Summary: You're just trying your best to get through college and stay on track; all of that gets ruined when you meet your new lab partner, Mingi, who has more than a couple skeletons in his closet.
Pairing: fwb!mingi x female!reader
Genre: angst | non-idol au | college au | smut | fluff
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 17.1k
Content Warnings: cursing, nicknames (princess, good girl), pinv, unsafe sex (don't do dat), oral sex f!receiving, fingering, panty sniffing (?), sensitive!mingi, mingi is v vocal and big yapper, mingi whimpering, hairpulling, shower sex, praise (lowkey), degradation (very lowkey), bigdick!mingi, marking, overstim, lmk if i forgot anything
Author's note: As always I'm late asf and I owe someone my unborn children but thank you all for interacting w/ me sm and pushing me to write. Trauma dump time: as some may know, me and bf of 6 years broke up not too long ago so it's kinda hard to write about romance when you're questioning your own experiences with it, yk? That aside, school is sm, mcat is terrible, I hate med school, I hate the us med school application, but on a positive note, i love yall. Keep messaging me, everyone's keeping me sane rn! <3 hope yall like this part, I had sm fun writing it so pls enjoy and forgive me for being late but I'd rather put out something that I think is good as opposed to just anything. Tell me if it sucks tho lol, be so fr. Keep supporting this series and me thank you love you!! <3
Recap: After you worked up the courage to confess your feelings, you were rejected by a guy who got on his knees and begged you to hang out with him.
Up to this point in your life, there have only been two romantic relationships, both of which ended with someone telling you they don’t want you. You hate to say it, but it might be time to throw in the towel. After you brazenly told Mingi you wanted to be serious with him, and he flat-out said no, you went down a crazy spiral within the span of one hour. The second you got back to your apartment, you threw the jacket he gave you in the trash and blocked his number, email, and Instagram. The whole time, you were crying. You’re not sure if it was the alcohol or the sheer flood of emotions you were feeling, but you’ve never been so devastated. The internet was right: those 2–3-month-long situationships really do ruin your life. This hurt way more than your relationship breakup. Hysterical, you left without even thinking. Just grabbed your keys and drove home that night after pacing around your apartment for 15 minutes, overthinking every interaction you’ve ever had with him. While driving, you were crying so hard that you could barely see the road. Since you left your apartment without a second thought, all you have left to wear is your high school wardrobe. You do have the option to go back to your apartment since you live so close, but the thought of seeing him makes you wanna die. Not even trying to be dramatic, you have never been rejected like that. Obviously, you’ll recover, but, as with all things, this will take time.
For the first three days of your winter break, you’ve been locked in your room watching your comfort show, doom scrolling, and not showering. You didn’t have the heart to tell your friends what happened, but they eventually found out through the grapevine. They all dropped by one by one the next morning to try and make you feel better, but it was a pity party and left you feeling worse. You assured them that you were fine and this was just a slump that you’d be out of in no time. In actuality, you are so devastated that you cry for 20 minutes whenever someone brings him up. Today, while on your fifth hour of doom scrolling, you notice an Instagram ad for a new matcha café that opened up by your house. While rotting has been decently comfortable, you’re sick of wallowing in your self-pity and grossness. Today’s the day you’ll leave your room, with a matcha as your reward. You sit up in your bed and wipe all the crust off your face. You can’t stay sad and disgusting forever. So, you promptly rush to your bathroom to take an everything-shower and put on a cute outfit, in hopes that “look good, feel good” is real. Sentimentality isn’t your forte, but everything really does remind you of him, even the shower. You shed, maybe, three tears when washing your hair, thinking about that one time he washed your hair. When you’re doing your hair, you see hints and traces of him littered all over your chest and neck. The small hickeys and bruises fading away with every passing moment.
By the time you’re done with your hair, your body is mostly dry. You take out a pair of jeans and an old sweater, knowing you’re going to bulge at every seam. To your surprise, a pair of your favorite high school jeans still fit, but the sweater is a no-go. You take a second to check yourself out in the mirror. Your ass looks great, but even a fat ass isn’t making you feel better. To find a decent top, you have to rummage through your mom’s closet to find a normal-looking sweater. You settle for a black turtleneck with a hole at the back of the neck. Good enough.
Without texting any of your friends to come with, you leave your house, deciding it’s an alone day. Next semester is your last in college, and with the way you’ve been setting up your class schedule, it’s the lightest load you’ve had these past four years. You smile to yourself as you drive, thinking about all the free time you’ll have to do… something, probably. Well, at least now you’ll have time to actually develop a hobby. That’s something to look forward to.
The café was only an eight-minute drive away from your house. You don’t really have a preference between tea and coffee but you love a sweet drink. The café has a lovely, comfortable ambience with warm lighting, and a few seats, enough for people to study or hang out. There’s a relief in the thought that you’re in your hometown and won’t be seeing anyone from college. Every time you want to avoid Mingi you end up seeing him somewhere in public, so you’ve been very dodgy about going outside. You wait in line behind a group of teenagers as you scan through the menu online. This place is already very popular and they’ve only been open a week or so. All of a sudden, the group in front of you starts laughing and startles you. To give yourself some space you take a step back and step on the foot of the guy standing behind you. “Oh! I’m so sorry–” just as you turn around to apologize, you stumble over the stranger’s feet and suddenly fall backwards into him. Right when you muster up the courage to go outside, you go and embarrass yourself. “It’s fine, y/n.” The universe must be mocking you because while you were praying to avoid Mingi, you should’ve also prayed to avoid his best friend. The same guy who’s smiling because you fell on him. “Nice seeing you again.” You snatch yourself away from him and stand up straight.
“Hey Yunho…”
“Damn, okay. I didn’t think you’d be that upset to see me “
“Can you blame me?”
“I figured as much, that’s why I wasn’t going to bother you, but guess I got lucky.” The group of kids in front of you finishes ordering and moves out of the way. You turn around and walk up to the kiosk to select a drink. Just when you’re about to hit the checkout button, Yunho hits the “return to menu” button and scrolls through the options. You look over your shoulder to find him towering over you, his frame leaning against yours very comfortably. You’re guessing the kiss made him feel extra acquainted with you given how he’s so comfortable initiating physical contact right now. While a gorgeous guy touching you is definitely a good omen, you are freshly heartbroken.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking a drink.”
“There’s another kiosk.”
“Meh, this one’s fine.”
“Yunho, I don’t know what you’re doing–”
“Then, let me just get a drink.” You try to nudge him away from you, but he doesn’t budge, and you end up hurting your arm instead. He laughs watching you rub your bicep, “You really thought that would work? “
“Shut up.” He picks a drink and returns to the checkout page, you step up with your card, but he stands between you and the machine.
“It’s fine, consider it an exchange.“ You take a second to gawk at him and step maybe a foot away.
“An exchange for what?” He laughs again and quickly pays.
“Not the kind you’re thinking about. God, you and Mingi really are similar.” Before you can scold him for that comparison, he leads the way over to a free seating area. You take a seat beside him on an open couch, and he settles into his spot, crossing his arms. “Now, what happened with you and Mingi?”
“Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about–wait, he didn’t tell you?”
“He’s been refusing to speak to me, I wonder why.”
You gasp, “I can’t believe he’s victim-blaming.” You thought you whispered that but he chuckles. It doesn’t make any sense for him to punish Yunho for something you did.
“It’s fine. I’m not too worried about him. He’s always like that. After you guys fought, he came back and went straight to his room. I tried talking to him but he ignored me and left. I haven’t heard from him since, I was wondering if you knew–”
“I don’t.”
“Oh…” As he registers the news, they call your order number and he stands up to go get the drinks. It’s been four days and he still hasn’t told anyone? That’s really weird. Then again, what would he tell everyone? That he rejected you? Your fight caused a pretty big commotion. You’re sure a bunch of people heard everything you two said. You sigh thinking about how you’re just another crazy Mingi story now–“Well, don’t look too happy.”
“Oh, thanks.” You grab your drink out of his hands and place it on the coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “What are you doing here anyway? Isn’t your hometown a little bit farther?”
“Okay, stalker.”
“Shut up, Mingi told me.”
“Haha, yeah, makes sense. I just finished grading some papers for a class I TA for, so I’m heading home now. I saw this place as I was driving so I stopped in.”
“Really?”
“No y/n, I saw your car and did a stunt jump off a ramp on the freeway so I could meet you here. On my Spider-Man shit.”
“Aw, all that just to matcha and yap?” You take a sip of your drink, and your mood instantly improves. Yunho watches you light up and giggles to himself.
“Is it that good?” You warmly nod. He sips his drink while ruminating on something, “You seriously haven’t heard from him?”
“Do you think I’m keeping him captive in my basement or something?”
“I mean, it sounds like something he’d be into. “
“Who knows?”
“…you’d know, y/n.” You gently slap his arm.
“Shut up, that’s in the past now. Besides, I don’t think he’s worried about me, he rejected me.” You’re too busy having war flashbacks to notice the familiar look of sympathy on Yunho’s face. One way or another, you’ve somehow ended up complaining to Yunho about another man. He stares at you sipping your drink with a twinge of sadness plastered across your soft features. It makes his heart ache to see you go through one bad situation after another. Still looking away, thinking about that world-shattering rejection, you don’t register that Yunho is sitting closer to you.
“Hey, I’m not sure if this means anything to you, but he was really upset that night. I think he cried…” he places the gentle, consoling hand on your shoulder, but you swat him away.
“I don’t give a fuck! He literally told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship, word-for-word, when I asked him for something serious!” A few people seated around the two of you are now staring in your direction. If they were there, they’d get it. After Mingi made a fool of you and you made a fool of yourself, you poured your bleeding heart out to him just for him to tell you that the entire relationship, that he was so insistent on preserving, was a prank. The crushed hopes is one thing, but the public humiliation? That’s the worst part of this whole situation. You start to tear up thinking about it. These aren’t tears of sadness, but of anger. God, you really feel like a loser right now. It feels like you got used.
Yunho’s expression immediately drops once he sees you staring at the floor with fat droplets of tears building in your lower lash line. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was–” You sniffle and look to the side, he silently hands you a tissue that you take to rid yourself of the melancholy.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” You sniffle again in hopes of sucking some tears back into your eyes, but that’s not how that works. “I know you’re worried about your friend, but I really wanna put all of this behind me. It’s already embarrassing enough.” He looks at you with a strained expression.
“Hey, I’m really sorry. I had no idea he said that…” That’s shocking. You assumed after the argument, he went back inside to tell everyone you were another psycho bitch and it just wasn’t working; or at least that’s the narrative you created in your head. “We all just kinda assumed you dumped him because–you know, you kissed me.” You look at your feet, avoiding his gaze and the shame. You forgot you forcefully kissed Yunho, and you’re sitting here venting to him about his best friend after you may have ruined their friendship. Jeez, you’re really on a terrible person streak. Since you’re already getting everything off your chest, it might be good to tackle that “shame” as well.
“Yunho, I’m really sorry about...kissing–”
“No, it’s fine. I didn’t–Mingi was actually more distraught than me.” You scoff.
“Distraught? What does he have to be distraught about? Rejecting me? Piece of shit.” The last few sentences come out as mumbles and grumbles.
He looks at you, all tenderhearted, you know he means well but this is starting to feel like another pity party. You look at him, “What?”
“Nothing. I don’t believe that he rejected you, y/n.”
“Welp, I don’t know what to tell you–”
“I mean, he really likes you.”
“So?”
“I don’t know, I’m just shocked.”
“Ugh, do you wanna talk about something else or you wanna keep going with this Mingi thing?”
“We can talk about something else but this is kinda juicy.”
“Okay, well, I’m done with all this. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you on campus.” Sliding your keys and phone into the pocket of your beige winter coat, you stand up to leave. Seeing you get up so suddenly has Yunho rushing to block your way, “I’ll walk you to your car. For old time’s sake.” You smile, mildly amused by his strange actions and lead the way outside. As you’re walking, you think about how well-orchestrated this meeting between you and Yunho is. There’s also the fact that he tried to convince you to give Mingi another chance. You might be reaching, but why does this feel like an elaborate ploy? “You sure this is all just a coincidence? You running into me here?”
“No such thing as coincidences when you’re Spider-Man.” The words come out so casually from his mouth that you actually believe him for a second.
“What? What’re you talking about?” You laugh.
“Y/n chill, I just fuck with matcha.” You nod and then your acknowledgment turns into laughter.
“You’re so stupid.” You unlock your car, grab the handle, and pause before getting in. Turning around to look at Yunho one more time, you send him a sincere, genuine smile, “Thanks for hearing me out… as always.”
“Yeah, I got you. I love drama.”
“I’ll see you on campus?”
“Yeah, hopefully less drama then.” You giggle and enter your car. In addition to being tall and decently hot, you forgot that Yunho was also a good friend. Meeting Mingi has made you so lustful. You watch him walk to his car in the rearview mirror, then turn your car on and make your way home. While you are still sad about the whole Mingi problem, talking it out has definitely helped you see that you’re not missing out on anything. Maybe just a good fuck.
Later at night, you find yourself lying awake in bed, thinking about why you’re so upset when you barely even know the guy. It’s because Mingi brings out a different side of you. It’s a side of yourself you rarely explore, which is why he’s so addicting. He has you doing and saying things you would never even conjure a thought of. Being with him was exciting because you got to discover a new version of you, a very sexual one, but still new. It wasn’t just about the sex either, as much as you would’ve liked it to be. You also genuinely valued the connection you and Mingi had. He made you feel special—sexy, even. All the positive thoughts of Mingi fade when you realize you’re not the only girl who’s felt like this. From everything you’ve heard, he always makes girls feel special until he gets bored with them and moves on to the next one. Just a terrible cycle that only benefits him. When you think of it that way, it really puts into perspective that he’s not the person you thought he was. He’s actually the person he assured you he wasn’t. You’re mostly upset you gave him the benefit of the doubt. You won’t punish yourself for believing in the good of someone else, so while the hurt is still present, you must keep moving forward.
Not bringing any clothes is really the worst idea you’ve had in a while, either nothing fits or everything makes you look ten pounds heavier. Your friends are meeting up for your annual gift exchange, and you have nothing to wear. Your mom offered you some more of her cardigans; at this point, you have no choice. You’re all meeting today to build a gingerbread house so you’re gonna have to settle for your mom’s sweater and a pair of jeans that barely fit. This outfit has become your uniform ever since you came back.
Now that you don’t have to worry about school as much and there’s nothing to distract you from the shitty aspects of your life, all you can think about is Mingi. That might have been the one interesting thing in your life…jeez you really do need hobbies. You sigh as you walk up the steps to your friend’s porch. Ever since your fight with Mingi, whenever you think about him, you feel a dull heartache resonate through your body. You take a second before going inside to soothe your melancholy. As soon as you walk into your friend’s house, “Hey, I’m here,” it feels like the room goes silent. Everyone stops what they’re doing for a second and stares at you, not just a presence-acknowledging stare, but a lingering one. They already know what went on so why so awkward? “Guys… what’s up?” You awkwardly remove your jacket and scarf, placing them on the rack. They all send you sympathetic smiles and shaky “hi"s. “Oh my god! I know you guys know what happened. You guys are so bad at being subtle.” You slam yourself down on the couch, laughing but exacerbated. One of your friends brings the gingerbread house box to the coffee table and sits next to you. “Pookie, don’t be like that. We wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” Your tone softens up because you realize that they’re trying to be sensitive to your feelings. She places a hand on your shoulder and you put yours over it, “Seriously, I’m good.” The way everyone is stepping on eggshells around you makes you more aware of the fact that a guy who was into you first rejected you. Another friend brings a tray of drinks to the table and everyone else follows behind her, gathering around you. You lean forward to check what kind of beverage it is, you snatch up a mug when you see hot chocolate. You’ve had enough alcohol during the semester, it’s time to give your liver a break.
“Girl, we know you’re fine, it’s just shitty of him to do that to you.”
“Yeah…it was really shitty but I’ll be fine, seriously.”
“Listen, you’re allowed to be upset. We’re not judging you.”
“I know you guys aren’t–”
“We’re just worried because we know how you are. Don’t blame yourself for this…” All of a sudden you have no more words to deny their pushing. This whole time you’ve just been thinking about how your friends were right and how you should’ve heeded everyone’s warnings. Even though you know they’d never judge you, it’s hard for you to admit they were right. You can’t help but tear up thinking about it, clenching your jaw. “I didn’t even like him that much. I only said that we should be serious because I thought…” You pause, feeling that heartache. “I-I just thought we had something–more between us, y’know–“Before you can even finish that sentence everyone hugs you.
“It’s not your fault for thinking that.”
” I know,” you sniffle and swipe away a tear or two, “I guess, it’s just hard to understand why because I didn’t think–things would end like that.” The pauses are necessary for you to maintain your composure and keep tears from spilling.
“Yeah, we understand.” One of the friends hugging you rubs your shoulder to comfort you. “I’m really not trying to bother you, y/n. I know how upset you are about this but not talking about it and saying ‘you’re fine’ will just make it worse.”
“Yeah, y/n, you’re not alone. We’ve all been through this. How many times have you had to hug us like this?” You look down as a tear runs down your cheek, quickly wiping it away. You nod, and a smile creeps onto your tear-stained face. Your friends take a couple more minutes taking turns to give you words of comfort, advice, and general support; all except one person. Everyone turns to look at the one friend, the one who accompanied you to the party, who’s been silently rubbing your knee this whole time.
“–Oh. Girl, fuck him and his goofy ass face. Let’s build this house.” Everyone laughs. While that may seem abrupt and insensitive to everyone else, it was what you needed to hear right now. You said this to yourself, Yunho, your friends, and basically anyone who knows about the situation, you’re ready to put all of this behind you. You don’t necessarily mean to elude your feelings; you barely got over your last heartbreak, only to fall into another. You wanna be free from someone else making you feel like shit. You need to find hobbies or some sort of distraction to get through this. Upon being handed a frosting tube, you begin laying down some foundation for the house.
You’re not sure why you forgot that building a gingerbread house sucks, but the second you started, you immediately remembered how much you hate doing it. The house fell apart multiple times until you gave up and started eating whatever frosting was left in your tube. “Y/n, I talked to that promoter I know and we’re leaving at 8 for New Year’s. So put that in your schedule or whatever.” You giggle because of how thoughtful she is. You begged her to finalize the New Year’s plans because you wanted to plan the day before and after.
“8? Isn’t that super early?”
“We need to pick up our wristbands. Don’t forget the dress, I want to take a picture of all of us with the skyline before it gets too crowded.” You slap your hand against your forehead because this is something you’re also not sure you forgot. The entire friend group decided to wear semi–matching dresses for New Year’s. You guys are going to some rooftop. One of your roommates, the one who knows every bartender, promoter, and bouncer ever, managed to get you guys into a New Year’s eve party. The theme is Y2K, but you all said fuck that and went with the classic sparkly black dresses. Yours is absolutely gorgeous, it’s the only midi dress of the group, but it has a very high slit going right up to the point where your panties would show.
Sidenote aside, now you have to go back to your apartment because you forgot your entire party outfit. You frown thinking about that stupid fucking mysterious force that constantly has you bumping into Mingi whenever you don’t want to see him. It’s fine, it’ll just be a quick in and out. Plus, you need clothes for your family’s Christmas dinner, since wearing your mom’s clothes is starting to run its course. Your friends have already made fun of you twice. While everyone’s busy snapping photos of the fully decorated gingerbread house, you’re still stuck on the couch, licking the frosting spoon, thinking about how you can avoid Mingi at all costs. There’s no way he’d be in town for any reason but you just have to make sure. You decide to text Yunho to subtly get the scoop on Mingi’s latest whereabouts.
