Chee - she/her - 95 liner - I have Autism & ADHD, so please be patient.
Welcome to my fic rec blog!
I will reblog any fics I've read and enjoyed here! I will also post all reviews for fics for my fic club @k-fic-collection on this account.
Side blog of @nothoughtsjustfic where you can find my own writing!
If you are here just to message me/ send me an ask questioning why you've been blocked from my writing account, please read this post first. I won't answer anything that's explained in that post.
This is an 18+ account both because of potential content on the account and because I feel weird about minors interacting with me, so please just turn around if you are a minor, thanks.
I block accounts with no age indicators in the bio/ description/ pinned post.
You can find the main post of my favourite Seventeen and BTS fics here.
What I read/reblog:
Mostly Seventeen and BTS content, but there may be the rare piece from other k-pop groups.
Although I usually gravitate to the same members to read, I will read for any Seventeen and/ or BTS member and pairing, including poly or member x member.
I will read most genres/ tropes, but I really love fantasy and magic fics! If there is a good quest/adventure I'll very likely be interested!
I do read fics with darker themes sometimes, but not always.
What I don't read/reblog:
Anything with minors as the focus unless it's a family (found family, single parent etc) fic. I am okay with a highschool flash back scene, but not if it involves anything sexual.
Incest involving blood relations. Step-cest is okay sometimes.
Death of any character portrayed by an idol. Unless it's temporary or they start the fic already deceased/as a supernatural being.
Anything NSFW written by a minor or an account without an age indicator clearly stated in their bio/pinned.
I tend to avoid mean dom stuff because I don't like it, the same with degradation, but sometimes I might reblog that, depends on my mood and how it's written.
Anything without genres, word count, warnings, and a summary clearly stated by the author. I want to know what I'm getting into and that it's appropriate for me before I start to read.
My ask box is always open to talk about fics or accept fic recommendations to add to my to read list!
I also read on Ao3 and am more than happy to talk about fics from there too!
Tag guide for how I tag reblogs:
F = Fandom
P = Pairing
G = Genres/Tropes/AUs
R = SFW (no smut) or NSFW (contains smut)
WC = Word count: up to 5k, 5k to 10k, 10k to 20k, 20k to 30k, over 30k.
I won't tag any warnings in my reblogs as it will really be too much for me to tag every time.
i’m confused…do you block people that don’t have both an age indicator and no reblogs of fics? because i believe i was blocked and definitely have an age indicator and posts on my account?
Yes, I block people with no age indicators, who haven't recently reblogged a fic (I'm talking past 6 months here), plus other reasons. Some are listed on the post linked in my pinned, others aren't listed though. And honestly, if the issue isn't immediately obvious when clicking an account, I will have likely forgotten why I've blocked an account; my memory is terrible, and I block so many accounts regularly that I have no hope of tracking them.
Sometimes I block accounts if they repeatedly turn up in my "for you" section posting about stuff I don't want to see, and the "i'm not interested in this blog" option has done nothing to stop showing me that account, so I block as a last resort so I don't have to see whatever stuff they post.
But yeah, I have no idea what reason you're blocked for, especially as I have no idea who you are, so I can't really give you an answer you'll be happy with tbh
If any of that is worded weird or anything, I apologise, my brain is just not working rn 💗
PAIRING: Pirate!Seungcheol x f.reader
SUMMARY: Seungcheol has never been able to give his heart over to anything but the sea, which has landed him in a never ending game of chase with the sea’s favorite daughter.
WC: 2,148
AU: Pirate AU, Fantasy
GENRE: Established Relationship But Make It Weird
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: A little vague on the details of the world building, cannons and firearms and weapons, not really violence at all - no one gets injured. Some minor cursing. Reader’s crew is vaguely creepy and threatening.
A/N: This is for this request! I hope you enjoy - I actually now want to write way more of this world and pairing soijsaoijes.
A/N 2: Obviously this is in parts inspired by PotC but like if there was a god who presided over the death and the sea and she was his favorite kid kind of thing.
MASTERLIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT
THE SHIP CREAKS AS IT SAILS GENTLY ACROSS DARK SEAS. Seungcheol can see the blackness of the night outside of his small window, endless and dark like the whale oil burning in the lanterns in his room. It smells a bit acrid because of the closed-in space, but there is spiced incense they’d picked up at their last port that he burns to combat it.
Wiping a hand over his face doesn't wipe away the tired. They’d had plenty of days of rest before they’d parted for the open ocean again yesterday, picking up a couple of new crew members, supplies and more than enough memories of women in beds and the softness of their touch to keep his crew happy for their trek.
Still, Seungcheol is always tired. There are courses to chart, documents to pilfer through in search of something worth sending his crew after, and plenty of responsibilities as captain to keep him stressed and busy.
The stop in the last port hadn’t relaxed him as much as he’d needed. He sighs heavily, rolling up a map with nimble fingers. There was nothing to be done about it now. His weariness would ease the further out to sea they went - it always did.
Placing the map back in his carefully catelogged shelf, Seungcheol goes to the washbasin in his quarters to prepare for bed. Mingyu is at the helm tonight and the nightwatch is well into their duties for the night. Though they’ve been sailing all day, they’re not far enough from civilization that he’s worried about much.
Seungcheol splashes cool water on his face. It feels good and he closes his eyes momentarily, working one of his hands into his neck, trying to force the knot there to unravel. The ship's groans and creaks are a comforting sound, backtracked by the grandfather clock ticking in the far corner.
He lets the familiar sound sooth him, breathing in deeply. The amber from the incense is nice, but it isn’t as relaxing as open air. As salt. As sandalwood. As palm oil. It takes him a split second to realize what scent he’s thinking of - or rather who - but something interrupts the thought. Makes him pause.
It’s dead silent in his quarters. He opens his eyes, adjusting to the lamp light. Only his reflection looks back at him in his salt-corroded mirror. He looks the same as always: dark brown eyes, dark hair that is growing a little too long past his ears, an iron hoop through his nose that he’d gotten on a dare as a teen, and an array of necklaces collected from various treasure hoards.
There are a few scars too, one right above his eyebrow that he remembers fondly. His eyes flicker in the mirror glancing behind him in the silence. He turns when his eyes alight on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It’s stopped ticking.
Seungcheol’s heart leaps in his chest just as he hears the first boom of a cannon. Shouts ring out on the deck as he dives for the table in the middle of his quarters. It meets him faster than he expects - Mingyu turns the wheel at the helm, making the ship keel to the starboard side. He slams into the table, cursing as pain hits him at the waist.
Ignoring what’s surely going to be a nasty bruise, Seungcheol grabs his weapons belt, knocking things off the table as he slings it around his waist, running for the door. The weight of the belt is familiar and gives him a sense of ease, laden with pistols, knives and his saber.
Outside, the deck is in chaos. His cannon master is barking orders, members of the crew working together to turn the swing cannons. Mingyu orders for lamps to be lit, trying to get a visual on the enemy vessel as Seungcheol marches up the steps toward the helm.
Another boom echoes and Seungcheol feels the whistle of the cannon. He drops to his stomach and a moment later the ballistic crushes through the railing, sending splinters flying. He puts his arms over his head, protecting his skull from the debris as it smacks against the backs of his hands.
He doesn’t hear the cannon go off again so he scrambles to his feet, making it to the helm where Mingyu throws the wheel to the left, bringing the ship straight. Wind ripples in the sales for only a moment before it dies, leaving them immobile.
Mingyu curses. “What in the blazes?”
A boom resounds from beneath Seungcheol’s feet as The Harpy returns fire to their foes in the dark. One of the newer members of the crew - Chan, Seungcheol thinks his name is - comes running over, torch in hand.
“Captain, the ship!” Chan leans over, panting for breath. “It appeared from nowhere. She’s portside and behind us but she’s gaining.”
“How is she gaining without wind?” Mingyu demands.
Seungcheol closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. He smells salt and ocean, driftwood and palm oil. “What color are the sails?”
“Black as night almost darker, like-
“Midnight?” Seungcheol asks. When Chan nods, Mingyu groans and locks the wheel in place. He begins ordering the crew to prepare to be boarded. “Stay away from the railing, lad. They like to throw men overboard.”
“Who? What? Captain why aren’t we-”
Seungcheol claps Chan on the shoulder before jogging down the steps. The crew seems equal parts terrified that a phantom ship in the night is gaining on them and more relaxed as they pause what they were doing and gather in the middle of the ship. Some of the crew who has been with Seungcheol longer sigh like Mingyu had before jumping up to sit on a barrel while newer members like Chan stand on the main deck, hand hovering over their pistol, unsure what to do.
To Chan’s credit, he doesn’t piss himself when he sees the enemy shift drift into the orange light cast by all the torches on board. It’s better than most can say. Seeing The Dark Tide for the first time is enough to make any pirate shit their pants, no matter how long he’s been pirating or how many strange things they’ve seen.
The Dark Tide is beautiful, in its own way. The sails aren’t exactly sails - they’re blacker than night and they move like smoke, billowing on a wind that doesn’t exist, moved by a powder that Seungcheol has never quite understood nor dared question. The vessel is just as black, blending with the ocean save the single, bone white figurehead on the bow of the ship depicting a veiled maiden with a crown of waves and pearls.
For a moment, it looks like there is no one on the phantom ship. It sails to a gentle stop. The water doesn’t even ripple around it, almost like it’s not there. He knows it is. The Dark Tide is as real as anything else in the world, just different.
Mingyu appears next to Seungcheol, about to say something when the crew of The Dark Tide appears. The new members of Seungcheol’s crew cry out in surprise when the wraiths appear. They’re in all kinds of shapes and sizes, vaguely humanoid and terrifying, with eyes that burn green like hellfire and shadowy hair drifting in the wind.
Several of Seungcheol’s crew draw weapons but he holds out a hand, warning them off. He waits as they’re boarded. Two of the wraith-like pirates linger near the railing of The Harpy, leaning over to help someone up the rope ladder and land firmly on the deck of Seungcheol’s ship.
He feels his heart flutter. Around his neck, the locket on one of his necklaces hums in recognition, burning hot through his thin sleep shirt. It echoes the heat that licks through him when you stare at him, cocking your head to the side as your sea-green eyes drink him in, starting at his feet and ending with meeting his gaze.
“A pirate crew caught unaware,” You observe, eyes drifting away to survey his crew. He doesn’t dare look away from you for a moment, heart pounding in his chest. You click your teeth and shake your head. “How unfortunate. Shall I sink your ship for the very insult?”
“You did shoot cannons at us.”
Your gaze finds him again and his toes curl. The urge to cross the rest of the deck and gather you into his arms nearly takes over him. Your gaze glints, equal parts dangerous and playful, an untamable churning of green and blue and every other color that makes up the ocean.
“I shot cannons at you,” You correct him, wicked mouth curving. “I’ll admit that I missed, though.”
“You never miss.”
Lifting a single shoulder, you approach him. Seungcheol’s men move out of his way as you approach. Some of them look at you like they want to step toward you, but it would be a mistake. You are beautiful and alluring, your energy inspiring reckless abandon, ferociousness, greed. But you’re far more dangerous than you look - Seungcheol knows this best of all.
So he doesn’t move, instead letting you approach. You stop a few feet away from him and he can smell you. His fingers twitch. He wants to groan and reach out for you, wants to wrap his fingers in your shirt and pull you close, wants to taste the salt on your mouth and dive into your freezing cold waters until he’s numb and can’t breathe.
He doesn’t.
You reach out to him, fingers tracing the locket around his neck. He shivers, licking his lips before meeting your gaze. Your burning eyes are on him, unreadable with the storm on the surface of your gaze.
Wrapping your fingers around the locket, you give a sharp tug and pop the chain from his neck. Behind him, Chan gasps. No one else moves as you cradle the trinket, eyes shining. It’s in the simple shape of a heart, wrought in silver with infernal etchings across the surface.
Closing your palm around it, you smile and take a step back. Seungcheol makes the barest sound of protest and you notice, arching a brow. Instead of telling you to stay like he wants, he says, “I worked hard to capture that.”
You grin then. “I’m sure you’ll work equally hard to regain it, Captain.”
Seungcheol grits his teeth. You’re sure to drive him to the edge of the world for it, to Hell - where he has been - and back again. He’s willing to do it. Willing to risk the life of his crew for the treasure of having it again, of keeping it close.
“Until then…” You say coyly, giving him a shrug. “I’ll wait.”
Without another word, you spin on your boot and march toward the rail of The Harpy. He watches you go, aching to reach out for you. Aching to have you. But if he does, you’ll love him less for it. You won’t let him play this game, won’t like if he tries to make you do anything.
Like the sea you’re born from, you’re untameable. You are deadly and wild, angry and calm, salt and water. You can be both beautiful and terrible, and he knows the second he tries to make you his, to keep you and covet you, you’ll destroy him.
Standing on the rail of his ship, you turn to look at him one last time, a frown on your face. “Change the name of your ship, Seungcheol. I don’t like it.”
“Why?” He asks, a grin slicing his face. “It’s named after you, love.”
