It's gonna be okay, like the hands on the clock they'll go in circles back to their places ~ (circles) !
Hi my name is Celeste? I’m in somethingth grade currently attending Caratland Magicshop High School. I was born in Magicshop and my hobbies are scrolling, graphics designing, and watching yt. I also like to eat and sleep. Thank yew.
٬⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⌢⠀⠀18+ | aries | intp | she/her | military wife | my current ult? joshua if you couldn't tell lol—that being said, my heart doesn't stop there; i have a bias line which includes ot12 (excluding js) (yes, i'm shameless) and ot7 (bts).
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Occasionally as an Australian you'll be talking to someone from overseas, and you'll discover a common phrase you took for granted is, in fact, not universally known outside of our country.
Turns out casually dropping "fuck me dead" into conversation will give unsuspecting Americans an aneurism.
Some usamerican friends of mine recently learned the Aussie meaning of snail trail (the line of hair from the bellybutton heading south). They were horrified to say the least
And just like that, you realize that no matter what you say, no matter how much you ask, no matter how much you plead, no matter how much you cry, he’s already decided… and you can’t change his mind.
florist shop owner!hansol vernon chwe × fem!reader ⋅ 12,158 words
಄ GENRE/S. non-idol au, modern au, angst
಄ CONTENTS. mutual pining (unspoken)(?), found family (chee & soonyoung), implied mental health struggles, almost kiss, lil bit of social media
⚠️ WARNINGS. abandonment, ghosting, unhealthy coping mechanisms, substance abuse (frequent smoking, alcohol dependency, and other things that aren’t explicitly named), implied self destructive behavior without going into detail, incomplete closure (things are explained but not really explained), bit of profanity, ending that can sad or open ended
಄ A/N. once again featuring beloved @nothoughtsjustfic lol. also my last fic for this event!! i’ve honestly loved seeing this event come to life so far and watching everyone share their works, excitement, and support for one another has genuinely been so lovely already. and to seventeen, happy 11 years ♡ thank you for continuing to bring people together across different places and stages of life. ily. bow divider from @cursed-carmine
▸ PART OF @dorereef: The Reef In Bloom EVENT
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this event!
I’ll gladly kick his fucking ass this fucking second if he bends that stem any harder— seriously, who hold tulips like that?
You stand just outside the florist and watch through the glass as he frowns at a ‘stubborn’ bundle of flowers for whatever reason. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, unlit, like he forgot it was there, and something about that (about him) makes you step inside before you can talk yourself out of it.
He looks up when the bell chimes from the door. His eyes find you for only a second before dropping back to his hands, “they’re not dying,” he mutters but it feels like he’s saying that to himself as he looks at the stems again.
You huff a low-key silent laugh, and that’s how it starts.
You come back the next day… and the day after that, and the next. At first, it’s just excuses— your room needs flowers, your desk looks empty, you wanna make flower arts, you like damp earth and something sweet smelly of the shop, but eventually you stop pretending it’s about that. He starts recognizing you outside of his one of his customers but it doesn’t happen all at once or in any big, obvious way. It was more like: he stops asking what you want and just brings the ones you always pick; he sets aside the better blooms before they even make it to display; extra careful when making your bouquets; sometimes gifts you his best blooms instead of letting you buy them; he looks at the door a bit too long when the bell rings when he’s expecting you but it’s not you.
His name is Vernon. You learn it offhand from someone else calling for him in the back. He learns yours slowly after your 13th visit (yes, it was that slow).
He usually stands by the window when you come in while his sleeves are rolled and fingers kissed with green, that same cigarette smell clinging to him even when there’s nothing lit. But when he handles the flowers, everything feels different. He’s always so careful and passionate with his flowers. Most of the time, a smile will sit prettily on his pretty lips.
Sometimes you talk and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you just stand there while he works and hands you a bundle when he’s done without asking for anything in return but a, these should last a few days. And it’s nice… it’s so nice it kinda feels unreal like time slows down inside that shop and the world outside shush just enough for this to feel… separate.
As if it’s just the two of you suspended somewhere between blooming and something unnamed that neither of you touches but both of you feel.
For a while, it’s warm and enough.
—
The moment you step out of the college gates, you’re still half in your head.
Everything feels slightly delayed as your thoughts are walking a few steps behind your body. Until you see him, you don’t even fully register the world outside.
He’s standing a little off to the side of the gate in his white T-shirt and blue jeans. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but alertness in his eyes. Vernon. Just for a whole minute, your brain stalls… because he is not supposed to be here.
He sees you at the same time you see him. There’s a fraction of hesitation but then his hand lifts in a small wave.
Your eyes flutter and then you break into motion before you can overthink it, crossing the distance faster than your brain catches up, “Vernon?” you say when you reach him, breath still confused, “what are you doing here?”
“I—” his hand moves behind his back briefly, like he’s reconsidering something. Then he brings it forward without a… bouquet. It’s your flowers that you always pick. He holds them out like not entirely sure what reaction he’s supposed to get. “I noticed… you didn’t come by for a few days.”
You take the bouquet as your fingers brush his as you do, and your mind trips over itself trying to process this whole deal. “I—” you try to begin but then stop because suddenly explaining feels foreign to you. You don’t really know what to say in the first place. Your grip tightens around the stems, “I’ve been busy.”
His eyes run over your face like he’s checking something only he can see, “busy,” he repeats without questioning.
You sigh a half laugh and half exhaustion. “I had an interview prep for a big company. It’s… kind of important.”
There’s a change in his expression at that— lowkey, but present, “you didn’t tell me,” he says.
You shrug in a somewhat defensive way without meaning to be, “it’s not exactly florist shop conversation.”
He hums as if he accepts that, but doesn’t fully agree.
For a second, neither of you move. The field noise fills the gap but then he gestures slightly awkwardly in the direction of the street. “You’re walking?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He thinks for just a second to probably make a decision he didn’t plan for when he showed up here, “I’ll walk with you.”
It’s not phrased like a question, so you don’t argue and start walking.
At first, it’s quiet without being uncomfortable. You clutch the bouquet slightly tighter when you start feeling like you’re making him feel awkward by staying quiet
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” you say eventually.
He keeps his eyes forward, “you didn’t come for three days.” There’s no accusation in it but just a fact.
You glance at him, “that’s… kind of obsessive,” and laugh jokingly. “Just kidding.”
He glances back before looking away, “I thought something happened.”
That makes you slow your pace by a fraction, “I’m fine,” you say automatically.
He again looks at you briefly, “you don’t look fine.” You huff and don’t say anything, so after a few steps, he asks, “what was the interview for? Any topics?”
You hesitate, then answer. “CSE related. It’s mostly… competitive.”
He nods, “when is it?” he asks.
“Next week.”
“Okay,” he says and it’s just that.
You glance at him again, “okay?”
He finally turns his head slightly toward you with his expression calm but focused. “You’re overthinking it,” he responds simply.
You feel dumbfounded, “I am not—”
“You are,” he cuts in like a nice man, “you’re treating it like it decides everything for you.” You open your mouth to argue but then realise there’s no point. Technically, he’s not wrong about it. He continues walking like it’s obvious, “you don’t need perfect answers but structured ones. If they ask behavioral questions, don’t improvise it mid sentence. Pick a framework and stick to it.”
You stare at him mouth open, “are you… interviewing me right now?”
“Am I?” he laughs, “I’m fixing your approach and not interviewing you.”
That earns a reluctant breath of laughter from you, “you’re very confident for someone who runs a flower shop,” you mutter.
“I also read,” he deadpan.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, by the way,” you imagine you should clear it up just in case.
“No, I know, no worries,” he responds. He continues, “if they ask about your weakness, don’t say something generic. They’ll know,” he says. “Say something genuine, but not tmi. Then explain how you’re working on it.”
You readjust your hold on the bouquet. “You’re weirdly good at this,” you tease.
He shrugs, “it’s just logic.”
You glance down at the pavement as you walk, “so everything is logic to you?”
“Most things,” he replies, but then he adds, “the rest is just noise you filter out.” You don’t respond and hum and continue walking beside him.
fter a while, you realize you’ve been walking longer than expected when even more familiar streets start appearing. You slow as your building comes into view and Vernon stops with you.
He looks up at it, “you’re home?”
“Yeah,” you answer.
“Okay,” he says again. “I should go,” and then he moves and takes a step back. “You should rest before you study more.”
“Oh,” you scratch the back of your neck, “you don’t have to leave right away.” He goes still for a moment as you hesitate and continue more carefully, “you… discussed a lot. You can come in for a bit and help… If you want.”
His eyes flutter to you, matching your same exact hesitation, “that’s your home…,” he says.
“Yes,” you reply, “and?”
He quietly mutters, “I don’t usually go into people’s homes.”
“But I don’t usually get interview coaching in the middle of the street though.”
That earns the faintest smile in his expression and after a moment longer, he nods. “Alright,” he agrees. He doesn’t look fully convinced, but not fully resistant either, and so you lead him inside.
And now ir feels like the distance between florist shop and everything else doesn’t matter as much as you thought it did.
—
Your flat feels different the moment he steps inside and stands by the doorway awkwardly.
You walk up to him and close the door behind him, “you can sit anywhere,” you kick off your shoes, “sorry, it’s not very—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts as he already starts looking around the room.
You take out the dead flowers and set the flowers he got you in your vase. He ends up sitting on the edge of your couch. The flowers are placed carefully on your vase— he adjusts it twices, then stops himself when he realizes he’s already done enough.
You disappear into the kitchen for a glass of water, mostly to give yourself a second to breathe.
When you come back, he’s looking at your desk where your notes are scattered with half written thoughts, highlighted papers, sticky notes. You see his eyes washing over them pretty quickly, reading without touching.
“You overprepare,” he says when you set the glass down.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s inefficient,” he says.
You snort, “that’s a very polite way to say yes.”
He looks at you like he’s considering whether that was a joke or a flaw in your logic.
Then, as if deciding it doesn’t matter, he nods, “you’re memorizing too much. You should be structuring instead.”
You sit down across from him as you pull your knees up on the couch. “Okay, professor. Teach me.”
He leans forward with his elbows resting loosely on his knees, “tell me properly about what the interview is testing.”
You go blank for a moment before answering, “uh… technical knowledge, communication, problem solving, behavioral…?”
“Stop,” he says immediately and you stop. He tilts his head, “that’s everything. That’s why you’re overwhelmed.” You stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate so that you don’t feel stupid. He continues, “break it down for yourself. What do you think they actually care about?”
You think about it for thirty seconds, “if I can think clearly under pressure?”
He nods, “right. So everything else is just tools to prove that.”
“Vernon, it sounds too simple,” you tell him skeptically.
“It is simple,” he takes your notebook, “you’re just scared of failing.”
You sigh. “Thanks for the emotional support, I guess.”
“That wasn’t emotional,” he says. “That’s just what’s happening.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. He doesn’t really say anything before he walks back and sits down on the couch and leans back slightly, “let’s do a mock question,” he proposes.
“Right now?” you sit beside him anyway.
“You don’t fix anxiety by reading more, Y/N,” he eyes the contents you wrote in your note book. “I know this is important to you, so let’s fix it by exposure, hm?”
You pout, “you’re very serious for someone who sells roses.”
He ignores that completely, “tell me about a time you handled pressure.”
You’re caught off guard by this so serious question. But then you decide you should actually answer… so you start answering. At first, everything you said didn’t make any sense at all. You over explain, circle back, correct yourself mid sentence, stutter a million times. You see him clocking each of your hesitation but not in a mean judge way. He’s actually just taking it all in and noticing how you present yourself and your answers.
When you finish, you expect him to criticize it, but instead he says, “why are you trying to sound perfect?”
You just stare at him. This sounds like a very stupid question but you know Vernon. He doesn’t bluff things and actually knows what he’s saying. “Isn’t that the point?”
“Not really, no,” he shows you what he wrote in your notebook while you were answering his question, “you sound like you’re hiding something... Like, you know, you have something to hide. Just be direct.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“Then practice it until it’s not.”
This somehow happens to help you more than you expect, so you try again.
This time you try to be clearer with your words and you do. Your phrasing is better and less afraid of pauses.
When you finish, there’s a second of silence before he smiles, “better.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
Something in your heart sighs in relief. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until the light outside shifts— turning warmer and pulling shadows across the floor. At some point, the distance between you on the couch has shrunk without either of you noticing.
He’s leaning forward all while explaining about how to redirect questions when you don’t know the answer. You’re listening to him, but you watching him feels less like paying attention and more like wanting something you have absolutely no business wanting this badly— like it should literally be illegal and someone should step in right this moment and stop you from doing something to him. Not like you’ll do something actually bad or illegal but it can be borderline embarrassing, borderline concerning, and fully unstoppable if it starts. In a way, you know all of your friends would say, valid; mood; understandable, if they saw Vernon right now in this way. No, your brain needs to be supervised at all times around him and apologize to the air for even thinking it.
But the way his hands move when he emphasizes a point… when he looks at you like you’re a problem he’s decided to solve— sigh.
“You’re not bad at this,” your mouth moves before your dignity can intervene
He stops halfway through, momentarily thrown. “At what?”
Fuck it. “Everything you’re doing right now,” you clarify and dig your hole deeper.
He chuckles, “is it a compliment?”
“It is,” you drown in his brown eyes, “for you.”
That makes him look at you even more directly. The room goes quieter than it was a moment ago.
He doesn’t respond and instead just stares at you for sometime. You just know it, he’s trying to figure out what category that statement belongs to. Wish you could say some very redactable thingz to him. But then you realize, belatedly, that you’re still leaning slightly toward him. And he is too.
The words about interview prep faded somewhere in the background. You don’t know when it faded or the lines got even more blurry, exactly, but it wasn’t sudden.
His gaze drops briefly to your lips, and then back to your eyes. Your lungs seem to forget how to breathe and your breath hitches, but neither of you moves— but everything between you does.
You whisper, barely aware you’re speaking. “Vernon…”
He exhales slowly through his mouth, looking at you, “don’t,” he says, but there’s no real warning in it. More like… restraint, like he’s holding himself still.
Your hand drifts slightly on the couch between you, and now suddenly the distance is almost gone now.
He leans in just an inch more and so do you. It’s not quite a kiss yet— but it’s close enough that you both feel it happen before it actually does… and then he stops. Forehead almost near yours with both of yours breath caught, eyes searching yours. “You have an interview,” he says so softly, it feels like it cost him something to say it.
Everything feels suspended to you for the longest time before he pulls back to break it.
He’s not leaving, but just not willing to cross that line. “I think I should go now,” he stands up.
“U-uh, already?”
“Yeah, it’s getting late. You should take breaks in between and sleep timely,” he adviced and you ended up just humming. He takes a bit of time before finally leaving, “see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.”
The interview happens and you go in with everything Vernon taught you. You do really well and objectively, it’s a success.
You answer clearly and don’t over explain yourself when they try to corner you. You also successfully redirected some questions just like he said. You heard his calm voice in the back of your head every time you felt like you’ll falter, but he kept telling you exactly how to move through.
You walk out of that building knowing you did well— really well; it’s better than you thought you could do. You should feel relieved… but the moment you walk out, your first instinct is to go and find him. You need to tell him, you need to see him, and that thought comes so naturally that it almost kinda irritates you at this rate. Because after that day in your flat, you couldn’t manage to meet him again.
Every time you went to the shop, he wasn’t there. At first, you didn’t think much of it since people have schedules and they get busy… but then it kept happening.
Clocked out early, Chee, her co-owner would say.
Didn’t come in yet.
Went to get seedlings.
Out for something.
Every single time.
You’d stand there every time for a few minutes and nod to signal Chee that you understood and that it was okay. It was okay if you weren’t trying to read between the lines of something that didn’t make sense.
You thought Vernon enjoyed your company and thought after that day, he’d want to see you again like he said. At least that’s what was expected from, see you tomorrow. You didn’t think that day in your flat would be the last time you’d see him for a while. But then again, it was.
God, you tried so much. You came back again and again days in a row and left with flowers you barely looked at, just so you had a reason to stay for a few minutes longer and hope that he’ll walk in. You waited and waited but nothing. Even Chee started looking at you with sympathy after a while… she knew you weren’t just there for flowers anymore. You chatted with her and asked questions when she eventually understood what was going on. It’s not like she was oblivious to the fact.
It’s starting to become the worst spring of your life…
Eventually, after enough times of you showing up and leaving disappointed, Chee sighed and scribbled something down. His address, she said, handing it to you.
You of course went and stood outside his place with your heart beating too fast for something that shouldn’t have been this serious. You knocked but there was no answer from the other side.
You waited and nothing, you went again and still nothing. You don’t understand how coincidence can be this bad… like you’re not able to get the timing right at all?
So today, after your interview, you go back to the shop again because where else are you supposed to go? Other than his shop and home, you don’t know where else you can find him.
The bell rings again as you push the door open as the familiar scent of flowers wrap around you instantly. It’s not comforting anymore.
You walk straight past the rows of flowers you used to admire; lilies, roses, tulips, daisies, barely sparing them a glance. Your eyes are on Chee who’s sitting on the counter like usual.
But you stop mid step when something catches your eyes from your peripheral vision. It pulls your gaze to the right and you turn your head… and there he is. Vernon?
Sitting exactly where he always sits and bundling flowers as he used to like nothing’s changed… like you haven’t spent days looking for him.
Your stomach hurts because of how fast it coils. You look back at Chee, she shrugs, and then you look back at Vernon. It feels like you’re the only one reacting unreasonably.
You walk straight to him. The closer you get, the stronger the smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes and whatnot, hits your senses. It makes your stomach twist but you push it down because right now, that’s not what matters.
He keeps making the flower bundles when he feels your presence and looks up, “congrats,” he congratulates you.
Without thinking too much, you grab the newspaper sitting on the table in front of him and throw it at him. It hits his shoulder and falls, crumpling slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap.
He doesn’t react much except look at you for a second before looking down on the flowers again. He just keeps working quietly and that makes the anger inside you snap even more.
“I’ve been looking for you for days,” your words spill out. “Do you have any idea how many times I came here? How many times I asked for you?”
His hands keep wrapping and tying like you’re not even there. You know he’s not trying to make you even more angry or irritate you but he’s just not looking at you or saying anything.
“Every single time it’s ‘he’s not here,’ ‘he left early,’ ‘he didn’t come in yet,’— what is that?” you demand, “what, you just suddenly forgot how to exist in the same place at the same time as me?”
He keeps quiet and apparently have nothing to say for himself, at least that’s what you think.
“I went to your house,” you say, and your voice cracks just slightly before you force it to become normal. “I went there and you weren’t there either! I waited! I came back again and again.”
He cuts a stem and bunch them together to avoid looking at you. What can he do? He can’t just say nothing and stare at you. He needs to keep his hands busy to not feel out of place. He doesn’t know how to approach this right now. How will he make you understand this right now without sounding insensitive when he hurted you so much?
“Do you know how insane that sounds?” you push. “That I’m going around looking for you like this and you’re just— what? Avoiding me? Disappearing? For what? What happened?”
Your hands clench at your sides looking at him doing his own thing.
“You don’t get to just do that,” you control yourself when you look around you and see Chee gesturing customers to leave or divert their attention to something else. You talk quietly now but the intensity is more than before, “you don’t get to come to my college, wait for me, give me flowers, walk me home, sit in my apartment, and then just vanish just like that.”
His movements slow in tying the ribbon for like thirty seconds, before continuing in his normal speed.
“I thou-ght you liked being around me,” you try your best to not let your voice crack again, but the words are coming out more vulnerable than you intended, “I thought— after that day that… that you’d at least want to see me again.” When you’re met with silence again, you laugh sarcastically, “was I wrong?” you ask, “or do you just not care enough to—”
You’re in the middle of speaking when you see it happen right in front of you. It’s not obvious enough for anyone else to catch, but you do. His focus starts to slip and slowly drifts somewhere else while still sitting right here.
Your anger stutters and chest feels heavy for a completely different reason now. You stare at him, searching his face. “Are you even listening?” the bite in your voice fading to more vulnerable.
His eyes flutter as if he’s just come back, “yeah,” he replies.
Just that. Something in you breaks a little at how empty it sounds. You swallow as you feel your jaw tightening as you really look at him. Then, without another word, you grab a rose from a side table beside you and slam it down on the table in front of him.
You don’t wait for a response, turn and walk out.
You feel bad later in unavoidable waves. After you left the shop, the rose hit the table and you walked out without looking back, the anger that drove you forward started to drain out of you in jagged pieces. And what’s left behind is worse: silence… and him.
You keep replaying his eyes not staying present even when you were right there speaking to him— again and again. Like at this point, you’re trying to find the exact moment you should have said something different, and have noticed something was wrong instead of just being angry at what you couldn’t understand.
The next day, you go back to the shop… after not going there for several days.
He’s not there… again. Chee gives you the same answers with the same helpless shrug and the same, he’s not in today.
You again nod like you understand, but you really don’t. You don’t know what really happened all of a sudden. You knew he was distant, private and quiet but it never bothered you and the friendly relationship. But what happened now? You wait hours for him again anyway. Standing near the entrance, then sitting on the step outside, then standing again when your legs get too stiff, then sitting inside the shop. You watch customers come and go. Sometimes even watch the sunset.
He doesn’t come when you’re there, like before. And so, the next day, you try again, but there’s the same result. He’s not there. You start going earlier, stay even longer, and chang the times. You try morning, afternoon, evening but nothing matches. And it’s even harder after getting the job he helped you prepare for. You really want to meet him and try to fix things this time… It’s like he’s always just a few steps out of reach, like she keeps arriving at a place he’s already left.
Days pass and then, finally, after what feels like too many attempts to count, you see him.
It’s late and the light is fading into evening. You’re sitting outside his house when you notice movement at a distance— someone walking toward the house.
Your breath chokes before your mind even fully registers him. You stand up fast and kinda stumble in your rush.
“Vernon!” you call out, your voice breaks as you start to move toward him.
He slackens his strides at the sound of your voice. You come up to him quickly and stop in front of him as if you might lose him again if you don’t rush to him immediately.
Your hands start to shake, “I’m sorry,” you plead right away, “I’m sorry for that day. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I wasn’t thinking, I was just— I was angry and confused and I-I didn’t— I didn’t think about you properly.”
You look at him as your throat starts to hurt.
“I didn’t think about what you were dealing with. I just kept making it about me, and I shouldn’t have. I was sel—selfish, Vernon!” your voice cracks at the end, and you quickly look down to calm yourself, “I’m sorry…”
He’s not saying anything except keeping quiet again… when you look back up, your eyes already started to get blurry. Seeing that, Vernon hesitatingly cups your face. His ice cold hands on your cheeks startles you.
“Vernon…” you trail, “I looked for you,” you continue, holding his hands back, “I kept coming back to the shop, to your house. I didn’t even care if I was annoying anyone, I just— I just needed to see you. I thought I lost you because of me.”
You laugh weakly through it, but it doesn’t hold at all.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise again like it’s the only thing you know how to say properly right now. “I’m really sorry.”
A hush falls between you when you don’t speak anymore. Instead of saying anything or moving, he just opts to looking at you; the first time in a while, his gaze actually stays put.
He sighs when he decides to speak, “why did you keep coming back?” he asks.
Tears still caught at the edges of your eyes, “because I was scared I lost you,” you admit.
He looks away briefly, then back, “you didn’t lose me, Y/N.”
It’s not comforting… it makes your breath catch harder. Because it sounds like something he’s not entirely sure of either. “Are we good now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry…”
“We are good.”
You hesitate for a moment after that, your fingers wrapped around his cold ones thinking letting go might undo everything you just managed to somewhat fix. Your chest is still tight but now that the apology is out and he hasn’t pushed you away, you don’t understand what else started to surface in your heart. Yes, you know you like this man, but it feels different.
You take a step back as your hands slip to his fingers, then finally letting go altogether, though you don’t move too far. Your eyes search his face, trying to read more than what he’s giving you.
“What happened?” you carefully ask. “That day… and after that. You just— why did you disappeared?” Uour brows pull together slightly. “I kept trying to find you, and you were never there… I don’t understand.”
He looks at you, then exhales, his eyes moving away just slightly past you before returning. “It’s nothing,” he says.
You frown immediately. “It’s not nothing. I know.”
He tilts his head a little as if he expected that response, “I had stuff to deal with the next day,” he adds. “I wasn’t really… around because of that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay now but that’s not an explanation,” you press slightly. “You could’ve told me something. It’s that I thought you don’t wanna see me anymore. I was scared.”
His expression changes just slightly before it smooths out again, “I didn’t say that,” he replies.
“You didn’t say anything,” your eyes not leaving his.
There’s a brief silence, and for a moment, it feels like he might actually say something that explains the distance and his silence. Instead, he looks down shortly, then back at you, and shrugs just a little, “I’m here now,” he says.
Instead of responding to that, you ask, “how are you?”
“I’m okay,” he answers.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to explain everything to me right now if you don’t want to.” You stop before continuing. “But don’t just say you’re okay because you don’t want to tell me something. I’m not asking to fix anything or push you into talking— I just… want you to actually be okay… And if you’re not, that’s fine too. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
“I know,” he replies.
“Okay,” you smile. There’s a short silence after that, but it feels less uncomfortable from before.
He glances at you again, then at the road beside you, “did you eat?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Did you eat?” he repeats a little more clearly.
“Um, yeah?”
He nods, “come on,” he turns and starts to walk.
You watch him for three seconds before following him a little confused but not questioning it. “Where are we going?” you ask, catching up to his side.
“There’s a place nearby,” he answers.
“A place for what?”
He glances at you briefly. “Ice cream.”
You stare at him, then let out a disbelieving breath of laughter, “I just cried in front of you and you’re taking me for ice cream?”
“It’s efficient, I think,” he shrugs. “Sugar helps.”
You chuckle but you can’t help the faint smile that pulls at your lips as you walk beside him.
The walk isn’t really long from his place. The spring air in the evening is cooler now as it brushes lightly against your skin. You’re still a little overwhelmed and emotional, but being next to him again, walking like this, makes it easier to breathe.
You reach a small stand, nothing really fancy, just a small place with a few options written on a board. He steps up without hesitation.
“What do you want?” he asks, glancing back at you.
You step closer as you scan the options before answering, “chocolate.”
He nods, then turns back and orders without overcomplicating it. A minute later, he hands you the cone while his fingers brush yours again, just briefly.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
He gets one for himself too, though he doesn’t start eating it immediately. Instead, he leans lightly against the side of the stand, looking out at the empty street as birds come and go. You take a small bite of the ice cream (you’ve always bite ice cream), the sweetness melting in your tongue, calming you.
You glance at him after eating a few bites, “you’re not going to eat yours?”
“I will.”
“You always say that, phrase it differently,” you joke to lighten the mood. That earns a faint, almost absent smile from him. You watch him for a second longer then look away as you focus on your delicious ice cream again. The tension from earlier hasn’t fully disappeared, but it’s… better now. Ya know, manageable? You nudge him with your elbow. “You know, for someone who disappeared for days, you’re acting very normal right now.”
“I am normal,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow, “debatable.” He exhales out something between a sigh and a chuckle. You take another bite, then glance at him again. “You’re really okay?”
He looks at you with that silence again. That split second where it feels like he might actually say something about the ordeal or his feelings about literally just about anything. Then he nods, “yeah,” he says, “I am.”