-Heyy
Staring at that awkward text, you realize you should’ve put more thought into how you’d start a conversation with him. When you see him typing, you nearly throw your phone across the room, but manage to control your reaction.
-hey what’s up??
-matcha yap round two??
You quietly chuckle thinking about him using the word “yap” so casually.
-Oh lol no
-Maybe but I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Mingi around lately?
He starts typing, then stops, then starts again. A full minute passes of you, staring at your screen way too intently waiting for him to give you a response.
-yeahh we’re together right now
You’re about to shit your heart and stomach out. You could not have chosen a worse time to text Yunho. Before you can change the topic of the conversation, Yunho sends you a selfie of him and Mingi playing a video game, with Mingi sitting next to him focused on the game. This is the longest you’ve gone without seeing him and God, does he look so good. He’s wearing a plaid button-up with a pair of black glasses. He has so many accessories, mostly different glasses, rings, and necklaces. You have a very distinct memory of Mingi removing his rings before you did it. His hair is a little puffy, swept to the side with a slight wave to it, he might’ve showered not too long ago. His hair naturally dries like that. He likes to leave it sometimes because some days he likes the “natural vibes”, as he describes it. The glasses are nearing the tip of his nose, possibly sliding off due to the angle. He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, a controller in his hands. The large, ring-clad hands fully engulf the controller, and you remember just how big they are. How they fully wrapped around yours. Shit. You’ve been staring at the photo for too long. You should say something.
-Glad to see that you two made up
-aw is that why you texted???
-Yes I’m very worried about your friendship
-no need to worry
-Thank god
-thought you wanted to move on miss independent??🤨🤨
Is he suddenly funny or are you deathly nervous because you’re laughing at every text he sends?
-Nooo I was planning on heading back to my apartment and I didn’t want to run into him
-you’re safe miss independent
-Thank you kind sir
Kind sir? You were trying to be funny, but isn’t that kind of cringe? No no you must remain positive, it was hilarious. At least now you know it’s safe to go back to your apartment without having to worry about running into the devil himself.
“Y/n, join the festivities or we’re kicking you out.” It’s way too cold outside for them to even be threatening something like that. With haste, you hop off the couch and head over to the kitchen island to stand with your friends. At the same time, they continue to vie for whoever captures the most Instagram–worthy picture. You suck at taking photos, so you’re letting them handle this.
“So… Who were you texting?”
“No one–”
“Yeah, y/n. You never told us about that guy you kissed. Mr. Physics?” Your eyes widen, and your movements still. You peered over to the friend that accompanied you to the party. She immediately avoids eye contact, you narrow your eyes at her, but she still doesn’t look your way.
“I say you should’ve fucked him.” You gasp as the room fills with laughter. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head on one of your friend’s shoulders, helping her adjust the camera angle to the best of your ability.
On the drive home, you think about how hanging out with your friends is so healing after your self–imposed isolation. All that wallowing really did a number on your mood, edging you ever so closer into a seasonal depression. After today, you’ve successfully avoided that terrible outcome, even though this is your worst breakup yet, if you can even call it that. Once home and in your bedroom, you fall back on your bed and stare up at the ceiling. This whole time you’ve been feeling like you’re the one who made the mistake but you’re not at fault. He genuinely had no reason to lead you on like that. A couple more days of overthinking Mingi’s behavior has made you realize that he really is the master manipulator everyone makes him out to be. It’s actually kind of impressive because he seems so dumb. When you actually think about it, anyone would fall for it and there’s some comfort in that knowledge.
Two days before Christmas, you’ve officially run out of clothes to wear; down to your last pair of underwear. You’re out of bras, in the lowest of lows, you even tried your bra from middle school which, of course, didn’t fit. It might be time to go back to your apartment. Truth be told, it’s not even about Mingi anymore, you’re just lazy. Your daily routine of waking up at noon, watching TV shows and movies all day, and then going to bed at 4am has been hitting the spot lately. Since you waited so long to get your clothes, you either have to do two huge loads of laundry or go to the apartment and pack a suitcase. Packing a suitcase seems like a lot less work so you grab your keys and head out of your house after dinner and maybe a movie or two.
The drive takes less than 15 minutes because it’s the middle of the night, hence, no traffic. You pull into the parking lot next to your building and notice how the town is basically empty. It really does feel like a ghost town around the holidays. Upon leaving your car, the cold winter wind rips through your body and you immediately regret not wearing more layers. A hoodie with nothing underneath will not suffice for these freezing temperatures. You rush over to your front door and it begins to snow. You really should’ve checked the Weather app before driving over. As you’re pulling your keys out, your phone starts to vibrate, it’s your downstairs neighbor calling. Sliding your finger across the screen you put the phone in the nook between your ear and shoulder as you bring the key to the lock. “Hey, what’s up!” It’s too dark to see the lock, so you shift your head to let the streetlight illuminate your door.
“Hey y/n, sorry to call so late, but I just saw you pulling in. I have some of your mail. I’m just getting back from a run so I can give it to you. I’m just around the corner. Be there soon.”
“Oh yeah, totally, no problem! Take your time.” You hear footsteps and turn around to him walking towards you from across the street. He’s a lovely older gentleman in his late 30s getting his PhD. You guys don’t really talk much but because his apartment is 1A and yours is 1B, so the mailman often gets mixed up. You grab your phone from your shoulder as you hear him drawing nearer, approaching you from behind. You turn around to say hi. “Hey–” You choke on your words.
“Y/n?” Your body freezes and you drop your phone. That’s not your neighbor. The figure draws closer into the light of your front steps, you turn back around and jam the key into the door. What the fuck are the odds? You go stiff, your heart sinks, and your stomach turns. As much as you hate to say it again, you’d fucking recognize that deep voice anywhere. You can hear him walking towards you, but don’t turn around. Instead, you opt to make your way into the building as soon as possible if you can get this shit to open. The front door has always had this problem: you have to jiggle the key a bit to get it to unlock. “Y/n.” There it is again, this time a bit closer. Holy fuck. You might just shit yourself right here. The sheer amount of shock you’re feeling right now could actually make you faint. Your breathing becomes erratic. Your head is spinning. You won’t turn around, you can’t, it’s too soon. You just started to heal–for fuck’s sake, why won’t the door open?! You keep jiggling the fucking key but luck is never on your side. “Hey, I just wanna talk. Please, hear me out.” He’s right behind you. You want to sink to the floor and disappear. You’d rather pluck out all of your lashes individually with a tweezer than talk to him right now. Seems like the gods finally heard you because your door opens allowing you to hastily make your way inside and slam the door shut behind you, but you’re not fast enough. Both of you put your full body weight on either side of the door. “Hey! Just listen–” You push even harder placing both hands on the door. You’ve never had to work this hard to open or close a door before. Obviously, you’re not as strong as him so he manages to overpower you and push the door open just enough so he can slip his way inside. As soon as he’s standing in the hallway in front of you, you turn around and make a dash for the stairs before even looking at him. Shout-out to epinephrine because your fight-or-flight is working today. He grabs your hand before you get too far away from him, “Y/n, please just give me a minute and I’ll leave. I promise.” You resist his grasp on you, still refusing to look at him. “Baby–” He attempts to pull you closer to him, but you snatch your hand away, or at least try to.
“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me!” You whip your head around, still struggling against him.
“I know you’re upset–”
“What are you even doing here? I mean–how did you even–are you stalking me!?” After failing to free yourself, you yield, leaving your arm in his grasp. There’s nothing you can do now. I mean, you could scream for help–
“I’ve been waiting outside your building for the past week hoping I’d catch you.”
“What?! That doesn’t even make sense–you don’t even–did Yunho tell you?” Stumbling over your words like a toddler, your frustration knows no bounds right now. There’s a million thoughts running through your mind and your brain is frying trying to pinpoint just one thing to be upset about. You even fucking planned to avoid him. Were you set up? What the actual fuck?
“He didn’t tell me…but I saw your name pop up on his phone and…I kinda went through it when he was in the bathroom.”
“What is the point of that, you psycho? You rejected me, remember?”
“Baby–y/n, I didn’t reject you—“
“Yeah? Then what does ‘I’m not ready for a relationship’ mean?!”
“Y/n, as soon as you left I came after you but you left your apartment. I waited outside for a while because you blocked me on everything.”
“That’s not true. You didn’t ‘immediately’ come.”
“Okay, I took some time to process but I swear I came after you.” His gaze softens as he pleads for your attention, trying to make you face him. “At least look at me.” You feel all your anger starting to fizzle away when he looks at you like that, but you try your best to turn away again
and remember what he’s done to you.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk or see me. I’m not letting things end this way–I’m not letting things end at all.”
Once again, he tries to close the distance between you and him, you resist, but this time he overpowers you with his strength. You stand under his gaze, it feels like a spotlight, you don’t have the nerve to actually make eye contact. He nudges your phone towards you and you grab it, slipping it in your pocket. “About what I said that night. I just said I wasn’t ready because that’s what I always do. But when I saw you walking away–I don’t know, something just didn’t feel right.” His hand loosens up on your wrist and both of his hands slither their slimy way onto your hips as he draws you in. A gesture so disgustingly familiar that you forget to be mad and allow his touch to rest on you. “When I went back inside, I felt like shit and–I–I didn’t know why. I tried to call you, but you blocked me. And then, I got really mad and deleted your number, but I realized that was really fucking stupid. So I tried going to your apartment but there’s no numbers on those stupid ass bells so I kept ringing the wrong one. Your neighbor actually yelled at me, saying he was gonna call the cops–”
“Okay! Can you get to the point?”
“Yeah, sorry. What I mean to say is I thought a lot and I really can’t see myself happy without you. I want you to be my girlfriend–”
“No.”
“What?!” You pull your body away from his hands, he’s too shocked to pull you back in. “Why?”
“Genuinely, I don’t think you’re a good person. I don’t think you have it in you to be a good partner. Also, you’re a whore. All you care about is sex. You use every girl you meet and you bait all of them by being this nice, sweet guy, but then dump everyone once you get bored.” He just stares at you, you’re not sure how to decipher his expression. It’s a mix of surprise, anger, shock, fear. There’s some pride in staying strong and rejecting him. He just stands there, with that same expression. Truth is, no one’s ever said any of this to Mingi. He knows it’s partly true, but for some reason, it hurts that this is your perception of him.
“I’m literally in love with you–”
“No, you’re not.” You turn back to the stairs, hoping this is the rejection that sets him straight. You can only take one step before you are tugged back under that terrible spotlight once again. “There’s no way you changed your mind in one week. I know you still have feelings for me.”
“Of course I do, we had a very personal relationship. I’m not gonna be over you in just a couple days but I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not healthy.”
“And you mean that?”
“Yes, now can you let me go? I have somewhere to be–”
“No. You’re wrong. It was never just about sex with you.”
“That’s your interpretation–”
“Y/n, I genuinely really love you.” That evil glare he always has on his face is suddenly absent, overtaken by this wide-eyed, desirous look. “That’s not just something I say. This is my first time saying it to someone–”
“Okay. Great. Let me go.” You manage to pull your arm away from his grasp and take another step towards the stairs, but he grabs you again.
“Y/n, I’m really not trying to bother you, but we really need to talk this out. We have something.”
“We’ve talked enough. Let me go or I’ll scream–”
“Scream. I don’t care. You can’t just let go of what we had–”
“I can do whatever I want. I literally asked you to be serious and you said no. Why do you think you can just show up at my apartment and I’ll drop to my knees because you think you love me or something? Now. Let. Me. Go.”
“No, I’m not letting you walk away from this.”
“Mingi–” You can feel the anger bubbling up in your stomach. “Why are you so persistent right now? You had no problem letting me walk away crying that night! You don’t get to do that to me, in public mind you, and walk in here like you own shit.” You shove him away with your other hand, his shoulder moves but his body stays in front of you. “Let go.”
“Fine, but–” He unhands you and you turn around to finally start walking up the stairs. “Y/n, can we please just talk about this?” You don’t respond and keep walking. When your silence is followed by his, you start to worry that he has given up. Just as a stroke of disappointment settles in your heart, he pulls you off the steps, forcing you to come crashing against him as you lose your balance. “Mingi, for fuck’s sake! I could’ve fallen down the stairs!”
“I’m sorry, y/n. Please, just give me another chance. I don’t wanna be away from you anymore.” He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding his face in the cranny of your neck. “Y/n, I’m sorry. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.” He removes a hand from your waist and grabs your face, your immediate reaction is to pry him off you.
“Let go–”
“Y/n, please.” His left arm stays around your lower back, pressing you back against the mailboxes. Your one hand claws at his, trying to force him to let go of your face and your other hand is placed against his throat, pushing him back. He attempts to put his lips on yours but your hand forces him away. Your hand remains on his lips, he kisses your palm, his tongue gently lips at the skin. A reddish hue overtakes his expression. Letting go of your face, he tenderly pushes your palm further against his lips and this time he places an open-mouth kiss against it. His tongue carefully licking a circle over the spot he just kissed. You know that move. “Baby…please,” his muffled words come out so desperate that you lower your hand from his face, entranced by him. Your hand fists the collar of his sweatshirt urging him away. Unphased by this, he hovers closer. Moving just slow enough to make sure you’re in agreement with his actions. His nose brushes against yours and his heat encompasses you. You take a deep breath through your nose, turning your face away when you exhale a trembling heave. Mingi doesn’t budge, remaining just as close. He patiently waits for you to move away or say something in retaliation, but nothing happens. The brief pause only makes the alarms going off in your head fifteen times worse. This drunken haze has your head spinning, you can’t think. As a last-minute attempt, you force your hand on his neck. His struggling gasps don’t move you as you keep applying pressure but he doesn’t back away. You lose all the strength in that arm when he looks at you like that, eyelids droopy, lips slightly parted. The hand on his collar even pulls him closer to you. His lips loom over yours, almost as if he’s waiting for your permission. The familiar smell of his cologne rushes into your senses as he wraps around you. Somehow he always knows what you want. Your eyes flutter shut and the hand resting on his chest wraps around his neck, tugging him nearer. You want him. He places his lips on yours causing you to immediately stop resisting him in every way. Letting go of his collar, your other hand slides up to his jaw to draw him in. The second your lips interlock with his, you immediately remember how much you missed this. It’s not desire; you can’t even find the words to describe what you’re feeling. His touch just feels right. The side of his face is dotted with melted snow; his skin is cold to the touch, but you feel like you’re on fire. You’re a little too eager to have both arms wrapped around his neck reaching up on your tippy toes as you slip your tongue into his mouth. When you calmly let your guard down, Mingi takes the opportunity to turn you around, now he has his back to the mailboxes as you stand in front of him, trying your best to reach his lips. His hands slide down your back, onto your ass. His right hand follows the curve of your body, his right hand runs down the side of your left thigh, lifting it up as he dips you back to keep kissing you. He slowly pulls back, biting at your lip, pulling it away with him. A motion so quick you forget to feel pain because of how scintillating the environment has suddenly become. Caught in a cycle of brief kisses and messy makeouts, you don’t even hear someone fiddling with the front door. He stands upright, and you follow his lead, back to the original position where you’re struggling to reach his plump lips. Your hands fall to his chest, tugging at the material. You whine, “You’re too far.” He giggles and his hands maneuver away from your ass to delicately push you off his body. Your eyebrows furrow. Whatever desire was building in your core is now dissipating into that familiar anger you were feeling. Before you can express your discontent, your front door swings open, and your eyes land on your neighbor. Upon spotting you, he waves and starts making his way over. You assume Mingi is just out of his sight behind a pillar as you turn your body towards him.
“Hey! Sorry, hope I didn’t have you waiting too long–” He makes it far enough to notice Mingi’s presence against the mailboxes and his expression immediately changes. “You! So you do know y/n.”
“Yeah, like I was telling you…” He sneers. You can hear the attitude in his deep voice and turn around to send a glare his way because his words are a bit harsh.
“Well, when you see a strange man lingering around a girl’s apartment it’s only right to be suspicious.” Your neighbor shoots back at him and you laugh at his remark. “Anyway, if you would just excuse me–” Mingi is standing against the wall of mailboxes with his arms crossed as your neighbor walks towards him with his key but stops in his tracks when Mingi doesn’t move. He looks around confused, wondering why this man is standing in front of him with a key. “Excuse me.” You grab the sleeve of Mingi’s shirt, pulling him towards you as your neighbor unlocks his compartment and starts rummaging through the stack of mail behind the tiny door. He pulls out two envelopes and hands them to you. “There we go.” He takes a second and looks between the two of you before saying, “Next time you want a girl’s attention, try throwing rocks at her window instead of ringing every bell.” Placing your hands over your lips to stop yourself from laughing at his blatant taunts, you look over at a seething Mingi, who’s clenching his jaw. That glare you sent him earlier was enough to make him grasp the message you were sending. So, instead of retorting, he fakes a smile and nods. After the older gentleman shuffles into his apartment, you turn to Mingi and give him a thumbs-up.
“I didn’t even hear him coming in.”
“I know.” A smug expression, that you are very acquainted with, creeps on his face. “Let’s talk.” He nudges his head towards the stairs, turning your body with his large hands and pushing you in the same direction. You angrily shove his hands away from you to walk up the stairs, “I’m going, don’t push!” He follows behind, smiling to himself. You really need to regain your composure and not let your needs get the better of you.
The apartment is empty, just like you knew it would be. You sit on the couch instead of walking to your room and Mingi is evidently confused by this change of routine. He’s never been in your living room longer than the two minutes it takes the two of you to say bye to each other. “No one’s home?” Shaking your head no, your hand pats the spot next to you. You mainly did this so you two can properly discuss everything. You also don’t want to be seduced by the thought of him fucking you because lord knows that’s the only thing on your mind since he spawned in front of you. He takes a seat a little too close to you so you scoot away.
“Seriously?”
“Say what you have to say.”
“Y/n, I love you.” You roll your eyes and let out a displeased sigh. “Don’t do that. You know I do…” You don’t say anything, all you do is cross your arms and turn away from him. “Y/n–” He scooches toward you and you stand up.
“Mingi, I don’t want this anymore.”
“What is ‘this’?”
“You. I don’t want you anymore.”
“Don’t say that. We just kissed, you’re saying you felt nothing?”
“That’s different. It’s a bodily reaction.”
“Baby, I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up, I swear. I seriously didn’t mean to upset you–”
“Well, you did. So, what now? Huh?” He stands up and walks toward you.
“Now, let me make it up to you.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work then? Because I’m here, and I mean it when I say that I will do anything.” Standing maybe four feet away from you, he looks like he’s ready to eat you whole. You don’t know whether to feel scared or overjoyed. Now you have to think about what to make him do. As you rake your mind for embarrassing ideas, he slowly closes the distance between you two until he’s only maybe nine inches away from your face.
“In public, you have to beg me to take you back. Loud enough for everyone to hear you. Then, maybe, I’ll consider–”
“Done.”
“You haven’t even finished listening to what I’m gonna say.”
“I don’t care as long as you consider letting me interact with you again.” Such corny words really should be more offputting than they are, you turn your face away to hide a spreading smile.
“Desperate ass.”
“Fuck yeah.”
He aggressively cups your face to kiss you. You reach up to push him away, but his lips are so soft and you’re too weak-willed to stop yourself. Instead, you wrap your arms around his waist and kiss him back. His lips place peck after peck all over your mouth. Everything feels so perfect. You missed him so much–but that doesn’t erase the last ten days of misery. The constant tug-of-war between your logic and your emotions is draining you. It’s tough for you to not be swayed by his words, especially when he knows exactly what you want to hear. You find some strength to push him away but he won’t let you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of affection. “Mingi–stop,” you turn your face away, for a second he actually stops.