Your mouth twitches but you don’t smile. You give a short hum and turn without another word, stepping into darkness and vanishing. Your crew of sea wraiths go with you, some jumping over the side of the ship or melting into the floor like they had never existed in the first place.
Seungcheol watches as The Dark Tide begins to sail again. It drifts atop the ocean's surface for a few feet before vanishing into the dark once more. Around him, the crew breaks out into murmurs. Seungcheol stares after the ship, chest aching. His neck feels lighter without the locket settled on his chest, right over his beating heart.
“What was that?” Chan whispers.
Turning, Seungcheol realizes Jeonghan has appeared from the officer’s quarters, half dressed with one eye open, yawning. “Didn’t anyone tell you?” He asks Chan with a yawn. “Our captain is in a relationship with the God of the Underworld and Tide’s favorite child.”
“That was the daughter of Tethrakkos?”
“Aye. And it appears we will be hunting for her heart once more.”
“Ready for sail,” Seungcheol tells Mingyu, spinning to grin at Jeonghan and Chan, who looks mystified. “We have the heart of the sea to catch.”
Man, I fucken love pirates. There aren’t enough pirate stories fr. I’d genuinely love to read more of this pairing and world; I got sucked in and never wanted to leave.
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ Wiping a hand over his face doesn't wipe away the tired. ” relatable af
“ It’s stopped ticking. ” dun dun dunn
“ Mingyu groans and locks the wheel in place. ” very much a “not this shit again” 😂
“ The vessel is just as black, blending with the ocean save the single, bone white figurehead on the bow of the ship depicting a veiled maiden with a crown of waves and pearls. ” oh, that really does sound beautiful
“ “Ready for sail,” Seungcheol tells Mingyu, spinning to grin at Jeonghan and Chan, who looks mystified. “We have the heart of the sea to catch.” ” LET’S FUCKING GOOOO
I keep getting asks and messages asking why I've blocked people on my main/ writing account, so I'm making this post so that I don't have to keep repeating myself.
There are 3 main reasons I block accounts on @nothoughtsjustfic;
One: There isn't an age indicator clearly stated on the account.
I do not have the time or mental capacity to go searching for this information, so if it's not clearly stated in an easy to find place, I will block the account.
What I mean by "age indicator" is something that clearly points out that the account user is over 18. This can be your actual age, your year of birth, or simply putting something like "20+" if you don't want to be specific. I will block if I can't be certain that you are old enough to read NSFW content I create. This is also warned on every 18+ fic I post.
I don't want to supply potential minors with 18+ content, so I block for that reason. Yes, I know they can access that kinda stuff elsewhere but I don't care about that, that's none of my business. Who reads what I create is my business, however, so I will block not only to protect potential minors, but to protect me too.
This also includes blocking writers who write smut/ suggestive content yet don't have an age indicator stating they are over 18 in either their description or pinned post.
Two: The account has zero reblogs.
(This is copy & pasted from an ask I previously answered.)
The reason most writers will block blogs without any reblogs is that the blog could be a spam or bot account, and having those interact/ follow us can put our accounts in danger of being shadow banned, which, obviously, we don’t want to risk.
There is also the fact that writers on Tumblr rely on people sharing our work with reblogs to spread our stories so that more people can reach them, so a blank blog isn’t going to support us at all. Likes do nothing in regard to supporting in the grand scheme of thing; many people just use likes as a bookmark system and have their likes private, therefore, nobody else can see what they’ve liked.
Plus, reblogging our work also lets us know that you enjoyed it enough to share. It can be a silent form of support if a person has social anxiety or finds it hard to put any words down about what they thought of a fic. Letting us know that you have read and enjoyed our stories motivates us to write and share more.
Tumblr is getting worse and worse for engagement on stories lately to the degree that I’ve seen many writers disheartened and quit Tumblr altogether. If you enjoy a writer’s work and would like more fics to read, I highly recommend reblogging the fics you’ve enjoyed reading to support your favourite writers and show them that you’re a real person who cares.
This includes having no recently reblogged fics.
Three: Spam liking.
Like many writers, I will block any account that likes a bunch of my posts in a short time period without reblogging. This can cause our accounts to get shadowbanned as Tumblr might think your account is a bot.
Also, if you're just liking a bunch of stuff without reblogging, that isn't supporting writers, as I've stated in the section above. As people who put so much time and effort into writing these stories and sharing them for free, we have every right to decide who has access to our work, including blocking accounts we feel aren't supporting us.
Of course, there are other reasons I may block an account, such as if you post things that I don't agree with, I've seen you interacting with others in a rude way, I don't like how you've addressed me in a comment/ ask, or another reason; but those above are the three main reasons, and the most likely explanation for why I've blocked you.
I will no longer be answering asks or messages about why I've blocked accounts, but if you read this and realise you were likely blocked for a reason that can be fixed (such as you didn't have an age indicator but you've now added one), you can let me know you've fixed the issue, and I will unblock you once I've checked 💗
Edited on 15/05/26 to add:
As of some point in early May (potentially even late April idk), I cannot see any content marked as "potentially mature", including accounts marked that way. So, as I cannot check those accounts to make sure they have an age indicator and reblogs, I will be blocking them to be on the safe side.
I apologise to anyone who has an account marked as potentially mature and follows all my rules, but as I cannot personally see that you follow my rules, I don't really have a choice in the matter. Blame the UK government for the age verification bullshit.
This is pretty hard for me to write and actually go through with, but The K-Fic Collection is going on indefinite hiatus.
I know we only came off hiatus a few months ago, but things aren’t any better, and although I still love the idea of this club and the thought of supporting the wonderful writers of Tumblr with reviews, it is just giving me constant stress at this point that I don’t even want to read for the club anymore and have to force myself.
I’ve always made a point of telling our members that the club should be a calm and enjoyable place where you read that which interests you; if it stresses you out, then don’t do it. Fanfiction is supposed to be a fun hobby, not forced work. I guess it’s just time I listen to that myself.
Although I genuinely hate having to do this, I feel that when I’ve been thinking about closing the club on and off for at least a month, I don’t really have a choice but to listen. Though, I refuse to fully close The K-Fic Collection because it is close to my heart, and I hope that maybe in the future, it can be reopened and become something I’m proud of and excited to run again. But for now, we’re going on indefinite hiatus.
I feel like there’s a lot more I should be saying here, but I’m going to leave it like this and log out of the account. If you have any questions about this hiatus, you can send an ask to my own account @nothoughtsjustfic, otherwise I don’t know when I will see it to respond.
To those who have supported us up until this point, I thank you from the bottom of my heart; your support means a lot, and I appreciate every one of you.
To all fanfic readers, please continue to support writers by commenting and reblogging their fics. Too many writers have left Tumblr because it’s so beyond disheartening to spend so long on a fic only to not receive any support in the form of comments and reblogs. Even a simple “thanks for writing this” is better than nothing.
To all fanfic writers, please continue to create your incredible works of art. As a writer myself, I know how hard the lack of positive interaction and feedback can be, and how it makes you want to quit writing entirely, but please don’t. Even if you stop sharing on Tumblr— which I honestly wouldn’t blame you for with the state of things these days—, please keep writing for yourself. Stories are made to be shared, but please don’t lose the joy in it, and put your mental state and happiness first.
To our members, thank you for joining our little club and sticking with it even when I often forget to stick to the schedule. Our server will remain open because I can’t bring myself to close it, so you are free to remain, but you can also leave if you wish, I won’t hold it against you. I wish I did a better job for you all and could think of a way to keep the club running without making myself grow to hate it, but I honestly have no idea how to do that, so I apologise for that, and hope you will keep reading and supporting fanfic writers on Tumblr regardless of the club.
I’m fully rambling now because I don’t really want to do this, but it’s for the best.
Hopefully, The K-Fic Collection will return in the future,
Head Librarian Chee 💗
Hi, i just found out about this account (the reason why you block some), and i was confused before, why i cant interact or click your main acc and i think you've blocked me(?)... Can you please unblock me? (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ
Hi! I'm not sure why you were blocked (I wish Tumblr had an option to make notes about why you block people omg my memory is terrible) but I am assuming you fixed whatever the problem was as your account looks fine to me at the moment! I've unblocked you now 💗
~summary: This had always been a bad idea. You, notorious for kitchen disasters, attending a cooking class. Maybe it could be what you needed to fix your terrible cooking skills - or maybe you could meet someone who makes it so much worse!
~pairing: namjoon x reader
~word count: 3.2k
~fluff, humour, strangers to lovers, cooking class au
~rating: g
~warnings: knives? (they’re just for cooking), jin being a shameless wingman
~a/n: hello! this is proof that I am still writing, and my first full joon fic, look at that! I wrote this for the square ‘cooking class’ over at @bangtanwritingbingo and hopefully I will have more entries to come for that event over the next couple of months. for anyone wondering where I have been for ages, I am still around I promise, but for a while I invested most of my writing efforts into some series I’m writing, one for jk and one for namjoon, so I have been posting less for good reason! now tho, I am nearing the end of a hellish bunch of uni work and so all being well I will be able to offer you lots more fics soon!!
Oh, I really loved this! It was both sweet and funny; had me giggling most of the way through.
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ “Can’t you just go and bring back the wonderful food for me to eat afterwards?” ” valid
“ but she had always been held back by nerves of going somewhere totally new. ” that, is also valid
“ Socialising was a lot more difficult than you had expected. ” okay, so I think these characters are just me because that’s so valid too omg
“ “Don’t worry, you stay here and enjoy the view,” ” 😏 oh, im sure she will
“ an absolute menace in the kitchen ” okay, that phrasing made me giggle ngl
“ But he looked so proud of it ” aw, precious babie
“ The way Namjoon’s face lit up had your heart racing a little too hard for someone you had just met. ” I mean, it’s Kim Namjoon, literally no one would blame you for that
The whole conversation about them missing the dough instructions has me giggling
“ “first we should hide the evidence, though.” ” omg 😂
“ This effect was suitably ruined with a sudden ripping sound and cloud of white bursting into the air.
Apparently even opening the packet of flour had been a challenge too far for Namjoon. ” oh, I am wheezing over here omg 😂
“ You continued to laugh into your hand as Jin instructed the class to ignore you and move on to the next step. His wearily amused tone made you think he was well used to this kind of embarrassment from Namjoon. ” 😂
“ “I came to tell you two to get cooking, but it seems you’ve got things steaming just fine,” he grinned shamelessly, “but the chemistry is supposed to be taking place inside the pan.” ” omg😂😂😂
“ Before you could back out, however, you blurted it out.
“How about we go and get dinner after this then?” ” yesss! Internally cheering rn
⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader
⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au
⛓️ word count: ~8k
⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :")
⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day.
to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.
author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘
here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!
depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3
"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."
"Are they?"
"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."
“Hm.”
“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”
“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”
“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”
"Well, we can't have that, can we?"
"No, sir."
"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."
"Yes, sir."
"Go."
He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.
What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?
He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.
He looks away.
"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."
"Oh... Not possible? At all?"
"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."
"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”
“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”
“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."
You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.
You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.
Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.
14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.
Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.
Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.
A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.
You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?
You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.
Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.
Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.
The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.
A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.
You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.
You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.
--------------------------------
Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.
He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.
He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.
He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.
Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.
Find the man who is apparently my soulmate
...........
And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?
What if... he doesn't like you?
You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.
"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."
You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.
"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"
You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."
She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"
You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."
The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."
You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"
The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."
"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"
The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"
"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."
The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."
"Do you know about them? What do they do?"
"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."
Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."
There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."
------------------------------------
Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.
He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.
He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.
The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?
When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."
Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"
"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"
Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"
"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"
"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."
"Strange. What was it like?"
Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"
Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.
"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."
Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.
"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."
"What did it... feel like?"
"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.
"What happened?"
Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."
Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"
Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."
"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."
His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."
Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"
"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.
"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."
When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.
"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.
But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"
You put down your pen.
You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.
But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.
You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.
And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."
"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."
"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"
The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.
You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.
The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....
A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.
It's him.
The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.
Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.
So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.
So you get up and run after him.
Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.
"Sir...?"
He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.
Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.
He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.
Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."
"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.
"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."
"No, you may not."
You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."
Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"
You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."
"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."
"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.
Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.
"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."
When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.
The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.
When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.
"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.
"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."
"Good."
"Anything else?" Lee says.
"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."
"...Uh-huh."
"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."
"Right."
"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."
"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"
"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."
He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."
A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"
Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."
An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."
"Name it, boss."
"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."
"You got it."
A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.
"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"
"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"
You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"
Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."
You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"
"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."
The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."
And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.
You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.
Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.
Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.
He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.
He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.
And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.
He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."
He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.
"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."
"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."
"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"
Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."
"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."
"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.
"Where?"
When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"
"The border of Territory 7, sir."
"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.
Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."
"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."
You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to danger, the better.
You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.
"Are you actually stupid?"
You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."
Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"
"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."
"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."
Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"
"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."
"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."
"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."
Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"
"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"
What??
"Did I not make myself clear en-"
"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"
"I nev-"
"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."
Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.
"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."
"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"
"Yes, and what about it?"
"You know nothing about being a gentleman."