You study his face for a moment for anything that contradicts it. From where you stand, it just seems like he’s… being himself— quiet and a little distant, keeping to himself. So you nod and decide to believe him. “Okay,” you whisper in the evening breeze.
At first, it’s just the normal things that you tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything on their own. But as time goes by, you notice little tremor in his fingers when he hands you change, his eyes stay unfocused when you’re talking like your voice is coming from somewhere far away and he’s trying to catch up to it. The cigarette smell that wraps around him even on days when he insists he hasn’t smoked yet, like the air itself is giving him away. You told him to stop being like this and start taking care of himself, but kids nowadays don’t wanna listen.
You stand across the counter one afternoon as you watch him rearrange a bundle of lilies that are already perfectly fine— at least to you— and you think, he’s just tired, that’s all, people get tired.
But then he sighs as if the air itself hurts coming out, and then you catch the empty bottle tucked half hiidden under the counter when he bends down to grab scissors.
It doesn’t fit with how he handles flowers so carefully, passionately and delicately. He told you that he treats them like they’re alive and talking. None of his self destructive behaviour now fits with how he remembers exactly which ones you like without asking, how he treats the elderly, the shop, the animals. Still, you don’t say anything at first as the fear of invading his personal space keeps you to yourself. You’re scared that he’ll again hide away from you. But you keep coming back.
Because it’s easier to believe you’re overthinking than it is to believe something is wrong and you don’t know how to fix it.
One day, you lean against the counter while he’s wrapping a bouquet for another customer. You watch his jaw tighten just a bit when the customer leaves. You don’t know why but after observing him for a few more seconds, it felt as if something inside him unclenches and breaks loose at the same time. But what? He keeps things to himself most of the time. You’d think the two of you would be close after knowing each other for about three months now, but no—you don’t really know him as him, as Vernon. He’s quiet and charming and speaks in a way that makes you feel like you know everything, but in truth, you actually know nothing about him personally..It makes you a little sad that he keeps his door closed, but who are you to wish it would open for you?
You clear your throat, “do you ever… sleep properly?” you try to make it sound like you’re asking about the weather instead of how he looks a little too hollow under the shop lights.
His hands stop for half a second, just half, then he continues tying the ribbon, “I sleep,” he replies.
You tilt your head, not convinced, “that’s not what I meant.”
That finally makes him look at you. But not fully or straight on— just a quick, somewhat guarded glance as always. It’s him deciding how much of himself is safe to show you today, “I’m fine,” he adds after that second… and that should end the conversation.
Well, it doesn’t. It doesn’t end today.
Fingers tap lightly against the wooden counter as you’re now suddenly aware of how quiet the shop is when no one is talking. The bell on the door hasn’t rung in a while. “You’re not,” you say anyway.
His mouth twitches, almost like a smile but not quite, “you don’t know that.”
“I do,” you reply immediately, but you hate how certain you sound. Feels like you’ve already decided something about him you’re not allowed to decide. You shouldn’t but that ends up making him stop properly this time.
The ribbon is halfway tied and his fingers stay there frozen around it. For a second, you think he’s going to get angry, or shut down completely, or tell you to leave and never come back and show your down bad pathetic shameless face again. Instead, he exhales through his nose and looks away,“you shouldn’t keep coming here everyday,” he says.
The words stabs sharper than they should that doesn’t match the softness of everything else between you. Your stomach tightens but you force your voice to stay normal, “why?”
He shrugs one shoulder because you know, it’s nothing to him. At this point, in the way he’s now acting toward you, it doesn’t matter… like he doesn’t matter. “Because it’s a shop,” he says. “People come and go.”
You hate that answer. You don’t hate it because you think it’s wrong, but because it’s so easy for him to say. So you step a little closer, just enough that you can see the shadow under his eyes more clearly with the exhaustion that’s not sitting right on his face. “I don’t come here just for the flowers,” you tell him, and it feels like something small inside you feels scared and embarrassed when you say it out loud.
It finally makes him look at you properly. It’s not through you or past you, but at you. There’s something there— confusion maybe, or fear, orr both tangled together so tightly it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.
You swallow, because now that you’ve started, stopping feels worse. “I keep thinking…” you continue as you choose every word, “if I stay long enough, you’ll stop looking like you’re always halfway gone.” His jaw tightens again for the nth time after that customer left, but he doesn’t interrupt. You continue anyway but still unsure even though you’re standing your ground. “You act like nothing stays with you, but I see you. And I think— maybe you just… don’t let anything stay long enough.”
He chuckles but it’s disbelieving, “you’re wrong.” But it doesn’t sound like he’s correcting you and instead, it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself… you end up staying around a little longer even when he looks away again as he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear like it’s a habit he forgot you were watching. You stay.
Some part of you is convinced by now that if you just keep being there for him and just keep talking, keep asking, keep minding his business, keep standing there pretending you should be in the space he’s trying so hard to disappear into— he might eventually choose not to vanish… even if he doesn’t know how to do that yet.
Days basically go by normally, except that you see Vernon get more into his now addiction. You try to stop him from doing this to himself when he starts to seem just slightly out of sync with everything around him more frequently, but he’s not the one to listen to others. He has a lot of knowledge about different things, but even if he knows the harm, he doesn’t care.
After that day, he does start to warm up to being a little more normal towards you and stops telling you not to come every day. He sometimes comes by your college and drops you at your place and sometimes even comes inside and chats for a bit, but he never stays for long. He always leaves just when it starts to feel like he might stay a bit longer to give you company. And every time he does, your mind drifts back to that almost kiss and what could have been. You’re just pathetically in love with him, but you can’t have him like this. You don’t know if he knows by now, but maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t.
Whenever Vernon steps out— whether it’s for a smoke break or to get something for the shop like seedlings—, you end up chatting with Chee. Over time, you’ve come to understand that she’s a smarter and more sympathetic woman than you initially thought, that’s one thing you learned about her during your time here for the last few months now. She’s perceptive, kind, and knows when to listen and just silently observe without asking too many questions. And another thing you learned is that she’s obsessed with her husband, who also happens to be obsessed with her— and for some odd reasons… tigers —, just as much.
His name is Soonyoung, and he comes by sometimes to see his wife often, and whenever Vernon isn’t around, you end up spending time with the two of them instead. They make up for the inconsistency you feel with Vernon. Slowly like this, you create a really nice relationship between you and Chee and her husband, Soonyoung. Vernon’s relationship with you is always on and off— sometimes everything’s good and he’s interacting as usual, and sometimes he’s just… distant.
Vernon, on the other hand, is unpredictable even if he warmed up but still, these days he’s a bit distant. Some days he’s present, talking to you like nothing is wrong, like everything is fine. Other days, he drifts so far into himself that you feel like you’re standing next to someone you don’t know. Lately, it’s been more of the latter, and it makes you uneasy… especially today.
Chee and Soonyoung have invited both of you to dinner, and you can’t help worrying that the dinner might be awkward. You don’t want the tension to follow you there and sit at that table and feel like something between you and Vernon is unfinished.
You didn’t really know their address at first, but they sent it to you, and Chee insisted that Vernon pick you up. You like to think that Chee did it intentionally.
You spend a little longer than usual getting ready. The cream colored A-line dress fits you perfectly, its fabric blooming with hand drawn ink sketches of roses. The puffy sleeves sit just right on your shoulders, and the row of onyx-colored buttons down the center pulls everything together neatly, cinching at your waist before the skirt flares out in soft pleats. You really do love this dress. For a moment, you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over it, wanting to admire it just a little longer. but, soon enough, your phone buzzes.
Vernon sends you a text saying he’s outside.
You grab your bag and head down before you can overthink anything. When you step outside, you see Vernon standing there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but still casual enough.
“You’re here,” you greet him, and he hums in response as he instinctively comes closer to you.
“Ready to leave?” he asks, his eyes remaining on yours.
“Y-yeah.”
He doesn’t say anything except that he has already called an Uber and that you can go there by Uber instead of walking. You expected that anyway since they live a bit far
The ride itself is a bit quiet, but it’s more than okay than an awkward tense silence. You focus on the passing lights and buildings outside, letting your thoughts drift for a bit while Vernon stays on his phone.
“I’d like to talk to you after dinner,” he suddenly informs you.
“About what?” It’s a bit weird for Vernon to tell you he wants to talk like this. Not that you’re very worried, but with his mood lately, you’re kind of worried, yeah.
“You’ll… know,” he responds just like that without any more elaboration.
“Oh—okay.”
“You… you look beautiful, by the way,” he comments, and your eyes almost come out of your socket hearing that. You were kind of expecting him to say something but also weren’t, so it makes you both shy and surprised.
“Thank you,” you simply reply as a tiny hint of red that is not quite a blush creeps up on your cheek.
The rest of the ride passes quickly after that, and before you know it, you’re standing outside Chee and Soonyoung’s house. You check your purse, making sure you have what you brought for them, while Vernon stands beside you holding a box of chocolates. He presses the calling bell, and in no time, Chee opens the door and greets you both in a hug.
“You’re finally here!” she beams, pulling you in first before reaching for Vernon as well.
“We made it,” you say with a big smile.
“Come in, come in, I’ve been waiting,” she adds, stepping aside to let you both in.”
Upon entering, the first thing you smell is the smell of blueberry pie. “Mhm, is that blueberry pie?” you ask enthusiastically, your eyes sparkling.
“Yes, your favourite,” Chee chuckles at your expression.
“Oh my—” you exclaim, and Chee pats your head before gesturing you toward the dinner area.
“Dinner is almost ready,” she announces as you and Vernon take a seat beside each other at the table.
“Wait… do you smell that?” she suddenly stops, sniffing the air, her brows pulling together slightly.
You follow her eyes as she sniffs again, and then she abruptly turns and rushes toward the kitchen.
You and Vernon exchange a quick look before standing up and following her. The moment you step into the kitchen, you’re met with the sight of Chee hurriedly taking a pan off the stove and placing it under the sink, water running over it as a faint sizzling sound fills the air. Soonyoung stands beside the stove, shoulders slightly slumped, looking exactly like a wet, sad puppy caught doing something wrong.
“Did you burn it again?” Chee huffs as she turns off the tap and inspects the pan.
Soonyoung looks at her, then at the pan, then back at her, “it wasn’t burning… it was just— getting darker,” he mutters, clearly trying to defend himself.
You press your lips together trying not to burst out laughing, while Vernon, beside you, looks entirely unsurprised.
“That is literally what burning is,” Chee deadpans, unimpressed as she sets the pan aside.
“I followed the instructions!” Soonyoung insists, gesturing vaguely toward the counter.
“Did you?” she questions, raising a brow.
He hesitates, “mostly.”
You can’t hold it in anymore and let out a small laugh, covering your mouth slightly, “it smells good though… kind of,” you say, trying to help.
Soonyoung immediately looks at you like you’re his only ally. “See? She gets it.”
Chee sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips now, “you’re not helping him,” she says to you, though her tone is light.
“You should just let her cook,” Vernon speaks up.
Soonyoung turns to him with mild betrayal, “whose side are you on?”
“The side that wants edible food,” Vernon replies without missing a beat.
That makes you laugh again, the tension from earlier easing just a little as you lean slightly closer to him without realizing it. He doesn’t move away.
Chee waves her hand dismissively, “alright, out. All of you. I’ll fix this before it gets worse.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Soonyoung mutters, already stepping back from there with utmost obedience and you all follow him out.
Once all of you are sitting at the table, the atmosphere becomes even more warm. The food is genuinely good and it shows in the way everyone gobbles down the food cooked by Chee with the ‘help’ of her lovely husband without hesitation. Vernon sits beside you quieter than the others, but not distant enough to make you uneasy, and that alone feels like a relief.
Conversation ripples naturally, moving from small things to random stories and back again, and you realize there is no awkwardness, no tension pressing down on you like you feared earlier. You find yourself responding without overthinking, and slowly, the anxiety of awkwardness you carried here, dissolves. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this until now. Sitting here, surrounded by people who feel comfortable to be around, you start thinking ahead without meaning to; imagining inviting them over to your place, planning what you’d cook, how you’d set things up, what it would be like to spend more time like this outside of the florist shop. The thought makes you excited already.
And it hits you clearly that you haven’t felt this way about spending time with people— anyone other than Vernon— in a long time. The realization doesn’t take away from him, but it gives you something that doesn’t depend on whether he stays or leaves. And for the first time in a while, that makes you genuinely happy about it all.
Chee eventually stands up to bring dessert, her expression bright as she carries the blueberry pie over and begins slicing it carefully. “I hope you’re still not full,” she says as she places a slice in front of you.
“Never,” you reply immediately and lean forward a little as the familiar sweet scent reaches you again.
Soonyoung watches the plate like it’s something he’s proud of. It’s probably something that he’s proud of, actually. “I told you she’d love it,” he says, glancing at Chee with a big, proud grin.
“You say that about everything I make,” Chee responds, though there’s clear affection in her voice. You’ll never get tired of watching their love for each other.
“Because everything you make is good,” he insists without any hesitation, chin up.
Again, you can’t help but smile at that, watching the way they show love and affection and support so naturally. “This looks amazing,” you add, picking up your fork.
Vernon looks at your plate briefly, then at you, “you’ve been talking about this since you walked in,” he recalls.
You glance at him, slightly embarrassed, “it’s important,” you reply, and he huffs a faint, almost amused breath in response. “I love blueberry pie!” The pie tastes exactly how you hoped it would; sweet, soft, and just a little tart, and you don’t bother hiding your reaction. “This is literally perfect,” you say, looking at Chee.
“I knew it,” she replies with a chuckle. “I made it specifically because you like it.” That only makes you smile more.
Eventually, dinner comes to an end, plates are cleared, and the conversation slows into random comments here and there as everyone leans back into their seats. It’s only then, as things begin to wrap up, that realization hits you. You fucking forgot.
Your hand immediately goes into your bag, your expression changing to nervousness as you sit up straighter. “Wait—” you start, a little flustered. “I completely forgot something.”
Chee looks at you curiously, “hm?” At the same time, she reaches for the box Vernon brought and hands a few chocolates toward you. “Before that, take these.”
You stare at her momentarily distracted as you accept the box with a, thank you, before quickly shaking your head. “No, wait— I actually brought something too,” you still fighting how deep your bag is [do you understand the reference? pls say you do].
You pull out two small black boxes and hand them over one to Chee and one to Soonyoung.
“It’s nothing big,” you quickly add, a little self-conscious now. “I just… wanted to get you something.”
They both look surprised but pleased as they take the boxes and open them almost at the same time. Inside are the bracelets— simple but meaningful since each is engraved with the other’s name. There’s a silence as they take it in.
Soonyoung looks at his first, then at Chee’s, then back at you, “This—this has her name on it,” he says softly with his doe-like eyes. It’s the nth time that this man is giving you cuteness aggression tonight.
Chee lifts hers slightly as her fingers brush over the engraving, “and this one has his,” her voice so much more gentler than before.
You move in your seat as now you’re suddenly feeling like you’re the center of attention. The brackets weren’t exactly easy to buy with your college budget, but it didn’t feel like a waste. Not for them after they’ve become so important to you. “I just thought… it would be nice,” you say. “Since you both— I mean… yeah, you’re both important to me.”
There’s a moment of silence again, but this time it feels full instead of uncertain.
Chee smiles first, a genuine, soft expression as she looks at you. “This isn’t small at all,” she reaches out to touch your hand. “It’s really thoughtful, honey.”
Soonyoung nods along, already trying to put his on, “yeah, this is— this is actually really cool,” he adds, fumbling slightly before laughing at himself. “I love it. Thank you, Y/N.”
Vernon, beside you, doesn’t say anything immediately, but you can feel his gaze on you. When you glance at him, he’s already looking, something unreadable in his expression. “You didn’t tell me you were getting them something like this,” he says.
You shrug lightly, trying to play it off. “I wanted it to be a surprise. And I didn’t know that you’d like to know anyway.”
He nods like he understands and accepts that, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer before looking away.
Chee again insists that you leave with Vernon and not on your own, and he obviously doesn’t protest. He calls an Uber this time as well, and the two of you ride it in almost complete silence, but again, it’s not uncomfortable at all. In fact, you’re strangely happy about it, because this feels like him being normal. He has always been a bit quiet when he’s normal, keeping to himself unless he has something to say, and right now, he seems exactly like that.
The late night city lights pass by outside the window, reflecting faintly on the glass as you lean slightly toward it, watching everything blur into soft streaks of color. Beside you, Vernon scrolls through his phone, and after a moment, your phone buzzes. You glance down to see him sending you all the pictures from tonight— the ones of the food, the house, Chee and Soonyoung, their cat and dog, the group pictures, and even the ones you didn’t know he took. There’s a solo picture of you, one where you weren’t even looking at the camera, and a couple of selfies the two of you took together.
You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips as you scroll through them, your fingers sliding on that one picture of you. “You took this?” you glance at him.
He nods slightly without looking up, “hm.”
“It’s nice,” you say, and he hums in acknowledgment.
Without thinking too much about it, you post a story on Instagram, picking a few pictures in a collage.
The rest of the ride passes quietly, and before you know it, the car slows down in front of your building. You take your bag and step out. You turn back, bending slightly down to say goodbye to Vernon through the open car door.
But before you could, he’s already out of the car as well.
You straighten up, confused, “why are you getting out?” you ask, watching him as he closes the door behind him.
He looks at you with his calm but unreasonable expression. “I told you,” he says. “I needed to talk to you.”
The reminder makes your chest tighten as you nod even though you’re not entirely sure why you suddenly feel uneasy. “Right,” you remember.
There’s a moment of silence as the Uber drives away, leaving the two of you standing under the road light outside your building, “I can’t do this anymore,” he decides to speak up.
The words don’t register at first. They feel too sudden from everything that just happened. “What?” you ask, your brows pulling together slightly, confusion and anxiety already settling in. You have no idea where this is going but you’re not feeling one bit good about this.
Sighing, his gaze moves away from you for a moment before coming back, “this,” he repeats, whispering. “Whatever this is.”
Your chest tightens, and you take a step closer without realizing it, “what are you talking about?” you ask, your voice softer but more urgent this time around. “Nothing happened. We were just— we just had dinner, everything was fine.”
He shakes his head slightly as if that’s exactly the problem. “That’s not what I mean,” he clarifies.
“Then what do you mean?” your confusion starts to mix with desperation, “you can’t just say that and not explain anything.”
He looks at you again, and there’s something heavier in his expression now. “Y/N… I know how you feel,” he admits it to you. Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. “And I can’t return that,” he adds.
It hits you like a fucking asteroid at a speed of 3.00 × 10⁸ m/s.
You stare at him, trying to process it and understand how the conversation and situation changed so quickly into something you weren’t prepared for. “You don’t—” you start, then stop, then start again as your voice falters before you push through, “you don’t even know what I feel.”
“I do,” he whispers like if he wishes he didn’t
Your chest rises and falls unevenly as your hands fists at your sides. “And even if you do,” you continue, your voice trembling now despite your effort to keep it without breaking, “yo-u don’t just decide something like that on your— your own. You don’t just end it without even trying.”
“There’s nothing to try!” he raises his voice just a bit, almost unnoticeable, but enough to make you flinch. “Sorry…” he apologises, wide eyes when he sees you flinch back.
“There is!” you insist, stepping closer again, your eyes searching his face. “If— if you think this isn’t going anywhere, then we can figure it out. Together. I’m not forcing anything, I’m just— I’m asking you to not shut it down before it even starts.”
He watches you, and there’s something almost conflicted in his gaze, but it fades just as quickly as it appears. “I’m leaving.”
You stand quiet, feeling out of place before speaking, “what?” you whisper.
“I’m leaving the city,” he continues, his tone controlled… almost too controlled. “I’ll tell Chee tonight. Then I’m… gone.”
You shake your head immediately to reject the idea yourself. “That doesn’t make sense,” this time your voice rising slightly, “you can’t just leave like that. You have the shop, Chee—”
“I know,” he cuts in gently. “It’s not the most logical decision.”
“Why? Then why?” you demand, your voice breaking despite yourself. “Why would you do something like that?”
He exhales, looking away for a second before meeting your eyes again, “because staying is worse.”
You stare at him dumbfounded but your mind still racing to try to catch up and find something that makes sense.
“Did you ever feel anything?” you ask suddenly when he’s not saying anything more. What else does he have to say, anymore? “Even a little?”
There’s a pause from him… a long one. “That’s not the point,” is the answer he comes up with.
“It is to me,” your voice shaking after hearing him. “Be-because I need to know if I was just… imagining everything.”
“You weren’t,” he says. If he thinks it’ll make you feel any better, he’d be wrong. So fucking wrong. It only makes it hurt more.
“Then why?” you ask again, even softer, almost pleading. You’re just this 🤏🏻 close to going on your knees. “Why are you doing this?”
He looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s actually going to tell you the truth without holding anything back anymore. “You remind me of someone,” he confesses instead. Honestly, out of everything you expected him to say, this wasn’t it. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad one, you don’t know yet. “Someone who was… important to me,” he continues. “She’s not in my life anymore.”
You don’t say anything, just wait for him to continue before doing anything you might regret— if you decide to do it, that is.
“She was like you… and in the end, she… didn’t stay.” You stay in utter silence, not knowing what to say. Usually, it's be you talking and he wouldn’t say anything… maybe this is how he felt. “It started in spring,” he says after a stopping to swallow the lump in his throat, “and it ended in spring”
He wipes the palm of his hands on his jeans as he tries to maintain his eyes contact with your blurry eyes while you listen to him.
“So spring just…” he trails off slightly, then finishes, “it’s not a good time for me.”
You shake your head as tears starts to finally spill over. “That’s n-ot fair,” you whisper as your voice cracks. “You— y-you can’t p-unish everything because— because of something that already en-ended.”
“I’m not punishing anything, Y/N.. I’m ending it before it turns into something I can’t control.”
You step even closer, almost breathing on him as your voice breaks completely. “T—Then don’t let it— let it t-urn into that,” you plead. “Just stay. Just— sta-y.”
He looks at you, and for a second, it feels like he might… “I can’t,” he breaks your heart. The finality in his voice makes your heart inside you collapse. “I’m sorry,” he feels ashamed as he lowers his eyes on your hands that’s now gripping his wrist.
Your grip tightens around his wrist, your fingers trembling from holding him, you breaking in a way that feels painful to hear even to yourself, “you shouldn’t decide that alone… I’m telling you— you can’t… cut me out because you’re scared of what might happen. That’s not fair, Vernon. That’s not— that’s not how this works,” your breath hitches as you struggle to keep your voice from cracking. You search his face desperately for even the smallest sign of hesitation.
He swallows as he looks at you, “It’s not just fear… I know where something leads before it gets there. I’ve been there before, and I’m not… doing that again,” he adds like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s trying to convince you.
You shake your head immediately, your grip loosening just enough for your hands to slide slightly down his arm, your voice cracking as you speak again, “but I’m not her! Y-you keep saying I remind you of her, but I’m not her, Vernon! I’m not going to do whatever she did,” your brows pull together as tears continue to fall, your chest tightening with every word.
He lets out a breath, his gaze dropping before lifting again to meet yours, “I know you’re not her,” he admits, and it’s softer before it fades again. “But it doesn’t change the way this feels. It doesn’t change what it does to me.”
“Then let it be different,” you plead. “Let this be different. Not everything has to end the same way just because something else did,” your hands lifting slightly as if you don’t know whether to hold onto him again or let go entirely, your thoughts running faster than you can keep up with.
He shakes his head, and this time there’s no hesitation in it, “No, this city already feels…,” he sighs, “every place, every street… it’s starting to feel the same again… And— you’re her—”
“What are you talking about??” you’re just so confused, you feel like you’re crazy.
“Let me finish— I can’t ask you to leave. This is your life. So I’m the one who has to go,” he finishes.
You stare at him, your face crumbling further as you try to process that, “s-so that’s it?” your lips tremble, “you’re just going to— going to walk away because I remind you of someone who hurt you?”
He closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them again, and when he speaks, it’s soft like an apology. But shit, if that doesn’t fix anything, “it’s not just that…” he trails, “but it’s enough,” he adds looking down because he for sure knows it won’t make sense to you no matter how he explains it.
You shake your head again and again, tears falling freely now, your hands trembling as you try to hold onto something that’s already slipping away. “Don’t— don’t do-o this,” you whisper. “Please… pl—please, don’t do th-is.”
He doesn’t move closer or reach for you. He doesn’t change his mind and say he was just joking, that he crossed the line. You’re waiting for him to tell you to slap him for making such an awful joke— but it doesn’t come. “I have to,” he lets out.
And just like that, you realize that no matter what you say, no matter how much you ask, no matter how much you plead, no matter how much you cry, he’s already decided… and you can’t change his mind.
After that, everything collapses gradually. The shop stays open and spring continues, the flowers keep blooming, but without him it all feels wrong in a way you can’t explain to yourself properly. You keep going back to the shop at first… it’s almost automatic like muscle memory pulling you there instead of choice, hoping that maybe he’ll be standing behind the counter or by the flowers like nothing ever changed; but he never is.
Chee is the first to look properly angry when she hears what happened— not at him, but at everything around it: the situation, the timing, and hoe he left without anyone fully understanding why. She vents at first, pacing in the shop one afternoon when you’re there, her voice full with frustration.
“I told him he can’t just run away from everything,” she says more to herself than to you, “that’s just not how life works.”
You sit near the counter, fingers loosely touching the edge, your voice quieter when you reply, “he said he had to...”
Chee stops for a second, looks at you, then sighs like she’s trying to force herself into acceptance, “of course he did.”
—
It takes time, but eventually she softens. It’s not like she agrees with what he did, but because she understands in the only way she can… through her loyalty she has for people she cares about. And when Vernon reaches out again after a long silence that’s too far stretched to count properly, she doesn’t turn him away.
There’s a time when she tells you about it almost a bit reluctantly.
“He contacted me,” she informs one day while rearranging flowers.
Your hands stilling, “and?”
“He’s… fine,” she adds, but the way she says it makes it clear that ‘fine’ doesn’t mean what it used to.
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take long for him to win her over again after her initial disappointment fades. She forgives him in her own way. Quietly without any drama. And eventually, he goes no contact again, but this time with her permission. Again, it’s not not like she stopped caring, but because she understood that holding onto him wasn’t the same as helping him. Vernon never lets Chee down easily, and Chee never manages to stay mad at him for long. It’s complicated like that, always has been.
You hear about him indirectly about how he checks in sometimes, how he disappears again just as quickly. Always moving somewhere else and never really staying in one place and settle.
You, meanwhile, stay in orbit around the life that remains. You spend time with Chee sometimes, and occasionally Soonyoung joins in, bringing the same chaotic warmth he always does like nothing in the world is ever truly serious for long when he’s around. You smile when you’re there, you laugh when you feel like to, then you leave again.
You start to realize that you might be a little pathetic for still waiting in places where he will never return. Almost graduated now, a year nearly passed, and still some part of you looks for him.
Sometimes in the shop, you catch yourself saying things without thinking. I think he’ll like these ones, you once said, reaching for a bundle of flowers he used to set aside for you.
Over time, what you hear about him comes in fragments indirectly. Never directly from him and always from someone who saw him somewhere for a minute.