“Listen, I understand how you feel, but I’m just asking for a chance. Please.” Your eyes search his for any semblance of dishonesty, but you know he’s being sincere. That’s what scares you. The fact that you can choose to invest yourself into this again, and it could very easily rip you to pieces, again. Your face, still in his hands, flips through a series of expressions: confused, scared, anxious, hesitant, even happy. He can tell you’re putting a lot of thought into your following words, he wants to respect that. Instead of occupying your mouth, he turns his attention elsewhere. You moan (and stop thinking) when he bites your neck, “Take your time, princess. No pressure at all.” It’s been so long since you’ve had to put in effort to resist him that you physically can’t do it anymore. He knows every way to get you and your body to bend to his will. “What are you thinking about?” He licks a line to your ear from your neck and nibbles on your ear lobe. He starts walking backwards and sits on the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your plan failed. All you can think about is riding him as he sucks a hickey onto your neck. “Come on, baby, tell me.”
“Mingi, stop–” he immediately retracts himself from you and suddenly you’re freezing.
“I’m not gonna force you, you say the word and I’ll stop.” Pulling his hands back, away from your body, he waits for you to give him the go or the no; as you sit facing him on his lap.
“You’re not forcing me–”
You’re cut off by a moan when you feel his cold fingers under your hoodie, against your bare back. His hands start pulling up your hoodie. The cold air hitting your bare stomach brings you back to reality for a second. You tsk and slide off his lap to sit next to him but still facing him. You can’t make it this easy for him. He leaves his right hand on your left hip.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, breathless. His eyes scan your face, there’s no genuine anger. If anything, you look sad.
“I hope you’re not stupid enough to think you can make it up to me with—.”
“You think I’m that dumb?”
“Yes.” He giggles and tucks a strand a hair behind your ear.
“I am, but not that dumb. I have other plans. I’m just excited to see you again.”
“We’re not a thing, okay?”
“That’s fine.” He looks so pleased with himself. Ugh. This is all happening too fast.
“I’m gonna talk to other guys too.” His face drops. You’re not actually going to do that. You just wanna see how far he’s willing to go, which is definitely toxic but you have to be sure. He’s biting his lower lip, thinking, then lets out a sigh.
“That’s fine. I made a mistake. Just know that I wanna be with you. I don’t care about anything else.” While hearing those words has you over the moon, you can’t help but search for any signs of hesitance on his face. To your fortune/misfortune he looks genuinely sure of his words. A wave of relief washes over your body. All the tension and anxiety you were holding onto fades. As difficult as it is to admit, you are a forgiving girl. But he hurt you and you’ll be working hard to remember his crimes against you.
His thumb swipes across your cheek and you, naturally, turn your face into his palm. “I love you.” Those words finally settle in your mind, allowing you to acknowledge the truth of the situation. You freeze and pull back, feeling a little awkward but he doesn’t waver. Something about this feels way too good to be true.
“I don’t know, Mingi. I don’t trust you having this sudden realization–”
“It’s not sudden. I’ve been very into you, for like a while now. I send you ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ texts for fuck’s sake. When you blocked me on everything, bro I tweaked out.”
“I mean, can you blame me?”
“No, I get it, baby.” He leans forward and pecks your cheek. “I’m sorry I put you through that, princess. Never again.”
“Ugh, shut up. You’re so confusing.” You push his face back and sit facing forward.
“What’s so confusing?” He chuckles, scooting his body towards you. His arm wraps around your shoulders but you shake him off.
“You don’t seem to realize that you’re asking a lot from me. I don’t trust you.”
“Okay, don’t trust me, don’t do anything. Just let me keep seeing you. I wanna show you how I feel about you. I’m not rushing you into anything.” That doesn’t seem like a bad deal on your end. Plus, how can you say no to him when he speaks so fondly?
Ugh, is it really that easy for him? Are you just easily manipulated?
“I don’t know. I have to think.” Trying to keep some mystery to your choices despite your emotions being fully plastered on your face
“Okay, think.”
“Shut up, Mingi.”
“I fucking love when you say that to me–” He tries to put is arm around you again to kiss your cheek but you stand up and walk towards your room. He snickers and follows you. When he walks into the room, he locks the door behind him. Upon hearing the “click” of the lock, you stop rummaging through your closet and turn around to a smug Mingi posted up on the door. You gesture for him to come over. You’re turned around, going through the drawers of your closet. He bites his lip and slinks over to you. “What’re you looking for?” He stands behind you, placing his hands on your hips and kisses the back of your neck, exposed by your updo. His lips reach around to the side of your neck as he continues placing small kisses. You don’t respond, looking up to the top shelf of your closet. On your tippy toes, you’re reaching for something that’s just out of sight. Mingi feels you struggling and reaches over you to grab the item. It’s your suitcase. “Are we running away together?” Carefully, maneuvering it so he doesn’t hit you, his firm chest presses against your back.
“No.” You grab the suitcase from his hands, push him back to make space for it on the ground, and zip it open. He stands in the same spot, confused about what you’re doing. You stand up again to pull some clothes out of the drawers and off hangers to hand them to him. When you notice he’s not moving, you look at him sternly and say, “Fold the clothes, Mingi.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course.” He sits on the floor in front of the open suitcase, behind you, carefully placing the folded clothes in the compartment. There’s a pile of clothes beside him, which you keep adding to. Once you’re done taking out all your clothes, you take a seat across from him on the other side of the suitcase, and begin folding the clothes from the pile as well.
“You need this many clothes?”
“Yeah, I didn’t take anything with me when I left.”
“Why? I would’ve assumed you packed a week before leaving.”
“Oh I don’t know, I was very…upset when I left.”
“Right…sorry.” There’s a brief silence as Mingi looks down, ashamed. You snicker, and he looks up, his expression changing. “Any plans for Christmas?”
“Just having dinner with my family.”
“Can I come see you when you’re done?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll take that.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“Okay, then you let me know.”
“What are you even trying to do?”
“Get you back–” You start to get angry. Gripping a shirt you just folded, you throw it at his face. “Hey! The fuck was that for?” You keep finding different articles of clothing to toss in his face. His hands block his face and occasionally catch a pair of pant or a shirt, attempting to shield himself. He reaches over the suitcase to grab your wrist. “Stop!” With one wrist apprehended, you calmly reach behind you and grab anything to toss at him. Unfortunately, it’s a pair of pink lacey underwear; even worse, it’s a pair that he knows very well. When the thin piece of fabric is thrown in his face, he lets go of your wrist to catch it. Embarrassed out of your mind you lunge at him, trying to take it back. He reaches his arm forward to keep you back, “now I’m keeping this.” You’re doing your very best to get it back from him, but you can’t beat his strength. He holds the underwear high up and back while simultaneously managing your flailing arms. You stand up on your knees to give yourself more balance, but he continues to push back on your sternum with his forearm, careful as to not use too much force. He turns to the side and brings the panties close to his face, taking a deep sniff. You scream at his obscene actions, “Ew! Mingi give it back!” He turns back to you with a long face and tosses them in your direction.
“Ugh, they’re clean. I can’t smell anything.” You shove his arm away.
“What’s wrong with you? Weirdo–” You start to crawl back to your original spot to continue your packing but Mingi grabs your ankle causing you to trip. Caught off guard, you fall on your side, then turn to your back as he slowly finds himself on top of you.
“If that’s gross, then you definitely won’t wanna know what I did when you weren’t talking to me.” You squint at him as he smiles down at you, you scoff and roll your eyes.
“Probably something deprived.” Waiting for a response from him, you turn away, but he stays silent. You face him to urge a response. “So?”
“You wanna know?”
“Ugh,” placing your hand on his shoulder, you push him away and sit up but he keeps you sitting in front of him before you move. He hovers closer but you avoid eye contact because you know he’s about to say something that will fry your brain.
“You know I have a pair of yours. From our first time.” You think back to that night a few months ago. You do recall him taking them but you were too caught up in the moment to question it. You think to yourself, what could he possibly do with that? “It hits the spot when I miss…” he slowly pushes you to your back but instead lying down you hold yourself up on your elbows, confused. He lowers himself until he’s suspended before your center and places a hand on the back of your thigh, pulling your legs apart, “certain parts of you.” He ends the sentence by placing a kiss on your clothed core. You know you should stop him, but… a girl has her needs. That small kiss was enough to get you soaking your underwear despite the guilt. He looks up at you from in between your legs and rests his head on your thigh. “You can tell me to stop.” Without daring to utter a word, you simply look away. Out of sight, off your conscience. He lingers there, waiting for you to say something to him but you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. You feel like you’re betraying yourself. Is all the anxiety he gives you worth feeling good for an hour?
He whines, gripping your thigh as he bites it. Something tells you this will be worth it. Yolo. You’ve already spent enough time trying to be a responsible, hardworking student. While you got the grades you wanted, a small part of you always regretted sacrificing a social life for it. You’re basically done with college, you’ve earned a few months of young stupidity. With a new mindset, you decide to end this ceaseless war between your mind and body by doing the easy thing: letting him take charge.
“Show me.”
He snaps his head up to find you staring down at him with a cute little smirk on your face. “Hm? Show you what?” He feigns confusion.
“That you missed me.” His smile widens as he bites his lip and immediately goes to remove your pants.
“Yes ma’am.” He sits up to make quick work of tossing your sweatpants and underwear aside. The cold air hitting your bare core causes you to snap your legs shut, but he pries you open again. “Stop that, let me see.” You can feel your arousal seeping out as Mingi stares down at you. His eyes are glued to your glistening center until they land on yours. You wish you could say that you shyly looked away, but you stare back at him and gesture towards where you need him with your eyes. He laughs, scrunching his nose. “You’re so needy–”
“And you’re on thin ice.” He bites his lip again, this time to hold in his reaction to your warning. Heeding your words, he drags two fingers through your folds gathering your slick. Your whole body shudders and you keep in a moan. You don’t want him to know just how desperate you are because you’re kinda enjoying this power trip. “Don’t worry baby, I’m workin’.” Those two fingers promptly enter you and you yelp, falling off your elbows. Now on your back, as he gently pumps his fingers in and out of you. A slight burn of desire surges through your nerves but you know this won’t be enough to satiate you. He watches your face as you go through fifteen emotions at once just to settle on dissatisfaction. As his fingers reach deeper and deeper inside you, you grow hungrier. The more his fingers bottom out, the louder the noises. Mingi’s thanking God that your eyes are clamped shut because he is so giddy watching you enjoy yourself. Your quiet gasps turn into whines, “Mingi~more.” He slides his fingers out causing you to convulse, losing the sensation. Your confused face turns to anger as you sit up and see Mingi pulling his hair back. Right as you’re about to question him, he grabs the hair tie on your wrist and ties his hair back. “Your hair has gotten so long.” You brush a couple strands back. He nods and grabs your face to kiss you but you pull away. “No.”
“What? Shut up–” he grabs your face again and tries to kiss you but you reject his advances once more.
“You gotta earn that.” You’re all smug as you sit in front of him, core fully exposed and Mingi is loving every second of it. This terrible attitude that you have today is so starkly different from your usual compliant behavior; although different, the change is definitely welcomed.
“I will.” He hooks your legs over his shoulders, causing you to almost fall back on the ground, but you manage to catch yourself with one hand behind you. He lies on his stomach on the floor of your bedroom, lowering himself to eye level with your opening. You don’t move an inch, allowing him to come to you, eyes trained on his figure. When you feel his calm breath over you, your head leans to the side in anticipation, but before making a move, he cranes his neck up and says, “Make sure you watch.” You look at him, shocked, but he just laughs. “I know you like watching.” Still holding your gaze, he latches his lips around your clit and gently sucks. His eyes narrow as they watch your expression. Immediately, your hand goes to fist his hair. One hand in his hair and the other propping you up behind you. Feet suspended in the air, over his shoulders. Toes curling as his lips unlatch and the tip of his tongue flicks over it. You cry out but stop out of habit, then you remember that no one’s home, so you can moan till your heart’s content. This might actually be the first time you and Mingi are alone and not in a car. He tears himself away from your addicting taste, “I fucking love you,” the words come out as rough and hoarse as ever. He kisses your thigh and spits on your cunt before diving back in. His hands wrap around your thighs and grab at your waist under your hoodie, dragging you flush against his face. He drags his tongue from your hole to your clit. Your hand pushes some strands of hair away from his face to get a better look at him. Feeling your eyes burning holes into the top of his head, he turns his face up to catch your gaze. His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and smilingly sucks on it, playing with it. “Am I earning that kiss?” His dialogue, muffled by your skin.
You don’t say anything, only releasing a shaky, quiet moan then biting your lip. Your hand tugs at his hair, pushing his face towards your warmth. He laughs with his mouth still against you and groans in pleasure. He brings the expanse of his tongue against your entire core then kisses your clit while gently suckling at it. The continual lapping from his tongue is just about to push you over the edge but what really gets you is when he sinks two fingers deep into you. You cry out as your hips begin swaying back and forth. With every forward movement, his tongue sweeps against your clit while his thick fingers flow deeper into you. If you died in this moment, you’d die a happy, sexually content woman. You buck your hips toward his face while your hand drives him further against you by his hair. He grunts, feeling you fisting his hair. Your feet flex and your back arches as you feel a knot getting ready to unravel yet your hand stays stubbornly in his hair. You’re enjoying the anchorage it gives you. Every motion of yours is so in sync with his, it’s like he has a manual to your body. Your neck cranes to the side as you approach your release. The cold room is now suffocating you with the humidity.
The sounds are ungodly and deafening. Your eyes shut and you clench your jaw, you’re at your peak. Your mouth falls open. Slack jawed, you begin to babble a flurry of words. A mix of curses, his name, even proclamations of love but he can’t hear anything because your legs are shut around his head. You shake, pulling on his hair, you yell, “fuck!” As your release spills out of you, your arm gives out and you fall flat onto your back on the carpet. Your chest heaves up and down, trying to stabilize your heart beat. Mingi sits up on his knees and removes his shirt. Hearing his necklace jingle, you pick your neck up to look at him. Fully expecting to see him beaming at you, proud of his mastery, you’re shocked to see an emotion-less stare. When he starts making his way toward you, you flinch, unable to read his expression. He stops, “Can I?”
“Yeah…” His figure hovers over yours and he reaches down to kiss you.
“Hold on to me.” In a flash, you’re lifted off the floor and placed on the edge of your mattress. Bracing yourself with your hands, you watch him remove his jeans. Once done with himself, he lifts your hoodie up and off your body, leaving you entirely bare to his eyes. He leans in and you close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you but his lips make contact with your neck instead. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you curl into him as he bites and kisses at your skin. His hands are placed on either side of your hips, which is definitely ticking you off. You go to express the desire for him to touch you, but instead of authoritative, your words come out more as a plea. Which he, of course, laughs at. You push him away, readying a tantrum to ruin the mood he’s working hard to set up. He recedes with a smile on his face. Thank God, because the face he made earlier was very off-putting.
“What?” His playful demeanor never ceases to turn you on.
“Don’t laugh!” He leans in but your face is turned away and your arms are crossed over your breasts.
“But you sound so cute when you say it like that,” his lips meet your cheek, he then goes to your ear, “‘touch me.’” He mimics your whine, and you gasp, driving him away again, falling back onto the soft surface.
Your hands covering your face, you yell, “Shut up! You’re so annoying.” Heat builds up in your face. You recognize the irony of the fact that you’re blushing over his words while laying nude in front of him. He gets on the bed and crawls over you to kiss the back of your hand, “What? I love hearing it…I love you.” Every time he says it, the wind gets knocked out of you and you have to take a second to recover. You uncover your face, “Boo, lame.” He laughs loudly and gets off you. Standing at the foot of your bed, he tugs you towards him by your hips.
“Jeez, so mean. Can’t even express myself.” He pulls his boxers down, letting his length spring out. Your right leg is lifted and placed over his left shoulder. His right hand reaches down to pump the red, throbbing member.
“I’m sure you can think of better ways to express yourself.” Just the sight of him alone has your eyes sparkling but right as he’s about to enter you, you call out to him.
“Mingi. Condom.”
You had a scare not too long ago and decided to finally stop being insane and play it safe. Mingi had no problem following your lead.
“Where?”
“Drawer.” You almost moan seeing that he’s tall enough to just reach over and grab one from your side table without breaking physical contact. He rips it open and rolls it down his length.
“I keep mine in my side table too.”
“I know. I learn from the worst.” He snickers, scrunching his nose at you. The sweet moment of you two having a laugh together is suddenly ruined when he forces half his length inside you without warning. “Fuck!” He figured the combination of his spit and your slick would have you wet enough. Still, you definitely are not ready for everything he’s about to give you. It feels like a truck is ramming into your body every time he thrusts into you but you can’t say you dislike the feeling. His movements are drawn-out and intense. Your eyes are closed but Mingi’s are fixed on your face. Every moan and groan just pushes him further and further into you. “You missed this, huh?” Your eyes spring open.
“Don’t get too cocky–” Another slow thrust steals the words right out of your mouth and leaves you drooling. He presses forward, his lower abdomen makes contact with your sensitive clit and you arch away from his touch. Instead of taking the hint, he looms closer.
“Don’t run away.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, his laggard movements turn into a rush. Every time he brings his hip to yours you get pushed away from him. Getting tired of having to hold your body in place, he takes your leg off his shoulder and leans over you. Holding himself up on his forearms, his necklace hangs over your lips. He sees you struggling to focus with the piece of metal constantly hitting your mouth. You hear a giggle and before you know it, you open your eyes to find the necklace in his mouth. He looks so hot. His little crooked tooth is on display as he smiles down at you while simultaneously ripping you open. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, using your ankles to urge him to go even deeper. You’re not sure what it is but you need to feel his weight on top of you. Something about being crushed by him will appease a specific part of your mind. So, you pull his face into the nook of your neck. The majority of his weight is being supported by his left forearm as he drags his right hand down your body, pinching your nipple. Once he elicits a high-pitch whine he’s satisfied with a quick laugh. His hand continues to move down your body, in the dip of your waist, he anchors his hand there to push your body onto him, harder.
“God–fuck, that’s so good.” For the past hour and a half, you haven’t had a single thought aside from Mingi. You’re sweating, he’s sweating, and with how humid it’s gotten in the room, the walls are probably also sweating. The smell of sex lingers in the air and you love it. Your mind is blank except for one word. “Mingi.” You gasp out. Usually, he would try to draw out your sessions more but you had him really riled up today. He can feel your walls closing in around him so you must be close. He knows you’re enjoying this by the number of times you’ve said his name thus far. He’s really close too, but he feels guilty every time he finishes before you. He attempts to pull away to lessen the sensations on him but you’re wrapped around him and surprisingly strong, so he’s stuck where he is. Not that he’s complaining. He’s aware of how much you’re enjoying this position, so to make it even better for you, he starts moving his body in a wave-like motion. Now, every time he enters you his abdomen touches your clit in an upwards motion, essentially flicking it. Such a dumb man, yet so painfully aware of his actions in bed. You won’t last long with this new implementation; you never do. In a matter of seconds, he feels you coming undone and decides it’s time for him to stop rejecting his own release as well. The wave of ecstasy that washes over you has you doing almost a full sit-up, with Mingi on top of you, while gripping the sheets so hard you rip them off the edge of the bed. Your walls start spasming around him and he lets go. You milk him dry while still asking for more. Both of you tense every muscle in your body then relax. He falls on top of you, and for the first time, you feel his full weight, and it really is suffocating. Even though you said you wanted this you can’t breathe. He hears your labored breathing and immediately gets off of you.
“Oh shit, sorry babe.” He rolls over to your side, removes the condom, and discards it in the trash can underneath your desk. Then he slips his boxers on and comes back to lie with you. When he lies down, he places an arm over your belly and kisses the side of your head. “I love when we come together. It’s like the stars aligning.”