"Never said I was one. Get in the car."
"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"
"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."
You zip it and follow him.
Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)
He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.
"It's me."
He leaves you on read.
The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."
5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."
11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"
And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."
You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.
He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.
You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.
And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)
It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)
And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.
"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."
You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.
"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"
You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"
"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.
He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."
"No. And you better not have."
He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...
"Soup? So you did read my texts!"
"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."
You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"
"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."
"What is it?"
"Sit first before I tell you."
And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"
He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."
You cock your head. "I'm listening."
"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."
"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."
"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."
"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"
His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."
"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."
"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"
"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.
He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”
You grin. “Sure.”
He nods.
“So can I continue messaging you?”
He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”
You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”
He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.
After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”
He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.
He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.
But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.
“Is there something wrong?” You ask.
“No.”
And there the conversation ends.
As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.
“So… how’s work lately?”
“Fine.”
“Ah.”
Please talk. Please.
“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”
Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”
“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”
Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"
Yeah, screw this.
Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.
After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."
He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."
"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."
Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.
You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."
Soulmate, my ass.
----------------------------------
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.
Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.
----------------------------------
Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…
The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.
T w o M o n t h s L a t e r
Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.
You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.
When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.
As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.
Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.
You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.
Is Seungcheol in trouble?
His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.
You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.
You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.
You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."
"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"
Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."
"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."
"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."
Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."
"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."
"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.
Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".
"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.
"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."
"So he is a leader."
"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."
"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.
"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"
"Sooner than later?"
"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."
"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"
Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."
Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.
"That's the Heart?"
"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."
You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---
"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.
He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"
Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."
Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.
"Get out."
Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."
You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...
A bullet.
"A gun." You mumble.
"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."
"You jerk."
His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."
His hand clenches up.
"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"
"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."
He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."
"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."
"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.
"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."
"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."
"Shut up."
"What?"
"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"
His eyes meet yours.
"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."
"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.
"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"
"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"
"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"
When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."
"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.
"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."
Seungcheol goes quiet.
"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"
You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."
“So what do you suggest?” He continues.
“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”
“What if you end up like Lee?”
“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”
Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"
You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."
"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."
"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.
Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”
“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”
"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."
You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."
"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."
February 14, 2026
The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.
It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.
"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.
She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."
You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.
"Love?"
You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"
Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."
"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."
As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.
He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"
"You know it."
"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"
"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"
fin.
*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family
I really enjoyed the reader character in this! She stood her ground and wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself and her heart, and I really love that 🥺
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. ” boo, them! But also, damn, that’s terrible luck
“ From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you. ” smart (except where bad luck is concerned and trouble finds you regardless…which feels like her thing lol)
“ You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. ” you know what? I’m just impressed people can guestimate distances and stuff because I’m generally utterly clueless 🤡
“ He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud. ” okay, I won’t like, I just let out the weirdest kinda “ha, that’s just your luck” laugh…which im aware is the shittiest way to explain that but I am very shit with descriptions 😊
“ but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness. ” coward!
“ You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless. ” okay but im just laughing here at the implication that he saved her from this stalker, only to then leg it and leave her with the stalker 😂
“ What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks? ” im cackling here, but those are such valid concerns though omg 😂
“ "Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this." ” such a writer thing to do hehe
“ So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves. ” damn, never thought he’d be in the habit of running away 😂
“ You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to danger, the better. ” very bella swan of you hehe
“ "Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"
What??
"Did I not make myself clear en-"
"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?" ” oh, I really like her
“ You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet. ” good!
“ when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...
"Soup? So you did read my texts!" ” aw
“ "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"
"You know it." ” we gotta love our fictional men 😌
⚬ pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader.
⚬ word count: 12.8K.
⚬ warnings: drugs, alcohol.
⚬ genres: theme of unrequited love, friends to lovers, romance, a good dosage of angst, fluff to mend your heart, spiciness near the end.
✧✎ synopsis: there are lots of bits and pieces that come with being a best friend and soonyoung is certainly taking his time in figuring them out. was it right for his stomach to somersault at the sound of your laughter? was it normal his smile fell when junhui took your hand? he isn’t exactly sure what a best friend really is, but he’s sure of what it’s not.
✧✎ a/n: this was requested to me awhile ago! anon asked for a hoshi!best friend confession w lots of fluff. but ME being ME. i literally cannot write anything without turning it into some angsty, love-laced, fluffy fuckin roller coaster of ??? so..um.. yes… enjoy!!!
If Soonyoung had one wish, he would – without question – wish to glean the thoughts of others, to understand the precise lettering in their head when he stared them in the eyes. Sure, it was kind of lame in comparison to something like invisibility, the power of flight, a wish for a hundred more wishes, but he didn’t really care about those things because they didn’t apply in any way to the one thing he did truthfully did care about: you.
He knew he was rather eccentric to say the least, and maybe that caused some people to glance at him strangely, develop their own notions concerning his variety of behaviours. Soonyoung knew that you at first saw him that way too, and he was perfectly content with that. However the pathway into your thoughts soon became blurry when your relationship escalated.
Man, I wish I was as good with words as you, had such an extensive vocabulary and ability to detail anything, but I do not; so, unfortunately, I can’t say as much as you deserve about this fic. All I can say is that I enjoyed it and I think it ended in such a truly sweet way 🥺
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
-
“ but he didn’t really care about those things because they didn’t apply in any way to the one thing he did truthfully did care about: you. ” oh, cute 🥺
“ Dancing invited more blessings into his life than setbacks. Twisting an ankle was temporary, but turning the lights off on Lee Chan to hear his high-pitched scream pierce through the practice room walls was forever. ” I was expecting something deep and profound there ngl, but that’s so much better 😂
“ When Soonyoung caught a peripheral glimpse of himself in the anterior mirrors, he did a double-take, subsiding with the fact he was wearing exactly the same as Junhui, even down to the stripes along the leg. ” twinsies
“ You usually watched Soonyoung stretch, but now you were watching someone else, and that horrendous, tight feeling in his chest stayed with him throughout all of practice. ” uh oh
“ Soonyoung had known you for so long that he could eat like a starved animal and still meet your warm, adoring gaze afterward. ” ah, friendship
“ Okay, Soonyoung thought, I know what I’m going to say. He’d swallowed the remaining taste of his fear, nodded confidently, and took your hand that sweetly grazed his jaw to hold within his own grasp. But then—
Something buzzed in your jean pocket. And then it buzzed again, and again, and again. ” boooo! Cease that infernal buzzing and let Soonyoung get some lovin’! He deserves it 🥺
“ You were dating him, had been for the past six months. ” oh damn
“ Soonyoung growled, “Just give me the fucking flask.” ” damn, manners go a long way you know; Minghao deserves that at the very least!
“ “I’m in love with you.” ” !!!
“ “You mean as a friend though, right?” ” omg 🤡
“ Before his confession at the party last month, you messaged Soonyoung quite frequently. ” kinda your own fault there, bud. you went too far, silly boy
“ “What?!” Chan exclaimed after tearing his attention away from his music, entranced like a little child witnessing a magic trick, except the magic was replaced with modern day drama, “Tell me! What happened?” ” that’s so relatable of him 😂
“ “Please don’t lie, Soonyoung. I hurt you a-and then I h-hurt J-Junhui. That’s all I do a-and I don’t know why. Why do I do this?” ” oh, sweet baby, it’s not your fault at all. Nobody chooses how they feel
“ “People are going to come into your life, they’re going to evoke feelings from you, and you’ll evoke feelings from them. Just because those feelings don’t always match up, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.” ” exactly! Well said
“ His face lit up as he dug his hand into the pocket of his pullover, your expression incredibly perplexed as Soonyoung pulled out his Rubik’s cube. ” oh 🥺
“ Soonyoung shrugged, speaking with such casualness as he said, “Well, I’m always thinking of you, so.” ” I wanna scream 🥺
“ Junhui seemed to be feeling better too. He started arriving at practices a week after the break up, though it was impossible to truly read the writing on his heart. ” poor baby :((
“ “You beautiful, beautiful boy” ” he really is 🥺
“ “For fuck’s sake, that I’m in love with you! I’m in love with you, and I am being one-hundred percent serious.” ” yay!
“ Besides, he would most likely return to the restaurant to find Wonwoo offering the server a blunt and Chan shoveling handfuls of mints into his pocket whilst Junhui distracted the front-of-house manager. ” okay, that made me snort 😂
your fuck buddy is good at a lot of things. taking hints isn’t one of them.
pairing: kwon soonyoung x reader
type: one-shot / fluff + smut
rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact)
au: one-night-stand to fuck buddies to ?
wc: 4.5k
cw: gn! and afab!reader (no pronouns used); time skips; protected penetrative sex (p in v); hoshi is kinda a himbo, lmao; ft. cameo by minghao and roomate!gn!sibling OC; reference to the movie they're watching, which is hereditary (brief mention of decapitation + demonic possession); barely proofread, sorry!
a/n: this is based on a headcanon i did a while ago! i've been in such a horrible rut re: writing for the past month and a half, so it was a major struggle to write this because i feel like i don't know how to do that anymore 😵💫 i'm hoping that himbo hoshi can save me from this hell. also, this is told in vignettes!
[APRIL]
“Babe?”
The voice from nowhere is barely loud enough to drag you from sleep, but the effect it has on you is far from soft. Those consonants dig in where your dehydrated brain shrinks away from your skull, pressing in so hard that they throb.
Bleary-eyed, you blink as rapidly as you can to adjust to the bright, white light beaming in through your open shades. The sound that escapes you is something akin to a hiss; it gets the point across, nonetheless. You sit up just enough to see the figure standing in front of your window, looming overhead with crossed arms, laughing.
Clearly, your roommate doesn’t give a shit or a fuck about your hangover.
“What’s the deal with the stray you brought home last night?” Mei asks, the corners of their mouth tilting wickedly.
You don’t have the brain power for this conversation, so you respond with a groan and bury your face back in the pillow from whence it came. Never one to give up, Mei drops down on top of you so that the full weight of their body rests against yours.
“C’mon,” they urge. “Spill your guts, chingu.”
Funnily enough, if they don’t get off your guts, you might do exactly that.
Your reply comes in the form of a croak, some pathetic little sound that reads as lifeless as you feel. “Why do you care?”
There isn’t a single reason you can think of for their sudden interest in your bad decisions. You’ve been making them left and right for the past few months without much more than a concerned glance, and until now, you didn’t realize that you’d taken the lack of follow-up questions for granted.
What a fucking travesty it is to be perceived.
“Your business is your business.” Mei shrugs. You quirk an eyebrow, ready to jump in and point out their lapse in logic, but then that smirk comes back. “But your business is currently burning eggs in our kitchen, which makes it my business, too.”
Sitting up quickly, the force of your sudden moves nearly knock Mei to the ground. Beyond horrified, you squeak, “He’s still here?”
Faster than you’ve ever moved before, you clamber out from underneath your roommate and crawl to the edge of your bed, kicking wildly at your blankets until your legs are free.
You’re already up and swaying on your feet, panting from the effort, when you finally think to look down and assess the state of yourself. Thankfully, you’d remembered to dress yourself before falling asleep. You glance upward and salute whatever deity was looking out for you, ignore the look on Mei’s face entirely, and dash out of your bedroom.
As soon as you reach the kitchen, you skid to a stop, socks sliding across the hardwood until your hip bone collides with the corner of the kitchen island. You hiss again, far louder than the last time. The shape standing at your stove turns around wide-eyed; his mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o”.
Just as quick, recognition flashes, and the shock wears off.
“Good morning,” he chirps, and he’s all fucking sunshine.
You blink back at him without a single idea of where to start — with the fact that he’s still here after you could’ve sworn he left, that he’s wearing your apron but has no clear grasp on the simple act of frying eggs, or that you cannot for the life of you remember his name.
Fuck.
You should really start keeping a guest book.
Whatever his name is, he’s witnessing you at your worst — certifiably crusty with your standard bad attitude — and that alone makes you want to wither and die, right on the spot. Unbothered by your ghoulish appearance, he gestures to the kitchen island you just collided with, pointing to a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.
Items he would’ve had to open two (2) separate cabinets to find.
In the kitchen he shouldn’t even be in.
You open your mouth, primed to explode all over him, but the way he’s looking at you disarms you immediately. His expression is so chipper — so friendly and childlike in its innocence — that you swallow down the shit you’d readily hurl at anyone else. You gulp, and without saying a word in acknowledgement, you grab what he’s laid out for you.
He smiles when you choke down the aspirin, then turns back around to pull the scrambled, half-burnt mess off the burner.
“You must have a pretty low alcohol tolerance if you’re this hungover after three drinks,” he muses.
It’s an accurate observation — a harmless one, too — but you did not ask. Once again, he shoots you a smile that prevents you from snapping at him. Instead, you set the now-empty glass back down on the island and stare vacantly over at him.
Seonghwa?
“You’re still here,” you say flatly. You may be stating the obvious, but that fact speaks for itself. “You’re still here, and you’re also in my kitchen.”
Seokjin, maybe?
