the wording, Donghyuck! [Name] was not the one who invited Jeno. It was the other way around! Regardless of the sequence of invitations, Donghyuck was not happy about it.
“He’s not really studying,” you huffed with very faint dismay. “He’s laughing with Jaemin about something.”
“Jaemin–Na Jaemin? Resident boyfriend Na Jaemin?” Donghyuck exclaimed incredulously at the casual addition to the informal study group. “How do you know him?”
“You’ve asked me that before and I gave you an answer. We had statistics together, remember? I had to mention his name twice last time for you to catch on to the fact that I knew Jaemin prior to knowing you.” You blinked questioningly at the air, seemingly catching onto the fact that Donghyuck was extra alarmed about you knowing half the people in his friend group before himself. You thought nothing of it, though. It was just a product of his fantastic exaggeration skills.
“I told you he was the resident boyfriend on campus.”
“I do remember,” Donghyuck muttered as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. How could he forget? How could he forget flaming blue hair Jaemin with nice eyes and a soft voice? How could he forget pretty cute Jaemin, who you cannot stop hearing about? When he opened his eyes again, he was blinded by the daylight and saw double. “Burns me every time I remember it.”
“Stop remembering it,” you mumbled monotonously. “Think about something else.”
He thought about you, and he did not want to think about you, but there was no way for him not to think about you when you were on the phone with him. After the phone call, it would be the school project he was paired up with you to do. Then, after that, it would be the novel on his bed that you gave him. Subsequently, it would be a bowl of ramen that you brought him to eat once. Then, later, it would be colored pencils that you could use for your planner.
There was always something he could associate you with. They were some kind of excuse to put you in his head. At the consistency of you being on his mind, Donghyuck would take you to his grave, and no amount of divine power could fish you out of his grasp. He needed to stop, he recognized. The more he thought about you, the more it solidified that his confession to loving you was honest, which scared him. Or, he thought if it hadn’t been real, the constant pop-ups of your face would give him the false idea that he knew exactly how he felt.
“I’m trying,” he slurred out quietly.
The furrow of your brows changed from confusion to concern; there was a vulnerable arch at the center.
“Are you okay, Donghyuck?” you asked.
“Yeah. Why?” He let a smirk slip as he rubbed his eye. “Do you want to ask me that again later? I’m right outside the school library. Tell me where you guys are at.”
Jeno caught sight of the perking up of your head. Jaemin mirrored his sudden motion, and together they followed the trail of your gaze toward the large glass doors of the library far away.
Without his glasses, Jeno could barely see through the glass doors outside, so he nudged Jaemin with his elbow to catch Jaemin’s attention. Jaemin returned the nudge with quick annoyance, still searching for anything out of the ordinary on the campus's main street.
“What is [Name] looking at?” Jaemin asked. “What are we looking at?”
Jeno scoffed out a laugh, a hand reaching up to slap across his forehead. “I was gonna ask if you saw anything weird.”
“I don’t,” Jaemin replied curtly before he turned to check if you were still staring at the doors. You weren’t anymore. He raised a brow curiously, his eyes trailing down to your moving lips to deduce that you were talking on the phone with someone, and he frowned. “They’re on the phone.”
“Yeah, it’s Donghyuck.” Jeno nodded, then he shoved Jaemin with narrowed eyes. “Did you not hear him scream into the phone?”
“I hear him all the time. I can’t be sure which ones are hallucinations and which are him in real life,” Jaemin deadpanned, seemingly distressed in the most sincere way possible. If one didn’t know better, one would wonder what kind of friend Donghyuck was to cause such emotional disaster, even though the judgment may remain the same after they knew what kind of person Donghyuck was. “Did he talk to you…” Jaemin peeped at you and lowered his voice, “… about [Name]?”
“I don’t think he’s left any of us in the unknown about [Name],” Jeno mused.
“Not that,” Jaemin rolled his eyes, “I meant about… what he said the other day….”
Jeno appeared confused, which was enough proof for Jaemin that Donghyuck likely did not go to anybody else about his romantic life issues. It boggled him that he was the most suitable candidate to discuss this with, especially when Jeno knew you better than he did.
The only knowledge he had of you was good grades, definitely not a party invitee, and the target of Donghyuck’s relentless affection. None of those warranted Donghyuck puking to Jaemin about how incompatible or unsure the potential romantic relationship between you and him would be.
Ironically, the question regarding Donghyuck’s love for you could be answered by his unnecessary overthinking of whether he would be a good boyfriend to you. To Donghyuck, though, he was never talking about being your boyfriend but rather if he wanted to be so.
To Jaemin, who was more clear-headed despite only half-heartedly listening to Donghyuck’s troubles, Donghyuck has already decided that he does love you. He just wasn’t sure if he would be good enough for you.
This was a hurdle Donghyuck had to get over by himself.
“What did he say?” Jeno asked upon Jaemin’s silence, to which he received a shrug in return. Jaemin has decided to keep it a secret.
You side-eyed the two of them huddled in their seats, and you couldn’t even be bothered to roll your eyes. You have already established that those two could work at their pace, however leisurely they wanted.
Besides, you have other things in mind. Donghyuck hung up after you told him where you were in the library, not without telling you that he planned to join the study session. You were still processing what he meant when he told you to ask him how he was again.
Weaving through groups of people and bookshelves, Donghyuck finally reached the study area. Long tables and benches fitted closely next to individual seats, surrounded by bookshelves and a service register. His head moved in search of your presence, his feet taking him anywhere he felt you would be as he tapped his phone to fidget. It was the rise of your arm that caught his attention. He looked over, and there you were, waving him over.
Your arm hesitantly lowered when you saw him look. Donghyuck’s eyes lit up when he recognized you, and you could see that. The gleam in his eyes was hard to miss.
You curled your hand into a loose fist, letting your thoughts flash before your eyes, then you sent him a small greeting wave. This was the first time you saw each other in person today, and Donghyuck thought it was a few torturous hours too long, especially after the faint smile you held upon seeing him.
The same feeling overtook him, like when he heard your voice for the first time today, telling him, ‘Hello.’ His heart was filled grossly to the brim with loveliness and a desire that would wake him up precisely as the sun rises in the morning, so he could run up to you and see you first person in the morning.
Maybe this was why people slept together, so that they could see each other first thing in the morning instead of themselves in the bathroom mirror.
Donghyuck was aware, sickeningly aware, the moment his eyes perceived your face and his brain lit a fire, that you make him still and breathless, and he is in love with you.
Should he snap out of it?
“Hey,” you said once he was near. “Are you okay?”
He scrunched his nose and grinned slyly as he sat on the chair he pulled out beside you. He never did peel his eyes off your face. “Yeah.”
No. He doesn’t want to snap out of it. He enjoys this. He loves being in love with you, and he is in love with you.
“Oh wow! So you were on the phone with [Name]!” It was Jaemin who exclaimed.
A vein would have popped on his forehead out of annoyance if this was a cartoon. Donghyuck averted his attention to Jaemin, who had stumbled closer to you by creating loud screeches with his chair. Once Jaemin was near, he leaned his torso close to you and moved his head over your seat to talk to Donghyuck. But, before anyone could say anything, Donghyuck slammed a hand over Jaemin’s tiny face and pushed him away.
“You’re too close!” Donghyuck complained.
“To who? You?” Jaemin questioned rhetorically.
The glare Jaemin received made him shut his mouth, but the bashful and semi-calculative smile remained as he pointedly stared at Donghyuck while retreating to his seat. This was going to happen, Donghyuck knew. In fact, this was supposed to happen because what else were friends for other than blatantly teasing you about the crush you told them you have? The only relief Donghyuck has regarding this is that no matter how obvious Jeno and Jaemin could make his feelings seem, you wouldn’t understand it.
You were perceptive, but if something weren’t on your mind, it would take people running miles before you could get a sense of it. And Donghyuck knew a relationship was the last thing on your mind.
Dropping the glare, Donghyuck leaned back against his seat and spared a glance at the table. Sitting before you was your laptop, pencil case opened, an opened textbook, and some scattered paper notes you wrote on. He looked further to where Jeno and Jaemin (who had both inched their seat close to you) came from and saw two water bottles, an opened bag of chips, and some random appearances of blue pens with no paper to write on.
“They really were doing nothing, huh?” Donghyuck mentioned as he raised a brow knowingly. He reached over and beckoned you to hand him the paper, which you did. Concentrated, he scanned over the words you wrote and recognized that it was a research methods class that Jeno needed help with. That widened the grimace on his face, and he whispered to himself, “This is introduction-level materials.”
“I was doing something,” you said with a subtle gesture toward the pair of friends next to you. “They did need some help earlier, but I think they kind of bounced off the textbook and onto their phones when I was writing down some notes for them.”
Jeno waved his hand dismissively while Donghyuck threw his friends a satisfied grin. The mere act of them being subtly called out by you was hilarious only because of their tight-knitted friendship, and it’s always somewhat funny to watch your friend mess up something trivial. Leaning over Jaemin, who was already reaching an arm behind you to graze Donghyuck’s face with sharp nails barely, Jeno let himself stand up a bit to smack the grin off Donghyuck’s face.
You frowned with a dodge from Jeno’s messy slap. The click of your tongue did not go unnoticed by Jeno, and he immediately apologized with a scoffed-out laugh and a gentle pat on the back of your head.
“By the way, here are the notes for your project.” You snatched the paper from Donghyuck’s hand and gave it to Jeno. “Let me know if you don’t understand anything.”
It took Jeno a short minute to read some of the comments you made on his ideas. He quickly caught your attention again by making Jaemin switch seats with him. You scooted over to make space for his fast clumsiness, and Jaemin scolded Jeno’s aggressiveness as he made himself comfortable on Jeno’s original seat. Knowing that Jeno probably has a lot of questions already, you waited patiently for him to gather himself.
“My professor said this exact thing the other day, but hear me out,” Jeno rushed out with a random point on the paper. “Technically speaking, I can skip a couple of steps with the calculations if I just–“
“You can’t.” You cut him off monotonously. “Don’t be lazy. I’ll walk you through it.”
Donghyuck watched with twitchy brows, as well as the corner of his eye, you and Jeno huddled to the middle of the textbook that you pulled to the edge of the desk and had begun flipping aggressively. He barely got to talk to you after he sat down, and you were already stolen from him! Why were you and Jeno sitting so close anyway? If Jeno has a vision problem, he should have brought his glasses. He had no reason to sit so close. You were wearing your glasses, which meant you could see clearly, so there was also no reason for you to be sitting so close to the book!
Justice! Where was Lee Donghyuck’s justice!
“This is introduction class material, Jeno!” Donghyuck whined from next to you, popping his head over to give the least menacing glare he could muster. “How do you not know this?”
Jaemin laughed from the side, his head comfortably perched on the base of his palm as he watched the clown show of Donghyuck’s unreasonable jealousy unfold. Jeno didn’t bother to respond to Jaemin’s bystander laughter. He perked up to innocently look at Donghyuck, eyes wide and confused as if he had been wronged, and he strained out a thoughtless noise through his throat.
“It’s not part of his major,” you said, taking Jeno’s side.
“Nothing is part of that basketball head’s major,” Donghyuck retorted. “I thought you were good at Math back in high school!”
“This is research Math, not normal Math!” Jeno argued quietly, but his voice was hissy enough to make a point that Donghyuck was being too loud.
Donghyuck deadpanned. He gave Jeno a dead stare in silence for a good ten seconds, enough to make the atmosphere awkward, then he spoke with an equally deadly voice. “Coming from someone who knows how to do that, I’m telling you it’s really not all that different.”
At this point, Donghyuck was only dragging this out for the sake of dragging it out. The playful banter between friends was natural to him, so was making a big deal out of said playful banter until it escalated to unnecessarily awkward tension. It was to keep up with himself. But part of him thought he might be doing this on purpose because some vulnerable part of him, who told his conventionally attractive friends he loved you, felt paranoid over something he knew his friends were incapable of: stealing you from him.
“What brought this on?” you chimed in before anyone else could say anything.
“If we tell you, we’d be wrong,” Jaemin answered quickly. He gave you an assuring yet dismissive nod when you questioned him with a thoughtful gaze, then he shifted to look at Donghyuck with easeful tension on his face. “You need to cut it out. This is not turning into the cafeteria again.”
“The cafeteria?” You tilted your head.
“Again–if we tell you, we’d be wrong,” Jaemin said.
Jaemin was no help at all. He might as well have not said anything if he had no plans to give you a direct answer. You grimaced to yourself. For a boy whose reputation revolved around being good-looking and charming, he was surprisingly not charming at all. Granted, you only knew him so well; your interactions with him have all been the textbook definition of how people act around mutual friends they met for the first time—awkward, barely there, and brief sentences.
Seeing your dissatisfied, monotonous glare, Jaemin sniffed with a permanently awkward smile and gestured with his chin toward the note on the table. He crossed his arms first, then reached a hand out and made a beckoning motion. “Let me see the paper.”
You frowned but responded wordlessly by handing him the paper. Both you and Jeno watched as Jaemin’s eyes leisurely scanned the material. Donghyuck decided to take the time to give himself a breather because he wasn’t sure why he did what he did just then. He counted every inhale and exhale, and after every deep breath, he promptly forgot it. Shifting his eyes, he looked to your turned side and pursed his lips with hallow pain.
Every crevice of your fingers clumsily spun the pen in your hand. You weren’t paying any attention to it but Donghyuck was; there was nothing to the way you absentmindedly interacted with the objects around you, but Donghyuck thought there was everything in it. He could watch you do anything and realize everything there is to know. For now, he just knew he wanted to hold your hand.
“I think I know what this is,” Jaemin hummed as he sat up straight. His tone had no hint of sarcasm, meaning he looked through the note you wrote and had an inkling of something he learned in this institution. He scooted his chair closer to Jeno and the table.
As Jaemin reached out to pull the opened textbook toward him, Jeno gestured ridiculously to display his utter shock that out of everyone in this little group, he was the only person with no idea what his course material was about. It made some sense that Jaemin may have taken the same classes as you because of your adjacent majors, but even Donghyuck knew of it, and he took the class as a relaxing elective.
It was either he has fallen from grace academically, or the statement that doing well in high school does not entail doing well in university was unintentionally proven true by him.
“Let me see….” Jaemin ignored Jeno’s questioning noises, as he often did, and he began flipping the pages. “I took this class during the first year but… I don’t tend to think about what I learned years ago, so I didn’t recognize it right away.”
You accessed the situation by waiting for Jaemin’s final reaction. When you saw that the material was slowly being recalled in his head, you decided that he would take care of Jeno’s questions just fine. If anything, Jaemin was the better candidate to explain the concepts. He definitely has a better grasp on how to help someone clueless navigate a complicated topic. You were always very quick to catch up with class materials, and when you explained it to someone, it felt like you were explaining common sense that didn’t need to be taught.
Knowing that Jaemin has got Jeno covered (even if Jaemin didn’t, if those two needed any help, they would know to go to you anyway), you exhaled in unnecessary relief and leaned back against the chair. Your arms were stretched out so your fingers touched the keyboard of your laptop, and it took you a silent second to stare at the dim screen before you turned to look at Donghyuck, letting your laptop screen go black. You dropped the pen you were spinning.
You didn’t think there was a time when Donghyuck wasn’t already looking back at you when you searched for him, but he wasn’t this time. As if exhausted, his head hung low so his gaze comfortably rested on the gaps between his lap and the floor. His eyes were barely visible from the drops of his hair and how unopened they were. His thumbs twirled around each other on the tabletop, keeping his arms outstretched like yours as an unconscious mirroring of your gestures.
You faintly curled your fingers. This was not the first time you had encountered him down in the dumps, but not once were you sure about what you could do. All you have done is ask him about his feelings, which you always deemed the most effective method to handle someone in emotional turmoil. Donghyuck, though, was not a person whose feelings you handle. There was more going on between your capacity for empathy and him than an ordinary stranger. But beyond your increased heart, you had no real comfort method, so you did the same thing again anyway.
Donghyuck could feel your presence near without seeing you shift your body. Yet, nothing would have prepared him for the proximity of your faces when he finally perked up and responded to your silent approach. The micromovements in his eyes froze in romantic panic, and then it was his body that turned rigid. This was not anticipated at all. Your faces have never been so close.
You stared at him in gentle concern. He noticed the short tremble of your pupils as you looked him over and the blemish of your skin that showed under the library lights. These observations sounded like water-filled ears, calm and quiet, like he fell asleep in the water. His eyes stepped down briefly before they darted up in romantic fear. He memorized the detailed shape of your lips; it was like water-filled ears, bubbles popping and he was drowning.
This felt ridiculous, but it made sense. Donghyuck has been closer to other people before. His lips, hands, and body have all touched other people. However, those had come easy for him the same way he had given himself away. This was different. Perhaps it was because you rarely initiated or continued physical touch, or maybe it was just because he was madly in love with you. But when it came to physical intimacy with you, anything within a sniffing distance was a red treasure cross on a map that he would dig through with his calloused hands.
It made sense for him to feel flabbergasted, to pause in his tracks, to want so desperately to kiss someone for the first time.
“Hey, you.” He smiled meekly.
“Hey,” you returned quietly. “Are you feeling okay?”
The previous burn has long died down. All that remained was a tug-of-war of emotions; something like guilt, something like confusion, something like he shouldn’t have said what he did and not thoroughly understanding why he reacted the way he did. Nobody was going to take you from him. You were never his to begin with, and if you were to leave him, it would be your choice and not another’s.
Donghyuck figured this all came from him loving you too much. Being unreasonably paranoid, taking out his jealousy on Jeno, sneering at Jaemin’s above-average looks—were these not just the consequences of him facing the threat of dividing your attention? That was a threat because he was in love. But the establishment of that reason loses the question of whether his feelings were true, which he needed to tame the shame of yearning for genuine intimacy.
It wasn’t that he thought he didn’t deserve it. Donghyuck knew he deserved affection. He wasn’t ashamed of craving intimacy in terms of worth; he was embarrassed in terms of burden. He felt he was asking for love from too many people at a time, so perhaps it was time he stopped. He hasn’t even received it from his parents yet. How could he ask it from you now?
The corner of his lips tucked upward bitterly, but the smile remained. “I could feel better,” he whispered.
Your brows arched into a hopeless grimace. “I’m sorry,” you replied. “Is there anything that can make you feel better?”
Donghyuck felt his breathing calm because you cared about him. He wondered if you cared about other people differently than you did him. He wondered if he was special to you, and he was riddled with the want to be so. His standing in your life was an enigma so anticipated that the mere fantasization of the perfect answer was enough to soar him over the moon. He imagined you prioritizing him and became undaunted by his sadness and guilt.
But there could be more. He glanced at your lips, felt his heart jump, and immediately looked away. There could always be more with you.
You watched curiously as Donghyuck retreated one arm to his lap. He laid it open with his palm up, and wiggled his fingers as if stretching their bones. Then he peeked at you as he leaned his hand closer to you as an invitation.
“Please hold my hand?” he asked.
Even though you wanted to ask, and there was no real reason why holding hands should make someone feel better despite the hormones and whatnot, you knew Donghyuck thrived off touching. He has shown a consistent track record of initiation, which you have grown decreasingly unwilling to comply with, and you remembered all of them. You memorized every single time your skin touched, through the graze of a finger or a palm to a cheek; you chalked it up to the fact that you had a good memory.
The bottom line was that he wasn’t making a joke when he asked to hold your hand. It would make him feel better.
The gap sitting between you and him was warm and less than arm’s length. You blinked down at him and felt your features soften, not particularly because of affection, but just that Donghyuck was such an ordinary occurrence in your life that there was only calmness when he was around. His intense eyes peered through the curtains of his hair, looking at you, and he was quiet. It reminded you of the distant view of him sleeping on your couch the other morning and the simple note and apartment key you left for him.
On a gentler thought, maybe this was about your affection for him.
You peeked down at his palm and pursed your lips in uncertainty, your fingertips pressing against each other. This was partly about him and mostly about you trying to get over the familiarity of a no-contact life. This was different than when you would link arms with Jeno, and it was different than the last few times you briefly held Donghyuck’s hand. He was just an acquaintance then. Touching him had meant nothing.
Donghyuck took your split moment of hesitation as rejection. His disappointment was quick and unnoticeable; he hoped to touch your hand, but he had no plans to dwell in your established boundary if you weren't comfortable with it. So he smiled like he always did with the most playfully discerning glare and retreated his hand. You jolted out of your trance in mild panic—you hadn’t meant to upset him—but he made no implications of it.
“I’m sorry,” you apologized out of habit and because you hoped Donghyuck would realize you wanted to comfort him.
He furrowed his brows, initially, with confusion. Then he relaxed into what could only be described as defiance. Not of you. Of your need to apologize for acting on your hesitation. But for once, he has no thought of what your apology made of him. Was he demanding and bossy? Was he someone you must overstep your comfort zone to be around, and whether that make a terrible reflection of him? None of those. This was just about you.
“You shouldn’t be,” he said.
You flashed him an unsure smirk. You were still debating if you wanted to let him know the offer was up if he were to ask you again, but the prolonged decision-making of such a trivial request was beginning to feel like an unnecessary drag. He probably didn’t need any comfort anyway; he was the type to say things because his voice could produce words. Sometimes not even a thought goes over his head. The fact that you were dwelling so hard on touching his hand was the reflection of one thing only: if you didn’t like Donghyuck so much, this would have blown over long ago.
Heat rushed to the base of your neck at the thought of liking him. This was the first time you’ve ever developed a genuine, non-shallow attraction to someone, so surely you would be embarrassed and flustered. But Lee Donghyuck, of all people? The polar opposite of yourself? The man voted least likely to be someone you would be in a relationship with in your imaginary game of superlatives?
“Hey, it’s okay,” Donghyuck repeated when he noticed your stoic expression, which he mistook as your reaction to rejecting him. “I’m fine.”
“You can’t possibly be. You just told me you could feel better.” You fidgeted, shifting on your seat and picking at your nails. You spared him the most short-lived glance, realized that you made a mistake of looking at him and got upset with yourself, and furrowed your brows in response to the callous mistake. You cleared your throat to clear your head. “But, uh, I wasn’t thinking about that anyway.”
Donghyuck sat up with a curious raise of his brows. “What were you thinking about?”
You paused. He could not know about your feelings for him; that much was set in stone.
You like Donghyuck. The line between platonic likeness and romantic likeness blurred, and there were many things for you to consider when falling in love with someone. Gathering all the contextual evidence, from you caring so deeply about him to you missing him more than usual, you could tell you liked him. Ruining a decent friendship over uncertain feelings would be considered abnormal behavior for you. It would be illogical, which serves as a hit to your dignity no matter which way, and it could promptly end your relationship with Donghyuck, which would hurt your feelings.
So, what you needed was an excuse.
“You know what I wrote about on the note,” you mentioned as you looked at him. “You said it was materials from an introduction class.”
“That’s because I took the class during freshman year,” he said. He looked away from you suspiciously, resting his chin on his arms and looking forward. But you could tell he avoided eye contact because it was unordinary of him not to be staring at you most of the time. He scoffed ahead, eyes bored. “I did not like it.”
“But you did pay attention,” you speculated.
His action piqued your interest. What could he be hiding about an introduction research class? Did he do terribly on it? He has never shown himself to be the type of student who cares about class performance, though. Perhaps something embarrassing happened? Something so uncomfortable that not even Donghyuck himself could stifle with his natural charisma and inherent shamelessness! Could there be such an event?
“Where did you get that I paid attention?” he muttered with a soft pout on his lips, clearly uninterested in carrying on with this topic. That was also unlike him because he has always been so flexible with conversation topics, and unbeknownst to you, he loved you so much he could talk about anything you were talking about.
You sensed his distaste about the topic, and you debated on continuing. Perhaps only to answer his rhetorical question and nothing more. “I just thought so since you recognized what I wrote about. It’s cool that you still remember the materials, and I didn’t think the knowledge would have stayed that long in your head if you didn’t care about the class.”
You hit the nail on the head unintentionally. Donghyuck gave no signs that you have disturbed a part of his long-standing facade curated with his deep desire to weaponize nonexistent stupidity and vengeful disappointment. Nobody has ever come remotely close to acknowledging him before, mainly because nobody had the decency to see him as someone better than what he currently was. This outrageous persona was the best he could develop into, and nobody ever questioned it.
He chuckled under his breath and gave you a smug smirk. “I guess I am smart.”
You remained quiet, haunting him with your admirable thoughtful eyes even though he practically had the feel of them etched into his brain. Then, abruptly, you asked, “Are you?”
There was no mock in your tone. That was not a sarcastic question. That was not asked out of hilarity or for comedic relief. You were interrogating him about his intelligence. You were the first person to ask him if he could have been more thoughtful and done better if he had been willing to drop his grunge against a particular cause and make an effort for school. You genuinely asked him if he was smart.
He did not expect you to come barging into his comfort zone so suddenly. Usually, it was the other way around, but even then, he was getting better at going at a slower pace. Your question and the way you asked it were abrupt and straightforward. He felt a hearty laugh bubbling in his chest; he expected no less from his beloved! Still, he was baffled and panicked because of its abruptness. He hid this problem for years, so he had no idea what to say.
Standing up, Donghyuck heeded his instinct and left the table. You physically perked up at his silence, and your body followed his direction without moving from your seat. Jeno and Jaemin also confusedly trailed their attention after their friend after having their attention stolen by the screech of the chair. You huffed an apologetic sigh; you were sure you had said something wrong for him to react this way.
“What happened?” Jeno asked after he moved from his seat to where Donghyuck was before he left the library.
“I don’t know.” Your eyes lingered on the glass doors. It took you a hefty amount of effort to peel them away. You furrowed your brows at Jeno. It was the only thing you could do to make it known that you felt agitated because your body was frozen. “I may have accidentally said something wrong and upset him.”
Jaemin pursed his lips but failed to hold back a disbelieving scoff. You could tell off every crevice of Donghyuck’s existence, and that masochistic man will hold onto every word you said with love. The only thing Jaemin could think of that would make Donghyuck upset were you saying you were engaged to anybody that is not him.
When Jeno whipped his head around to glare at him, he maintained eye contact remorselessly. He understood if Jeno cared; part of this fiasco involved your saddened feelings, and you two were best friends. But Jaemin barely knew you and knew that Donghyuck would only let friendship problems brew for so long before he took the initiative to resolve it. Not necessarily because Donghyuck understood that he might be wrong, but because he despised loneliness.
Donghyuck has trouble letting his acquaintances go, let alone someone he is in love with. Jaemin knew that, and the sudden farewell didn’t particularly faze him.
But then he accidentally shared a glance with you. You were staring at him with such questioning concern, which he knew was here because of Donghyuck, that his confidence faltered. Jaemin cleared his throat and crossed his arms defensively; he felt awkward around you, but he also had vicariously cared about you through Jeno and Donghyuck’s constant mentions of you.
“What did you say to him?” Jaemin asked.
“I…” You did not know how to explain it without giving them the full context. They would not understand it if you told them all you did was ask him if he was smart. Even after you gave them context, you could not find the time to explain why you asked it as a genuine question because you were speculating Donghyuck was involved in a self-sabotaging scheme. You could tell because you, too, have done it to yourself. “I don’t want to explain it to you.”
“Then I can’t help you,” Jaemin said.
“I haven’t asked for help,” you responded bluntly.
With the lack of specific acknowledgment thrown his way, Jaemin could tell you uttered it with sincerity. You haven’t asked for his help, and you did not welcome any exertion of effort to gain his support. There was no spite in you. Jeno chuckled at the brief bewilderment that flickered across Jaemin’s face. He reacted similarly when he first met you and became familiar with how your brain operated in social situations. Something about it was reminiscing, maybe because he still felt guilty for what he didn’t do for you during his high school years.
“You should go after him and ask,” Jeno suggested with a shrug. “I think he would like that.”
You pursed your lips with a thoughtful hum, unsure. “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me right now?”
“Yeah, I doubt that!” Jaemin chimed in with a dismissive wave. He smiled at you, funnily like a know-it-all. “He will tell you if he doesn’t want to talk to you, he’s mean like that. But you won’t know if you never try.”
You were leaning toward the suggestion, and now you got the reassurance you wanted to execute it. Giving Jeno and Jaemin a brief nod, you asked them politely to watch over your belongings as you grabbed your phone. Jaemin waited until you were out of earshot to pull his face into a grimace, then quickly broke into a humorous, uncontainable smile as he leaned his torso toward Jeno to get his attention.
Jeno pushed Jaemin away by shoving a palm to his face. “What?” Jeno asked between light chuckles.
“They are exactly the way you and Donghyuck described them to be! I can’t believe it!” Jaemin whispered aggressively. “I thought you two were exaggerating!”
“Why would we lie about that?” Jeno exclaimed incredulously.
“I–“ Jaemin blinked and smacked his lips into silence. “I don’t know. I just assumed people lie about mutual friends all the time.”
Jeno shook his head. He closed your laptop and gathered your belongings closer into a space to make room on the table. He remained on the chair next to yours, which Donghyuck had occupied a moment ago, and he reached over the table to pull his laptop over to his side. He recalled, his mind laying the sequence gently to him, your grief-stricken state when you thought Donghyuck was angry with you. He sighed to himself, his eyes smiling blankly at the computer screen.
He probably should have told you where Donghyuck used to park his car. You could start there.
The campus has the most uncomfortable benches.
There were two types of them: the wooden ones and the metal ones. The wooden ones came with no back, and the metal ones did. Typically, students would pick the metal ones for their settle, but they all had diamond patterns that would leave their mark on your skin if you sat on them for more than ten minutes, which ended up making them the unappealing choice.
Donghyuck didn’t mind it much, though. He rarely ever wears shorts. He would prefer the bench with a back to lean on anytime, which he usually did. But his favorite bench on the whole campus was a wooden one on the side of a walking road, directly facing the tinted glass doors to the student union center. He never went into the building; the school events never intrigued him, and his primary socializing method was more involved with fraternities than student union weeks. But he was consistently there at the bench, observing with an ache in his chest, for the daycare program the university implemented to help students.
The children were always faceless to him—a complete blur before his childhood projections. The ache comes in deliberate gut punches, from seeing the children smile at their parents, their parents returning the same sunny disposition because the children are loved dearly, to him realizing he never remembered the last time he held his father’s hand and saw a loving smile from him. He debated if it ever happened at all. Perhaps his yearning for parental love was so severe that he hallucinated to mend his broken heart.
Donghyuck licked his lower lip when he felt the corners quirk down instinctively.
There was more to this issue than before now that you were in the picture, he recognized. Jeno briefly warned him about it before; his affection for you cannot come from the land of unchosen solitude. But he did not think that about his feelings. He did not think so shallowly of them. In fact, he found himself getting physically sick from the mere thought that he cared about you only for your ability to provide him with what his trauma lacked.
If a mirror image of him stood before himself and said that he didn’t love you, Donghyuck thought he might weep.
“There you are.”
Donghyuck looked away from the student union center to where your voice trailed into his ear. You were standing by the corner of the bench, chest heaving from jogging. It took you a much shorter time to find him than you expected. You were on your way to one of the campus exit near the biggest parking lot the university has and found him sitting alone on a bench. You looked timid, but the lines on your face remained gentle and calm as he knew them.