You’re still fighting for your life to catch your breath but once you do, you reply, “so poetic” sarcastically. He laughs at you mocking him. It’s like your body realizes how hard it was working the way you just got so tired out of nowhere. You yawn and turn your face to Mingi who’s already looking at you with a smile on his face, “tired?”
“Yes.” After losing every last bit of energy you had, you simply decide to give in and fall asleep.
“Can I stay?”
“Yes.” You feel yourself drifting off as Mingi sneaks his other arm under your head then pulls you into an embrace. Instinctively, you turn to your side, against his body and ready yourself for a good night’s sleep.
That is, until you remember that you told your mom you’d be back home almost two hours ago. Your eyes snap open.
“I have to go home.” You sit up despite his protests, out of breath due to the fact that you’re stricken with fatigue and sleepiness. Mingi groans, annoyed with your sudden change of plans.
“We’ll wake up early. Let’s just lay down.” He tries to pull you down into a lying position again, but you scooch out of his grasp and off the bed.
“Can’t. I told my mom I’d be back, I have to keep my word.”
“Baby, please, I’ll pay you.” You laugh as you walk over to your closet to grab a clean towel, wrapping it around your naked figure.
“How much?”
“50?” You tsk and start walking towards your door. “100?” Just before leaving the room, you turn to him and gesture a finger upwards, telling him to raise the price. “200?” You shake your head and walk towards your bathroom. Right as you’re about to enter the other room, you hear, “Higher!? I'm just a college student! No good dick discount?” You giggle as you turn on the faucet and wait for the water to heat up. You take this time to zone out and allow the steam to enter your system. Your jaw unclenches, and your shoulder muscles relax; the cold really makes you stiff. You extend your hand towards the running water, but quickly retract it, feeling that it’s still cold. After a quick shiver, you lean back against the bathroom sink, still waiting. Just then, you hear the door creak open and in steps your wonderful houseguest with one of your towels wrapped around his waist.
“My towel!”
“This is the one you said I could use.”
“Fine, then you wash it too.”
“Then I’ll forget it at my place. I’ll give you five–no–ten bucks to wash it for me.”
“Every wash?“
“Yep.”
“I’ll wash it every day.”
“Okay, let’s set up a direct deposit.”
“And if I decide to wash it multiple times in a day?”
“I’ll make a y/n fund, to keep up with the bills.”
You giggle, “The y/n bills?”
“Yeah. Y/n fund for y/n bills.”
“Good plan.”
“Thank you… is someone else in the shower?”
You both chuckle. “No. We’re waiting for the water to warm up, old building.”
“Oh–we?” He raises an eyebrow at you with a knowing smirk on his face.
“I assume you’ll be joining me.”
“I will, but do you want me to?”
“It’d save us both time.”
“That’s not what I asked–”
“Okay, it’s warm.” You remove your towel and place it on the hook protruding from the bathroom door, but he just stands there, eyeing your body up and down. You step into the tub and pull the shower curtain. When he doesn’t join you in the following ten seconds, you start to get impatient, “Come.” You’re too tired to deal with his games right now. You hear him let out a small laugh, then the shower curtain opens, and the cold air hits you immediately. “Get in, it’s cold!” You pull him towards you by the wrist until he has his chest against your back. You’re kinda just standing there, enjoying the warmth of the water washing over your figure. You and your roommates decided to turn the heat off over winter break. No one will be around, so it makes no sense to pay the useless bill. As a result, your apartment temperature matches the outside conditions. Mingi grabs your washcloth from the rack hanging on your showerhead and lathers a decent amount of body wash on it. You don’t move a muscle, just eyes closed, hot water on your scalp, and holding your hands out to catch some water as well. He grabs your wrist and starts cleaning you with the washcloth. You lean back until your head makes contact with his chest. He runs the soapy cloth up your arm, around your shoulder, and behind your neck, but when he reaches your chest, he uses his hands instead. Placing the soapy fabric on the shelf molded into the wall, he grabs some more of your body wash and squeezes out an ample amount all over his hands. The whole time while he has been washing you, you’ve had your eyes closed. When you feel his hands make contact with your body, you open your eyes and turn your face up to look at him. He kisses the apex of your cheek and begins massaging your chest. “Are you sleeping?”
“No, I was just resting my eyes.” You look down, watching his hands run over the mounds of flesh. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I dream of this.” He lowers himself to kiss the side of your neck, and you lean your head to the other side, allowing him full access to his canvas. There is only one hickey on your neck, and he knows once you see it, he’s in for a lecture. So, he sticks to just kissing and biting at the skin. His right hand cups your left breast, playing with your nipple. While his left hand brings the soap down your stomach, inching dangerously close to your core. You’re not sure if you can handle another round, but who are you to say no?
The distance between his hand and your center grows smaller; you separate your legs, granting him access. His sudsy hand begins moving in small circles over your clit, and you feel something poking at your lower back. Feeling a little cheeky, you grab the washcloth and squeeze out some soap onto your hands. You bring your left hand back around your hip to grab his hard dick. He lets out a harsh whimper, feeling you wrap your hand around the tip as you slowly pump him. The position is definitely awkward; it’s hard for you to move your hand comfortably. Just as you’re about to turn around, his hand suddenly pushes down harder on your bundle of nerves, causing you to bend over slightly from the sensations. He turns you around and tugs you into him, kissing you with a new ferocity that he hasn’t brought thus far. You place your thumb on the side of his lip, pulling it down so he’ll open his mouth and initiate a messy kiss. With that motion, Mingi catches on that you’re ready, willing, and able to partake in round three. His hands slide down your lower back and roughly grab your ass. A couple of harsh squeezes and slaps later, he trails his way to the back of your thighs and lifts you up in one motion. You guys haven’t tried this position yet. You struggle to hide your excitement. He turns to the side, the water hitting his left shoulder as he continues to devour your lips. You worry that he’ll get tired holding you up like this, but that’s the last thing on his mind. One hand lets go of you and swiftly guides his length towards your entrance. When you feel the head entering your warmth, you go limp. He pins you back against the wall and begins drilling into you without warning; your yelps are drowned out by the high water pressure. Your hands grip onto his shoulders while he moves you up and down on himself. “Fuck–so wet.” Your legs lock into place right above the ridge of his hips, in his V-line. Crying out at the enjoyment of being stuffed and unstuffed so quickly, your right hand winds up in his hair as his mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, whispering vulgarities you’d rather not repeat in this lifetime. You grab a fistful of his hair so you can feel attached to this plane, as his rough movements are making your body go numb. The heat from the shower only adds to the ambiance. All you can feel is the physical connection between your body and his. Engrossed in his zeal for you, and the way his stomach rubs against your clit, you’re nearing your climax. It’s been, maybe, seven minutes since you two started, and goodness, do you feel embarrassed that you’re about to come this fast. He feels your grasp on him tighten, then a familiar palpitating of your walls; he gasps, then laughs in your ear.
“That fast?” Instead of responding with words, you pull on the hair at the base of his skull, causing him to look up as he chuckles at you. “Hasn’t even been ten minutes and you’re already coming.” His words mock your appetite (or lack of), and you hate how much you’re enjoying it. He turns his head to catch a glimpse of your face. He was so absorbed in his ecstasy that he completely forgot to poke fun at you. “Missed me that much, huh, y/n? Tell me how much you missed this.” Nothing, you don’t wanna speak since you’re too busy chasing after your high. His ministrations slowed when he noticed you were close, anticipating his bitch ass behavior, you took it upon yourself to keep riding him until you peaked. Forcing your hips down on his dick, then using your shoulder muscles to pull yourself back up. The physical activity is so pleasing. You continue the same motions, using your abs, shoulders, legs, and arms as you work your body on his. Your body is going to give up soon. Eyes blown out, he watches in amazement. Placing a kiss on your wet cheek, he watches you desperately pursue your release. While he would love to mess with you, he can’t help but join your cause; he finds you working this hard endearing. “You’re close, aren’t you?” You finally look at him and nod, going in for an all-tongue kiss. He obliges and begins moving his hips, but especially focusing on the motions of his lower abdomen. Making sure he grazes your clit with every thrust, he’s on a mission. With his help, you immediately find the light at the end of the tunnel. You yell, “Fuck! Mingi–” Tears form at the edges of your eyes, “Don’t stop–” The buildup is absolutely diabolical, you’re scared you might die with this orgasm. The sensations are just too much, your nerves are being overloaded, and you definitely cannot process the amount of endorphins being released in your body right now. Right as you come, you squeeze your eyes shut, and a couple of tears fall down your cheeks. As the waves of pleasure wash over you, your arms and legs give out, but thankfully, Mingi is still holding you up. He doesn’t stop and keeps going. The effects of your orgasm start to wear off, and you’re left with an overly sensitive bundle of nerves that is being continually stimulated right now. You try to struggle against him to push him away, but you simply do not have the strength for that right now. He keeps going, moving your hips up and down the entire expanse of his dick. You’re wet enough to let him bottom out. Your greedy hole is sucking him right back in the second he slides himself out. The overstimulation starts to subside, and you allow him to use you for his own euphoria. The sounds of your sex are now even louder than the water from the shower head. That one vein that runs through his member starts to pulse inside you. You’re completely unaware of what’s happening; your mind has melted. He fucks into you one last time before retracting himself from your sopping core. Right as he lets you down, your knees buckle. He still has a grip on your lower back and catches you before you fall. Your sleepy eyes struggle to remain open until you feel a viscous, warm fluid sliding down your leg. “Did you–”
“Yeah, sorry, baby.” There really was no plan. He just happened to come, but decided to pull out at the last second. He moves away from your body, allowing the water to hit you; it’s still hot. He spends the next ten minutes washing your body again, then turns off the shower, basically carrying you out of the tub, and wraps a towel around you. With the large towel placed around your shoulders, you find yourself struggling to keep your balance, feeling as though you may collapse any second. “Whoa. You sure you’ll be able to make it home?” He quickly dries his body and wraps a towel around his waist. You shake your head no because there’s no way you’re driving in this current state. Your mother will bombard you with calls, but you'll come up with something. You should’ve guessed that a third round would’ve ruined your chances of going home tonight. “Can you walk?“
You can, but you don’t want to, so again, you shake your head no. He exhales in joy, watching you zone out. He takes a second to stare at you, the love of his life, but you’re still spacing out. When he notices that you are starting to shiver, he picks you up, bridal style, and rushes to your bedroom. Placing you down on the bed, he goes to your closet to get you a pair of warm clothes. When he returns with something to wear and socks, you’re already fast asleep under the covers. Even though sleeping with you naked is very tempting, he doesn’t want you to get sick. So, as you sleep, he works diligently to dress you, careful to not wake you. Either you’re really tired, or he could be a super spy with the way he was able to do everything without waking you up. For the next few minutes, he watches you sleep, wondering if he should join you. Instead of making a choice, he opts to admire your features as you sleep. Your lashes gently rest on your cheeks, and your face is a little puffy because you’re so sleepy. He's not sure how, but you somehow feel his presence and open your eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. Did I wake you up?” He brushes your hair back off your face lovingly. Without saying a word, you close your eyes, shuffle to the other side of the bed, and pull the blanket open, allowing him an entrance. “Come lay.” After hearing a giggle, the bed shifts, and you now have your own personal heater next to you. Since it’s so cold in the apartment, the second he gets in bed, you move over until your body is flush against his. Pressing yourself on him, you wrap an arm around him, and he slides his left arm under your head, turning to his side to place an arm in the dip of your waist. “Good night.” The last thing you remember is him placing an endearing pack tier forehead.
In the morning, as you assumed, your mom is blowing up your phone. Both of you wake up around eight in the morning to your phone, dinging with messages and calls from your mom. You sit up with a yawn and reach over Mingi to grab your phone from the side table. Trying your best to stay quiet, but he opens his eyes the second your arm goes over his body. He grabs your wrist and interlaces his hand with yours, “Why are you being so sneaky this early in the morning?”
“I was trying not to wake you up.” You let go of his hand, grab your phone, and start going through the notifications, resting your forearms on Mingi’s stomach. He runs a hand over the back of your head, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she’s just worried about where I am… Okay, let’s get up.” Putting your phone down, you bring the palms of your hand down on Mingi’s stomach, causing a small slap sound. Once off the bed, he walks towards your suitcase, getting it ready for transport. With haste, you make your bed and clear any messes because you would hate to come home to a dirty room. You were so focused that when you turned around, your soul almost left your body, seeing a giant man against the wall, asleep. You pat his shoulder, when he opens his eyes, you nudge your head towards the front door and he follows behind. The two of you slip your shoes on in silence. You unlock the front door to leave, but Mingi grabs your arm. “You’re not wearing a jacket?”
“Uh, no. It’s fine, though, because my car is literally just outside.”
“That doesn’t matter; it snowed last night, so it’s probably freezing.”
“Ugh, Mingi, don’t be annoying. Let’s go.” While you understand he’s just looking out for you, you are literally the worst person ever in the morning, especially when you don’t get enough sleep. You try to leave again, but he pulls you back into the apartment. “Hang on.” He unzips his puffer jacket and takes it off, handing it to you. “Wear this.” Holding up the material in front of you, you stare at him, a little annoyed. You know it’s not worth complaining over, so you take it from him and put it on.
“Now I have another reason to see you.” He places a peck against your forehead. You open the door once more, gesturing for him to leave before you. With your suitcase in hand, he walks out, dragging it behind him, waiting for you in the hallway. You lock the apartment door and walk down the stairs, out the building door. As you lead the way over to your car, Mingi asks, “Front seat, backseat, or trunk?”
“You can just put it in the trunk. Thank you.” Clicking the button on your keys, your trunk springs open, and he lifts the suitcase into the small space. “Of course, baby.” You stuff your hands in the pockets of his jacket as you watch him close the trunk of your car. He takes a step forward, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you. “Unblock me.” You laugh because you forgot about that. You take out your phone, unblock his number, and turn it around to show him. “Thank you. I can finally sleep at night. I’ll see you later today, okay?”
“Mm.” You nod, smiling, and get into your car. Mingi waits for you to pull out and disappear from his line of sight before walking over to his car.
The second he gets in, he feels like he might explode. He’s come a long way from where he started. That night, when everything went down, he was already really upset that you and he had a miscommunication, but when you kissed Yunho, he sorta lost it. The insecurities literally started falling out of his mouth. When you walked away from him after he said “he wasn’t ready”, he ran inside and went through all seven stages of grief. Hands running through his hair out of frustration, eyes tearing up, he remembers taking so many deep breaths to stop himself from crying. As he paced around his room thinking of what he should do, his eyes landed on the figurine you got him. He ended up taking it out of his car because Wooyoung broke it. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore, fuck, he realized he was in love with you. The time and effort he put into his relationship were not worth losing over his petty behavior. He snapped out of his psychosis and ran to your apartment, but when he got there, your car wasn’t in its spot. He started to freak out and tried to call you, but it kept going to voicemail. He tried Instagram, but your account wouldn’t come up. You didn’t even let him follow you; he just memorized your username. After falling to his knees out of despair, he figured someone was bound to come, so he could make his way inside at some point. There was no foresight in any of his plans; it was merely a means to an end. Unfortunately for him, your downstairs neighbor came home first to find him sitting on the steps leading up to the front door. In hindsight, he realizes how suspicious he may have looked at the time, asking to be let into a building he didn't live in. When he failed to contact you that night, he didn't give up completely, but he had to give up for the night, so he decided to go home. When he got back, the party was ending. Yunho noticed how upset he was and tried to talk to him, but Mingi really wasn't in the mood. At the time, he heavily blamed Yunho for the breakup. For a full three days, Mingi built a habit of going to your apartment, ringing the (wrong) bell, and waiting for a response. Eventually, he decided to stop ringing the bell after a heated altercation with your downstairs neighbor, who threatened legal repercussions if Mingi kept returning, but he knew he couldn't give up. He decided to change his approach and went to his family home because his mom kept calling him. Although he had planned to avoid his best friend for a long time, he couldn't do that because as soon as he got home, Yunho was already there. He said something along the lines of, “You can't avoid me forever,” which, unfortunately, was true. Instead of pushing his closest friend away again, he confided in him, talked about how much he regretted everything. Every plan Mingi came up with was immediately shot down by Yunho, calling him insane. Despite other friends telling him not to be a stalker, Mingi still staked out your building in secret. For a whole week, you never showed up. He regrets not asking for your address earlier. He didn't even know any of your friends' names; you wouldn't tell him. He was starting to lose hope until Yunho suddenly admitted he'd seen you at a cafe. Mingi had to fight every atom in his body to not punch him in the face. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” He screamed in Yunho's face, holding his collar very calmly. Yunho just said, “You weren’t talking to me! And your brother said you hadn’t come home, so I just asked her where you were.”
“You should’ve told her to unblock me!” Yunho had to stifle his laughter at the fact that Mingi got blocked.
“Did she say anything about me?”
“She said she wants to move on–”
“Of course, she said that to you.”
“I don’t like her. I mean, she’s cute–but that’s it.” They had a little bit more of a back-and-forth that night, but all Mingi got from that conversation was that he should keep trying because he doesn't want you to move on. As the days passed, he grew increasingly hopeless. On one particular day when he and Yunho decided to hang out, both of them were graced by a text from you. Upon receiving the text, Yunho, like the great friend he is, immediately handed him the phone. Both of them huddled around the phone, trying to create a plan for him to “inconspicuously” meet up with you. Thankfully, the plan worked. Truly, he has never worked this hard for a woman, and he's not even upset about that. He would do a lot for you, a lot more than you know. Now he just has to keep up his good streak so he can make you his for real.
i think about this very often to but to be alive is such a privilege. you can smell flowers, eat freshly baked cookies, lose yourself in the pages of a new book, listen to heartwarming music and read soul crushing poetry, meet kind and funny people, learn something new. i think the miracle is in waking up every day
You were dating the most popular guy on campus — tall, gorgeous, captain of the swim team. On the surface, it looked perfect. But when being with him started to feel more like a responsibility than a relationship, you realized love shouldn’t feel like a job. So you walked away.
Winter break gave you the space to breathe, to focus on yourself again, and you promised not to get caught up in anyone else. But when a new student transfers in — calm, grounded, and nothing like your ex — you start to wonder... Maybe the universe has a strange way of offering second chances.
You promised not to fall again. But maybe, just maybe, this time it could be different.
Word count: 4k
Genre: Angst / fluff
Masterlist
You don’t notice him at first.
Your steps are light, your duffel bag slung over one shoulder, sweat cooling against your back as you leave the studio. The hallway’s empty—almost peaceful. You’re halfway down the steps when the voice cuts through the air like it belongs somewhere else entirely.
“Anyone but him. Please.”
You stop cold.
Your heart doesn’t drop—it tightens. Like a wire being pulled too far. You turn around slowly, and there he is.
Mingi.
Standing by the stairwell railing like he’s been there a while. Like he’s been trying to say something and that was the only version that made it out.
You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. Your expression must say enough, because he flinches a little.
He takes a step closer. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice sharper than you expected. “You don’t get to comment on him.”
“I know,” he says quickly, hands up like he’s surrendering. “I know, I just… it’s not about him. It’s—shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes darting like he’s trying to chase his own thoughts. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t come to fight.”
You stare at him. “Then why did you come?”
He exhales, slow. “To talk. If you’ll let me.”
You don’t answer right away. The silence between you crackles. You could walk away. Maybe you should.
But instead, you sigh. “Talk while we walk. I’m going home.”
He falls into step beside you, a few paces behind at first, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed.
“I thought I’d be fine,” he starts, voice quiet. “When we broke up. I thought I could focus, bury myself in training, let everything settle.”
You say nothing.
Not because you don’t have words, but because you don’t trust any of them to come out right. The ones that want to lash out. The ones that would admit you missed him. The ones that want to scream that he had you—and still let you slip through his fingers.
So you walk.