He smiles at this, either unaware that he’s violated the unwritten one-night-stand code of conduct or unfazed by his own rule breaking. Rubbing the back of his neck, he laughs awkwardly, “It was the least I could do, you know? After all you —”
What the fuck is your name?
“Sungwoo!” You cut him off with a gasp and a palm raised, all but begging him not to recount what he’s grateful for within earshot of your roommate. “Really, you don’t need to do this. Any of this.”
He corrects you gently, “It’s Soonyoung.”
Then, without even a hint of offense taken, he nods his head towards one of the stools tucked under the counter of the island. Your eyes flit between his hopeful face and the seat, frozen solid with indecision.
You see two options, and both feel like a trap:
Holding the line risks squashing this clueless boy’s marshmallow heart; and you don’t want to be the gash that ruins his day at the very outset. If you feed the stray — rather, if you let the stray feed you — then you’re an enabler, contracting a residency when the show was supposed to be one-night-only.
More perceptive than you’ve given him credit for so far, he senses the conflict inside your skull and attempts to tip the scale with a bread-cheeked smile and a shoulder wiggle. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he nudges in a soft, sing-song tone.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Begrudgingly, you dump yourself onto a stool without a word. With your elbows now propped up on the countertop, you drop your chin down to rest on the heels of your hands. More than anything, you try like hell to ignore the way it all makes his face light up.
“I don’t understand how you went from demonically hot to…” Your voice trails off as you try to find a word for whatever this is. A beat passes before you give up, waving dismissively. “Domesticated, or whatever.”
And his cheeks go pink.
“You think I’m hot?” He all but gasps, like this is brand new information to him.
Like you would’ve brought him home from the club if he wasn’t — and goddamn, was he ever. Carrying himself with the kind of confidence that made your knees wobble; saying all the right things in a low, smoky tone with his lips at your ear; moving his body in ways that still fluster you to think about.
And yet, here he is.
Adorable, if not completely obtuse.
After grabbing plates from a nearby cabinet, he snags two pairs of chopsticks out of the drawer to the left of the sink. It takes all you’ve got not to roll your eyes. He shouldn’t know where either of those things are, but he does.
A satisfied sigh slips out of his mouth when he takes the seat next to yours and scoots a plate full of eggs and kimchi in front of you.
“Here you go,” he sings as he holds out a pair of your own chopsticks to you.
He’s beaming when you accept them into your hand, and it leaves you with no choice but to take a bite of the food in front of you. Intently and chronically hopeful, he watches you pluck a piece of scrambled egg from the plate, like the trajectory of his life hinges on your approval. There’s no turning back now. Reluctantly, you pop it into your mouth.
While you chew, he leans in a bit closer. From this distance, you can see your own reflection in his irises; there are tiny flecks of honey brown amidst the dark, you realize. Little details you didn’t notice last night when he was much, much closer — like the heart-shaped curve his upper lip takes when he smiles as big as he is now.
“How is it?” He asks, walking the borderline between eager and unbearably shy.
You swallow hard as you snap back to attention. If letting him stay for breakfast was a bad call, getting caught gawking at him is a flagrant foul. Somehow, you need to get the point across without being too cruel; to remind him that you signed up for the night and not the morning.
“Um. Well,” you start with a grimace, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “Are eggs supposed to… crunch?”
[JUNE]
“Oh, fuck, just like that —”
Your back arches off the bed as you grip uselessly at sweat-drenched sheets. Between your spread thighs, Soonyoung and the punishing pace he’s set make quick work of pulling you apart, again. His right arm loops under your left leg to anchor you to him while his left palm presses down on your lower abdomen, making damn sure that every thrust drags over your g-spot.
This — this right here — is why you keep calling him back. He may overstay his welcome, but that’s an occupational hazard. His perpetual presence is a risk you’re willing to take, so long as he fucks you like this.
“Shit. You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?”
He’s panting as he says it, which surprises the hell out of you. His stamina is unearthly, and when you manage to keep your eyes open long enough to look up at him, you don’t see any hint of effort. It's just the ragged sound of his breathing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
“I think this might be a new personal record.”
Unfortunately, his little announcement is genuine. He’s merely stating a fact, not trying to tease you, because his only concern outside of making you cum is outdoing himself.
To Soonyoung, sex is a performance he’s trying to perfect. He approaches it like an Olympian — an athlete or a god? — and the bar he sets for himself raises every time you see him.
You find it the tiniest bit endearing how focused he is on self-improvement.
Kind of.
That doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes, though.
“Not if you keep —” A moan that you didn’t mean to let out cuts your sentence in half. “— talking.”
Your head crashes back against the pillows, which only spurs him on. Deeper, more deliberate strokes leave you writhing underneath him, babbling like a fool. He grins so wide that his eyes almost disappear.
“I’m just saying…” Another thrust, a thousand more stars dotting the periphery of your vision. “If you hit five, you owe me dinner.”
There it is, right on cue: another piece of evidence to prove that Soonyoung still doesn’t know what he signed up for.
It’s a conversation you’ve had more than once — never because you want to have it; and never because he seems to be consciously seeking something more than what you have.
At some point over the past few months of scattered nights with you, a seed seems to have taken root in the back of his brain. A zombie parasite, more likely; one that’s overridden the controls and completely undermined his understanding of the situation.
Whether he means it or not, these throw-away comments make you wonder if, deep down, he’s not wired to fuck without feelings.
Not like you, anyway.
Your self-preservation instincts don’t let you get that far. Risk-averse to your core, you don’t see the point of gambling when the stakes are that high. And even if you weren’t wary of getting yourself hurt, it wouldn’t change the fundamental truth that you enjoy your own company enough not to need anyone else’s.
The way you see it, Soonyoung can have a cameo in your weekends, but the plot of your life right now doesn’t need anything more than that. Changing the lineup now could fuck your whole season. So, why try?
To his credit, he seems to get that there are currently more pressing matters at hand than the same old conversation. He pats your hip and says, “Let’s switch it up.”
You’re as grateful for the subject change as you are for the hand he extends to help your boneless body sit up again. Thankfully, the one lesson he has learned is that no one can compete with his perpetually full battery. If he’s going to change positions as often as he wants to, he has to be the one to position you.
This time, you wind up with your back flush against his chest, skin slick against yours. To keep him close, you reach back until your hand finds the nape of his neck. After weaving your fingers through the damp hair at the base of his head, you tug slightly, pulling a low groan out of him.
“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts breathlessly. “Pull my hair.”
You do as he says, albeit a bit harder than you meant to; you can’t help it. That’s the exact moment he chooses to grab your hips and slam your ass back against his pelvis, perfectly in time with his forward snap. He’s in your guts now, there’s no doubt about it, and you’re falling to pieces.
Wailing, you have to squeeze your eyes shut to survive the surge of pleasure coursing through you. “Oh, my god,” you choke out.
The only way you manage to stay upright through your orgasm is with Soonyoung’s arms caging you in. Without him, you’d be a trembling fucking mess, collapsing face-down onto your bed in a useless heap. He keeps holding you even when he lets himself go soon after, spilling into the condom with a moan you feel as it leaves his chest.
“Goddamn,” he sighs, voice rough. The heat of his breath on your neck almost makes you want to cling to him, curl up and let your eyes flutter shut. “Every time I fuck you, I feel like I should thank you.”
That flicker of affection goes out in a flash as the memory of consequences comes back around. You snort. “Please don’t cook for me again.”
You leave it at that, and so does he. When he finally pulls out of you, you give into the safer urge; the one that can’t possible give him the wrong impression. Slumping forward, you hit the mattress so hard that you practically bounce, like the dead weight you are.
Soonyoung misses that spectacle, thankfully. He’s already on his feet, tying off the condom before dropping it into the wastebasket on the other side of the room. You hear it drop against the plastic bag, then the soft pad of his footsteps as he makes his way back to you. You unbury your face from the pillows and crane your neck to look over at him.
In a rare display, he looks exhausted. Moments like this might be the only time he ever finds himself depleted, and you figure he’s earned that right. Part of you wants to let him lay here with you — maybe even let him sleep it off — but you can’t let him get tangled in the strings you refuse to attach.
He’s halfway to you when he finally looks up at you and catches you watching him. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression; you’d bet it’s as confusing on the outside as it feels on the inside. Whatever he finds there, it makes him pause. There's a quick nod, like he’s reacting to something neither one of you has said out loud, then he changes course.
“You have to be up early,” he says, like he’s finally learned the script. “I’m gonna head out.”
You nod but say nothing else. You just watch as Soonyoung grabs the clothes you’d tugged off of him earlier, piece by piece, and puts everything back to the way it was before.
The way you want it.
Once he’s fully clothed, he shoots you a smile that only uses half of his mouth. Neither of you offers a word as he walks over to the door, although you can tell he’s moving more slowly than usual. Hoping you’ll stop him, maybe.
You don’t.
It’s not until he pulls it open that he looks back over his shoulder at you; and this time, when he smiles, it looks like he means it.
“Sleep well, yeah?”
[OCTOBER]
“I’m just saying that if her shithead brother bothered to include her in his night, maybe she wouldn’t have been decapitated."
You tear your eyes off the television screen in time to see Minghao’s eyes roll all the way back into his head. Across the coffee table from where you sit, he and Mei occupy the couch; his head crashes against the back of it with a muffled thump while his younger sibling continues their rant.
“I’m being for real,” Mei urges, jabbing their finger emphatically through the air in his direction. “If you ever bail on me like that, and my head ends up falling off, you deserve whatever consequences come next.”
You snort. “Up to and including… what, demonic possession?”
“Absolutely,” Mei sniffs.
Minghao sits upright again slowly. He chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, leaving you and your roommate in suspense. Knowing him, he’ll lecture you both on karmic energy and how Mei shouldn’t fuck around with it. To both of your surprise, he frowns. “Is it bad that I kind of want cake now?”
You and Mei respond at the same time, although your responses are nothing alike:
“I think we have some left over.”
“Yes, you’re a monster.”
Despite what they just called him, Mei is nothing if not a good host. With a beleaguered huff, they push themselves off the couch, step carefully over the legs Minghao doesn’t move out of their path, and stalks off towards the kitchen to forage for food.
Left alone in the living room, you and Minghao fall into an easy silence, eyes glued once again to the screen. It’s always been easier to get through a movie without Mei’s commentary; this one would’ve been finished an hour ago if they hadn’t kept pausing it to ramble. You’re so immersed in it that you hardly hear the way they’re tearing through the kitchen like a cyclone. You almost miss the soft knock at the door, too.
Immediately, your optimistic eyes flick over to Minghao. He’s closer to the door, and if you stare at him long enough, he might let you stay in the armchair you’ve all but fused to.
“Nope,” he says coolly, without even looking.
Whining, you peel off the blanket you’ve wrapped yourself in and unfurl your knotted legs. You shiver when your bare feet touch the cold wood below, but bravely, you don’t retreat. You push forward on tiptoe and skip across the living room until you reach the front door.
Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead when you open it to find Soonyoung standing there for the first time in several weeks. While overstaying his welcome is his signature, showing up uninvited never has been. That’s apparently one line in the sand he won’t stumble over.
“Hey,” you peep.
For reasons unknown, you have to pause to let your gaze sweep over him, like something might’ve drastically changed about him since you saw him last. There’s a tiny flutter in the center of your chest that begs you to greet him more emphatically than that, but you ignore it.
Soonyoung looks more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him, which makes your pulse quicken even more.
“I’m really sorry to bother you,” he swears. “I think I left my headphones here last time. I’ve looked everywhere, I promise, but they’re just — gone.”
Your first instinct is to ask why he brought headphones to a dick appointment in the first place, but you talk yourself out of it. The next is to find out why he came all the way over here on a hunch, rather than simply texting you; he hasn’t in a while, not that you’ve taken it to heart. But you don’t do that, either, which strikes you as odd.
Instead, you step back and push the door open wider, once again letting the stray inside. “No worries,” you breeze.
Since when?
As it turns out, letting him in doesn’t bring the sky crashing down around you. Taking a single brick out of the wall you’ve fastidiously built doesn’t bring about the end of days. It just brings a shy bow and a quiet “thank you” while he toes off his shoes.
He turns to head toward your bedroom with you following behind him, but he stops short after a few steps. Crashing into his back — god, he’s broader than he looks — you grab his biceps to keep from bowling him over entirely.
“Shit — I’m so sorry.” He wheels around, failing to realize that you’re as close as you are. You can see panic light up his eyes, now mere centimeters from yours. “I didn’t realize you had somebody over.”
What is that scribbled all over his face?
It’s not anger, you know that much. Nothing about the way he’s looking at you reads like jealousy, either. If anything, he seems genuinely torn-up over what he assumes is date-crashing. Guilty, maybe.
So, why do you feel bad?
“Mei’s brother,” you explain quickly, as if he’s owed one. “Our annual horror movie marathon. We — all of us — do it every October.”
Why did you add that qualifier in there?
Soonyoung’s face brightens immediately, and you feel the tiniest bit warmer now that the corners of his mouth aren’t curved downward anymore. You wish that surprised you, but it doesn’t.