Adrenaline rushed to his brain. Soft adrenaline that carried more than the truth but also emotions he was never ready to handle. The adrenaline that only pumped in your presence, whether you were physically next to him or you were fragments of his memories that were made so vivid because he never stopped replaying them. His mind traced the lines on your face with the knowledge of how they were mapped out on your face. With soft adrenaline he once again knew he never stopped thinking of you, and he loved you more than everything.
“What are you doing here?” you started after you sat down next to him.
He straightened his back with a heavy exhale. His eyes found their way back to the glass doors. “Waiting for you,” he said casually. “I sensed that you were looking for me.”
You nodded. “Did you also sense what I came here for?”
“Let me guess,” he smirked, “you can’t stand being away from me.”
You thought he would say something like that. The playful answer was so familiar to his personality that a smile slowly touched your face. You held onto it for a while because he wasn’t looking your way, but it surely would have made him unbelievably happy if he saw. Besides that, though, the hilarity of his outrageous answer was in its partial truth.
It took you five minutes into the bus ride to school this morning to realize that you never stopped envisioning him sleeping on your couch. It has been days since that night he took refuge at your home, away from heavy parental misunderstandings. However, the shape of his body covered with a thin blanket still haunts the corner of your eyes and most of your thoughts. The note and apartment key you left him that morning weren’t just out of responsibility but also a hope that they were good enough excuses for him to reach you later.
Lock the door and return my key. The note wrote. Come find me. I want to see you today. The note whispered.
No pieces were left out of this puzzle. It was a matter of willingness, it was a matter of whether you would look at the picture, and you did. You looked at it, analyzed it, and deduced that there was a jitter in your body that could only be suppressed when Donghyuck was around. The deduction scared you. It has been disturbing you into denial, from telling Renjun you didn’t need intimacy to promising yourself you would never let Donghyuck know how you felt.
“Almost, but that’s not the case today,” you clarified.
He chuckled. He picked up on the implication of it not being the situation today, but he thought you were joking. You should be, even though you weren’t the type to throw around humorously snarky remarks. They were usually only sarcastic and lacked humor. Even then, he would typically find a way to tease you about everything you say, anything that remotely indicated the two of you being inseparable. But his dampened mood had exhausted him, so he kept quiet.
“I don’t know what I said that upset you,” you told him. “But I wanted to apologize anyway.”
“I’m not upset. I’m not upset with you,” he said immediately as he turned his head to you. You did this all the time, and he loved that you took your worst assumptions about his feelings with such seriousness. He always loved that aspect of you. He smiled in response to your searching eyes and shrugged his shoulders with certainty. His tone was less urgent with softness when he repeated. “I’m not upset with you, [Name].”
“I thought you were since you just suddenly left me there.” You scrunched your nose in acknowledgment, feeling relieved. “Why did you do that, if you don’t mind answering?”
Donghyuck pursed his lips and avoided eye contact again. His gaze tendered up when he saw the glass doors he had been watching open. A woman walked out with a child in her arms. They appeared to be hugging each other for a bit before, pausing her steps, she slowly let the kid back onto the ground, and they held hands. The child was faceless still, but in the sparkly and jumpy steps, Donghyuck could sense childish joy. The boiling ache of yearning was always there in him—it was not about the question you asked but the answer he had to verbalize.
“Did you know our school has a daycare program?” he asked.
The little girl was chewing with her mouth open. You raised your brows with mild interest at the additional knowledge. You didn’t care about the resources the university provided. You never used them besides the course counseling meetings, but that was only to keep yourself on track for graduation. It was great that the school implemented such resources for their students, but you wouldn’t think less of it even if there were none. You were paying for the classes you take and getting your money’s worth. Whatever your peers were hoping for was none of your concerns.
“That’s useful,” you commented.
“It is. I sit here sometimes to watch the parents fetch their kids after class.” He fiddled with his fingers before smoothing his palms over his knee. He reached his elbows down to his lap to hunch his back over to break from sitting up straight. For a moment, he hung his head low in thoughts. When he looked up at the door again, an awful glare quickly morphed into a bitter glance.
“I pay attention in class. I always do,” he said. “I read everything assigned to the class, and I do everything.” He rolled his eyes to correct himself. “Almost everything.”
There was a reason for everything he had done up until now. The decline of his academic career without a slippery slope in his intellect happened for a reason. His perceived stupidity and laziness, his obnoxious humor and shameless loudness, and his complete disregard and dismissal were all an act of defiance. More than that, it was a desperate call for attention, even when the attention was negative.
There was never praise for the good, only scorn for the bad. The scorn was the only time his father looked at him, and the only time his mother felt human. Donghyuck treasured that scorn so much that he kept at it. He memorized those distasteful brows, that low grit of disappointment, those gentle hands begging him to obey. He gradually learned to hate them all. He relished in that negative attention and knew how to eliminate that fire with fuel.
Guilt would seep into his childish body sometimes. It usually did so after he slammed the door to his room or left the house in aggressive stomps. Sometimes the guilt turns into heart burns if he could overhear his mother's sigh about his doomed future. He questioned himself about his consistency. Besides the obvious answer of yearning for parental attention, there was another more ironic answer: because he just could.
The very foundation of his choosing to throw his life away and frustrate his parents was that he wanted love from his parents. He can mindlessly do that because his parents loved him so much that he would have monetary resources even into adulthood, and perhaps even forever. Donghyuck was loved, and he was not loved. He was loved materialistically, and it wasn’t what he wanted.
That was where the guilt came from. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had everything handed to him on a silver platter. He had everything anyone could ever want. Why couldn’t he forgo a little affection? He should have done that since the beginning.
You kept silent after his voice fell. You disagreed with him. You didn’t think he should skimp out on receiving love because he received tangible things in return. Humanity should not be built on transactional foundations—you averted your eyes from the world and gulped down a harsh breath. Your ideology on life needed a turnover, much like what Jeno subtly implied when you opened up to him about your experience.
“Parenting doesn’t work that way,” you commented in a whisper. “Your parents are not paying you to take this neglect. They are just neglecting you.”
“I suppose.” Donghyuck put on a brittle smile. “I just thought maybe I could have been more of a doormat.”
You almost laughed. You understood him, everything he said. To crave violence from a father and to search for humanity from a mother; to fight back and stand up for yourself, then feeling immense guilt that you did even though it was right and just. You resonated with him through your version of a terrible childhood, and you have insights to offer because your reaction to your experience was different than his.
“Never be a doormat, Donghyuck,” you said. “The only time my dad would touch me was when he hit me. He always thought I ruined everything and hated me for it. For the majority of my adolescence, I just let him do it. I got out, but I think you know I am still stuck there.”
Donghyuck knew. He guessed it after seeing what unfolded at the police station the other day. The memory occasionally haunted him with questions, and he supposed he got the clarification he prayed he wouldn’t hear. It has been happening, and from that particular experience he witnessed, it may still be happening. Less frequently, but with the same violent man and the same frozen reaction from you.
He didn’t think he would have done anything for you, either. An angry father remains an angry father in whatever form they take; your father’s cold eyes mirrored that of his own. He wouldn’t have stopped your father at the police station from slapping you even if the shock did not restrain his movements. Sure, he was angry and thought about physically harassing the drunk man then. Still, he knew well that his fuming anger brought only venomous wit and impulsivity, not strength.
Donghyuck wasn’t strong enough. He has never been. Being verbally gifted has no leverage against a flying fist. But he thought if it ever happened again, he would rather the fist collide with his cheek instead of yours. That was the best he could do—covering for you, taking it for you.
“I didn’t like it when he did that at the police station,” he told you.
“Me neither.” You pursed your lips to hold back a tearful arch. Clearing your throat to clear your head, you added, “I’m sorry you never felt loved by your parents.”
He unconsciously mirrored your facial reaction. “I’m sorry too.”
He slumped into the apology you made on his parents’ behalf. It did not make him feel better about his situation with them, but it stretched his heart bigger than before. You were never going to fix that issue for him. That has always been a hoop he had to jump over by himself. But for a while, as he stood calculatingly before the fire with nervousness and no guts, you hoped your love would be enough to feed him.
Donghyuck would do the same in variation. You and your father were a situation he would never understand, but the best he could do was not to replace the abusive man but to overwhelm him with the good he would do for you. The best he could do was to cover the bruises on your body with his own because the bruises that landed on him would be invisible and fine.
There was a long beat of silence, as there should be, and it was comfortable between you both. The great longing in your chests was left unseen by the both of you facing forward at the student union center. A longing so ambiguous yet determined to stay when you two were in the presence of each other, sitting or standing or talking or laughing or lying together.
A question was brewing in Donghyuck as he watched the student union center. A question that began because he has a vivid imagination and enough hope to rival the mass of the ocean. It wasn’t something he wanted to know just for the sake of knowing something about you, but also something he could think deeply about.
“Do you want kids?” he blurted out and covered the abruptness with a casual tone. “Would you ever have children?”
Your thoughts were realistic. Years of conditioning by society that the only dream was to have a family were not effective on you, not even as a temporary escapism from the horrors of reality. There was no contempt held toward the tiny humans; you didn’t much care for them because they had not disrupted your routine so far. But the responsibility of raising one was not blinded from you, and you knew firsthand what abandoning that responsibility could result in.
“Idealistically, I don’t mind them. But I’m afraid I will not be a fitting parent,” you replied. “I won’t mind babysitting once in a while, though, so I guess I would love to imagine it without actually having it.”
“Me too.” Donghyuck nodded in acknowledgment. He was different. He did want a family. He always has. What started as a spiteful determination to prove a point developed into a sincere goal. He wanted a family. He was merely afraid he would become the kind of parent he would hate. The likelihood of it happening taunted him. “I’ll love them. I just don’t think I will do it right.”
A slow chuckle left your lips as you nudged his feet with yours. He perked up and threw you a playful glare, but seeing you smile could only make him do the same.
“You can always be the fun, rich uncle,” you joked. “I think you will play that role well.”
Donghyuck hummed humorously. He has a vision of being the fun uncle who experiences parenthood vicariously through his best friend’s children. It never occurred to him that parenting could be factored into his future life because he has never been in a relationship serious enough to look out for long-term decisions. He wanted it. He just never thought about it. But that was before. Now that you were here, his vision needed some fast tweaking. His vision gained a brand new hope, a possible chance.
“We should both be dad’s rich friends,” he exclaimed as if he was stating a fact. Straightening his back, he shook his feet to create a mindless rhythm. “I think Jeno will go down that typical family route, I really do. Once he finds someone he wants to spend his life with and they want the same thing as him, it’s straight–“ he snapped his fingers “–to the picket fence dream.”
“Don’t drill rebellious ideas into Jeno’s future children,” you mumbled dismissively.
“No can do!” he exclaimed. “But I’m sure you’ll be around to keep me in check, which reminds me!” He suddenly raised his voice as if his previous exclamation wasn’t loud enough. He sat up straighter and leaned away from you so his view of you would pan out. The smile on his face was mischievous, and it grew when you indulged him with your curious eyes.
“You implied that you can’t stand being away from me.”
He remembered that! How unsurprising! You never meant to think of him as a forgetful person, as he did seem to retain a great deal of things so long as he found them important. You just never quite grasped what he found important and what he didn’t. Supposedly you could add anything people say that could be used as a banter starter to his roster; while you were at it, you should probably add everything about yourself to it too.
Soft defeat lingered because he was right. You did imply that purposefully, not for him to decipher it but because you were honest. You sighed and looked away, but he was observant enough to catch the smirk on your face. His heart paused in anticipation; he almost knew what you would say. He just needed you to say it.
“I did imply that,” you said. “I would tell you to not overthink, but knowing you–”
“I can’t either.”
He returned to his original sitting position, with his elbows on his lap and his head turned to you. He looked as he did in the library when his hair fell to cover his blushing eyes.
The defeat lingered, and it remained soft, soft enough to hold your hand and lead you home to where Donghyuck’s eyes gazed at your face. He was looking at you; he was always looking at you. But something about the atmosphere was different. It used to be a silenced awkwardness, a strong desire to deny him attention because you were afraid and uncertain. This time it was like a flashback of all the time you two have spent with each other, every word you have uttered to each other, and every way you have felt for each other.
Something about that particular everything made it as if you have always known how he felt or that you were meant to find out why he looked at you the way he often did. This time it felt like love, and your guard doors opened to let the light of his face seep into any cracks it could find.
“What?” Your voice was barely audible, but he could read your lips.
“I can’t stand being away from you either,” he confessed. He confessed it because it was true.
Like always, and perhaps forever, you two were unconsciously thinking of the same thing: him loving you despite it all and you loving him unconditionally.
From missing each other’s sleeping form to finding the morning agonizing without each others’ presence, to knowing and wanting to care for each other properly—gradually, you and Donghyuck have fallen so in love with each other that your thoughts paralleled like two sides of the same coin. Your minds and subconscious merged into one to prevent from being away from each other; if you thought like each other, if you two were the same person, you would always be together.
You gulped. You did not notice the tremors in his hands. He thought if you asked him for clarification, he would tell you how he felt.
“You’re smart.” You changed the subject.
Donghyuck blinked slowly with relief and disappointment mixed into one. He knew your perception level would not allow you to miss the connotation of his words, not factoring your potential self-esteem issues as a consequence of your trauma, so if you chose to move away from the conversation, you were not ready for it. That was fine. He would never be upset about what you needed more time for.
But what if that wasn’t the case? What if you decided to pull away because you didn’t want to hurt his feelings with rejection? He sighed—of course not! Lee Donghyuck, how dare he think so wrongly? You would be honest! You always were honest! The worst scenario was indifference, which he preferred heavily over blatant rejection. If you needed time to turn the indifference into something better, then time was what he would give.
“Not smarter than you,” he returned with a smirk.
“That goes without saying.” You inhaled heavily and slumped your shoulders through the exhale. Then you stood up. “Let’s go back.”
“Sure.” He also slowly stood up, feeling his knees crack under the seated pressure.
You two stood facing each other. The sudden distance between your faces warmed up to you both, and the way your eyes stayed with each other was not lost on either of you. Before you could pull away, which you would have done out of instinct, you cleared your throat to get his attention and began fidgeting with your arms. Donghyuck watched you with amusement, but he was confused about your intentions.
Gathering yourself, and refusing to look directly at him, you stepped forward with your arms outstretched to engulf him in a tight embrace. Donghyuck stood stoic, his body frozen over with the weight of your squeezing arms around it. He has never hugged you before. He didn’t even know you were comfortable enough to hug him. But this was a special occasion, wasn’t it? This was the aftermath of a big reveal, of taking another step to see through each other whole.
He could feel his chest cavity by comparing its physical mass to yours that was pressed against his. He was grossly aware of the physicality of his bones and flesh, of the way his heart could really beat against his ribcage like it was trying to squeeze itself outward, of what other components the feeling called joy contained other than its surface. He was grossly aware, all the time, with all of himself, that he was in love with you.
Carefully, with motion as tender as a petal, he circled his arms over your body and pulled you closer to him. He pressed his mouth to your shoulder. It was a kiss hidden in plain sight, a verbal confession muffled with a loving action. The fabric between his lips and your skin sewed with I love you, I love you, I love you.
Patting his back, each gentle strike of your palm was a lovely song. Donghyuck has a more petite frame than Jeno, who was the only person you have embraced after you became repulsed by human contact. His clothing choices were less athletic and more cozy, with oversized jumpers and thick fabrics, which made his embrace grittier and stronger. Hugging him felt restraining like he was grounding you on the spot. But it also felt relieving, the solidity of his body a constant reminder that you were a human being, that you could breathe.
You two embraced. It was an important embrace. It was how you bring home to each other; it was where you bring home to each other.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice heavy with the body squeeze. “I probably should have asked you before doing this.”
“It’s okay,” he replied. He wondered if his presence became more obvious as his lips moved against your shoulder. “You can ask me next time.”
Your chest heaved with your airy chuckles, hammering into him softly. His mind blanked out in peace. Pulling his lips away, he rested his chin on your shoulder. His glossy eyes dissolved with great contentment even though his lips were pressed into a thoughtful line. Donghyuck was thinking about you; he was always thinking about you. He was thinking about this moment and how desperately he wanted to maintain it. He recalled the agonizing hours after waking up in his room and realizing that the walls were not the ones surrounding your apartment. He wanted to be with you for the remainder of the day if you would have him.
“Are you free later tonight?” he asked, with an element of plea in his voice. “Can we have dinner together?”
“Yeah, let’s,” you replied. “Let’s find someplace near.”
“Okay.” Whatever you want. Wherever you want. He pressed his mouth to your shoulder again and squeezed you to normalize the subtle kiss. It said the same thing: I love you, I love you, I love you.
Donghyuck was surprised you had no insight regarding what to do if you ever got pulled over. You were not surprised that he’s got a few tricks up his sleeves when getting out of being accused of reckless driving. Either way, Donghyuck did not appreciate you staring him down from the passenger seat.
After heading back to the library, you caught up with your school work while Donghyuck sat with Jeno to, surprisingly, refresh him on the course material with patience. You got to see firsthand that Donghyuck did retain the information he learned in his classes because he had enough knowledge to debate with you. Both Jeno and Jaemin were shocked that Donghyuck knew so much, and you said nothing when he brushed the matter off with a playful insult thrown toward the duo.
When you two made it to his car, Donghyuck realized he had forgotten his wallet at home. Immediately ignoring the playfully suggestive glint Jeno flashed you as you four went your separate ways by the library entrance, you furrowed your brows judgementally as you watched him pat his body down. You could not recall a single time when you forgot to take your wallet with you outside, and you planned to never forget something so valuable either. It was baffling that he went a whole day without finding out, but not surprising. You always had to use your own money. He probably did not.
Donghyuck made a huge fuss when you offered to pay for his dinner tonight. It was mainly because it was against his unnecessary principle of being the financial provider amongst his peers. That principle was especially prominent when it came to you for no reason other than that he always wanted you to eat well. He loved that he could provide you something as essential as a warm meal, even though he knew you hated owing him money. But that was not entirely the case today. With his wallet forgotten in his bedroom, he also forgot his driver’s license. He would have to go home and get it. Hence, you staring him down from the passenger seat.
He wasn’t able to fathom the sudden attention. Coming from a person who feeds off the spotlight shining on him, the heating of his neck and ears was unpredictable and alarming. One of his hands gripped the steering wheel. The other soon followed when he realized there was nothing much he could fidget with in the car—the rear mirror, the volume dial, the air-conditioner control knob, and his phone that had no new messages. Unable to turn to look at you, and perhaps he was hesitant to catch your gaze, he realized he wasn’t very used to you staring at him.
“I know I’m very charming but do you have to stare at me like that?” he joked, a habitual smirk forming on his lips. “I’d much rather you do this under the circumstance of me being able to stare back.”
“You should have brought your license with you,” you said.
“What are you worried about? Getting pulled over is a rare occasion, I promise you!” he said, then furrowed his brows and glanced your way briefly. He thought you might know a thing or two about road issues, some numerical average regarding the laws of the road. For some reason, you coined it the end of the world to drive without a license. “As long as I don’t run into any accident or break the law, nothing will happen, so stop looking at me! You’re making me nervous!”
You widened your eyes as you leaned toward him. “Because you’re scared you’d get in an accident?”
“No.”
His defeated sigh shifted seamlessly into a low chuckle. After pressing the brake at the red light, he leaned against the driver’s seat and rubbed his eyes. The cold air blew at his face, seemingly cooling him off from all aspects of this car ride, from having your attention entirely on him to him pinpointing where the uneasiness came from. It was so unfamiliar to him, and he welcomed it. Donghyuck finally turned to look at you, leveling your stare and taking the quickest glimpse downward at your lips. His heart ached like his leg got caught in an obstacle race; he loved this unfamiliarity you forced upon him.
“We’re not gonna get in an accident, I promise,” he said. It came out like a lighthearted whine.
“Then what are you nervous about?”
“I’m nervous because I like you, and you’re staring at me.”
He was testing the waters. Not with how much he could joke around with you, but how much he could get away with telling the truth. As of now, one thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to be with you, to date you, to pursue a romantic relationship with you, to be your boyfriend—however one could frame it. He wasn’t afraid of dropping hints here and there to make that point clear. If anything, what he said was a direct confession. But he was worried that you would eventually respond to him. Or, at least, he was afraid you would reject him, so he was testing how far he could go without getting you on the same page.
How much love could he verbally devote to you (because he absolutely has to!) before you crumble it all up and throw it back at him? He needed to know where the limitations were!
The corner of your eye twitched in dismay while your face remained rigidly neutral. That response was typical of him. You could count on one hand, or two, the times he acted as if you were in a committed relationship. But what used to be easy-to-ignore mischief has now become an irritable afterthought.
Donghyuck saying he likes you? Your mind told you that couldn’t be right, and your heart agreed. Not because he has an unapproachable status. He has his strengths and flaws, which you noticed and memorized very well. His generosity, his charisma, his ability to fit in everywhere, and his undivided attention; his dishonesty, his unreadable demeanor, his spontaneity, and his stubbornness—you’ve been exposed to all of them, and they were endurable traits.
Romance just wasn’t something you’ve ever been in touch with. You were sure Donghyuck’s life hadn’t been the same. There wasn’t anything separating you from him besides that you two were worlds apart. The thought of that impossibility demanded frustration, an emotion you rarely responded to. You would do what you usually did: ignore it.
Donghyuck peeked at you from the corner of his eye when he was attacked with silence. The defeated expression on your face was familiar, one he didn’t mind directed toward him as long as it was you. But he couldn’t read it. He didn’t understand what it meant; if you were merely annoyed at his response or understood what he wanted to convey and were having a hard time preparing a negative response. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
The rest of the car ride was filled forcefully with silence. Donghyuck made minor quips about things he saw outside the driver’s window—people sitting outside a coffee shop, a restaurant with a terrible logo, and a child running ahead of their parents. You would barely respond to him, not because your mind was occupied with anything in particular, just that you had nothing to contribute to his comments or barely caught sight of what he was talking about.
Your sealed lips were anxiety-inducing. He kept overthinking if he’d said something wrong, but what did he say? He told you he liked you. Even if you took it as a joke, was it something to be this upset about? Did he sound weird when he made the joke? He sounded strange, didn’t he? Was he being condescending again? He swore he didn’t do it on purpose. He would pay a million dollars to retrace his vocal cords or have someone slap some senses into him just so you never feel judged by him ever again.
“Donghyuck–red light!”
The car screeched to a jolting stop. His shoulder relaxed through an annoyed exhale, and he propped his elbow by the window pane. Leaning his cheek against his cheek, his fingers began picking at his bottom lip, and his thousand-yard stare burnt holes ahead of him. He saw the red light. But you made him panic when you suddenly reminded him of it, so likely he wasn’t paying that much attention anyway.
“What was that about?” you asked, looking at him wide-eyed.
“I got distracted,” he replied. “I was thinking about something.”
Even as he responded, he was thinking. You could tell he wasn’t directly speaking to you. “What are you thinking about?”
“Hmm? Oh, just–“ he gathered his composure and eliminated all that he overthought–“did you figure out where we’re gonna have dinner?”
You fiddled with your thumbs. “I’m thinking somewhere near.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “I liked the ramen shop you brought me to last time.”
“I like it there, too.” A faint chuckle left your lips before you looked from your lap to him. “We can go there again if you want.”
“I don’t mind, but what were you thinking of?” Donghyuck asked. “It’s always nice to try something new.”
“Oh, I wasn’t really–“ you shrunken into your seat, shaking your head–“I haven’t thought of anywhere I wanted to eat. It’s good if we just settle with something.”
The tension was imploding Donghyuck. He thought he may be overthinking this, that the awkwardness was a one-sided experience. But you two were talking as if walking on eggshells. Short sentences, pausing between breaths, and making yourselves small. Was it really because he told you he liked you? Maybe his tone wasn’t the problem. Maybe his jokester personality wasn’t the issue. Perhaps he was right—he sounded too serious, and you bought it, and now it’s awkward.
He was afraid of that. An irritable sigh left his chest, a direct scold for himself. He loved being fearful of a certain conclusion and acting in ways to achieve that. He was afraid you’d understand his confession and reject him, yet he couldn’t keep quiet about liking you. Any reactions or awkward tensions were his fault!
“If I said something weird, I’m sorry,” he blurted. He felt his hand shake against the steering wheel. He thought he should stop talking. He set his priorities, and he was ruining them. “I told you I liked you, I was just–I wasn’t joking, I really do like you, but–“
“Donghyuck.”
He caught a glimpse of you and raged that he was obligated to pay attention to the road once he realized you were laughing. It wasn’t boisterous or outstanding. It wasn’t to a point where you must double over and slap someone to compensate for the hilarious pain in your stomach. You were just laughing at him, shoulders shimmering in paused intervals to indicate you trying to hold back a hearty sound. Your lips quirked down because you found him ridiculous like you always did.
“I was looking away because you said it makes you nervous,” you said. “Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m not overthinking it! I’m just–“ he pouted in frustration–“okay, but can you look at me in moderation anyway? I like being looked at!”
His heart jumped with musings—feathery light, fresh breath musings when you scoffed out a decent chuckle. He has only heard it a few times, and as he suspected, he has never forgotten how you sounded when you were happy.
Still, he would if there was a way to record every instance of your laughter. Not only the melodic noise itself but the occasion it happened, what he did or said, where you two were, how you looked when you were laughing, how he felt hearing it. He wanted to jot down everything, the moments when you were dearly loved by him, in the same way you loved noting down everything.
“You are putting a lot of pressure on me,” you said. “When exactly do you want me to look at you? Should I do it during each stop? That way, we would look at each other because you can turn your head, too.”
“I like that idea,” he agreed with a curt nod. When the car came before a red light again, this time much softer, he smirked lazily and did a wide turn toward the passenger’s seat. “Have you figured out where we’re gonna eat yet?”
“I’m still thinking somewhere near,” you replied. “What do you want for dinner?”
He hasn’t thought about it. He just wanted to spend time with you. “Anything is good.”
One can imagine how exhausting it must be to be left with a broad range of options. You would’ve finally understood the feeling of getting no opinion in return, but you never had parents who asked you for your meal preferences, so you only got the responsibility to make a decision and no adult awakening.
You never really had a wide range of options. Regarding food, you were neither a tester nor a picky eater. You were just dull. There were around three to five restaurants, not including well-known fast food chains, on your roster to choose from, not because you didn’t want to try new things but because you never thought it was an obligation, and trying out new food didn’t bring you the necessary joy. You have taken Donghyuck to two out of the small list of places you knew. You supposed you could introduce him to the rest of them.
“We’re going to another food court then,” you said. “It’s inside a supermarket, so I’m gonna do some grocery shopping after.”
“Oh, I’ll join!” he exclaimed. “I love grocery shopping!”
Donghyuck has never bought groceries before, but he wanted domesticity with you. He could imagine it already—he would push the shopping cart, follow you around, and make mental notes of everything you spend time debating if you should get. You two would chat about anything. He would gasp at the prices of a bag of frozen grilled chicken, and you would chuckle to tell him it’s always been like this. You two would chat about nothing in line for the register. If you lived together, he would argue with you over who should pay the bill because you would never let him pay for everything.
Maybe one day, you two will have a joint bank account, and using each other’s money would be expected. Maybe one day, you two would grab snacks from the same kitchen cabinet and groggily take one another’s designated mug for a cup of cold water you would finish for each other. Maybe one day, you would take his share of laundry to fill up the washing machine (he buys the washing machine), and he would hang all your clothes to dry in fear of accidentally shrinking them.
Donghyuck stole a glance at you. “Nothing to say about me liking grocery shopping?”
“It’s just grocery shopping.”
Maybe one day, it’ll just be another grocery run with you.
Extra pairs of shoes were laid carefully by the door of his house, and they made Donghyuck hesitate to announce his return home.
Those shoes could only mean two things. It has only meant two things: his relatives came to visit, or his parents brought (the) company home.
Judging by the types of shoes—one pair of low-heeled loafers and a pair of black dress shoes—he could confidently narrow the options down to the latter. His cousins wore something casual, and his aunts and uncles always changed into something less professional before visiting for a family dinner. Sitting inside were his parents’ work friends, or as he liked to call it: a goddamn trap.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Donghyuck debated your offer to treat him to a meal tonight. His wallet was in his room, and he couldn’t sneak quietly enough for four adults to not notice him. He wasn’t the size of a toddler anymore. The only way to get upstairs was to be seen by his parents and their friends, and while being seen by his parents only meant a short, dismissing argument, being seen by their friends meant a quick, dismissing argument where he did not win.
He could see it already. They would catch him off-guard, introduce him to their friends, then persist for him to join them for dinner. It would be awkward if he refused more than three times without a valid reason.
His eyes snapped open.
Except there was a valid reason! You were waiting in his car for him to get his wallet! It would be even more awkward if his parents allowed his friend to stay in a car outside for an hour!
“Oh, [Name], you saved my life,” he whispered as he kicked his shoes off.
The living room was well-lit despite being empty, and branching off to the side was the dining room, hidden behind an arch doorway the size of double doors. Sounds of laughter began to trail into his ears the closer he approached the stairs leading up.
Shoving his hands in his pocket, he lowered his head and narrowed his shoulders, picking up his pace as he attempted to scurry past the arch doorway. Regardless of its known impossibility, he prayed that he could walk past the dining room without being noticed. Being held back for a forced chit-chat was far from his priority.
“Oh, Donghyuck! You’re back home!”
No such luck! He knew better than to wish for it.
Stopping in his tracks upon being called, his steps stuttered as he turned to face the dining room and found his mother up from her chair. He recognized the look of anticipation on her face. At the same time, his father continued to eat while the guests were facing elsewhere. Tearing his eyes closer to himself, he finally noticed two unfamiliar faces watching him in fascination. He signed inwardly; more colleagues (or friends, if his parents even have any) he has never met and would be prompted into having a meal with. An escape was needed as soon as possible.
Donghyuck flashed a curt smile at everyone and bowed moderately. “Hello, everyone.”
“You’re here at just the right time,” his mother cooed as she dusted her clothes and left her seat.
He has been through this before. The moment she was within arm’s reach, she would attach herself to him and, inch by inch, pull him toward the dining table where they’ve expectantly laid out a set of utensils for his empty seat. She wouldn’t talk to him during, only about him to the guests they’ve invited over.
When she got him standing by the dining table, she would look at him and prompt him to greet her colleagues. When an interaction was established, refusing an invitation to have dinner and chat together would be awkward. He wasn’t at the age where adults could brush off his unwillingness as typical teenage behavior; his refusal meant bad news.
He must stop this before she can pull him near the food.
“Um, actually, Mom–“ he carefully cut her off–“I only came back to grab my wallet. My friend is waiting outside. We were planning to have dinner together.”
“Oh. That’s…” Her voice trailed off.
“I didn’t know we have guests over today,” he added. “I wouldn’t have made plans if I knew.”
“Is it the friend you told us about the other day?”