The path back to the dorms is familiar—lamplight glowing faintly along the sidewalk, cherry blossoms beginning to curl into brown at the edges where spring is already fading. The scent of grass after practice. Your sneakers crunching faintly over gravel.
“But it didn’t. I didn’t,” Mingi says, following just a step behind.
He’s not trying to take your space. But he’s in it, no matter what.
“I stopped going to practice,” he admits. “I told myself I needed rest, but I think I just… didn’t know how to show up without you waiting outside.”
You glance sideways at him, a flash of something tight in your chest. You remember those evenings too well—him dripping wet in his jacket, hair still damp, shaking his head with a half-smile when you teased him for forgetting a towel again. You, always waiting. Always there.
You glance sideways at him. He’s not looking at you—his eyes are on the path like he’s scared he’ll trip if he looks up.
“And then San joined the team.” His voice dips, a little bitter, but mostly sad. “He’s good. Really good. Everyone likes him. They look at him the way they used to look at me.”
You feel a faint chill ripple through your chest. You weren’t expecting that.
“I see how he talks to people. How he’s so sure of himself. And I wonder when I stopped being like that.” He huffs a dry laugh. “When I stopped being someone you'd want.”
You stop walking.
“Mingi…” you start, but he’s already shaking his head.
“I’m not blaming him,” he says quickly. “He’s not the problem. He just made it… real. That I’m the one who changed. That I was the one who let it fall apart.”
He pauses long enough to gather breath. The night air slips between you—cool and quiet.
“It hurt to see you with him,” he says, almost in a whisper. “Not because you shouldn’t be happy, but because it made me realize… someone else will see you. Someone else will show up. And I could’ve been that person. But I didn’t try hard enough.”
There’s a silence after that. Not cold. Not angry. Just full. Dense with everything neither of you said back then.
“I kept thinking if I said nothing, if I gave you space, maybe you’d come back on your own.”
You stop.
Just for a second.
He almost walks past you before realizing.
“You thought I’d come back?” you ask, and your voice cracks a little at the edge. “After everything? After the way you stopped showing up for me, stopped seeing me?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, I get it.” You start walking again. Your voice is quieter now. “It’s easier when I do the work. When I do the waiting. That way, you never have to try.”
He doesn’t reply immediately.
You think maybe he won’t. But then, he does.
“I realized that too late,” he says. “And I hated myself for it. I still do.”
There’s no streetlight for a few meters, and you both fall into a stretch of darkness, only the sound of shoes on concrete and the occasional chirp of campus crickets breaking the silence.
“I didn’t treat you the way I should have,” he says eventually. “I know I started pulling away. I don’t even know when it started. You were always there and I thought you always would be.”
That lands somewhere sharp.
You look ahead, hands tightening around the strap of your bag. “Do you even know what that felt like?” you ask, not looking at him. “To feel someone drifting away but still pretending everything’s fine, because the truth would hurt more than the lie?”
He breathes in like he wants to say yes. Like he wants to agree. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he says, “I think I didn’t want to need you that much. And then I did anyway, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.”
You don’t know what to say to that.
So you walk in silence again. And for once, he doesn’t try to fill it.
The dorm building appears in the distance. Familiar. Safe. You can already picture your room upstairs—quiet, dim, still warm from the sun even though the night air bites at your skin now.
“I’m not saying this to get you back,” he says, voice gentle. “I think… maybe I wanted to. But that’s not why I came.”
You stop at the bottom of the steps. The light from the porch lamp flickers slightly above you.
He finally looks at you. Really looks.
“I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care,” he says. “I was a coward. I was selfish. But I loved you. I really did.”
Your throat tightens. You wish you didn’t believe him.
But you do.
That’s what makes it worse.
“I know,” you say. Your voice is steady. “But love isn’t supposed to feel like that.”
He nods once. No argument. No excuses.
Just quiet.
You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask him to leave either.
But when you climb the steps and open the door to the dorm, you don’t look back.
And this time, he doesn’t wait for you to.
════════════════════════════════════
The school planning committee had just announced the mid-semester festival, meaning the dance team would perform together in front of the entire campus. For the past several days, the team had been running through routines repeatedly—practicing every step, every formation, striving for perfect timing and fluidity. The studio buzzed with a mix of excitement and nerves as everyone pushed themselves to be ready for the big day.
Today’s practice was winding down. The music faded out, and most of the team was gathering their things, laughing and chatting about costumes and stage setups. You were folding your jacket by the mirror when Yunho approached you quietly.
He waited until nearly everyone had left before speaking.
“Hey, can we talk for a sec? Just the two of us?”
You nodded, curious but calm.
The room felt suddenly quieter, the usual hum of conversation gone, replaced by the soft echo of footsteps and the faint creak of the studio floor.
Yunho rubbed the back of his neck, looking at you with a genuine, open expression.
“Listen,” he began, voice softer than usual, “Mingi told me about your talk… how you’re starting to get closure.”
You smiled gently, a little relieved. “Yeah. It helped more than I expected.”
Yunho ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed somewhere between your feet and the floor. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For the way I acted after you and Mingi broke up. I was… I was mad and confused and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”
You looked at him, surprised at the vulnerability slipping through. The old resentment hadn’t completely vanished, but hearing this now softened some of the sharp edges.
“I know,” you said quietly, “it felt like you were angry at me. Like I was the reason things fell apart.”
He shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t you. I was just scared — scared of losing you as a friend, scared of how everything changed. So instead of talking, I shut down, pushed you away.”
A small breath escaped your lips. “It hurt,” you admitted. “Feeling like you were distant. Like you didn’t want to be around me anymore.”
Yunho nodded, eyes sincere. “I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t handle it well at all.”
You met his gaze for a moment, the old familiarity flickering between you — not quite friendship, not quite strangers.
“We don’t have to pretend everything’s the same,” you said gently. “We’re not going to be best friends again overnight. But maybe we can find a way to coexist… to respect each other without all the tension.”
He smiled, a little relieved, the weight of weeks pressing down a bit less.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “No more hostility. No more pretending like we don’t care.”
For a moment, the silence wasn’t heavy or awkward. It was quiet understanding, fragile but real.
You both knew this wouldn’t undo the past. The bond you had was changed forever. But this—this was a start.
Light from the windows stretched across the studio floor, soft and warm despite the cool evening air.
“Big show’s coming,” Yunho said, nodding toward the door.
You smiled, feeling the tension ease just a bit more. “Looking forward to it.”
Side by side, you left the studio—separate paths, but a little less burdened with the weight of old wounds.
════════════════════════════════════
Things weren’t perfect, but they were starting to feel lighter. Little by little.
Dance practice no longer felt like walking into a battlefield. The tension that used to sit like a weight on your shoulders every time you entered the studio had started to dissolve — not all at once, but enough to breathe again. There were still moments that pulled at the past, but now, they didn’t sting as much. They passed more gently.
Even Yunho had begun nodding at you when you crossed paths, sometimes offering a quiet word or two during warm-ups. It wasn’t how it used to be, and maybe it never would be, but it didn’t feel hostile anymore. It felt… neutral. Kind, even. And that was enough.
You found yourself smiling more during practices, letting yourself fall into the music again, rediscovering the part of you that had always felt at home when dancing.
Outside the studio, something else had started to shift too.
San.
The messages between you had become more frequent, more natural. Not forced, not flirty just for the sake of it, but real. Easy. He would send you songs at random hours, ask about your day, tease you lightly about your terrible gym form before offering to help fix it. You started meeting after class more often — grabbing coffee, sitting on the steps outside the library when the weather was good, talking about everything and nothing.
And you’d catch him looking at you sometimes — like he was trying to memorize your face mid-laugh. Like you weren’t just another girl in his orbit.
You hadn’t defined anything yet. Neither of you had said the words. But there was something growing between you. Slow, careful, intentional.
And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel scared of it.
You let yourself feel it. The warmth. The potential.
The quiet, steady hope that maybe, this time, things could be different.
════════════════════════════════════
The study session had started with good intentions.
You really had meant to go over the last algebra lecture — the one where the professor blazed through quadratic inequalities like they were common sense. San had offered to help, and true to his word, he showed up at your dorm that evening, a little winded from swim practice, cheeks still pink from the cold, and holding a takeout cup of iced coffee.
“For morale,” he said with a grin, handing it over before kicking off his shoes and settling beside you on the floor.
The textbook had been opened, notes reviewed… briefly. But it didn’t take long before the two of you had drifted away from equations and formulas, the conversation unraveling naturally like it always seemed to with him.
Now, the algebra notes lay forgotten across the floor, and the only light in the room came from your desk lamp — soft, golden, and warm. San sat beside you, legs stretched out, his hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, fingers loosely twirling a pen he wasn’t really paying attention to.
You sat in silence for a few minutes. Not awkward — just… full. Like something was waiting to be said.
“Hey,” you murmured. “Can I tell you something?”
San turned toward you immediately. “Yeah. Always.”
You picked at the threads of your sleeve, hesitant. “I talked to Mingi. Not long ago.”
You felt him go still next to you.
“It wasn’t anything dramatic,” you said quickly. “He… he approached me, actually. Outside the studio. I didn’t expect it. And he was the one who did most of the talking, to be honest.”
San didn’t interrupt, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Listening.
“He apologized,” you went on. “For the way things ended. For how he treated me. I think he needed to say it. And I think I needed to hear it.”
The words tasted strange in your mouth. Not bitter, just… heavy with relief. With release.
“I didn’t realize how much weight I was still carrying until he said it all out loud,” you added, voice softer now. “And I didn’t forgive him on the spot, but… it helped. It helped me start letting go.”
San nodded slowly. His expression didn’t shift much, but something in his shoulders, in the way he exhaled, told you he was feeling it too.
“I figured something happened,” he said after a moment. “You’ve seemed… lighter, lately.”
You gave him a small smile — appreciative, but faint.
There was another pause, not tense, but full of something deeper.
“I need to be honest too,” he said then, his voice low. “When you told me Mingi was your ex… I didn’t know what to do with that. Not because you did anything wrong — you didn’t. But it hit me in this stupid, unexpected way.”
Your brows pulled together, watching him.
“I think I felt like I was stepping into something I wasn’t meant to touch,” he continued. “Like maybe I was just… someone helping you forget. A rebound.”
Your chest tightened. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly over his hand.
“You’re not a rebound,” you said, firmly. “I would never use you like that. And I get it — I really do. I’m still figuring things out, San. But being with you… it doesn’t feel like I’m trying to fill an empty space.”
He looked at you now, really looked at you — eyes soft and searching, like he was trying to memorize this exact version of you.
“I don’t want to lie to you,” you whispered. “I’m scared. I’ve been scared. But I also don’t want to keep running from something just because it might hurt.”
His hand turned, lacing his fingers with yours.
“You don’t have to define anything yet,” he said gently. “We’re not in a rush. I just needed to know if I was the only one who felt this.”
“You’re not,” you said. “Whatever this is… I want to try.”
The quiet between you was full again — not with fear this time, but something softer. Hopeful.
You leaned back slightly, your shoulder pressing into his. It felt warm there. Steady.
After a while, you broke the silence again, voice lighter this time. “So… we’re performing soon. The dance team.”
San perked up, eyebrows raised.
“It’s for the mid-semester festival,” you explained. “It’s kind of a big deal. Everyone’s been working really hard — and it’d mean a lot if you came.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Of course I’ll come.”
You nudged his arm, playful now. “You sure? It’s not exactly a swim meet.”
He nudged you back. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there.”
And just like that, the heaviness eased — not gone, but softened. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe something good was growing here.
Not perfect. Not easy.
But real.
And real was enough.
════════════════════════════════════
You barely had time to glance at your phone all afternoon.
The messages in the group chat were moving at lightning speed — someone had forgotten bobby pins, someone else was panicking about stage lighting cues, and the final headcount for the makeup station had already changed three times. The campus events team had transformed the university’s main hall into a makeshift stage for the mid-semester festival, and backstage buzzed with a chaotic mix of hairspray, nervous energy, and adrenaline.
You had gone through your routine a dozen times in your head. Even more in the mirror.
Now, standing behind the curtain with the rest of the dance team, you were surrounded by the electric hum of bodies in motion — the quiet murmurs of last-minute pep talks, the clinking of water bottles, the light thud of someone jumping in place to burn nervous energy. The smell of foundation and setting spray clung to the air, mingling with the fabric softener on your costume and the sharp tang of sweat just beginning to break through.
Your heartbeat was everywhere — in your throat, your fingertips, your chest.
It wasn’t your first performance. You’d done showcases, recitals, even competitions before. But this one felt different.
It felt like a return.
Like you were dancing not just to perform, but to reclaim something.
You closed your eyes, breathing through the tight coil in your stomach. You thought of the hours in the studio. The blisters. The tension with Yunho that had quietly settled into something manageable. The rebuilding.
You thought of the version of yourself that almost gave this up.
And then — the lights shifted.
The music started.
And your body took over.
Out there, under the stage lights, time lost its grip on you. Every beat, every move, every breath — it all fell into place. The formations clicked. Your body remembered what your mind had doubted. You could feel the energy of your teammates behind you, beside you — moving in unison, lifting each other, holding the rhythm like something sacred. There were cheers. Claps. The deep, thudding bass through the floor.
But mostly, there was the quiet fire in your chest.
You were alive up there. Raw, and real, and radiant.
And when the final note hit, when the last pose held and the lights dimmed — the applause came crashing like a wave.
You weren’t prepared for how it would hit you. How the sound would rattle something loose inside you. How it would feel to breathe afterward, sweat sticking to your back, heart soaring, and know you’d done it.
You stumbled offstage with your team, half-laughing, half-crying, pulled into a tangled mess of hugs and high fives and shaky exhalations. Someone passed you a water bottle. Someone else wiped tears from their eyes and blamed it on the mascara.
You turned to find Yunho beaming — sweat on his brow, arms outstretched for a hug that felt like peace. You pulled him in without thinking, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel strange.
It felt earned.
He spotted you before you saw him
San stood near the far end of the hall, half-tucked behind one of the black folding dividers. He hadn’t meant to hide, but part of him felt like an intruder. This wasn’t his world. It was yours. And watching you up there, lit by stage lights and surrounded by people who knew the exact rhythm of your steps — he’d never seen you like that before.
So alive. So grounded in something you clearly loved.
He’d barely breathed during your performance.
There was a kind of reverence in the way he watched you move — not just awe at your talent, but something deeper. Something that reached past admiration into the quiet space where longing lives.
He clutched the bouquet a little tighter, feeling silly for a second. The flowers were half-wilted from the trip over, wrapped hastily in brown paper from the corner shop. They didn’t match the moment — not really. But he’d seen them and thought of you. Wild and soft, a little messy, and somehow still beautiful.
The moment you caught his eye across the crowd, everything else faded.
You crossed the distance between you in quick, almost disbelieving steps — eyes wide, breath still shallow from the adrenaline, your body buzzing with aftershock and emotion. You looked like you might fall apart or start laughing — or both.
He held the flowers out, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “You were incredible.”
You reached for them with hands that trembled slightly. Not from nerves now — but from something else. From the weight of being seen.
The others faded behind you — your teammates, the applause, the lights — until it was just the two of you standing in the soft aftermath.
San’s heart pounded harder than it had in any swim meet.
“They’re a little squished,” he admitted sheepishly.
You laughed, choking on it a little. “They’re perfect.”
You smiled — small and breathless — but your eyes were glassy.
And though you didn’t say it, he could almost hear the words you weren’t voicing.
He didn’t come to things like this. Even when I asked.
You hadn’t told him that. Not out loud. But San could feel it in the way your fingers tightened around the paper wrapping. In the way your gaze dipped, like you were afraid to fully believe this was real.
He didn't press. He just reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “You lit up the whole stage.”
You looked at him then, really looked — and the expression on your face nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
Like he was someone worth being seen by. Like he was someone you chose to see.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said, voice suddenly unsteady.
You tilted your head slightly.
“I don’t want to rush things. I know you’re still figuring stuff out,” he continued, “but I want this — you and me. Not just as… whatever we are now, but you know... i'm sorry if it sounds cheesy"
Your eyes widened, lips parting — and for a second he panicked, thinking maybe he had rushed. But then you were smiling. Soft and stunned and radiant.
“Yes,” you whispered.
And the weight that dropped from his shoulders was almost enough to make him dizzy.
He stepped closer, hands coming to rest lightly at your waist as he leaned in — his forehead brushing yours, his breath mixing with yours — and when your lips met, it felt like something clicked into place. Like he’d found the rhythm of your dance without ever having learned the choreography.
It was warm. And quiet. And right.
The two of you stayed like that for a while — tangled in your own moment, tucked between noise and stillness — until the crowd started to thin. San slipped his arm around your waist and you began to make your way out together, slow steps and shy smiles.
And just before reaching the doors, your gaze snagged on something — someone.
Mingi stood further back, beside Yunho.
He wasn’t smiling. But he didn’t look bitter, either.
Just… resigned. A little sad, maybe. But also at peace.
When your eyes met, he gave you a nod. Small. Subtle. But clear.
You nodded back.
It wasn’t a conversation. It didn’t need to be.
It was acknowledgment. Closure.
He was letting you go.
And for the first time, you were truly ready to be let go.
════════════════════════════════════
I CAN'T BELIVE THIS IS OVER, I want to thank all of you for sticking with me and waiting this long. I had writer’s block, and even though I really loved this story, I was about to leave it in the past completely. I'm glad I didn't.
You were dating the most popular guy on campus — tall, gorgeous, captain of the swim team. On the surface, it looked perfect. But when being with him started to feel more like a responsibility than a relationship, you realized love shouldn’t feel like a job. So you walked away.
Winter break gave you the space to breathe, to focus on yourself again, and you promised not to get caught up in anyone else. But when a new student transfers in — calm, grounded, and nothing like your ex — you start to wonder... Maybe the universe has a strange way of offering second chances.
You promised not to fall again. But maybe, just maybe, this time it could be different.
Word count: 2.2 k
Genre: Angst / fluff
Masterlist
Mingi found out he was still captain on a Thursday.
Coach didn’t make a speech about it. No dramatic reveal, no big meeting. Just pulled him aside after practice, the whistle still swinging around his neck and the scent of chlorine clinging to both of them like second skin.
“You’re captain again,” Coach said simply. “But I need you to step up.”
Mingi nodded, but didn’t speak.
Coach didn’t sugarcoat it. “You’ve been off,” he continued, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “I know you’ve got shit going on—I’m not blind. But this team needs a leader, not a shadow. Get your head back in the game, or someone else will.”
The words weren’t cruel. Just honest. And maybe that was worse.
Mingi muttered a quiet “yes, coach” and watched the older man walk off toward the locker room, shouting something at two freshmen half-assing their cooldowns.
For a second, he stood there alone, goggles dangling from his fingers, skin still damp and stinging from chlorine and failure. The position was his again. On paper, he’d won.
But it didn’t feel like winning.
Not really.
Because ever since San showed up, practice hadn’t felt the same. Nothing had.
He hadn’t even wanted to look at the captain board after it was updated. Just kept his eyes down as he passed it, though he could feel the quiet glance of everyone else—some relieved, some neutral, a few surprised.
San didn’t say anything. Didn’t react at all, actually. He just kept pulling off his swim cap with that same calm expression, nodding along as someone asked him about his backstroke tempo. Like it didn’t matter who was captain, because people were already starting to follow him anyway.
Mingi saw it every day now.
Teammates who used to come to him for advice—asking San instead.
People who used to drift beside his lane during warmups—gravitating closer to his.
And it wasn’t because San was trying to take anything.
That was the worst part.
San wasn’t trying to lead.
He just was.
It came naturally. The way he listened when someone spoke. The way he broke down technique when someone was struggling. The way he never raised his voice, never acted like he was better than anyone, even when he was.