Why should it? You’ve given into him more often than not, haven’t you?
All he says is, “Oh,” in the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard, like he’s embarrassed himself for the first time in his life.
It grows quiet while the two of you continue to stand there in the half-light. If you discount the screaming, the flickering colors coming from the television screen make it feel almost — cozy?
But you’ve been gazing up at him for far too long, so you clear your throat. “Your — umm — your headphones. Do you remember where you left them?”
You nudge him slightly to get him moving, which he does without complaint.
“I think they jumped out of my pocket when you…” Soonyoung’s voice trails off. As you pass by, he glances over at Minghao, who either can’t hear your conversation or doesn’t give a shit about it.
With that indifference confirmed, Soonyoung looks back at you with a smirk. “You broke my zipper, you know. I had to take those jeans to a tailor to fix it.”
Immediately, your cheeks start burning.
Resident fuck monster, reporting for duty! Here to rip clothes to shreds and —
He touches your wrist, just for a second. “It’s cute,” he assures you, even though you haven’t said a word.
And it doesn’t do a damn thing to keep that heat from rising up your face.
You step into your bedroom before you can think of what to say in response, so you let the moment pass and flick on the light. Just as soon as he joins you inside, Soonyoung lays eyes on what he came for — which is a miracle. That thin, white cord is practically invisible under your dresser.
“Ah!” He chirps, bending down to grab it.
Looking triumphant as hell, he tucks it into the pocket of his joggers and shoots you a grin. Suddenly, you find it hard to mimic his smile, although you don’t know why.
He got what he came for, didn’t he? He’ll be out of your hair in a matter of moments, which is exactly what you’ve been demanding of him for months. You had to train him to get in and get out, and when he eventually learned, the relief was immediate.
So, why don’t you feel relieved now?
Soonyoung must hear your trains of thought derailing because he comes in hot with a distraction. As usual, it’s out of left field, just like the soft brush of his fingers on your bare arm.
“You’re cold.”
It’s not a question.
There aren’t even goosebumps on your arm; and there’s no reason why he should know by looking at you that you are, in fact, freezing. But he does, and before you can ask how the fuck that’s possible, he spins around to the dresser nearby and grabs the handle jutting out of the bottom-left drawer.
How does he —?
You open your mouth to speak. The words disappear when he stands upright again, now holding out a sweatshirt from the drawer you keep them in. He’s only seen you open it once before, and the fact that he remembers is making you dizzy.
Soonyoung’s expectant eyes lock on your face, looking at you the same way he did when he handed you those burnt fucking eggs. This time, though, you don’t hesitate to accept what he’s giving you. You tug that sweatshirt over your head without missing a beat, instantly learning that it’s much bigger on you than you remember.
Stunned, you blink back at him from underneath the hood, which obscures most of your forehead. “Is this —?”
You grab the fabric from the front of it in your hands as you look down. At first glance, it looks like the million other white sweatshirts tucked into your drawer, but —
“This isn’t mine.”
Your eyes flick back up to Soonyoung, who’s fighting for his life to bite back a smile.
Six months ago, you might’ve knocked him on his ass for this, but now, you can’t keep it together, either. You crack wide open, laughing so hard that your eyes almost disappear.
“When the hell did you sneak that in there?” You wheeze, wiping tears as they spill over your lash line. The smack you land against his arm is cloaked in a sweater paw, dealing no damage except to crack him open, too. “God, I was never going to get rid of you, was I?”
Beaming, he slips his hands into the kangaroo pocket on the front and tugs you closer; you let him. “It was just in case I get cold, I swear.”
“Is that it?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “Are you sure?”
“Mhmm,” he hums, although you don’t believe him for a second. “It does look good on you, though. Maybe you should hang on to it.”
“To the sweatshirt?”
Watching him blush like that may never get old. Still, he maintains his bluff and nods.
“Yeah. I mean, why not? Right? It’s comfortable.” He shrugs, not even the slightest bit casually. “A cotton blend, I think. Pre-shrunk, so… It’ll — uh, never be your size, I guess. That’s — um — that’s kind of a bummer, but…”
“Soonyoung!” You cut him off with a breathless laugh, prompting him to shut his rambling mouth.
The rare use of his name seems to startle him. His eyes go wide with that typical, hopeful anticipation that he never seems to leave home without. That look hasn’t disappeared after six months of getting shot down on a weekly basis, and neither has the way he hangs onto every word you say.
This time, it might actually be what he’s been waiting to hear.
“Do you….?”
It might be a new personal record, you caving like this after holding someone at arm’s length for so long. The relief is automatic, spreading through muscle that you didn’t even realize had been aching.
Soonyoung is just so endlessly endearing I seriously don’t know how reader didn’t cave from the first moment, but the build up was sweet 🥺 cuties 🥺
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ “What’s the deal with the stray you brought home last night?” ” okay, but I would literally be hoping they mean a stray cat and disappointed when I don’t have a new kitty friend
“ You don’t have the brain power for this conversation ” literally me 24/7
“ “But your business is currently burning eggs in our kitchen, which makes it my business, too.” ” that’s very fair, but also 😂
“ or that you cannot for the life of you remember his name.
Fuck.
You should really start keeping a guest book. ” omg 😂
“ His expression is so chipper — so friendly and childlike in its innocence ” cutie
“ He corrects you gently, “It’s Soonyoung.” ” the laugh I let out though omg
“ More perceptive than you’ve given him credit for so far, he senses the conflict inside your skull and attempts to tip the scale with a bread-cheeked smile and a shoulder wiggle. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he nudges in a soft, sing-song tone. ” like…he can just stay forever fr like seriously. What a cutie
“ Like you would’ve brought him home from the club if he wasn’t — and goddamn, was he ever. Carrying himself with the kind of confidence that made your knees wobble; saying all the right things in a low, smoky tone with his lips at your ear; moving his body in ways that still fluster you to think about.
And yet, here he is.
Adorable, if not completely obtuse. ” yeah, that all really checks out 🥴
“ This — this right here — is why you keep calling him back. He may overstay his welcome, but that’s an occupational hazard. His perpetual presence is a risk you’re willing to take, so long as he fucks you like this. ” under-fucking-standable 😌
“ “I’m just saying…” Another thrust, a thousand more stars dotting the periphery of your vision. “If you hit five, you owe me dinner.” ” this talking/ banter during is actually the best part ngl like hell yeah, be chill af about it all please
“ “Every time I fuck you, I feel like I should thank you.” ” 😂
“ this one would’ve been finished an hour ago if they hadn’t kept pausing it to ramble. ” oh, that would piss me right off omg I do not have the patience for that
“ “This isn’t mine.”
Your eyes flick back up to Soonyoung, who’s fighting for his life to bite back a smile. ” what a little shit (I say nothing but endeared)
“ “If you’re not busy, do you want to stay?” ” hell yeah!!!
“wherever you are in the world, i swear i'll find you again.”
★ kimi no nawa minghao x reader.
★ word count: 9k
★ day one of (the8) days of minghao.
★ genre/warnings: romance, light angst, friendship, hurt/comfort. mentions of death/calamities. soulmates, body swapping, time travel, delayed ripple effect, references to chinese mythology. inspired by & heavily references makoto shinkai's kimi no nawa/your name, but it's not required to have seen the film to understand the plot. annotations.
It’s a Wednesday when Minghao wakes up in a room that isn’t his.
He doesn’t immediately register it. His senses come to him slowly; the sun is warm on his face, supposedly streaking through the windows.
But then an alarm blares, and it’s an alarm that’s decisively not his. It’s loud and oppressive. The complete opposite of the gentle tinkling of bells that he sets for his mornings. Minghao peels his eyes open before blinking blearily up at a ceiling that’s in a shade of dark green.
Odd. His ceiling is supposed to be beige.
Minghao finally manages to sit up, to glance around. The room he’s in is not his. It’s much more disorganized and the furniture’s a bit more old-fashioned. He lets out a slight exhale.
A dream, he thinks wearily. I’m dreaming.
Minghao can’t help but think that it’s a particularly realistic dream as he unsteadily gets to feet. As he pulls aside the sheets that had covered him, he notices snatches of a body that isn’t his, either. Lithe legs, painted toenails.
I’m dreaming I’m someone else, he thinks. It happened, didn’t it? One might sometimes dream from the perspective of a stranger, a friend.
Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby.
Except—
He feels it. The wetness lapping up at his feet. The shards of broken glass flying in all directions. Something closes up in his throat. Did he usually feel things in his dreams? Had he eaten something weird, drank something the night before, to have him dreaming like this?
The door to the room swings open.
A silver-haired woman stands in front of him, now, her face pinched with worry. She says a name— a name that isn’t Minghao’s— and asks, panicked, “What happened?”
Minghao doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just stares and stares as this wrinkled woman chides him in a motherly way until he realizes, ah. This must be his mother. Not his mother, but his dream self’s mother.
He can work with that. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. His voice is different. Not his, not his. He tries again— softer, this time— like it might change things. Like he might be able to coax his old voice to break through whatever sleepy haze he’s in. “I’m sorry. I knocked it over by accident.”
“You’re so clumsy,” his ‘mother’ chides, but she’s already getting to her knees to wipe at the puddle of water with her apron. That snaps Minghao into action; he stumbles across the room in search of a towel.
What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this.
As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part.
He follows her down for breakfast. He’s struck by how visceral, how tactile everything feels. The creeks of the old staircase. The smell of seaweed egg drop soup. The crick in Minghao’s neck.
Am I going insane? Minghao briefly wonders as he settles into the dining table, where there’s already a spread of food waiting for him. He notes that it’s a rather small table, made for only two people. It’s a stark contrast to the long tables he usually shares with twelve other boys, to the family tables he reserves with his own family.
“Why are you being so quiet?” his ‘mother’ asks as she sits across from him. “We’ll just get you a new carafe, kiddo.”
Right. That’s definitely why he was being quiet. Minghao picks up the chopsticks in front of him and goes to try some of the braised potatoes.
He can even taste it. This was probably the most detailed dream he’s ever had.
“Aren’t I always quiet, though?” Minghao manages to ask in the voice-that-is-not-his. It’s a higher pitched voice, one that has a distinct Seoul accent.
His ‘mother’ lets out a snort of laughter. “Yah, in what universe are you quiet?” she says with a snicker, reaching over to flick Minghao’s forehead.
He lets out a small sound of protest.
“That’s more like it,” his ‘mother’ notes. “Now, eat up. You’ll be late for work.”
Work. Something like unease begins to pool at the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Not because he hates his job, no. Minghao loved being a dancer, an idol, an artist. But— he had a feeling that wasn’t the job he should be expecting this time around.
“I— I’m not really feeling well,” he mumbles, pushing around some seaweed at the bottom of his soup. When his ‘mother’ shoots him a scrutinizing glare, he forces out a cough to sell the act. “I’m not sure if I can go in today.”
His ‘mother’ goes from looking skeptical to concerned. She sets her own utensils down. “Do you need me to take care of you? I can take off, too—”
“It’s okay,” Minghao says hastily. “I think I just need to stay in bed.”
The woman across from him doesn’t look convinced, and so he presses on, “How is work, anyway?”
It’s a polite question, one meant to wheedle out more information. His ‘mother’ takes the bait, though, and goes on to rant about bad co-workers, about impatient patrons. She’s a grocery store bagger, Minghao gleams. And when she complains about other small things— the weather making it difficult to hang laundry, the lack of delivery shifts— Minghao realizes that his ‘mother’ has an array of other side hustles.
He listens intently. He nods in all the right places. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, but his ‘mother’ falters mid-sentence to fix him a worried look.
“You really are so quiet today,” she repeats, reaching over to put the back of her hand against Minghao’s forehead. He feels the touch, feels the warmth of concern wash over his skin, and it makes him shiver. “You really must not be feeling well, huh?”
Minghao thinks he’s only about to feel so much worse.
He heads back to ‘his’ bedroom, and it’s only then that he catches a glimpse of himself in a full-length mirror. It’s… the face of someone he’s never met before.
Minghao once heard that the people you see in your dreams are never strangers. They’re all faces you’ve seen at least once or twice, and in Minghao’s line of work— well, he’s seen a lot of faces. He raises a hand to pinch at his cheek, to pat at his hair.
It all feels so real. He doesn’t dwell on that.
Instead, he starts to explore. Walking around the cramped bedroom feels both like a museum visit and an intrusion. There’s posters peeling off the wall, shelves groaning under the weight of books, clothes that look a little worse for wear. It’s honestly such a mess that Minghao ends up killing a couple of hours just cleaning.
He lets out a snort of laughter as he does. Even in his dreams, he’s picking up over someone.
He doesn’t know how long he spends gathering hangers and sweeping the floor, but, at one point, the silence is broken by a high-pitched ringtone. He fumbles for the shabby cellphone on the bedside table.
It had been password-protected, which is why he couldn’t open it. Now, though, there’s an option to answer the incoming call.
BOSS MAN 👿, it says, and Minghao nearly cracks a smile. Yeah, he can relate to that, at least.