Donghyuck perked up at his father’s voice, his brows furrowing. It was a calculative question. He thought about lying, but if he made known that it was anyone else in his friend group that he was hanging out with, his parents wouldn’t hesitate to begin talking down on them as a means to get their own friends to politely agree that he should abandon his friends and stay home instead. It was pressure at its finest; it was pressure that works.
“Yes,” he replied.
“You two are working on a final project together, correct?”
“Where are you going with–“ He raised his voice to become audible. “Yeah, we are.”
“You should invite them for dinner with us. I would love to meet them,” his father said offhandedly.
He smirked incredulously. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’ve never met you guys before.”
“You can introduce all of us today. Inviting them wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Turning to his colleagues, his father laughed. “You should have heard my son the other day. He spoke so highly of them.”
Donghyuck’s eyes squinted in disdain at his father’s feigning nonchalance.
He wouldn’t put it past himself to talk about your qualities to others. He wouldn’t put it past himself to talk about you at any chance. But he knew his father was referring to their most recent argument before he jumped at every opportunity to avoid bumping into his parents around the home. He knew for a fact that he barely talked about you then.
His father was exaggerating to raise the guests’ expectations of your image, to put pressure on him so he couldn’t just pretend he gave you an invitation and decline it for you.
“You should invite them in. I, too, wonder what kind of person they are,” his mother urged, cooed even. “Go on. I’ll grab a plate for them.”
He shut his mouth when she left him to head for the kitchen. Words were left stranded in his throat, words of protest and antagonism, words to keep you from being roped into a mess he could have dealt with on his own.
But, as he curtly licked his dry lower lip, he realized he had never seen his mother so excited. Her lady-like smile, the feathery flow in her steps, her gentle humming as she opened the glass cabinets for spoons and chopsticks. It was all because there was a slim chance that her son would finally do as she asked and invite a friend they wanted to meet (and scrutinize) for dinner.
He wondered, faintly, if his compliance would garner the same expression from his father.
“My parents want me to invite you over for dinner.” His voice almost got drowned by the slamming shut of his car door. As he fiddled with his thumbs, he realized how much this sounded like he was discreetly inviting you over to meet his parent instead.
Your hand barely has the time to leave the back of your phone after you put it down. Turning your head to look at his distraught expression, which involved him staring ahead into space, you commented, “All of a sudden?”
“They have two colleagues over and want me to sit with them. They do this all the time,” he muttered habitually. “I told them you were waiting in the car outside, and my dad–“ one corner of his lips quirked upward–“told me to invite you.”
You believed him, not that there was any reason for you not to. It was a familiar scenario. You remembered you’d had to get him out of an identical situation when you first met. Except he was backed to an even smaller corner this time by making his presence and free time known to everyone in the dining room.
The reason behind his distaste was unclear to you. Frankly, you would jump at any chance to network for a better future. But this wasn’t about you. Donghyuck’s feelings trumped your need to understand them.
You thought about advising him to follow his heart. If he didn’t want to be there at the dining table, he shouldn’t be. But you figured their family dynamic was more complicated than a simple rebellious solution, especially when outsiders were involved.
Donghyuck was stubborn and defiant but far from stupid and destructive. There were social lines he wouldn’t cross for the sake of his family, much like every child taught to shoulder their parents’ image on their back. Telling him to do whatever he wants meant nothing.
“What are you thinking?” you asked. “I don’t mind joining. It’s free dinner for me.”
“I thought you hate free dinner.”
“It’s not the same when an adult treats me to it.”
He somewhat dramatically turned to you with a questioning pout. “I’m an adult.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m trying to accept your father’s invitation.”
He inhaled deeply and breathed out through a deep, throaty groan of annoyance. His shoulders heaved in the moment, almost as if he was trying to shake out all his woes. He shook his head and lowered it, one eye squinting as his lips grimaced. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want you to get involved in all of this.”
“That’s not up to you,” you said.
“No, I’m serious. My dad is picky about my friends.” He waved his hands as his voice grew increasingly desperate. “You can ask Jeno and everyone. They all met him once and wanted nothing to do with him after. He’s a menace to them and to me! You’re going to lose your appetite sitting there getting interrogated, and you’re not going to have time to put food in your mouth, and I’m gonna be upset if you have a terrible time, and he’s gonna get annoying when I get upset–“
“Hyuck.”
“Hmm?” His eyes rolled above your head to gaze into his reflection at the window behind, and he looked down at you. He didn’t hallucinate the nickname, did he? “I’m sorry, what did you just call me?”
You blinked in the face of his anticipation, waiting for you to repeat the endearing nickname you knew would surely get his attention (and it did!). With a polite smile, you ignored his question and continued the conversation. “Do you want to be there?”
“No, not really,” he replied quickly before leaning closer to the passenger seat. His forearm was set with a thud on the armrest. “Hey, what did you just call me?”
“Are you confident that you can ditch your parents?”
“No, not really,” he said. “Seriously, what did you just call me?”
“By your name.” You put your hand over his face and pushed him away from your shoulder. “We can have dinner at yours.”
Heaving a sigh, he backed away and ran a hand through his hair. The previous distress returned at the immediate mention of dinner. “I don’t know, [Name]. I wasn’t exaggerating when I ranted about my dad just now.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had plenty of experiences with terrible fathers,” you said with a shrug. “What matters is what you want. Do you want me to be there with you?”
Donghyuck’s thumbs found each other the way they did when he entered the car in a haze, but he thought he may possibly be even more distraught than before. Your joke about fathers blew over his head, and even his want to satisfy his parents’ wishes was buried under your simple question.
He always wanted you around but never fathomed your presence in his family’s conflict. He never imagined you in that hell. You didn’t belong there; you were his safe place. Yet, warmth spread through him like a biological blush, blood vessels bursting beneath his skin offered him a portion of peace in the treacherous place that was the dining room.
You asked if he wanted you there as if you would prioritize him if he wanted you to.
Meekly, he nodded. “Yeah. I’d want that a lot.”
“Okay,” you hummed in acknowledgment and nodded, “let’s go in.”
“Are you sure? Don’t you have other things to do?”
“I always have other things to do, but I can do them later,” you said. “I’m staying with you.”
His uncertainty surprised even himself. Usually, he would jump at the chance to take your offer and run with it, making lighthearted jokes about you being his knight in shining armor, the love of his life. He pursed his lips. Typically, you weren’t here when he was dealing with parental issues. He was stunned into speechlessness because this mattered a lot, and somehow, anything important to him was a hindrance.
Still, the heat under his skin boiled.
You would prioritize him if he wanted you to. You prioritized him when he asked you to.
“You told me not to be a doormat,” he mumbled abruptly. “I’m usually not. I am good at not listening to them. But I chicken out the second something may actually affect my parents.”
You understood him. It was the same pattern with you and your alcoholic father, where as much as you remind yourself it was the last time you get called around to suffer the consequences of his actions, you could never stop bolting at his beck and call.
Always apologizing on his behalf, begging others for forgiveness, and reprimanding yourself in public to garner sympathy while waiting for some miracle that your loving father would return.
“You never quite get out of it,” you said.
Donghyuck blinked, softened his lids, and stared ahead in silence because he couldn’t remember his mother’s birthday, nor had he ever celebrated it. He was always told to leave his handmade birthday cards on the living room table, and he would find them unopened on the same spot the following day because his mother missed them on her way upstairs.
It often left him bitter, but at least nobody in the family ever got a birthday gift in time, and nobody knew anyone’s hobbies and allergies.
He sniffed because it was cold.
“It would be nice to sing my mom a happy birthday,” he whispered.
You pursed your lips as you peered over at him. He was absorbed in his own world. You stared at him. “It would.”
You had a sneaking suspicion that Donghyuck lived comfortably when he drove on an upward trail to his home, and your suspicion was confirmed when a three-story home came into view behind the surrounding leaves. There was an uncontrollable twitch at the corner of your eye once the view was registered and understood, and it was officially settled that he was a trust fund kid.
For the first time, you pulled a wholehearted grimace.
“Your eye is twitching,” Donghyuck commented. “I’ve never seen you make that face before.”
“It came on instinct,” you said as you smoothed your initial shock. “I’m good at controlling my expressions. This is just very surprising. Your house, I mean.”
“What’s wrong with my house?”
“Nothing, which is the issue,” you said. “I knew you were a trust fund kid. I just didn’t expect your funds to be of–“ you hastily threw a bitter glance up at his house–“this caliber.”
“Oh, well,” he chuckled at your revelation. The wealth was regular to him, so there wasn’t much he could add to your discovery that wouldn’t make him sound blatantly spoiled and obnoxious. “Did me having a driver not give it away?”
As you followed him up the trail to the front door, you watched the road below your feet. Even the ground felt cleaner and specifically designed now that you've seen his home's dramatic architecture.
You thought about his question, and you’ve got to admit that was carelessness on your part. You have met different variations of wealthy people before. Rich tourists who turn your part-time work location into the spectacle it wasn’t, celebrities adorned with branded clothing and holding endorsed water bottles, and well-off classmates with all the new gadgets. But never one like Donghyuck.
You’ve stepped into a brand new territory, one you weren’t fit to be in.
“Are you old money?”
He choked on his spit when he opened his mouth to speak. Pulling a hand out of his pocket, he placed it on your shoulder to use you as leverage to lean his weight on. He was laughing. Apparently, your question was hilarious. You frowned at the connotation but didn't protest his reaction. As you established with yourself merely a second ago, you entered uncharted financial territory. You wouldn't know what's funny to these people.
“I’m not old money,” he clarified between hiccups of laughter. “My parents are still working for someone. They are both working in high, irreplaceable positions at the company. Adding both of their salaries together, I guess we get this.” He pointed toward his house and then let his arm fall. “Both of my parents are the first in their families to reach this point financially. They really worked like bloodsucking hounds to get here.”
“I’m surprised you aren’t off somewhere more prestigious,” you mentioned.
“I spent the majority of my academic life flunking on purpose. No prestigious school will take me, and my parents refuse to buy me a spot,” he scoffed. “I made sure I could get in somewhere and called it a day.”
He noticed you pursing your lips in silence, and he knew you well enough to understand your bitterness in that his ‘call it a day’ university was your only option due to your financial situation. There was nothing he could say to make your wasted potential untrue, so he wouldn’t try to alleviate that burden. He’ll do what he did best: being overly affectionate and unbelievable.
“I’m glad I’m studying here now, though.” He walked ahead of you and turned around, shoving his hands in his pockets as he began walking backward slowly. You pushed the glasses up your nose as your bitter expression was replaced with dull expectation. You already knew what he planned to say. “I wouldn’t have met you if I went to any other school, and that would just make my heart so, so sad!”
You shoved his shoulder with your hand when you were within reach as a signal to keep walking. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”
“You won’t turn back now because you already promised me you’d stay,” he sang with a feathery light voice, and he was right. You wouldn’t go back on your words. It wasn’t something you’d do.
Once you reached the front door, his relaxed grin turned stoic and dull. He knocked on the door several times before opening it, releasing the living room light to the dark outdoors. You dropped your shoes on the side, leaving only your socks, and Donghyuck conveniently handed you a pair of guest slippers when he was returning his outside shoes to his place in the shoe cabinet. You slipped into them; they were nothing like the plastic ones at home.
His home was magnificent, which you expected nothing less of after seeing what the exterior looked like. The warm light bubbled from the ceiling, a subtle insult to your old home's white, prison-like bulbs. Decorations littered strategically across the place; in a way, you could tell a mother did it.
Eyes trailing across each corner, you ignored the fact that you were searching for signs of a younger Donghyuck from where you stood, and your gaze landed on the stairs. Your smile was barely visible when you imagined him running up and down as a child, a reflection of the troublemaker today.
It wasn’t lost on you how you ended up thinking about him anyway.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Hm?” You looked toward the boy of your thoughts. He didn’t disappear.
“You’re gone for a second,” Donghyuck smirked. “What were you thinking about?”
“Did you ever run up and down these stairs?” you asked after a moment’s pause, pointing toward the stairwell.
He looked in the direction you were pointing and chuckled, memories of his childhood flooding into his head. Shifting his weight, he sucked in a short breath and hummed in agreement. “Yeah, but I only did it so my nanny would have to chase me. I stopped after I rolled off once and busted the shit out of my knees, though.”
“That tracks.” You nodded, peeking at him, feigning sorrow. He smiled when he saw you do. “Are you ready?”
“To deal with my parents? Never,” he replied as he began leading you to the dining room. “A heads up: they will embarrass me. Please don’t let that deter you from choosing me as your future boyfriend.”
You scoffed in disbelief and muttered, “I will try my best.”
As he mentioned, there was already a table of food and four people seated in the room. All eyes traveled to you when you both entered the room. The stoic man you assumed to be the Satan Donghyuck kept speaking of raised his brow at your presence, pleasantly surprised by your existence. You pursed your lips into a thin line and lowered your head to bow as a greeting when Donghyuck introduced you to everyone.
“Oh! How wonderful for you to join us, [Name]! Come sit!”
You moved toward the spot the woman gestured at—his mother, she has to be. Guests wouldn’t usually be the ones to assign the seating chart, let alone lead the other guests into a particular seat. Donghyuck slumped beside you and cleared his throat, asking for your attention. You peeked at him out of the corner of your eye and smiled politely to let him know all was well so far. He mirrored the smile; he was signaling to make fun of his parents, but getting your green light was good, too.
“We sure have many guests over today,” Donghyuck’s father mused blandly. He turned to his colleagues. “I do apologize if I get distracted. It has been a while since my son brought home someone new.”
Their laughter was polite at best. You didn’t think Mrs.Lee chit-chatted to his colleagues about his relationship with his son, unlike how Donghyuck could shit-talk his father to his peers as much as he wanted.
Besides, Donghyuck mentioned briefly that everything his family did in front of others was a facade. It was unlikely Mrs.Lee’s colleague knew of the family’s complicated dynamics, but the uneasiness in the air would not wash away. They knew how to read the room, and their laughter told you they thought better than to indulge.
You, on the other hand, weren’t the type to overstep in general. But you also weren’t the type to send a forced smile.
“What do you study, [Name]?”
You put down the glass of water and replied, “I’m currently undeclared.”
“Undeclared,” Mrs.Lee repeated as if you didn’t hear your answer. “You are Donghyuck’s age, correct?”
Donghyuck sighed heavily as his hands slightly lost grip on the utensils. “Dad–“
“Yes.” You nodded, cutting him off.
“You are a junior, then?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Right,” Mrs.Lee squinted his eyes as he accessed you with intent. “What’s the reason? Do you lack passion, or have you just never thought clearly about college?”
“Oh my god, dad!”
Donghyuck dropped the utensils on the table as he rolled his eyes away from the sight of faces. His hands dropped to his side, which you noticed in your peripheral vision.
You didn’t think his father said anything outrageous. You thought it was efficient that the conversation was curt and straightforward, filled with questions best answered without having to take a detour and tell a useless life story. But Donghyuck’s opinion was skewed to dislike everything that man does, and you understood his agitation and rising discomfort.
“I have several choices I want to pursue,” you began.
Ever since high school, you’ve known that specific careers have less fortunate outcomes than others, no matter the talent and skills possessed by the person pursuing it. It was a breeze to make peace with that because you lacked any artistic or athletic hobbies back then. The abusive home life you lived in succumbed you into obsessive planning for the future, with escape as your single motivator.
That was how you created a long list of high-income career paths. Then, you created a second list of your natural and potential capabilities, which has a subcategory on how likely you would obtain those potential skill sets.
Once you’ve got a list of your skills, the career list was further narrowed based on categorized career fields, such as doctors, teachers (not on the list), and therapists (some are on the list). After, you shorten the career list even more by checking off career paths at odds with your skills list. Ultimately, you were left with a few choices in different fields.
“Do you still have the list?” Donghyuck whispered after leaning his face to your side.
“Which out of the options have you decided on?”
“As aforementioned, I am undeclared.” You ignored Donghyuck to answer his father. “That should be enough indication that I haven’t settled.”
“Then what is the list for?” Mrs.Lee asked. “It’s a waste of time.”
“Wrong,” you said. “It narrowed my options enough for me to figure out what to do during my school years.”
With a set list of options, you could better chat with your academic counselor and cultivate a detailed three-year plan, saving the fourth year as the time to finally pick a major and graduate with it.
With the help of the list, you, once again, listed out all the classes required to graduate with the different degrees, then you meticulously cross-checked the ones in identical sections and separated those that were independent of the major.
Having all of it written down on a map, it was easy to make sure by the end of the year, you could graduate with whichever degree you picked by taking the remaining classes necessary.
“That’s not possible,” Mrs.Lee said.
“Wrong again. Perhaps the system was different back in the day. If you’ve never enrolled in a university today, you wouldn’t know what’s possible or not,” you said. You tilted your head and raised your fork semi into the air to be visible to everyone. “I would like to take a bite of my meal before it gets cold.”
Donghyuck lowered his head and pursed his lips to keep the water from spilling through an uncontrolled snort. He covered the awkward noise by pretending the liquid went down the wrong pipe while his father’s guests hurried to switch the attention from you to themselves.
You turned to him as you put your utensils down. You always thought drinking more water to combat choking on it was counterintuitive, so you knocked on his back instead. He blindly shot his hand out to claw at your arm, missing you multiple times before finding a grip on your wrist.
He perked up with tearful eyes, a humorous result. Your expression was bland and, frankly, genuine. Your witty remarks were unplanned with no snarky intent. His father must have noticed it too, as your words garnered no response, which made it all the more funny to Donghyuck. To think he walked into the dining room filled with worry for your mental well-being!
He shook his head and let go of you, keeping his shoulders’ chuckles to a minimum.
“What?” you asked. “We’re just talking.”
“I know,” he replied, then added, “I’ll tell you later.”
So he did, even though he almost forgot to.
After dinner, Mrs.Lee’s colleagues hurried home to return to their families. At the same time, Donghyuck arranged to drive you home after persistent protests from both parties—you and his parents. He shoved you the car key and ushered you out of the house while he was forced to stay back and have a last-minute chat with the adults (the adult adults!) that always seemed impossible to break off from.
There were about five to ten minutes of him nodding his head, putting on a smile, inserting passive-aggressive comments, and turning his head to roll his eyes before the house quieted down.
“I’m going to drive [Name] home,” Donghyuck said as he hastily stomped his feet into his laced-up shoes. “I’ll be back at some point.”
“Wait, wait! Hold on!” his mother exclaimed from the kitchen.
He looked up, brows raised even further when he saw her rush out with a plastic bag. Habitually taking them in his hand to stop her from shoving them at his abdomen, he looked down at the random assortment of fruit ranging from apples to bananas and a few small tangerines fallen between the gaps.
He recalled the fruit bowl in your apartment, and the night you two sat together munching away from a plate of juicy tangerines as if they were regular snacks. You’d like this, he thought. These fruits could go in the bowl, and he’d probably eat it before you.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said softly, interrupting her preplanned monologue to argue why he should take the bag of fruit to you. “They’ll love it.”
“Oh! That’s… yeah, that’s great,” she said, fidgeting with her fingers at the rare occasion of her son not stretching a simple request into an argument. She watched him fix his shoes, the bag clumsily hung at his wrist, and then cleared her throat. “About [Name].”
He paused briefly and returned to properly wearing his shoes.
He didn’t think his mom had any ill thoughts about you. The dinner had gone better than he anticipated, a possible courtesy to the colleagues’ presence. If he knew anything about big family gatherings, he supposed it felt like when cousins of the same age sat together while the parents gathered at a different table. He spent most of his time occupying you in friendly conversations while his father occasionally chimed in to steal your attention.
It was mostly his father, as it always was.
“I like them a lot, Mom,” he said as he stood up. His mother’s bright eyes caught the air in his throat, and he knocked down the anxious breath to tell her, “I want to be with them.”
She felt excitement bubble gently in her chest at the kind of conversation she never initiated with him. She has never heard him speak of his romantic interests. Perhaps he was too shy before, and now he’s too grown to involve a parent in something so intimate.
Or she simply hasn’t adequately bonded with him, so he decided never to say anything. Either way, the soft shame in her giddiness was unshakable and inevitable, and she wanted to hold onto it so she would remember it.
“We like them,” she said. “Both me and your father.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled in disbelief. “I’m sure he does.”
“If it’s not too much to ask, Donghyuck,” she said. “Our company is holding its annual party at a hotel soon. A lot of our CEO’s friends and other–“ she shrugged–“people will be there.”
He pursed his lips but gave her a smile instead of a frown. “I’ll try to be there.”
“I was actually thinking you could invite [Name] to be your plus one,” she clarified. “It’s a lot of career opportunities in one ballroom.”
He almost laughed aloud, but he kept the sudden burst of joy suppressed inside him once he realized how much his mother managed to get out of you just from sharing a dinner together. It took him weeks to get you to frequently agree to have meals with him. You weren’t even willing to speak to him before that!
But his mother raised an excellent offer. You would love the opportunity to network with established figures or just chat with them so you can find out what you want. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.
“I will ask them,” he said, crossing his fingers jokingly. “I’ve been getting really lucky lately.”
Donghyuck called you approximately five times this evening. You picked up the fifth time it rang.
“You do know how to answer a phone call!” he exclaimed after shooting up on his bed, his muscles tensing. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you?”
“Yes–“
“Don’t answer that! I know you know!” he cut you off with a stretched-out holler. Reaching an arm out for a pillow, he snatched it onto his lap, closed his eyes, and pretended to scream into it. He gathered his composure afterward, taking a deep and quiet breath, and he smiled like a worker would smile at a customer. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
“Okay?” You raised your brows in mild surprise. He frequently had short outbursts on that volume, so you weren’t sure why he felt the need to apologize now. “I’m sorry for not taking your calls. I assume there was an emergency? I hope you handled it on your own, whatever it was.”
There was shuffling on the other side of the phone call. You patiently waited for him to answer while occupying yourself with activities other than imagining what he could be doing. It sounded like ruffles of sheets. You figured he might be sitting on his bed or decided to lie down for relaxation. You have never been in his room before, so it could’ve also been a couch or gaming chair with sheets draped over it.
“I was worried about you.” Donghyuck’s voice trailed off. He snapped you out of your thoughts about him. “I was thinking about you, and then I was worried about you.”
There was squeaking on the other side of the phone call. He tilted his head curiously when you started to groan over the phone. If he had to guess what you were doing at this hour, and there weren’t many options, you would likely reorganize your apartment. It didn’t make much sense because it looked the neatest it could be the last time he stayed over. But you could improve upon perfection. He was sure of it.
“Are you rearranging your furniture?” he asked, crossing his arms over the pillow on his crossed legs.
“No, I was pulling my bed out. I got a new one recently. It turns into a queen-sized bed when I extend it.” You put the phone down and set it on speaker before returning to your extended bed. “I am missing an extra mattress, but I thought I should try pulling it out to see if it works.”
“Oh,” he said with a smirk. “Were you busy building it today?”
“No, I just never tried to pull it out before,” you replied. “It wasn’t too much trouble putting it together anyway. Jeno came over to help me when I told him I had to assemble it myself. It took an hour and a half at most.”
“You told him but not me?” he complained. “I thought we were friends!”
“I bought it from the store two days ago. The opportunity to tell you about it just now presented itself,” you said as you pushed your legs against the extended flap to put it back into the bed. “I’m not going to randomly tell you I bought a new bed.”
“You should randomly tell me that!” He dropped backward on his bed and turned on his right side, shoving his chin to the pillow hugged close to his chest.
He wouldn’t interfere with your bond with Jeno, mostly because he was no longer a jealous freak, but also because he knew you didn’t have feelings for each other. He understood you and Jeno were slightly closer friends with each other than you were with him, but occasionally, you’d let something slip that paints the difference between him and Jeno.
What more did you and Jeno have in your friendship that he didn’t have? Besides having a brief history during high school and him knowing the full scope of what happened to you, which admittedly was a crucial factor, what else was there?
Donghyuck always kept his schedule empty so he could conveniently spend much time with you. It started out as a persistent and annoying thing. The closer you two became, it turned into a thing of ambiguous attraction and him being the clingiest friend to exist. He thought he had already spent much time with you, but he was apparently delusional.
From the history to assembling furniture and walking from his gym to your bus stop together—oh jeez, was he subconsciously still a jealous freak?
He almost whispered into his phone, “Can you let me know what you’re doing next time, too?”
You lay down on the twin-sized bed and turned on your left side. You kept your phone to your ear.
“Yeah.” Your voice was closer to him now. “I went home today.”
“Your old home?”
“Yeah,” you said. “I do check-ins periodically to make sure the state of the house is still suitable for living.”
“That’s nice. I wouldn’t have bothered if I were you,” he grumbled with a shrug. “Was your dad there?”
“No,” you replied. “I only go when he’s not around.”
As much grace and patience as you were willing to give your father, you were taking small amounts of it back. Memorizing his predictable leisure schedule to make sure you’d never bump into him as you quietly took care of him was a balance you needed. It wasn’t difficult to execute.
“Good,” he said, seemingly breathing a sigh of relief. Picking at the corner of the pillow, he mumbled, “I bet the house was dirty.”
You flicked at your nails before anxiously pulling a fist to your chest. The sight of tinted green alcohol bottles was clear, and the sound of them clanking together inside a trash bag was vivid. Most importantly, you counted how much he drank. As usual, the amount far exceeded what was recommended for a healthy life.
At the rate he’s going, you wondered how long it would take him to die of alcoholism. More than that, you thought you weren’t burdened by the thought of him dying enough. But what else was there for you to do or think? Other than self-inflicted pain, your only sweet release was if someone from the equation left. Your mother left and never turned back. Your father wasn’t sober enough to walk away, and you were too sober to abandon him.
If he died, either from health complications or an accident, it would be over. It would be out of your control. There won’t be any more tip-toeing and secret house cleaning services. The only step left was to grieve, and you’re good at that. You’ve been grieving your whole life.
“Are you nervous about the annual party?” you asked.
Donghyuck’s eyes narrowed for a split second. There was a waver in your voice that you had failed to detect. Or perhaps it was how you changed the subject so abruptly, even though he understood why you did. Although he was curious and mildly concerned, he decided to answer your question.
“Me? No. I’ve been to them before. There are all kinds of people there, so you will definitely find someone you like talking to,” he said. “They’re always at a hotel, too. I always try to sneak into a room to–“ he grumbled at the truth remaining discreet–“sleep until the next morning.”
“Do you know who will be there?”
“My parents might. Why?” he asked with an airy chuckle at the end. “You want to do recon.”
“Yes,” you said. “If it is like you said, the ballroom will become a networking haven. I must prepare for that.”
“Yeah?” he mumbled. “Tell me more.”
“Well,” you cleared your throat, “am I not eating into your gaming time? I know you always play with Jeno around this hour.”
“Why do you know his schedule? You two need to stop having conversations without me,” he whined, dramatically running a hand through his hair despite having no visual audience. “But no. Jeno is busy today. Besides, he sucks anyway.”
“That’s not what I heard from him.”
“Again,” he said, his voice raised and demanding, “no more private conversations, or I’m going to start bombarding you with random things.”
You scoffed in disbelief. It sounded like laughter. Donghyuck wanted it to be laughter. As long as it replaced that timid voice you were talking to him with. Turning onto his back, he let his sight fade into the ceiling light until he closed his eyes, and everything went dark. He forgot what he called you about. There was something he needed to ask, and the conversations you had sprouted a million more that he lost track of.
Talking to you always leaves so much going on in his mind. He never hated that.
Your nail absentmindedly scratched along the edge of your phone as you waited for him to say something. When he remained quiet, you pursed your lips awkwardly.
“Um…” Silence. “Hello…?” Silence.
You debated hanging up or asking if he fell asleep. Taking a small breath, you pressed your phone closer to your mouth.
“Hyuck?”
“Here,” he mused. “How was your day?”
“Oh, um.” You wiped at the tip of your nose and nodded, even though he wasn’t here to see you. “It was good.”
That was probably all he wanted to know.
The company party was at a hotel you've passed by but never paid attention to.
Considering it was located locally, and you already have a home, there was never a chance for you to need a hotel room unless of an emergency, which was unlikely. Besides, if you needed to live elsewhere for a night, you would have never chosen this particular hotel. The walls behind the reception didn’t have a price board, but you assumed it would be expensive to stay the night.
The ballroom was as grand as you anticipated after seeing the exterior structure of the building. The party had no theme, so the decorations mainly consisted of neutral colors like white and silver.
Waiters roamed about with trays of food and drinks, and a long table of desserts was on display in a buffet style. Several round tables were placed behind the stage area, where multiple speakers, a podium, and a big screen hung on the wall, playing a slideshow.
You had furrowed your brows at the slideshow of corporate pictures and cheesy piano music playing in the back through Bluetooth. Even with all the money in the world, an elder's tackiness remained. You had expectations about the party, but none were based on decorations and atmosphere. Yet, when you realized they didn't hire a real pianist for the party, you were mildly disappointed.
Regardless, it wasn’t a scene you’d get the chance to join if it wasn’t for your friend. Having connections remained the superior path to success.
“Did I mention you look nice today?” Donghyuck whispered as you two made your way to a corner.
You avoided looking at your last-minute purchase. Before you bought the clothes, you debated getting an expensive rental to appear more respectful at the event. You weren't sure if the people here could sniff cheap fabric like a dog reacts to anything that squeaks. But Donghyuck urged you off the idea, and after the agreement, you thought you would have to urge him off the plan to buy you something new to wear, but the idea never crossed his mind.
He didn’t think what you wore should be a big deal. Less than what you say and think, definitely.
“You did. Thank you,” you replied. “You look great, too.”
“I always do,” he mused with a playful spin, smiling at the confounded waiter who suddenly got one of his champagne glasses swiped off his tray.
“Is this hotel famous?” you asked. “I have never heard of it prior to this event. Is it so high-class that regular citizens wouldn’t even get the chance to know its name?”
Donghyuck choked on the glass of champagne, or whatever it was. He carefully wiped the corner of his mouth, his furrowed brows teasing you about the silly question. “It wouldn’t establish a facility in this neighborhood if it were.”
“Oh,” you nodded, “so it’s affordable luxury.”
“Yes,” he said. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about?”
You shook your head. “I was also thinking about how tall this building is. Do people actually willingly live somewhere so tall?”
He briefly looked up at the ceiling, hoping to remember the hotel's height, but the chandelier light blocked off his thought process, and he was left with a pair of temporarily blinded eyes.
He never noticed it. He never noticed the way any hotels were designed and built. How big they were, how tall they were, if they had a spacious and clean bathroom, or if there were multiple pools. He just knew that whenever he got to travel with his parents or alone with his parents' money, the places he stayed at were always comfortable and safe and had excellent service. Almost as if the establishment was tiptoeing around a potential lawsuit.
Squeezing his eyes shut and pulling at the corners of his lips with his face, he hummed nonchalantly. “I never thought about it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” you said. “I don’t have acrophobia, though. I just assume the worst, like a natural disaster or a storm strong enough to blow the building into moving. Being too high up when I have those subtle paranoias makes me uncomfortable.”
“You don’t think an earthquake is going to hit us out of nowhere, do you?”