Mingi knew what the others were thinking, even if no one said it out loud.
San swims like he’s got nothing to prove.
And Mingi?
Lately, he swam like he was trying to prove he still mattered.
He used to move through water like it was home—fluid, unthinking. Now every stroke felt like an effort. Every lap was a reminder of how far he’d slipped.
And how far San kept rising.
Mingi let his eyes drift toward the center lanes, where San stood laughing at something one of the juniors said. His hair was a mess of damp curls, his laugh soft, unassuming.
There was no ego in it.
Just ease.
And for the first time since he’d earned the title of captain his sophomore year… Mingi wondered how much longer he could hold onto it before it slipped through his fingers like water.
════════════════════════════════════
He hadn’t planned it.
Not really.
But after practice, while still dripping pool water onto the locker room tiles, Mingi found himself hesitating before heading back to his dorm. Something clenched in his chest — that tight, suffocating feeling that had started creeping in lately when he was alone too long during this past few days. He didn’t want to go back to silence. Or worse, to Yunho’s absence.
So he packed up slower than usual, hoodie tugged over damp hair, earbuds forgotten in his pocket.
He knew Yunho would be at the studio this time of day. Probably working on some new combo. Maybe he’d let Mingi sit in and throw out dumb suggestions. Maybe he’d just sit beside him, both of them staring into the mirror without saying much. That was enough, sometimes.
And maybe — maybe — he’d see you, too.
He didn’t let himself hope too hard. You always left right after practice. You didn’t linger like before (according to Yunho)
But still. He found himself heading in that direction.
When he stepped out into the hallway, footsteps echoed behind him — quick, confident ones. Mingi glanced back instinctively and his eyes landed on San.
Of course.
He stiffened. The guy didn’t look at him, not really. Just kept walking like they were strangers. They weren’t enemies, but it was clear they weren’t friends either. There was something about the air between them — cold and buzzing, like static before a storm.
Mingi picked up his pace.
He didn’t want to walk next to him. Didn’t want to share that small stretch of hallway, not when San had started occupying spaces Mingi once called his own — the pool, the team’s attention and his peace of mind.
He shook the thought off and lengthened his stride. He was taller, anyway.
By the time he reached the studio, he’d put enough distance between them to breathe.
He pushed the door open — and then stopped.
And he saw you.
Water bottle cradled in your hand, hair still damp from sweat, eyes soft with focus. You looked… real. Grounded. Alive in the way he hadn’t felt in weeks.
He stood there, frozen, breath caught.
Then you moved — tossed your bag over your shoulder, reached for the exit, just as he stepped forward.
And the moment your eyes locked, something inside him cracked open.
You looked surprised. But not like he mattered. Not like the sight of him was anything more than a pause in your day.
You just looked… done.
And somehow, that was worse.
He parted his lips to say something — your name, an apology, anything — but the words caught behind his teeth. How could he say it all now? When your silence said more than any of his excuses ever could?
Then—
“Hey.”
San’s voice. Loud and easy.
Mingi flinched before he even saw him.
San came up behind him with a casual bounce in his step, sweat still clinging to his neck, eyes only for you.
“You done already? You wanna head out together?”
His grin was effortless.
Yours wasn’t. It was barely even there. But your body moved — forward, away — as if pulled by some invisible tether.
Past Mingi.
And you didn’t look back.
He just stood there.
Hands in his hoodie pocket. Breath shallow. Thoughts louder than anything he could say.
He watched the door swing shut behind you both.
And for a long time, he didn’t move.
The ache in his chest wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even new. It was dull, persistent — like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
And for a few long seconds, all Mingi could hear was the hum of the air vents and the faint echo of footsteps growing distant down the hallway.
He stood in the doorway like a ghost, pulse pounding in his ears. The weight of everything settled heavy on his shoulders, and the space around him suddenly felt too quiet. Too still.
“Mingi.”
He flinched.
Yunho’s voice came from deeper inside the studio — low, steady, unhurried. Mingi turned slightly, catching sight of him near the mirror wall, towel slung over his neck, hair sticking to his forehead. He wasn’t dancing anymore. Just watching.
Mingi forced a breath out. “Hey.”
Yunho nodded once, stepping closer, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away — just studied Mingi’s face with that look he always gave when he was reading between the lines.
“You okay?” he asked finally, though they both knew the answer.
Mingi shrugged, but it didn’t land right. His shoulders sagged too much, his expression all uneven edges. “Yeah. Just... came to see you.”
Yunho raised a brow. “Didn’t know you missed me that bad.”
Mingi huffed a weak laugh, then shook his head and stared at the floor. “It wasn’t just that.”
Yunho didn’t press him. Not yet.
He waited.
After a beat, Mingi sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I thought maybe she wouldn’t be here. Or that if she was, it wouldn’t… feel like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like everything I’d been pretending not to care about just punched me in the gut.”
Yunho stayed quiet for a moment. “You’re allowed to care, you know.”
Mingi didn’t answer. His throat felt tight again.
Yunho let the silence linger for a second, then stepped closer. “You looked like you were about to say something to her.”
“I was.” Mingi’s voice was low, rough. “I just... couldn’t. What would I even say, Yunho? ‘Sorry I disappeared’? ‘Sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter’? Like that’s something a couple of words can fix”
Yunho exhaled slowly. “No. But silence sure as hell doesn’t either.”
Mingi looked up.
Yunho met his gaze. “I know you. You shut down when things hurt. You pull away. And I get it — I’ve seen you do it since we were young. But she didn’t. She stayed. Until she couldn’t anymore.”
“I know.”
“And now what?” Yunho asked. “You gonna keep pretending you don’t care while watching her walk out with someone else? Or are you finally gonna be honest — with her or with yourself?”
Mingi didn’t have an answer.
He just stared at the spot where you’d stood a moment ago.
“I’m not saying you need to chase after her,” Yunho continued, voice gentler now. “I’m saying you need to stop running from what you feel. Whether that means letting go for real or showing up for once and saying something that matters.”
Silence stretched again.
Then Mingi swallowed hard, words sticking to the roof of his mouth. “It hurts.”
“I know,” Yunho said, and for once, there was no teasing in his voice. Just understanding. “But you’re still here. You’ve still got people. You’ve still got time.”
Mingi nodded slowly.
It wasn’t a solution. It wasn’t even a plan.
But it was something.
Yunho patted his shoulder, then walked back to grab his bag. “Come on. I’m starving. I’m getting fried chicken whether you want to sulk or not.”
Mingi almost smiled.
Almost.
He didn’t have the energy to feel better yet.
But he followed.
════════════════════════════════════
The next day at swim practice, the air felt thicker. Not from the humidity rising off the water, but from something heavier—something sharp and invisible that clung to every corner of the pool.
Where San had once practiced with quiet focus — showing up, hitting his times, moving like someone who didn’t care about being noticed — today, every movement carried weight. Precision. Intent.
Now, San looked at him.
She told him.
It wasn’t obvious—he didn’t glare or scoff, didn’t puff out his chest like he was asking for a fight. But Mingi felt it in the way San’s eyes held his a second too long before a relay. The way his strokes suddenly became cleaner, sharper. The way he pushed just hard enough to beat Mingi to the wall every chance he got.
And Mingi?
Mingi let him.
Not because he was slower. Not because he didn’t care.
But because there was a storm just under his skin, and he was trying his damndest not to let it crack through.
He clenched his jaw every time San cut ahead of him in drills. Every time their teammates clapped or nodded or offered a low whistle of praise.
He caught one of them whispering something when San out-touched him on the last set. Something like "guess the new guy's already taking over."
And still, Mingi didn’t say a word.
He just swam harder. Pushed further.
Waited.
Waited for San to slip. To shove too hard during a set, or bump him in the lane, or say something smug enough to give him a reason to let everything he was holding in finally erupt.
He wanted to hit him.
He wanted San to say something.
Anything.
But San never gave him the excuse.
And still made it clear — without ever breaking a rule — that he wasn’t going anywhere.
Now every stroke, every time he edged just ahead, it carried one unspoken message:
You don’t get to act like she was never yours.
And you sure as hell don’t get to act like she still could be.
He just kept swimming. Kept improving. Kept existing like he belonged there.
And maybe that’s what made it worse.
Mingi clenched his jaw so hard during sprints he gave himself a headache. Beat his personal record on a 200-meter freestyle without meaning to — just trying to keep up.
Because Mingi wasn’t angry at San.
He was angry at himself.
For the space he’d left wide open.
For how quickly someone else had filled it.
By the end of practice, Mingi could feel the stares.
The glances in the locker room. The hush in conversations that stopped when he walked by.
Everyone could see it now.
This wasn’t just tension between teammates.
It was something else.
Heavier. Meaner.
So he changed quickly, half-zipped his hoodie and shoved everything into his bag with shaking hands.
Yunho’s voice echoed in his head:
"I’m not saying you need to chase after her… I’m saying you need to stop running from what you feel."
So he ran.
Not because he wanted to turn things back.
Not because he didn’t think she deserved someone who showed up.
But because he couldn’t take one more second of pretending he didn’t care.
Because he needed to face what he’d broken — even if he couldn’t fix it.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
Because some part of him still hoped she hadn’t closed the door all the way.
summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs
warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, virgin reader, use of drugs, eventual smut
pairing: mingi x afab reader
genre: romance, drama, smut
word count: 2.7k
chapter two coming soon
masterlist
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The afternoon sun was too bright when y/n cracked open one bleary eye. Her laptop still hummed faintly on the desk across the room, a reminder of the all nighter she’d pulled to finish the ancient history essay that had been eating her alive for a week. She shifted under the covers, limbs heavy and slow, the ache of exhaustion buried deep in her bones.
Ningning’s bed was empty, again. No surprise there. Her roommate had practically moved into her girlfriend’s apartment two months ago, leaving y/n alone in their tiny dorm more often than not. She didn’t blame her. Honestly, she envied her a little.
Y/N groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head just as someone knocked, loudly, on the door.
“Open up, zombie!” came her best friend, Wooyoung’s unmistakable voice, bright and mischievous as always.
“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow.
The door creaked open anyway, Wooyoung barging in like he owned the place. He wore ripped jeans, a too big hoodie, hair dyed a fading red and a grin that could probably get him out of murder charges if he ever needed to.
“Come on,” he said, flopping down at the foot of her bed. “You’ve been hiding like a gremlin all week. I’m taking you out.”
“I’m tired,” Y/N whined, shoving the blanket down enough to glare at him. “I just finished the worst essay of my life. I think my brain is broken. My body’s next.”
“You sound so dramatic,” Wooyoung teased, poking her ankle. “You just need some good food and like… a good joint or something.”
She blinked at him. “I’ve never even smoked before.”
“Exactly!” he said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “It’s time you live a little. C’mon, get dressed. We’ll grab lunch, and then…” he wiggled his eyebrows. “you’re coming with me to pick up.”
“Pick up…?” she repeated slowly, still too sleep drunk to follow.
“My dealer,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Cool guy. You’ll like him. He’ll probably corrupt you faster than I can.”
Y/N groaned again, but there was already a little tug deep inside her chest, a stupid, restless curiosity that made her sit up.
Maybe a little corruption wasn’t the worst thing right now.
Maybe it would even make her feel something again other than absolute exhaustion.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
By the time they made it to the tiny Korean BBQ spot Wooyoung loved, y/n was a little more awake, but not by much. She sat slumped in the booth, poking listlessly at her bowl of rice while Wooyoung inhaled an embarrassing amount of meat across from her.
“You look like you’re about to pass out into your food,” he said around a mouthful, grinning.
“I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Y/N muttered. She picked up a piece of bulgogi, stared at it for a second, then put it back down with a sigh. “I don’t know, Woo. I thought college would be different. Like, fun or exciting or… at least bearable.”
He set his chopsticks down, suddenly a little more serious. “Burnout’s a bitch,” he said, shrugging like he knew the feeling too well. “No one tells you that the dream gets heavy real fast.”
She leaned her head against the cool window beside their booth, closing her eyes. “It’s like I’m either exhausted or guilty that I’m not doing more. Even when I’m doing everything.”
“You’re doing fine,” Wooyoung said firmly, kicking her gently under the table. “You just need to chill out for a bit. Reset your brain.”
She cracked one eye open. “With a joint, apparently?”
“Damn right,” he said, flashing her a shit eating grin. “I’m telling you, one hit and you’ll forget all about ancient history and essays and existential dread.”
“I doubt that,” she said, but she smiled weakly, the first real smile she’d managed in days.
They finished eating, and after Wooyoung paid , because “this one’s on me, stress girl” they headed out into the chilly afternoon. The sun was already starting to dip low, painting the sky in muted golds and blues.
“You sure it’s okay for me to come?” Y/N asked as they turned down a quieter street, tucked between a row of low, grungy apartment buildings.
“He won’t care,” Wooyoung said, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Mingi’s chill. Honestly, he’ll probably offer you something the second you walk through the door.”
“Mingi,” Y/N repeated under her breath, tasting the name. It already sounded like trouble.
Wooyoung led her up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor of a rundown building. He knocked twice, then opened the door without waiting for a response.
“Mingi!” he called out.
Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet, like vanilla and musk mixed together. It was cluttered but cozy, low lighting, worn in furniture, a beat up guitar leaning against the couch.
And then he appeared.
Mingi.
Tall, broad shouldered, moving with a lazy kind of confidence as he padded out from the kitchen, a blunt tucked between his fingers. His hair was short and bleached almost white, messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. His black painted nails tapped rhythmically against the lighter in his other hand. A glint of silver flashed when he licked his lips, a tongue piercing, and when he stretched, his thin black tank top pulled tight against his chest, revealing the faint outlines of piercings underneath.
Y/N mouth went dry.
Wooyoung clapped Mingi on the shoulder casually. “This is Y/N,” he said. “Freshman, never smoked before, tired of life.”
Mingi’s eyes, sharp, dark, unreadable, flicked over her slowly. Not in a creepy way, but like he was reading her, cataloguing her.
“First time, huh?” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.
Y/N swallowed thickly and nodded.
Mingi smirked, slow and easy. “Lucky me.”
And in that moment, as he passed her the freshly rolled blunt with two fingers and a wicked glint in his eye, y/n knew deep in her gut she was standing at the edge of something she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.
Maybe she didn’t even want to.
Mingi dropped onto the couch like he had all the time in the world, legs spread wide, head tipped back lazily against the cushions. He patted the empty spot beside him without a word.
Y/N hesitated for half a second before Wooyoung nudged her forward with a grin. “Don’t be shy. He only bites if you ask nicely.”
She shot Wooyoung a look, but her legs moved on their own, carrying her to the couch. She sat gingerly beside Mingi, leaving a careful few inches of space between them. He smelled like smoke and something darker underneath, leather and salt and skin warmed by the sun.
Mingi lit the blunt with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face, his heavy lidded eyes, the silver glint on his tongue when he tucked it against his cheek, the piercings beneath his tank top catching just enough light to hint at more hidden things.
He took a slow drag, holding it in before exhaling in a thick ribbon of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Then he turned to her, blunt pinched between two black painted fingers, the polish chipping slightly.
“Here,” he said, voice dipping a little lower. “Nice and easy.”
Y/N heart hammered painfully in her chest. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, his skin was warm, calloused. She raised it to her mouth like she’d seen people do in movies, feeling Mingi’s gaze heavy on her face, and inhaled.
Bad idea.
The smoke burned her throat instantly, her lungs seizing in protest. She coughed, hard, covering her mouth as her eyes watered. Wooyoung barked out a laugh from where he was perched in a chair nearby.
Mingi just chuckled low in his chest, the sound sinking into her skin like heat. He plucked the blunt back from her fingers, tapping it out against the edge of an ashtray.
“Not bad for a first timer,” he said, flashing her a grin full of teeth.
Y/N wiped at her watering eyes, already feeling the faintest buzz starting to prickle at the edges of her brain. Everything felt just a little softer, a little slower. Her body didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
“You good?” Wooyoung asked, still laughing.
She nodded, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”
Mingi leaned in a little closer, close enough that she could see the silver stud glinting against his tongue when he spoke.
“You wanna try again?” he asked, voice a slow drawl. “I’ll help you.”
There was something in the way he said it, low and thick, curling at the edges of her spine, that made her pulse spike.
Before she could second guess herself, y/n nodded.
Mingi brought the blunt back to his lips, took a slow, deep drag, and then leaned toward her, closer, closer, until there was barely an inch between them. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up gently.
“Open,” he murmured.
And y/n, without even thinking, parted her lips.
Mingi exhaled the smoke into her mouth, warm and sweet and dizzying, and y/n inhaled it like a prayer, like a sin she already knew she’d beg forgiveness for later. His thumb stroked a lazy line across her jaw as he pulled back, watching her through heavy lidded eyes.
The world tilted a little on its axis.
Everything inside her, the stress, the exhaustion, the constant weight she carried, faded for a second under the heavy rush of heat pooling low in her belly.
Wooyoung whistled low under his breath. “Damn. Should I leave you two alone?”
Mingi just smirked, slow and dangerous.
Y/N didn’t even know what to say. All she could do was sit there, lungs burning, heart hammering, feeling like she was slipping, falling straight into the kind of trouble she didn’t think she wanted to be saved from.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
They hung around for a little while longer, the conversation lazy and looping. Mingi had this easy way about him, he didn’t say much, but when he did, it was sharp, funny, a little wicked. Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in days, even if half the time she couldn’t tell if it was from the weed or the way he looked at her like he already knew exactly how much she was unraveling inside.
Wooyoung eventually slapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Alright, you know why I’m really here,” he said grinning.
Mingi snorted, pushing up from the couch and disappearing into the other room for a second. He came back with a small purple colored ziplock bag, tossing it lazily to Wooyoung, who caught it one handed.
“Same as usual,” Mingi said, settling back down with a grunt.
Wooyoung fished some crumpled bills out of his pocket and dropped them onto the cluttered coffee table. “Pleasure doing business as always, my good sir.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mingi said without heat.
Then, as Wooyoung tucked the bag away and moved to grab his jacket, Mingi leaned forward, snagging another rolling paper from a small tin on the table. His ringed fingers made quick work of it, the movements practiced and slow, like he had nothing but time.
Without being asked, without even really looking at her, Mingi rolled another blunt. This one he licked closed, sealing it with a flick of his tongue that had y/n stomach tightening sharply.
“For you,” he said, voice low and rough, that half smirk curling at the edges of his mouth again. “Your own.”
Y/N hesitated, glancing at Wooyoung, but he just shrugged, grinning like he knew exactly what was happening here.
“Consider it a welcome gift,” Mingi added, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as she took it.
The weight of it felt heavier than it should in her hand. She tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of her hoodie, heart thudding stupidly in her chest.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice a little too soft, a little too shaky.
Mingi just leaned back, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, eyes glinting with something unreadable.
“See you around. ” he said, like a promise.
Wooyoung whistled low under his breath as they stepped back out into the cold hallway. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, laughing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re so fucked.”
Y/N didn’t answer.
She just kept walking, the little weight of the blunt in her pocket like a brand against her side, Mingi’s rough voice still echoing in her head.
Maybe she was fucked.
And maybe, deep down, she didn’t even mind.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The cafe was its usual mid afternoon slow shift, a few students hunched over laptops, a couple regulars nursing cold coffees they’d been nursing for hours. The hum of soft indie music filled the air, blending with the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.
Y/N leaned against the counter, chin resting in her hand, fighting to keep her eyes open. She hadn’t been sleeping well, every time she closed her eyes, her mind spun with deadlines and half finished thoughts… and the lingering memory of rough fingers brushing hers, a deep voice rumbling….
see you around
The blunt still sat hidden in her desk drawer, untouched. She didn’t know why she hadn’t smoked it yet, maybe because part of her knew it wasn’t just a blunt. It was a line, and once she crossed it, she wasn’t sure she’d come back the same.