When he answers the call, though, any and all humor dissipates at the yelling that assaults Minghao’s ear. “WHERE ARE YOU?” ‘Boss Man’ screams on the other end. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU ALL DAY! YOU’VE GOT SOME NERVE, PUNK—”
Minghao definitely sees now why the devil emoji was warranted. He has the urge to cut into the other man’s tirade, partly because it’s a dream where there’ll surely be little to no consequences. Something holds him back, though, as he puts some distance between his ear and the phone.
Once the other man pauses to breathe, Minghao manages to get a word in. “I… wasn’t feeling well,” he says lamely. “Could I maybe work from home or something?”
“WORK FROM HOME? ARE YOU CRAZY?! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT—”
At that point, Minghao just hangs up. When ‘Boss Man’ tries to call again, Minghao turns off the cellphone’s ringer and goes back to cleaning.
He cleans until there’s not a speck of dust in the bedroom. And when that’s done, he goes to work on the grout in the bathroom, the oil stains in the kitchen. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream.
Night falls. His ‘mother’ texts about taking on an extra shift. She says something about food in the refrigerator, but Minghao can’t be bothered; he’s so exhausted that he blacks out the moment his head hits his pillow.
He doesn’t even have the energy to contemplate the mechanics of falling asleep in what’s supposed to be a dream.
On Thursday, Minghao wakes up back in his dorm.
When he hears the familiar chime of his morning alarm, when he opens his eyes and sees beige, he feels a wave of relief. It really had all been a dream. A very realistic one, sure. But a dream all the same. He was awake now, and he was ready to go about his Wednesday schedule—
Except, when he checks his phone, it says that it’s already Thursday.
Minghao blinks. How long was he out? Surely one of the boys would’ve dragged him out of bed if he’d been out of commission for twenty-four hours.
He unlocks his phone to a dozen unread messages. Eyebrows furrowed, he decides to first go with Seungcheol’s texts.
🍒: myungho
🍒: are you feeling better?
🐸: Hyung, hi. I think I just overslept a bit but I’m feeling ok.
Despite the early morning, the three dots indicating that Seungcheol is typing pop up.
🍒: are you sure???
🍒: you had us worried
🐸: Did I really sleep that long?
🍒: i mean, i don’t know how long you slept
🍒: was that the problem? were you hysterical yesterday because of lack of sleep? ㅋㅋㅋ
Suddenly, Minghao’s room feels a lot colder than earlier. Hysterical. That was the word Seungcheol had used. And yesterday— Tuesday? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to Minghao. It was all the usual; he had practiced, eaten dinner out with Soonyoung, then went home.
The dream had been the only unusual thing about the day prior. Minghao is jolted when Seungcheol sends another slew of texts.
🍒: seriously
🍒: i was worried i might have to bring you to the hospital or something
🍒: but you say you’re ok now?
Minghao can’t help it anymore. He dials Seungcheol’s number and puts the phone to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest all the while.
Seungcheol answers on the first ring. In lieu of a greeting, Minghao jumps straight into “Was I really— hysterical, yesterday?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Seungcheol speaks, he still sounds a touch gruff, like he’s only half-awake. “I mean, kind of. What, are you worried about it? Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?”
Apologizing to Mingyu? “What— is Mingyu mad at me?”
“Uh.” There’s some sounds of shuffling on the other end, as if Seungcheol is sitting up. It’s a pretty clear giveaway of his growing concern. “You might have to ask him that. But, Hao— you sure you’re better?”
Minghao swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know where to start without sounding insane.
“I think I’m still feeling a bit off,” Minghao says weakly. “Must be the flu or something.”
“I can come over.”
“No, no. I think I just need some rest.”
Seungcheol lets out a contemplative hum. “Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound all too convinced. “I’ll keep the boys off your back for the day. Text me if you need anything, and maybe text Mingyu when you can.”
The call ends without anything more. Minghao stays seated in his bed for a long moment, just staring at the call log.
Seungcheol had called him hysterical. Mingyu was upset with him.
Something was definitely not right.
Minghao’s suspicion is only confirmed when he goes to check the texts he’d gotten from other members.
🐯: need to call u about choreo but preferably u dont yell at me this time 😒 let me know when’s a good time
🐱: Are u ok? Or did u actually ditch me for our dinner (bec if then, wtf)
🦖: i’ve been in the practice room for an hour now!!!!!! Where are you!!!
If Minghao wasn’t already sitting down, he might’ve collapsed.
He yelled at Soonyoung. He ditched Jun and Chan.
He had no memory of any of that.
But he remembers the shattered carafe, the seaweed soup, the shrill shrieks of ‘Boss Man’ in his ear.
For a moment, he’s convinced he’s just in another version of the same dream— except, this time, it looks a lot more like a nightmare. As Minghao finally musters up the energy to get to his feet, he notices something at the foot of his bed.
He unfurls the folded piece of paper. The handwriting isn’t anything he’s seen before. His eyes inadvertently skip to the very bottom, and his heart nearly stops in his damn chest. Minghao drops the paper like it had physically burnt him.
“What the fuck,” he mumbles to himself as he scrambles to his feet, as he puts distance between himself and the now-discarded paper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.”
At the very end of the handwritten letter had been a name.
The name that had been uttered by his dreamself’s mother. The name that ‘Boss Man’ had shrieked. A name he hadn’t heard before yesterday, before his dream—
Minghao is finding it increasingly hard to believe that it had been a dream in the first place. Hell, he doesn’t even know what ‘yesterday’ is anymore.
He paces his room. He does breathing exercises. He brews half a pot of tea.
None of it helps. Hours later— with all his texts still unanswered and his tea depleted— Minghao stumbles back to the letter.
I don’t know who you are, it starts. But I can tell you who I am.
I’m from Umyeon-deong in Seocho. I live with my mother; my father hasn’t been in the picture for a long time. I work as an editorial assistant for a local newspaper. (It’s not exactly what I want to be doing, although that’s a story for another day.)
For a big part of today, I thought I was dreaming. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up back in my bedroom, but the hours have ticked by and I’m still here. Your friends keep contacting you. It’s driving me insane. I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. Sorry.
I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. If this is nothing but a dream, then this shouldn’t matter. But in the 0.000000001% chance that something truly insane has happened to me and you? Well, at least now you know.
I’m going to try and go to sleep now, although I must admit: You have some pretty nice stuff. I ate some of your tea and snacks (sorry, again). This is crazy. None of this makes sense.
The letter unceremoniously ends there. Minghao’s eyes flick again to the signoff, to the name at the very bottom.
Your name.
His head is reeling. He feels like he’s going to be sick.
This is no coincidence, no practical joke. It’s— as you’ve said— truly something insane happening.
Minghao is struck with the realization that it just might happen again, and this time, he actually does get sick. He ends up hurling into a trash can.
After brushing his teeth, chugging some water, and running through one too many of the chips in his pantry, Minghao gets back to the letter.
It’s still there, in his hands. The stationary that was locked away in his drawer, bearing handwriting that is not his.
None of the boys would pull off a prank as elaborate as this. Minghao is fairly certain he would’ve noticed if any of them snuck in, too. So, now, the only logical explanation was the one that was left.
And Minghao really didn’t like that explanation.
For what feels like forever, he contemplates what to do. He considers calling up Seungcheol again. He debates the merits of apologizing to Mingyu and Soonyoung; he decides against it when he realizes he wouldn’t even know what he’s apologizing for. He knows what to say to Jun and Chan at least, but that doesn’t make it any easier. How would Minghao even begin to justify himself? Hey, sorry for ditching you; I think I body swapped with a complete stranger. Let’s grab dinner tonight instead?
There’s a headache blossoming behind Minghao’s eyes at the mere thought of putting the words out into existence.
In the end, he does what he deems to be the easiest thing to do. He picks up a pen and writes on the other side of your letter.
Hello, he begins. I’m The8 Myungho Minghao.
I’m an idol who’s part of a group called SEVENTEEN. They’re the friends who keep contacting me. Mingyu is a fellow member and good friend of mine. I’ll talk to him.
My family is in a different country.
As Minghao goes on to write the next parts, he feels a bit foolish. He doesn’t really know what to say, though he feels like he should say something. You had given him something to work with, after all. Slivers of context. He should be able to do the same for you.
I met your mother. She’s nice.
I talked to your boss. He wasn’t happy. He yelled at you (me?), and I may or may not have put down the phone. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what your work was so I ended up not going at all.
I hope you liked the tea. Feel free to have all the snacks you want.
And you’re right. This is crazy.
If I’m lucky, you’ll never need this letter.
Minghao wakes up on Friday to the realization that he is decidedly unlucky.
The loud alarm is back, and the ceiling is dark green again, and Minghao once again leans over to throw up. Luckily, there’s a bedside garbage bin that comes to the rescue.
There’s no sun this time. It’s fairly gloomy outside, the overcast skies peeking through the windows.
Minghao immediately notices that there’s a folded piece of paper on the pillow next to him. He unfurls it so fast that he almost tears it in half.
This is a precaution, you start. Maybe, come tomorrow, I can just chuck this out and chalk it all up to a one-off freak incident.
The thought of this phenomenon not being a one-off nearly has bile rising up in Minghao’s throat all over again, but he forces himself to read the rest of your words.
First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me.
That almost makes Minghao smile. Almost, because the next part sends a pang of guilt through him.
Secondly, though, you almost cost me my job. I can’t believe you hung up on my boss, Donghyuk. I had to do some serious damage control. I managed to get today off, just in case.
Minghao is struck by your foresight and, adversely, his absolute lack of it. The most he had to do was appease a sulky Mingyu and message back the rest of the boys. His brain races to figure out if he has any schedules for— Friday, was it? A practice, maybe. Or a recording.
Either way, he’s screwed. You’re screwed.
Minghao his face in one hand and quietly prays that you know how to dance.
He skims over the rest of your letter.
I don’t know why this is a thing. I don’t know if it is meant to be a thing. I’m going to try and look for some answers, whether or not I wake up as you/myself.
Wish me luck.
A small part of Minghao feels a tug at the thought of both of you ending your letters with the concept of luck. That feeling is quickly replaced by something akin to dread, because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream.
Minghao has woken up in a body that isn’t his. Minghao has woken up in your body— the body of a person he’s sure he’s never met.
He has to live a day in your life with nothing to go by but the notes you’ve left and a handful of context clues.
For a moment, Minghao contemplates just going back to sleep. Maybe if the both of you just slept right now, the switch would trigger. Maybe he could just spend the whole day in bed until you have to swap again.
The latter seems like the best idea until knuckles rap against the bedroom door.
Your mother pops her head through the crack in the door. “I’m going to leave early today. The rain isn’t looking so good,” she says with a slight grimace.
Minghao glances out the window. It’s all he can do, really, to keep himself from not going insane then and there.
“Take care,” he says.
He’s suddenly acutely aware of your voice— the cadence and timbre of it. He knows what you sound like, how you write, and he wonders how the two might combine. What might be the right thing to say in this situation.
Because your mother has that look again, that openly dubious expression.
“Are you alright?” she asks cautiously, not quite stepping into the bedroom just yet.
A flash of panic rises up in Minghao. What would you say? What would you do?
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His tone’s just a little haughty now. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Minghao nearly winces, but he persists. “Go on, don’t get caught in the rain.”
Your mother lets out a huff of a laugh, mumbling something like ‘ungrateful kid’ as she retreats. Despite that, it seems to work; she takes her leave without another protest. Minghao lets out a shaky breath.
His— your stomach, really— lets out a low grumble. A part of him wonders if you’ve been just on edge as he’s been. Unable to eat properly, losing sleep over this whole thing.
Regardless, the least he can do is take care of you. He pads over to the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for some leftovers. All the while, he’s thinking of what he has in his own kitchen.
Will you be hungry? You did say you liked his snacks. Would that be enough?
The questions rattling in his head turn into considerably more stressful ones.
Is this going to happen forever? Will he have to spend the rest of his life swapping bodies with you on a day-to-day basis?
He thinks of the group, thinks of your mother. Thinks of his demanding job and your terrible boss.
Minghao nearly panics again. He manages to keep it together enough to make a sandwich and sip some coffee.
He tries to meditate, even, but it’s like your body knows that it’s not a practice that you frequent. Your hands twitch in the stillness; your heart only slams harder instead of calming. You need to catch a goddamn break, Minghao thinks as he grits his teeth and tries to relax.
Something good comes out of his attempt, at least. It comes as an epiphany of some sorts— how he suddenly remembers a portion of your letter.
I’m going to try and look for some answers, you had written.
He might as well do the same.
Once he’s changed into outerwear that’s slightly more acceptable for the rainy weather, he spends a good amount of time searching for your wallet. When he goes to check it, he inadvertently lets out a grumbled “damn.”
Your wallet has nothing but a couple of loose bills.
Minghao can’t blame you, not really, but you’re certainly giving him very little to work with. A part of him even feels kind of bad for you. Not only did you have a demon for a boss; you were also severely underpaid. He makes a mental note to bring that up in his next letter to you.