He’s been drinking more.
Still smoking like before… maybe worse.
He’s just wandering.
He lost weight.
He looks different.
He went down.
It paints a picture you don’t want but can’t avoid forming anyway. Cigarettes first thing in the morning, alcohol when the day gets too much, smoke breaks that aren’t breaks anymore, just constant repetition. Nights that don’t end. A routine that doesn’t heal anything and just fills space so he doesn’t have to sit in silence with himself. You try reaching out once more.
You send messages, but no response. It starts to feel less like silence and more like absence. Like the version of him you knew existed in a space that no longer connects to the world you’re in.
It’s like the moment you had with him was a fever dream. Sometimes it feels like it existed outside of everything else, and once it ended, the rest of the world kept moving without him— and without you in it.
In the end, you’re left with the realization that you couldn’t save him, couldn’t hold him there, couldn’t make him choose to stay.
You stand in the florist shop surrounded by flowers he used to touch so carefully. Your fingers brush lightly against a vase as you look down at the counter, I thought you’d stay, you say under your breath, barely audible, not even sure if you mean him or the feeling itself.
♡ pairing: boo seungkwan x fem!reader
♡ theme: fluff, non-idol au
♡ wc: 2.4k
♡ warnings: none
♡ a/n: seungkwan posted that picture today and i had to write a fic about it (yes, it happened again) bc i fear i am genuinely in love with him. shoutout to @nerdycheol and @tomodachiii for giving me the idea <3
The whole reason you're on vacation is so you don't have to think about men (derogatory) for a while — but a handsome stranger and a night to remember just might change that.
"I think that guy over there keeps looking at you."
Mid-bite of french fry, you realize Megan is talking to you. You look up at her, a blasé expression on your face.
"I told you, I have no interest in the male species right now," you reply. "That's the whole reason for this trip, remember?"
"I know, I know," she admits, apologetically waving her hands in the air at you. "But this one is really cute though, I'm telling you…"
You roll your eyes dismissively, but Daniela nods in agreement.
"She's right. He is pretty cute."
You sigh, but they have piqued your interest. You turn your head and peer casually around the restaurant. It's later in the evening, so it's not very crowded — the sparse tables are mostly occupied by older couples, but in the opposite corner of the room you spot a group of three guys, all seemingly around your age. The one facing you wears a loose, black button-down shirt, accompanied by a puka shell necklace. His sunkissed-pink face and his dark tousled hair, slightly dry and wavy from salt exposure, tell you he is also here on vacation. He is pretty cute, and he is definitely looking at you. The moment he notices you looking back at him, his eyes widen slightly; he quickly looks down at the phone in his hand, pretending to suddenly be very interested in whatever is on the screen.
"See? I told you," Megan says proudly as you turn back around.
"Okay, you're right. But I'm still not interested."
"Listen, I know we came here to get your mind off of… men for a bit," she starts, treading cautiously. Your ex did some pretty serious damage when he left you — you were holed up in your house for weeks before your friends finally told you to pack your bags and grab your passport. "But you're on vacation! Nothing counts here, there's no harm in having a little fun."
"True, but… I just don't know." You stare down at your plate, aimlessly stirring a fry in your ketchup.
"It's not like you have to marry him," Daniela points out. "Just go say hi and flirt with him."
You peek back at the man in the corner table again. The guy sitting beside him nudges him with his elbow. He looks up at his friend questioningly, and the friend nods his head in your direction. He glances over, making eye contact with you, and his face turns even pinker. He turns back to his friend, scolding him under his breath (but not quietly) in a foreign language, but the friend just smirks and giggles. You turn back around, the faintest peek of a grin flashing across your face.
"See!!" Megan nearly shouts, pointing at you excitedly. "You know you wanna!"
"Shhh!" you react, smacking her hand out of your face. "Stop being so loud, Jesus."
"Come on, do ittttt," Daniela prods. "Go talk to him!"
"I don't even know if he speaks English," you point out, trying to get yourself out of this, but you know it's a weak excuse.
"Y/n. It's 2025," Megan stares at you dully. "Just use your phone to translate."
"Go talk to him or I'm gonna go flirt with him first," Megan informs you, a mischievous grin on her face.
"Oh my god…" you groan. "Fine! Fine." You go to stand up, but as you scoot your chair back the man's friend materializes right next to you.
"Hi," he smiles at you, sticking his hand out. "My name is Jeonghan." You freeze at the forward gesture, but you extend your hand as you also introduce yourself; he shakes it firmly but politely.
"My friends," he says, gesturing to the other two men at the table. "Tonight we are going to…" He doesn't seem speak much English; he types something into his phone, reading off the translated word. "Yah-chut?" Confused, he taps the button. "Yacht," a robotic female voice echoes from the speaker. "Yacht tour," he finishes his sentence. He types something else into his phone. "To see the fireworks," the robot lady tells you. "Do you want to go with us?"
"We'd love to!" Megan tells him enthusiastically, answering for you. "Where is it?"
"Where is it?" Jeonghan repeats, pulling up the location on the map. He turns the screen to the three of you, showing you the little red map marker.
"Oh! That's right over here," Daniela responds, gesturing out the window down the beach. "At the docks. What time?" she asks, tapping an imaginary wristwatch.
"9pm," Jeonghan answers. You check the time on your phone: 8:46pm.
"Awesome, we'll meet you there!" Megan smiles at him.
Your friends stare at you eagerly as Jeonghan heads back to his friends.
"Shut up," you tell them before they can even say anything, but a subtle smile appears on your face. You glance back to the guys' table once more — the one in the black shirt is still eyeing you, seemingly a little embarrassed, but this time he doesn't break eye contact, giving you a soft smile in return.
"You guys know I'm afraid of boats, right?" you say to your friends as you walk down to the docks together.
"Oh hush, you'll be fine," Daniela replies. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"The boat could sink and then we all drown and die."
"At least she's not dramatic or anything," Megan remarks to Daniela.
You spot the three men waiting at the dock. Jeonghan waves as you approach, extending his arm to you. At first you think he's going in for another handshake, but you realize he's holding three small strips of paper.
"Your tickets," he says as you take them from him.
"Oh! Thank you," you respond amicably, handing one to each of your friends. "You didn't have to do that."
"Seungkwan paid," he grins, gesturing to the one who's been eyeing you all night. Seungkwan smiles sheepishly, looking down at the ground.
"Well thank you, Seungkwan," you say to him directly, memorizing the shape of his name as it rolls across your tongue. "That's very kind of you." He raises his head, focusing his eyes on yours; seeing them up close, they are big and round and attentive, sparkling dark pupils framed in warm brown irises, gazing at you softly. A rush of warmth floods your cheeks.
"Oh, you're welcome," he replies, blushing again.
One of the yacht staff approaches, handing out life vests to the group and telling everyone to follow him. He leads you down the dock to a modest-sized yacht and opens the gate. Megan goes first; you step nervously onto the gangway after her, slowing your pace as you tread up the precarious walkway, but Daniela gives you a gentle push from behind.
"Come on, you're alright," she encourages you. You make it to the deck, placing one foot onto the boat — but it sways beneath you as it bobs gently atop the water. You freeze, panicking slightly, but with a deep breath you keep going, clinging to the railing as you make your way to the front of the boat. There's a small seated area; you quickly plop onto the padded bench, sighing with relief. Megan passes you, wedging herself between you and Daniela, forcing you to scoot over next to Seungkwan, who takes a seat beside you.
"Are you okay?" His fixes soft eyes on you with concern.
"Yeah, I'm okay," you smile at him. "I've just never been on a boat before."
"Oh, first time?" he asks, making sure he understood. You nod, and he beams back at you. The boat suddenly lurches as it takes off; you flinch, instinctively grabbing his arm.
"Sorry," you quickly apologize, tucking your hands in your lap as you look away bashfully.
"It's okay," he smiles. Your stomach does a flip; he was attractive from afar earlier, but seeing him this close — he is incredibly handsome. You've never felt such a strong urge to kiss a complete stranger.
The boat sails smoothly out into the water. A breeze dances against your face as it drives into the night, cool but refreshing, as the familiar melody of a Harry Styles tune starts playing from the onboard speakers.
"Oh! I love this song!" Seungkwan tells you excitedly. As the vocals come in, he starts singing along. Despite not being fluent, he sings the lyrics almost perfectly, in perhaps the most beautiful voice you've ever heard. You stare him, mesmerized, captivated by his beauty, completely forgetting that there's anyone else on the boat besides you and him. Eventually he notices you watching him, suddenly turning shy.
"Sorry," he tells you, laughing as he covers his mouth with his hand.
"No, don't be sorry! You're amazing," you tell him, making his ears turn red. "Please keep singing."
"Thank you," he glows, smiling as he starts singing again, this time at you. It's your turn to get shy, but you can't take your eyes off of him.
The song ends, fading into the next as the boat zooms along the coastline, the lights of the town luminous as you drift past, the dark sky painted with a heavenly array of stars as the moon glows radiantly in the cloudless night. Just when you think you can't imagine a moment more magical than this, the boat slows to a stop. Two of the boat staff climb up onto the bow, hauling a large box with them. You wonder what's happening, but then a small flash sparks as they start to light the long stick-like objects retrieved from the box: fireworks. A whizzing noise fills the air as the rockets launch into the sky, exploding with a loud POP as the colorful displays of light burst in the air. You notice two other boats have parked themselves on the waves near you; they too start shooting off fireworks, and soon you are fully surrounded by a sea of majestic bursting lights. The whooshing and popping and twinkling overwhelm your senses, but in the best way — filling you with a rush of euphoria as you take it all in. Time is at a standstill, and you are on top of the world.
With a showstopping grand finale the fireworks display comes to an end. You blink away the tears that you hadn't realized were filling your eyes. Looking back at Seungkwan, you see he too is misty-eyed.
"Wow," you say to him, at a loss for words, but none need to be spoken.
"So pretty," he tells you, ostensibly about the fireworks, but you don't need to speak the same language to understand that he also means you — the way he smiles at you fondly speaks louder than words.
The boat starts up again, making its way back to the shore. Everyone else is chatting and laughing, but you and Seungkwan sit together in silence, enjoying the music and each other's company.
"Excuse me!" you hear Jeonghan call to the boat staff as as he stands up. He's holding an instant camera in his hands, extending it to the man and gesturing to the group, asking for a photo. You sit up straight, everyone leaning in together to squeeze in the shot. Seungkwan not-so-subtly rests his hand on your back, giving you an explosion of butterflies in your stomach. You lean your head against his shoulder as the staff gives the countdown.
"Alright, 3, 2, 1 — smile!"
The camera flashes brightly, whirring as it starts printing the photo.
"One more, please!" Jeonghan shouts. The light flashes again as he takes a second picture. A small wave of sadness hits you as everyone relaxes, breaking apart from their posed positions, because now you no longer have a reason to be so close to Seungkwan. He scoots slightly back to his spot, but you can tell he's thinking the same thing.
The boat parks back at the dock. Everyone exits the boat, handing the life vests back to the staff on their way out.
"Thank you so much for inviting us," you say sincerely to Seungkwan and his friends, a wide grin etched into your face. "That was such a cool experience." He doesn't understand all of the words you're saying, but he doesn't have to.
"So nice to meet you," he says to you and your friends, but his eyes stay fixed on you. Both groups linger on the docks for a bit, but the time inevitably comes for you to go your separate ways. You try not to get teary-eyed again. Everyone says goodbye, a bit awkwardly but with genuine warmth, all of you still glowing from the blissful shared experience. Just as you turn to walk away, you hear Seungkwan's voice shouting after you; it's the first (and last) time you've heard your name come from his lips, but you're enamored with the way it sounds. You turn around to see him jogging over to you.
"For you," he tells you, extending his hand to you, holding one of the polaroids delicately in his fingers. You smile, the same exuberant, joyous smile that's been on your face all night — a very welcome feeling returning to you after several weeks of having no reason to smile at all.
"Thank you so much," you reply, taking one last look at him. You bid each other goodbye once more, and then you part ways.
"I still can't believe you didn't ask him for his number," Megan tells you as you take your seats on the plane.
"I don't know, it just didn't feel right," you respond glumly. "It was such a perfect night, but I guess it needed to live in my memories only."
"Hey, at least you have the photo," Daniela reminds you. "To remind you it was real and not just a dream."
"True," you sigh. You flip through your passport until you find the polaroid wedged between the pages — for safekeeping. You smile wistfully at the six beaming faces; you are glad you have a tangible souvenir to remember that perfect night by. As you go to shut your passport, the polaroid flips. You pause, doing a double-take. There, on the back of the photo, scrawled lightly in neat penmanship:
oh my god this was absolutely precious 😭 seungkwan is the absolute perfect choice for a vacation meet cute, and the whole dynamic with the language barrier made it so endearing, god!! also, hannie being the ultimate wingman is brilliant. thank you so much for writing this! it was so good 😭 i wanted this to not end and see them meet again or something
spoilers under the cut sinec i live yapped while reading!
"She's right. He is pretty cute." → but really cute boys can be a problem sometimes, tho. who knows? just because hes cute doesn’t mean he automatically deserves a chance when you know absolutely nothing else about him. ofc the only way to get to know someone is to give them a chance in the first place, but ‘hes cute’ probably shouldnt be the entire reason. especially when the male species has already done a fantastic job of disappointing you. that said... if we’re talking about boo seungkwan, i may be willing to ignore my own advice 😊
The moment he notices you looking back at him, his eyes widen slightly; he quickly looks down at the phone in his hand, pretending to suddenly be very interested in whatever is on the screen. → cute XD
"Hi," he smiles at you, sticking his hand out. "My name is Jeonghan." → AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, it was jeonghan 😂. idk why i was thinking maybe the friends were jeonghan, mingyu, and hoshi lol. maybe one of them was dokyeom too, to make it bss.
the one in the black shirt is still eyeing you, seemingly a little embarrassed, but this time he doesn't break eye contact, giving you a soft smile in return. → telling you, i’m giggling wnksksjsisos
"The boat could sink and then we all drown and die." → frfr same fear.
"Seungkwan paid," he grins, gesturing to the one who's been eyeing you all night. → man is rich RICH even here XD what a gentleman
but Daniela gives you a gentle push from behind. → ah daniela XD
but it sways beneath you as it bobs gently atop the water. → oh i can practically feel it rn. it makes me really nervous...
Megan passes you, wedging herself between you and Daniela, forcing you to scoot over next to Seungkwan, who takes a seat beside you. → sisjsiosjsjosjs they’re the girls. love their characters
"It's okay," → AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH a silent scream left my mouth irl AHHH
You've never felt such a strong urge to kiss a complete stranger. → so real. so valid when it’s seungkwan we’re talking about
Seungkwan not-so-subtly rests his hand on your back, giving you an explosion of butterflies in your stomach. You lean your head against his shoulder as the staff gives the countdown. → it’s giving ME butterflies!!!
He doesn't understand all of the words you're saying, but he doesn't have to. → aaahhh, there’s a language barrier happening. but imagine how sweet itd be if, in the future, they started learning each other’ languages for each other 🥺 like, not because they have to, but because they want to. STOP thats actually so cute.
"For you," he tells you, extending his hand to you, holding one of the polaroids delicately in his fingers. You smile, the same exuberant, joyous smile that's been on your face all night — a very welcome feeling returning to you after several weeks of having no reason to smile at all. → nahhh, please exchange numbers. it’s too good of an experience, too many good vibes and everything to not stay in contact 🥹 i mean, yeah, you dont exchange numbers after every hangout, but this was different!!! hes different!!!
"I still can't believe you didn't ask him for his number," Megan tells you as you take your seats on the plane. → OMG SAME QUESTION!!! and ykw?! seungkwan couldve asked for her number too :( okay, wait. imagine if he wrote his number somewhere on the polaroid??? thatd be so good.
"I don't know, it just didn't feel right," you respond glumly. → IT DIDN’T ???
"It was such a perfect night, but I guess it needed to live in my memories only." → awh :( guess some things really are better left as memories then.....
You pause, doing a double-take. There, on the back of the photo, scrawled lightly in neat penmanship: → you shouldve seen the happy, shocked, giant clap i was halfway doing after seeing that he added his Instagram. but halfway through doing it [my hand was above my head at this point], my eyes landed on our front door, which was about to open, and i immediately returned to reality. but AHHHHHHHHH 😭💀
series masterlist • part one • part two
🔞 18+, minors DNI 🚨 minors and blank blogs will be blocked
1(800)GO2-H3LL
🎙 Brought to you by @studiosvt's First Time Caller Collab
When the host of the morning show at 99.2 STEP FM announces his retirement, the race to take the coveted, high-traffic primetime slot is on. And after several years maintaining the second highest listenership at the station, that 6 a.m. start time is as good as yours... as long as Lee Chan—the uptight, overrehearsed, pretentious asshole who keeps hunting everything you love for sport—stays away from it, that is. Naturally, he has no plans of affording you that luxury.
♫ (You Drive Me) Crazy by Britney Spears
PAIRING: radio hosts chan x fem!reader
WC: 5.6K / ???
TAGS: workplace rivals to lovers, set in 2004
CW: workplace romance, adhd, mentions of gender discrimination
SMUT: will add when we get to it!
A/N: brother. don't even look at me rn. i have SEVEN different drafts of this bc my brain was not cooperating. not proofread so please go easy on me. and bc i struggled with this one so hard, i'm definitely going to take some time to think about the next part so i appreciate your patience. thanks ily enjoy and make sure you check out the other works in this collab! buhbye
OFF SCRIPT WITH Y/N
၊၊||၊ Now spinning: Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson
YOU: Thanks for calling into Off Script on 99.2 STEP FM, where you're always one STEP ahead of the charts! You've reached the Bad Idea Hotline. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?
CALLER: Oh my god! Oh my god! [screams] Kendall, I'm on! Yes I'm on—hey, give me the phone back! [grunting and shuffling] Give it. Okay, sorry! Hi!
YOU: Hi! What's your name?
CALLER: I'm Lexi! [muffled, in the background: And I'm Kendall!] No one cares.
YOU: I care! Who is that?
LEXI: Ugh, it's my sister, Kendall.
YOU: Thanks for calling the Bad Idea Hotline, Lexi slash Kendall. Now let's talk it out before you act it out. What bad idea can I talk you out of today?
LEXI: Okay, so there's this guy at work.
YOU: Mmm. Men continue to be the leading cause of calling into the Bad Idea Hotline.
LEXI: Yes, he's the worst. He and I have been competing for this promotion for, like… months.
YOU: Hmm.
LEXI: There's this huge company event on Friday night, and I just found out he's doing a presentation for some execs visiting from out of town, and I was thinking…
YOU: Dangerous pastime.
LEXI: What if someone accidentally replaced his slideshow with photos of him that someone's sister found on his MySpace of him totally plastered at a concert that he called out sick to attend…?
YOU: Jesus Christ, Lexi.
LEXI: It's not the Good Idea Hotline!
YOU: No, I know, I know. Sorry, absolutely no judgment here. You just scare me, and I respect you for that. Well, Lexi, while I love this level of petty and chaotic, I unfortunately have to tell you that this… [Bad Idea Hotline alarm blares loudly] is a bad idea.
LEXI: Boooo.
YOU: Let's talk logistics. How would you even access his deck? Sneak onto his computer? Then you get caught and what, fired? That just leaves you jobless with zero options for references. And let's just say you do succeed in changing the deck out without getting caught, and he's humiliated in front of everyone, and he gets fired and you receive this promotion. Do you think it will feel good…? Knowing you had to do all that just to get a promotion you knew you deserved anyway?
LEXI: Ugh… I guess not.
YOU: I'm the largest advocate for beating men in every avenue of life. But if we're going to beat a man at something, we're going to do it with our dignity in tact. Right?
LEXI: Right. You're totally right. It was a crazy idea.
YOU: And I love your creativity. But let's redirect it. Because to be frank, if you're spending this much time and energy trying to ruin this guy's life… maybe it means you care a little too much about his opinion of you. Maybe it means it's time to stop focusing on him and more on you.
LEXI: I hate that you're right.
YOU: Callers often do. Can I trust that you won't go destroying your career—or anyone else's—after you hang up?
LEXI: Yes, you can trust me. I will be an upstanding employee.
YOU: Good girl. You're going to get that promotion! I believe it!
LEXI: Thanks, Y/N. By the way, I love your show so much—huh? Okay, get off me! Sorry, my sister and I love your show so much. We're such big fans and I hope you're on STEP FM for a long time!
YOU: Aw, thanks! And don't worry. I will be!
EVERYONE RAISES THEIR FLUTES OF CHAMPAGNE UP FOR KIM SEOKJIN, the room full of smiles, cheering, and tears of happiness save for two people: you and Lee Chan, who is already glaring at you before the toasts even end. You glare right back, slipping your middle finger from around the stem of your glass to discreetly flip him off. His scowl deepens. Seokjin's loud and shrill peel of laughter demands your attention, and you pointedly turn away from your show rival.
"I think I speak for everyone at the station when I say you will be missed dearly, Seokjin," a voice somewhere to your left says. The sheer ambition to absolutely crush Lee Chan blinds you and renders you incapable of registering anything other than the rage fueling your need to win the morning slot Seokjin's retirement will be leaving empty.
By all accounts, you're a better radio show host than Chan. You're funnier, more engaging, more flexible, you don't have a stick up your ass, and most importantly, you have integrity, something a thief like him wouldn't know anything about. You're the clear choice to fill the morning slot.
You just need the executives to stop fucking around and agree that you're the clear choice.
"Cheers!" someone else finally shouts.
"Cheers!" you parrot everyone else, forcing a smile on your mouth as you lean forward to clink your drink against others' in honor of Seokjin.
You bring the glass to your lips, your eyes inevitably straying to Chan, whose glower is still fixed on you. You're not sure it ever left. He empties the flute in one, clean gulp, and your eyes briefly drop to his Adam's apple as it bobs. You sneer at him in disgust, stopping at the one, small sip and setting your champagne down on Seokjin's kitchen island.
"Alcoholic," you mouth at Chan, turning away before he can mouth anything back. You immediately head for Seokjin, who is proving to truly be the most beloved human being you know, already surrounded by several weeping colleagues. "Excuse me. Excuse me. Yeah, hi, coming through."
You finally squeeze through the throng of people, tripping a little as you reach the morning show host. His face lights up at the sight of you, and you can tell he's already drunk. You don't blame him; he's probably been celebrating the public announcement of his retirement all day leading up to this party. You would be too if you were about to sunset a career that singlehandedly made your station the #1 most listened to in the country and had people calling you the Father of Radio. And all in favor of practically owning a cable TV channel. You'd never stop celebrating, actually.
Seokjin bellows your name, throwing his arms out wide and welcoming you into his space. "Just the girl I wanted to see! I listened to your show today!"
"You listen to my show every day," you say, glaring at him and daring him to disagree with you. He doesn't miss a beat.
"Of course I do, but today was 'specially special!" he throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the kitchen and toward the backyard.
The sprawling backyard of a man who made his riches from his morning show. His morning show that better be yours soon.
"And why was that?" you feign ignorance. You spent the last hour of your show playing Seokjin's favorite songs and talking about your favorite memories with him in honor of the announcement. He fixes you with a knowing look that might actually bring you to tears.
Kim Seokjin has been the morning show host at 99.2 STEP FM for 20 years, bringing them to the heights they're at now. He's even the voice behind the annoyingly catch jingle everyone in the country knows. His impact is iconic, indisputable, and inimitable, and he's the only reason you are where you are now.
Ten years ago, the man hired you as his intern, and with his mentorship and guidance (and his incredibly complicated coffee orders), you had your own show within a year. Sure, it was in the middle of the night, and you were forced to give up your social life and love of the sun for a while, but now you have the slot just before the afternoon commute and the second highest listenership right after Seokjin. You don't want to feel entitled because you've worked incredibly hard for everything you have. But this also feels like it belongs to you—a throne being passed down to its rightful owner.
YOU. Not Lee Chan.
"You can put on a brave face all you want, but I know you'll miss me," Seokjin says, snorting before his face settles into a level of seriousness rare for him. He frowns a little, refusing to meet your eyes as he stares at his guests jumping into his massive pool. "I'm sorry about today."
He doesn't have to clarify. There's only one thing anyone could possibly be apologizing to you about, though it's definitely not him who should be apologizing.
When you were brought into the conference room this morning at the ass crack of dawn for a meeting with Seokjin and the station's executives, you were sure it was to be told you were the new morning host. You were so sure of yourself, in fact, that seeing Chan sitting in there didn't even dash your hopes. You just foolishly thought the executives were killing two birds with one stone—giving you your rightful position as morning show host and delivering the news that Chan was a boring loser who wouldn't be getting a promotion. Then, you sat down, the meeting began, and you received the worst possible news.
The executives—for whatever bizarre reason—cannot choose between your show and Chan's, and their brilliant idea is to make you compete. Over the course of the next three months, up until the moment Seokjin goes off air for the last time, your strengths and weaknesses will be tested against Chan's with a mall tour consisting of three stops across the country, all leading to the radio station's annual spring festival, where you two will co-host the concert. And because that cruel and unusual punishment isn't enough, they want to see you each host one morning show to really put the cherry on top of a giant slap to the face.
Five tests stood between you and everything your career has been building toward. Five tests and a stupid radio host whose performance couldn't hold a candle to yours.
"Is it because I'm a woman?" you ask, knowing Seokjin is more privy to the details the executives would never share with you. Plus, he's too kind to ever lie about why this has all come down to a competition when you're the only answer that makes sense.
He shrugs. "Could be. Probably. Not sure, honestly." He takes a deep breath before he admits, "It's the numbers."
You throw him an incredulous look. "The 'numbers'? If we were going by numbers, the slot would be mine."
Like some sick sixth sense, the hairs on the back of your neck stand and you look over to find the devil himself, wandering over to one of Seokjin's lounge chairs by the pool and throwing his towel on it.
"I'm literally the second most listened to show at STEP and I'm not even in a commuter slot!" you point out, narrowing your eyes at Chan.
Seokjin winces. "Right… and if it were just about listeners, there wouldn't have been any questions about who deserved the morning slot."
"What?" you murmur, frowning as Chan kicks his flip-flops off, shoving them out of the way and under the chaise. "What else would it be about?"
He sighs, fully turning to you now. You glance at him briefly, letting your eyes wander away again when you can't take the pity in his eyes. "You bring in listeners… but Chan brings in sponsorships."
The man in question reaches behind him, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head. Your eyes involuntarily bulge as he reveals—to your dismay—washboard abs you could grate a block of cheese on. Nipples—small, brown, and already hard against the cool night air. Grooves so deep between his muscles, you think you could squeeze your finger into them. Two cut lines that lead from his hips straight to the slight bulge in his swimming trunks. The slight bulge in his swimming trunks.
You feel your face growing hot with irritation but you can't look away. He shakes his head once it's free of the shirt and runs a hand through his shaggy, brown hair.
"Ew," you whisper under your breath.
"What are you loo—oh!" Seokjin's eyes follow your gaze, turning over his shoulder to find Chan walking to the edge of his own pool. "Jesus. Does he realize we work in radio? No one knows what we look like. He does not need to have abs."
Rich coming from a man the country has dubbed "Worldwide Handsome," but you don't argue. He's correct. Chan is a dumb radio host who has no right to look the way he does.