Wooyoung dropped a dirty rag on the counter in front of her with a grin. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I’m not getting stuck on closing shift because you faceplanted into the pastry case.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, flipping him off half heartedly.
He laughed, tossing the rag into the back sink, and then straightened suddenly, eyes flicking toward the door.
Y/N turned and her stomach flipped violently.
Mingi stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, bleached hair spiked and messy. He looked a little out of place in the soft, pastel washed cafe, all sharp edges and dark energy but he didn’t seem to care.
He met her eyes across the room, and that slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Uh oh,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. “Your little crush is here.” He teased.
Y/N glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved off the counter, smoothing her apron down nervously.
Mingi sauntered up to the register, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back a little to meet his gaze. “Told you I would see you around.” He said, low and easy.
Y/N tried to roll her eyes, tried to pretend her pulse didn’t trip over itself. “Hey,” she managed, voice only slightly breathless. “What can I get for you?”
Mingi leaned in, bracing his elbows casually on the counter. His eyes dragged over her face, lingering just a beat too long on her mouth before he spoke. “Coffee,” he said finally. “Black. Whatever’s strongest.”
“Coming right up,” she mumbled, turning quickly to pour it. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back the whole time.
When she slid the cup across the counter to him, their fingers brushed again, deliberate this time. A little spark zipped up her arm, sharp enough to make her breath hitch.
Mingi didn’t pull away. He held the cup steady, eyes dark and unreadable. “You smoke that yet?” he asked, voice pitched low so only she could hear.
Y/N mouth went dry. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.
Mingi’s smile deepened, slow and wicked, like he knew exactly why. Like he knew exactly what she was afraid of.
“Good,” he murmured. “Wait until you got someone around who knows how to take care of you.”
He tapped two fingers lightly against the side of his cup, like a secret, like a warning and then turned, sauntering back out into the cold afternoon without a glance back.
Y/N stood frozen behind the counter, heart thudding painfully against her ribs.
Wooyoung let out a long, low whistle from behind her. “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “You are so fucked.”
She couldn’t even argue.
Not when every part of her was already aching for more.
You were dating the most popular guy on campus — tall, gorgeous, captain of the swim team. On the surface, it looked perfect. But when being with him started to feel more like a responsibility than a relationship, you realized love shouldn’t feel like a job. So you walked away.
Winter break gave you the space to breathe, to focus on yourself again, and you promised not to get caught up in anyone else. But when a new student transfers in — calm, grounded, and nothing like your ex — you start to wonder... Maybe the universe has a strange way of offering second chances.
You promised not to fall again. But maybe, just maybe, this time it could be different.
Word count: 3k
Genre: Angst / fluff
Masterlist
The gym was quieter now, most of the late-afternoon crowd either gone or wrapping up. You sat on the edge of a bench—sweaty, sore, and seriously reconsidering your life choices after another Julie workout. She was packing up, happily humming to herself like she hadn’t just made you do what felt like three thousand squats.
“You didn’t die this time,” she grinned, tossing her water bottle into her bag.
“Not yet,” you muttered, catching your breath.
You were wiping your face with a towel when someone walked up behind Julie. Your gaze flicked up just in time to meet a familiar pair of dark eyes.
San.
Black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, joggers hanging just right on his hips, hair slightly messy like he’d just run a hand through it. He gave you a quick smile before glancing at Julie, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Oh—sorry,” he said, not missing a beat. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just saw you were done.”
Julie looked between the two of you. “Friend of yours?”
You nodded, casual. “Yeah. Kind of.”
San gave a little wave. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you echoed, unsure why your stomach did a stupid little flip.
Julie picked up on the vibe immediately and smirked. “Cool. I’ll leave you to it, then.” She shot you a look that clearly said text me later, then disappeared around the corner.
Once she was gone, San shifted his bag on his shoulder and exhaled like he’d been holding something in.
“So,” he said, voice easy, familiar. “You survived leg day.”
“Barely,” you replied. “She’s a menace.”
He chuckled. “I saw her once make a guy cry during deadlifts. I’ve been scared ever since.”
You laughed, and it made his smile widen a little—like he’d been aiming for that.
Then his gaze dropped for a second, and when he looked back up, there was a flicker of something else behind it. Not hesitation exactly, just... a shift.
“Hey, uh,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “about Friday…”
Ah.
You knew this was coming.
“I think I, um, called you that night.”
Your brows lifted. “You think you did?”
“I mean—I know I did,” he sighed. “I just don’t really… remember the details.”
You crossed your arms—not in a cold way, more like you were enjoying this way too much. “You don’t remember anything?”
He cringed. “Did I say something bad?”
You tilted your head slightly. “What do you think you said?”
“See, that’s the thing,” he muttered, scratching the side of his head. “I blacked out right after I started talking about… a guy? I think?”
“You did,” you said, lips twitching.
“Great,” he groaned. “Please tell me I didn’t insult someone important. Or you. Or myself. Actually, if I insulted him, that’s fine. But you…”
You chuckled. “Relax. You didn’t say anything bad.”
He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “I knew it. I knew I was talking too much. I barely even drink! I was peer pressured!”
That made you laugh again, and it broke the tension just enough for him to straighten up, rolling his shoulders back like he was resetting.
“Seriously though,” he said after a beat, voice quieter but still steady, “if I said anything out of line... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries.”
You smiled, shaking your head. “You didn’t. I promise. You were... actually kinda sweet.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. His confidence settled again—less playful this time, more grounded. Like he wasn’t just winging it anymore.
He scratched the back of his head again, then let out a breath. “Okay, well, I’m glad. Because I’ve been thinking, and... I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna hang out. Like—not in a hallway, or class, or after gym.”
You blinked. “You’re asking me out?”
His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he looked away for a second, then met your eyes again, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
Your heart did that stupid flutter again.
You tried to keep your voice calm. “And what exactly does hanging out mean?”
“Whatever you want it to mean,” he replied smoothly. Then added, “But I was thinking coffee. Maybe a walk after. Something chill. No heavy lifting involved.”
You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile. “Okay. Sure.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
San grinned—cocky again, like that little crack in his composure had never happened. But you could still see it in his eyes: that flicker of nervous energy that only showed up around you.
“Cool. I’ll text you later,” he said, backing up a few steps.
You smirked. “Please do.”
He threw a hand up in farewell, spinning on his heel.
And as you watched him disappear down the hallway, heading to swim practice, your sore muscles suddenly didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.
════════════════════════════════════════════
The café didn’t have a name on the sign—just a small wooden carving of a steaming cup hanging above the entrance. It was tucked into a side street, far from the noise of the main roads. The kind of place you only find if you’re wandering without a destination—if you let yourself get lost.
San held the door open for you, letting the warm scent of roasted coffee and aged wood settle between you as you stepped inside.
“How’d you find this place?” you asked, smiling as your eyes wandered over the hanging lanterns and low couches, the soft hum of jazz in the background like something out of a film.
“I got lost on my second day of classes,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t even know we had a gym on campus, so I was trying to find one… ended up here. I sat down, ordered something I couldn’t pronounce, and the owner told me I looked like I needed to rest.”
You laughed, already picturing him in the same corner booth you were now settling into. “Very off-brand for someone like you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s my brand?”
“Competitive. Confident.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, eyes glinting. “And tired,” he added, giving you a wink. “At least, I used to be.”
You smiled, catching the twitch of nerves in his fingers, even if his voice stayed confident. San wasn’t shy, but he was careful with you—like he was still figuring out the rhythm between bold and gentle.
“So,” you said, resting your arms on the table. “How’d the team thing go?”
San's grin widened, then faltered just a little. “I made it.”
Your eyes lit up. “San, that’s amazing!”
He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks. But… I didn’t get captain.” A pause. “I was close. Coach said I’ve got leadership potential, but y’know… new guy, not exactly traditional.”
You nodded, trying to find something comforting to say, but he just shrugged and looked out the window.
“It went to the previous captain. Mingi, I think his name is? Tall guy. Quiet, kind of intense.”
The name felt like a glass of cold water poured over your head. You blinked, trying not to react too much, and gave a small, polite noise in response. San didn’t notice—he was still looking out, like he was deciding if he should keep going.
“Honestly,” he said after a beat, “I don’t even know if he wants the spot anymore. He barely talks during practice. Seems… somewhere else.”
You swallowed hard and stared into your drink.
“I don’t really get guys like him,” San admitted. “All that talent but no fire. I thought getting onto this team would feel like winning something, but now I’m just wondering what I’m really trying to prove.”
You looked up at him. His voice had gone soft.
“Did I ever tell you how I started swimming?”
You shook your head, grateful for the shift.
“It wasn’t really my choice,” he said. “My dad owns a Taekwondo academy. I grew up training all the time. I was good at it, but one day I just… walked out. I ended up by a pool, and without thinking, I jumped in. I couldn’t even swim that well, but—” He smiled faintly. “I felt free.”
You watched him, the way his expression softened in that memory. He looked younger like that. Lighter.
“I’ve been dancing for a long time,” you said after a moment. “Most of my life, actually. I was serious. Competed. Trained like crazy. Then... something shifted. It stopped feeling like mine.”
San’s gaze didn’t leave you.
“And now?”
“Now I’m trying to get back to it. Not the medals or the performances—just the movement. Just... me.”
“That sounds harder than anything I’ve done.”
“It is,” you admitted.
A silence stretched between you—not awkward, just full. Like the space between two people who understood more than they let on.
“I’m glad you came,” he said suddenly, softly. “I’m not great at this kind of thing.”
“This kind of thing?” you asked.
“Dates.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is this a date?”
His lips curved. “Did I mess it up?”
You laughed. “No. You did fine.”
His smile widened, and his shoulders relaxed as he sipped from his drink.
And for the first time since Mingi, someone’s honesty made you feel heard.
════════════════════════════════════════════
You stepped out of the little café with San beside you, your chest still light from laughter. Dinner had been easy—conversation flowing in that way it only does when you forget to be guarded. You’d shared a dessert you hadn’t meant to order, argued over who picked the better tea, and told him things you hadn’t planned to say.
“I haven’t laughed like that in a while,” you admitted, glancing at him as you reached the sidewalk. “You’re dangerously good at making people relax.”
San grinned. “I’ll take that as a win.”
“A little too good,” you added. “I almost told you all my childhood trauma.”
He laughed, and you caught the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did. “There’s always the second date for that.”
You looked at him—playful, open, entirely sincere—and your heart did that annoying skip thing again.
“You’re really bad at pretending you’re not smooth,” you said.
He smirked. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”
You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Unfortunately.”
“I really liked that place,” you said. “Kinda weird that I hadn’t seen it before.”
San shrugged, catching up to walk beside you. “I know, right? I literally just stumbled upon it. Looked cozy, smelled good... figured I’d keep it in my back pocket.”
You raised a brow. “You have a back pocket for future date spots?”
San grinned. “Gotta be prepared.”
You laughed, the sound low and surprised, and shook your head. “So you’re one of those guys who scouts the city like a rom-com protagonist.”
“Not intentionally,” he said, then looked at you, a little sheepish. “But I guess if I find a place and think, ‘I’d want to bring someone here’, that’s not a bad sign, right?”
Your heart softened at that. He wasn’t being slick—just honest, in that quiet way he always was.
“No,” you said. “Not bad at all.”
You walked a few more steps before he nudged you gently with his shoulder.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to keep walking,” he said, “but you kind of just... started moving.”
You smirked. “So I ruined your big romantic line?”
“Completely,” he said, mock-offended. “I had a whole charming speech planned. Probably would’ve swept you off your feet.”
“Damn. Missed opportunity.”
He looked over at you, smile crooked. “Next time, I’ll be quicker.”
You didn’t say anything right away, but the way your shoulder brushed against his when you turned the corner felt like a quiet yes.
The city buzzed around you—cars humming in the distance, the occasional bark of a street dog, neon signs flickering above little convenience stores. But it all faded into background noise. All you could feel was the warmth lingering in your chest, the way his presence felt familiar already. You kept walking—slowly, like neither of you wanted to get to wherever you were going. Like the street had turned into its own little moment.
════════════════════════════════════════════
A few days had passed since your date with San. You hadn’t talked about it since — not directly — but something about the way he carried himself around you had shifted.
There was still that same relaxed energy, the casual teasing, the way he bumped your shoulder when you made him laugh — but now, it came with something softer. More intentional. Like he was starting to pay closer attention, without making a show of it.
You still texted almost daily, shared quiet laughs in your shared class, and when your gym schedules aligned, so it had become a quiet habit — wrapping up your last sets, walking together toward the bus stop, parting ways with a wave. It wasn’t anything official, nothing serious.
But it was something. And you were letting yourself enjoy it.
That afternoon, your body ached in the good kind of way. You'd pushed yourself hard in practice, and your hair was still damp where your towel hadn’t quite caught the sweat on your neck. You stood by the wall, rolling out your shoulders and sipping from your water bottle, the studio slowly clearing out around you.
A few teammates were still stretching near the mirror, chatting softly, and Yunho was off to the side going over choreography on his own. You caught a glimpse of him as you slung your duffel bag over your shoulder and turned toward the exit.
You reached for the door — but before your fingers could brush the handle, it swung open from the other side.
And then, time stalled.
Mingi.
You froze, breath caught mid-step, and so did he.
He looked the same — no, he looked worse. Dark circles, paler than usual, lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words. And the moment his eyes landed on you, it was like watching a dam break behind them.
All the emotions he had spent weeks stuffing down — guilt, regret, disbelief — came crashing over him. He looked at you like a man who had just seen something sacred he thought he’d lost forever.
And you…
You didn’t feel like a hurricane anymore.
You didn’t feel like a girl drowning in someone else’s silence.
You were just tired.
Tired, but moving forward.
He wanted to say something — anything — but the words tangled somewhere between his ribs and his throat.
You just stared at him, your eyes unreadable.
He didn’t know what he expected. Anger, maybe. A hello. A subtle nod.
But not this. Not silence.
Not… indifference.
And then—
“Hey.”
San’s voice broke through like a crack of thunder.
He jogged up behind Mingi, easy and bright in that way Mingi had started to hate without understanding why. His presence filled the space effortlessly, like he belonged there — like you wanted him there.
“Done already? You wanna head out together?” San asked, flashing you that signature grin.
Mingi’s stomach twisted.
Head out together.
You blinked, like someone waking from a dream. Your gaze slipped past Mingi like he wasn’t even there.
You didn’t say a word.
You just walked past him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your shampoo — the same kind, the one he used to trace with his fingertips when you laid on his chest.
But now, it clung to the air like a ghost.
And you didn’t even look back.
San matched your pace without hesitation, falling into step beside you with the kind of casual ease that made Mingi’s heart clench in ways he couldn’t explain.
Behind you, he just stood there.
Stuck.
His chest burned with everything he didn’t say. With everything he couldn’t undo.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel angry or bitter or betrayed.
He just felt empty.
Like he’d lost something he hadn’t even realized he was still holding on to.
Until now.
Until you walked past him like a stranger.
════════════════════════════════════════════
The walk to the bus stop was unusually quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that wrapped around you both after a long gym session — the good kind, where your bodies were tired but content and the silence was soft, comfortable. This was different. Stiff. Heavier somehow.
San walked beside you with his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes flicking to you every few steps. He kept catching the way your jaw tensed, the way your eyes stayed fixed straight ahead like you were somewhere else entirely.
And that somewhere wasn’t with him.
His pace slowed just slightly, hesitating.
He hadn’t known what he was expecting after walking you out — maybe laughter, a teasing comment about how his legs were going to give out from practice. Maybe the way you usually bumped his shoulder with yours as you said goodbye.
But you hadn’t said anything. Not since the studio.
And the longer the silence stretched, the more he felt that creeping panic start to bubble in his chest.
Finally, he exhaled and cleared his throat. “Did… did I say something wrong?”
You didn’t answer right away.
You just kept walking, your steps a little faster now. And San’s heart dropped half a beat.
He quickened to catch up. “I mean — if I said something back there, or if I made things weird somehow—”
“What?”
You blinked, turning your head to him like you'd just realized he was there. Like he pulled you out of your own head.
He stopped walking. “You’re really quiet,” he said gently. “I thought maybe I crossed a line or something. Or it’s weird that I showed up to the studio. I don’t know.”
You stopped, too.
You looked up at him, and there was something in your eyes that made San’s stomach twist. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t discomfort.
It was sadness.
“I just…” You swallowed. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
And you said it with the kind of quiet finality that made his pulse spike.
San’s expression softened instantly. “Okay.”
But you didn’t speak again.
You just looked at him for another second — like you were measuring something, like you weren’t sure if this was the right time
And San didn’t push.
He just stayed by your side, silent again.
And this time, the silence felt less like distance… and more like the breath you take right before something breaks open.
You were dating the most popular guy on campus — tall, gorgeous, captain of the swim team. On the surface, it looked perfect. But when being with him started to feel more like a responsibility than a relationship, you realized love shouldn’t feel like a job. So you walked away.
Winter break gave you the space to breathe, to focus on yourself again, and you promised not to get caught up in anyone else. But when a new student transfers in — calm, grounded, and nothing like your ex — you start to wonder... Maybe the universe has a strange way of offering second chances.
You promised not to fall again. But maybe, just maybe, this time it could be different.
Word count: 2.9k
Genre: Angst / fluff
Masterlist
The first time San showed up to university swim team practice, he didn’t expect to stand out. He hadn’t come to impress anyone, and he wasn’t chasing attention. If anything, he preferred to blend in, to observe quietly, slip into rhythm like a ripple—not a wave.
But some people don’t get to stay invisible. Not when they move like they were born to live in the water.
The aquatic center was already alive when he arrived, the sounds of slapping kickboards and echoing instructions bouncing off tile walls. Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, dancing across the pool’s surface. Chlorine stung his nose as he stepped inside—sharp and familiar, like the scent of every pool he'd ever touched, every morning he'd ever carved out a piece of the world in silence and water.
He paused at the entrance for a beat, bag slung over his shoulder, taking in the team lined up along the edge of the pool. They stood in loose clusters, stretching, joking, yawning. A few glanced his way. Some offered casual nods or polite "hey"s. Most just kept talking, half-listening to the coach’s stern instructions.
But one pair of eyes didn’t just glance.
They lingered.
Mingi stood near the poolside, towel draped around his neck, the ends darkening where water dripped steadily from his hair. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—but something in the stillness of his stare made San’s skin prickle beneath his hoodie. It wasn’t recognition. Not yet. It was assessment. A quiet, cool kind of measuring that dug under the surface.
Their eyes met—brief but unblinking.
And then the coach’s voice broke through. "Right on time," he said, turning to San with a clipped smile. "Choi San, yeah? New recruit. Everyone, make sure to say hi."
A scattered chorus of greetings followed—some friendly, some bored, most indifferent. But even in that, San felt the subtle shift in the room. Something had changed. It was small, but there—like the water had gone still for just a second too long.
He gave a slight bow and a quiet "hello," then turned when the coach waved him off.
"Go change. I want you warming up in lane three."
San nodded, disappearing into the locker room.
Behind him, Mingi’s jaw clenched just slightly. Lane three. His lane. The one he'd swum in since his very first year. The one where he always started drills, where he knew every inch of the wall by feel alone.
When practice started, it didn’t take long for the tension to solidify.
San wasn’t just good—he was smooth. Not overly polished, not yet refined by their routines, but undeniably gifted. His strokes were clean, intentional, like his body already knew how to carry itself through resistance. He cut through the water with quiet confidence, leaving behind ripples of whispered impressions.
“That new guy’s fast.”
“Did you see his butterfly?”
Mingi heard it all. Heard it too clearly, in the way teammates whispered just out of reach, in the way eyes drifted toward lane three. It was like watching gravity shift slightly away from him—and toward San.