He can’t go far with the lack of funds, though that’s not the only thing hindering his quest for answers. It’s pouring outside, the rain coming in heavy droplets.
Minghao braves it with a raincoat and an umbrella, hoping against hope to find something. Anything.
As luck would have it, your neighborhood has a local library.
When he steps in, the librarian doesn’t pay him much heed. Minghao is momentarily amused by the thought. Did you not come here often?
It’s a quaint place with a scarce collection. A lot of the novels are on the older end— published nearly a decade ago— but they remain in pristine condition. Minghao skips over the best-sellers and the manga serieses, instead opting to sift through the psychology textbooks.
He’s not surprised when he doesn’t find anything of use there, when he spends nearly four hours reading and reading to no avail. The lack of non-fiction about a body swapping phenomenon is to be expected. This wasn’t something that just happened, after all.
And yet it’s happening to me, Minghao thinks with frustration as he grabs at his sixth book of the afternoon. The unexpected force knocks some of the surrounding books onto the floor.
The librarian gives him a vicious side eye.
“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao mumbles as he immediately gets to his knees.
His hands close around one of the books he knocked over. It’s a heavy hardbound with a gorgeous deep red cover and metallic gold lettering. There’s a dragon featured on the front and the familiar iconography of it nearly bowls Minghao over.
While still crouched down on the floor, Minghao flips through the pages. The images that go flashing by are not strangers to him, but there’s one in particular that he’s looking for.
He finds it on the thirtieth page. Almost out of instinct, his fingers trace over the characters.
月老. Yue Lao.
Suddenly, Minghao is a child again, listening to his mother’s stories. He had been young and wide-eyed, sprawled on her lap as she talked soothingly about the god who presented himself as an old man under the moon.
The god of marriage and love. He’s the reason why your bàba and I met, his mother would say amusedly. Yue Lao made it possible.
How? His younger self had demanded. How did he make sure?
His mother had laughed, then. Had stroked Minghao’s hair out of his face as she told him about the myth. The magical cord may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.
And, oh, how Minghao had prayed back then. He prayed to Yue Lao the hardest— his eyes squeezed shut, his hands clasped to his chest.
I hope I find love.
It doesn’t matter when, or where, or how.
Qǐng, Yue Lao. Please, please, please.
“Are you going to check that out or what?”
Minghao is dragged out of his memories at the sound of the librarian’s sharp tone. “I—”
The words stick in his throat. Eventually, he manages a meek, “I’ll put it back.”
It’s still pouring as he leaves the library and makes the short walk back to your apartment. The rainwater pooling in the gutters has muck and grime sticking to the bottom of his— technically your— rain boots. Another thing to apologize for, Minghao thinks wryly.
He seeks temporary shelter underneath the corner store near your apartment block. The vendor looks up expectantly.
“The usual?” the woman croaks, and it takes a moment for Minghao to register that he’s being addressed.
“Not today,” he responds with a tight smile.
The vendor lets out a bark of laughter. “When have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” she says with a tut of disapproval. Before Minghao can protest, the stranger is already shuffling over to her cooking station.
Minghao watches in silence when he realizes what’s being made. Some fruit is speared onto a bamboo skewer, then dipped into a simmering syrup. It emerges coated like a clear gemstone before it’s shoved into a bowl of ice.
Tanghulu, Minghao thinks dazedly as he accepts the snack. “Thank you,” he says softly.
The vendor smiles. She’s already missing a couple of teeth.
Minghao takes a tentative bite. Tanghulu was a familiar enough delicacy, but the fruit he'd been given— your ‘usual’— is something he hasn't seen in quite some time.
The date-plum persimmon is soft and glutinous, wrapped in a thin layer of crisp sweetness. Minghao can't remember the last time he had black jujube this way.
“You’re still the only one who likes that stuff.” There’s an edge of fondness to the vendor’s tone. A clear indicator that you have some sort of camaraderie with her, something that Minghao isn’t entirely privy to. “Do you know how hard it is to find stock of that darn fruit?”
It seems like a rhetorical question, like something that you’d probably take in stride. But Minghao can’t bring himself to joke. His free hand is already fishing for your wallet, where he’s prepared to blow the last of your money on this dessert.
The vendor shakes her head. “Not today,” she chirps, echoing Minghao’s words from earlier. Her gaze is fixed over his shoulder, where the downpour is relentless.
Minghao is not quite sure what the norm is supposed to be. Do the two of you talk? Do you leave right after you’ve made your purchase?
He doesn’t want to be rude, so he mumbles his gratitude and decides to stick around for a moment. The vendor thankfully chooses not to make conversation.
Minghao spends a long time just standing there, making slow work of the sticky date-plum. He watches the rain that never lets up. He watches the lights of your apartment building flicker on as night falls. He watches, and he tries to commit it to memory as he finishes off his tanghulu.
For what it’s worth, he’s glad to ‘share’ this with you— something sweet to get the both of you by.
Come Saturday, Minghao wakes up with more questions than answers.
Your letter is within reach, resting atop his bedside table. He goes to read it despite the fact that he’s barely lucid.
It’s shorter this time. If he strained, he could almost hear the words in your voice. A distant echo.
I can’t believe you’re actually an idol. Have you met BIGBANG?
That draws a surprised laugh out of him. It’s been years since he last heard of his industry seniors. The thought of you being a second gen fan is a little endearing to him.
Anyway, I told everyone who contacted you that you were really sick. Like, throwing up levels of sick. ‘Coups-hyung’ said he would send a manager, but I assured him that you already had one on the way. You might want to corroborate that lie.
I know I said I would look for answers, but I couldn’t really go far. I was scared of getting lost. And, man, your neighborhood is overwhelming. I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the city.
I ended up spending most of my day just reading your books. Good taste.
The compliment puts the smallest grin on his face.
I promise to do better research when I’m back in my own body. ‘Till then.
As curt as your letter is, it gives him an idea he probably wouldn’t have had otherwise. Better research. Back in his own body.
He fishes for your first letter, which he had kept tucked in his drawer. It’s still there, which means the past couple of days have not been a bout of psychosis. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or horrified.
Minghao focuses instead on scanning your introduction, where you had mentioned your neighborhood. Umyeon-deong.
While he’s in the back of the cab, Minghao texts back his members. He’s vague, still, but it’s not anything particularly new. Feeling a little better. Getting a check-up, just in case. Stop worrying. I’ll let you know how it goes.
The heat is oppressive for July, almost beating down on Minghao’s back as he finally makes it to the district. It’s a full 180 from yesterday’s rain. He regrets the baseball cap and the hoodie, but both are necessary evils.
He’s not entirely sure where to drop off, so he settles for one of the corners at the mouth of the neighborhood. Once he’s there, he just— begins to walk in a general direction.
Later, he realizes he probably could have pulled up Google Maps. He would have benefited from asking around, would have cut his time in half if he deigned to admit that he was lost. But, at the moment, he’s just taking it all in.
The apartment complexes. The children’s park. The liquor store.
Briefly, he wonders if he’ll run into you. Would you recognize him?
Would he even want you to?
Minghao is so busy mulling it over that he almost misses it. The streetside food stand advertising fresh tanghulu. It feels like yesterday— well, it was yesterday. His mouth is already watering at the thought of the candied date-plums as he wanders over to the stand.
A rasping voice addresses him. He looks up from scanning the selection, realizing with a jolt that it’s the same vendor.
But it’s also— not.
Something is off.
Something he can’t quite place.
It almost steals the breath out of Minghao. He probably looks dumbstruck, looks stupid with his mouth hanging slightly agape, but the vendor asks again, “What do you want?”
Minghao forces an answer out of his chest. “Do you have— black jujube?”
A myriad of micro expressions flash across the seller’s face. It starts with recognition, but ends with something closer to tightness. She gives a labored grunt in response before going to make the snack.
When she hands it over to Minghao, there’s a slight quiver in her fingers. She nearly drops it, even, but Minghao catches it just in time.
“Sorry,” she grouses. “It’s an order that a regular of mine used to have.”
There’s a low ringing in Minghao’s ears as he says “ah,” as he hands over his payment. The vendor busies herself with cleaning her workstation, and Minghao tries to enjoy the date-plums, but it’s not as good as he remembers it.
Was it perhaps a difference in taste buds?
No, he thinks. It’s the lump in his throat. It’s the seller’s words nagging at the back of his mind.
An order that a regular of mine used to have. Used to.
He saw her yesterday. You were supposed to have seen her yesterday.
As he munches on the fruit, he asks almost too casually, “Is it your first time selling in this area?”
The vendor shoots him a suspicious glare. Minghao knows he’s being a little odd with the line of his small talk so he fields his question, tries to make it come out more naturally. “I remember you used to have a spot somewhere else,” he offers. “In front of an apartment building.”
This time, it’s the seller’s turn to mumble “ah.”
“That’s why you had that order,” she says with a humorless laugh. “You knew them, huh?”
“Them?”
The vendor says your name. The ringing in Minghao’s ear gets louder; his fingers, tightening around the skewer of his tanghulu. It’s the first time he’s hearing your name in his own body and it sends a shiver down his spine.
The question is even harder to answer. Does he know you? Was he allowed to say that?—
No. No, wait. The vendor had said knew.
The ringing reaches an almost feverish pitch. It’s a miracle that Minghao hears anything else, that he picks up the murmured words that the seller says next.
“It’s a real shame,” she says with a voice so soft, so solemn, so small. “It’s been nine years, hasn’t it?”
Nine years.
Nine years.
Nine years.
Since what? Since you?
A lot of things haven’t made sense to Minghao in the past couple of days, but this— this is the one that baffles him the most. He saw you— he was you— yesterday.
When Minghao finally finds his voice, it’s to ask for a favor.
The vendor complies, albeit skeptically. She hangs a ‘be right back’ sign over her stall. It’s a short walk, not more than seven minutes.
If Minghao’s ears had been ringing earlier, now, it’s just dead silence. A dreadful sort of quiet as he stares at the ruins of the apartment building he was staring at just the day before.
The seller is watching his face carefully. “You didn’t know?” she prompts gently.
Minghao realizes he has to come up with something. “We were friends. Me and—” He chokes around your name. When he finally says it out loud for the first time, he feels guilty. It feels so wrong to be saying it in this context. To have it be part of a lie. “But then—”
He trails off. The vendor supplies, “You lost touch?”
Sure. Minghao gives a jerky nod in response. That’s one way to put it.
He’s not even looking for an explanation, but the seller gives him one. “The typhoon was so bad that it triggered landslides,” she says gruffly. She nods towards the direction of the mountain towering over the neighborhood. “I think the death toll was around eighteen people.”
Minghao resists the urge to scream. If he were a lesser man, he might have fainted. Instead, he quietly says, “Nine years ago.”
“Nine years ago,” the vendor confirms. She pauses before adding, her voice just a little sadder, “A tragedy.”
“Tragedy,” Minghao repeats. That doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks.
Neither of them say anything for a long time. He can feel the pity rolling off the seller in waves; still, he can’t bring himself to turn away. He stares, and he stares, and he stares at the rubble, at the derelict building. At the mere echo of what had been so loud and alive to him just yesterday.
After what feels like forever, he asks another question. “Is— is the library still around?”
The vendor leads the way. At the door of the library, she attempts to give Minghao a reassuring smile. It’s all just gums, now. No teeth. There’s an endless refrain of nine years, nine years, nine years screeching through Minghao’s head as the seller bids him goodbye with “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he responds with a solemnity that doesn’t need to be feigned.
The librarian isn’t the same one.
This one has a calmer demeanor, a more restrained smile. Somehow, that only makes Minghao feel much worse. He knows what he’s looking for this time; he goes straight to the neighborhood records and scrolls all the way back to nine years ago. 2015.
It’s a lot of information to digest all at once. There’s the newspaper clippings about the heavy rainfall. The flash floods, the landslides. Class action lawsuits. Landmine threats. Government incompetence.
Minghao feels like he’s drowning in news, but it’s still not what he’s looking for.
He finds it in a directory. There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too—
He focuses on you for now. His quivering finger traces the cell that contains your name, your date of birth. 1997. The same year as him. A couple of months younger, though.
Nine years ago, Minghao had been 18. Just about to debut.
Nine years ago, you had been an editorial assistant. Not exactly what I want to be doing, you had written in your first letter to him. There was no way for you to know that you would never have the chance to be anything more.
Minghao’s eyes fall on the date of death.
Except—
It’s not nine years ago yesterday, not nine years ago today. It’s tomorrow.
In that very moment, he understands what he’s meant to do.
When Minghao wakes up in your body on Sunday, he knows he has only one chance.
He had read up all about it the ‘day’ prior but the details were vague. None of the news reports mentioned when exactly the landslide would happen. The most he gleamed was that it would be due to an unstable slope from the nearby Mount Umyeon.
A wall of mud three storeys high hit the building, one article had said. It’s the only information that Minghao has to go by as he drags himself out of bed, ignoring the blare of your obnoxious alarm.
He goes straight for your mother’s room. She’s already awake, standing by the window.