Your rival annoyingly rubs his hands together and blows into them like he's cold, even though he knows from the dozens of work parties Seokjin has hosted that the pool is heated. Whatever he's doing works, though, because your eyes fall to his biceps as they flex. Your lip curls in disgust when he dives into the deep end of the pool, cutting through the water perfectly.
"Fucking show off."
Seokjin turns back to you and huffs a laugh. "Okay, sure. Don't forget to wipe your drool when you're done ogling the man."
"'Ogling'?" you bark your own laughter. "Please. I can admit the man is attractive but that's because God made him so insufferable, He had to give him something."
"Yeah. God just had to give him a six-pack. Right."
"I am right."
You turn your full attention back to Seokjin now that Chan seems to be occupied with staying underwater as long as humanly possible. You hope he stays there forever. Or at least for the next three months.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" you ask, annoyed to find your mind completely blank.
Seokjin blinks at you a few times before smirking and shaking his head. "I was saying… you bring in a lot of listeners, but Chan brings in just as many sponsors."
You open your mouth to refute that, but find yourself completely stumped. You've never been overly concerned with securing sponsorships because of how popular your show had grown. The station largely took care of that side of things for you. You never even thought to wonder about Chan's sponsors.
"What?"
He nods solemnly. "His show is the highest money maker right behind mine."
You balk at him. "What?"
There is simply no way that's true. A show with a high number of listeners should naturally be a high earner too.
"That's definitely a mistake."
Seokjin sighs like he knew you would deny this. "It isn't. He's led in earnings for years now."
Your mouth pops open in disbelief. "Off Script is sponsored by Bebe and Baby fucking Phat."
"The Chan Standard has Sony… and he just signed Apple."
"Apple?" you shriek, flinching a little at the volume of your own voice. You look around to see a few people turning toward you. You smile sheepishly before stepping closer to Seokjin and lowering your voice so much, your mouth hardly moves. "What the fuck do you mean he signed Apple?"
"It's only for a few ads on the iPod Mini, but they've added an option to extend if they're happy with performance," he explains. "Ads start running next week."
You're knocked breathless. You thought this was going to be a slam dunk. You thought you were going to wipe the floor with Chan. But if he was bringing in Sony and Apple money… you can't imagine your listenership holding up against dollar signs.
"You have got to be k—"
"Hey guys." You turn toward the voice just to squeeze your eyes shut as you're pelted with the fat drops of pool water Chan violently shakes out of his hair.
You breathe slowly through your nose before opening your eyes and plastering a fake smile on your mouth. You fight to keep your eyes on his as you return his greeting flatly. "Hi."
"Hey, Chan," Seokjin smiles, eyes twinkling with delight at your barely concealed irritation. "What's up? Is the water nice?"
"Yeah!" He nods, smiling his stupid megawatt smile at his senior and completely ignoring you as he reaches up to dry his hair with his towel and gets several more drops on you in the process. "You should take a dip and see for yourself!"
"I think Seokjin knows how his own pool feels like, Chan," you grit through your tight smile. "It is his pool."
"Right!" Seokjin squeaks, laughing as he steps away. "And I am going to go enjoy my pool now. Bye."
"Wait! You—"
"Talk later!" he calls over his shoulder as he practically runs away, grabbing a random flute of champagne off a standing table on the way and claiming it for himself.
Your face settles into the glare it's used to when Chan is around, eyes sliding back to him.
"So," he sighs, smiling at you like he doesn't know that he makes your blood boil just breathing near you. "Are you ready to hit the road?"
You narrow your eyes at him. Chan is your antithesis. He has to dot every i and cross every t, he scripts every last word on his show, and he's utterly incapable of adapting to change. His show is like if TRL was only allowed to air after being clinically sanitized and thoroughly HR-approved. When you really think about it, it makes sense that he's a magnet for money-hungry corporations. He's clean, boring, and happy to do whatever it takes to make the idiots at the top happy.
You cannot let The Chan Standard win over Off Script.
"No" is all you say before you turn around and march away from him and his hard nipples.
99.2 STEP FM Spring Tour
Show #1: Sunridge Plaza
၊၊||၊ Now spinning: Toxic by Britney Spears
"That was Toxic by Britney Spears… again," Chan sighs into his handheld mic, obviously tired of hearing the same Top 40 songs.
"And America can't get enough of it, obviously," you say, laughing a little before you quickly shoot a glare at your co-host from where you stand on the opposite side of the small stage. "You know, since it's one of the tops songs in the country right now, regardless of what pretentious indie, alt-rock know-it-alls think about it."
The audience giggles, obviously well aware of how vehemently Chan likes to stay away from any and all things mainstream.
"I—"
"Anyway," you interrupt him before he even really starts, "Welcome back, you're listening to 99.2 STEP FM's 2004 Spring Tour with Y/N from Off Script with Y/N, and I'm at—"
"And Chan from The Chan Standard, and we're—" The man clears his throat and looks at you pointedly, prompting an apathetic shrug from you. "—coming to you live from Sunridge Plaza!" He turns his attention back to the crowd. "We're here, just a bit away from the food court by Limited Too and Quiksilver for anyone listening who wants to join us in person—and trust me, you want to be here!"
You lower your mic enough so that it doesn't pick up the unimpressed scoff you hide in an exhale. You might be able to buy his laidback facade if you were a listener, but you've seen the neurotic way Chan has worked for years. The fact that he forced you to run through his script for hours on end yesterday doesn't help his case. A script, for someone like you, whose radio show is literally called Off Script.
"We're looking for fans who want two free tickets with backstage passes to 99.2 STEP FM's Spring Fest Concert in LA, headlined by none other than the Joshua Hong!" He announces.
The audience erupts into maniacal screams.
"We'll be giving those tickets away in the next hour," you inform the crowd. "But for now, we're going to hear from some of our audience members! How many of you listen to my show, Off Script?"
The cheers are deafening, prompting you to throw Chan a satisfied smirk. He doesn't meet your gaze, focusing on the crowd with that charismatic smile of his on his lips. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.
"Perfect, you're probably familiar with the Bad Idea Hotline then?" Another round of screams. "Well, instead of taking a caller today, we're going to let one of you run a bad idea by us live! Who has a bad idea to share?"
There are plenty of people shouting, but your attention is drawn to a group of friends in the back all pointing to one woman whose face is buried in her hands in shame.
"Ooo, I think I see the perfect candidate," you think aloud, nodding at the group. Their energy multiplies, shaking their friend's shoulders. She lifts her head, blushing a furious red when she sees you looking right at her. "What do you think? Want to let us know what bad idea you've been ruminating on?"
It takes her only a few more moments of convincing from her friends before she nods and starts making her way to the front of the stage, where the producers allow her through the barricade.
"Hey!" Chan greets her as he helps her up the stage. "What's your name?"
"Hi," she says shyly as she's given her own mic. "I'm Lily."
"Hi, Lily," you both greet her. You explain your own segment to the crowd. "For anyone unfamiliar with Off Script, first of all, what are you doing with your life? Second of all, the Bad Idea Hotline is a segment I have where a listener calls in with a bad idea that I try to talk them out of." You turn toward Lily and smile. "Now let's talk it out before you act it out. What bad idea can I talk you out of today?"
"We," Chan mutters another correction, making some people giggle. You ignore him.
Lily sighs. "So I have a bit of a crush on a coworker..."
"Absolutely not," you say at the same time Chan mutters, "God, no."
Your segments tend to be about crushes and exes and relationships in general, but once in a while, you got someone with a crush in the workplace, and it resulted in nothing other than boiling blood and thoughts of strangling Chan even when he wasn't even in the room. To be subjected to a story about a workplace romance while standing onstage with him is going to be a true rest of your patience.
The crowd laughs at the reaction, and Lily groans, once again burying her face in her hands.
"What do you do for work, Lily?" you ask.
She sighs and looks up at you. "I'm a writer at a local paper."
"And your crush?"
"Another writer."
You make a face of disapproval. Crushing on someone in the same field as you—let alone the same office— is a recipe for disaster, and you would know best, standing next to the man who taught you that lesson so brutally. "Okay, and your bad idea—is it asking this person out?"
She shrugs. "I'm not sure. I actually just started liking him recently even though we've been working together for a few years."
"What changed?" Chan asks.
"I don't really know. We used to seriously hate each other," she reveals, fidgeting a little where she stands. "He always had to one-up me on everything I did, and he constantly wanted to make me look bad. And I don't even know why! I was always nice to him!"
"Perfect, I have experience in this department," Chan says, eyes sliding to you meaningfully.
You tilt your head at him and smile. "Wow, what a crazy coincidence because so do I."
"He was so full of himself, so annoying, so mean," she continues without batting an eye at either of you. The longer she talks about the guy, the more she comes out of her shell, her hands making wild gestures as she speaks. "He really gave the feeling that he was better than everyone, and it drove me crazy."
"These arrogant men truly must be stopped."
Chan scoffs. "Sometimes it's an arrogant woman."
You narrow your eyes at him. "Are you even listening to Lily? She said it's a man."
"I'm just saying."
"But then one day," Lily barrels on, unbothered, "we were at the office working late on a deadline our boss had forced us to work on together." You exchange dirty looks with your co-host at the parallels. "And… I don't know."
Both you and Chan look at her incredulously. He asks, "What do you mean you don't know?"
She shrugs. "It got super late, and we got to talking, and… I don't know!" she repeats, voice rising nervously. "He was actually kind of sweet?"
You frown. "Right. The way honey mixed with borax is sweet to ants, I'm sure."
"I'm thinking I just misunderstood him! After that, he just started remembering everything I told him and would get me my coffee order in the mornings, and it feels like he'd get jealous whenever other male coworkers stopped at my desk to chat."
"That means nothing," you say quickly even as you notice this new piece of information has seemed to thaw Chan's own apprehension with the story.
"Okay, wait, I wouldn't say that means nothing… maybe he does like her," Chan refutes, holding up a hand to slow you down. You roll your eyes because by that logic, the man liked you, having gotten you several coffees early on in his career with 99.2—every single one perfectly made. And he still woke up one day and just decided to make your life at the station unbearable.
"Because he gets her coffee?!" you scoff. "The bar is in hell."
"Agreed, but men are simple. They start with something small like coffee! Maybe this will grow into something more serious. It—"
"No," you insist, nodding your head at the producer to the side. She reluctantly presses the button you need her to, and the Bad Idea Hotline alarm rings loudly. "Bad idea!"
"Oh my god," Chan sighs.
"Listen, Lily," you command her attention, stepping between her and Chan so that she can only see you. "First, you have a harmless crush. You convince yourself that he's sweet and cute and has a smile that could keep you from feeling a single sad feeling in your life ever again."
"Um…"
"Wait, what?" You ignore Chan's confusion behind you.
"Maybe you get to know him more. Sure, maybe he gets you coffee. Maybe you even eat together sometimes, and maybe you start having inside jokes and you start letting your walls down."
Once you start recounting how you remember Chan's first year at the station, you can't stop. You have so much resentment over the fact that from the moment you met him, you were immediately smitten. He was so charming and kind and his smile was so hypnotizing—you were immediately wrapped around his finger. You showed him the ins and outs of the station—telling him where you hid the best snacks away from everyone else, writing down the times office supplies were delivered every month so you could beat everyone else to it, and even coming early to sit through his radio show before yours, even helping with sound levels and mixing in the booth sometimes.
And he was just as kind. He'd sit through your show too, often commenting on how much he admired your improvisation and your innate ability to connect with your callers so quickly. If he couldn't stay around for your show, you'd find sticky notes on the desk with sweet messages of encouragement or promises for lunch the next day. He'd raid the supply closet and make sure to get two of everything for the both of you, leaving it in your locker along with your favorite snacks. By the end of the first year, you were near inseparable and you were having to field off warnings from Seokjin about dating in the workplace.
Just as you were about to really consider whether that was something you even wanted to try, with Chan—dating—he proved exactly why that idea was the dumbest you've ever had. And he ran all your trust into the ground, grinding it into the dirt with the heel of his foot.
"He'll be so nice and cute and sweet, but when you're finally ready to admit to yourself that you like this stupid, pompous idiot, he will betray you in ways you cannot even fathom." Lily's eyebrows rise as she looks at you in bewilderment. You feel a gentle poke to your back—Chan's way of trying to reel you in, probably, but you don't care. "He will maniacally laugh in your face about it, and all your sparkly, whimsical, happy, silly dreams will shatter, and you will be left with nothing but rage so pure, it could wither plants if you stand too close."
"What are you talking about?" Chan hisses, his mic pulled away from his mouth as he tries to play dumb. He had to have known that all his sweet gestures lured you into a crush on him. You fell for it and he used it to get a leg up on you. And now you're here, having to compete with him for your dream come true because you let your guard down.
"Whoa, that's… really intense," Lily murmurs.
"Yeah, Lily, betrayal tends to be," you inform her, nodding. "The second this man sees you rising above him again, he will just revert back to cutting you down. The world is your oyster. Don't let him distract you from completely dominating the station."
"What?"
"The paper. Dominating the paper," you correct yourself. "Okay?"
"I guess—"
"Where did betrayal even come from?!" Chan cuts in, stepping between you and Lily so that his back is completely to the latter. You step back, inhaling sharply as you try not to immediately shove the man away from you. "What kind of betrayal can even happen at a radi—at a newspaper? The man has been nothing but nice to Lily since the beginning."
"Well, no," Lily says, frowning. "I actually said that he—"
"No, Lily has been nothing but nice since the beginning."
"Yes, exactly," she agrees, nodding at your correction.
"And he took advantage of her kindness and stomped all over her hard work and ideas so he could climb up the stupid ladder."
"Okay, again, no," she says, confused. "Not sure where that is coming from. I did not say that."
Chan finally lowers his mic and stares at you hard like he's trying to study your face. "What are you talking about?" he asks quietly and much too softly to keep you angry. It pierces right through your frustration and takes hold of that part of you that immediately grew fond of Chan when you first met him. "Do you think I did something to intentionally hurt you? Is that why you've been so mad all this time?"
You freeze at the question, never thinking he would confront you about your passive aggression in the middle of a live show. "Um," you quickly lower your mic when you hear your voice echo in the mall. "I…"
Music begins playing, and your eyes dart to the producers, who are ushering you both into a music break. Without having to think, you play along.
"We'll dig more into this bad idea after this short break, and don't forget to stick around for a chance to win those free tickets to 99.2 STEP FM's 2004 Spring Festival Concert."
As soon as the music begins playing, the crowd dissipates into a hum of conversation amongst themselves, and you take advantage of the distraction to shove your mic at Chan and leave the stage.
"Um, do I just hold these?" you hear Lily behind you.
You don't bother answering, quickly making your way to the blocked off area the staff made into a break room backstage. Before you can even let out the breath you've been holding, you feel a hand around your elbow.
"What was that?" Chan asks when you meet his eyes. "What were you—"
"Nothing," you say quickly. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You had no problem talking about it live on the radio and in front of hundreds of people," he points out. "Surely, you can talk about it to me in the privacy of this fake ass break room."
You almost crack a smile at that before you bite it back down. "It's nothing. It's dumb and it was a slip-up and I'm over it."
"Over what?" he asks, annoyed. "You say it's nothing and then say cryptic shit like that—it's obviously not nothing."
"Well, I'm saying it is, so." You shrug. "It's nothing."
He pauses, eyes raking over your face as he contemplates what he wants to say next. You gesture for him to say whatever it is he wants to so he can leave you alone.
"You are so…"
"What?" you ask sharply, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Confusing" is the word he lands on before he exhales and turns back around, probably to collect your mics from the poor listener you both abandoned onstage.
Because that's who he is. The epitome of professional—of putting his job before everything and everyone else—even when you wish he would just cut the act for even a moment.
lee chan has spent years surviving the overstimulation that comes with being pi cheolin’s grandson, so after publicly announcing that his beloved grandson will someday inherit the entire BOMG empire, chairman pi cheolin celebrates the occasion the only way he knows how (his typa dinner). but beneath all the absurdity, one thing has always remained the same— pi cheolin loves his grandson more than anything else in the world.
chairman!pi cheolin × grandson!lee chan ⋅ 1,911 words
🍖 GENRE/S. non-idol au, slice of life, comedy
🍖 CONTENTS. BOMG mentioned, pi cheolin and chan are two different ppl btw, pi cheolin & chan grandfather-grandson relationship, completely platonic, front page of a newspaper, favouritism, running gag of cheap but rich lifestyle. feat: fe dback (seungkwan), jo eulho (hoshi), cel brity (mingyu), yoo danja (minghao), yoon nieun (jeonghan) & jo giyeok (joshua)
⚠️ WARNINGS. mild profanity, secondhand embarrassment, overstimulation, financial jokes, mention of wanting to choke with no physical harm, overall warm and comedic. please do not attempt to calculate the timeline logic of a 58 year old pi cheolin being the biological grandfather of a 27 year old lee chan. the math doesn’t math!! in this timeline laws are just suggestions and logic went out the window years ago, and chairman pi makes the rules. leave your brain at the door and have fun!
🍖 A/N. there you go chee @nothoughtsjustfic, probably not as good as you hoped for but I have nothing more to say. To readers, please enjoy! standard disclaimer that this is not proofread. i walked 10k steps and did a thousand things today, so my energy is at absolute zero and this is the best it's getting! i also fear the math still does not add up… that's a problem for future historians, not me. but in reality, this is just me exploring what it would feel like if your grandfather was rich, unhinged, handsome, funny, and also your single biggest financial liability. enjoy! divider from @cafekitsune
Grease is beginning to stain the corner of the slightly folded newspaper where someone carelessly put their plate down.
“BOMG TYCOON PI CHEOLIN DESIGNATES SOLE SUCCESSOR IN—”
Chan is staring at it, fed up with all of this shit.
Across from him, a grill sizzles. Welcome to the celebration dinner, which is just Pi Cheolin’s way of saying: expensive news, cheap restaurant.
“WHY IS THERE A ₩2,000 EXTRA CHARGE FOR SIDE DISH REFILLS?!” Fe Dback yells, stabbing the poor receipt. “THIS IS GRANDSON FAVORITISM SPENDING!!”
Pi Cheolin calmly pours himself water from a metal kettle. “It is not favoritism, to me it is a wise investment.”
“INVESTMENT DOESN’T MEAN YOU BUY CHAN A SPECIAL HIGH END RICE BOWL THAT COSTS MORE THAN MY EXISTENCE—”
“It has value.”
Chan lowers his head onto the table, “please stop using me as a financial concept.” The dishes here are exceptionally cheap compared to any other small restaurant nearby, but cost isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that he’s spending everything on Chan while he himself is a stingy old man who rarely spends unless he absolutely has to, but he’s still spending on Chan without a second thought. He could’ve taken them somewhere better, but Chan doesn’t care. He’s always been spoiled by his grandfather, Pi Cheolin, anyway, and that’s exactly how they ended up here.
At the far end of the restaurant, things escalates vertically.
Jo Eulho is standing on a plastic stool, yelling, “this is EXACTLY how I performed at the National Singing Contest!” he announces proudly. He succeeded in the audition and even managed to win first place… somehow. “I ASCENDED— LIKE THIS— AND HIT THE HIGH NOTE—” The stool wobbles.
“GET DOWN BEFORE YOU BECOME A NEWS ARTICLE,” Cel Brity hisses as he scrambles to grab his arm while simultaneously trying not to drop three plates of meat and dignity at once.
“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED BY FLOOR BASED AUTHORITY!” Jo Eulho declares.
“You are literally one centimeter away from becoming floor based authority.”
From Brity’s peripheral vision, he sees that the restaurant owner is slowly approaching with the expression of a man extremely disappointed. That’s when Brity knows he needs to drag Eulho down from the stool.
Chan turns his head toward the most peaceful corner of the table where, as always, two people have achieved enlightenment… through laziness.
Yoon Nieun and Jo Giyeok sit there calmly, existing at the absolute minimum requirement. A pair of chopsticks is placed between them while a grill plate sits untouched. With the look on their faces, Chan knows they are waiting strategically, again, waiting for someone to step on their bait.
Dback points an angry finger at both of them, “WHY ARE YOU TWO NOT HELPING?!”
Nieun replies without missing any syllable, “Lazy.” (Meaning: I am lazy and conserving my energy and have assigned all physical labor to others.)
Giyeok tags along, nodding, “Leave, yellow.” (Meaning: We will leave soon to take a yellow bus that needs walking to the bus stop and therefore cannot participate in active tasks now.)
“Hm,” Nieun nods as well. (Meaning: I totally agree with what he said.)
Dback just screams into the void at this point. He’s starting to feel like the only last functioning brain left at the table… other than Brity, probably, and it’s visibly frustrating him. “…You know what, it’s my fault, IT’S MY FAULT— I don’t even wanna understand whatever language this is anymore.”
Chan’s lips are parted, frozen in the middle of a disbelieving sigh as he tries to process the sheer lack of brain cells currently operating in the room.
He looks on from the side, the line of his jaw tight as he watches the absolute circus unfold across the table. The warm overhead lights catch the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and the textured fringe of his dark hair, giving him the exhausted aura of a tired warrior who is trying to survive a battle only to realize he's trapped in a comedy sketch.
His eyes are fixed on the chaos in front with an unblinking focus with soul deep disappointment. There's no anger left in him anymore about everything that just happened this past week— only resignation.
He looks absolutely drained, his eyelids drooping with fatigue that has absolutely nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with the people around him. “…I don’t understand how this became my life,” Chan says quietly in a tiring sigh.
Pi Cheolin places meat on the grill with solemn care, “because you inherited it,” he added with a little excitement.
“That’s not how inheritance works, granddad ,” he sighs again with a slight annoyance and frustration in his tone.
Pi Cheolin tightens his lips before saying, “... but that is exactly how BOMG works.”
Chan decides not to reply, feeling a little guilty at the thought that he might’ve made his dear granddad sad by sounding like the spoiled brat Dback always claims he is. He knows that their relationship might not be the most socially traditional granddad-grandson relationship, and Pi Cheolin definitely goes over the top for him, but he also knows that just how much he’s loved as a grandson no matter how bratty or rude he gets; he never doubted how loved he is. Pi Cheolin has always been the same with him— never truly taking anything to heart when it comes to his beloved grandson.
Metal tongs clatter as Sungkwan is still arguing with Nieun and Giyeok (who already entered a state of passive existence and silence so advanced it borders on art). Eulho is still negotiating with gravity, while Brity has accepted his fate that he’s going down with Eulho when his pain finally snaps and chokes him.
Chan just sits there embarrassed, overwhelmed and most importantly, quiet, fiddling with his rice.
“There,” a piece of perfectly grilled meat is placed gently onto his rice bowl. Chan looks up to see Pi Cheolin holding the tongs. For once, his granddad isn’t being too overwhelming for him. “You did not ask for any of this,” he says with that old man insightful smile, “But I’m glad you are still here.”
Chan doesn’t answer again… mainly because he can’t quite figure out what emotion is in his chest.
Pi Cheolin pushes the rice bowl slightly closer. “…Eat well,” he smiles. “My grandson.”
A second pass, then Chan gives a shy embarrassed smile anyway, “…you’re paying for this, right?”
Pi Cheolin immediately frowns, but still smiling as he takes a napkin from the table and stands up to go somewhere else, “of course not.”
Dback screams from across the table, “THIS IS WHY THE COMPANY IS LIKE THIS!!!”
“bird chirping noises,” Pi Cheolin makes Dback shut the fuck up.
“Thank you, granddad ,” Chan stands up, crossing the short distance to wrap his arms around the older man in a tight hug. He buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, pouring all his unsaid gratitude into the hold, “for everything.”
For a few long seconds, Pi Cheolin’s arms still hang at his sides without any reciprocation as his weathered frame freezes under the sudden PDA. He just stands there taking the warmth of the hug while his eyes stare blankly over Chan’s shoulder as if the just the sincerity of the gesture has caught him completely off guard, making him momentarily speechless.
Then, the spell breaks. Pi Cheolin takes out a soft gruff breath that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. He now brings a heavy hand up, landing a series of solid comforting pats against Chan’s back. “Alright, alright, brat,” his voice a little hoarser than usual as he gives him one last squeeze before nudging him back, “don't make it weird.”
Chan giggles, as Pi Cheolin looks at him lovingly and smoothen a hand over his hair.
Dback goes silent for once but still visibly offended by the existence of emotions but clearly going, awwwhhhh, internally, sitting back while saying, “gross,” but still not interrupting the moment.
Brity just goes, “wow,” as he claps in slow motion to comedic effect, while Eulho is unusually not singing anymore and reacts like he just saw a live performance of peak storytelling as he nods in impressed approval.
Nieun and Giyeok watch the exchange with an unreadable hum and a faintly adoring gaze, choosing silence over anything else again, while casually reaching for meat like nothing happened.
Pi Cheolin looks around to find them watching, so he tilts his sunglasses down just a bit to reveal his eyes as his posture straightens. He leans forward toward Chan as the corner of his mouth lifts into a playful smile. At the same time, he gives a quick wink as he maintains eye contact, “sarangui nunbit.”
“Oh my god,” Chan chuckles while everyone else can just just sigh or just go along with them.
“So you’ll never change,” a voice suddenly came from the entrance as everyone looks that way. Yoo Danja’s. “Why was I not invited?”
“Why are you being nosey in other people’s business?” Pi Cheolin retorts. On the side, Chan is enjoying the show for the irony; considering his granddad is the one who appears in everyone’s business.
Yoo Danja sighs as if he has already made peace with ruining the atmosphere, pulls out a chair, and sits down.
The moment he sits, the mood is back to their normal again. Pi Cheolin doesn’t look surprised, but only mildly irritated as this is a recurring inconvenience he never agreed to.
“Still acting like you didn’t ruin things with Chunsun?” Danja says.
Pi Cheolin doesn’t even bother to look up from the grill, “still acting like she chose you?” he replies flatly, grabbing Chan’s arm to make him sit down with him.
That earns a scoff. Danja leans back offended but not surprised, “she didn’t choose either of us. That’s the point you always ignore.”
Chan turns his head between them, caught between two men whose hearts were broken once upon a time. But it’s a very common topic between these two. “Why is this still a conversation?”
Dback groans into his hands, “NO. No, no, no. I refuse to be present for ancient relationship trauma at a BBQ.”
Brity quietly flips a piece of meat on his own and serves Eulho and himself, “you already know what to do. Just… don’t make eye contact and maybe it’ll pass.”
Eulho, however, is fully invested as always. He enjoys watching them argue over a woman who, back in their youth, couldn’t have cared less about either of them. “Fight, fight, fight!”
Nieun takes the newspaper off the table, “always.” (Meaning: It’s always Chunsun.)
“Again.” (Meaning: It’s Chunsun again.) Giyeok takes a mouthful of cold ramen and nods with Nieun.
As Danja’s voice slightly rises, he yells, “you act like you were the victim.”
Pi Cheolin finally looks at him as he touches his hat, “I was the one who had to explain your existence to her father.”
“That’s not even—” Danja starts.
“It is,” Pi Cheolin cuts in.
Chan sighs, very tired from this same conversation every time. “Can we not do this during dinner?”
Dback with his hands clasped, slumps down on a chair, “YES. THANK YOU. SOMEONE NORMAL.”