He tried to block it out, diving back into the water with renewed force, slicing the lane like he could outrun the pressure building in his chest. But every lap told the same story. San was still ahead. Not by much. Not enough to call it dominance. But enough to be noticed. Enough to bruise something sensitive inside Mingi that he hadn’t realized was still exposed.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He was the leader. The captain. The benchmark. The one others chased, not the one trying to catch up.
And yet—every time they passed each other, shoulders cutting through the same stretch of water, it felt like a silent challenge. Like something old and primal was stirring in the depths. Mingi kicked harder, held his breath longer, teeth grit beneath his goggles—but San never flinched, never glanced sideways, never let the tension show.
That calm. That focus. It was maddening.
After drills, when San climbed out of the pool, one of the older guys gave him a half-joking, impressed slap on the back. “Not bad, rookie.”
San didn’t puff his chest or preen. He just nodded, toweling his hair, chest still rising and falling from exertion. No cocky smile. No wide-eyed nerves. Just presence. It was like he wasn’t swimming against anyone but himself—and that made him even harder to ignore.
And Mingi couldn’t ignore him.
He tried. For days, he pushed it down. Told himself he was just rusty. Told himself San was still new, still green. That it was only a matter of time before things evened out.
But they didn’t.
Every practice chipped away at his denial. San didn’t slow down. And Mingi couldn’t shake the quiet pressure building around him, the eyes that were once solely on him now constantly darting sideways.
Since the breakup, he’d let himself drift. He still showed up. Still swam. But the fire had dimmed, replaced by something numb and gray. He hadn’t noticed how quiet he'd become in the water—how mechanical his movements felt. Until San arrived, and suddenly the silence felt unbearable.
It wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear. A quiet panic, like someone had reached into the space he’d carved out for himself and started rearranging the furniture without asking.
Then came the time trial.
The first real test. No hiding. No excuses.
As Mingi stepped onto the block, everything inside him locked into place. His shoulders rolled once, breath slow. But when he glanced to his right—San was already there. Poised. Still. Eyes straight ahead like he couldn’t see anything but the end of the lane.
The whistle blew.
They dove.
Water surged around them, blinding and cold, all noise muffled beneath its surface. Mingi pushed with everything he had—his arms cutting hard, legs snapping like a whip. He knew his own rhythm. Knew how to pace it, when to accelerate, how to push through the burn. But by the final lap, his lungs screamed. His arms ached.
And San—San was still beside him.
No, not beside.
Ahead.
When they touched the wall, it was close. Too close. But the timers didn’t lie.
San beat him.
He climbed out without fanfare, dripping and steady, like it hadn’t even surprised him. He grabbed his towel and wiped his face with his hands slightly shaking, not once looking over.
Mingi stayed in the pool a second longer than necessary, chest heaving—not from exertion, but from the quiet, unbearable weight of the moment. When he pulled himself out, his hands shook as he tore off his goggles.
The coach clapped, voice echoing, “Good work. Final lineup will be posted soon.”
San’s gaze flicked toward him—brief, unreadable.
And this time, Mingi didn’t look away.
There was no gloating in San’s face. No smug satisfaction.
Just acknowledgment.
And in that silence, something settled between them—thin as a thread, sharp as a blade.
They weren’t rivals yet. Not exactly.
But Mingi felt it—the shift. The change in tide.
And he didn’t know if it scared him more…
…or made him want to fight.
Mingi didn’t speak to anyone after the time trial.
Not because he was sulking. Not because he was angry—at least, not just that. He just couldn’t trust himself to say anything without giving something away. Something brittle. Something small and sharp lodged between his ribs.
He changed like a machine. Towel around his neck. Hoodie up. Eyes down. No locker room banter. Not even a nod at the coach, who clapped him on the shoulder with a polite “Good effort today.” That tone. The one meant to sound encouraging, but really just meant you lost.
The sting of chlorine still clung to his skin when he slipped out the back exit of the aquatic center, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, but it didn’t settle—it just spiraled. His legs moved on instinct, tracing a path through campus that felt both familiar and empty.
It was dusk by the time he found himself in the rec center. The old one. Faded posters still taped to the walls, the vending machine humming with fluorescent flicker. He sat on the cracked tile floor, hoodie half-zipped, back to the wall like it could hold him up.
His breathing slowed. He let his head rest against the cold surface, eyes shut.
Footsteps approached, echoing through the hall. Mingi didn’t need to look.
“Knew you’d be here,” Yunho’s voice said, calm and sure.
Mingi let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You keeping tabs on me now?”
“Always.” Yunho dropped down beside him, their shoulders almost brushing but not quite. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just lived-in.
For a long while, neither said anything.
Then Mingi broke it.
“We’ve got this new guy on the team.”
Yunho tilted his head, quiet. “Yeah?”
Mingi nodded once, eyes still forward. “He’s good.”
“How good are we talking?”
Mingi’s jaw tightened. “Fast. Efficient. Doesn’t waste energy. Doesn’t overthink. One of those people who makes hard work look easy.”
Yunho gave a low whistle. “Sounds dangerous.”
“He is,” Mingi muttered. “He’s not even trying to prove anything. He just… swims.”
Yunho stayed quiet, watching the way Mingi’s hands clenched and unclenched. The way his knee bounced with nervous energy.
Mingi exhaled hard through his nose. “He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know what I gave up to get here. And it’s not like he’s cocky—he’s not. But something about him makes me feel like I’m already being replaced.”
The word hung in the air. Replaced.
“You’re not,” Yunho said simply.
Mingi didn’t answer. He stared down at his shoes, scuffed from years of wear. “It’s just… since everything ended, I haven’t been the same in the water. Like part of me got tired. Like I lost the reason I used to fight.”
There it was.
Yunho didn’t flinch. But he didn’t answer right away either.
He hadn’t mention y/n's name around Mingi since the breakup. Not out of guilt—out of respect. Mingi had made it clear there were lines. Lines Yunho, even as his best friend, wasn’t meant to cross.
Still, Yunho saw it. In the way Mingi avoided the dance studio hallway. In how he didn't asked about the showcases anymore.
And yet, Yunho—who still saw you at practice, who still watched you dance like your life depended on it—never said a word.
He told himself it was for Mingi. But if he was honest, part of him just didn’t want to admit that he still wondered too.
Is she eating okay? Sleeping? Is she laughing again?
“I haven’t seen her,” Yunho said carefully, eyes on the vending machine. Technically true, not outside of the studio.
Mingi scoffed lightly. “Didn’t ask.”
Yunho gave him a look.
Mingi cracked his knuckles. “Sorry.”
Another silence.
“Do you think it’s stupid? That I’m comparing this guy to her?”
Yunho blinked. “What?”
“I keep thinking…” Mingi hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “What if she ends up with someone like him? Someone solid. Clean slate. Doesn’t carry all the shit I do.”
Yunho's chest tightened, but his voice stayed calm. “You don’t know anything about him.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you think you do.”
Mingi’s jaw clenched, but Yunho didn’t let up.
“Look,” Yunho said, more gently now, “you don’t have to outrun anyone. You just need to find your rhythm again. Whether she’s part of it or not.”
Mingi nodded slowly and then Yunho asked “You ever think about going back? Saying something?”
Mingi throat worked around a reply. “All the time.”
And then he offered a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “Doesn’t mean I will.”
They both leaned back, the ceiling above them humming faintly.
Mingi’s voice dropped. “I miss the way it used to feel. When I swam like I had something to prove. Like it meant something.”
Yunho nudged him lightly. “Then find something new that matters. Maybe not to win. Just… to move again.”
Mingi let the words settle in. He didn’t have a response—not yet.
But something inside him stirred. A shift. Small. Fragile. Real.
“…I hate that you always make sense,” he muttered.
Yunho grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”
Mingi let out a short laugh, the kind that felt sore in his chest but healing too.
The vending machine buzzed. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed shut.
For the first time all day, Mingi felt like the noise in his head had quieted—just enough to breathe.
On friday the team decided to go out for drinks—an unofficial welcome for San. It was part of the culture. After grueling practices, the older teammates always rallied for a few rounds of soju, and rookies were expected to tag along without protest. San didn’t hesitate. He was still trying to find his place in this city—one that never really gave you room to breathe unless you earned it. And saying no tonight might’ve marked him as standoffish before he even had a chance to prove otherwise.
They ended up at a cramped barbecue joint tucked into a narrow alley off campus, half-hidden between two convenience stores. The kind of place that smelled like charred meat and cheap beer, with grease-coated tabletops and flickering neon signs buzzing low like a lullaby. Red plastic stools scraped against cracked tile floors as the team settled in, loud and loose, their post-practice adrenaline bleeding into laughter and rough camaraderie.
The grill hissed and popped in the middle of the table, pork belly sizzling alongside garlic slices and kimchi. The heat and smoke rose thick in the air, mingling with the sweat still clinging to San’s skin beneath his hoodie. It should’ve been overwhelming—but instead, it was grounding, almost comforting. He didn’t know these people well yet, but there was something oddly reassuring in the way they yelled over each other, in how their stories overlapped with exaggerated hand gestures and bursts of laughter that didn’t care who was watching.
Soju bottles began to stack like trophies, green glass catching the low amber light. Someone clinked a shot glass against his, eyes already glassy with drink, and threw an arm around his shoulder, dragging him into a fast-paced drinking game he didn’t fully understand. San laughed—awkward at first, then freer. He didn’t resist when they poured for him again. The alcohol went down sharp but warm, curling in his belly, smoothing out the sharp edges of everything he’d been carrying lately.
His muscles, sore from training, began to feel distant. His thoughts, usually too loud, too fast, quieted to a slow hum. It felt good. Dangerous, but good.
Across the table, Mingi sat with a beer in hand, posture relaxed but eyes anything but. He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t joining the games. He just sat there—watching. Not just San, but all of them, like he was there but not really part of it. Their eyes met once—brief, fleeting—and San looked away first, not out of discomfort, but something else. Something heavier. Something he couldn’t name.
There was an ache in the space between them. Not anger. Not quite tension either. Just... silence that felt like it meant more than it should.
As the night wore on, the energy began to unravel. People grew messier with their words, shoulders slumping as the weight of the day finally caught up with the buzz of alcohol. Laughter softened into murmured jokes and sleepy grins. One of the older teammates nudged San toward the door, chuckling as he helped him stand.
“You good?”
San nodded with a crooked smile, his vision just slightly off-balance. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Someone hailed a cab for him. A hand clapped his back, too rough to be comforting but too familiar to be cold. Then they were gone—spilling into the night in pairs, breaking off into the city.
San slid into the backseat of the cab, the synthetic leather cool against his thighs, his phone already glowing in his palm. The window beside him was slightly fogged, and he leaned into it, resting his forehead against the glass. The city moved around him in streaks of yellow and red, the passing traffic blurring into light trails like shooting stars. His breath left a faint imprint on the glass.
His phone buzzed gently in his hand.
A message.
From you.
His lips parted slightly as he read it—nothing too serious. Just a reply to something he barely remembered sending. He had texted earlier, fingers stumbling over the keyboard, not entirely sure why. Maybe he missed you. Maybe he just needed someone familiar in a night that felt too new, too loud. Or maybe the soju had lowered a wall he didn’t know he still kept up around you.
The cab’s radio was playing softly, some indie ballad that sounded like it belonged in a drama—wistful and too honest. San’s eyes stayed locked on the notification. Your name lit up against the screen, small and steady.
He stared at it, unmoving, while the cab took another slow turn. His thumb hovered over the call icon.
There was something twisting inside him. Not painful. Not entirely comfortable either. A kind of quiet loneliness—the kind that doesn't hit you until the noise fades and you're left with nothing but your own thoughts,l.
He didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the pros and cons. He just tapped the call button.
The dial tone rang in his ear—loud and clear.
He let his head fall back against the seat, eyes drifting shut. The city continued to slip by outside, neon lights reflecting off the cab’s windows like constellations. And for a moment, it was just him, the buzz of the alcohol still soft in his blood, and the sound of your line ringing—pulling him toward something familiar, something safe, even if he couldn’t name exactly what that was.
You were dating the most popular guy on campus — tall, gorgeous, captain of the swim team. On the surface, it looked perfect. But when being with him started to feel more like a responsibility than a relationship, you realized love shouldn’t feel like a job. So you walked away.
Winter break gave you the space to breathe, to focus on yourself again, and you promised not to get caught up in anyone else. But when a new student transfers in — calm, grounded, and nothing like your ex — you start to wonder... Maybe the universe has a strange way of offering second chances.
You promised not to fall again. But maybe, just maybe, this time it could be different.
Word count: 1.5k
Genre: Angst / fluff
Masterlist
Always being first, always being number one, getting good grades, excelling at everything he did—those were San's top priorities. Or rather, his father's.
Since he was young, his father had trained him like a professional athlete. Any other kid might have thought that having a dad who owned a Taekwondo academy would be a dream. But for San, it was a nightmare.
While his friends played outside on their free days, he had to put on his uniform and train as if his life depended on it. Over and over, until his body couldn’t take it anymore. And just when he was ready to give up, his father would hit him with, "I'm really proud of you. You're going to make it big, kid." So, San convinced himself that he liked Taekwondo—just to make his father happy.
Growing up in a small town where everyone knew everyone, San didn’t just exist as himself. He was Master Choi’s son, the kid with the sharp kicks and the strict father. If people weren’t calling him by name, they were whispering about him—how he was going places, how his dad was shaping him into a champion. He was the one who always won tournaments, always trained instead of hanging out, always had bruises that nobody asked about. It was like he belonged to his father’s dream more than to himself.
And honestly? He was tired of it.
That’s probably why, on one particularly brutal summer afternoon, he decided he’d had enough.
The heat was suffocating, the kind that made the air feel thick and the pavement hot enough to burn through his sneakers. He was supposed to be practicing kicks for the hundredth time, but instead, he just… walked away. His body ached from training, his mind felt heavy, and all he wanted was to disappear for a while.
He wandered without a plan, passing familiar streets and tiny shops with their doors propped open, letting out weak blasts of air-conditioning. Somewhere along the way, he heard it—laughter. Loud, carefree, the kind that bubbled up from people who didn’t have a million expectations weighing them down.
Curious, he followed the sound and found himself in front of the town’s public pool.
It wasn’t anything fancy—just a big rectangle of blue water, surrounded by faded lounge chairs and a chain-link fence. But to San, it looked like another world. Kids were running around, cannonballing off the edge, dunking each other under, completely unaware of the concept of winning or losing. No rigid stances, no strict forms, just movement—fluid, effortless, free.
Something in his chest clenched. He didn’t remember the last time he had fun.
Before he could second-guess himself, he toed off his shoes, yanked off his socks, and stepped forward. The hot concrete burned against his bare feet, but he didn’t care. One moment, he was standing at the edge. The next, he was plunging into the water.
The impact sent a rush of cool relief through his body. For the first time in forever, he wasn’t thinking about his form, his balance, his technique. He wasn’t thinking at all. He was just moving.
He swam without any real direction, just letting his body take over. His strokes were rough, untrained, but powerful. It felt different from Taekwondo—there was no tension in his muscles, no voice in his head telling him he had to be perfect. It was just him and the water, and for once, that was enough.
By the time he reached the other side, his lungs were burning, but he felt alive. He hung onto the edge, catching his breath, when a voice called out from nearby.
“You’re fast, kid.”
San turned to see a man watching him from the deck, arms crossed. He had a whistle around his neck, sunglasses perched on his head—clearly a coach. “Ever thought about joining a swim team?”
San blinked. The words were foreign, like they were meant for someone else. A team? Him?
He hesitated, water dripping down his face, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.
All his life, people had decided things for him. What he trained in, what he was supposed to love, what his future was going to be.
But this—this felt different.
Maybe, for the first time, he had found something that was truly his.
San hadn’t planned on keeping it a secret. At least, not at first.
He wasn’t Master Choi’s son at the pool. He was just San, some kid who swam fast.
So, he kept sneaking off. Training sessions turned into excuses—Coach let me out late, I have extra homework, I’m not feeling great today. And for a while, his father didn’t notice.
Until he did.
San still remembers the exact moment everything fell apart. He had just finished practice, skin still damp, his muscles sore in a way that felt good for once. His coach had clapped him on the back, saying something about how he had real potential if he kept working at it. And for the first time in a long time, he actually believed it.
Then he heard a voice that sent a chill through his entire body.
"What do you think you’re doing?"
San froze.
Standing near the entrance of the pool facility, arms crossed, expression unreadable, was his father.
He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t moving. But San could feel the anger, barely contained beneath the surface. The kind of anger that wasn’t explosive—it was controlled. And that was worse.
For a split second, he thought about running.
Instead, he swallowed hard and forced himself to meet his father’s gaze. “I was just—”
“Get in the car.”
The drive home was silent, but the air was thick with unspoken words.
And then, the second they stepped inside, his father finally let loose.
"How long have you been doing this?" The words were sharp, biting. "How much time have you wasted?"
San barely had time to drop his pool bag before his father was in front of him, staring him down. "You think you can just throw away everything I’ve built for you? Sneaking off like some rebellious kid? For what? A useless hobby?"
That word—useless—hit harder than San expected.
His father didn’t even see swimming as real. Not like Taekwondo. Not like the years of discipline and training he had drilled into San’s body.
And that was the moment San realized.
His father didn’t care why.
Why he had strayed from Taekwondo. Why he had fallen in love with swimming. Why, for once, something felt right.
To him, this wasn’t a passion. It was betrayal.
The next few weeks were hell. Extra training. Harsher drills. Stricter rules. His father wasn’t just disappointed—he was determined to fix him. Every second San spent in Taekwondo now felt like punishment. Like his father was beating the pool out of him, one kick at a time.
And San? He was exhausted. He did what was expected, went through the motions, but the spark was gone.
The worst part?
They never talked about it again.
His father didn’t ask if he still swam. Didn’t ask if he missed it. Didn’t ask anything. It was like it never happened.
And ever since that day, things were never the same.
They still sat at the same dinner table, still exchanged words when necessary. But there was a gap between them now—one that no amount of training or forced smiles could close.
Even now, years later, San still feels it.
Like something between them had broken that day.
And maybe, just maybe, it was never going to be fixed.
even after that night—after the yelling, after the punishing training sessions, after the cold silence that settled between them—San didn’t stop swimming.
At first, it was just out of spite. A rebellious act, a quiet screw you every time he slipped into the water. If his father wanted to pretend it didn’t exist, then fine. But that didn’t mean San had to give it up.
So he found ways to keep going.
He’d wake up before dawn and sneak to the pool before school. He’d stay late afterward, lying about study sessions or group projects. He entered local competitions in secret, using a friend’s address to register under a different contact so the mail wouldn’t go home.
And somehow, he started winning.
It wasn’t anything big at first—just small tournaments, ribbons, a few medals that he shoved into the back of a drawer. But then came the bigger competitions. The ones where scouts showed up. Where people started to notice him.
And that was when the letters started coming.
College offers.
Scholarships.
Opportunities that had nothing to do with Taekwondo. Nothing to do with his father.
The day he got his acceptance letter from a university in the city—a good university, far from his hometown—was the day he realized just how much swimming had given him.
An escape. A future. A choice.
His father didn’t say much when he told him. Just nodded stiffly, eyes unreadable, and said, “Do what you want.”
And that was it. No congratulations. No anger. Just a flat statement, like San was a stranger making an unimportant decision.
But that night, when San walked past his father’s office, he saw the Taekwondo trophies on the shelf—polished, perfectly lined up, untouched. And for the first time, he wondered if his father already knew this would happen.
That one day, San would leave.
That one day, he’d walk away from the life his father had built for him.
And maybe that was why their relationship never truly recovered.