"Most natural disasters hit out of nowhere. That is what makes them so dangerous. It causes our utter lack of preparation." You tapped an index finger to your chin with a thoughtful hum. "Although, given that we can predict a natural disaster and prepare for it, our preparation will likely still be futile without the exact date and location. I think the only kind of useful preparations are shelters–actually, don't you think the lack of bomb shelters we have is concerning?”
He laughed, and when you waited for him to speak, he raised his brows. “You want my input?”
“Yes,” you nodded, “that’s why I asked.”
“Of course, because you are never sarcastic,” he muttered through an inhale before slowly
releasing the air from his chest, the champagne bottle stuck to his bottom lip. Peeking at you, he frowned with a faint shake of his head. “I also have never thought about that.”
“Thought about what?”
Donghyuck turned around, his attention perking at the familiar voice. When he saw who came up behind him, he cheered in surprise and put the glass on the table next to him. He shook the man's hand and pulled him into a hug, a casual greeting leaving his mouth. You watched their friendly gestures, and the more you stared at the man's face, the more confused you felt.
He looked strangely familiar, like an embarrassing memory.
“I didn’t know you were coming today!” Donghyuck exclaimed. “When did you fly back?"
“This morning! My dad couldn’t make it, so I’m here with my mom.”
“You’re better than me. I would’ve never volunteered,” he said. “But, my parents didn’t have to drag me here this time because–“ he passed and spun to look at you. “Actually, let me properly introduce you guys!”
Stepping aside, Donghyuck beckoned you closer with a circular arm wave. His smile was bright. It wasn't anything special, but he felt genuinely excited to introduce you, so you assumed these two were very close friends. You moved closer to him and made eye contact with the stranger. He assessed you for a split second before his smile slowly faded in sudden realization. You caught onto it, which solidified your suspicion that you've met this person.
“Mark, this is [Name],” Donghyuck said. “[Name], this is Mark. He’s my childhood friend.”
“Hey,” Mark greeted with a discreet wave.
Donghyuck leaned close to your ear. “His mom is the COO of BiChem.”
You raised a brow at the name of the pharmaceutical company located almost everywhere in the city. If that was the case, you already knew briefly who that woman was, but you never knew she had a son. Let alone one who looked strikingly familiar to you.
“You…” You started slowly, your eyes boring holes into Mark. “We’ve met before.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Mark gasped out after a beat of silence where he waited and prayed you would gaslight yourself into believing you created a false memory. He rubbed his forehead with a smirk, his ears turning blush. “I can’t believe it haunted you for this long.”
Donghyuck's eyes darted between the two of you, the sparkle in them slowly fading into a defeated deadpan. The puzzle pieces came together unwillingly in his head. Once again, he came face-to-face with the reality that everyone in his life was involved with you before he was.
Jeno was your high school friend. You tutored Jisung. Jaemin was your classmate. Now, Mark and his mysterious role in your life.
“You two know each other,” Donghyuck said, sounding uninterested.
“Barely!” Mark laughed. He looked away at the corner of the ballroom, or somewhere far off into the distance, as he scratched his temple awkwardly. “It happened a year ago. I was visiting you and you asked me to get you something to eat, so I dropped by this café near your school and… well, I just–“
“He was the guy I flirted with,” you revealed. “He flirted with me first. It was bad. I felt horrible, so I returned it. It was equally bad.”
“What?” Mark grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No! No way, man. I thought you were great!”
“I don’t appreciate pity parties.”
“It’s not! What?” He cackled out of awkwardness. “I’m not lying! I already thought you were charming. I mean, why else would I flirt with you?”
You stared blankly at him. You didn’t expect a person to be capable of drastic changes in one year, given a lack of traumatic or positively life-changing experiences, but Mark remained the same as he was on the day you two met a year ago. The way his voice cracks, the way he gestures with his whole arm when he talks, and the way his head flings around to hide his embarrassment. It was uncanny.
“Because you’re socially inept?”
“Well, that is just hurtful,” he said with a nod, the humor in his voice slowly fading away. “But you’re not wrong.”
You shrugged. “I rarely am.”
There was a hint of triumph in your voice that both of them caught on. Mark squinted his eyes into a smirk as he leaned back to stand up straighter. Donghyuck furrowed his brows at his friend’s charmed reaction, then he looked at you to find that you returned Mark’s gaze with a deadpan.
“It’s nice to meet you again, [Name],” Mark mused, reaching a hand out.
“Likewise.” You looked down and took it, shaking his hand briefly.
“I’m invisible then,” Donghyuck complained not a second into your introductions.
He had purposefully moved to stand next to your hands. The grimace on his face would have made you and Mark out to be some villain to those none the wiser. He leaned his torso forward to stick his face before yours, then pulled his lips into a pouty frown. He communicated his dissatisfaction briefly and turned his face to Mark, who received a pointed glare and an eye roll instead.
Shoving one hand in his pocket, he dramatically heaved a sigh and spun slowly on his heels. He brought an arm up to his eyes, acting like he was wiping tears away. "Clearly, I'm not needed here. This is so devastating. Nobody has ever abandoned me like this before."
Mark let go of your hand as he smiled awkwardly. He gave Donghyuck a graceful minute of silent attention before peering at you. "He's still acting like this?"
“Yes,” you said, turning away from Donghyuck to Mark. “Was he like this when he was a child?”
“Oh god.” Mark laughed with a defining clap of his hands. “You would’ve never imagined!”
Hearing his friend’s piercing laughter, Donghyuck spun around and marched over to you both before he even made sense of the situation. He stopped somewhere closer to you and pouted, his brows furrowed in disappointment. You felt his intense gaze before you saw it.
“You’re just going to let me go?” Donghyuck whined. He turned to Mark with a sudden grimace. “I can’t believe you.”
Mark laughed, unfazed, almost the same way you were to Donghyuck's behavior. You tilted your head with a raised brow, staring him down like a parent about to reprimand their child, only with much less authority. He held your eyes confidently, his lips silently quirking up with self-awareness.
“What would you like me to say?” you asked.
“Oh, I don’t know!” Donghyuck widened his eyes. He shrugged, his back straightening suddenly as he threw his head about to dramatically look at his surroundings. A thoughtful hum left his voice loudly as he leaned his weight on one leg, and a finger tapped his hip. “No, don’t go, Donghyuck. I need you here, Donghyuck.”
You rubbed your lips together briefly. The words got stuck at the tip of your tongue for a moment, locked behind an unsung confession. But you gathered yourself quickly as usual, and you repeated after him, “No, don’t go, Donghyuck. I need you here, Donghyuck.”
His heart struck. It did not feel good. Your dull voice was like a cat’s angry hiss, fangs puncturing through his finger. It was a taste of potential, but that was it. Lips twitching up to avoid seeming upset, he clicked his tongue and finally turned away from you. “Boo hoo.”
The sudden drift of playful tension made Mark freeze. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat, wanting nothing more than to get rid of it. Kicking his feet, he bowed toward your direction. “Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” you muttered, then you furrowed your eyes. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”
Mark raised a brow. The way your grip tightened around his hand with determination was blatantly noticed. You looked at him with anticipation. Besides being the man who failed at conveying flirtatious remarks, he was, more importantly, the son of a woman who currently has an irreplaceable seat on the board of a multinational pharmaceutical company.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I want to get to know your mom.”
"Oh, yeah, sure!" he exclaimed, moving closer to you and spinning you around. He kept a hand softly on your shoulder as he pointed far away between a sea of people. "She is right there. Feel free to name-drop me."
You curled your hands nervously before turning your head. “Thanks, Mark.”
“My pleasure.”
Mark watched your back as he breathed a sigh of approval as if he had done a gracious deed that would save the world. His small triumph was quickly trampled over by Donghyuck, whom he finally noticed was staring at him with bloodshot eyes that one could only obtain from forcing themselves to keep their eyes open for too long. He jumped away with a surprised yell.
“Now, why are you flirting with them?” Donghyuck questioned. He took a few steps toward him before turning around to look at where you had left. “And why did they look so amused?”
Mark was taken aback by Donghyuck’s reaction. He tilted his head, assessing the annoyance on Donghyuck’s face.
If he remembered correctly, which he was sure he did because the interaction happened less than a minute ago, he was forced into silence as he watched you and Donghyuck engage in a romantic tug-of-war. If anything, he should be the one complaining about having to be a bystander to that, but he decided against it because what he witnessed was something new.
Although he rarely gets to see Donghyuck, they keep in touch through messages. With the way Donghyuck loves to overshare, it might be impossible to distance himself. Flipping through miles of texts in his head, he tried to find something. Not a common complaint or an overused name, but a consistent character. Something, or someone, that Donghyuck has been obsessed with for more than three minutes.
“No way.” Mark widened his eyes, and he lowered his head and his voice. “Is that them? They’re the project partner you talked about!”
When Donghyuck pursed his lips, the frown on his face pulled unwillingly, and his eyes wavered at the mention of you. Mark dragged out an accomplished gasp and looked away. He returned immediately, pointing a finger at Donghyuck. “Dude! You’re so whipped!”
Donghyuck shoved Mark’s finger with a scoff. When a waiter walked by with a tray of champagne, he swiftly took two and pushed one toward Mark’s chest. He chuckled, taking the glass with ease and dusting his suit off. When he tried to take a sip of the alcohol, though, he was aggressively cut off by Donghyuck waving his hand, signaling for him to stop.
Mark lowered his hand and leaned his head back, his features pulled with confusion as he watched Donghyuck chug the first glass. When he was done, he took the one from Mark’s hand and gave him the empty one.
"They're for me," Donghyuck said before taking a quick but long gulp of the second glass of champagne. His face scrunched uncomfortably at the abrupt taste. When he dramatically pulled the glass away from his mouth, he groaned, wiping his mouth with the corner of his sleeve. "Get your own."
“It’s okay, I’m not a big drinker,” Mark joked curtly as he watched Donghyuck with mild amusement.
It wasn't uncommon to see Donghyuck like this. His dramatic nature forces him to make a big deal out of everything, which has always been both positive and negative. He was good at standing up for people and making his opinions heard, but horrible at laying low and blending in the background. Because of that, he always made sure his troubles were noticed and shared through words or actions.
Sometimes he talks. He talks a bunch. Other times, he chugs alcohol and talks a bunch more.
It has never been about romance, though. Donghyuck only complains about one of two things: his parents and everything else. But he never had a specific person in mind. Not a close friend. A specific person who plagued his mind like children and their obsession with touching everything. Mark pursed his lips to hold down a soft smile. You were debatably Donghyuck’s first love.
“How did this happen?” Mark asked.
Donghyuck sighed and licked his lower lip. He shrugged, but his mind traveled to the first time he called you about the email you sent him and everything else after that.
The way you talk so much when you want to, and how everything you say always makes perfect sense. You treat his feelings with sincerity, even if it was obvious that he was being sarcastic. You are prompt and responsible, but allow mishaps when they occur, and correct them without stress. The way you stayed and spent time with him when he requested.
"I don't know where to start," he said. "I think I know exactly when it happened, but it's too much to walk anyone through. I'm barely handling this."
“I mean, you don’t have to tell me in detail–“
“I bought them a mattress, Mark.”
He widened his eyes and shook his head in fractions nobody would notice. A smile slowly crept on his face, one to replace a response. “Yeah…? You always buy things for other people.”
“They told me they were missing a mattress for a new bed they got,” Donghyuck said. “I went to Jeno!” He groaned in annoyance. “I went to Jeno to ask what kind of bed it is because they asked him to help build it, and then I went online and got a mattress for them.”
“Okay,” Mark chuckled softly, “did you give it to them?”
“No. I couldn’t, and now there is a big, unopened box in my living room that my mom won’t stop complaining about,” he said. “Oh, and I took them to meet my parents. We had dinner together.”
Mark raised his brows with intrigue, finally. “Voluntarily?”
“No, situationally.” Donghyuck pulled a face as he hid the uncomfortable burp behind his lips. It did not come from the alcohol. Putting a fist over his mouth, he exhaled desperately and shook his head. “My mom told me she likes them, and then I told her I like them.”
Mark watched as his old friend ruffled his hair and lifted the clearly empty glass to his lips to drink air. He chuckled when Donghyuck closed his eyes and let his head fall backward in embarrassment and potential annoyance. He would be lying if he said he's never seen Donghyuck act so absentmindedly and hurriedly, but he would be telling the truth when he says he's never seen him be like this because of someone.
When Donghyuck found his group of friends, he breathed a sigh of relief from the other side of the world, where his family had immigrated to, thus separating the two of them. He never thought a boy as shamelessly excruciating as him would get anyone past the first base of friendship, and he worried a lot.
Now he has gone way ahead and fallen in love.
“So you like them. What exactly are you stressing about?” Mark encouraged through a rhetorical question. He shoved Donghyuck’s shoulder softly, his face stretched with a wide grin that almost made it seem like he found the situation more comical than relieving. “Have you told them yet? I figured you would have done that already.”
Donghyuck licked his lower lip and nodded. He has told you multiple times; some of them he was joking, two of them he was more serious than ever, and all of them he remembered how he said it and how you responded. Interestingly, he has a sneaking suspicion that you knew which one was which, because your reaction to his serious confession was always visibly quieter than when you knew he wasn’t.
That could mean anything. You could be quiet because you decided not to indulge him just because you could, or you didn’t want to be honest and hurt his feelings for the first time since you’ve met him. Or you returned his feelings, but for a logical reason, you have decided that you and he were not a good fit, so you’ve chosen to take a step back.
His brain took a sharp step forward into delusional land, and he wondered if you might even be in love with someone else. He would never be able to guess, considering you never tell him anything. You tell Jeno everything; you told him about your past, you even told him you bought a new bed! There was a bigger chance of you being into Jeno than him.
“I…” Donghyuck cleared his throat and looked away from you. “I need more champagne.”
Mark blinked, dumbfounded at the sudden response. He tilted his head, recalling his straightforward question and the equally clear answer Donghyuck gave him. Given that his friend has already told you about his affection, and thinking about that caused him to need more alcohol, it could only mean one thing: he was rejected. However, why would you show up here with him if that was the case?
“Is it complicated?” Mark asked.
“It’s not,” Donghyuck replied. “They are.”
“Dude, that made no sense to me.” Mark remained silent before he chuckled lowly. “You like someone. You’re head over heels. I’m failing to see how it’s an issue.”
Donghyuck lowered his hand. His features softened in thought as his eyes scanned the venue, looking for you. It's all he does these days. He never looked just to look anymore. He's always looking for someone, looking for you, even when he knew you were somewhere else. He bets on chances. Maybe you would suddenly turn up where he is. Maybe his day could be better because he found you in it.
His fingers that pinched the glass handle tightened when he finally saw you conversing with a small circle of others. Your eyes were attentive, and your ears were perked.
Your expression was dull, but he knew you were very much alive and engaged. You were gathering your thoughts; recently, he started to wonder if the inside of your brain looked like bulbs popping off, or if your ideas went to you gracefully like dancing on water.
For a brief second, you shifted your gaze and caught his eyes between gaps of passersby. He raised his brows, signalling to the people standing around you. You stared at him for a second and let your lips quirk up. There was excitement in your lips, excitement he had never seen before, and you shot him with it across the room.
“Yeah.” Donghyuck blinked into a smirk, visible only to your eyes and his conscience. “It’s not an issue."
SYNOPSIS: begging you to marry him, haechan promised you the moon, the stars hanging in the sky, and a few hundred million other things. but he never promised you the most important thing — the sun. and after all, that's all you wanted.
or, alternatively ── haechan has a plan of getting his grandmother's inheritance by marrying you, promising you that everything that was about to become his would also become yours. a lavish lifestyle, the liberty of being with other people — but you only wanted him. so what happens when haechan's plan backfires, leaving you both drowning in a sea of uncertainties?
PAIRING: husband!haechan x wife!reader
GENRE: fake marriage!au, marriage of convenience!au, f2l!au, angst, mutual pining, slowburn, smut, cheating!au
CONTAINS: fluff, angst, smut, slowburn, mutual pining, a lot of descriptive scenes (im so sorry). haechan is emotionally constipated, it takes him a billion years to realise some things. haechan is not the best husband, emotional neglect, emotional and physical avoidance. use of alcohol, cheating (mentions of, not actual scenes), smut (only between haechan and reader), oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, miscommunication, misunderstandings, rich!haechan, mentions of generational wealth and fraud, riize's sungchan (im sorry pookster), reader has a lot of insecurities and regrets.
NOW PLAYING: who is it by michael jackson
SERIES MASTERLIST: HERE!
Your high heels click on the busy pavement as you make your way through the crowd. The underground ride was hell, surrounded by tired office workers and sweaty tourists, and you just hope that the good odds were on your side and your expensive perfume was still clinging onto your skin and clothes.
When Donghyuck sent you a text earlier in the morning, asking for an urgent meetup at your favourite dinner spot in town — a very busy spot uptown that is, a very busy spot that is very difficult to get into last minute, you knew that it was a serious matter. It was always a bit difficult to get in touch with him, or get a hold of him. He was busy with work, busy with dates, busy with friends, but you knew he always had the softest spot for you, and vice versa. And how could you not, after knowing each other since elementary school? He always found the most random times to be with you — be it on a random Saturday, coming over to your place to watch High School Musical for the nth time, or on a monday at noon taking you out to have lunch together during your lunch break. Or on a thursday for a friendly dinner. Like tonight.
You know how this is going to go. You’ll take your seats, get your orders taken, eat, chit chat about whatever’s too heavy on his mind for him to keep only to himself. “I’m a man of many secrets,” he once told you, “But somehow you know about ninety-five percent of them,” you can recall the genuine smile he showed you that night a few years ago.
“Hyuck!” You spot him playing nervously with the hem of his jacket, “I’m sorry I’m late, had to go home to change,” you give him a hug, and he keeps you close a few seconds more than he usually does.
“You smell nice,” he pats your back as he reaches for the restaurant door, “Let’s go inside, I’m starving,”
The atmosphere inside the restaurant brings you a sense of familiarity. The red and brown decor, the dim lightning and the candles around the tables, the faint melody played in a corner by the familiar pianist who also occasionally hums the tune, his fingers touching the keys in a gentle manner. It is so familiar to you, this is your favourite restaurant after all.
“Hate these candles,” Donghyuck grumbles as he opens the menu, setting his eyes on the wine menu. You know he always gets the same three things on rotation, and he always tries to steal food off your plate because your food choices are always the best.
“So why do we always come back?” You ask him with a smile, handing your menu back to the waiter who takes off with your orders.
“I like that guy,” he points to the pianist in the far corner of the restaurant, “He always plays some Tony Bennett tune,”
“And you like the wine,” you retort, watching as he nervously takes a sip from his glass.
“And I like the wine,” he smiles at you, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which is odd — because he always lets himself go when he is around you. You know his true colours, no need to hide himself from you.
And yet you wait. You don’t ask him what’s wrong, you don’t ask him what was so urgent to actually meet you for a second time during the week, remembering very well how he took you out for ice cream after work a few days ago. You suppose it’s all about timing, and he’ll know when it’s time to tell you what’s bothering him.
For the duration of the dinner, you see him fidgeting with his fork and knife, looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes yet looking back down to his dorado as soon as you make eye contact with him. He tries to open his mouth a few times to speak, yet he closes it as soon as he notices your head perking up waiting for him to start talking.
You think you need to take matters into your own hands and force the words out of his mouth until you see him eyeing your brisket.
“Don’t even think about it,” you utter while cutting into the meat on your plate.
“Oh, please,” he cries, setting his knife down, “Just a tiny taste,” he pleads.
“I didn’t ask for a tiny taste of your dorado,” you shrug, chewing on the tiny piece of brisket on your fork.
“I would have given it to you,” he whines, pointing at you accusingly.
You look at him unimpressed, yet still intrigued. He’s not being annoying about anything tonight, which is very suspicious to you. So instead of trying to get inside his head — which he’ll probably let you do later anyway, you try to make small talk, to appease the tension just a bit. “So, how was that meeting yester-”
“Will you marry me?” He says — no, asks, but in such a gentle whisper that you think your ears are deceiving you. You stop mid-chew to look at him, as if the active action of chewing would ever impair your hearing. If you heard him right, you think it’s a devious, sick joke on his behalf.
“What did you just say?” You ask incredulously, spitting the piece of meat you had been chewing on, in your napkin.
“I said,” he played with the corner of his napkin, that was now sitting on top of the table instead of his lap, “will you marry me?”
“Are you insane?” You bite back, looking at how his energy deflates even more. “Did you fall today? Did you hit your head like that one time in tenth grade?” Your questions keep on flooding the atmosphere between the two of you, and even if your voice is low in volume, he hears you perfectly.
“Listen,” he starts, and you watch as he stops himself from continuing as the waiter comes to retrieve the plates from your table. He holds a finger up in the air, silently telling you to wait, and he asks for another bottle of wine. “I know this is sudden,” he stops when you scoff, setting back into your chair, waiting for him to go on, “But this is an opportunity of a lifetime, for both of us,” he says confidently.
“How so?” He’s impressed by your apathetic tone, he thought you’d be at least a bit more enthusiastic. He’s played all the possible scenarios in his head for the past few weeks, yet these last few days have been the worst. He hasn’t slept much, hasn’t eaten much, hasn’t been able to pay attention to his regular activities and hobbies that much either. The only things on his mind were you, and as disturbing as it may sound, his grandmother.
“I would get to settle down” he points to himself before looking at your annoyed and endearing figure sitting across him at the table, “And you will have the most perfect wedding. Not to mention the fact that you can have all the money you ever dreamed of. Imagine living that lavish lifestyle, buying yourself everything you have to restrain yourself from right now. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He smiles at you like a little devil who’s ready to whisper into your ear all the advantages of his daylight delusions.
“What are you even talking about?” You are truly in disbelief, looking at him being so calm so suddenly, “How would that even be possible?”
Suddenly you are well aware of the reason of his fidgeting, and why he stayed silent for the whole night. He didn’t know how to open his mouth and tell you a bunch of crap without you throwing your plate at his head.
He shushes you, and you scoff at his stupid attempt of trying to make you come to reason. “Grandma Lee’s inheritance,” he explains calmly, playing with the table cloth.
Your eyes are the size of saucers while looking at him feigning fake innocence. You’re sure this can be categorised as fraud in so many states and countries. The worst way this could go would be this idiot turning you in for attempted fraud and him leaving with all the inheritance he pretends he’s entitled to.
When you say nothing, just staring at him like he’s grown a second and then a third head, he sighs exasperated, throwing his head back in a sign of annoyance.
“Y/n, you have to hear me out,” Donghyuck pleads, bringing his hands over his face out of frustration. Your eyes fall on his weird and crooked pinky, reminding you of his funny and equally weird childhood story about what had happened for it to become so crooked. So fresh in your mind, you already know it by heart.
“But wouldn’t it be considered — I don’t know…” you make a pause, biting on your nails, “Fraud?”
His eyebrows furrow and then a second later his features relax, yet still being able to hold an unimpressed look in his gaze. He glares at you judgementally, as if asking you if you're stupid. You have the same expression, your gaze holding his, silently asking him who, between the two of you, was the real idiot in this context. Is he stupid for proposing such a plan, or are you the idiot who can’t see anything but the faulty side of his master plan? You try to figure out to what extent it can be considered fraud, promising yourself you’d be looking into this matter later.
“How would this be fraud?” He whines, a few heads turning around to look at the two of you. Certainly, people's ears perked up at the mention of the word fraud, and perhaps Donghyuck’s loud whining had something to do with it too.
You shush him, “How would it not be considered as such?” You speak through gritted teeth, trying to convey the message to keep his voice down, for his own good.
You two are having dinner in a nice, uptown restaurant, and you really wish you didn’t have this conversation right here. You were a fool for believing Lee Donghyuck had anything else to say to you except for a stupid idea he had been letting marinate in his pretty head.
“It wouldn’t be,” he insists, “Because anywhere we go we can pass as a loving couple,” he states as matter-of-factly. “Remember that time we scammed the baristas downtown during last year’s Valentine’s Day?”
When you say nothing, only bringing your elbows to rest on the table, he goes on. “Listen, I know for a fact that this is going to be a success. I’ve made plans and took into account all possibilities, and I am my grandma’s favourite grandchild. This is going to work out, trust me” he explains with determination, and you almost believe his words.
Except, you still have a working left brain.
“Again,” you sigh, “How is this not a criminal act in your books?” You try to make him come to reason, but he doesn’t want to hear any of it, waving his hands around in an exasperated gesture, “And how do you even know you’re grandma Lee’s favorite? Out of ten grandchildren?”
“I may have found her will,” he answers immediately, but it comes out more like a question holding a billion uncertainties. Your puzzled expression makes him continue, “When I visited her last year for her birthday, she made me fish for those papers in her home safe. The search for it was very bizarre, like treasure hunting or something, which you’ll realise in a second, it’s very ironic,” he takes a sip of his wine, trying his best to be as serious as possible in order to make you understand how serious he is about this. “She made me look for it in her mansion, giving me easter eggs and hints about where in the house it could be. And when I found it,” his silence lingers for a while, trying to find the best way to tell you the whole story, “This may sound very bizarre, I know, but she even had a riddle for her safe code. I solved it and there was her will, looking right at me. We looked over it together, and she made sure to divide all her assets equally between all her children and grandchildren, except the few hundred million dollars she has to her name.”
You blink once. You blink twice. You double blink for the third time and he scoffs, but quickly recomposes himself, remembering the purpose of telling this whole story, “Y/n, I’m being so serious right now, you have to believe me,” he stops briefly, his fingers drumming on the table following a rhythm only he knows, “In that testament I was the sole heir to her bank account, with that one exception,”
“You need to get married,” you remark.
“I need to get married,” he confirms, laying his hands flat on the expensive cotton tablecloth nicely adorning your dinner table for two.
Your eyes fall on his crooked pinky once again, your gaze sliding to the finger next to it. The ring finger. You think it could be nice to have a gold band to embellish his beautiful and slender finger. Donghyuck seems to pick up what's going on in your mind, and even if you needed a bit more convincing, he knows you're going to agree to his plan.
And surely, you think, with a few hundred million dollars in your bank accounts, and a man as beautiful as Donghyuck to call your husband, there's nothing that could ever go wrong. Right?
And, before agreeing to his stupid plan, you sceptically make him paint the picture for you.
“We tell people we’ve been dating for a bit, because we realised we are very much in love,” he explains nonchalantly as he stabs his lava cake with his tiny dessert fork.
“I genuinely think you’re deranged. You lost the plot to your own scenario,” he looks at you all worried, a smudge of chocolate in the left corner of his mouth. His stupid big brown eyes looking into your raging ones, not understanding the accusations you’re bringing him. “How would you explain this to people? To the boys?” You set your tiramisu aside, knowing damn well he’ll make an attempt to slide the tiny dessert plate across the table and devour the sweet treat. He scoffs once again, as if you’re the one being the ridiculous one here, but he stops himself from letting any word out, letting you continue rambling on about your concerns. “Hyuck,” you start, setting your hands flat on the table, just like he did before, “I think you’re forgetting something. People know you sleep around,”
“Slept,” he retorts, raising a finger in the air as to accentuate his statement, “Haven’t slept with anyone in a while, couldn’t bring myself to, knowing I’ll soon be a married man,”
When you say nothing for the nth time this evening — out of disbelief this time, he’s sure — he goes on, “I told you I already thought of every single scenario and possibility. We’re childhood friends, it won’t be that hard for people to fall for the story of how we realised we’re made for each other. We tell them we kept it a secret for our own good, we tell them we’re madly in love with each other and that we got engaged. We get married, and I want you to think about this, Y/n, let me paint the picture for you,” he says, raising his hands in front of his figure to make a rectangle in the air, “You get to have the dream ceremony I know you’ve always dreamed of, with a big and beautiful bouquet, and the most expensive and show stopping wedding dress. Your veil will cost more than double my suit and your shoes will have rocks more expensive than my car. We then move in for a bit in my — or your apartment, until grandma Lee passes, which by the way,” he stops to raise a hand in the air, as if to assure you, “Will be pretty soon, judging by the medical report I found in her bedroom a bit back. We then buy a house bigger than Brad and Angelina’s mansion. Think of it, Y/n, we could be the new Brangelina. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He slides your tiramisu across the table and excitedly sticks his forks into it, then looks at you with a glimmer in his gaze.
His plan could have been far worse than this, you think, yet the faint reminder of the fact that the two of your are going to be in a marriage is slightly terrifying to you. You always thought you’d get married to someone you had feelings for, whom you loved, and while certainly you do love Donghyuck in a very confined way, you’re sure that it is within the bounds of a lifetime long friendship, in which the both of you have gotten to know each other almost perfectly.
He sees you getting too much into your own head, and snaps his fingers right in front of your nose, like he’s always done since you were children. “What’s bothering you?” He asks, his tone genuine.
“What about…” you bite your lip, too afraid of hearing something you don’t really want to be hearing, and you’re not sure what kind of answer you’re trying to avoid. “What about dating?” You finally ask, and he waves his hand to dismiss your worries.
“Don’t worry about it,” he goes back to the tiramisu he’s put aside when he saw your concerned scowl, “Unless our families and friends find out about our dates, we’re free to see whoever we please and like,” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, straightening your posture.
And then you see him, grinning at you like he’s the devil, “So what’d you say?” He stands up slowly from his chair across the table, and just as slowly he reaches for something in the right pocket of his slacks while still grinning.
And before you can actually register what is about to happen, you see him sprinting to reach your side, kneeling down in front of you and opening a stupid, black suede small box that — you think once he opens it to reveal its content to you — holds the Hope Diamond.
“Y/N,” he says your name, and you make a very big effort to tear your gaze away from the ring inside the small box he’s holding, “Will you marry me?”
And with a Tony Bennett tune in the background, with a diamond as big as your fist, and a man as handsome as Donghyuck kneeled in front of you, a man who’s promised you the world just a few minutes back, how could you ever refuse?
“Yes, yes I will”
“You’re what?” Chenle and Mark scream simultaneously, sitting in pure shock on the carpeted floors of Jaemin’s apartment.
You glared at Donghyuck, who was standing next to you, looking all offended by his friends. He grabbed your hand and raised it to his lips, kissing it gently. His fingers interlocked with yours, “I said,” he showed your hand to his friends, “We’re getting married,” his eyes softened while looking at you. Dang it, he’s a very good actor, you thought.
“How- how did this happen?” Mark stutters, his voice cracking. Chenle reaches for your hand to look at your engagement ring, and his eyes bulk out of their orbits.
“What the fuck, Hyuck?” He glared between you and Donghyuck, his friends, and the rock on the ring. “Did you guys see the size of this rock?”
“Yes, whatever, it’s the size of your head,” Donghyuck rolled his eyes, and you don’t have time to giggle at his joke as he pulls you gently by the arm towards the empty loveseat. You sit on it, and he pulls a chair close to your seat.
You look around at his friends. The energy in the room fluctuates and changes based on who you look at, Mark being still in shock, Chenle keeps looking at your hand, Jeno congratulates you, and Jaemin's displaying a huge grin that’s plastered on his face. The different reactions feel overwhelming to you, and you imagine how bad it will be when you break the news to your and Donghyuck’s families if his friends reacted this way.