“No.” Pi Cheolin and Danja both together at the same time.
The table falls silent before Brity mutters, “I’m going to need more meat for this.”
PAIRINGS: Childhood best friends, roommates, Joshua x AFAB!reader
WORDS: 3k + some change
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI!!! Straight up smut, sex toys (f. receiving), oral (f. receiving), very light choking, no protection (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT!!)
SUMMARY: Joshua comes home from the bar to your shared apartment and finds a very... tempting sight before him. Before he can make any rash decisions, he hears the sweet calls of your voice. And oh... he is only a man.
It was a regular Saturday, a Saturday that should have seemed like no other. Except today was the first day you'd had off in weeks. Not only was it your off day, but your roommate was out for a few hours having some drinks with his friends. So today was bliss for you.
And your bliss? It finds itself wrapped in pretty pink silicone driven between your legs with ten levels of glorious vibration and several modes of suction. Perfect for your day off to give yourself some rest and relaxation.
Despite your few one night stands here and there you had been too busy to date, too busy to enjoy a good fuck and flee, and surely too busy to even please yourself. Let alone being able to do any of these things would mean finding a day where your roommate was also busy.
It's not that you don't enjoy Joshua's presence, you do. That's exactly why you moved in with him. The economy has failed so hard that living with your childhood best friend seemed like your only option. However, telling your childhood best friend that you have had the hots for him since you were in high school? That would make or break your friendship, you weren't exactly ready to make that jump in the water.
Which brings you to the situation you currently found yourself in. Your breath heavy, unregulated as the heels of your feet dug into your plush mattress. Each breath fading into a whimper as you felt your release crawling slowly up your spine.
You felt the silicone toy press deeper into your folds as you let out a choked moan. You couldn't count on your fingers and toes how many times you've cum, or how long you've been pleasing yourself. All you know is there's a deeper itch to scratch because you couldn't get yourself to the high you were chasing.
Immediately your thoughts shifted to Joshua, and you let out a whimper when you thought about him between your thighs. His tongue roaming around your slick folds, lapping up all the juices that spilled from. It made your walls flutter thinking about it.
"Shua.." You whined out as you pressed the vibrator harder against your swollen clit. Practically begging for a figure that's not there.
You thought about his cock, if it was as big as you imagined it. Fucking you relentlessly as you whined, begging him to go faster, pleading for him to fuck you so hard you couldn't walk.
"Shua, please" You cried out as you bucked your hips against your new toy. The toy you wished was him. The toy you had imagined was your best friend. Fucking you dumb.
You were so deep into your own thoughts, you didn't even register that your roommate had come home. Shuffling through the front door with a slam.
He wasn't drunk, but he had a few drinks with his friends. Joshua surely wasn't as crazy as Jeonghan and Cheol made the night out to be. Luckily he picked up dinner on the way home, hoping that the two of you could enjoy a wind down movie night for a calming Saturday.
But when you didn't answer the door, he cracked it slightly only to see a cinematic masterpiece within itself. You whimpered and whined, gripping your own sheets as you played with yourself. Your nipples stiff in peaks and your slick pussy on display in front of him.
His face felt hot as he felt embarrassment creeping up his neck. Staring as you fucked yourself with the toy, your lewd noises filling the room.
"S-Sorry, I'll just uhm.. I-" He would be too embarrassed to admit the tent growing uncomfortably in his pants currently as he stared at you. Everything about this felt wrong.
But just as he turned to shut the door and leave, he heard you. He heard you calling for him. Practically begging for him to break his own don't fall for your best friend code.
"Shua, please.. Fuck–" He heard you cry out. He wanted to tell himself no.. but the hard problem in his pants had other ideas. And he couldn't resist you.. Not when you were practically calling and begging for him. It was all he needed to hear before he shut the door behind him and practically threw off his jacket.
From there he let his liquid courage drive him. Drive him to do things he would never do. Drive him to help you, to take care of you.
"Hey baby.." he whispered, crawling up into the bed and finding himself hovering over you.
When you opened your eyes to find your best friend staring down at you. His eyes filled with the emotion you need from him. You couldn't help but whine, you damn near thought he was a dream.
"Shua, I–" You choked out a whimper as his hand reached down to replace your grip on the toy.
"Poor, sweet baby.." He cooed as his lips found their way to trail over your jawline, dragging up to your ear as he whispered "Let me take care of you."
His words and tone were enough to make you cum. And before you knew it, your hands were trailing over his arms and gripping at the sleeves of his shirt. Joshua was lost in the taste of your skin alone, his tongue pressing against your pulse point before sucking down on your subtle skin.
You cried out as you felt him pressing the vibrator against your clit, gently wiggling it around to make your whole body shiver.
"Fuck, you have no clue what you do to me," he groaned against the curve of your neck. He turned the vibrator off before tossing it to the side, letting his fingers explore your slick. You whined as you felt him press two fingers inside you with no warning.
"You're so wet, so pretty.." he praised you as his eyes found yours again. "Tell me what you want princess, use your words" he asked as his fingers pumped in and out of you, curling against your sweet spot.
"You.. You, I need you–" You choked out a moan as you felt your walls flutter around his fingers.
And with those words he pulled his fingers away from you, licking the juices that ran down his digits. He groaned softly, "You taste so sweet.. s'good for me.." he said before peeling his clothes off.
He sat up between your legs. His fingers gently trailing over your skin before he reached for his belt buckle. He stood up, earning a whine from you as you watched him undressed.
"Shh, baby.. I'll be just a moment, then I'm all yours" he practically tore his belt apart before pulling his pants off. You gasped as you watched his erection spring to life in front of you. It was bigger than you thought it would be, which only made the heat between your thighs worse.
You went to press your thighs together, begging for any friction to please your rising heat. But Joshua wasn't having that.
As he climbed back onto the bed his hands found your knees, gently parting them to get a good look at your pussy.
"You're so pretty.." he muttered, almost to himself as he found himself leaning down. Pressing gentle kisses from your knees down to your inner thighs, hooking your legs over his shoulder. He mumbled praises to you, worshipping your every movement between kisses.
"I dreamed about you.. I've thought about you so fucking much.."
"Fuck, y/n, you don't know what you do to me.."
"I wanted you so badly. I needed you."
"I should've said something, M'so sorry baby.."
"I'm all yours for now and forever"
He praised you before kissing your swollen cunt. You cried out his name as tongue pushed its way between your folds. Your thighs automatically closed around his head and you felt him moan against you.
"Fuck.. Fuck, fuck!" You cry as his tongue draws quick circles over your clit. Your hands were shaking as you reached out for him. As your fingers tangled in his hair, his tongue only moved to work faster.
"You taste so good.." he moaned against your slick heat, earning loud whimpers from you as you bucked your hips against his face. "Good girl.. Good girl, that's it pretty"
The vibrations of his words against your cunt felt so good. You felt a knot forming deep in you, this felt better than any toy you've ever pleased yourself with.
"Shua.. Joshua, 'm gonna cum–" you cried out as you continued to buck your hips against him.
He groaned softly, gripping onto your hips enough to bruise your skin. "Such a good girl. Cum for me, baby" his words vibrated against you before sucking down on your clit. Which was enough to push you right over the edge, shaking violently as your climax gushed all over his face.
Joshua didn't complain, in fact he loved it. He lapped up your sweet juices before sitting up. And the sight before you was enough to make you cum again.
He looked pussy drunk off you. Your legs shaking against his shoulders as he shamelessly licked his lips, eyes half lidded and he stared at you. You were worse than any drug. He would drown in your pussy if he could. He used his fingers to wipe your cum off his face, before sucking it off them. He never took his eyes off you when he did.
"You taste better than I could have imagined," he huffed before pushing himself up further and flushing your bodies perfectly against each other. He pressed his lips to yours gingerly, as if you were going to shatter underneath him.
You felt his cock twitch against your core, smearing precum over your belly. With the little strength you had left in you, you gently wrapped your hand around his cock. Your thumb brushing over the tip and he let out a soft moan against your lips. You pressed your tongue past his lips and let your tongues melt together in a dance for dominance. You knew you wouldn't win, but it was fun to try.
He pulled your hand away from him and held it, breaking the kiss to stare into your eyes. Joshua's fingers laced between yours, rubbing his thumb into your palm.
"Tell me no.. Tell me no, and I'll walk away now and we can pretend this never happened.." He whimpered, staring into your eyes.
And as you stared at him, he was like a deer in headlights. He just stared at you with his big soft eyes. Like he wanted you to tell him no, but he was dying for a yes.
"I need you, Shua.. Please, I need you so bad" You whined as you pulled him back down against you. "Please, please don't leave"
And from there, it was over.
His mouth crashed back down against yours, tangling tongues like it was his sacred right. His one hand traveled its way up your body, finding itself planted on your breast as he gently pinched and rolled your nipple between his two fingers. While his free hand guided his cock inside you, earning a groan from you both.
"Fuck.. you're so tight, so warm" he praised against your mouth, stretching you out further with his cock. The length of his made your head spin.
As soon as he bottomed out in you, he pulled back and slammed against you making you cry out in pleasure. Your hands found their way to grip on his shoulders.
Soon the sounds of your uncontrolled moans and skin slapping were all that filled the apartment. With each snap his hips met yours.
You would have never believed that your childhood best friend would have you split on his cock. Legs tight around his waist with your ankles dug into the curve of his back. Your face was contorted, like your muscles couldn't control themselves. Your mouth fell open in an O shape as your eyes stared into his.
"Look at you.. falling apart on my cock," He laughed softly, his hips snapping flesh against yours. Hitting your g-spot perfectly, the curve of him moving in and out of you made you whimper. Like you were trying not to be loud. "Fuck—Fuck! You're so perfect, Even when you look fucked out, you're so perfect."
You felt one of his hands grip into your hip, his nails digging sharply into your skin as he fucked you deeper. His free hand trailed up your side, traveling through the middle of your body. Gently brushing his fingers between your breasts, and gently lingering against your neck. He leaned down and swallowed the gasp that fell from your lips when his hand tightened. Your lips moved in perfect sync, gently biting on your lower lip to make you gasp once more. He laughed softly, smirking only slightly as his tongue tangled with yours.
Your hands trailed over his back, and gripped down as you felt your core tighten. You started breathing heavier, arching your back to press further into him. Joshua pulled back from the kiss and trailed his lips down your jaw, past your neck and against your collarbone. You couldn't help but continue your whining, moans choking in your throat as you tried to keep quiet.
The hand that was once tightened around your neck curved against the back of your neck as he brought his head up to make eye contact once more. "C'mon pretty.. Let me hear you, tell me who's making you feel so good."
"J-Joshua-" You cried out, moaning louder towards the end. You couldn't gather your thoughts or words together when you felt his pace quicken. "Joshua! Please– Fuck!"
His hips snapped deeper against you, and you felt the tip of his head press against your g-spot relentlessly.
"So good! Y-You feel so good," You cried out as your nails grippy his skin, trying to hold on as you felt your orgasm build in your core. He moaned as he felt the pressure of your nails in his back, causing you to cry out his name.
"Fuck.. You're so tight. You gonna cum princess? Let me feel you cum around my cock.." He leaned down, sucking dark hickeys into your neck. "Let the neighbors know who you belong to"
"Joshua!" You screamed, hiding your face against his hair. "Joshua, I-I can't–"
"Yes you can, yes you can baby. Let me feel you princess.." He groaned, feeling your plush walls squeezing around him.
"Joshua!"
You moaned loud enough you thought the walls shook as your body locked up, dragging your nails down his face while you shattered beneath him.
You felt his pace falter as he moaned loudly right behind you, "Fuck! You're so perfect, s-so perfect–" he whimpered against your skin before slamming his hips against your one last time.
You cried out loudly as you felt his cum fill you up to the brim and your eyes squeezed shut. The last of your strength squeezed tightly around him.
Your back locked up, nails practically tore up Joshua's back, your legs were trembling around his waist, and you felt your world go fuzzy. Everything felt like you were underwater. Your ears were ringing, your body fell completely numb and your world went completely black.
You were practically gasping for air. When you opened your eyes they were half lidded and Joshua was gently flipping you two around so that you were lying against his chest.
"You good, beautiful?" He asked. Moving your hair away from your face, stuck to the sweat on your forehead.
You hummed approvingly in response, his thumb running gently across your cheek to wipe away the tear you hadn't realized was there. Using the tiniest bit of reserved energy, you laid your head in the crevice of his neck.
"Get some sleep, princess" He hushed you with a kiss to the forehead. Gently rubbing your back while watching your eyes flicker shut. Waiting until your breath swallowed before he fell asleep himself.
BONUS!
You woke up to the feeling of your body completely numb. You winced slightly, struggling to get comfortable after waking up.
As soon as you struggled to move around you felt his warm arms tighten around you. Groaning as he started to wake up.
"Hey, hey," he shushed you as you whined in pain. "Just relax," he cooed in your ear.
Just as he spoke his relaxing words, everything hit you all at once. The toy, fucking yourself numb, Joshua railing you to sleep. You groaned and pressed your face into his shoulder.
"Did that really happen or was it a dream?" you asked softly, voice groggy from practically screaming his name. To which he chuckled as you, pressed a soft kiss to your temple.
"If it was a dream, I'd hope we never wake up" his eyes found yours as you gazed up at him. A soft smile curled on your face to match his. He leaned down and closed the distance between you. Swollen lips entangled in something softer than passion.
When he pulled back, he brushed a few strands of hair that were sweaty stuck to your face and laughed a bit.
"How about I run a bath with some epsom salts?" He rubbed soft circles into your back, "I'll get you cleaned up and properly cared for, maybe it'll help with the pain"
You hummed in a positive response as he pressed more kisses to the top of your head.
"Then I can heat up the food I brought back, and we can cuddle through the night, sounds good?" He purred.
"What did you even do to me last night?" You groaned, pouting and furrowing your brows earning another laugh from him.
"Started something neither of us had the courage to do, and finished something you couldn't," He gently sat up and attempted to pull you up with him. "So how about that bath, hm?"
You just grinned in response. You couldn't be happier waking up in the physical numbness of sex. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Hello everyone! Lumi here, low-key I was putting off posting this until I got my JiHan series out. However, plans change LOL. The series is taking me a little longer to write, and this has been sitting in my drafts soooo... enjoy this. I didn't want my first post to be holy smut but ykw if the shoe fits where it. Hope you guys enjoy it!
You say you have high standards. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend, Lee Seokmin, is exactly what your mental list calls for; as you joke about him being ‘too husbandable’ during a walk under cherry blossoms, he decides to fix that problem permanently.
boyfriend!lee seokmin × fem!reader ⋅ 2,836 words
🩷 GENRE/S. non-idol au, fluff, romance
🩷 CONTENTS. established relationship, mention of ‘high standards’ vs. reality, cherry blossom setting
⚠️ WARNINGS. none except mild profanity heheheh. but lmk if there is any i should’ve mentioned!
🩷 A/N. this is the first event we’ve hosted for @dorereef, and it was intentionally kept simple as a starting point. from here on, our events will continue to grow and improve as we find our rhythm and build our ideas together. i also want to take a moment to talk a little about drr itself. it’s our baby. both chee and i are attached to it, and to every member we currently have, as well as those who will join us in the future. i’ve been trying to focus more on the present lately, and i’ve realised that this is exactly where i want to be: with drr.
i genuinely wake up excited to see what our members are doing. even though it hasn’t been long, it’s already been incredibly rewarding to be surrounded by such kind and engaging people. i don’t think i can fully express how much love we have for this network and everyone in it.
a huge thank you to chee @nothoughtsjustfic for building this with me and for being such an important part of drr. i genuinely couldn’t do this without her [and all the things she does behind the scenes], and i’m really grateful to be doing this together. to all our members, thank you for being here and for participating. and for those who couldn’t take part this time for any reason, dw. the next events will be even better. we’re just getting started.
anyway, i love drr.
▸ PART OF @dorereef: The Reef In Bloom EVENT
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this event!
You always say you have high standards. It comes out so confidently too, it’s literally like you’ve got a whole checklist somewhere written about your non negotiables, expectations and the bare minimums that you can’t really see anymore these days.
But in reality, you know that’s not entirely true. Because if you’re being honest with yourself, you would just fall in love with someone who’s nice and gentle with you— that’s it; that’s the standard, and it’s not a high standard!
It’s a little embarrassing and ‘pathetic’ to admit, so you don’t. You just keep talking big like you wouldn’t melt the second someone treats you like a princess. And you used to think about it a lot more than you’d like to admit. You can’t wait for the day when somebody tells you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them, and they mean it entirely and not just saying it because it sounds nice and maybe earn a second date with you.
You used to treat that thought like a far off possibility that might happen one day, if you’re lucky. Because it was never about looks and just standards for you.
You don’t fall in love with looks; you fall for personality (at least that’s what you say for now but your actions might suggest both). If someone makes you smile and willingly joins you in doing dumb things, you’re basically already done. You don’t fall in love— you slip, fall, roll downhill, and accept your fate. That’s just how you are.
And soft spoken men… oh God, That’s been your number one pick in the great catalogue of men since the beginning of time.
Sweetheart, look how pretty that is! The voice comes from your side.
You look beside you and realize you can’t really relate to your past self and her so-called ‘standards’ anymore. You have your boyfriend, Seokmin, who not only has the personality you always wanted, but is also disgustingly good looking; cute and hot at the same time for absolutely no good reason.
You’re walking under rows of cherry blossom trees, petals falling down around you like something out of a kdrama scene. Your hands are intertwined with his warm hands, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles as he talks.
He’s saying something more about the cherry blossom that you’re not even fully listening to except that he’s so happy talking about it and that’s all that matters to you to be honest, but his voice is so soft and exactly the kind you always said you liked • ᴖ •
You huff to yourself as you shake your head a little with a smitten smile as you look at him, stopping him from whatever he was saying, “stop being so husbandable if you can’t be my husband, bruh,” you tell him. You don’t even think he hears you, but then he stops walking. You take another step before realizing he’s no longer beside you, your hand slipping from his. You turn back confused, “why did you stop?”
Seokmin is just standing there looking at you in a way that makes you feel… nervous/stomach coiling all of a sudden? “What did you just say?” he looks at you caught off guard, probably can’t believe he’s hearing you right about being smitten over him for the nth time today, again.
“Nothing. I was just talking to myself,” you giggle.
He doesn’t walk when you turn forward to walk again, tugging your hand back to stop you from walking, “say it again.”
You squint your eyes a little with a smirk-smile, “why?”
“Just… please?”
You hesitate to think if you should tease him or just say it again, then sigh because reality hit you and now you feeling a little embarrassed but it’s too late to backpedal, “I said, stop being so husbandable if you can’t be my husband. It’s not that serious,” you hide your face with your hands and sprint away from him a little.
He just chuckles hearing you repeat it and being so shy again instead of your usual smug/forward self. “Well,” he goes after you, “I think that’s something I can fix.”
You frown, “huh?—” he reaches into his pocket and your words die in your throat when he goes down on one knee. Now, your brain is refusing to process what’s happening, like it’s literally lagging behind reality… but then he pulls out a small beige leather box, and suddenly everything feels very dreamlike, “Seokmin…”
“I know,” he’s nervous but trying not to show it too much, “I know I joke a lot, and I know you might’ve been joking about it too, but—” he continues, looking at you like nothing else exists, “you said you have high standards when we started dating… And I don’t even know if I will ever meet them, but I’ve been trying to.”
Your chest tightens so tight, it practically hurts. You want to tell him he exceeded everything you ever wanted from the bare minimum to the S-tier delusions you never thought you’d actually get. Stupid rich, offensively handsome, shining brighter than the sun for no reason, and with a personality so good it makes you consider violence as a form of support, having a personality that would make you kill anyone without hesitation if they made him even a little sad.
“I don’t always know what I’m doing, but I know I want to be good to you… I really do. I want to be someone who takes care of you, who you can rely on, someone who makes things easier for you and not harder… I’m still figuring things out, but I know I don’t want to do that without you,” he’s still on his knees. “And… I don’t know if I say it enough but… you really are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he looks at you with googly eyes. This is exactly how you imagined it, except it doesn’t feel a far off possibility anymore, “and I mean it,” he adds.
You think you might as well start crying at this point, shit. “Baby…”
As he clicks the leather box open, the sunlight shines on the ring that seems less like jewelry and more like something plucked from a fairytale garden. Literally what you showed him one night, months ago about the styles you love and the styles you don’t. So, resting against the plush lining was a marquise cut diamond. Why you love this is because, the most beautiful part wasn't just the diamond, but how it was held; the rose gold band didn't follow a straight line, but instead twisted into vines that curled around the finger. Nestled along those shimmering gold branches were tiny, leaf shaped diamond clusters.
“So… will you let me be your husband?”
For a second, you just stare at the bright, bubbly, soft spoken man who became your reality. So basically the person who fits every single thing you used to think about like it was impossible.
You manage to breathe again and breathlessly laugh a bit as you shake your head as tears blur your vision. “Yes,” you say immediately after. “Yes, of course.”
His face lights up brighter than the sun or the diamond in the box, relief and happiness crashing into each other as he lets out a laugh of his own. “Really?”
“Obviously,” you mumble even as your voice wavers. “You’re already so husbandable. That’s literally the problem.”
He grins, eyes crinkling as he slips your dream ring onto your finger. “Heh,” he says with a big pretty smile that you absolutely adore. “Then I guess I’m right on track,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of your hand after sliding the ring on. If anything, his grip tightens; he needs to make sure this is actually happening.
He immediately cups your cheek so gently with one hand as his thumb brushes beneath your cheekbone, and the other at your waist.
Leaning in, his touch tightens just a bit as his breath brushes your upper lip first before his mouth connects with yours. His hand at your waist grips tighter and draws you closer without force while his fingers at your cheek angle your face just enough so he can deepen it.
Slowly, the kiss breaks in a reluctant pulling away that leaves the air between you buzzing. He doesn't pull back far but a little to rest his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a gentle friction. For a long moment, the only sound is the ragged synchronization of your breathing and the rustle of the cherry blossoms around you. Slowly, his hands move; the one at your cheek slides down to find your hand, his fingers lacing through yours as he leads you back toward the path. This is when you realise that the world hasn’t changed, but the two of you have.
Under the shadows of the trees, his thumb keeps brushing over the ring over and over again. You’re now staring at your hand.
It feels… strange, but not in a bad way. “Hey,” he says with that pretty smile on his lips. You look up to find him not beaming anymore; instead, his expression has softened into a look so soft and anxious it feels like he’s laid his entire heart bare right there under the trees. But pretty all the same. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks.
You look at him, a little dumbfounded, but there’s no hiding the adoration in your voice or your heart. “You literally just proposed.”
“I know, but—” he takes out a breathless laugh, a sign that he’s a little nervous again, “you joke a lot. I just want to make sure you didn’t say yes because of the moment or something.”
The weight of his gaze is heavy, but it’s a weight you realise you’re more than happy to carry for the rest of your life… but you stare at him for a second, dumbfounded all over again. You didn’t think your love for him could grow any more, but now you know it can. “Lee Seokmin.”
He straightens at your tone. “Yes, love?”
“If I didn’t want to marry you, I would’ve run.”
“…that’s fair.”
“And also,” you hold your hand up between you, “you put a ring on me. There’s no take-backs now. This is legally binding.”
He snorts as the tension breaks instantly, “sweetheart, that’s not how it works,” he’s
with that smile that you love.
“It is now.”
He chuckles as he comes closer and connects your foreheads. Cherry blossoms keep falling around you as some even sit on his hair, on your shoulders, on your joined hands.
“Wait—,” you say suddenly as you gain some sort of enlightenment.
He flinches, “what?”
“You said I’m the best thing that ever happened to you,” you raise your eyebrow at him, looking a little skeptical.
“…yeah?”
“But that’s crazy.”
He deflates on the spot like a puppy that just got told off, “why is that crazy?”
“Because,” you shrug, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face, “I was expecting something a little, you know, maybe a longer speech. Maybe, I don’t know, more tears? Actually! Was hoping for a breakdown.”
He stares at you, lower lip pushed out in a defiant swell that makes him look more like a kicked puppy than a newly engaged man. His brows are drawn together in a mock scowl, but the effect is completely ruined by the sheer, plush roundness of his mouth— a pout so dramatic and endearingly childish it feels like a physical provocation, “you’re making fun of me after I proposed?”
You’re internally, physically, going, sjjsjsnsbzkznzb, your heart doing frantic gymnastics against your ribs as a wave of pure cuteness aggression crashes over you. It’s him that’s making you want to either scream into a pillow or bite his cheek. You go on your tippy toes, catching that soft, stubborn protrusion with a kiss, physically pressing the gloom right off his face. “I said yes, didn’t I?” you whisper against his lips as you feel the tension melt out of him as the pout finally dissolves. “Be happy.”
He squints at you, then gives out a disbelieving laugh. “What do I do with you?” he squishes your cheeks.
“Love me,” you wink at him.
“I do,” he doesn’t hesitate before he leans down to give you a fast kiss on your lips.
It kicks the humor right out of your chest for a second, “…yeah,” you mumble as you look away and look at everything but him, “I know.”
He pulls you into him anyway as his arms wrap around you tightly. You huff, but your arms come up around him just as quickly, holding on just as tight. “Fiancée,” he whispers into your shoulder.
You make a face even though he can’t see it, “don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re obsessed with me.”
He leans back a little to look at you, eyebrows raised, “I am obsessed with you.”
“…okay, that’s embarrassing.”
“And you’re still marrying me.”
You sigh as if you’re annoyed by the fact as if you’re not actually completely gone for him, “yeah, unfortunately.”
He grins bright, completely unbothered and pats your head.
You stay like that for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other while petals keep falling around you. And then he laces your fingers together again, lifting your joined hands. “Come on,” he says.
“Where?”
He playfully smiles with a mixed sweet and teasing glint in his crinkling eyes, “we should probably keep walking. I don’t think proposing was the final destination.”
You look down at the ring catching the light, “… bruh you just changed my entire life mid walk,” you mumble.
“And you’re complaining?” he asked amused as a radiant grin breaks across his face that seems to catch the very photon of the road. It was his smile that didn’t sit on his lips; it crinkled the corners of his eyes into warm crescents and bared a perfect, gleaming row of teeth.
There was a genuine, boyish heat to it… you’ll literally go teary eyes to see a flash of his pure, unadulterated joy that makes his whole expression soften, turning his features into a map of sheer contagious light. Your man looks like a man who had never known a dark day in his life, or perhaps, like someone who had decided to be the sun for everyone else. So, you melt into his smile but being your pretense of being sane for him, “sure.”
He chuckles as the sound is a honeyed vibration that seems to absorb right in the marrow of your bones. He squeezes your hand as you both start walking again under the canopy of cherry blossoms.
You’re walking side by side just like before, but every cell in your body feels electrified by the sudden change within the last ten to fifteen minutes. This isn’t just your best friend or the boy you grew up with; this is the man who just promised his forever to you. You’re trailing beside him as your eyes trace the line of his jaw and his crinkling eyes when he looks at you, feeling absolutely, hopelessly undone.