“I knew it, you guys,” Jaemin claps his hands and shakes his shoulders in excitement, “I knew you guys were together!” He cheers, looking around the room, encouraging the others to join his happiness.
Donghyuck averts his eyes and clears his throat, fidgeting a bit in his seat. “Yeah, we were meant to be,”
“But how long have you guys been together?” Jeno asks with caution, his eyes a bit lost as he lets you know his curiosity and concerns.
“A few months,” you reply, “but we’ve known each other for so long that we feel we’ve been together forever,” you explain, moving your hand. You smile, amused noticing Chenle’s eyes still looking at your hand, straight at your engagement ring.
“It’s been a bit,” Donghyuck says, “Right after Y/n’s birthday party,” he smiled, his hand reaching behind you to pat your back, which made you straighten your posture immediately. The sudden contact, his warm hand burning its print on your back. The nerves and stress of breaking the news of your supposed engagement to the people you care the most for makes a light shimmering coat of sweat veil your skin. You recompose yourself quickly, not expecting the sudden contact.
You look at the people around the room. Except for Chenle, who’s still looking at your hand and then at Mark who’s still shocked by the sudden news, Jaemin is the only one who beams with joy.
“We’re very happy for you,” Jeno brings a hand to his chest, reaching forward in his seat as he tries to get closer to you and your supposed fiancé, “It’s just that it’s very sudden news,”
“Extremely happy,” Mark comments, smiling at you and then looking at his best friend, “It’s weird that we didn’t notice,”
“Talk for yourself,” Jaemin barks back with an upset tone, which makes you burst out laughing, “I’ve been plotting and scheming for a very long time,” he shuts up as soon as Donghyuck glares at him. He smiles back at his friend, and then he winks at you with a knowing smile.
Out of all of Donghyuck’s friends, you felt Jaemin and Chenle to be the closest to you. They were his friends from college, and you met them countless of times during the last few years and for occasional meet ups, but you definitely felt that Chenle and Jaemin were your friends too. Mark was awkward at times, but he always took care of you whenever Donghyuck left the club with some lady hanging off his arm, leaving you behind in the club with his friends. Jeno always lets you win during game nights. While Donghyuck tries everything in his power to cheat at every game and to corrupt Jaemin and Mark to join him in his cheating, sometimes even trying to bribe you to give him a property that he really needed while playing Monopoly, Jeno always lets you win, even helps you sometimes just to see Donghyuck’s cheeks lose all color when he realised he lost the games.
“Y/n?” Donghyuck touches your back once again, the sudden and unexpected physical contact making you jump slightly — once again. You look at him and you realise you blacked out for a bit, lost deep in your own thoughts about the guys. Realising you weren’t paying attention to him, he repeats himself, “Monopoly tonight?”
You looked around the room at the guys sitting around you with hopeful looks, and you agree before your brain can register completely. You would never ever pass on the occasion of beating Donghyuck at games, or at anything in life, especially now that you’re getting married.
You look around yourself, around the street, you look around at the people passing you by on the pavement. The still cold days of march make you zip your jacket up, your cheeks rosy and your nose and ears freezing even if the sun is out and hitting all the buildings around you. You rub your hands together in a pathetic attempt to warm yourself up, trying to calm the terrible feeling you have in your guts.
“Hey,” your head snaps to the side as soon as you hear Renjun’s voice, and you hug him tightly as you take a good look at him. Bucket hat low on his forehead, covering his eyes, you wouldn’t even recognise him if you didn’t know the timbre of his voice. “Are we waiting for the girls here?” He asks looking around, and when you nod he gets closer to where you’re standing on the pavement.
“Are you cold?” You ask, hugging his figure once again and rubbing your hands on his arms, hoping the friction will be enough for him to bear the cold a little bit longer.
He nods, zipping his jacket up to his chin and wrapping his wool scarf around his neck trying to find some comfort. You look at him, still hugging him, and you really wish you could tell him everything that’s on your mind, everything that’s happened in your life in the past few weeks. But for the integrity of your and Donghyuck’s plan you have to keep your lips sealed.
Apart from Donghyuck, who’s your childhood and oldest friend, Renjun is the second closest. You met him in college right before you met Yerim, and you instantly clicked with each other as soon as you complained about the mess in the kitchen at the dorms. You started as fellow complainers, you then met each other in the communal lounge downstairs while studying, and then you kept looking for each other whenever you weren’t too busy being with Donghyuck. He met Donghyuck in your kitchen while the latter was making your ramen, and Renjun complained about the mess.
“So you’re the one who makes the mess?” He was close to bursting a vein, trying his best not to kick the unknown man out of the dorm’s kitchen.
“Oh, hi” like a deer in highlights he turned around, scared by Renjun’s tone, before taking a good look at the guy in front of him, “You must be Renjun,” he cheered, changing hands holding the spatula and extending the newly free hand to Renjun, “Y/n told me everything about you, I think her exact words were ‘to look out for that Renjun’ guy,”
Renjun looked at him, his eyes bulking out of his orbits, “You know Y/n?” He asked incredulous, thinking that you could never be friends with such a messy person such as Donghyuck, “And by the way, she would never say that about me,”
“She’s my bestfriend,” Donghyuck answered before turning his attention back to the ramen pot sitting on the stove. “And don’t worry, the mess was already clinging to these walls way before I came by today,” And in all fairness, Donghyuck is a very clean person, a very clean man. Talk about the advantages of growing up close to a clean freak like yourself. “By the way, I’m Donghyuck, I live in the dorm just around the corner,”
“Oh,” Renjun mumbled, setting his own pots and pans on the second stove, “I’ve heard about you,” Donghyuck’s eyes lit up as soon as he heard the words coming out of Renjun’s mouth, delighted knowing that he’s someone you go around talking to other people about.
And since that moment you three stuck together. Donghyuck’s proximity to your and Renjun’s dorm, and the fact that he actually met the guy while cooking for you in your kitchen, meant he was always with you, joint at the hip, sometimes to Renjun’s dismay, because he thought Donghyuck was one of the most annoying guys he’s met. And then from your second year in college, the three of you moved in together in a shared apartment just outside campus and, although you became a trio, you’ve always been transparent about your friendship with the guys. What you and Donghyuck had was different from your friendship with Renjun, and the two of them hung out without you as well. It’s just your dynamic, and Renjun has always agreed to this, even if Donghyuck was a little jealous and possessive of your friendliness at times. As soon as you showed Renjun a little bit more attention, Donghyuck stole you away for a whole week. But it was always fine, it was never a problem for Renjun, for reasons you’ve never spent too much time worrying about.
You’re pulled out of your own thoughts by the two girls that approach you loudly, and Renjun sighs while shivering in your arms, “Fucking finally,”
“Why didn’t you guys wait inside?” Karina asks after you’re done with hugging everyone, “Couldn’t you guys get a table? Usually it’s pretty empty at this hour in the morning,”
“Wait,” you pull Yerim’s sleeve when she tries to make her way inside the cafeteria, smiling sheepishly as they look at you confused. “I know I invited you here today, but that’s not really where we’re going,” you explain, rubbing your hands together.
“So why are we here?” Karina mumbles confused, looking at the other two.
You point at the bridal boutique just across the street from where the coffee shop is, and their eyes follow the direction you’re pointing at, their heads snapping back to look at you, so harshly that you wonder how on earth they didn’t get whiplash.
“You’re kidding…” Yerim laughs so loudly that a few people’s heads turn around,
“Right?” Renjun’s uncertain tone makes you fidget on the spot.
Averting your gaze, you cross the street to reach the bridal shop, and your friends look at each other, still hoping for you to turn around and tell them you’re joking.
By the time they decide to follow you inside the shop, you’re already drinking from a glass of champagne and discussing about your dream wedding gown.
“You have to be kidding me,” Renjun mumbles as soon as one of the assistants comes over with a tray of champagne flutes.
“How are we here,” Karina downs the whole flute as soon as they take a seat on the expensive white sofas waiting for you to come out wearing whatever dress you discussed with the assistant you wanted.
“I think we skipped a few chapters,” Yerim sighs contemplatively and looks at Renjun who’s visibly shaken. Out of the three of them, Renjun’s the one that looks like he got hit by a bus. He doesn’t even understand why he’s sitting where he’s sitting right now.
“Last time I asked, she was saying she’s not seeing anyone special,” he mutters more to himself, but the two girls hear him nonetheless, “I don’t get it,”
And then you come out from the little room at the end of a narrow corridor, all three of your friends shut their mouths as you show them the best dresses that you’ve picked up while they were deciding if they needed to follow you inside, or if they should just laugh it off and walk to the nearest bar because it was a joke. It was a reality check for all three of them, and while the doubts and shock was still in the back of their minds and ready to resurface at any given moment during your dress fitting, ah’s and oh’s and sniffles filled the room while complimenting you.
“I didn’t even know you were seeing someone,” Karina spills out, having already downed three champagne flutes.
“I really don’t know how to feel about you getting married to a total stranger,” Yerim sniffles, the feeling of betrayal suffocating her.
You sigh, looking at your reflection in the mirror while touching your silky dress, and all your curves and edges, “He’s not really a stranger,” you whisper while looking at their reflection in the big mirror.
Renjun pushes himself forward, eyes as big as the rock on your engagement ring, which you purposefully left at home so as to not receive any questions as soon as you met your friends. He takes a moment to think of all the men in your life, your exes, your situationships. “Oh, dear heavens,” he touches the bridge of his nose as he looks at your reflection in the big mirror and then straight into your eyes, and something in his gaze tells you he’s gotten a faint idea of who it might be.
“What did she say?” Karina nearly screams into Yerim’s ears, the flutes making her lose all sense of volume.
You repeat yourself, “He’s not a stranger, you know him very well,” you look at the three of them, and you can feel Renjun’s eyes burn holes in the beautiful wedding dress you have on. “It’s Hyuck,” you whisper, not sure if they heard you.
Judging by Karina’s head snapping to her right to look at the others’ reactions, and by Yerim’s gasp, you can appreciate that they did indeed hear you.
“Hyuck as in Donghyuck?” Yerim makes sure you didn’t possibly meet a new Donghyuck in the span of a few weeks, “How did this happen?”
“How? That’s your concern?” Renjun pulls her by her arm, turning her to face him, “Your main concern should be when! When did this happen?” He addresses you.
“We’ve known each other for a very long time,” you start, “We were meant to be,” you hope Donghyuck’s bullshit excuses and scenarios reach your friends’ hearts, out of love for you. You know it sounds pathetic, the whole childhood friends to lovers fiasco, but you hope they won’t need more explaining regarding this, considering your and Donghyuck’s dynamics.
And as your biggest nightmare comes to reality, Renjun scoffs. And you recall telling Donghyuck just a few day ago that Renjun is going to be the one who needs the most convincing out of every other friend you two have. “Just stick to the answers I came up with, and he’ll buy it. If there’s anything Renjun cherishes more than his bickering with me, then that’s his friendship with you. He’ll buy it in the end, trust me.” And when you look at him bewildered, because you never thought of accepting such an explanation from him, he sighs and wraps an arm around you, walking you through the whole scenario again, “Tell him we’ve been together for a few months, I told you I love you blah blah blah. Stick to the scenario. Stick to the plan, Y/n” he cupped your face, swiftly kissing your forehead like he always does when you’re sick with worries, since the age of eight.
And so you do, you stick to the plan, to all the lines Donghyuck has instructed you to use, and while you play with your fingers all nervous and with trembling voice, you hope your friends are buying all of whatever bullshit you’re selling them.
“I knew this would happen,” Renjun claps his hands together as he looks at his two other friends sitting beside him on the small sofa, “I knew this would happen as soon as he ditched our study session at the library years ago just to spend time with you, when he found out some idiot didn’t show up to your date and you needed comforting,” this time he looks at you, straight into your soul, and you hope that he won’t be able to pick up whatever bullshit Donghyuck has fed you to convince you to agree to his plan. “You two are idiots”, he retorts.
And yes, you think so too. You couldn’t agree more. You and Donghyuck are idiots indeed, especially you. You, who’s willing to jeopardise decades of friendship just to make him happy, just to feel a bit validated by him. You still don’t want to admit the deeper reason of your agreeing, and you hope you’ll be able to ignore it and bury it deep into the back of your mind.
“But,” he sighs once again, and you’ve only heard Renjun sigh this many times when Donghyuck was insisting on having a bet and the loser would kiss the opponent if he felt like doing it, knowing damn well Donghyuck was going to purposefully bet on something that would turn out to be completely wrong and lose in Renjun’s favour just to kiss him, “I’ll admit that you’re very beautiful wearing that dress,” he points his head at your dress.
“You think so?” You beam and stand on your tippy toes, turning around to look at your own reflection in the huge mirror, using your hand to call one of the assistants over.
All three of your friends agree, and a drunk Karina even starts clapping, cheering you on.
“I can’t imagine the amount of stress you’re under with all the wedding preparations,” Yerim hugged you as soon as you stepped foot out of the boutique.
“I’m not,” you smile bashfully at your friends, “Hyuck suggested we should get a wedding planner,”
“Hyuck suggested,” Renjun imitates you with a mocking tone, already sick of your wedding talk after spending half a day looking for dresses for you, and bridesmaids dresses for your two friends.
“Are you going to act like this forever? I’m not even married to him yet,” you say with an incredulous laugh.
“For as long as you’re married to him,” he feigns fake innocence, and you only smile back, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, because you’re not sure how long that’s going to be. You never discussed this with Donghyuck, and Renjun has given you something to stay up all night mulling over.
You really don’t know how long it’s going to last, or what the whole outcome of it will be, but you can only hope for it to last for the longest of times.
Telling your parents about your engagement was easy. They loved Donghyuck, and he’s been around you since childhood, in and out of your house like it was his own. Your mother always kept a spare place at the table because ever since he was a child, he was unpredictable. Your mom took care of him whenever he wanted to sleep over, she cooked for him whatever it was he was craving, packed him his lunchbox whenever he stayed over and the following day was a school day, his own lunchbox that he personally chose when your mom took the two of you to the store, him choosing one with Crayon Shin-chan plastered on its lid, and you decided on a MyMelody one. Your dad never understood why he was hanging around your house so often, and then Donghyuck came on your family trip to the seaside when he was eleven, and he could see the dynamic of your friendship.
So when you broke the news to your parents, they were elated, they loved Donghyuck and couldn’t be happier to have him officially as part of the family in a few months.
Which couldn’t be said about Donghyuck’s parents. They liked you, and they trusted your family enough to allow their child to enter your home, and consequently, to spend all his free time there with you. But there was a line that should have never been crossed, and Donghyuck did when he proposed marriage to you, of all people. Donghyuck comes from a wealthy family, in which generational wealth was at the day’s order. Most, if not all relationships were transactional, but both parties were wealthy, and they both brought wealth into the marriage. Which couldn’t be said about you, because you didn’t grow up rich. You grew up in a normal family, you never lacked anything, but sure enough your parents couldn’t afford to change cars ever so often every time they pleased. And it was a problem for Donghyuck’s family.
“Can’t they oppose to our marriage or something?” You asked Donghyuck after the two of you left his parents’ house, after Donghyuck broke the news to them while holding your ringed hand up for them to see the engagement ring, and consequently had a fight with his mother right in front of you.
Your confidence wasn’t the highest in that moment, let’s just put it this way.
“Don’t really care,” he frowned, taking your hand in his as the other was holding the steering wheel tightly, “The only approval I need is grandma Lee’s,” he mumbled stopping at the red light, “And she loves you,”
The look in his eyes sent shivers down your spine, making you swallow the lump in your throat, and you remember that feeling so well even if it’s been a few months since.
And now, looking at your feet, the point of your shoes slightly visible from under your long silky dress, you hold on tightly to your bouquet made entirely of Casablanca lilies.
Your head tilts a bit from behind the partition keeping you safe from the eyes of all your guests, curious as ever to see you walking down the aisle.
You spot Donghyuck’s family sitting reluctantly on the right side of the church, his side, while looking around themselves with judgement. You’re starting to believe something bad is bound to happen when no one can reach Karina, who’s also one of your bridesmaids, and you’re also starting to regret your decision of agreeing to this plan when you hear people whispering as if you’re not standing a few feet away from them, albeit hidden by a flimsy partition.
“Where’s Karina?” You start to panic, thinking to yourself that this is a sign. This is a sign that this wedding should not happen.You made it clear in the past few months that you want your ceremony and celebratory party to be perfect, especially because Donghyuck’s family decided to attend, and even if you knew they considered you not to be the perfect bride for their son, you could at least show them a perfect ceremony. Which Karina is fumbling really badly right now.
“She said she’s on her way,” Renjun tries to calm you down, straightening the veil on your back so as to not have any creases.
“When did she say that?” You grabbed him by the shoulders, your nails hurting his skin even through the fabric of his suit jacket, “Oh my god, Renjun if you’re lying to me-” you’re interrupted by Yerim grabbing your hands, freeing Renjun from your grasp.
“You have to calm down,” Yerim pleads, shaking you slightly. “You need to relax, you’ll walk down this aisle and you need to be your best self,” she grabbed your cheeks lightly, and she resists the urge of kissing you on the cheek because she doesn’t want to ruin your makeup. You look so beautiful right now, even if you’re panicking out of your mind.
“I’m here! I’m here!” Karina’s heels clatter on the marbled floors of the entrance, adjusting her dress which was already starting to crease as she almost started running towards you, “I’m so sorry,” she looks embarrassed, holding the little bouquet Yerim hands over to her.
You let out a sharp exhale, instructing Renjun to go ahead and start the ceremony. Yerim smiles to you and reaches behind you to grab your veil, and gently lets it lay on your front. You hear the piano playing, immediately recognising the tune being played. You remember the day you were supposed to choose the music for the wedding march, when Donghyuck grabbed you by the arm and pulled you away from the huge shelf of music in front of you.
“I know I said this was going to be your dream wedding,” Donghyuck starts, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “but I have a request to make,” when you nod, he continues, “Can I be the one to choose the music?”
His request took you aback, never expecting him to want to be involved in wedding preparations for a marriage that was purely transactional. To him at least.
“Of course,” you had said, nodding and he knew you were being genuine by the look in your eyes, so big and sparkly, a clear sign of your sincerity. “This is your wedding too, Hyuck,” you smiled at him and he felt a lump in his throat as soon as he registered your words.
He smiled back, and went for the exit of the music shop, but you stopped him by grabbing him tightly, “Just don’t pull any kind of Elvis or Hamilton crap in front of your family,” you retorted, serious as ever, to which he smirked.
“Elvis? Costello or Presley?” He joked, and you hoped he was only being annoying like he always is, and not serious. Seeing your sour face, he put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side into a tight embrace, “Oh come on, Y/Nnnie” he whined, and you kicked him as soon as you see pairs of eyes looking at the two of you, “Don’t you want to be part of a little musical act as you walk down the aisle? Like they did in ‘The Office’?” He whispered in your ear, and you can feel the annoying smile in his tone. He kisses your cheek, holding you even tighter, and you can feel shivers down your spine. Before you can react, you feel the arm that was holding you before, loosening its hold on you.
“I’m being serious, Hyuck,” you began, but he started sprinting past you and out of the record store. “Wait!” You screamed, trying to catch him, “I’m serious! I have rocks with your name written on them, and they’re begging to be thrown at your head!”
You heard him giggle as he picked up his pace, trying to escape your loud mouth.
And now, hearing the tune the piano starts playing, you understand what it was that he wanted. You immediately recognise Tony Bennett’s tune playing, and you think Donghyuck bagged his favourite pianist to play at his wedding, the one who works at your favourite restaurant downtown, the grace of his fingers unmistaken.
You hear heels clattering, and you know that Donghyuck is being taken down the aisle by grandma Lee, who vehemently insisted to be the one to walk her favourite grandchild on such a great day. And you’re surprised his mother didn’t bat an eye, but you know that’s for the best.
“Go! Go!” You whisper shout to Yerim to start walking down the aisle, and she holds her bouquet tighter in front of her, taking steps one by one.
When you go closer to where the aisle begins, you quickly look around the church, noticing the familiar faces sitting around, waiting for you to make your entrance before they stand up. You see Mark, Jeno, and Jaemin standing behind Donghyuck, whilst his other friends are sitting in the second row, allowing Hyuck’s family to sit in the first. You catch a quick glimpse of Renjun standing on your side, waiting for Karina and Yerim to join him, yet you feel a knot of uncertainty setting deep into your guts and stomach, and when you see Karina taking a few steps down the aisle, you take a few steps out of instinct and grab her forearm, dragging her back to where you were waiting to make your entrance.
“Y/n?” Karina whispers surprised, eyes the size of saucers, swaying a bit trying to regain balance after you drag her after yourself. “Y/n,” she insists, “What is it, sweetie?”
You grab your veil, yet still with care because you don’t want to damage it in any kind of way, and you bring it behind you head, because you feel the need to talk to Karina face to face, not hiding behind any type of fabric.
You look at the guests behind Karina’s back, or at what you can see of them since Karina is obstructing most of your view.
“I- I don’t think I can do this,” you whisper, skeptical, and Karina thinks she’s never seen your eyes this big in size.
“What?” Karina tilts her head, not understanding where this doubt is coming from.
But she isn’t in your head, she can’t hear your thoughts, and most certainly she doesn’t know on what grounds this wedding is happening. Everything is an illusion, a lie, and you feel the sweat starting to cling to the skin of your neck. As months passed, you really started to believe all of Donghyuck’s delusions, and all the lies, and all the endless conversations and discussions you two had about his masterplan, which unfortunately started to make sense to you as well. It was like the blind leading the blind.
And up to this point, seeing yourself wearing expensive accessories and an even more expensive wedding gown, seeing everyone who’s believed your lies sitting excitedly as they’re waiting for you to make your entrance, hearing the melody of the piano playing one of Donghyuck’s favourite songs of one of his favourite artists, it hits you. And it hits you hard, and you can feel your eyes swelling with tears.
“Y/n, what’s wrong?” Karina insists as she understands that she has a panicked bride on her hands. Not only a panicked bride, but a room full of whispering guests that start to grow more and more curious as they sense something is going on with the bride. And how can we forget the groom, who’s nervously biting his bottom lip as he looks at his grandmother sitting in the first seat, on the first row on his side.
“I can’t do this, Karina. This,” you move your hand around, pointing at the church and all the decorations, including your outfit and hers, “this is all wrong. Very wrong,” you whisper, and Karina’s impressed by your eyes not diminishing in size.
“But why, honey?” She presses, “Donghyuck loves you” she caresses your bare arm, her other hand holding the small bouquet stiffly. “And you love him too,” she’s trying really hard to calm you down, as she notices you trying to swallow what she thinks is a lump in your throat. “You do, don’t you?” She inquires when she notices that you keep looking towards a spot behind her back.
And truthfully, you do. And maybe that’s what’s scary to you. Marrying someone you love so deeply, but who’s only marrying you out of convenience. You love Donghyuck for all his flaws and faults, his annoying side, his bugging, his cold facade, but you also love him because, well, it’s him. You’ve grown up with him by your side, and you realise you made him your ideal type, influenced by his permanent presence and knowing everything about him. And how unfair is it, realising someone is marrying you as part of a fraudulent plan?
You look at Karina, nodding. “I do, I do love him so much,”
“Then what’s the problem?” Karina asks once again, seeing your eyes brimming with tears. When you don’t say anything back, Karina starts crossing her legs, fidgeting where she's standing. She looks behind herself, discreetly, as to sense the vibes filling the room. The few last rows of guests already turned around to look at the two of you, asking themselves if this ceremony is ever going to even start. “Listen, sweetie,” she reaches for you once more, grabbing you by your forearm trying to assure you, “Who cares about this ceremony, anyway?” She waves her hand around trying to convey assurance, although she’s scared shitless of what you might do and how this day could end.
“You don’t have to do this. We can get a cab outside and go away, if that’s what you want. You don’t need to get married today, who cares?”
You gulp, looking behind her to the waves of faces and heads wondering what’s going on. You spot grandma Lee’s head, who’s throwing questioning looks at you and her nephew, although you’re sure she can’t really see you thanks to Karina’s figure standing in front of you. And then you spot him, Donghyuck, tilting his head to look at you, trying to see you even with Karina obstructing his view. And his curious eyes meet your scared ones, and you gulp once more.
“Hyuck,” you whisper, trying to compose yourself as you break eye contacting with him, “Hyuck cares. And I do too,” you conclude, grabbing your veil fast, bringing it to cover your head and face once again. “I am getting married today,”
You use your hand to make Karina spin around, gently pushing her forward.
“Psst, Karina” you whisper shout, using a hand to move the veil a bit from your face so your eyes meet hers once again, “Do not say a word to Yeri and Renjun. Now go! Go!” You usher her to walk in front of you.
You look at your feet once again, and you touch the expensive, silky dress clinging nicely to your waist and bust, and then at the bouquet of Casablanca lilies you’re holding tightly in your hands. And yes, while wearing your expensive Vivienne Westwood dress, and walking down the aisle to The shadow of your smile, you are going to get married to who you think is indeed, the love of your life.
The first few months were milk and honey. Your dynamic didn’t change much, except for the fact that you were sharing a bed permanently. You’ve always shared a bed while growing up and consequently in your adult years too, yet now it’s different. You can look at him in his usual white tee and large pyjama shorts that show the tanned skin of his thighs and it dawns on you that he is your husband. Your husband. And all the times he wears his expensive watch before going to work in the morning, your eyes skip to his fingers, searching for his wedding ring out of instinct. He always wears it. You’ve never seen him taking it off in the past eight months, which can’t be said about you. You took it off every time you were cleaning around or washing the dishes.
Three months after your wedding ceremony, grandma Lee passed, and Donghyuck’s fraudulent plan came to a successful end. Donghyuck bought you a house, took you on holidays around the world, gave you anything you wanted and everything he thought you deserved. And he did all this while wearing the wedding ring. Donghyuck could see the dreamy look in your eyes, but he never looked too much into it, thinking it was all about the hundred million dollars you were now sharing between the two of you. You were still the same Y/n, and he was still the same Donghyuck, except for the fat bank accounts and the sharing of the bed.
To Donghyuck, sharing a bed wasn’t that big of a deal. He’s slept on the same surface as you multiple times before, the only thing that’s changed now was the fact that the two of you were legally bound, and he actually liked being able to say that he was married to you, and that you are his wife. People never expected him to even be in a relationship, and never expected someone as beautiful as you to get married this young, and he found it hilarious.
“I like being married to you,” he says, chewing on a piece of steak he grilled in the back garden.
You seem taken aback by his words, blinking a few times before clearing your throat, “You do?”
“Yes,” he smirks. That stupid smirk that you hate because you know he’s about to say something annoying, but love at the same time because it’s his smirk. “We’re still the same, we’re still us,” he swallows the bite, “except you’re my wife, and that isn’t so bad,” he smirks again and you have no idea where this conversation is going. He’s a bit tipsy, having already opened a second bottle of red wine, and except the two glasses you had for yourself, the remaining alcohol is in his system. “Why wait and date around to get married, when we’re right here? I have you and you have me, we’re locked in for life, baby,”
You feel a lump in your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s because he might have just promised you eternity by his side, or the fact that he’s just admitting to be settling for you instead of trying to go after someone he might actually love.
But you agreed to this, to the life he’s promised you. When you looked into his mischievous eyes once he kneeled down in front of you, you knew what you were getting into. Putting your feelings aside, being able to call Donghyuck yours even if he wasn’t anything more than the childhood friend you grew to love in a different way than the way he claimed he loved you back. The casual ‘be careful, love you’s you two threw in at the end of phone calls or when saying goodbye after school became to you much more than what they became to Donghyuck. But the gleam of hopefulness he’s always held in his gaze as he said he believed in you, as he tried to coerce you into committing fraud, as he promised you the moon, the stars, and everything else hanging in the sky, it really made you believe that you could have it all. If this all meant having Donghyuck next to you for the next years, decades, then it was all worth it.
And your routine as a married couple becomes just that, a routine. Waking up in the morning, making breakfast, and then he leaves for work because, unlike you, he still kept a job. And then you don’t know how to make time pass faster until he comes back home, to you. You fill your time with shopping sprees and activities you’ve never thought you would be picking up — going to the spa and playing tennis every other day. The months pass and you’re not sure how your life has become so boring. Before, you really had it all and you didn’t even realise. A job, your own apartment, your own car that Donghyuck got rid of after the two of you got married, just to gift you another one. You used to hang out with your friends multiple days a week, now it’s a miracle if you see them once every two weeks. Moving to a mansion at the outskirts of the city isolated you, and you relied on Donghyuck for all the support you needed.
As for your relationship with him, there really isn’t much to say. Nothing has changed, except that he seems to be less annoying, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already become too used to him and his personality since the wedding happened. At first, you travelled together for your honeymoon, and you swear you were on the brink of divorcing him, but that annoying feeling has subsided considerably, and you have a faint idea of the reason why that is.
And then, you start to notice Donghyuck doesn’t come home for dinner time that often anymore. Hell, you could say that it’s a miracle if he comes home on time for dinner at least two days a week. Most times, he comes home too late and has to eat alone, while talking to you about his day and what his plans for the following day are. Other times, he goes straight to take a shower, telling you he’s not hungry and that he’ll take a bite of what you’ve cooked in the morning instead.
And tonight, it’s both. He promised he’d be back on time for dinner and then High School Musical marathon on your big flat screen tv. But the dinner has run cold, you’ve already taken a shower, and by the time you hear Donghyuck’s keys open the heavy front door, you’ve already played the first two films.
“Honey I’m hom-”, he’s interrupted by a gasp, and you can hear his heavy footsteps run down the hallway to the living room, “Did you really start without me?” He whines, and you almost cannot believe your ears.
“Please tell me you’re not serious right now, Hyuck,” you warn, looking at him.
Donghyuck looks at you, at your figure, at your eyes. You’re looking at him, and there’s something in your gaze that, for the first time in years, he can’t decipher. Your eyes are sleepy, almost droopy, a clear sign of your tiredness. Or maybe you’re just disappointed and tired of him.
He plops down next to you, looking at you apologetically, and the action makes you jump on your spot on the couch. “I’m an idiot,” he whispers.
“You are,” you agree, nodding your head as you return your attention to the high screen in front of your figures.
“Are you mad at me?” He tests the waters, and it only makes you want to punch his face more.
“Why would I be mad?” You scoff, bringing your legs to your chest, an action he knows you do when you try to avoid confrontation.
“You’re not looking at me, Y/n” he mumbles, and it makes you roll your eyes. He knows you too well. “I’m sorry I’m an idiot. I just lost track of time,” he tries to explain to you, but honestly you don’t care.
You think your blood pressure has gone through the roof when your ears start ringing and your palm is itching to be smacked against his face.