It’s a terrifying, dizzying kind of love for you. Like, no matter how many times you’ll say you’re down bad for him, you still wanna make sure that everyone knows that you’d follow him into a storm just to stay in his orbit. You watch the dappled light dance across his skin and honestly, you're a goner. You’re down bad, head over heels, and slipping deeper with every step he takes. He’s the only person who could make your heart feel this heavy and this light all at once, and as you tighten your grip on his hand, you realise you never want to surface for air. You swing your joined hands slightly, then look at him again, “by the way,” you add, “why are you so husbandable?”
He smiles without looking at you so it’s a secret thing that he seems to be savoring all to himself. But you saw it anyway. “Because now, I actually get to be your husband,” he looks at you after saying it.
You’re frozen when he looks at you like that, probably expecting you to hit him, flirt with him or say something more cheeky. But you’re still frozen by how he’s looking at you. Internally screaming, your brain is a mess of static because how are you supposed to function when he’s being this fucking perfect? You want to tuck the sound of his voice into your pocket and keep it forever. He’s not just ‘husbandable’ to you at this rate— he is the literal blueprint, the standard, the absolute end of the road for you, and the way he looks right now bathed in the spring light, makes you realise you are irrevocably, helplessly his.
accusing people of lying for clout on this website is so funny this is literally the most useless platform to be popular on. the only reward is hate mail
You say you have high standards. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend, Lee Seokmin, is exactly what your mental list calls for; as you joke about him being ‘too husbandable’ during a walk under cherry blossoms, he decides to fix that problem permanently.
boyfriend!lee seokmin × fem!reader ⋅ 2,836 words
🩷 GENRE/S. non-idol au, fluff, romance
🩷 CONTENTS. established relationship, mention of ‘high standards’ vs. reality, cherry blossom setting
⚠️ WARNINGS. none except mild profanity heheheh. but lmk if there is any i should’ve mentioned!
🩷 A/N. this is the first event we’ve hosted for @dorereef, and it was intentionally kept simple as a starting point. from here on, our events will continue to grow and improve as we find our rhythm and build our ideas together. i also want to take a moment to talk a little about drr itself. it’s our baby. both chee and i are attached to it, and to every member we currently have, as well as those who will join us in the future. i’ve been trying to focus more on the present lately, and i’ve realised that this is exactly where i want to be: with drr.
i genuinely wake up excited to see what our members are doing. even though it hasn’t been long, it’s already been incredibly rewarding to be surrounded by such kind and engaging people. i don’t think i can fully express how much love we have for this network and everyone in it.
a huge thank you to chee @nothoughtsjustfic for building this with me and for being such an important part of drr. i genuinely couldn’t do this without her [and all the things she does behind the scenes], and i’m really grateful to be doing this together. to all our members, thank you for being here and for participating. and for those who couldn’t take part this time for any reason, dw. the next events will be even better. we’re just getting started.
anyway, i love drr.
▸ PART OF @dorereef: The Reef In Bloom EVENT
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this event!
You always say you have high standards. It comes out so confidently too, it’s literally like you’ve got a whole checklist somewhere written about your non negotiables, expectations and the bare minimums that you can’t really see anymore these days.
But in reality, you know that’s not entirely true. Because if you’re being honest with yourself, you would just fall in love with someone who’s nice and gentle with you— that’s it; that’s the standard, and it’s not a high standard!
It’s a little embarrassing and ‘pathetic’ to admit, so you don’t. You just keep talking big like you wouldn’t melt the second someone treats you like a princess. And you used to think about it a lot more than you’d like to admit. You can’t wait for the day when somebody tells you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them, and they mean it entirely and not just saying it because it sounds nice and maybe earn a second date with you.
You used to treat that thought like a far off possibility that might happen one day, if you’re lucky. Because it was never about looks and just standards for you.
You don’t fall in love with looks; you fall for personality (at least that’s what you say for now but your actions might suggest both). If someone makes you smile and willingly joins you in doing dumb things, you’re basically already done. You don’t fall in love— you slip, fall, roll downhill, and accept your fate. That’s just how you are.
And soft spoken men… oh God, That’s been your number one pick in the great catalogue of men since the beginning of time.
Sweetheart, look how pretty that is! The voice comes from your side.
You look beside you and realize you can’t really relate to your past self and her so-called ‘standards’ anymore. You have your boyfriend, Seokmin, who not only has the personality you always wanted, but is also disgustingly good looking; cute and hot at the same time for absolutely no good reason.
You’re walking under rows of cherry blossom trees, petals falling down around you like something out of a kdrama scene. Your hands are intertwined with his warm hands, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles as he talks.
He’s saying something more about the cherry blossom that you’re not even fully listening to except that he’s so happy talking about it and that’s all that matters to you to be honest, but his voice is so soft and exactly the kind you always said you liked • ᴖ •
You huff to yourself as you shake your head a little with a smitten smile as you look at him, stopping him from whatever he was saying, “stop being so husbandable if you can’t be my husband, bruh,” you tell him. You don’t even think he hears you, but then he stops walking. You take another step before realizing he’s no longer beside you, your hand slipping from his. You turn back confused, “why did you stop?”
Seokmin is just standing there looking at you in a way that makes you feel… nervous/stomach coiling all of a sudden? “What did you just say?” he looks at you caught off guard, probably can’t believe he’s hearing you right about being smitten over him for the nth time today, again.
“Nothing. I was just talking to myself,” you giggle.
He doesn’t walk when you turn forward to walk again, tugging your hand back to stop you from walking, “say it again.”
You squint your eyes a little with a smirk-smile, “why?”
“Just… please?”
You hesitate to think if you should tease him or just say it again, then sigh because reality hit you and now you feeling a little embarrassed but it’s too late to backpedal, “I said, stop being so husbandable if you can’t be my husband. It’s not that serious,” you hide your face with your hands and sprint away from him a little.
He just chuckles hearing you repeat it and being so shy again instead of your usual smug/forward self. “Well,” he goes after you, “I think that’s something I can fix.”
You frown, “huh?—” he reaches into his pocket and your words die in your throat when he goes down on one knee. Now, your brain is refusing to process what’s happening, like it’s literally lagging behind reality… but then he pulls out a small beige leather box, and suddenly everything feels very dreamlike, “Seokmin…”
“I know,” he’s nervous but trying not to show it too much, “I know I joke a lot, and I know you might’ve been joking about it too, but—” he continues, looking at you like nothing else exists, “you said you have high standards when we started dating… And I don’t even know if I will ever meet them, but I’ve been trying to.”
Your chest tightens so tight, it practically hurts. You want to tell him he exceeded everything you ever wanted from the bare minimum to the S-tier delusions you never thought you’d actually get. Stupid rich, offensively handsome, shining brighter than the sun for no reason, and with a personality so good it makes you consider violence as a form of support, having a personality that would make you kill anyone without hesitation if they made him even a little sad.
“I don’t always know what I’m doing, but I know I want to be good to you… I really do. I want to be someone who takes care of you, who you can rely on, someone who makes things easier for you and not harder… I’m still figuring things out, but I know I don’t want to do that without you,” he’s still on his knees. “And… I don’t know if I say it enough but… you really are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he looks at you with googly eyes. This is exactly how you imagined it, except it doesn’t feel a far off possibility anymore, “and I mean it,” he adds.
You think you might as well start crying at this point, shit. “Baby…”
As he clicks the leather box open, the sunlight shines on the ring that seems less like jewelry and more like something plucked from a fairytale garden. Literally what you showed him one night, months ago about the styles you love and the styles you don’t. So, resting against the plush lining was a marquise cut diamond. Why you love this is because, the most beautiful part wasn't just the diamond, but how it was held; the rose gold band didn't follow a straight line, but instead twisted into vines that curled around the finger. Nestled along those shimmering gold branches were tiny, leaf shaped diamond clusters.
“So… will you let me be your husband?”
For a second, you just stare at the bright, bubbly, soft spoken man who became your reality. So basically the person who fits every single thing you used to think about like it was impossible.
You manage to breathe again and breathlessly laugh a bit as you shake your head as tears blur your vision. “Yes,” you say immediately after. “Yes, of course.”
His face lights up brighter than the sun or the diamond in the box, relief and happiness crashing into each other as he lets out a laugh of his own. “Really?”
“Obviously,” you mumble even as your voice wavers. “You’re already so husbandable. That’s literally the problem.”
He grins, eyes crinkling as he slips your dream ring onto your finger. “Heh,” he says with a big pretty smile that you absolutely adore. “Then I guess I’m right on track,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of your hand after sliding the ring on. If anything, his grip tightens; he needs to make sure this is actually happening.
He immediately cups your cheek so gently with one hand as his thumb brushes beneath your cheekbone, and the other at your waist.
Leaning in, his touch tightens just a bit as his breath brushes your upper lip first before his mouth connects with yours. His hand at your waist grips tighter and draws you closer without force while his fingers at your cheek angle your face just enough so he can deepen it.
Slowly, the kiss breaks in a reluctant pulling away that leaves the air between you buzzing. He doesn't pull back far but a little to rest his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a gentle friction. For a long moment, the only sound is the ragged synchronization of your breathing and the rustle of the cherry blossoms around you. Slowly, his hands move; the one at your cheek slides down to find your hand, his fingers lacing through yours as he leads you back toward the path. This is when you realise that the world hasn’t changed, but the two of you have.
Under the shadows of the trees, his thumb keeps brushing over the ring over and over again. You’re now staring at your hand.
It feels… strange, but not in a bad way. “Hey,” he says with that pretty smile on his lips. You look up to find him not beaming anymore; instead, his expression has softened into a look so soft and anxious it feels like he’s laid his entire heart bare right there under the trees. But pretty all the same. “You’re really okay with this?” he asks.
You look at him, a little dumbfounded, but there’s no hiding the adoration in your voice or your heart. “You literally just proposed.”
“I know, but—” he takes out a breathless laugh, a sign that he’s a little nervous again, “you joke a lot. I just want to make sure you didn’t say yes because of the moment or something.”
The weight of his gaze is heavy, but it’s a weight you realise you’re more than happy to carry for the rest of your life… but you stare at him for a second, dumbfounded all over again. You didn’t think your love for him could grow any more, but now you know it can. “Lee Seokmin.”
He straightens at your tone. “Yes, love?”
“If I didn’t want to marry you, I would’ve run.”
“…that’s fair.”
“And also,” you hold your hand up between you, “you put a ring on me. There’s no take-backs now. This is legally binding.”
He snorts as the tension breaks instantly, “sweetheart, that’s not how it works,” he’s
with that smile that you love.
“It is now.”
He chuckles as he comes closer and connects your foreheads. Cherry blossoms keep falling around you as some even sit on his hair, on your shoulders, on your joined hands.
“Wait—,” you say suddenly as you gain some sort of enlightenment.
He flinches, “what?”
“You said I’m the best thing that ever happened to you,” you raise your eyebrow at him, looking a little skeptical.
“…yeah?”
“But that’s crazy.”
He deflates on the spot like a puppy that just got told off, “why is that crazy?”
“Because,” you shrug, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face, “I was expecting something a little, you know, maybe a longer speech. Maybe, I don’t know, more tears? Actually! Was hoping for a breakdown.”
He stares at you, lower lip pushed out in a defiant swell that makes him look more like a kicked puppy than a newly engaged man. His brows are drawn together in a mock scowl, but the effect is completely ruined by the sheer, plush roundness of his mouth— a pout so dramatic and endearingly childish it feels like a physical provocation, “you’re making fun of me after I proposed?”
You’re internally, physically, going, sjjsjsnsbzkznzb, your heart doing frantic gymnastics against your ribs as a wave of pure cuteness aggression crashes over you. It’s him that’s making you want to either scream into a pillow or bite his cheek. You go on your tippy toes, catching that soft, stubborn protrusion with a kiss, physically pressing the gloom right off his face. “I said yes, didn’t I?” you whisper against his lips as you feel the tension melt out of him as the pout finally dissolves. “Be happy.”
He squints at you, then gives out a disbelieving laugh. “What do I do with you?” he squishes your cheeks.
“Love me,” you wink at him.
“I do,” he doesn’t hesitate before he leans down to give you a fast kiss on your lips.
It kicks the humor right out of your chest for a second, “…yeah,” you mumble as you look away and look at everything but him, “I know.”
He pulls you into him anyway as his arms wrap around you tightly. You huff, but your arms come up around him just as quickly, holding on just as tight. “Fiancée,” he whispers into your shoulder.
You make a face even though he can’t see it, “don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re obsessed with me.”
He leans back a little to look at you, eyebrows raised, “I am obsessed with you.”
“…okay, that’s embarrassing.”
“And you’re still marrying me.”
You sigh as if you’re annoyed by the fact as if you’re not actually completely gone for him, “yeah, unfortunately.”
He grins bright, completely unbothered and pats your head.
You stay like that for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other while petals keep falling around you. And then he laces your fingers together again, lifting your joined hands. “Come on,” he says.
“Where?”
He playfully smiles with a mixed sweet and teasing glint in his crinkling eyes, “we should probably keep walking. I don’t think proposing was the final destination.”
You look down at the ring catching the light, “… bruh you just changed my entire life mid walk,” you mumble.
“And you’re complaining?” he asked amused as a radiant grin breaks across his face that seems to catch the very photon of the road. It was his smile that didn’t sit on his lips; it crinkled the corners of his eyes into warm crescents and bared a perfect, gleaming row of teeth.
There was a genuine, boyish heat to it… you’ll literally go teary eyes to see a flash of his pure, unadulterated joy that makes his whole expression soften, turning his features into a map of sheer contagious light. Your man looks like a man who had never known a dark day in his life, or perhaps, like someone who had decided to be the sun for everyone else. So, you melt into his smile but being your pretense of being sane for him, “sure.”
He chuckles as the sound is a honeyed vibration that seems to absorb right in the marrow of your bones. He squeezes your hand as you both start walking again under the canopy of cherry blossoms.
You’re walking side by side just like before, but every cell in your body feels electrified by the sudden change within the last ten to fifteen minutes. This isn’t just your best friend or the boy you grew up with; this is the man who just promised his forever to you. You’re trailing beside him as your eyes trace the line of his jaw and his crinkling eyes when he looks at you, feeling absolutely, hopelessly undone.
It’s a terrifying, dizzying kind of love for you. Like, no matter how many times you’ll say you’re down bad for him, you still wanna make sure that everyone knows that you’d follow him into a storm just to stay in his orbit. You watch the dappled light dance across his skin and honestly, you're a goner. You’re down bad, head over heels, and slipping deeper with every step he takes. He’s the only person who could make your heart feel this heavy and this light all at once, and as you tighten your grip on his hand, you realise you never want to surface for air. You swing your joined hands slightly, then look at him again, “by the way,” you add, “why are you so husbandable?”
He smiles without looking at you so it’s a secret thing that he seems to be savoring all to himself. But you saw it anyway. “Because now, I actually get to be your husband,” he looks at you after saying it.
You’re frozen when he looks at you like that, probably expecting you to hit him, flirt with him or say something more cheeky. But you’re still frozen by how he’s looking at you. Internally screaming, your brain is a mess of static because how are you supposed to function when he’s being this fucking perfect? You want to tuck the sound of his voice into your pocket and keep it forever. He’s not just ‘husbandable’ to you at this rate— he is the literal blueprint, the standard, the absolute end of the road for you, and the way he looks right now bathed in the spring light, makes you realise you are irrevocably, helplessly his.
lee chan has spent years surviving the overstimulation that comes with being pi cheolin’s grandson, so after publicly announcing that his beloved grandson will someday inherit the entire BOMG empire, chairman pi cheolin celebrates the occasion the only way he knows how (his typa dinner). but beneath all the absurdity, one thing has always remained the same— pi cheolin loves his grandson more than anything else in the world.
chairman!pi cheolin × grandson!lee chan ⋅ 1,911 words
🍖 GENRE/S. non-idol au, slice of life, comedy
🍖 CONTENTS. BOMG mentioned, pi cheolin and chan are two different ppl btw, pi cheolin & chan grandfather-grandson relationship, completely platonic, front page of a newspaper, favouritism, running gag of cheap but rich lifestyle. feat: fe dback (seungkwan), jo eulho (hoshi), cel brity (mingyu), yoo danja (minghao), yoon nieun (jeonghan) & jo giyeok (joshua)
⚠️ WARNINGS. mild profanity, secondhand embarrassment, overstimulation, financial jokes, mention of wanting to choke with no physical harm, overall warm and comedic. please do not attempt to calculate the timeline logic of a 58 year old pi cheolin being the biological grandfather of a 27 year old lee chan. the math doesn’t math!! in this timeline laws are just suggestions and logic went out the window years ago, and chairman pi makes the rules. leave your brain at the door and have fun!
🍖 A/N. there you go chee @nothoughtsjustfic, probably not as good as you hoped for but I have nothing more to say. To readers, please enjoy! standard disclaimer that this is not proofread. i walked 10k steps and did a thousand things today, so my energy is at absolute zero and this is the best it's getting! i also fear the math still does not add up… that's a problem for future historians, not me. but in reality, this is just me exploring what it would feel like if your grandfather was rich, unhinged, handsome, funny, and also your single biggest financial liability. enjoy! divider from @cafekitsune
Grease is beginning to stain the corner of the slightly folded newspaper where someone carelessly put their plate down.
“BOMG TYCOON PI CHEOLIN DESIGNATES SOLE SUCCESSOR IN—”
Chan is staring at it, fed up with all of this shit.
Across from him, a grill sizzles. Welcome to the celebration dinner, which is just Pi Cheolin’s way of saying: expensive news, cheap restaurant.
“WHY IS THERE A ₩2,000 EXTRA CHARGE FOR SIDE DISH REFILLS?!” Fe Dback yells, stabbing the poor receipt. “THIS IS GRANDSON FAVORITISM SPENDING!!”
Pi Cheolin calmly pours himself water from a metal kettle. “It is not favoritism, to me it is a wise investment.”
“INVESTMENT DOESN’T MEAN YOU BUY CHAN A SPECIAL HIGH END RICE BOWL THAT COSTS MORE THAN MY EXISTENCE—”
“It has value.”
Chan lowers his head onto the table, “please stop using me as a financial concept.” The dishes here are exceptionally cheap compared to any other small restaurant nearby, but cost isn’t the issue. It’s the fact that he’s spending everything on Chan while he himself is a stingy old man who rarely spends unless he absolutely has to, but he’s still spending on Chan without a second thought. He could’ve taken them somewhere better, but Chan doesn’t care. He’s always been spoiled by his grandfather, Pi Cheolin, anyway, and that’s exactly how they ended up here.
At the far end of the restaurant, things escalates vertically.
Jo Eulho is standing on a plastic stool, yelling, “this is EXACTLY how I performed at the National Singing Contest!” he announces proudly. He succeeded in the audition and even managed to win first place… somehow. “I ASCENDED— LIKE THIS— AND HIT THE HIGH NOTE—” The stool wobbles.
“GET DOWN BEFORE YOU BECOME A NEWS ARTICLE,” Cel Brity hisses as he scrambles to grab his arm while simultaneously trying not to drop three plates of meat and dignity at once.
“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED BY FLOOR BASED AUTHORITY!” Jo Eulho declares.
“You are literally one centimeter away from becoming floor based authority.”
From Brity’s peripheral vision, he sees that the restaurant owner is slowly approaching with the expression of a man extremely disappointed. That’s when Brity knows he needs to drag Eulho down from the stool.
Chan turns his head toward the most peaceful corner of the table where, as always, two people have achieved enlightenment… through laziness.
Yoon Nieun and Jo Giyeok sit there calmly, existing at the absolute minimum requirement. A pair of chopsticks is placed between them while a grill plate sits untouched. With the look on their faces, Chan knows they are waiting strategically, again, waiting for someone to step on their bait.
Dback points an angry finger at both of them, “WHY ARE YOU TWO NOT HELPING?!”
Nieun replies without missing any syllable, “Lazy.” (Meaning: I am lazy and conserving my energy and have assigned all physical labor to others.)
Giyeok tags along, nodding, “Leave, yellow.” (Meaning: We will leave soon to take a yellow bus that needs walking to the bus stop and therefore cannot participate in active tasks now.)
“Hm,” Nieun nods as well. (Meaning: I totally agree with what he said.)
Dback just screams into the void at this point. He’s starting to feel like the only last functioning brain left at the table… other than Brity, probably, and it’s visibly frustrating him. “…You know what, it’s my fault, IT’S MY FAULT— I don’t even wanna understand whatever language this is anymore.”
Chan’s lips are parted, frozen in the middle of a disbelieving sigh as he tries to process the sheer lack of brain cells currently operating in the room.
He looks on from the side, the line of his jaw tight as he watches the absolute circus unfold across the table. The warm overhead lights catch the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead and the textured fringe of his dark hair, giving him the exhausted aura of a tired warrior who is trying to survive a battle only to realize he's trapped in a comedy sketch.
His eyes are fixed on the chaos in front with an unblinking focus with soul deep disappointment. There's no anger left in him anymore about everything that just happened this past week— only resignation.
He looks absolutely drained, his eyelids drooping with fatigue that has absolutely nothing to do with the hour and everything to do with the people around him. “…I don’t understand how this became my life,” Chan says quietly in a tiring sigh.
Pi Cheolin places meat on the grill with solemn care, “because you inherited it,” he added with a little excitement.
“That’s not how inheritance works, granddad ,” he sighs again with a slight annoyance and frustration in his tone.
Pi Cheolin tightens his lips before saying, “... but that is exactly how BOMG works.”
Chan decides not to reply, feeling a little guilty at the thought that he might’ve made his dear granddad sad by sounding like the spoiled brat Dback always claims he is. He knows that their relationship might not be the most socially traditional granddad-grandson relationship, and Pi Cheolin definitely goes over the top for him, but he also knows that just how much he’s loved as a grandson no matter how bratty or rude he gets; he never doubted how loved he is. Pi Cheolin has always been the same with him— never truly taking anything to heart when it comes to his beloved grandson.
Metal tongs clatter as Sungkwan is still arguing with Nieun and Giyeok (who already entered a state of passive existence and silence so advanced it borders on art). Eulho is still negotiating with gravity, while Brity has accepted his fate that he’s going down with Eulho when his pain finally snaps and chokes him.
Chan just sits there embarrassed, overwhelmed and most importantly, quiet, fiddling with his rice.
“There,” a piece of perfectly grilled meat is placed gently onto his rice bowl. Chan looks up to see Pi Cheolin holding the tongs. For once, his granddad isn’t being too overwhelming for him. “You did not ask for any of this,” he says with that old man insightful smile, “But I’m glad you are still here.”
Chan doesn’t answer again… mainly because he can’t quite figure out what emotion is in his chest.
Pi Cheolin pushes the rice bowl slightly closer. “…Eat well,” he smiles. “My grandson.”
A second pass, then Chan gives a shy embarrassed smile anyway, “…you’re paying for this, right?”
Pi Cheolin immediately frowns, but still smiling as he takes a napkin from the table and stands up to go somewhere else, “of course not.”
Dback screams from across the table, “THIS IS WHY THE COMPANY IS LIKE THIS!!!”
“bird chirping noises,” Pi Cheolin makes Dback shut the fuck up.
“Thank you, granddad ,” Chan stands up, crossing the short distance to wrap his arms around the older man in a tight hug. He buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, pouring all his unsaid gratitude into the hold, “for everything.”
For a few long seconds, Pi Cheolin’s arms still hang at his sides without any reciprocation as his weathered frame freezes under the sudden PDA. He just stands there taking the warmth of the hug while his eyes stare blankly over Chan’s shoulder as if the just the sincerity of the gesture has caught him completely off guard, making him momentarily speechless.
Then, the spell breaks. Pi Cheolin takes out a soft gruff breath that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. He now brings a heavy hand up, landing a series of solid comforting pats against Chan’s back. “Alright, alright, brat,” his voice a little hoarser than usual as he gives him one last squeeze before nudging him back, “don't make it weird.”
Chan giggles, as Pi Cheolin looks at him lovingly and smoothen a hand over his hair.
Dback goes silent for once but still visibly offended by the existence of emotions but clearly going, awwwhhhh, internally, sitting back while saying, “gross,” but still not interrupting the moment.
Brity just goes, “wow,” as he claps in slow motion to comedic effect, while Eulho is unusually not singing anymore and reacts like he just saw a live performance of peak storytelling as he nods in impressed approval.
Nieun and Giyeok watch the exchange with an unreadable hum and a faintly adoring gaze, choosing silence over anything else again, while casually reaching for meat like nothing happened.
Pi Cheolin looks around to find them watching, so he tilts his sunglasses down just a bit to reveal his eyes as his posture straightens. He leans forward toward Chan as the corner of his mouth lifts into a playful smile. At the same time, he gives a quick wink as he maintains eye contact, “sarangui nunbit.”
“Oh my god,” Chan chuckles while everyone else can just just sigh or just go along with them.
“So you’ll never change,” a voice suddenly came from the entrance as everyone looks that way. Yoo Danja’s. “Why was I not invited?”
“Why are you being nosey in other people’s business?” Pi Cheolin retorts. On the side, Chan is enjoying the show for the irony; considering his granddad is the one who appears in everyone’s business.
Yoo Danja sighs as if he has already made peace with ruining the atmosphere, pulls out a chair, and sits down.
The moment he sits, the mood is back to their normal again. Pi Cheolin doesn’t look surprised, but only mildly irritated as this is a recurring inconvenience he never agreed to.
“Still acting like you didn’t ruin things with Chunsun?” Danja says.
Pi Cheolin doesn’t even bother to look up from the grill, “still acting like she chose you?” he replies flatly, grabbing Chan’s arm to make him sit down with him.
That earns a scoff. Danja leans back offended but not surprised, “she didn’t choose either of us. That’s the point you always ignore.”
Chan turns his head between them, caught between two men whose hearts were broken once upon a time. But it’s a very common topic between these two. “Why is this still a conversation?”
Dback groans into his hands, “NO. No, no, no. I refuse to be present for ancient relationship trauma at a BBQ.”
Brity quietly flips a piece of meat on his own and serves Eulho and himself, “you already know what to do. Just… don’t make eye contact and maybe it’ll pass.”
Eulho, however, is fully invested as always. He enjoys watching them argue over a woman who, back in their youth, couldn’t have cared less about either of them. “Fight, fight, fight!”
Nieun takes the newspaper off the table, “always.” (Meaning: It’s always Chunsun.)
“Again.” (Meaning: It’s Chunsun again.) Giyeok takes a mouthful of cold ramen and nods with Nieun.
As Danja’s voice slightly rises, he yells, “you act like you were the victim.”
Pi Cheolin finally looks at him as he touches his hat, “I was the one who had to explain your existence to her father.”
“That’s not even—” Danja starts.
“It is,” Pi Cheolin cuts in.
Chan sighs, very tired from this same conversation every time. “Can we not do this during dinner?”
Dback with his hands clasped, slumps down on a chair, “YES. THANK YOU. SOMEONE NORMAL.”
“No.” Pi Cheolin and Danja both together at the same time.
The table falls silent before Brity mutters, “I’m going to need more meat for this.”
And just like that, you realize that no matter what you say, no matter how much you ask, no matter how much you plead, no matter how much you cry, he’s already decided… and you can’t change his mind.
florist shop owner!hansol vernon chwe × fem!reader ⋅ 12,158 words
಄ GENRE/S. non-idol au, modern au, angst
಄ CONTENTS. mutual pining (unspoken)(?), found family (chee & soonyoung), implied mental health struggles, almost kiss, lil bit of social media
⚠️ WARNINGS. abandonment, ghosting, unhealthy coping mechanisms, substance abuse (frequent smoking, alcohol dependency, and other things that aren’t explicitly named), implied self destructive behavior without going into detail, incomplete closure (things are explained but not really explained), bit of profanity, ending that can sad or open ended
಄ A/N. once again featuring beloved @nothoughtsjustfic lol. also my last fic for this event!! i’ve honestly loved seeing this event come to life so far and watching everyone share their works, excitement, and support for one another has genuinely been so lovely already. and to seventeen, happy 11 years ♡ thank you for continuing to bring people together across different places and stages of life. ily. bow divider from @cursed-carmine
▸ PART OF @dorereef: The Reef In Bloom EVENT
📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this event!
I’ll gladly kick his fucking ass this fucking second if he bends that stem any harder— seriously, who hold tulips like that?
You stand just outside the florist and watch through the glass as he frowns at a ‘stubborn’ bundle of flowers for whatever reason. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, unlit, like he forgot it was there, and something about that (about him) makes you step inside before you can talk yourself out of it.
He looks up when the bell chimes from the door. His eyes find you for only a second before dropping back to his hands, “they’re not dying,” he mutters but it feels like he’s saying that to himself as he looks at the stems again.
You huff a low-key silent laugh, and that’s how it starts.
You come back the next day… and the day after that, and the next. At first, it’s just excuses— your room needs flowers, your desk looks empty, you wanna make flower arts, you like damp earth and something sweet smelly of the shop, but eventually you stop pretending it’s about that. He starts recognizing you outside of his one of his customers but it doesn’t happen all at once or in any big, obvious way. It was more like: he stops asking what you want and just brings the ones you always pick; he sets aside the better blooms before they even make it to display; extra careful when making your bouquets; sometimes gifts you his best blooms instead of letting you buy them; he looks at the door a bit too long when the bell rings when he’s expecting you but it’s not you.
His name is Vernon. You learn it offhand from someone else calling for him in the back. He learns yours slowly after your 13th visit (yes, it was that slow).
He usually stands by the window when you come in while his sleeves are rolled and fingers kissed with green, that same cigarette smell clinging to him even when there’s nothing lit. But when he handles the flowers, everything feels different. He’s always so careful and passionate with his flowers. Most of the time, a smile will sit prettily on his pretty lips.
Sometimes you talk and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you just stand there while he works and hands you a bundle when he’s done without asking for anything in return but a, these should last a few days. And it’s nice… it’s so nice it kinda feels unreal like time slows down inside that shop and the world outside shush just enough for this to feel… separate.
As if it’s just the two of you suspended somewhere between blooming and something unnamed that neither of you touches but both of you feel.
For a while, it’s warm and enough.
—
The moment you step out of the college gates, you’re still half in your head.
Everything feels slightly delayed as your thoughts are walking a few steps behind your body. Until you see him, you don’t even fully register the world outside.
He’s standing a little off to the side of the gate in his white T-shirt and blue jeans. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but alertness in his eyes. Vernon. Just for a whole minute, your brain stalls… because he is not supposed to be here.
He sees you at the same time you see him. There’s a fraction of hesitation but then his hand lifts in a small wave.
Your eyes flutter and then you break into motion before you can overthink it, crossing the distance faster than your brain catches up, “Vernon?” you say when you reach him, breath still confused, “what are you doing here?”
“I—” his hand moves behind his back briefly, like he’s reconsidering something. Then he brings it forward without a… bouquet. It’s your flowers that you always pick. He holds them out like not entirely sure what reaction he’s supposed to get. “I noticed… you didn’t come by for a few days.”
You take the bouquet as your fingers brush his as you do, and your mind trips over itself trying to process this whole deal. “I—” you try to begin but then stop because suddenly explaining feels foreign to you. You don’t really know what to say in the first place. Your grip tightens around the stems, “I’ve been busy.”
His eyes run over your face like he’s checking something only he can see, “busy,” he repeats without questioning.
You sigh a half laugh and half exhaustion. “I had an interview prep for a big company. It’s… kind of important.”
There’s a change in his expression at that— lowkey, but present, “you didn’t tell me,” he says.
You shrug in a somewhat defensive way without meaning to be, “it’s not exactly florist shop conversation.”
He hums as if he accepts that, but doesn’t fully agree.
For a second, neither of you move. The field noise fills the gap but then he gestures slightly awkwardly in the direction of the street. “You’re walking?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He thinks for just a second to probably make a decision he didn’t plan for when he showed up here, “I’ll walk with you.”
It’s not phrased like a question, so you don’t argue and start walking.
At first, it’s quiet without being uncomfortable. You clutch the bouquet slightly tighter when you start feeling like you’re making him feel awkward by staying quiet
“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” you say eventually.
He keeps his eyes forward, “you didn’t come for three days.” There’s no accusation in it but just a fact.
You glance at him, “that’s… kind of obsessive,” and laugh jokingly. “Just kidding.”
He glances back before looking away, “I thought something happened.”
That makes you slow your pace by a fraction, “I’m fine,” you say automatically.
He again looks at you briefly, “you don’t look fine.” You huff and don’t say anything, so after a few steps, he asks, “what was the interview for? Any topics?”
You hesitate, then answer. “CSE related. It’s mostly… competitive.”
He nods, “when is it?” he asks.
“Next week.”
“Okay,” he says and it’s just that.
You glance at him again, “okay?”
He finally turns his head slightly toward you with his expression calm but focused. “You’re overthinking it,” he responds simply.
You feel dumbfounded, “I am not—”
“You are,” he cuts in like a nice man, “you’re treating it like it decides everything for you.” You open your mouth to argue but then realise there’s no point. Technically, he’s not wrong about it. He continues walking like it’s obvious, “you don’t need perfect answers but structured ones. If they ask behavioral questions, don’t improvise it mid sentence. Pick a framework and stick to it.”
You stare at him mouth open, “are you… interviewing me right now?”
“Am I?” he laughs, “I’m fixing your approach and not interviewing you.”
That earns a reluctant breath of laughter from you, “you’re very confident for someone who runs a flower shop,” you mutter.
“I also read,” he deadpan.
“I didn’t mean to offend you, by the way,” you imagine you should clear it up just in case.
“No, I know, no worries,” he responds. He continues, “if they ask about your weakness, don’t say something generic. They’ll know,” he says. “Say something genuine, but not tmi. Then explain how you’re working on it.”
You readjust your hold on the bouquet. “You’re weirdly good at this,” you tease.
He shrugs, “it’s just logic.”
You glance down at the pavement as you walk, “so everything is logic to you?”
“Most things,” he replies, but then he adds, “the rest is just noise you filter out.” You don’t respond and hum and continue walking beside him.
fter a while, you realize you’ve been walking longer than expected when even more familiar streets start appearing. You slow as your building comes into view and Vernon stops with you.
He looks up at it, “you’re home?”
“Yeah,” you answer.
“Okay,” he says again. “I should go,” and then he moves and takes a step back. “You should rest before you study more.”
“Oh,” you scratch the back of your neck, “you don’t have to leave right away.” He goes still for a moment as you hesitate and continue more carefully, “you… discussed a lot. You can come in for a bit and help… If you want.”
His eyes flutter to you, matching your same exact hesitation, “that’s your home…,” he says.
“Yes,” you reply, “and?”
He quietly mutters, “I don’t usually go into people’s homes.”
“But I don’t usually get interview coaching in the middle of the street though.”
That earns the faintest smile in his expression and after a moment longer, he nods. “Alright,” he agrees. He doesn’t look fully convinced, but not fully resistant either, and so you lead him inside.
And now ir feels like the distance between florist shop and everything else doesn’t matter as much as you thought it did.
—
Your flat feels different the moment he steps inside and stands by the doorway awkwardly.
You walk up to him and close the door behind him, “you can sit anywhere,” you kick off your shoes, “sorry, it’s not very—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts as he already starts looking around the room.
You take out the dead flowers and set the flowers he got you in your vase. He ends up sitting on the edge of your couch. The flowers are placed carefully on your vase— he adjusts it twices, then stops himself when he realizes he’s already done enough.
You disappear into the kitchen for a glass of water, mostly to give yourself a second to breathe.
When you come back, he’s looking at your desk where your notes are scattered with half written thoughts, highlighted papers, sticky notes. You see his eyes washing over them pretty quickly, reading without touching.
“You overprepare,” he says when you set the glass down.
“Is that bad?”
“It’s inefficient,” he says.
You snort, “that’s a very polite way to say yes.”
He looks at you like he’s considering whether that was a joke or a flaw in your logic.
Then, as if deciding it doesn’t matter, he nods, “you’re memorizing too much. You should be structuring instead.”
You sit down across from him as you pull your knees up on the couch. “Okay, professor. Teach me.”
He leans forward with his elbows resting loosely on his knees, “tell me properly about what the interview is testing.”
You go blank for a moment before answering, “uh… technical knowledge, communication, problem solving, behavioral…?”
“Stop,” he says immediately and you stop. He tilts his head, “that’s everything. That’s why you’re overwhelmed.” You stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate so that you don’t feel stupid. He continues, “break it down for yourself. What do you think they actually care about?”
You think about it for thirty seconds, “if I can think clearly under pressure?”
He nods, “right. So everything else is just tools to prove that.”
“Vernon, it sounds too simple,” you tell him skeptically.
“It is simple,” he takes your notebook, “you’re just scared of failing.”
You sigh. “Thanks for the emotional support, I guess.”
“That wasn’t emotional,” he says. “That’s just what’s happening.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. He doesn’t really say anything before he walks back and sits down on the couch and leans back slightly, “let’s do a mock question,” he proposes.
“Right now?” you sit beside him anyway.
“You don’t fix anxiety by reading more, Y/N,” he eyes the contents you wrote in your note book. “I know this is important to you, so let’s fix it by exposure, hm?”
You pout, “you’re very serious for someone who sells roses.”
He ignores that completely, “tell me about a time you handled pressure.”
You’re caught off guard by this so serious question. But then you decide you should actually answer… so you start answering. At first, everything you said didn’t make any sense at all. You over explain, circle back, correct yourself mid sentence, stutter a million times. You see him clocking each of your hesitation but not in a mean judge way. He’s actually just taking it all in and noticing how you present yourself and your answers.
When you finish, you expect him to criticize it, but instead he says, “why are you trying to sound perfect?”
You just stare at him. This sounds like a very stupid question but you know Vernon. He doesn’t bluff things and actually knows what he’s saying. “Isn’t that the point?”
“Not really, no,” he shows you what he wrote in your notebook while you were answering his question, “you sound like you’re hiding something... Like, you know, you have something to hide. Just be direct.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
“Then practice it until it’s not.”
This somehow happens to help you more than you expect, so you try again.
This time you try to be clearer with your words and you do. Your phrasing is better and less afraid of pauses.
When you finish, there’s a second of silence before he smiles, “better.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
Something in your heart sighs in relief. You don’t even realize how long you’ve been talking until the light outside shifts— turning warmer and pulling shadows across the floor. At some point, the distance between you on the couch has shrunk without either of you noticing.
He’s leaning forward all while explaining about how to redirect questions when you don’t know the answer. You’re listening to him, but you watching him feels less like paying attention and more like wanting something you have absolutely no business wanting this badly— like it should literally be illegal and someone should step in right this moment and stop you from doing something to him. Not like you’ll do something actually bad or illegal but it can be borderline embarrassing, borderline concerning, and fully unstoppable if it starts. In a way, you know all of your friends would say, valid; mood; understandable, if they saw Vernon right now in this way. No, your brain needs to be supervised at all times around him and apologize to the air for even thinking it.
But the way his hands move when he emphasizes a point… when he looks at you like you’re a problem he’s decided to solve— sigh.
“You’re not bad at this,” your mouth moves before your dignity can intervene
He stops halfway through, momentarily thrown. “At what?”
Fuck it. “Everything you’re doing right now,” you clarify and dig your hole deeper.
He chuckles, “is it a compliment?”
“It is,” you drown in his brown eyes, “for you.”
That makes him look at you even more directly. The room goes quieter than it was a moment ago.
He doesn’t respond and instead just stares at you for sometime. You just know it, he’s trying to figure out what category that statement belongs to. Wish you could say some very redactable thingz to him. But then you realize, belatedly, that you’re still leaning slightly toward him. And he is too.
The words about interview prep faded somewhere in the background. You don’t know when it faded or the lines got even more blurry, exactly, but it wasn’t sudden.
His gaze drops briefly to your lips, and then back to your eyes. Your lungs seem to forget how to breathe and your breath hitches, but neither of you moves— but everything between you does.
You whisper, barely aware you’re speaking. “Vernon…”
He exhales slowly through his mouth, looking at you, “don’t,” he says, but there’s no real warning in it. More like… restraint, like he’s holding himself still.
Your hand drifts slightly on the couch between you, and now suddenly the distance is almost gone now.
He leans in just an inch more and so do you. It’s not quite a kiss yet— but it’s close enough that you both feel it happen before it actually does… and then he stops. Forehead almost near yours with both of yours breath caught, eyes searching yours. “You have an interview,” he says so softly, it feels like it cost him something to say it.
Everything feels suspended to you for the longest time before he pulls back to break it.
He’s not leaving, but just not willing to cross that line. “I think I should go now,” he stands up.
“U-uh, already?”
“Yeah, it’s getting late. You should take breaks in between and sleep timely,” he adviced and you ended up just humming. He takes a bit of time before finally leaving, “see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow.”
The interview happens and you go in with everything Vernon taught you. You do really well and objectively, it’s a success.
You answer clearly and don’t over explain yourself when they try to corner you. You also successfully redirected some questions just like he said. You heard his calm voice in the back of your head every time you felt like you’ll falter, but he kept telling you exactly how to move through.
You walk out of that building knowing you did well— really well; it’s better than you thought you could do. You should feel relieved… but the moment you walk out, your first instinct is to go and find him. You need to tell him, you need to see him, and that thought comes so naturally that it almost kinda irritates you at this rate. Because after that day in your flat, you couldn’t manage to meet him again.
Every time you went to the shop, he wasn’t there. At first, you didn’t think much of it since people have schedules and they get busy… but then it kept happening.
Clocked out early, Chee, her co-owner would say.
Didn’t come in yet.
Went to get seedlings.
Out for something.
Every single time.
You’d stand there every time for a few minutes and nod to signal Chee that you understood and that it was okay. It was okay if you weren’t trying to read between the lines of something that didn’t make sense.
You thought Vernon enjoyed your company and thought after that day, he’d want to see you again like he said. At least that’s what was expected from, see you tomorrow. You didn’t think that day in your flat would be the last time you’d see him for a while. But then again, it was.
God, you tried so much. You came back again and again days in a row and left with flowers you barely looked at, just so you had a reason to stay for a few minutes longer and hope that he’ll walk in. You waited and waited but nothing. Even Chee started looking at you with sympathy after a while… she knew you weren’t just there for flowers anymore. You chatted with her and asked questions when she eventually understood what was going on. It’s not like she was oblivious to the fact.
It’s starting to become the worst spring of your life…
Eventually, after enough times of you showing up and leaving disappointed, Chee sighed and scribbled something down. His address, she said, handing it to you.
You of course went and stood outside his place with your heart beating too fast for something that shouldn’t have been this serious. You knocked but there was no answer from the other side.
You waited and nothing, you went again and still nothing. You don’t understand how coincidence can be this bad… like you’re not able to get the timing right at all?
So today, after your interview, you go back to the shop again because where else are you supposed to go? Other than his shop and home, you don’t know where else you can find him.
The bell rings again as you push the door open as the familiar scent of flowers wrap around you instantly. It’s not comforting anymore.
You walk straight past the rows of flowers you used to admire; lilies, roses, tulips, daisies, barely sparing them a glance. Your eyes are on Chee who’s sitting on the counter like usual.
But you stop mid step when something catches your eyes from your peripheral vision. It pulls your gaze to the right and you turn your head… and there he is. Vernon?
Sitting exactly where he always sits and bundling flowers as he used to like nothing’s changed… like you haven’t spent days looking for him.
Your stomach hurts because of how fast it coils. You look back at Chee, she shrugs, and then you look back at Vernon. It feels like you’re the only one reacting unreasonably.
You walk straight to him. The closer you get, the stronger the smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes and whatnot, hits your senses. It makes your stomach twist but you push it down because right now, that’s not what matters.
He keeps making the flower bundles when he feels your presence and looks up, “congrats,” he congratulates you.
Without thinking too much, you grab the newspaper sitting on the table in front of him and throw it at him. It hits his shoulder and falls, crumpling slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap.
He doesn’t react much except look at you for a second before looking down on the flowers again. He just keeps working quietly and that makes the anger inside you snap even more.
“I’ve been looking for you for days,” your words spill out. “Do you have any idea how many times I came here? How many times I asked for you?”
His hands keep wrapping and tying like you’re not even there. You know he’s not trying to make you even more angry or irritate you but he’s just not looking at you or saying anything.
“Every single time it’s ‘he’s not here,’ ‘he left early,’ ‘he didn’t come in yet,’— what is that?” you demand, “what, you just suddenly forgot how to exist in the same place at the same time as me?”
He keeps quiet and apparently have nothing to say for himself, at least that’s what you think.
“I went to your house,” you say, and your voice cracks just slightly before you force it to become normal. “I went there and you weren’t there either! I waited! I came back again and again.”
He cuts a stem and bunch them together to avoid looking at you. What can he do? He can’t just say nothing and stare at you. He needs to keep his hands busy to not feel out of place. He doesn’t know how to approach this right now. How will he make you understand this right now without sounding insensitive when he hurted you so much?
“Do you know how insane that sounds?” you push. “That I’m going around looking for you like this and you’re just— what? Avoiding me? Disappearing? For what? What happened?”
Your hands clench at your sides looking at him doing his own thing.
“You don’t get to just do that,” you control yourself when you look around you and see Chee gesturing customers to leave or divert their attention to something else. You talk quietly now but the intensity is more than before, “you don’t get to come to my college, wait for me, give me flowers, walk me home, sit in my apartment, and then just vanish just like that.”
His movements slow in tying the ribbon for like thirty seconds, before continuing in his normal speed.
“I thou-ght you liked being around me,” you try your best to not let your voice crack again, but the words are coming out more vulnerable than you intended, “I thought— after that day that… that you’d at least want to see me again.” When you’re met with silence again, you laugh sarcastically, “was I wrong?” you ask, “or do you just not care enough to—”
You’re in the middle of speaking when you see it happen right in front of you. It’s not obvious enough for anyone else to catch, but you do. His focus starts to slip and slowly drifts somewhere else while still sitting right here.
Your anger stutters and chest feels heavy for a completely different reason now. You stare at him, searching his face. “Are you even listening?” the bite in your voice fading to more vulnerable.
His eyes flutter as if he’s just come back, “yeah,” he replies.
Just that. Something in you breaks a little at how empty it sounds. You swallow as you feel your jaw tightening as you really look at him. Then, without another word, you grab a rose from a side table beside you and slam it down on the table in front of him.
You don’t wait for a response, turn and walk out.
You feel bad later in unavoidable waves. After you left the shop, the rose hit the table and you walked out without looking back, the anger that drove you forward started to drain out of you in jagged pieces. And what’s left behind is worse: silence… and him.
You keep replaying his eyes not staying present even when you were right there speaking to him— again and again. Like at this point, you’re trying to find the exact moment you should have said something different, and have noticed something was wrong instead of just being angry at what you couldn’t understand.
The next day, you go back to the shop… after not going there for several days.
He’s not there… again. Chee gives you the same answers with the same helpless shrug and the same, he’s not in today.
You again nod like you understand, but you really don’t. You don’t know what really happened all of a sudden. You knew he was distant, private and quiet but it never bothered you and the friendly relationship. But what happened now? You wait hours for him again anyway. Standing near the entrance, then sitting on the step outside, then standing again when your legs get too stiff, then sitting inside the shop. You watch customers come and go. Sometimes even watch the sunset.
He doesn’t come when you’re there, like before. And so, the next day, you try again, but there’s the same result. He’s not there. You start going earlier, stay even longer, and chang the times. You try morning, afternoon, evening but nothing matches. And it’s even harder after getting the job he helped you prepare for. You really want to meet him and try to fix things this time… It’s like he’s always just a few steps out of reach, like she keeps arriving at a place he’s already left.
Days pass and then, finally, after what feels like too many attempts to count, you see him.
It’s late and the light is fading into evening. You’re sitting outside his house when you notice movement at a distance— someone walking toward the house.
Your breath chokes before your mind even fully registers him. You stand up fast and kinda stumble in your rush.
“Vernon!” you call out, your voice breaks as you start to move toward him.
He slackens his strides at the sound of your voice. You come up to him quickly and stop in front of him as if you might lose him again if you don’t rush to him immediately.
Your hands start to shake, “I’m sorry,” you plead right away, “I’m sorry for that day. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, I wasn’t thinking, I was just— I was angry and confused and I-I didn’t— I didn’t think about you properly.”
You look at him as your throat starts to hurt.
“I didn’t think about what you were dealing with. I just kept making it about me, and I shouldn’t have. I was sel—selfish, Vernon!” your voice cracks at the end, and you quickly look down to calm yourself, “I’m sorry…”
He’s not saying anything except keeping quiet again… when you look back up, your eyes already started to get blurry. Seeing that, Vernon hesitatingly cups your face. His ice cold hands on your cheeks startles you.
“Vernon…” you trail, “I looked for you,” you continue, holding his hands back, “I kept coming back to the shop, to your house. I didn’t even care if I was annoying anyone, I just— I just needed to see you. I thought I lost you because of me.”
You laugh weakly through it, but it doesn’t hold at all.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise again like it’s the only thing you know how to say properly right now. “I’m really sorry.”
A hush falls between you when you don’t speak anymore. Instead of saying anything or moving, he just opts to looking at you; the first time in a while, his gaze actually stays put.
He sighs when he decides to speak, “why did you keep coming back?” he asks.
Tears still caught at the edges of your eyes, “because I was scared I lost you,” you admit.
He looks away briefly, then back, “you didn’t lose me, Y/N.”
It’s not comforting… it makes your breath catch harder. Because it sounds like something he’s not entirely sure of either. “Are we good now?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry…”
“We are good.”
You hesitate for a moment after that, your fingers wrapped around his cold ones thinking letting go might undo everything you just managed to somewhat fix. Your chest is still tight but now that the apology is out and he hasn’t pushed you away, you don’t understand what else started to surface in your heart. Yes, you know you like this man, but it feels different.
You take a step back as your hands slip to his fingers, then finally letting go altogether, though you don’t move too far. Your eyes search his face, trying to read more than what he’s giving you.
“What happened?” you carefully ask. “That day… and after that. You just— why did you disappeared?” Uour brows pull together slightly. “I kept trying to find you, and you were never there… I don’t understand.”
He looks at you, then exhales, his eyes moving away just slightly past you before returning. “It’s nothing,” he says.
You frown immediately. “It’s not nothing. I know.”
He tilts his head a little as if he expected that response, “I had stuff to deal with the next day,” he adds. “I wasn’t really… around because of that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay now but that’s not an explanation,” you press slightly. “You could’ve told me something. It’s that I thought you don’t wanna see me anymore. I was scared.”
His expression changes just slightly before it smooths out again, “I didn’t say that,” he replies.
“You didn’t say anything,” your eyes not leaving his.
There’s a brief silence, and for a moment, it feels like he might actually say something that explains the distance and his silence. Instead, he looks down shortly, then back at you, and shrugs just a little, “I’m here now,” he says.
Instead of responding to that, you ask, “how are you?”
“I’m okay,” he answers.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to explain everything to me right now if you don’t want to.” You stop before continuing. “But don’t just say you’re okay because you don’t want to tell me something. I’m not asking to fix anything or push you into talking— I just… want you to actually be okay… And if you’re not, that’s fine too. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
“I know,” he replies.
“Okay,” you smile. There’s a short silence after that, but it feels less uncomfortable from before.
He glances at you again, then at the road beside you, “did you eat?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Did you eat?” he repeats a little more clearly.
“Um, yeah?”
He nods, “come on,” he turns and starts to walk.
You watch him for three seconds before following him a little confused but not questioning it. “Where are we going?” you ask, catching up to his side.
“There’s a place nearby,” he answers.
“A place for what?”
He glances at you briefly. “Ice cream.”
You stare at him, then let out a disbelieving breath of laughter, “I just cried in front of you and you’re taking me for ice cream?”
“It’s efficient, I think,” he shrugs. “Sugar helps.”
You chuckle but you can’t help the faint smile that pulls at your lips as you walk beside him.
The walk isn’t really long from his place. The spring air in the evening is cooler now as it brushes lightly against your skin. You’re still a little overwhelmed and emotional, but being next to him again, walking like this, makes it easier to breathe.
You reach a small stand, nothing really fancy, just a small place with a few options written on a board. He steps up without hesitation.
“What do you want?” he asks, glancing back at you.
You step closer as you scan the options before answering, “chocolate.”
He nods, then turns back and orders without overcomplicating it. A minute later, he hands you the cone while his fingers brush yours again, just briefly.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
He gets one for himself too, though he doesn’t start eating it immediately. Instead, he leans lightly against the side of the stand, looking out at the empty street as birds come and go. You take a small bite of the ice cream (you’ve always bite ice cream), the sweetness melting in your tongue, calming you.
You glance at him after eating a few bites, “you’re not going to eat yours?”
“I will.”
“You always say that, phrase it differently,” you joke to lighten the mood. That earns a faint, almost absent smile from him. You watch him for a second longer then look away as you focus on your delicious ice cream again. The tension from earlier hasn’t fully disappeared, but it’s… better now. Ya know, manageable? You nudge him with your elbow. “You know, for someone who disappeared for days, you’re acting very normal right now.”
“I am normal,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow, “debatable.” He exhales out something between a sigh and a chuckle. You take another bite, then glance at him again. “You’re really okay?”
He looks at you with that silence again. That split second where it feels like he might actually say something about the ordeal or his feelings about literally just about anything. Then he nods, “yeah,” he says, “I am.”
You study his face for a moment for anything that contradicts it. From where you stand, it just seems like he’s… being himself— quiet and a little distant, keeping to himself. So you nod and decide to believe him. “Okay,” you whisper in the evening breeze.
At first, it’s just the normal things that you tell yourself that it doesn’t mean anything on their own. But as time goes by, you notice little tremor in his fingers when he hands you change, his eyes stay unfocused when you’re talking like your voice is coming from somewhere far away and he’s trying to catch up to it. The cigarette smell that wraps around him even on days when he insists he hasn’t smoked yet, like the air itself is giving him away. You told him to stop being like this and start taking care of himself, but kids nowadays don’t wanna listen.
You stand across the counter one afternoon as you watch him rearrange a bundle of lilies that are already perfectly fine— at least to you— and you think, he’s just tired, that’s all, people get tired.
But then he sighs as if the air itself hurts coming out, and then you catch the empty bottle tucked half hiidden under the counter when he bends down to grab scissors.