“Doing what?” You ask, and if looks could kill, Donghyuck is sure he’d be in great agony right now, just about there, on the verge of dying. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since he plopped down next to you, and Donghyuck knows better than talking nonsense and making you even angrier, because you always smell his bullshit a mile away.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, trying to dodge your question, “Was with the boys out for dinner,” he pouts, “I promise we can spend as much time together as we used to once I’m done with this project at work. Kiss and make up?” He tries one of his oldest tricks on you. Ever since elementary school, every time you were upset with him he would pull this stunt on you. The upset one being kissed on the cheek in a sweet and childish attempt to make things better with a gesture of intimacy neither you nor Donghyuck liked showing to other people. Only to each other.
And his attempt to make you at least slightly less upset with him is successful when the corners of your mouth turn upright just slightly. So he leans in, successfully invading your personal space, his head mere centimetres away from yours, and his chapped lips seem to leave a burning mark when he smacks a kiss on the plush of your left cheek.
And that’s not the only thing that’s left burning right now, as you sense a scent you don’t really recognise. It’s so sweet it burns your nostrils, that consequently flare as a result of the nauseating fragrance that has invaded your personal space.
He retracts himself, singing along with Gabriella, but you don’t focus on the scene or what’s happening around you at the moment. You look at him, as he’s slouched on the couch, his head propped up by one of the cushions on the couch. He seems content with you dropping the topic of his late arrival and the dismissal of all your plans for the evening, and you’re left wondering if he’s aware of the fact that he smells like fucking cheap perfume.
The smell is so strong up your nose that you’re sure there’s no amount of fresh air that can get rid of it, it’s the kind of smell you spray from a tester out of pure curiosity and it’s the worst fucking mistake you can ever do because the horrible smell will cling to your skin for the rest of the day. Too sweet and too strong.
You’re snatched out of your own thoughts when you see him turning his head to look at you, “I need to take a shower,” he announces, standing to his feet and moving towards the hall with the staircase to your shared bedroom and bathroom. “And after that I’m all yours, baby” he sings, and you’re once again left wondering, but this time all by yourself.
All mine, you repeat his words in your head a few times, but the only thing you can do right now is question if that’s really the case, or if it will ever be.
Days pass and you seem to be unable to get the nauseatingly sweet smell of that perfume out of your senses. You perceive it at random times, while cooking, while cleaning, and you know it’s all in your head, because you washed every piece of fabric that Donghyuck could have touched a few night ago with his skin, even after showering.
You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Sensing another woman’s perfume on your husband’s skin made your skin crawl and your heart drop to your ass. But is it even correct to call him your husband? He’s still your best friend, and that’s all he is meant to be forever. You can’t call him your husband if it’s just the two of you, because in all honesty it doesn’t feel like a normal marriage.
Because it isn’t, you’re reminded by your own voice of conscience.
And you know that’s right. The marriage is just a cover for when your families and friends are around, you don’t get to enjoy all the privileges of being married when there’s no one around, and you realise it’s upsetting you.
What the fuck is going on with me? You end up asking yourself. Why is this situation getting to you? You knew what you were getting into, you knew who Donghyuck is and what he goes around doing, you’ve known him for all your life and even helped him get out of unpleasant situations multiple times, so why exactly is it bothering you so much?
You’re pulled back from you own thoughts when your phone rings, and you pick it up to see who the caller is.
“Yes,” you sigh, not really in the mood to hear his voice.
“Wow, gosh, could you be more enthusiastic of my call?” Donghyuck’s tone is full of sarcasm, and you’re seriously contemplating if you should just hang up the call.
“I’m kind of busy,” you lie, “what is it?”
“I’m getting off work early tonight, wanna have dinner with me tonight?” He asks, and you can hear the car’s engine making noise in the background. “Y/n, hello?” He raises his voice a bit, thinking there’s no signal.
“Jesus fucking Christ, stop sounding like a hyena in heat,” you retort, bothered by the high pitch of his voice. “Pick me up at eight?”
“It’s a date!” He cheers on the other end of the line.
As much as you didn’t want to be in his proximity right now, you can’t deny the fact that you miss him, and spending time with him. You’d still rather watch a lion feasting on an antelope rather than seeing his face and hearing him talk to you about trivial stuff as if he didn’t come home smelling like another woman. But the truth is that you miss him. You miss his company, his presence, the idiotic jokes he makes and the smart comments he lets out when you watch a film or show him some new music. You miss him spending time with you, just being together most of the time, and worst of all is that you miss talking to him. You used to talk to him about everything. From family problems to boy issues, from uncertainties to future plans, and he used to be there for you, attentive as ever as if your words held the truth to all secrets and mysteries of this planet.
And you’re hoping that tonight it can be just that. You hope he misses you and your company just as much, and that he made these plans to take you out in an attempt to close the gap that has formed in your relationship. If you feel the distance and all these upsetting feelings and thoughts, then he must feel them too, right?
But the hours pass, and like some sort of sick tradition he’s trying to establish in your relationship lately, he doesn’t show up. You’re in a dress, you smell nice, you look spectacular, waiting for him to take you out for dinner at the new amazing place he’s found. Your stomach churns realising that he probably landed in that place with someone else as his date, and that’s how he discovered it, and you grab your purse before exiting the house.
You need to go out by yourself, and clear your head of all the insecurities you realise this marriage has given you. You used to enjoy his own company, and you used to look forward to having Donghyuck around you so often. But now it only irritates you, the thought of being in his proximity makes you want to punch a wall, because you know you can’t be near him right now. He knows you too well for your own sake, and knows if something is off the moment your gaze meets his, so it’s better to avoid him if you want to save your face in this pathetic masquerade. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? As long as people don’t see him going around on dates with other women, you have to go along with all of his actions. How would you explain to him that you know what he’s been doing behind your back? Because that’s what hurts you the most, his need of going behind your back instead of telling you about it all like he used to do in the past. Why did things have to change?
Your chest feels heavy and your eyes ready to spill some tears. You make your way to your car, you need to be by yourself. Not like you haven’t been mostly by yourself in the past months, but realising why this happened makes you want to disappear into thin air. And you need to be far away, in a place where you can clear your mind, far away from Donghyuck, his smell, and you shared house — where everything reminds you of him, what could have been, and a macabre reminder of what it actually is.
Donghyuck doesn’t know how he got home the night before, too much alcohol present in his system. But he knows one thing, you weren’t there in your shared bed. Considering the taste in his mouth as soon as he wakes up, he can only imagine how bad he smells and that it would have probably woken you up the moment his head hit the pillow next to yours, knowing your sensitive nose. Because of this, he thinks you not being here last night and this morning to witness his state is a blessing. But he also knows that he misses you. He remembers being cold last night, and when he reached for you in search of heat, you weren’t there.
Donghyuck’s head raises from his pillow, a splitting headache making him hit the pillow once again.
You’ve never been away at night, not since this marriage happened. Suddenly, he remembers he has your location, and he can check your whereabouts on his phone.
“She’s home?” He mumbles surprised, making a huge effort not to whine in pain as soon as he stands off the bed and his head starts throbbing.
In his actual state, he doesn’t know where in this huge house to look for you, but then his head feels like being split in half when he hears the clanking of some pots and pans downstairs in the kitchen, and his nose picks up the faint smell of coffee and pancakes.
“Good morning,” he tests the waters as soon as he sets foot in the kitchen, but the bright light coming from outside the open window makes him whine in pain, and he brings his hand over his eyes in a sudden movement.
“Morning,” you reply back, flipping the two pancakes in your pan.
He takes a seat at the kitchen island, just in front of where you’re working your ingredients, and you feel his gaze following you and your movements.
“How long have you been gone last night?” He asks out of curiosity, and he sees you suddenly frowning. He loves getting to talk to you face to face, because you can never hide your emotions from him. He knows every jot and tittle of yours.
“How long have you been gone last night?” You have a sudden burst, asking him the same question, and you grip that pancake spatula so harshly your knuckles turn white.
“What?” Donghyuck straightens his back on the high chair, looking at you confused. Seeing you so upset makes him forget about his muscles pain and splitting headache. Why are you so worked up for?
And then it downs on him. Last night, the alcohol, the company, losing track of time. The plans he’s made with you. He’s been away almost every night in the past months, and he never paid too much attention to you, because he never thought it would bother you this much. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him right now, and he knows he’s fucked up. You’re never avoidant unless you are really upset, or you’re trying to avoid confrontation because you’re about to open your mouth to pour your heart out. He’s witnessed this behaviour of yours multiple times, so he knows what to expect from you.
Except this time, you don’t start a fight, you don’t get teary eyed, you don’t tell him what has been bothering you. But he already knows. He’s been away too much, and he’s bailed on you a lot lately.
You keep your eyes on your pancakes and on the huge bowl with batter, not even once looking at him.
“I’m so, so sorry, Y/n,” he mumbles softly, and by his tone you realise he’s genuine.
“What are you sorry for?” You ask, as if it didn’t really matter to you. Except it really mattered, more than you’d like to admit. But you’ve heard him apologise to you on many occasions in the last few weeks and months, and you feel like it’s lost its meaning.
“For forgetting about you and our plans,” he answers. Ouch. Him saying it out loud hurt more than the thoughts running lapses around your head. “I’m really sorry for not being here more often,” he continues.
And he really is, because he’s gone about his life like he didn’t coerce you into getting married for his own good. He thought that the setting down part will be done, and then the huge bank account that would come with it would be an advantage. When he said nothing has to change in your dynamic, he meant it. He wants you to go out and live your life to the fullest, especially now that the both of you share millions of dollars. There’s nothing that can stop you, nor him. While you have a joint account, for which Donghyuck insisted, he also insisted you had your own bank accounts and own cards to use as you please. “No need for me to see what, when and where you spend our money,” he explained to you, and at that time you accepted the idea. The bigger, joint account was your safety net, because while you weren’t the big spender Donghyuck encouraged you to be, he liked throwing money left and right. He supposes it’s about the upbringing, and he knows that you still struggle to let yourself go on shopping sprees worth thousands of dollars a time and getting out of the house now that you quit your job. He just wishes you would let loosen up for a bit to enjoy what this marriage has brought you. Let yourself enjoy the money and the liberty of still doing everything you were used to doing before being legally bound to him.
“Y/n,” he calls your name, “Look at me,” he instructs, and you have to gather all your willpower to do as he says, because there’s nothing you want more than to tell him to fuck off.
When you look at him, he freezes in his chair. Your gaze is so full of emotion, so hurt, and he realises the tears he was expecting you to shed in your usual upset burst weren’t there because you had already shed them before, all by yourself.
He stands to his feet, and starts walking around the marble kitchen island to reach your figure. “My sweet Y/n,” he coos, pulling you in a tight hug. “Please forgive me,” your head rests in the crook of his neck, and Donghyuck’s skin tingles when he feels your breathing against his skin.
“You’ll have to do some grovelling before I can forgive you,” you mumble against the skin of his neck, and he lets a deep laugh escape him.
“What if I did the grovelling while having breakfast together on the terrace?” He asks, moving his head to look behind yourselves outside the window, checking the weather. “Sounds good?” He moves back to his initial position, his head resting on yours.
You nod, holding him a little tighter. “Let’s spend tomorrow together,” he proposes, and you nod once again.
“Before you start grovelling for breakfast, you need to go shower,” you let your arms fall, getting out of his embrace, gently pushing his chest to guide him out of the kitchen, “You stink of alcohol,”
He whines offended, but he knows you’re right. Before he can get out the room he stops in his tracks. “Kiss and make up?” He pouts his lips, closing his eyes and fluttering his lashes like the drama queen he is. No conflict is ever resolved without a kiss and make up situation. You lean in, this time giving him a small peck on the lips instead of extending your cheek for him to kiss.
The action visibly takes him aback, but he doesn’t say anything, and he exits the kitchen with a grin plastered on his face.
You look at the tv, at the bottles of beer scattered around you and Donghyuck, and the Chinese takeout boxes resting on the coffee table in front of you. At his long, tanned legs as he sits on the carpet next to you, his gaze fixed on the tv playing Notting Hill.
After a painfully long time, Donghyuck made an effort to be with you. No more excuses, no more hiding, he knows he’s been away and distant for a few months now, and after the euphoria of the wedding and the first few exciting months of being married to you had worn off he basically went back to his old ways, as if the past few months have never happened and he was still an eligible bachelor ready to roam the streets of the city almost, if not every night.
He knows he owes this to you, to the decades of friendship with you, to the love he has for you. He loves you more than he would a sister, but less than a romantic interest, if that makes sense. Maybe it’s the decades of friendship that have gotten him so attached to you, or maybe the fact that you’ve always understood and protected him the best you could. Whenever his parents fought, and he got dragged in these relentless fights between the two of them, being asked to pick a side, he flew the scene and came running to your house. You’ve always understood him, you’ve always shared everything with him, you and your parents made him realise what normality is like. A loving family, not everything being about money and power and jealousy. And that’s one of the reasons why he married you, he knows it. Apart from being the one to know him best, even more than his family and grandma Lee, you’re the one who provided him peace and tranquillity, the safety of being loved and, no matter how many times he fucked up, you were always there for him — even if you scolded him first. He can’t pinpoint the nature of all the feelings he has for you, but he knows that you bring him the kind of comfort and safety no one has ever even tried bringing him.
You feel his gaze on you, and you turn your head to throw him a questioning look. “What’s wrong?” You ask, a deep frown plastered on your pretty face.
He’s snapped out of his own thoughts, and looks at you like a deer in highlights, seemingly taken aback by the fact that he was so deep into his head that he didn’t even realise he was looking at you. He tries to conceal what he thinks was a surprised face when you bursted his bubble, and looks at you with fake annoyance.
“Y/n,” he says your name, sporting a serious expression, “I will have to be very honest with you,”
You turn your whole body around so you can face his, and you giggle looking at his face. Judging by the scene that’s on right now on the tv, you know exactly what he’s about to say.
“You hate Anna Scott?” You say it before he can.
“I hate Anna Scott,” he confirms, throwing his head back so it hits the seat of the couch, “how can you even like her, she’s the worst!” He whines, lazily pointing his hand towards the tv screen where Julia Roberts’s character is having a fight with Hugh Grant’s.
“Because!” You gasp, smiling sheepishly, knowing that what you’re about to say is going to annoy the hell out of him. “She’s just a girl!” You start, and Donghyuck is already rolling his eyes at you, “Standing in front of a boy!” You’re so excited to do your number, and Donghyuck doesn’t say anything but he turns his head to look the other way. “Asking him to love her!” You end your act by grabbing his black t-shirt and pulling him a bit towards you.
Donghyuck looks at you, at your hands on his chest, at your excitement, and he can’t help being surprised. He also can’t help the rosy cheeks he feels getting hotter and hotter, and the strange movements happening in the pit of his stomach. This never happened before, every time he was the one initiating any type of physical touch with you, or even when you give him as much as a hug back. But he never felt this way.
He tries to regain his composure, pushing himself up against the foot of the couch to an upright posture. He clears his throat as smoothly as he can, trying to remember what was happening before you became so excited. Ah yes, fucking Anna Scott.
“She’s just a girl,” he copies you with a whiney tone, rolling his eyes once again. “She’s an idiot, that’s what she is, Y/n. She’s despicable, so much that they should make a Despicable Me film with her as the main villain,” He argues, his smooth forehead now marked by a deep frown, his index repeatedly and forcibly poking on the carpet underneath the both of you, trying to make his point come across.
You pause the film, outraged at his hate for the character. It wasn’t the first time he hated on her, but he was never this vocal.
“She’s not that bad, Hyuck” you retort, bringing your legs up to your chest, your body still facing his.
He smirks at you, that kind of attractive, devious smirk he makes when he’ll start a debate with you just to crush you and your opinions like a cockroach in a sewer.
“Think about it, Y/n,” he says, his body turning towards yours, imitating the way you are sitting. “If the roles were to be reversed, would you think this way?” He asks, smirking at you, tsking in disapproval.
You look at him, weighting his words, and you’re sure your eyes are the size of saucers while looking into his smug ones.
“She plays with that poor man’s heart, Y/n. She plays this push and pull game I really don’t know why William loves her, it’s like she likes hurting him and he’s an idiot too for sticking with her for so long,” he sighs as if he was William himself, going through that kind of pain himself.
You look at him, unimpressed. It’s ironic, really, he's mocking the ones who play with other people’s hearts.
“Thank god William learnt some self respect, right?” You whisper back, looking at his side profile, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. Except, he never looks back at you, laughing at your words with his specific deep laugh that he lets out whenever he’s taken by surprise.
For god’s sake, he can’t read the fucking room, you think.
“Yeah, that too,” he agrees after he recomposes himself, finally looking at you, his facial features relaxed with amusement. “But it’s a cute ending, I’ll give you that, baby” he responds, going back to the smugness you so love and hate at the same time.
“Thank you for today,” you tell him when the film is over, the last song playing loudly in the background, making Donghyuck start humming it. He knows it by heart, with all the times you made him watch your favourite film and the countless times you put the soundtrack on.
“No, I should be the one to thank you,” he explains, picking up the beer bottles scattered around the room and walking behind you towards the kitchen, where you’re headed with all the Chinese takeout boxes balanced in your arms. “I know I haven’t been a present friends, or we could say husband, but I really want you to know that you matter to me and things between you and I haven’t changed,” he explains, and it feels like a sharp object is piercing your chest repeatedly.
Just another reminder that things are still the same according to him. Another reminder that things between the two of you will never change the way you wanted.
Sensing his piercing gaze on your figure, you nod, not feeling like letting any words out.
You leave the kitchen first promising to clean all the mess in the morning, but Donghyuck is close behind you, and you can still sense his gaze on your figure as you make your way in and out of the ensuite bathroom, and his eyes feel very heavy on you, like there’s something he needs to bring up and doesn’t know how, so instead he just looks at you until you’ll spare him a look.
So, you spare him a look. And he’s like a kicked puppy, sitting in the middle of the bed and you sense uncertainty in his posture. The easy going Donghyuck you know is nowhere to be found, and you feel obligated to intervene and ask him what’s going on in that head of his.
“Hyuck,” you say his name, climbing into bed, “Is everything okay?”
“Mhm,” he hums, but you can see him still being hesitant about something.
“You sure?” You giggle, trying to ease his nerves. He’s never hid anything from you, and he’s never taken so long to open up about something either. You never had to coerce him into opening up about what’s bothering him. “Hyuck, look at me,” you say, but it comes out more as a question.
He avoids your plea for a bit, and then he gives in and his gaze meets yours. It’s sparkling, but not with his usual smugness and joy. Instead, you’re met with an emotional look that looks like might be on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, grabbing his cheeks, and you notice how they’re burning up.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says, avoiding your eyes once again, even if you’re holding his head still with your hands. “I've treated you so badly lately, I cannot imagine how my avoidance affected you day by day, and as I said before, I know I haven’t been here for you and truth be told, I don’t want anything to change. I dont want to lose you, and I certainly don’t want you to resent me in any kind of way. I’m so sorry, Y/n,” he pauses in order to take a breath in.
You let go of his face, speechless, not knowing if you should open up as well or if you should let him be the only one to open up right now.
“I want you to know that no matter what, I love you. I really do, Y/n,” he grabs your face with his clammy hands, a clear sign of the nerves he’s experiencing right now, “I care about you, and nothing or no one will come between you and me, yeah?”
His eyes are sincere, but his words sting like hell. He says he loves you, but to what extent? You know the kind of feelings you have for him, you’re aware of them and you know their nature, but is he as certain of his, as you are of yours?
You’re so deep into your head that you fail to notice the kind of gaze Donghyuck is giving you, but when you raise your eyes to look at his face, you notice how his eyes are on your lips and immediately shift back to you eyes.
You lick your lips out of instinct, a habit you’ve had all your life when your boyfriends and partners looked at your lips before kissing you, and you close your eyes embarrassed after doing it in front of Donghyuck. After all, he’s just… your husband.
Donghyuck’s clammy hands gently squeeze the side of your face, trying to bring your attention back to him. You open your eyes and your gaze lands instantly on his lips, knowing his face’s proportion perfectly by now, your eyes sliding immediately without you not even registering the action. Until you feel him leaning in, his eyes barely open, and there’s a force that pulls you in closer to him, and even if you wanted to pull back you know that’s not what you really want. But is it what he really wants?
You give up on trying to analyse the situation right now, and you grab his wrists as you feel him getting rid of the mere centimetres of distance between your lips. His plump lips feel sweet amidst the kiss, the way they sit perfectly on yours makes you feel elated, and you briefly remember who you’re kissing right now. You cheeks feel like they’re on fire, but the kiss is too intoxicating to come to reason with your conscience, and you feel his tongue poke tentatively for access. You grant it, and he smiles into the kiss, his tongue now dancing with yours in a sweet saccharine waltz. You don’t care about the way you’re both running out of air, the way his kiss is getting more and more desperate, and the way you can’t stop chasing his lips now that you’re feeling like you’ve opened pandora’s box.
He detaches himself from your lips, the action making a popping sound that you’ve never found this hot until today.
“Just promise me,” you say, taking big breaths as discretely as possible, your throat feeling incredibly dry all of a sudden. “Promise me you’ll never run away from me,” you say, caressing his cheek, and he leans into your touch like a poor animal looking for affection.
“Okay,” he promises, pulling you into his embrace, and it feels like he’s promising you the whole universe.
But you should have known better than trusting Donghyuck. Is like ever since he married you he’s done nothing but hurt and lie to you, like the decades of friendship have never happened and like the past didn’t even matter to him. The promises he’s made in the wedding vows and the ones made to you personally and privately, have no value to him, you’ve come to this conclusion the next day, when he was nowhere to be found.
He was out the door before you could wake up to make breakfast, and you wouldn’t hear from him for the entirety of the day. He would come back home late, knowing his dinner had already run cold, not like it ever mattered anyway since you know he was having dinner out, possibly with some other female companion. He would come to bed, thinking you’re sound asleep, but you felt and heard everything. The sighs, the stirring in his sleep, the occasional smell of alcohol on his breath, the way he would keep his distance from you every night.
It went on this way for five days before you couldn’t take it anymore, so you moved your essentials out of your shared bedroom and bathroom, to one of the guest rooms. And it should have been this way since the beginning. Apparently being married has no value to the one you thought understood you the best, and what’s a signed paper in front of bodily desires? Nothing, that’s for sure.
This way you’re spared the icky perfumes he comes home having traces of on his skin and clothes, you’re spared the presence of a person that clearly doesn’t love you the way they claimed before, nor does he really care for you, you’re sure of this. Who breaks a promise to someone they supposedly say they love? You’re spared the sadness you feel when he doesn’t reach out to you all day and ultimately comes home at the crack of dawn, and the hesitation you feel when he sits tentatively on the edge of the bed before he decides to lie down next to you. And, most importantly, you’re spared the heartbreak.
The marriage is just a contract to him, you’re just some sort of friends only, treating you like a housemate who he gets the privilege of calling his wife to the outside world. No amount of money, fancy dinners, and privileges that his status brought to you once you married him is worth the pain you’re feeling being ignored by him out of all people. If it were Renjun, you’d understand. If it were one of the girls, it would be logical since you stopped hanging out that often with all your friends ever since you got married. No more meet ups in the middle of the week, no more wine parties during film nights with them. You changed when you got married, but you never thought shit would hit the fan so fast. You could understand if anyone treated you this badly, but not Donghyuck. The bond you two shared was too important, at least for you. But he doesn’t value it as much, that much is clear to you.
You move rooms, you stop making dinner, only eating small portions by yourself because, after all, everything would end up in the bin if you made dinner for him as well. You sleep alone at night, even if you’re cold as hell and you miss his body emanating heat, but you don’t think he’s even noticed your moving rooms. With the amount of alcohol he ingests before returning home late at night, you’re not even sure how he can remember where home is.
You start looking for sports courses, pottering classes, airplane tickets for vacations you’ve always wanted to go on, anything that could get you back on track and to stop you from being the wannabe perfect wife to someone who doesn’t even consider you his wife worth respecting.
Two weeks pass since you two shared the kiss, and Donghyuck’s still avoiding you like the plague. So you do him a favour and make it easier for him by hiding from him.
One evening, you’re sitting on the couch biting on an apple and watching a documentary when your phone rings. No one ever calls you, and in a pathetic attempt of hoping that he’s the one calling, you’re reminded of how much of a fool you are when you’re met with Jaemin’s name and contact picture looking right back at you. He never calls you, only talking to you through texts, so your stomach drops when your thoughts start racing, thinking that the reason Jaemin’s calling has something to do with something bad that’s happened to Donghyuck.
“Jaemin?” You ask, falling short of breath expecting the worst news ever. You suddenly regret the cold shoulder you’ve given Donghyuck.
“Y/n, yes, hi” he answers robotically, and you feel hesitation in his voice.
“Did something happen?” You push it, trying to brace yourself for the worst possible news.
“Mmm, just wanted to ask you something,” he says but it comes out more like a question. When you prompt him to continue, you hear him breathe through his teeth hesitantly, “I wanted to see if Hyuck’s home, maybe?” You know Jaemin well enough to know that he is conflicted and embarrassed by this phone call.
“What?” You ask incredulously. “Is this the reason you called?” You bark back, knowing that Jaemin is not one of the people you need to hide from when it comes to the real you, and your vulgar mouth with all the swear words.
“I didn’t know who to call,” he says but it sounds like a question once again, his tone defensive. “Me and Mark were supposed to meet him at my apartment tonight, and he didn’t show up. We thought something had happened because he said he’d come home to grab a quick bite with you, but he never came back and it’s been two hours” he explains, and you hear Mark telling him what kind of questions to ask you, “I’m sorry Y/n, just call me if you ever need anything”.
You sigh, once again disappointed. “I’m sorry Jaemin,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “And Mark,” you continue, knowing he’s listening as well. “I’m sorry but Donghyuck never came home, and I don’t know where he is,” you say, before bidding goodbye to the two.
What a fucking idiot, you mumble, throwing your phone on the couch. You pick up your apple but you can’t chew on it right now, not with the lump that’s formed in your throat, suffocating you.
Why is Donghyuck acting the way he is? To you, to his friends? It's like he doesn’t want to keep the cover up of this marriage intact to the eyes of outsiders.
Lost in your own thoughts you lose track of time, the first documentary ends just for another one to start. You fail to hear the car parking outside your house, but you don’t fail to notice the tingling of keys just outside your front door. Waiting for Donghyuck to enter and be as drunk as he’s made a habit of being, just for him to then skip checking the living room or any other room in the house and go directly to the upstairs bedroom, you’re incredibly irritated when you realise he’s so drunk off his ass that he can’t see where to put the keys in.
You stand to you feet, approaching the front door, and just in that moment the door opens slightly, showing a dishevelled Donghyuck totter forward in the hallway. He notices you, and he smirks at you as if you’re not ready to kick him in the throat for all the mixed feelings you’re feeling because of him. You’ve never felt more low, more pathetic, more disrespected than right now.
“Hi, baby” he rasps, and you know that the tone of his voice and the words he just spoke would have had you on cloud nine. But now you feel disgusted.
“Where the fuck have you been? And why are you so drunk at seven in the evening?” You ask, a deep frown plastered on you features.
He tsks, trying to stand upright, and that’s when you see it. At first you think it’s just the shadow of his shirt’s collar, but then you look more attentively, and a simple shadow can’t have red and brown and purple tones plastered all over.
A hickey? Your heart drops and you think you’re about to black out in about ten seconds because of the distress you feel right now. Another woman’s scent is something, but a mark on his body is another thing completely. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, but he’s too drunk to bring it up, and you know it’s not really your place to hold him accountable for this. So your internal war goes on and on, and on.
So you try to play it off by chewing his head off like a good friend would do. And you hope the hurt in your eyes goes unnoticed, but you don’t think too deeply about this because he’s too drunk to remember his own name.
“Where have you been, Hyuck?” You ask softly, but he’s too drunk to sense the amicable tone you’re using, and gets defensive immediately.
“Why the fuck do you keep asking me this, Y/n?” He barks, and somehow it hurts you more than anything he’s previously done to you.
The lump in your throat sets itself once again, threatening to make you spill the dinner and the apple you had tonight. But looking at Donghyuck’s dishevelled self, smelling him, and seeing the marks on his neck completely enrages you, making you find the voice to snarl back at him.
“Don’t fucking raise your voice because I’m on the verge of punching you in the throat, Donghyuck” you snarl through gritted teeth.
“You’re so sexy when you threaten me, and you using my government name, baby,” he smirks, trying to keep his upright posture the best he can.
“Stop being an idiot,” you push his shoulder, making him lose his balance for just a second. “Jaemin called me, Donghyuck,” you push him once again, this time his back comes into touch with the wall behind him, and the mention of his friend’s name snaps Donghyuck out of whatever dizziness he was in. His eyes are the size of saucers, and he seems like he wants to say something but you cut him off immediately, “It’s okay to neglect me, but get you fucking shit together if you don’t want your other friends to burst your fucking masterplan,” you say through gritted teeth, before turning around and going up the stairs, not sparing Donghyuck another look.
In doing so, you fail to see the look on Donghyuck’s face, you fail to hear the front door closing behind him, and the engine of his car getting turned on.
You’re suffocated by the wave of emotions you feel, they’re making you drown in your own tears. Tears run down your cheeks before you can sense them even brimming in your eyes, and the sobs that follow are a raw reminder of the unhappiness you’ve felt in the last months of your life. But now you can add betrayal to the equation.
You must do something to get out of this situation, or you’re risking losing yourself for a man who doesn’t really lose sleep over how much hurt he’s causing you.
Donghyuck is not sure how he’s managed to reach Jaemin’s apartment complex safe and sound, but he stomps his way through the building like he owns it. He just might. He’ll buy the place tomorrow and he’ll kick Jaemin on the streets for the stunt he’s pulled on his wife later this evening.
The knocks on Jaemin’s door reverberate so loudly that even Donghyuck is kind of intimidated by the echo they make.
The moment Jaemin opens the door, Donghyuck pushes through without caring about the force he uses to push at Jaemin’s chest in order to get him out of the way.
“What the fuck, man?” Jaemin asks in disbelief.
“I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you this, you moron,” Donghyuck snarls, pushing again at Jaemin chest, making him grit his teeth in annoyance knowing why his friend is paying him a visit. It must have something to do with the phone call he’s given his wife.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he warns, waiting for the shitstorm that drunk Donghyuck is willing to start.
“What the fuck were you thinking, calling Y/n?” Donghyuck raises his voice once again, “You call my wife for what reason, exactly?” His gaze throws daggers at Jaemin’s head, but the latter doesn’t back down. “What the fuck is wrong with you, snooping about my life like you have no other business? Are you trying to ruin it for me?”
Jaemin can take a lot of things. Can take violence, palms of hands on his chest, punches to his face. He can take a nasty mouth like Donghyuck’s, and he can take the disrespect because he knows he’ll sort it out with his friend once he’s sober. But there are a few things Jaemin can’t take, like when someone's blaming him when he did nothing wrong, and when women are being disrespected.
So he walks towards Donghyuck, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him into the wall, keeping him glued against the hard, cold surface.
“Your wife was home alone, sad, and upset,” Jaemin makes a threatening pause between each word, pushing Donghyuck against the wall again and again each time, “So shut the fuck up before I push you through this wall. She didn’t even know where you were, you're drunk and you have fucking hickeys on your fucking neck. So, tell me now, who’s the one ruining it for you? Me or yourself?,” Jaemin lets Donghyuck go after one last push. But doesn’t spare him another look.
A week passes since the hickey incident and you don’t see Donghyuck. You assume he’s on some sort of vacation with someone else, and you don’t even care enough to look for him on the tracking app. You don’t want to make an obsession out of this, because you guess he’s with someone else, and actually seeing his contact on some exotic country’s map on the phone app would be your final straw.
So you try to do your own thing by packing a small trolley and calling a cab to take you to the airport. You’re not sure about the destination, but you feel like you need to do this to get out of the slums of your heart.
You buy a ticket for the first flight you set your eyes on once you reach the ticket till, and you make your way through the passenger lounges towards the gates. You already feel refreshed, and you nearly vibrate with anticipation when you think about the days that are yet to come and the alone time you’ll have to yourself, but this time in a different city. Alone and away from your supposed husband.
You reach one of the restaurants there, and you hate to admit to yourself that Donghyuck has engulfed every aspect of your life when you realise that you’re going to drink beer and eat steak at ten in the morning just because Donghyuck has always done this type of thing, “It’s the law of the jungle here, baby” he once joked when he almost got drunk off overpriced wine in one of the airport’s restaurants way before noon.
So you gulp the resurfacing feelings back to where they belong, the bottom of your being where you hope they’ll be forgotten and unreachable for a long time, and so you reach the bar, asking for steak and beer like you’d be asking for a coffee and muffin at the local cafeteria back home. Which again, you don’t need to be worried about because airports are like casinos, especially if you have a flight with a layover in the middle.
You chew your steak and you can’t help but think about how Donghyuck would love this, and there goes your appetite. The lump in your throat returns, and your stomach churns because of all the emotions you feel all at once. You think you need to go see a doctor, because your emotional state is already affecting your physical state as well.
“Excuse me,” you feel someone patting you slightly on the shoulder, making you flinch just a bit at the unexpected contact, “Is this seat taken?” The stranger asks again in a very polite way, which makes you turn around to look at him.
You’re met with a tall, lean figure standing a few feet behind you, his finger still pointing at the seat next to you. You suddenly remember his question and you jump in realisation, moving your luggage on your other side of the stool you’re sitting on, making some space for him to move and sit down. “By all means,” you look at him, gesturing towards the high stool at the bar, “Please take a seat,”
He gives you a smile in return making himself comfortable before picking up the menu to look over. He’s wearing a black wool sweater, his glasses are covered in water droplets that have gone dry by now, probably from the rain outside. His black hair falls slightly on his forehead, and he has to shake his head from time to time to prevent his fringe from getting into his eyes as he tries to look for something appealing in that whole menu.
You go back to chewing your steak, and even nearly cold it’s still delicious. You try not to think too much about the steak and who might like it, or otherwise you’ll not be able to swallow the bite.
“Is the steak good?” The man on your left asks, still holding the menu in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he giggles, realising that you didn’t expect anyone to talk to you, “It’s just that I’m not really sure what to order and I’m starving, and that steak looks really nice,” he smiles at you, but you probably look like an idiot while he was only trying to be friendly.
“You should get it,” you smile back, seeing how his features relax when he hears your answer, “It’s one of the best steaks I’ve ever eaten. The ones I make are excluded,” you laugh, cutting into your steak.
His ears seem to perk up at the mention of your cooking, now intrigued by you. He introduces himself, and you grab his hand, never breaking eye contact with him. His hand is warm and big, his long fingers wrap around your palm, squeezing slightly.
“So, where are you off to?” He asks after a while, curious to know a bit more about you.
“Chicago,” you answer, playing with your bracelets.
“What a coincidence,” he sips on the last drop of beer from his glass, “So am I".
Donghyuck doesn’t see you for a whole week. After the fight at Jaemin’s, he doesn’t come back home to you, but spends the night in his car instead. Not that he couldn’t afford going to some other place, but he was still drunk and the information Jaemin gave about you really did a number on him. Jaemin could punch him, break his head against any surface of his apartment and it still wouldn’t hurt as much as finding out that you’re aware of all his actions on the side of your marriage.
And the fact that he has some fucking hickeys on his skin, and that you surely saw them, makes him want to jump off a cliff. The remorse is eating him from inside, and he’s sure he’s about to get a hole in his chest at the amount of stress he’s been through in the last week.
But not seeing you for a week did Donghyuck some good. He had some time to himself to be really alone, in a hotel room just outside the city, and rethink his life choices and everything he’s done lately. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this amount of shame bubbling inside of him, never thought he’d be able to hurt you so much. He remembers your eyes from that night, when you shoved his shoulder, and it must have happened after you saw the marks on his skin. He feels like a fucking idiot, like he has shit for a brain and there’s no way he’s ever going to straighten things up with you, not after last week. And he honestly doesn’t know what was going on in his head in the past months after the wedding happened, and what made him do all of this, all of the suffering he’s brought you.
After the wedding, after the first few months after the wedding, after grandma Lee passed, he thought that things were just going to go back to how they were before he even saw that damned testament. He could go around fucking whoever he wanted, as long as he came home each evening to be with you, have dinner together and then go to sleep. Nothing between the two of you had to change. The casual sleepovers at one of your apartments would become a recurrent sharing of the bed, but now as husband and wife even if the titles were just for show. The hugs, the embraces, the casual signs of affection that the two of you showed each other wouldn’t have to change. Except, he broke all his rules. Yes, he did go around fucking whoever he wanted, but he never got home on time. He stopped hanging out with you, stopped being there for you. And he can’t help but wonder what the fuck is wrong with him, because the amount of heartbreak he feels right now while acknowledging the pain he’s put you through is making him lose his mind. Maybe he realises this too late, but he thinks he’s done it out of fear. Fear of acknowledging his true feelings. Maybe he never thought you would ever agree to marrying him, but again, he was really hoping you would. He doesn’t understand what’s going on in his mind, but he’s sure of one thing, and that is he loves you. Scrap the “more than a sister but less than a romantic interest” bullshit he’s told himself time and time again, he’s sure he loves you in the pathetic Anna Scott and William Thacker way, the hopeless way, the romantic and desperate, yearning for your attention and just for you — kind of love.
Maybe spending one week away from you does him so good, because he decides to go back home, your shared home, to be a more present husband. He’ll work from home, he’ll do everything for you just as much as you did everything for him but he was too blind to see — or even more. He’ll take you out, he’ll take you on vacations you’ve always wanted to go on. He’ll pick up whatever couple activity you want, and even if it’s not an activity meant for couples he’d still go just for you.
He comes home after a week and a half of being away, and it’s early in the morning. He stops by the supermarket and buys all the ingredients he knows he needs to make your favourite breakfast, and buys freshly squeezed juice from the farmer’s till you love so much, by the entrance of the supermarket. He comes home, and it’s still early, and thank god you’re not down in the kitchen making something already.
He puts some music on, but the volume isn’t too loud so as to not wake you up. He wants to surprise you with breakfast in bed. He remembers when the two of you used to eat cup ramen or whatever other thing you prepared, while sitting in bed at either one’s dormitory. He misses those times, but he realises that nothing has to change, everything can be like before, especially now that he’s gotten the cold shower of reality.
He hears the front door open and turns around confused, but before he can take a step and come towards the entry hall, you show up in the kitchen looking just as surprised as he does.
“What is going on?” Your eyes are the size of saucers, pointing at the spatula in his hand and the apron he’s wearing on top of his casual clothes. It doesn’t look like he’s slept home, otherwise he’d be in his pyjamas or suit and tie. But he’s in jeans and a fitting t-shirt. This time, your stomach doesn’t churn and your heart doesn’t drop.
“Were you not home? Sleeping?” He asks, pointing his thumb towards the staircase.
“No,” you answer but it comes out more as a question, “Were you not home? You should have noticed I haven’t been here for four days,” you retort, your tone not that friendly.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were avoiding me,” he lies. His heart drops knowing he wasn’t here to notice you were gone. “I just wanted to make you breakfast, your favourite,” he shows you the pan full of vegetables, scrambled eggs and grated cheese. You start salivating looking at the colours in the pan alone, knowing that it’s going to be delicious because Donghyuck is an excellent cook. “By the way, we have freshly squeezed orange juice in the fridge, your favourite type, no pulp,” he points his head towards the fridge.
“Jesus, we’re like the fucking Kennedys this morning,” you reply, walking towards the fridge to take the juice out. He laughs at your joke, and it’s like music to your ears. You haven’t heard this sound in a long time, and you have to think about something else as not to let your feelings resurface.
“We’re more like… Brangelina,” he jokes, and this time you’re the one laughing.
“So,” he says, sitting at the kitchen island across from where you’re sitting, so he can see you better. God, you’re so beautiful. Your eyes are sparkling and your cheeks are rosy. You’re wearing that coloured chapstick that tints your lips just the right amount, and it contours your features so perfectly his chest heaves with something close to euphoria. The euphoria of seeing you. “Where did you go these past days? Did you have fun?” He doesn’t want to know the details, because it’s a reminder of the past. The past that he doesn’t want to go back to.
He’s a new man, a married man but he’ll take this seriously this time. A new chapter starts today.
Hearing his question, you stop mid chew. What are you supposed to tell him? Are you two sharing this kind of information now? “Yes,” you reply simply, nodding your head, “I had fun,”
“That’s good, I’m glad” he smiles at you, and it is his most genuine smile. You know it.
“Listen, Y/n,” he starts, but swallows his words when he looks at you. He wanted to apologise, but he feels like it’s too soon and too sudden right now. He’ll do it when the perfect time comes.
“Actually, Hyuck, I’d like for you to listen first. I have something I want to tell you,” you sip on your orange juice, and Donghyuck stops mid chew, and you sense there’s something in his eyes. Fear?
“I’m thankful for you making breakfast this morning, I really am,” you smile at him, trying to bring him some reassurance, “But you don’t have to do this. You never make breakfast and you’re never around but, for some reason, you’re here now preparing my favourite meal for me. I don’t know why you’re doing this or what’s wrong,” you actually might have a faint idea, but you keep it to yourself, “But we can live separate lives. I’ll respect your choices, and we don’t have to interact with each other if that’s not what you really want,”
“What? No!” He interrupts you, frowning, “What are you talking about?”
“You keep avoiding me, you’re away all the time,” you start, but you can feel tears forming in your eyes. Damn it, that’s not how you wanted this to turn out, he doesn’t deserve any more of your tears. “So, I understand that your plan of getting your inheritance was successful, but we really don’t need to be around each other. I get it now, so I’m letting you know that I’ve moved some of my things out of our room, but not all just in case, you know, if our friends ever come by and they see us having completely separate rooms. It would look really bad for your plan,” you explain, drying your tears but smiling nonetheless. And the image breaks Donghyuck.
“You can go do your activities, by yourself, and I’ll do mine on my own” you continue, “but there’s one thing I want to ask of you. Please don’t bring anyone in our house. This is our house,” you make small pauses between requests, hoping he’ll understand what you’re implying. You’re willing to give up your happiness thinking of what could have been, for the peace of mind of coming to terms with what your life is actually like. It’s the only way you can still be with Donghyuck, and you have to make this compromise.
“What?” He snarls, a frown painted on his face.
“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you need to get away from him or you’ll start crying in front of him, and that’s not what you want. So you stand to your feet, pushing the stool under the kitchen island. “You don’t have to worry about anything, okay?” You look at him, but your emotions get the better of you and your eyes are brimming with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the past few months, and he looks back at you like you just caught him committing some sort of crime, “I’ll go to my room now, I need to be alone” you point towards the staircase, “By the way, there’s some dry cleaning that needs to be picked up, can you go?” You ask, but he knows that it is not a question.
He gulps, seeing your back leaving the kitchen. “Sure,” but you’re already on your way to your room, and you don’t hear him.
The day goes by, and Donghyuck doesn’t see you around the house again. He respects your boundaries, so he doesn’t push to get you to listen to what he has to say right away, so he secludes himself in your — formerly — shared bedroom, trying to give you space just for today at least.
The following day, he comes back home after picking the clothes held hostage for so long at the dry cleaner’s — and immediately notices the silence. The dead silence, only the clock ticking making a sound that’s too loud in Donghyuck’s ears and too heavy on his heart. He supposes you’re still locked in the guest room, hence the disgusting silence.
He’s used to finding you around the house either cooking, either singing using a broom as a mic stand as you clean around; either the loud sound of war documentaries, or you crying while watching a cheetah eating an antelope on Animal Planet, either you baby talking to the plants you were planting in some pots in the back garden. But now everything is dead, dead silent.
He really wants to make this right. He rethinks about everything that happened in the past weeks, Jaemin knocking some sense into him, all the conclusions he’s come to, and the words you told him yesterday morning.
First, he realised he wants to make this right. No more sleeping around, no more hiding from you, no more hurting you. It took him long enough to realise he wants to be in this marriage for real, and not just because he was promised millions of dollars if he got married, and he chose the easier way since you were the only woman who’s been around him for so long, — that he now realises he was in love with since his teenage years. It was like a cold shower taken on a scorching day, the type that makes your heart stop for one second and then back to pumping blood quickly with an uneven rhythm.
Secondly, he promised himself, after many days of mulling thoughts in his head, that he’d be more attentive, and that he will try to make things right with you. He’d spend more time with you, as opposed to what he did until now — spending his days with women, too many to count, too many to even remember. And he’s filled with shame every time he remembers how he came home all dirtied up, their kissing marks left all over his body, his clothes stinking of their perfumes, and when he stepped through the front door you were there, waiting for him with dinner and wine, or patiently waiting for him to come home so you could spend some time together like you used to. But he was scared, and it took Jaemin’s shoving to make his brain start working. He’d never meant to hurt you, although he was trying to avoid you every day since that kiss between you two happened, because he thought it was weird. He proposed marriage to you, without any obligations, he never asked you to love him or be faithful to him, and you never asked him either. So why was it so weird? So complicated? He started avoiding you when he realised that maybe you were all he needed after all, and that thought was scary. He jumped head first into this marriage expecting the two of you to live your lives like you were used to doing, and now it seems that he might have done it because it felt right. And it had always been you, and only you.
Going up the stairs two steps at a time, he quickly reaches the upper floor of your shared house, reaching the guest room’s door, where you’ve been sleeping since he screwed up — you made sure to let him know this just earlier.
“Y/n?” He calls your name gently, hoping for you to recognise the vulnerability in his voice. “Y/n, can we talk?” He pleads, knocking slightly on the wooden door.
It creaks open, a puzzled Donghyuck opening it slowly as he looks a bit around the room, expecting you to be in bed or maybe doing some sort of activity you found solace in while avoiding his presence.
But you were nowhere to be found. He takes big steps towards the dressing room, noticing the lights are turned off, and then in a last attempt he tries to look for you on the room’s balcony. But you’re not there, and he’s sure there’s nowhere nearly as cozy and comfortable as this space for you to be hiding. And your shared bedroom is an excluded possibility, because that’s where he’ll be sleeping, and you didn’t want to see his face, it was for sure.
In a last, desperate attempt to find you, he moves quickly towards the bedroom, and he prays to god he’ll find you in there looking through your old clothes and trying them on like you always do every few months, calling him an idiot as soon as you see his face entering the room. But you’re not there either, and he can only sigh, sitting on the bed, thinking of what he can do to find you.
Would it be wise to call Renjun? He’s one of his best friends, but also yours? Renjun would take your side any second, and Donghyuck knows this.
“Let’s not,” he mumbles, throwing the phone across the bed and throwing his back harshly on the hard mattress of your shared bed. He misses you. He missed feeling annoyed by your sleeping figure stretching all over him in search for heat. He misses your perfume, your scent hogging his senses as soon as his head hits your pillow. Your pillow, the one he kept close in his embrace every time you woke earlier than he did. He misses you so much, he needs to feel you randomly giving him a warm embrace.
He can remember the scent of your hair, the one sticking to your skin, and he gets up from the bed to go to your vanity desk to spray a little bit around the room, just so he can find a little bit of comfort before he thinks of where you could be.
He stops in his tracks, sensing there’s something odd going on. Looking around the room, he can’t pinpoint it, but he suddenly feels it in the pit of his stomach.
He looks at your vanity desk, inspecting it from where he’s standing, and he looks for the bottle of your perfume that he loves. And then it hits him. It’s not there. Out of all the perfume bottles, the one you always wore — which he loves, — it’s nowhere to be seen. He jogs to the bathroom attached to your bedroom, hoping that you took it there when you were getting ready to leave, because you’ve done that before. Except, this time you didn’t place it in the bathroom. It’s as spotless as ever, as if no one has ever used it before. Your shower products are still lined nicely in the shower, your skincare products still inside the cabinets hanging on the walls. But not your toothbrush. His is sitting alone in the glass holders where they usually touch each other, as unhygienic as it sounds.
He speeds out of the bathroom, back to your vanity, where he inspects the products laying around. Your preferred perfume is gone, a few make up products missing from the little drawer you had arranged them so nicely in. His eyes dart to the jewellery box sitting on the edge of the desk, and he picks its lid up, inspecting what’s inside. Your usual jewellery is looking right back at his stupid face, as if it was mocking him for freaking out, but he notices some of the expensive jewellery he’s gifted you ever since you two got married, are gone. A bracelet, a few rings, a necklace and a brooch are gone. And then his eyes still on two pieces of jewellery, his heart dropping to his stomach as soon as he recollects his bearings.
Your wedding band and your engagement ring sit mockingly in the corner of the box, as if you had thrown them in without even looking where they landed, without even making sure if they made it inside the box before you sealed it closed.
The thought of you purposefully leaving your rings behind makes him want to hurl, his mind running desperate tireless laps as he tries to understand what’s going on.
And then it dawns on him. You left.
He puts the box back down with gentle hands, and he feels like the ceiling might have collapsed on him with the amount of heaviness he feels in his chest and stomach. Did you really leave? He wants to make sure before he loses his mind, so he checks a few of your drawers and the dressing room adjacent to the bedroom. He can see a few garments missing from each section of the wardrobe, noticing how one of your suitcases is also gone.
Not knowing what to do, he walks back to the bedroom, his hands frantically going through his hair and eyes closing tightly in an attempt to find a way to calm himself down. His eyes so forcefully shut that he starts seeing spots as soon as he opens them again.
He reaches for his phone, trying to look for you through your shared location. “God fucking Dammit,” he exhales when he opens the app.
You went as far as turning your location services off on all your devices, which you’ve never done before, not since he taught you how to turn them on ten years ago.
He dials your number in a miserable attempt to get a hold of you, but it goes to voicemail almost immediately. “Please pick up,” He doesn’t want to give up, so he dials your number a few more times before he gives in and leaves a message on your voicemail.
“Y/n, it’s me, please pick up,” and after five minutes of hopeful waiting, that maybe you’ll reach out to him out of pity more than anything else, he tries again.
“Y/n, it’s me, Hyuck,” he can feel his voice full of uncertainty. He clears his throat, “Where are you? I came home earlier wanting to talk, but I can’t find you anywhere, please call me back,”
An hour of waiting for you to give him a small sign, he feels like he’s losing his mind going back and forth in this damned bedroom.
“Y/n, please come home. At least call me back, tell me you’re safe. Please, please Y/n, call me back” he whispers into the phone before it gets cut off.
Donghyuck feels a tight knot forming in his stomach, only the thought of you not being safe makes him despise himself. If anything happened to you while being away because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself for doing this to you.
Noticing how time flew by, he checks his phone once again, even if you sent him a dry text he’d be happy because he’d know you’re safe enough to check your phone. There aren’t many places Donghyuck knows you’d choose as a safe place trying to put some space between the two of you, but he thinks of one where you could be at right now, and he quickly runs down the stairs and snatches his car keys, so distressed that he forgets to grab his coat.
There’s only one place where you could be, and he needs to see for himself.
“What are you doing here?” Renjun opens the door slightly, but then fully opens it for his friend to step in. “Not only did you steal my best friend, the one who was supposed to marry me at thirty-five in case we didn’t find anyone to get married to, but you’re now attempting to steal my time too,” he rolls his eyes at the man standing in front of him.
“Steal your future wife?” Donghyuck frowns for a few seconds, processing what Renjun said. “What if she was the one stealing your future husband? What, Renjun, wasn’t I good enough for you?” Donghyuck touches his chest where his heart is, tsk-ing his disapproval with fake annoyance.
“Your ways of causing me disgust are always unbelievable,” Renjun fake gags, crossing his arms.
“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Donghyuck sends a flying kiss, and Renjun is glad that they’re not standing next to each other right now because the two of them are close enough for Renjun to know that his friend would attempt to kiss him on any spot of his face that he can reach.
Donghyuck quickly drops the banter, curiously looking around the room, trying to find any of your objects that you could have carelessly left behind when he dropped by. In his head, you’re here somewhere, hiding from him. He hopes you are, and even if you came out and kicked him out the door, he’d be grateful because that way he’d know you are in a place where you are safe and sound.
And Renjun can’t help but notice Donghyuck’s dishevelled look, the locks on his head messily pointing in different directions, and of course there was the fact that he isn’t wearing a coat. He observes the way his friend’s eyes dart back and forth between various surfaces of his living room, and the way Donghyuck’s hands reach behind his head in an unconscious motion.
“So,” Renjun begins, “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” Donghyuck half laughs.
“I’m not dumb. You’re my best friends and you’re married to each other. You haven’t pestered me with stupid memes in the past days, and I’ve only heard from Y/n a couple of times,” he sees his friend’s face lighten up at the mention of your name, “So what did you do?”
“Why do you assume I’m the one in the wrong here?”
Renjun scoffs, his friend’s almost offended tone not being that well received.
“You always do shit to hurt Y/n, so excuse me for giving her the benefit of the doubt,”
“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks again, this time sober.
Renjun sighs, “I had to waltz around the two of you for a very long time, I lived with the two of you before,” he frowns, moving his hand between himself and Donghyuck, “I had to witness times when you hurt her feelings, maybe unknowingly, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but you did nonetheless. I had to pick up pieces you stepped on carelessly, while she gave herself to you on a silver platter. No, pardon me, a golden platter. Your sleeping around, your mindless jokes about it, your little remarks that played with her heart every time you complimented her while making promises to her, and the way she believed you without any second thoughts as if you wouldn’t forget about her and the promises made to her an hour later.” Renjun inhales sharply, recognising how he’s getting worked up, but these are things he’s been dying to say to his friend, and now is the perfect time to do so.
“Don’t act dumb, Hyuck, I was there and I saw it all happen right before my eyes. Every time you promised her the sun, you left her hanging in the air, looking for you yet you were unreachable, avoiding her. I had to mend the pieces you fucked with, every single time. That’s why I was afraid when she told us she’d be getting married to you so suddenly and out of nowhere. I was scared for her wellbeing,” Renjun gulps, crossing his arms once again.
“So, whatever you did this time, I don’t care. I won’t help you in any way. I want her to be well and happy, and if she’ll reach out to me, I’ll be there for her. But you need to get your shit sorted, before it’s too late. If it isn’t already,”
Donghyuck inhales sharply, trying to digest every piece of information he’s found out from Renjun, on which he’ll mull over later when his nerves might calm down.
“Okay,” he surrenders, “I am getting my shit together, Renjun. I have been for the past few days,”
“It’s not long enough. A few days of meditating on your shitty actions won’t erase your wrongdoings,”
“I know, and that’s why I’m working on it, I’m doing this for her,” he starts taking a few steps towards the door, when he turns back to face Renjun, “If she calls you, just tell her to call me, please. I want her to be safe,” the sad look in his eyes are a sight Renjun never thought he’d see, especially from Donghyuck.
“I’ll see you around,” and with that, he gently closes the front door behind himself.
A few days pass, and Donghyuck has made an obsession with checking if you turned your location on again. You haven’t reached out to him, and neither did Renjun. He hopes that his friend would be considerate enough to reach out to him if he ever found out anything about you, but he’s left hanging.
He hasn’t been able to eat much, only a few bites so as not to get stomach aches from hunger. He already had stomach aches just thinking about not having a clue about your whereabouts, he didn’t want to end up on a hospital bed because he couldn’t take a fucking nibble. The bottles of liquor and alcohol the two of you had agreed on keeping on a neat bar shelf in the corner of your living room were almost empty. He’s never felt more distraught, and the liquor only helped numbing his thoughts for a short amount of time, for they all came back to his mind as soon as he woke up from his drunken naps. Donghyuck hasn’t been able to sleep much either, that’s mainly why he drained almost every bottle of hard liquor in the house. He doesn’t want to forget anything about you, but his brain is his biggest enemy these days, and the only thing that can help him out is the thought that maybe, after the alcohol numbs him real good and puts him to sleep, he’ll wake up to you standing in front of him, holding him tight and telling him you forgive him and you want things to work out. Because he can do this, he can do anything you’d ask him, he can make this work. He loves you.
He left you more voicemails and texts, and all went unanswered. By the time the alcohol’s effects wore off, his muscles were already starting to ache from the countless times he fell asleep on the big carpet downstairs, on which he chose to rest in hopes of hearing your keys opening the front door. He was like a sick puppy. Waiting for the owner of his heart to come back home, because he knows you’ll eventually come back. He hopes, at least.
He stands to his feet, taking the empty bottle outside and sitting it carefully inside the bin, as to not make too much noise. His head feels like it’s being split in half, and his muscles beg for a hot shower, which he gladly plans to take after popping two advils from the medicine cabinet in one of the bathrooms downstairs.
After using his favourite scent out of all your shower gel bottles lined up in the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist, walking back to the bedroom to pick up his phone. Your location is still off, and he decides to leave another voicemail for you, because if there’s any possibility of you listening to these voicemails, he wants to be sure he made everything in his power to reach out to you and make you realise how serious he is about everything.
One hand on his hip, while his teeth nibble on his bottom lip, he dials your number, waiting for the call to go to voicemail. Except this time the call goes through, ringing in his ears.
“Hello?” A male voice answers, and Donghyuck has to take a quick look at the phone’s screen to make sure he didn’t dial someone else.
This is your number.
“Y/n?” He inquires, a deep frown forming on his smooth forehead.
“Oh, Y/n’s in the shower right now, can I take a message?”
Donghyuck feels his throat run dry, and sharply exhales in an attempt to calm himself before he can regret anything that might come out of his mouth. Not only is the thought of your leaving destroying him, but to hear another man answering your phone might be the last thing he does before he goes insane.
Who the fuck is it? Who is this man? He can't help but ask himself. Who is it? Is it a friend of mine? But he doesn’t recognise the voice.
“Hello?” The voice on the other line rings in his ears, “Are you still there?”
“And who are you?” Donghyuck rasps, his voice raw with anger.
“Erm,” Donghyuck can feel uncertainty in the man’s tone, “I’m Sungchan. Can I take a message for Y/n?”
The mention of your name out of his mouth makes Donghyuck see red before his eyes.
“Yes, Sungchan,” Donghyuck spits out with anger, “Can you tell Y/n to call home as soon as possible? This is her husband, Donghyuck, by the way,” after which he hangs up, throwing the phone across the room, not even bothering to pick it up again.
You get out of the shower, stepping on the hotel’s slippers, feeling refreshed after getting rid of the sweat residues on your skin, when you feel a knock on the bathroom door. You open it wide, seeing a frowning Sungchan leaning on the doorframe, clearly bothered by something.
“Sungchan?” You ask, combing your fingers through your wet hair. “Is everything okay?”
You see him giving you a conflicted look, and he bites on his lip. “Your husband called. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re married?” He asks you, and you think the sky falls suddenly. It would be easier if he wasn’t looking at you right now, but his gaze is piercing, cold, and hurt.
“What?” You ask, but not because you didn’t hear it the first time, but because you need time to think how to explain everything to him.
Yes, you omitted this detail when you hooked up with Sungchan the first time, but it’s not like he deliberately asked you, ‘are you married?’. You and him were on the same flight to Chicago. You liked the attention he gave you at the airport, and he offered to show you around if you didn’t already have an itinerary planned out. So you accepted, and between some museums, jazz bars, and nice restaurants, you found yourself in bed with him.
With him, you got rid of all the stress you accumulated in the past months, and for the first time in years you even felt loved and appreciated.
Apart from the shame and regret of not being genuine with Sungchan from the very beginning that’s eating at you, there’s also the way he’s looking at you right now. Betrayed, hurt, on the verge of tears.
How did Donghyuck’s hurting lead you into hurting other people? You knew Sungchan likes you, because he explicitly told you so, so why did you have to pull the same card your husband played on you?
“Sungchan,” you start, but no words can make up for the damage already done, because he pushes away from the doorway, going back to look for his clothes.
“I don’t want to hear it,” his voice trembles, sliding the pair of jeans on his long legs. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” he’s mostly talking to himself, and you’re left in the corner of the room in your towel only, watching as he gathers his things from your hotel room.
“Never look for me again,” he walks past you, towards the door, not looking at you even once, “Go back to your husband, Y/n,”
And of course, what other fucking choice do you have?
You push your trolley through the entrance hallway, leaving it at the foot of the staircase, making your way towards the living room. You enter the room, empty and messy, and you can see that Donghyuck has been spending more time at home now than he did before. His clothes are scattered on the couch, a sock is thrown carelessly behind one of the houseplants while the other is resting under the coffee table. He’s not here, but you can sense the smell of steak, and you can hear him humming something in the other room.
You enter the kitchen, that’s empty and messy, and then you hear Donghyuck’s voice ring a bit louder in your ears. You walk around the kitchen island, sliding the kitchen door open and you exit on the patio, scaring Donghyuck.
He’s grilling steak on the patio, dancing around with a huge grilling fork, getting scared when he heard the door slide shut behind you.
“You’re home, baby,” he uses his saccharine voice, and you throw your phone on the wooden table next to the grill.
“Cut the crap,” you snarl, pulling a chair to sit, and you plop down while pointing at your phone, “I called you, you didn’t pick up,” you bite on your cheek, in a desperate attempt to keep your cool and not blow this fucking patio up.
“I didn’t pick up, nope” he makes a popping sound at the end, using a piece of cardboard to vent the meat on the grill.
“Then why all the voicemails pleading me to call you back? If you can’t fucking pick up?” You bark, but he doesn’t flinch at your tone.
“I didn’t pick up because I broke it,” he explains calmly before turning around to look at you, “I sort of got upset after a phone call. How’s your friend, by the way? Sungchan, was it?” He asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Do not fucking say his name,” you threaten, looking at him like you’re ready to jump him.
“Do not fucking look at me like that, Y/n” he threatens back, placing his hands on the wooden table. “I’m you fucking husband!” He raises his voice.
“And I’m your fucking wife!” You scream at him, while standing to your feet. Your nose is flaring with anger, and when your gaze meets his you feel the familiar suffocating lump in your throat. “In the last year, how many times did you consider yourself to be my husband?” You ask accusingly, pointing a finger in his direction. “How many times did you think you had a wife waiting for you at home, when you were with other women?” You cry out, biting on your lip in order to not let all the sobs run past your lips. “How many times, Donghyuck, did I turn a blind eye on your indiscretions? The times you came back home smelling like other women, marks on your skin, the amount of times you didn’t come home for long periods of time?”