It doesn’t fit with how he handles flowers so carefully, passionately and delicately. He told you that he treats them like they’re alive and talking. None of his self destructive behaviour now fits with how he remembers exactly which ones you like without asking, how he treats the elderly, the shop, the animals. Still, you don’t say anything at first as the fear of invading his personal space keeps you to yourself. You’re scared that he’ll again hide away from you. But you keep coming back.
Because it’s easier to believe you’re overthinking than it is to believe something is wrong and you don’t know how to fix it.
One day, you lean against the counter while he’s wrapping a bouquet for another customer. You watch his jaw tighten just a bit when the customer leaves. You don’t know why but after observing him for a few more seconds, it felt as if something inside him unclenches and breaks loose at the same time. But what? He keeps things to himself most of the time. You’d think the two of you would be close after knowing each other for about three months now, but no—you don’t really know him as him, as Vernon. He’s quiet and charming and speaks in a way that makes you feel like you know everything, but in truth, you actually know nothing about him personally..It makes you a little sad that he keeps his door closed, but who are you to wish it would open for you?
You clear your throat, “do you ever… sleep properly?” you try to make it sound like you’re asking about the weather instead of how he looks a little too hollow under the shop lights.
His hands stop for half a second, just half, then he continues tying the ribbon, “I sleep,” he replies.
You tilt your head, not convinced, “that’s not what I meant.”
That finally makes him look at you. But not fully or straight on— just a quick, somewhat guarded glance as always. It’s him deciding how much of himself is safe to show you today, “I’m fine,” he adds after that second… and that should end the conversation.
Well, it doesn’t. It doesn’t end today.
Fingers tap lightly against the wooden counter as you’re now suddenly aware of how quiet the shop is when no one is talking. The bell on the door hasn’t rung in a while. “You’re not,” you say anyway.
His mouth twitches, almost like a smile but not quite, “you don’t know that.”
“I do,” you reply immediately, but you hate how certain you sound. Feels like you’ve already decided something about him you’re not allowed to decide. You shouldn’t but that ends up making him stop properly this time.
The ribbon is halfway tied and his fingers stay there frozen around it. For a second, you think he’s going to get angry, or shut down completely, or tell you to leave and never come back and show your down bad pathetic shameless face again. Instead, he exhales through his nose and looks away,“you shouldn’t keep coming here everyday,” he says.
The words stabs sharper than they should that doesn’t match the softness of everything else between you. Your stomach tightens but you force your voice to stay normal, “why?”
He shrugs one shoulder because you know, it’s nothing to him. At this point, in the way he’s now acting toward you, it doesn’t matter… like he doesn’t matter. “Because it’s a shop,” he says. “People come and go.”
You hate that answer. You don’t hate it because you think it’s wrong, but because it’s so easy for him to say. So you step a little closer, just enough that you can see the shadow under his eyes more clearly with the exhaustion that’s not sitting right on his face. “I don’t come here just for the flowers,” you tell him, and it feels like something small inside you feels scared and embarrassed when you say it out loud.
It finally makes him look at you properly. It’s not through you or past you, but at you. There’s something there— confusion maybe, or fear, orr both tangled together so tightly it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.
You swallow, because now that you’ve started, stopping feels worse. “I keep thinking…” you continue as you choose every word, “if I stay long enough, you’ll stop looking like you’re always halfway gone.” His jaw tightens again for the nth time after that customer left, but he doesn’t interrupt. You continue anyway but still unsure even though you’re standing your ground. “You act like nothing stays with you, but I see you. And I think— maybe you just… don’t let anything stay long enough.”
He chuckles but it’s disbelieving, “you’re wrong.” But it doesn’t sound like he’s correcting you and instead, it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself… you end up staying around a little longer even when he looks away again as he reaches for the cigarette behind his ear like it’s a habit he forgot you were watching. You stay.
Some part of you is convinced by now that if you just keep being there for him and just keep talking, keep asking, keep minding his business, keep standing there pretending you should be in the space he’s trying so hard to disappear into— he might eventually choose not to vanish… even if he doesn’t know how to do that yet.
Days basically go by normally, except that you see Vernon get more into his now addiction. You try to stop him from doing this to himself when he starts to seem just slightly out of sync with everything around him more frequently, but he’s not the one to listen to others. He has a lot of knowledge about different things, but even if he knows the harm, he doesn’t care.
After that day, he does start to warm up to being a little more normal towards you and stops telling you not to come every day. He sometimes comes by your college and drops you at your place and sometimes even comes inside and chats for a bit, but he never stays for long. He always leaves just when it starts to feel like he might stay a bit longer to give you company. And every time he does, your mind drifts back to that almost kiss and what could have been. You’re just pathetically in love with him, but you can’t have him like this. You don’t know if he knows by now, but maybe he does or maybe he doesn’t.
Whenever Vernon steps out— whether it’s for a smoke break or to get something for the shop like seedlings—, you end up chatting with Chee. Over time, you’ve come to understand that she’s a smarter and more sympathetic woman than you initially thought, that’s one thing you learned about her during your time here for the last few months now. She’s perceptive, kind, and knows when to listen and just silently observe without asking too many questions. And another thing you learned is that she’s obsessed with her husband, who also happens to be obsessed with her— and for some odd reasons… tigers —, just as much.
His name is Soonyoung, and he comes by sometimes to see his wife often, and whenever Vernon isn’t around, you end up spending time with the two of them instead. They make up for the inconsistency you feel with Vernon. Slowly like this, you create a really nice relationship between you and Chee and her husband, Soonyoung. Vernon’s relationship with you is always on and off— sometimes everything’s good and he’s interacting as usual, and sometimes he’s just… distant.
Vernon, on the other hand, is unpredictable even if he warmed up but still, these days he’s a bit distant. Some days he’s present, talking to you like nothing is wrong, like everything is fine. Other days, he drifts so far into himself that you feel like you’re standing next to someone you don’t know. Lately, it’s been more of the latter, and it makes you uneasy… especially today.
Chee and Soonyoung have invited both of you to dinner, and you can’t help worrying that the dinner might be awkward. You don’t want the tension to follow you there and sit at that table and feel like something between you and Vernon is unfinished.
You didn’t really know their address at first, but they sent it to you, and Chee insisted that Vernon pick you up. You like to think that Chee did it intentionally.
You spend a little longer than usual getting ready. The cream colored A-line dress fits you perfectly, its fabric blooming with hand drawn ink sketches of roses. The puffy sleeves sit just right on your shoulders, and the row of onyx-colored buttons down the center pulls everything together neatly, cinching at your waist before the skirt flares out in soft pleats. You really do love this dress. For a moment, you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over it, wanting to admire it just a little longer. but, soon enough, your phone buzzes.
Vernon sends you a text saying he’s outside.
You grab your bag and head down before you can overthink anything. When you step outside, you see Vernon standing there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but still casual enough.
“You’re here,” you greet him, and he hums in response as he instinctively comes closer to you.
“Ready to leave?” he asks, his eyes remaining on yours.
“Y-yeah.”
He doesn’t say anything except that he has already called an Uber and that you can go there by Uber instead of walking. You expected that anyway since they live a bit far
The ride itself is a bit quiet, but it’s more than okay than an awkward tense silence. You focus on the passing lights and buildings outside, letting your thoughts drift for a bit while Vernon stays on his phone.
“I’d like to talk to you after dinner,” he suddenly informs you.
“About what?” It’s a bit weird for Vernon to tell you he wants to talk like this. Not that you’re very worried, but with his mood lately, you’re kind of worried, yeah.
“You’ll… know,” he responds just like that without any more elaboration.
“Oh—okay.”
“You… you look beautiful, by the way,” he comments, and your eyes almost come out of your socket hearing that. You were kind of expecting him to say something but also weren’t, so it makes you both shy and surprised.
“Thank you,” you simply reply as a tiny hint of red that is not quite a blush creeps up on your cheek.
The rest of the ride passes quickly after that, and before you know it, you’re standing outside Chee and Soonyoung’s house. You check your purse, making sure you have what you brought for them, while Vernon stands beside you holding a box of chocolates. He presses the calling bell, and in no time, Chee opens the door and greets you both in a hug.
“You’re finally here!” she beams, pulling you in first before reaching for Vernon as well.
“We made it,” you say with a big smile.
“Come in, come in, I’ve been waiting,” she adds, stepping aside to let you both in.”
Upon entering, the first thing you smell is the smell of blueberry pie. “Mhm, is that blueberry pie?” you ask enthusiastically, your eyes sparkling.
“Yes, your favourite,” Chee chuckles at your expression.
“Oh my—” you exclaim, and Chee pats your head before gesturing you toward the dinner area.
“Dinner is almost ready,” she announces as you and Vernon take a seat beside each other at the table.
“Wait… do you smell that?” she suddenly stops, sniffing the air, her brows pulling together slightly.
You follow her eyes as she sniffs again, and then she abruptly turns and rushes toward the kitchen.
You and Vernon exchange a quick look before standing up and following her. The moment you step into the kitchen, you’re met with the sight of Chee hurriedly taking a pan off the stove and placing it under the sink, water running over it as a faint sizzling sound fills the air. Soonyoung stands beside the stove, shoulders slightly slumped, looking exactly like a wet, sad puppy caught doing something wrong.
“Did you burn it again?” Chee huffs as she turns off the tap and inspects the pan.
Soonyoung looks at her, then at the pan, then back at her, “it wasn’t burning… it was just— getting darker,” he mutters, clearly trying to defend himself.
You press your lips together trying not to burst out laughing, while Vernon, beside you, looks entirely unsurprised.
“That is literally what burning is,” Chee deadpans, unimpressed as she sets the pan aside.
“I followed the instructions!” Soonyoung insists, gesturing vaguely toward the counter.
“Did you?” she questions, raising a brow.
He hesitates, “mostly.”
You can’t hold it in anymore and let out a small laugh, covering your mouth slightly, “it smells good though… kind of,” you say, trying to help.
Soonyoung immediately looks at you like you’re his only ally. “See? She gets it.”
Chee sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips now, “you’re not helping him,” she says to you, though her tone is light.
“You should just let her cook,” Vernon speaks up.
Soonyoung turns to him with mild betrayal, “whose side are you on?”
“The side that wants edible food,” Vernon replies without missing a beat.
That makes you laugh again, the tension from earlier easing just a little as you lean slightly closer to him without realizing it. He doesn’t move away.
Chee waves her hand dismissively, “alright, out. All of you. I’ll fix this before it gets worse.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Soonyoung mutters, already stepping back from there with utmost obedience and you all follow him out.
Once all of you are sitting at the table, the atmosphere becomes even more warm. The food is genuinely good and it shows in the way everyone gobbles down the food cooked by Chee with the ‘help’ of her lovely husband without hesitation. Vernon sits beside you quieter than the others, but not distant enough to make you uneasy, and that alone feels like a relief.
Conversation ripples naturally, moving from small things to random stories and back again, and you realize there is no awkwardness, no tension pressing down on you like you feared earlier. You find yourself responding without overthinking, and slowly, the anxiety of awkwardness you carried here, dissolves. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this until now. Sitting here, surrounded by people who feel comfortable to be around, you start thinking ahead without meaning to; imagining inviting them over to your place, planning what you’d cook, how you’d set things up, what it would be like to spend more time like this outside of the florist shop. The thought makes you excited already.
And it hits you clearly that you haven’t felt this way about spending time with people— anyone other than Vernon— in a long time. The realization doesn’t take away from him, but it gives you something that doesn’t depend on whether he stays or leaves. And for the first time in a while, that makes you genuinely happy about it all.
Chee eventually stands up to bring dessert, her expression bright as she carries the blueberry pie over and begins slicing it carefully. “I hope you’re still not full,” she says as she places a slice in front of you.
“Never,” you reply immediately and lean forward a little as the familiar sweet scent reaches you again.
Soonyoung watches the plate like it’s something he’s proud of. It’s probably something that he’s proud of, actually. “I told you she’d love it,” he says, glancing at Chee with a big, proud grin.
“You say that about everything I make,” Chee responds, though there’s clear affection in her voice. You’ll never get tired of watching their love for each other.
“Because everything you make is good,” he insists without any hesitation, chin up.
Again, you can’t help but smile at that, watching the way they show love and affection and support so naturally. “This looks amazing,” you add, picking up your fork.
Vernon looks at your plate briefly, then at you, “you’ve been talking about this since you walked in,” he recalls.
You glance at him, slightly embarrassed, “it’s important,” you reply, and he huffs a faint, almost amused breath in response. “I love blueberry pie!” The pie tastes exactly how you hoped it would; sweet, soft, and just a little tart, and you don’t bother hiding your reaction. “This is literally perfect,” you say, looking at Chee.
“I knew it,” she replies with a chuckle. “I made it specifically because you like it.” That only makes you smile more.
Eventually, dinner comes to an end, plates are cleared, and the conversation slows into random comments here and there as everyone leans back into their seats. It’s only then, as things begin to wrap up, that realization hits you. You fucking forgot.
Your hand immediately goes into your bag, your expression changing to nervousness as you sit up straighter. “Wait—” you start, a little flustered. “I completely forgot something.”
Chee looks at you curiously, “hm?” At the same time, she reaches for the box Vernon brought and hands a few chocolates toward you. “Before that, take these.”
You stare at her momentarily distracted as you accept the box with a, thank you, before quickly shaking your head. “No, wait— I actually brought something too,” you still fighting how deep your bag is [do you understand the reference? pls say you do].
You pull out two small black boxes and hand them over one to Chee and one to Soonyoung.
“It’s nothing big,” you quickly add, a little self-conscious now. “I just… wanted to get you something.”
They both look surprised but pleased as they take the boxes and open them almost at the same time. Inside are the bracelets— simple but meaningful since each is engraved with the other’s name. There’s a silence as they take it in.
Soonyoung looks at his first, then at Chee’s, then back at you, “This—this has her name on it,” he says softly with his doe-like eyes. It’s the nth time that this man is giving you cuteness aggression tonight.
Chee lifts hers slightly as her fingers brush over the engraving, “and this one has his,” her voice so much more gentler than before.
You move in your seat as now you’re suddenly feeling like you’re the center of attention. The brackets weren’t exactly easy to buy with your college budget, but it didn’t feel like a waste. Not for them after they’ve become so important to you. “I just thought… it would be nice,” you say. “Since you both— I mean… yeah, you’re both important to me.”
There’s a moment of silence again, but this time it feels full instead of uncertain.
Chee smiles first, a genuine, soft expression as she looks at you. “This isn’t small at all,” she reaches out to touch your hand. “It’s really thoughtful, honey.”
Soonyoung nods along, already trying to put his on, “yeah, this is— this is actually really cool,” he adds, fumbling slightly before laughing at himself. “I love it. Thank you, Y/N.”
Vernon, beside you, doesn’t say anything immediately, but you can feel his gaze on you. When you glance at him, he’s already looking, something unreadable in his expression. “You didn’t tell me you were getting them something like this,” he says.
You shrug lightly, trying to play it off. “I wanted it to be a surprise. And I didn’t know that you’d like to know anyway.”
He nods like he understands and accepts that, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer before looking away.
Chee again insists that you leave with Vernon and not on your own, and he obviously doesn’t protest. He calls an Uber this time as well, and the two of you ride it in almost complete silence, but again, it’s not uncomfortable at all. In fact, you’re strangely happy about it, because this feels like him being normal. He has always been a bit quiet when he’s normal, keeping to himself unless he has something to say, and right now, he seems exactly like that.
The late night city lights pass by outside the window, reflecting faintly on the glass as you lean slightly toward it, watching everything blur into soft streaks of color. Beside you, Vernon scrolls through his phone, and after a moment, your phone buzzes. You glance down to see him sending you all the pictures from tonight— the ones of the food, the house, Chee and Soonyoung, their cat and dog, the group pictures, and even the ones you didn’t know he took. There’s a solo picture of you, one where you weren’t even looking at the camera, and a couple of selfies the two of you took together.
You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips as you scroll through them, your fingers sliding on that one picture of you. “You took this?” you glance at him.
He nods slightly without looking up, “hm.”
“It’s nice,” you say, and he hums in acknowledgment.
Without thinking too much about it, you post a story on Instagram, picking a few pictures in a collage.
The rest of the ride passes quietly, and before you know it, the car slows down in front of your building. You take your bag and step out. You turn back, bending slightly down to say goodbye to Vernon through the open car door.
But before you could, he’s already out of the car as well.
You straighten up, confused, “why are you getting out?” you ask, watching him as he closes the door behind him.
He looks at you with his calm but unreasonable expression. “I told you,” he says. “I needed to talk to you.”
The reminder makes your chest tighten as you nod even though you’re not entirely sure why you suddenly feel uneasy. “Right,” you remember.
There’s a moment of silence as the Uber drives away, leaving the two of you standing under the road light outside your building, “I can’t do this anymore,” he decides to speak up.
The words don’t register at first. They feel too sudden from everything that just happened. “What?” you ask, your brows pulling together slightly, confusion and anxiety already settling in. You have no idea where this is going but you’re not feeling one bit good about this.
Sighing, his gaze moves away from you for a moment before coming back, “this,” he repeats, whispering. “Whatever this is.”
Your chest tightens, and you take a step closer without realizing it, “what are you talking about?” you ask, your voice softer but more urgent this time around. “Nothing happened. We were just— we just had dinner, everything was fine.”
He shakes his head slightly as if that’s exactly the problem. “That’s not what I mean,” he clarifies.
“Then what do you mean?” your confusion starts to mix with desperation, “you can’t just say that and not explain anything.”
He looks at you again, and there’s something heavier in his expression now. “Y/N… I know how you feel,” he admits it to you. Your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. “And I can’t return that,” he adds.
It hits you like a fucking asteroid at a speed of 3.00 × 10⁸ m/s.
You stare at him, trying to process it and understand how the conversation and situation changed so quickly into something you weren’t prepared for. “You don’t—” you start, then stop, then start again as your voice falters before you push through, “you don’t even know what I feel.”
“I do,” he whispers like if he wishes he didn’t
Your chest rises and falls unevenly as your hands fists at your sides. “And even if you do,” you continue, your voice trembling now despite your effort to keep it without breaking, “yo-u don’t just decide something like that on your— your own. You don’t just end it without even trying.”
“There’s nothing to try!” he raises his voice just a bit, almost unnoticeable, but enough to make you flinch. “Sorry…” he apologises, wide eyes when he sees you flinch back.
“There is!” you insist, stepping closer again, your eyes searching his face. “If— if you think this isn’t going anywhere, then we can figure it out. Together. I’m not forcing anything, I’m just— I’m asking you to not shut it down before it even starts.”
He watches you, and there’s something almost conflicted in his gaze, but it fades just as quickly as it appears. “I’m leaving.”
You stand quiet, feeling out of place before speaking, “what?” you whisper.
“I’m leaving the city,” he continues, his tone controlled… almost too controlled. “I’ll tell Chee tonight. Then I’m… gone.”
You shake your head immediately to reject the idea yourself. “That doesn’t make sense,” this time your voice rising slightly, “you can’t just leave like that. You have the shop, Chee—”
“I know,” he cuts in gently. “It’s not the most logical decision.”
“Why? Then why?” you demand, your voice breaking despite yourself. “Why would you do something like that?”
He exhales, looking away for a second before meeting your eyes again, “because staying is worse.”
You stare at him dumbfounded but your mind still racing to try to catch up and find something that makes sense.
“Did you ever feel anything?” you ask suddenly when he’s not saying anything more. What else does he have to say, anymore? “Even a little?”
There’s a pause from him… a long one. “That’s not the point,” is the answer he comes up with.
“It is to me,” your voice shaking after hearing him. “Be-because I need to know if I was just… imagining everything.”
“You weren’t,” he says. If he thinks it’ll make you feel any better, he’d be wrong. So fucking wrong. It only makes it hurt more.
“Then why?” you ask again, even softer, almost pleading. You’re just this 🤏🏻 close to going on your knees. “Why are you doing this?”
He looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s actually going to tell you the truth without holding anything back anymore. “You remind me of someone,” he confesses instead. Honestly, out of everything you expected him to say, this wasn’t it. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad one, you don’t know yet. “Someone who was… important to me,” he continues. “She’s not in my life anymore.”
You don’t say anything, just wait for him to continue before doing anything you might regret— if you decide to do it, that is.
“She was like you… and in the end, she… didn’t stay.” You stay in utter silence, not knowing what to say. Usually, it's be you talking and he wouldn’t say anything… maybe this is how he felt. “It started in spring,” he says after a stopping to swallow the lump in his throat, “and it ended in spring”
He wipes the palm of his hands on his jeans as he tries to maintain his eyes contact with your blurry eyes while you listen to him.
“So spring just…” he trails off slightly, then finishes, “it’s not a good time for me.”
You shake your head as tears starts to finally spill over. “That’s n-ot fair,” you whisper as your voice cracks. “You— y-you can’t p-unish everything because— because of something that already en-ended.”
“I’m not punishing anything, Y/N.. I’m ending it before it turns into something I can’t control.”
You step even closer, almost breathing on him as your voice breaks completely. “T—Then don’t let it— let it t-urn into that,” you plead. “Just stay. Just— sta-y.”
He looks at you, and for a second, it feels like he might… “I can’t,” he breaks your heart. The finality in his voice makes your heart inside you collapse. “I’m sorry,” he feels ashamed as he lowers his eyes on your hands that’s now gripping his wrist.
Your grip tightens around his wrist, your fingers trembling from holding him, you breaking in a way that feels painful to hear even to yourself, “you shouldn’t decide that alone… I’m telling you— you can’t… cut me out because you’re scared of what might happen. That’s not fair, Vernon. That’s not— that’s not how this works,” your breath hitches as you struggle to keep your voice from cracking. You search his face desperately for even the smallest sign of hesitation.
He swallows as he looks at you, “It’s not just fear… I know where something leads before it gets there. I’ve been there before, and I’m not… doing that again,” he adds like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s trying to convince you.
You shake your head immediately, your grip loosening just enough for your hands to slide slightly down his arm, your voice cracking as you speak again, “but I’m not her! Y-you keep saying I remind you of her, but I’m not her, Vernon! I’m not going to do whatever she did,” your brows pull together as tears continue to fall, your chest tightening with every word.
He lets out a breath, his gaze dropping before lifting again to meet yours, “I know you’re not her,” he admits, and it’s softer before it fades again. “But it doesn’t change the way this feels. It doesn’t change what it does to me.”
“Then let it be different,” you plead. “Let this be different. Not everything has to end the same way just because something else did,” your hands lifting slightly as if you don’t know whether to hold onto him again or let go entirely, your thoughts running faster than you can keep up with.
He shakes his head, and this time there’s no hesitation in it, “No, this city already feels…,” he sighs, “every place, every street… it’s starting to feel the same again… And— you’re her—”
“What are you talking about??” you’re just so confused, you feel like you’re crazy.
“Let me finish— I can’t ask you to leave. This is your life. So I’m the one who has to go,” he finishes.
You stare at him, your face crumbling further as you try to process that, “s-so that’s it?” your lips tremble, “you’re just going to— going to walk away because I remind you of someone who hurt you?”
He closes his eyes for a brief second, then opens them again, and when he speaks, it’s soft like an apology. But shit, if that doesn’t fix anything, “it’s not just that…” he trails, “but it’s enough,” he adds looking down because he for sure knows it won’t make sense to you no matter how he explains it.
You shake your head again and again, tears falling freely now, your hands trembling as you try to hold onto something that’s already slipping away. “Don’t— don’t do-o this,” you whisper. “Please… pl—please, don’t do th-is.”
He doesn’t move closer or reach for you. He doesn’t change his mind and say he was just joking, that he crossed the line. You’re waiting for him to tell you to slap him for making such an awful joke— but it doesn’t come. “I have to,” he lets out.
And just like that, you realize that no matter what you say, no matter how much you ask, no matter how much you plead, no matter how much you cry, he’s already decided… and you can’t change his mind.
After that, everything collapses gradually. The shop stays open and spring continues, the flowers keep blooming, but without him it all feels wrong in a way you can’t explain to yourself properly. You keep going back to the shop at first… it’s almost automatic like muscle memory pulling you there instead of choice, hoping that maybe he’ll be standing behind the counter or by the flowers like nothing ever changed; but he never is.
Chee is the first to look properly angry when she hears what happened— not at him, but at everything around it: the situation, the timing, and hoe he left without anyone fully understanding why. She vents at first, pacing in the shop one afternoon when you’re there, her voice full with frustration.
“I told him he can’t just run away from everything,” she says more to herself than to you, “that’s just not how life works.”
You sit near the counter, fingers loosely touching the edge, your voice quieter when you reply, “he said he had to...”
Chee stops for a second, looks at you, then sighs like she’s trying to force herself into acceptance, “of course he did.”
—
It takes time, but eventually she softens. It’s not like she agrees with what he did, but because she understands in the only way she can… through her loyalty she has for people she cares about. And when Vernon reaches out again after a long silence that’s too far stretched to count properly, she doesn’t turn him away.
There’s a time when she tells you about it almost a bit reluctantly.
“He contacted me,” she informs one day while rearranging flowers.
Your hands stilling, “and?”
“He’s… fine,” she adds, but the way she says it makes it clear that ‘fine’ doesn’t mean what it used to.
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take long for him to win her over again after her initial disappointment fades. She forgives him in her own way. Quietly without any drama. And eventually, he goes no contact again, but this time with her permission. Again, it’s not not like she stopped caring, but because she understood that holding onto him wasn’t the same as helping him. Vernon never lets Chee down easily, and Chee never manages to stay mad at him for long. It’s complicated like that, always has been.
You hear about him indirectly about how he checks in sometimes, how he disappears again just as quickly. Always moving somewhere else and never really staying in one place and settle.
You, meanwhile, stay in orbit around the life that remains. You spend time with Chee sometimes, and occasionally Soonyoung joins in, bringing the same chaotic warmth he always does like nothing in the world is ever truly serious for long when he’s around. You smile when you’re there, you laugh when you feel like to, then you leave again.
You start to realize that you might be a little pathetic for still waiting in places where he will never return. Almost graduated now, a year nearly passed, and still some part of you looks for him.
Sometimes in the shop, you catch yourself saying things without thinking. I think he’ll like these ones, you once said, reaching for a bundle of flowers he used to set aside for you.
Over time, what you hear about him comes in fragments indirectly. Never directly from him and always from someone who saw him somewhere for a minute.
He’s been drinking more.
Still smoking like before… maybe worse.
He’s just wandering.
He lost weight.
He looks different.
He went down.
It paints a picture you don’t want but can’t avoid forming anyway. Cigarettes first thing in the morning, alcohol when the day gets too much, smoke breaks that aren’t breaks anymore, just constant repetition. Nights that don’t end. A routine that doesn’t heal anything and just fills space so he doesn’t have to sit in silence with himself. You try reaching out once more.
You send messages, but no response. It starts to feel less like silence and more like absence. Like the version of him you knew existed in a space that no longer connects to the world you’re in.
It’s like the moment you had with him was a fever dream. Sometimes it feels like it existed outside of everything else, and once it ended, the rest of the world kept moving without him— and without you in it.
In the end, you’re left with the realization that you couldn’t save him, couldn’t hold him there, couldn’t make him choose to stay.
You stand in the florist shop surrounded by flowers he used to touch so carefully. Your fingers brush lightly against a vase as you look down at the counter, I thought you’d stay, you say under your breath, barely audible, not even sure if you mean him or the feeling itself.