“So you think you’re better than me if you just run away with another man?” He raises his voice at you once again, slamming a hand on the wooden table.
You’re honestly appalled at how he’s trying to turn this on you.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You ask calmly, your tears not flowing anymore. “You’re trying to blame me but you don’t see the root of the problem here. So it’s okay for you to do it for months, and then when I do it once it’s suddenly a problem?” You can’t look at him any more, feeling too upset to even spare him a glance.
You notice the alcohol bottles sitting around the bin, and you suppose they’re there because the bin is already full.
“Are you drunk?” You ask in disbelief. You swear he seemed sober when he shouted at you just a few minutes ago.
“Do I look like I’m fucking drunk right now?” He asks exasperated. “Not now anyway, but I did drink waiting for your fucking call, Y/n” he points the grilling fork in your direction, as if he’s accusing you of something. “I waited, and I waited, and I waited for you call, but you just ignored me. You come home one day telling me that you don’t care who I’m with just for you to secretly leave to get with another man. What kind of pure and innocent role are you playing, Y/n? Telling me it’s alright just so you have your peace of mind while doing the same thing I do, because you thought you laid your cards on the table and allowing me to do it would exempt you from guilt?” He accuses you with an extremely calm tone.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Y/n, but what was I supposed to do? You left your fucking rings at home and took off!” He shouts again, and you realise you’ve never had a fight this intense with Donghyuck, with so much shouting. You don’t even think you’ve heard Donghyuck’s shout except for the one he lets out when he’s trying to be funny. Two completely different tones.
“So what? You kept your ring on when you were fucking around?” You bite back, and he doesn’t say anything else.
You decide there’s no way you want to continue the fight. At this point you’re not sure if whatever you and Donghyuck have is worth fighting for. You turn around, not even looking at him again, and go towards the staircase to go to your room.
“Where are you going? Y/n?” He comes after you, calling your name and trying to grab you by the arm, “I made steak!”
“You can shove it up you ass!” You retort, getting out of his grasp, going up on the stairs and leaving him like a lost puppy.
You sit on the carpet at the foot of your bed, not even bothering to turn the lights on. You know you want to be alone right now, but you know that you’d rather be alone in this huge house instead of having Donghyuck downstairs.
You feel like the love you carry for Donghyuck is consuming you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. He can be the biggest idiot in this world and you would still love him. He can be the one to have a huge screaming match with and you’d still forgive him, and love him. Your pain is amplified when you recall the fight you two just had, because everything he said earlier is true. You told him to do whatever he wants because you knew you could go find solace in Sungchan's presence, you wouldn’t be alone anymore, and you could start doing whatever Donghyuck was doing without thinking twice. Just like he did. And what pains you the most is the fact that he made it sound like you were the one who cheated on him first.
And okay, you’re technically not together. But would it be so hard for him to acknowledge you once in a while? Would it be hard for him to stop thinking with his dick and just open his eyes to see that you’re right here, everything he would ask for, you’d give him on a golden platter. But again, maybe he doesn’t feel the same way towards you, and it’s better not to know this instead of having your feelings hurt to a point of no return.
And Sungchan. That poor soul. You feel so sorry for treating him like this, and you feel even worst for making him feel the same way Donghyuck has made you feel up to this point. Sungchan left so abruptly that you didn’t have the chance to tell him the truth. Yes, your husband called, but guess what? He’s not really your husband. It sounds pathetic. You wish you could at lest have told him the truth, about the nature of the relationship between you and Donghyuck, but you guess you had it coming — because not once did you think about bringing your marriage, albeit fake, up to Sungchan, and you had more occasions than you can count on two hands.
You feel conflicted. You feel like the best thing for you would be getting away from Donghyuck as soon as possible. He brings out the worst side of you. The jealous, possessive side, that really has no business existing. Because it’s a fake one, this marriage shouldn’t make you feel like a miserable fool. It shouldn’t affect you the way it does, you’ve only known sadness and jealousy in the past months and it’s really not fair, not when Donghyuck doesn’t care about you and your marriage as much as you do. But at the same time, even if you think it’s best to get away, you just can’t. You’re so used to being with Donghyuck that he has become a part of you, and walking away from him would feel like walking around with just one leg instead of two.
You’re sobbing into your own hands, feeling like the world just collapsed, and you don’t sense Donghyuck coming up the stairs towards your room.
“Y/n, I want to talk,” he opens the door just slightly, waiting for you to say something, but he doesn’t hear an answer, “Can we talk?”
“Go away,” You scoff, raising your head from your hands, bringing your knees to your chest. You notice him stepping carefully inside the room, the light on the hallway brightening your room just a little. He’s carrying your suitcase, the one you left at the foot of the staircase, and he puts it behind the door, before he comes next to you and decides to sit down.
He’s so close you can smell him, even if your nose is stuffy from all the crying. His arm is touching yours, and he brings one of his legs up to imitate your position. You don’t look him in the eye, but your tears keep streaming down your face uncontrollably, and you bite your lip trying not to let the sobs escape you.
He extends one hand, touching the arm closest to him, squeezing slightly.
“Lets talk about this,” he shushes you as soon as you try to reply back, and pats your head with careful gestures, “Come here,” he instructs, and your body responds immediately, like you wouldn’t even need a brain, just Donghyuck to tell you what to do and give out commands for you to follow.
Your face falls in the crook of his neck, and the moment you face touches his skin your tears are unstoppable. He continues to shush you, to tell you to let it all out, to tell you that everything’s okay.
And while you’re in his arms, and he holds you like this, showing you that he does indeed care about you, maybe you believe his words — that everything will be okay, just this once.
“Y/n, I know you can’t talk right now, so I will do the talking, okay?” He asks, but when he doesn’t get a reply back he promptly squeezes your arms to get an answer out of you. Between all the sobs and tears damping his skin and t-shirt, you give him a thumbs up — a sign that he should go on and talk, and it makes him laugh. The beautiful crystalline laugh you love so much.
“I’m so sorry for hurting you, and I know I’ve said this a lot lately but I will keep saying this a lot in the future too. I’m also sorry for talking to you the way I did earlier, raising my voice and pointing my finger when I’m not really the one who should be speaking,” he continues to caress your back while you’re all crouched into his side, your head still glued to the side of his neck. But he doesn’t mind the dampness, he doesn’t mind the sobbing you’re letting out right next to his ear. He doesn’t mind keeping you this close.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess, and then making you feel like I don’t appreciate you or like I don’t care about you. Because I do, Y/n. You’d be surprised if you could hear the things my mind is coming up with when I think about you.” He kisses the top of your head, and you feel his breath fanning over your forehead and cheeks for a little while.
“I’m sorry for ruining whatever you had with Sungchan, and I’m sorry to tell you that this last part is a lie. I’m lying Y/n, because knowing you could be happy far and away from me is making me go insane little by little. I’m an idiot for saying this when I’m the one in the wrong here,” he pauses, and you can hear him gulping.
“I need to be completely honest with you, I think I owe you this, and then if you want to walk away you can. You’re free to do whatever you want, you have your share of the money and it’s up to you whatever you decide to do,” you listen to him, holding your breath for a bit while waiting for him to go on, but your tears stopped flowing.
“The day I made breakfast for you, do you remember that?” You nod, stretching an arm across his stomach to get in a more comfortable position — and you really just wanted to hug him, “I was going to have a talk with you. The previous days, when I basically went missing, I reflected on a lot of things and I was ready to ask you if we could try to do this marriage thing for real this time, but you didn’t even let me speak,” he giggles, and once you register all his words your breath is caught in your throat.
“And then you went missing and I was so worried about you, Y/n. Never do that to me again,” he warns you, and you squeeze him tighter out of instinct. “You can do whatever you want Y/n, I mean it. You can forget I said anything about being for real in this marriage, you can decline all my apologies but I’ll forever feel sorry for putting you through this,”
You push yourself up from his body to finally look at him, and he looks at you with big sparkly eyes, touching his chest with his left hand, and you can see his ringed finger shining in the dim lights filtering through from the hallway. You love him, that’s a confirmed fact. Especially now after you got to hear everything he had to say.
“So how are you going to fix this?” You whisper, not really knowing how you should approach this whole situation.
“Do you forgive me?” He asks, his face getting a bit closer to your figure. He gets so close to you that you can smell his cologne perfectly once again.
“I do, but” you whisper, and you can sense he’s holding his breath, “did you mean it, what you said about doing this,” you point between the two of you, “doing it for real?”
“Yes,” he answers with no hesitation, “I meant everything I said,”
“So let me ask again,” you get closer to his face, smirking as you can feel his breath fanning over your face once again, but this time you look him in the eye, “how are you going to fix this?”
“I have a few ways,” he smirks at you, taking the bait you’ve just thrown him.
Everything happens really fast. You don’t have time to register the moment he seals his lips over yours, kissing you fervently as he gently grasps the side of your neck to bring you closer. You snicker as you feel his lips eagerly moving on top of yours, and your poor attempt at trying to gasp for air is swallowed by his relentless warm lips.
He breaks the kiss, giving you both a chance to breathe, and he stands to his feet, dragging you with him. His lips capture yours once again, but this time he doesn’t lose any more time, his tongue sliding carefully on your bottom lip, asking for your permission. You grant it almost immediately, and he moans into the kiss as soon as his tongue waltzes with yours, his plump lips sucking on your tongue before releasing it with a pop sound, and going back to nibble on your bottom lip.
He lets your lips go once again, grabbing a strand of your hair to play with.
“I’ve wanted to be like this for a long time,” he mumbles, looking at the strand he’s holding between his fingers, “Will you let me take care of you, Y/n?” He rasps, and the look you give him is enough for him to understand your answer. “Lay down for me,” he instructs, pushing you slightly until the back of your knees touch the mattress, and you follow his orders.
He sets himself on top of you, and you wrap your legs around his waist out of instinct. His hands reach for your waistline, roaming carefully towards your hips, where he stops to squeeze tenderly. He leans forward once again, but this time he catches your lips in a sweet, short kiss, repeating the action a few times before moving his juicy lips to your jaw, nibbling on your neck as he moves his ministrations further and further down.
You stifle a moan when his hot mouth reaches the neckline of your top that’s barely covering your breasts now that you’re laying down. Once again, Donghyuck puts his tongue to work, making the wet muscle trace the neckline, leaving wet smears across your hot skin.
His hands reach for the hem of your top, raising it higher on your torso up to your bust. His cold fingertips massage the delicate and silky skin up from your lower abdomen all the way to the underside of your breasts, where the underband of your bra is sticking uncomfortably to your skin.
“Let’s take this off, baby,” he commands, pulling on the fabric that’s covering your bra.
You comply to his orders, getting rid of the top as efficiently as possible, and you hear Donghyuck sucking his teeth, his head hanging low once again to be on the same level as your chest. He continues his actions, tracing his tongue around the cups of your bra, returning to the middle of your chest, where he presses his wet lips on the delicate spot between your tits, proceeding to lick a stripe all the way to your neck and jaw. He captures your lips in a smooth kiss, moving greedily trying to savour every little sound and breathy moans you let out. Your hands reach for his head, your fingers comb through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, and he can’t help but moan into your touch. The sound gets swallowed by your mouth moving confidently over his, sucking on his tongue, taking everything he’s willing to give you.
He breaks the kiss, holding a mischievous look in his gaze, instructing you to get rid of your bra and jeans while he gets up on his knees to get rid of his t-shirt. With his tanned, toned arms and abdomen on display, you reach out to get a chance to touch and trace his soft skin, but he slaps your hands away and leans forward towards your stomach, on which he places short, open mouth kisses all the way to the band of your panties.
He kneels at the foot of the bed, dragging you by your hips towards himself, and holds your legs together before leaning in onto your clothed core. The action has you moaning, and he keeps moving his nose against the crotch of the underwear in repeated motions, his nose bumping against your clit every single time, and it sends a tingling sensation throughout your body, pleasure bubbling fast in your lower stomach.
“Hyuck,” you moan his name, not thinking you can resist his actions much longer.
He smiles hearing you moaning his name, but decides to halt his actions nonetheless. He grabs your panties and pulls them down, the cold air in the room making contact with your wet folds. He folds your wet underwear carelessly and shoves them in the front pocket of his sweats, leaning forward for his mouth to start moving slowly on your core. His plump lips suck on your clit gently, twirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. Your pussy clenches around nothing, his relentless actions building the pressure in your muscles, and you’re approaching your release fast, your hip buck into his mouth, chasing the delicious pleasure you’re about to be rewarded with soon.
Donghyuck can feel his dick hard and throbbing in his boxers, but he doesn’t touch himself — he'd rather wait to be touched by you.
“That’s it, baby,” he moans with his mouth still glued to your core, his tongue licking long stripes along your entrance and clit, stopping to show extra care to the latter. And the pet name on his lips is everything you needed in order to cum.
His dick throbs hearing the sounds you make while you cum, his name on your lips feels like a mantra, like a chant full of praise, music to his ears.
“You’re insane,” you breathe out, grabbing him by the hair to detach him from your core when he doesn’t seem to have any faint intention of stopping his laps on your clit.
“You haven’t even seen half of it yet,” he grins and smirks, his chin glistens with a mix of your arousal and release. He licks his lips, deciding to cut you some slack until you come down from your high.
You look at him, and you lick your lips seeing his grey sweats hanging low on his tanned hips, a wet patch placed in the front on his crotch, indicating his arousal.
You pull him closer to you, latching your lips with his, sucking and pulling on his bottom lip, tasting yourself off his lips as his mouth moves rhythmically against yours.
You push him slightly off you, instructing him to get on the bed. You look at his figure again. What a great day to be wearing sweats, you think.
“Get these off for me,” you say, but it sounds more like a question. He giggles, but complies without having to be asked twice. He gets his boxers off of the way at the same time with his sweats, his dick falling heavy on his abdomen. You take a look at his cock, licking your lips unconsciously as you stare at the veins stretching along his length, precum leaking from his rosy tip. You reach for it, your palm aching to stroke him before you get a taste of him. But Donghyuck has other plans.
“Want you on my cock,” he grunts, bucking his hips up in your hand as soon as it wraps around his shaft, “Think you can ride me, baby?” He asks, and you’re more than eager to do it if it means seeing him so dishevelled underneath you, and you’re the cause.
You nod, and he extends one hand to help you keep your balance as you bring your weight on top of his lap, waiting for him to line his shaft with your entrance. His tip enters you and you have to stop for a bit to adjust to the girth. You sink lower on top of his shaft, your pussy throbbing around it, and Donghyuck has to suck a breath through his teeth and pray to god you won’t take long to get used to his size. You’re so tight, Donghyuck is too excited to last for too long, he knows this already.
You start riding him, your juices are enough for his shaft to slide in and out of you with ease, and one of his hands reaches up to your chest to grab one of your nipples between his fingers, twisting it and putting the right amount of pressure that gets a whimper out of you.
His mouth latches to your other nipple, sucking on it, his tongue swirls around the teat bringing a new wave of pleasure that has you arching your back and temporarily halting your rhythmic movements on top of Donghyuck’s shaft. Moaning, he sucks harsher on your nipple when he feels you stopping, so you resume your movements even if you can feel your thighs burning. A new wave of pleasure runs through your body when you hear his moans against the frail skin of your chest, one of his hands placed on the small of your back trying to guide your movements as he can sense you’re tired.
“Feels so fucking good,” he moans, looking up at you. You’re looking at him briefly, then you push him slightly to get him to lay down. You bring a pretty manicured hand up to his chest, steadying yourself as you keep your relentless and delicious moving of your hips against his. You mewl out a moan as your clit hits the base of his cock, and your head falls back making your hair bounce around yourself.
His body feels on fire, his heartbeat picking up its rhythm. “I think —” you hear him start, but is interrupted by one of your raw moans. “I love you,” he blurts out, and hearing those words coming out of his mouth makes the tension in your tummy burst, and the rhythm of your hips starts faltering. He grabs your arms with force and brings your upper body on top of his, your chests clashing on top of each other’s as he searches for your lips.
He needs them like he needs air, especially after the words that slipped past his lips. He pulls you closer, one hand grabbing your waist to keep you in place as his hips start bucking up inside of you, and another hand keeping your head in the crook of his neck as you still ride your orgasm. He chases his own climax, and the relentless throbbing of your pussy around his shaft as you ride your orgasm helps him burst deep inside of you, moaning out your name as he holds your body tightly.
You stay in his embrace a little longer, until the clarity starts hitting you, replaying the last moments in your mind. You fall next to Donghyuck, your head still resting on his shoulder, a leg still stretched on his stomach as you both try regaining your bearings.
You raise your head to look at him, only to find him already looking down at you.
“Did you really say you loved me?” You enquire, believing that’s a figment of your imagination.
“I did,” he whispers back, unmoving while keeping you close to him, his eyes big and sparkly.
“But isn’t it —“ you make a pause, trying to find the right words, “too soon? How do I know that you really mean it?”
“How do you know?” He repeats slowly, and then averts his gaze to look around the room for a few seconds. He sits up, getting off the bed, coming to your side of the bed so he can face you properly.
“What are you doing?” You ask, looking at him quizzically, trying to understand what goes on in that mind of his.
“Shut up, I’m about to do the most pathetic and embarrassing thing just for you,” he pouts at you, grabbing your arm and dragging you out of bed, “I need you to stand in front of me otherwise it won’t be embarrassing enough,”
“Seriously Hyuck, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You sigh, and you look at your naked silhouettes standing in front of each other like a pair of sims in the making.
“I have my flaws, and you know the already. I did a lot of shitty stuff to you, and I apologised for all. But you also have to remember…” he leaves the sentence up in the air for a bit, “That I’m also just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him,” he finishes his monologue, waiting for your reaction.
At first, you're speechless. Then the moment sinks in, and you can’t help but let a surprised laugh escape you as you reach for him.
You grab his face, bringing him closer to you to give him a quick peck on the lips.
“I love you too,” you let him know, but there’s a glint in your eyes that lets him know you’re never going to let him live this moment down, and he braces himself for impact, “But please never pull an Anna Scott on me, ever again!”
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i loved writing this, i am emotionally attached to this story now T-T i love hyuck and i hope reading this was worth your time. feedback and engagement is always recommended and highly appreciated! thank you guys for signing up for the taglist and reading this piece <3 and you might have already guessed, but sungchan's instalment is related to the female oc (reader) in this, but more will come out with his teaser. if you have questions about this fic, my ask box is always open!
SUMMARY: you confessed to your longtime crush, donghyuck, back in high school because you figured you guys would never see each other again. you begin to question your faith in the universe when you run into him on a rainy tuesday night, and you start seeing him every day after.
GENRE: smau (some written parts), college student! hyuck x fem! reader, ????? to lovers, fluff, probably some angst but not heavy bc i’m sensitive, humor, lowkey she fell first but he fell harder trope, hyuck is a jealous little lad
WARNINGS: profanity, sexual and death jokes, mentions of reader being insecure, mentions of stalking, mentions of alcohol consumption
PLAYLIST: thinkin bout you by frank ocean, the spins by mac miller, intro (end of the world) by ariana grande, snooze (acoustic) by sza ft justin bieber , diana by one direction, midnight pretenders by tomoko aran
NOTES: hi !! idk why i chose a smau to be my first post but here it is🙁❤️ this is my first au of any kind on here so i hope yall love reading it as much as i enjoy writing !!
genre: fluff, slight angst, a crackfic turned way too serious lmao
word count: 11.6k
synopsis: you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue.
author’s note: sorry i came back after almost an entire year and dropped this instead of anything people actually asked for teehee 😋 also i know nothing about hockey so none of the sports stuff makes sense pls kindly ignore <3 big shoutout to miss cat and moon for coming up with the only good parts of this fic
warning(s): brief descriptions of injuries
playlist: and july (feat. dean and dj friz) by heize ― mixtape 2003 by the academic ― chit chat by beach weather ― 1983 by neon trees ― fearless by taylor swift
part i. lee taemin once said his ideal meet-cute is a girl running him over with her car <3
First off, to set the record straight—
You are not a bad driver.
There just so happened to be a bad thunderstorm, and your windshield wipers happened to malfunction, and you happened to lightly tap someone with the front of your beat-up Toyota Prius. Honestly, the person probably did more damage to your car that’s one airbag deployment away from spontaneous combustion than the car could ever do to him.
However, for some reason, the blurry figure that you can barely make out through the onslaught of rainfall doesn’t seem to be getting up off the ground.
Hurriedly putting your car in park, you clamber out in a panic as water pelts you in the face like one of those super strong hoses set on sprinkler mode. Without even asking if the person is okay, you lift him up by the shoulders and shake him violently.
“Oh my God, please don’t die! I literally can’t afford to pay for someone’s funeral right now,” you wail.
if life is plastic (and therefore, nonbiodegradable), then it’s so not fantastic. honestly, who came up with that? regina george really should’ve googled about the new plastics economy.
or alternatively, pretty girls rule the world, and you find out that he’s (not) all that.
pairing :: na jaemin x reader
genre :: comedy, fluff, angst ⋮ makeover + college au
word count :: 24,618 words
warnings :: body issues, body image, weight mentions, insecurities, beauty is a social construct, [spoiler] did something bad, people being literal scum, so much gaslighting that you can start a wildfire and j*ke gyll*nh*al should take notes, “if a man talks shit then i owe him nothing”
playlist :: pretty boys (romi) ⋆ you can’t sit with us (sunmi) ⋆ i just wanna know (katherine li) ⋆ lie to girls (sabrina carpenter) ⋆ look what you made me do (taylor swift) ⋆ leftover feelings (regina song) ⋆ number one girl (rosé) + extended playlist here.
author’s note :: she’s all that is one of my most favorite rom coms ever, but i’ve always been ///: at the whole makeover idea and decided to write my own version !! the idols mentioned in this fic are just characters, and how i portray them in this fic do not reflect how i actually view them or their irl personas. as always, much love to miss lana and miss moon for being my biggest cheerleaders ᥫ᭡
↳ part of the 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 collaboration series.
i. hiya, barbie! hi, ken!
Na Jaemin does not know that you exist.
Good looking, charismatic, and popular — it’s his world, and you’re just living in it. Or something like that. You’re decently smart, somewhat funny, and not pretty enough to stand out, but not exactly hideous according to societal standards (source: those beauty quizzes in Seventeen magazine that you used to be obsessed with when you were thirteen and in desperate need of flirting tips). If he was the main lead, you’d probably be Extra #6, maybe Extra #2 on a good day.
By your calculations, the two of you should never cross paths, like two parallel lines. Wait, scratch that, you would probably never be aligned with anything that has to do with this guy. You saw him standing outside of the door of your shared accounting classroom during your fall semester, and he spent twenty five minutes editing his picture for Instagram and ended up late for the lecture. And he probably already spent even more time selecting the final photo to edit before you arrived to class and noticed him. Absolute idiot. Absolute handsome idiot, but idiot nonetheless. A grade A himbo with a grade C in financial accounting.
Okay, so scrap the parallel lines theory, maybe skew lines are a better way of explaining it. Yeah, that seems about right, the two of you are from completely different dimensions, never meant to interact or run parallel with each other. And once again, by this logic, your paths should never cross.
❥ pairing: lee minho x female reader (feat. bang chan); seo changbin x female oc (side pairing); han jisung x female oc (minor pairing)
❥ genres/tropes/aus: fluff, angst, romance, suggestive, strangers to lovers, painter!reader, art curator!minho, art gallery!au, painter!au
❥ rating: pg-13
❥ warnings: this story deals with topics such as grief and the loss of a loved one. any other important warnings will be included in each chapter. always reach out if I'm missing something!
❥ status: completed
❥ word count: 105k
❥ synopsis: Lee Minho has everything one could wish for in life: a family that adores him, friends always by his side, an incredible career and a fiancée willing to remain by his side through it all. However, Minho is not entirely happy, and he doesn't know where he can find that happiness.
Y/N is struggling. After her father passed away, she inherited all his life's work, as well as all the debts he accumulated over the years. With only one goal in mind, Y/N wants to show the world all the paintings her father created, making his only wish come to life. Her life isn't perfect, but she can always find beauty in its small imperfections.
How do their paths cross? Will Minho find his happiness? Will Y/N be able to bring her father's last wish to life? Maybe I'm Afraid is a story about compromise. Because to reach happiness, some things need to fall behind.
❥ lia's note: There are stories and then there are stories. I don't think I love a fic as much as I love this one (I still think about it a lot). This is the new version of Maybe I'm Afraid, but this fic won't have many changes when compared to its previous version (the one I posted in 2021). It's mostly the usual typos and grammar fixes, and the plot will remain the same. I hope you enjoy reading it because I loved writing it. This one holds a special place in my heart. I hope it finds a small corner in yours too.
[stray kids m.list] ● [join my taglist]
🎨 Chapter List 🎨
Chapter One: A Glimmer Of Hope
Chapter Two: A Whirlwind of Emotions
Chapter Three: A Change of Pace
Chapter Four: A Gesture of Affection
Chapter Five: A Burst of Passion
Chapter Six: A Leap of Faith
Chapter Seven: A Cry of Despair
Chapter Eight: A Night of Comfort
Chapter Nine: A Period of Choices
Chapter Ten: A Dinner of Discoveries
Chapter Eleven: A Loss of Trust
Chapter Twelve: A Wind of Change
Chapter Thirteen: A House of Cards
Chapter Fourteen: A Portrait of Honesty
Chapter Fifteen: A Day of Surprises
Chapter Sixteen: A City of Lights [Finale]
Disclaimer: This fic is a work of fiction. The representation given to the idols does not reflect my opinion nor the actions of these individuals in real life.
GENRE: college au, soulmates, cute, fluffy, reunited love
A/N: I went super cheesy with this so I hope that it’s okay 😅😅😅
“Jisung! Sit down!” Your professor yelled out as he watched one of the music kids jumping up and down at the back of the bus. Jisung couldn’t help it though, he was buzzing with excitement and to be honest, all of you were. The college you were attending was taking a bunch of people from different departments out to see a new exhibit in the museum. All of it was being kept a secret until you headed inside. No one besides the research team that had put the exhibit together knew about what was inside. It wasn’t even open to the public eye yet.
“Yes sir,” Jisung called out shyly as he sank down into his seat, getting teased by the boys on the back row playfully while you smiled. Jisung was always the hyperactive one of the class so it came as no surprise he was hyper now. He had always enjoyed history, the two of you took History classes together you knew how much he loved learning new things.
“You’re staring at your crush again,” Your best friend, Lia, whispered to you as she poked your sides making you whine out. Lia had been your best friend since you were in middle school together and even now.
“I don’t have a crush on Jisung,” You grumbled at her, she did this every chance that she got. Just because you spoke a few times or have a couple of private sessions it didn’t mean that you had a crush on him. Jisung was nothing more than a friend to you. Besides, you always felt as though your heart belonged to someone else. Even if you didn’t know who that was yet.
birds of america by lorrie moore // snow and dirty rain by richard siken // motion sickness - phoebe bridgers // quote by katherine mansfield // normal people (2020) // night shift - lucy dacus // all about love by bell hooks // underneath by jorie graham // faithful and virtuous night by louise glück // god’s silence by franz wright
author’s note: you’d think i would finally let this series die after writing a combined 60k+ words for it but apparently not 🥴 special thanks to everyone who voted on the poll, your feedback was much appreciated! 💞 as always, shoutout to cat and moon for entertaining my ideas and helping me with the titles and more <3333 where would i be without you mwah 😘 and happy 3 year anniversary to this blog!! 🎉
additional: the story picks up directly after the first demigods series, so please read that if you haven’t! while these can be read as standalones, like the first series, these fics all follow an overarching plotline so it is best if you read them in order!
credit for the template used in my edits (x)
my murderous psycho brother gives my boyfriend the seal of approval | son of athena!renjun x daughter of aphrodite!reader
after it’s revealed that your brother is a traitor, having stolen the golden fleece and nearly killing everyone at camp half-blood, the entire aphrodite cabin is in shambles. you are especially inconsolable, since you and him were always close. you know you eventually have to face him for the final time, but having huang renjun—your best friend turned boyfriend—by your side gives you courage that you didn’t know you had.
my boyfriend and i babysit a psycho for our first date | son of apollo!jaemin x daughter of hades!reader
now that you’re finally recovered from the injuries of your previous mission, you and your siblings are immediately assigned a new mission: keep guard over the traitor as the camp decides what they will do with him. well, you and your siblings plus a straggler—your boyfriend, na jaemin, who insists on tagging along because he’s worried about you. perhaps rightfully so, since the heads of the camp secretly task you with finding the elusive second traitor.
my boyfriend (who can breathe underwater) drowns | son of poseidon!donghyuck x daughter of athena!reader
as a child of one of the big three gods, your boyfriend lee donghyuck has become one of the strongest demigods at camp half-blood. of course, he’s still that same annoying goofball that whines when you don’t give him enough attention. however, as security concerns ramp up within the camp, the two of you grow busy with your respective duties. the next thing you know, donghyuck is in the underworld, bathing in the river styx. after all, your boyfriend has never been one to turn down a triple dog dare.
i tell my boyfriend to go to hell (and he drags me with him) | son of ares!jeno x daughter of nike!reader
despite the fact that it’s been a few weeks, you still find it hard to believe that your archnemesis lee jeno is now your boyfriend. your dynamic with him hasn’t really changed either, and the two of you continue to hurl insults at each other with some sporadic makeout sessions in the middle of it. you’re both still figuring everything out, but neither of you mind as long as you’re together. that is, until camp half-blood erupts into chaos, and you realize just how difficult it is to stay together.
of all the people I had to get snowed in with, it had to be you?
pairing: seo changbin x reader
genre & warnings: e2l, fluff, some swearing
wc: 5.2k
notes: snowed-in trope paired with enemies to lovers, it doesn’t get any better. I had so much fun writing this at ungodly hours of the morning. lmk if you want to be in the taglist for the other works in this festive series!
festive series masterlist here
♢
Snow is already starting to fall thick and fast by the time you get off the train, and you cast a worried look skywards before tugging your hood up over your head as you walk out the station. Luckily, Hyunjin and Jisung’s apartment is only two blocks away, but even that short journey is enough to soak your shoes—which, in hindsight, you realise were a poor choice of footwear for the snowy forecast.
You hurry up the steps and press the doorbell for the right apartment, waiting for the telltale buzz of the door unlocking to let yourself into the building. A rush of warmth greets you as you step inside. With a sigh of relief, you pull down your hood and begin unbuttoning your jacket as you hike up to the third floor. Your friends had managed to bag themselves a nice apartment in the city; it’s an up-and-coming neighbourhood with great bars, good transport connections into the city centre and it’s shockingly affordable.
The only thing you can fault them with is their choice of roommate. And clearly, karma must be out for you, because he’s the one who opens the door.
“Oh,” he says, deadpan. “It’s you.”
“Changbin,” you greet curtly, edging past him into the apartment when he makes no move to let you through.
You couldn’t exactly say when it had even started—all you knew was that you two had never managed to get along, despite the best efforts of your mutual friends. Everything you did seemed to bother him, and consequently, everything he did back would annoy the hell out of you.