Outside, the storm rages on. Your mother turns to face Minghao. “It’s not looking good out there,” she says disapprovingly. “The news said it’s the heaviest rainfall in nearly a century.”
Back in his body, Minghao had contemplated how he would go about this. He thought he might try to coax your mother, might be logical and rational in urging her to evacuate.
In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.”
A beat. Your mother looks unfazed.
“You’re always so dramatic.”
The panic simmers in the pit of Minghao’s stomach. “We’re going to die,” he repeats, his tone on the shriller end now.
It wasn’t like him to give in to hysteria; he was you, though, and your mother seemed nonchalant enough about it. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. “It’s just a little bit of rain,” your mother says dismissively as she squeezes past Minghao and heads towards the kitchen.
Minghao is on her heels, his hands wringing together. “We can’t stay here,” he pleads. “We have to leave.”
Your mother shoots Minghao— you— an exasperated look. “Where are we going to go in this weather?”
“No. No, no. We have to go somewhere safe.”
“We’re safe here—”
“We’re not—”
It’s almost like a crack of thunder, the way your mother says your name. The sound shuts Minghao up immediately. It’s a familiar warning, an intonation that all mothers seem to wield over their children.
“What’s going on with you, really?” your mother questions, her hands at her hips. She’s eyeing Minghao with mild annoyance but he sees it for what it is. Concern. “You’ve been so odd these past few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
And how is Minghao supposed to answer that?
I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out.
When Minghao stays silent for a little too long, your mother shakes her head. “Get it together,” she says sternly.
Maybe it’s that. Maybe that’s what finally gets Minghao to say—
“Please.”
Your mother pauses in the middle of rifling through the refrigerator. For a long, terrible moment, the only sound is the rain.
Minghao’s hands are shaking at his side. “Please,” he repeats. He knows he sounds more like himself than you. He knows he’s being out of character, being obvious.
But he needs your mother to understand. She’s looking at him now like he’s a stranger.
Like you’re a stranger. And you are— at least in that moment.
The words tumble out of Minghao before he can contain them. “I want to live.”
He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, this rush of emotion. Your voice wavers; he pushes on. “I want to live,” he gasps out. “I want to move us to an apartment that’s not next to a damn mountain. I want to not work in this damn job. I want to live until I’m your age, until I’m even older than that, dammit—”
Your mother crosses the room, the refrigerator long forgotten. When she raises a hand to Minghao’s face, he doesn’t even realize that some tears had escaped.
These are all things he wants for you, he realizes.
He wants you to have a good job. He wants you and your mother to be out of harm’s way. He wants you to live a long, full life.
“Please,” Minghao says a third time, his voice cracking around the word.
There’s a softness to your mother’s gaze; this time, her worry is undeniable. She holds Minghao’s face— no, he thinks. She’s holding your face. Her child’s face. Her child, who’s crying, who’s begging.
That’s likely the reason why she acquiesces. “Alright,” she exhales, using her thumb to wipe away some of Minghao’s tears. “We’ll leave. We’ll go.”
That’s only half the battle, though.
Minghao mutters something below his breath. Your mother raises her eyebrows in a silent question, and so he clears his throat before speaking louder.
“We have to evacuate the entire building,” he mumbles.
It takes time to convince your mother, which stresses Minghao out beyond belief. Time isn’t a luxury that he has. Not when he has no idea when the landslide will hit. Not when the rain is only worsening, making it less likely to persuade people to leave the comfort of their homes.
By some grace, he manages to get your mother on board. Sure, he had to spew odd specifics and statistics about the dangers of landslides, but it works. The two go door to door.
They’re met with initial resistance. Minghao doesn’t care.
He badgers the elderly. He negotiates with the children. He almost gets to his knees when a family with a baby refuses to budge.
The entire apartment complex is bewildered.
But when somebody is batting so hard for safety, when somebody is so desperate in what seems to be just a little more than paranoia— you listen.
The landslide hits just as Minghao is helping the last resident out of the building.
He’s never felt anything quite like it. He’s experienced earthquakes and their aftershocks. He’s been in stadiums that have shook with the sheer amount of people, the pulse of their music.
This one starts with a rumble. Low and deep, like it’s coming from the very ground. He hears the trees crack, the boulders knock together. And then—
Your mother is grabbing him by the arm. She’s screaming, screaming, screaming, the sound drowned out by the storm, by the shrieks of all the other evacuated residents, by the mud that suddenly crashes down on the complex in one fell swoop. It’s everything, everywhere, all at once.
Minghao is soaked from head to toe. Some of the mud flies and sticks to his hair, his clothes. He can almost taste it, too. The earth. The rain. He feels the chill to his very bones.
Despite that, he laughs. Your mother is dragging him, you, away from the calamity, the tragedy, and all that Minghao can do is laugh.
Because he made sure that no one was left in the building.
Because he’s alive.
You’re alive.
Later, when everyone is gathered in an evacuation center— shivering underneath blankets, talking about how it was all such a close call— Minghao falls asleep at your mother’s side. He feels like a kid again, with his hair being stroked, with soft words being uttered to him.
He drifts off and dreams.
Minghao is sure that this is a dream because his surroundings take on the hazy quality of one.
It’s just a little too bright to be real, the setting bathed in a light that feels almost like a bulb had exploded. Minghao has to put one hand over his eyes—
It’s his hand, he realizes. He’s dreaming as himself.
His sight adjusts. He’s at a dining table. It’s a two-person dining table. Much smaller than he’s used to.
“It’s you.”
He drops his hand and braces it against the edge of the table, because your voice— he should be used to it, shouldn’t he? He had used it for a bit, formed words like sorry and thank you with a lilting tone.
When he responds, his own words are imperceptibly soft.
“It’s me,” he confirms.
You’re seated across from him. He had caught glimpses of your features in reflections, in photographs, but it’s something entirely new. To be taking you in from an outsider’s perspective. He sees how you would control your body, how you were inclined to react. It makes him dizzy, just how much he had gotten wrong about your mannerisms.
The first proper words you speak are, “You have some good friends, you know?”
A corner of Minghao’s lip twitches upward. The thought of the boys constantly checking in on him seems about right.
“And you have a good mother.” Minghao pauses. He did say he would mention the next part. “Terrible job, though. You should quit.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Idol,” you shoot right back.
He winces; you laugh. The sound has the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. A sepia of the past, the present, and whatever this moment is, all blurring into one. Minghao doesn’t want to wake up.
“What happens now?” you ask, your own fingers tap, tap, tapping on the table between you two.
“I’m not sure.”
“Why—?”
“— Did this happen in the first place?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing.”
The edges are closing in a little more now. Minghao can feel it— the familiar warmth of his bed at home, the tug of his own time. He’s already asked so much from his mother’s old gods but he lets his eyes flutter close so he can make a final plea.
Just one more minute. Give me one more minute, please.
“I think…” he starts slowly. His voice already sounds so distant. “It’s my fault.”
“Your fault.” Skepticism undercuts your tone, enough to prompt Minghao to open his eyes again.
He looks down at his hands, the ones that had folded atop the table. “I prayed for you,” he admits quietly. “Every day, back when I was a kid.”
Confusion drips from your every word. “For me specifically?”
He laughs. “Okay, maybe not you specifically,” he amends. “But—”
It’s getting unbearably bright now, so much that he can only really make out the silhouette of your form. He itches to reach, to touch, just to see if you’re real. He doesn’t want to push it, though.
Minghao settles with holding up his hand. If you squinted, if you really, really tried, you might see it, too.
The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky.
Every day, back when I was a kid.
“I prayed for this,” he repeats.
And so, in some way, he supposes you’re right.
He had prayed for you.
The chime of bells.
The beige ceiling.
Minghao is fairly sure he had dreamt, but it’s the kind of dream you forget the moment you wake up.
He blinks once, then twice. Odd. It felt like a good dream, too.
There’s a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in his chest, though it fades just as quickly as it blooms.
Minghao never wakes up as you again.
The universe takes, and takes, and takes. It takes away Minghao’s memory. He’s not entirely sure what happened to him those couple of days. Seungcheol says he went to the hospital. Mingyu laments that they fought.
Minghao borrows one of Soonyoung’s favorite words. Funk. He had been in a funk, probably. An off couple of days.
He’s back to regular programming so seamlessly that the others are forced to believe him.
Still—
Minghao goes about the next couple of weeks feeling like something is missing.
It annoys him to no end. It’s not any of his valuables, he’s sure. He double, triple checked everything. He turns his entire apartment upside down and puts it back together again. He goes for meals with all of his members, hoping to find the answers there.
Nothing.
He falls into dreamless sleep every night, and wakes up every morning with that empty feeling in his chest.
It’s an unassuming Wednesday evening— one that he spends driving around with Vernon and Wonwoo— when it hits him.
“Hey,” he says, throwing them a glance through the rearview mirror. “I could go for some dessert.”
Vernon perks up at that. “Should we head to Myeongdeong?”
“Sounds good.”
Vernon throws out directions. Wonwoo queues the music.
Minghao keeps his eyes on the road ahead.
The night market is an assault on the senses but it’s also a good cover for the three idols. They set out with their matching hoodies and half-face masks, in search of something to fulfill their cravings.
Vernon goes to get some dragon’s beard candy.
Wonwoo wanders off to purchase some hotteok.
Minghao… He isn’t sure, really, which is a bit ironic. He had been the one to make the call, after all. He weaves through the crowds, his hands in his jacket pockets, as he scrutinizes the stalls.
Kkwabaegi. Bungeoppang. Tanghulu. Dalgona. Bing—
He backs up a bit.
“Hi,” he greets the seller. “This is a bit weird, but do you have black jujube?”
The tanghulu vendor lets out a grunt of approval. “I think I’ve got one more stick,” she notes as he ducks to check her stock.
What a weird craving, Minghao thinks to himself. But it’s the first thing that came to mind.
A voice at his side addresses the seller by name.
“Got my date-plum persimmon, ajumma?”
It’s not a voice that Minghao has heard before, and yet—
Frantically, he tries to sort through the hundreds of fansigns and fan meetings he’s had in the past decade. Could it be that? Could that be the reason why the lilt was so damn familiar?
As he turns to look at the source, he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s not the case.
You’re already turning away, though, grumbling about the lack of the tanghulu that you want. Minghao hadn’t even heard the vendor respond.
There’s a ringing in his ears.
“Excuse me,” he manages.
You falter in your steps. When you look up at him, he sees the same flash of confusion. One that’s borne out of recognition.
The ringing has gotten louder. Despite that, he pushes out three words.
He thinks he’s yelling them; in reality, they’re barely audible over the din of the night market.
“Haven’t we met?” he breathes.
For one dreadful, dragging moment, he’s convinced he’ll die if you say no, even though his mind is being terribly uncooperative. He can’t place when, or where, or how he met you. He can’t say if you’re familiar because he knows you or someone like you.
All he knows is that he can’t, won’t let you walk away.
Your response makes everything in Minghao’s head go quiet.
“I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums.
This was definitely a unique style of story for me, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! So well written!
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
-
“ Odd. ” okay, but the fact that’s his reaction and not what the fuck is highly amusing to me
“ Minghao’s attention is drawn to a half-full water carafe on the bedside table. Without much thought, he reaches for it— before smashing it onto the floor. Free will, baby. ” omg 😂
“ What a crazy dream, he thinks as he delicately gathers up the shards, as he wipes up the spilled water. I’ve never had a dream like this.
As his ‘mother’ heads back downstairs, Minghao figures he might as well play the part. ” love how he’s decided to just go with it lol
“ Occasionally, he’ll stop in the middle of a chore, wondering if it’s finally time for him to be shaken out of this mundane, long-winded dream. ” man, imagine having a long ass dream purely about cleaning. I think that’d be a nightmare for me tbh 🥴
“ “Do you need help apologizing to Mingyu?” ” damn, what went down with Mingyu?
“ He yelled at Soonyoung. ” how dare you?!
“ He ditched Jun and Chan. ” double how dare! Or would it be triple because it’s two more people now…idk but either way, how dare you be mean to the babies!!!
“ He brews half a pot of tea. ” okay, that made me chuckle hehe
“ I accidentally yelled at two of them because they wouldn’t stop calling. The Mingyu one got really upset about it, I think. ” quadruple how dare! (but I also get it, I’d have probably snapped and yelled too lol)
“ First off, I guess I should thank you. My room has never been this clean in my life! And you should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she saw that ‘I’ cleaned the entire apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was possessed, for the lack of better term, by someone who is a much better person than me.” Omg 😂
“ because he’s fairly convinced that this is no longer a dream. ” love how he’s only fairly convinced and not entirely 😂
“ There’s two people with the same last name and Minghao nearly loses it then and there, at the thought of your mother, too— " oh no :((
“ In that very moment, though, he instead finds himself blurting out, “We’re going to die.” ” welp, that’s to the point at least 😂
“ I’m not actually your child. I’ve swapped bodies with a man who lives nine years in the future. Our survival hinges on whether or not you’ll hear me out. ” Well, I mean, a trip to the psychiatric hospital would certainly get them out of danger’s path at least 🥴
“ The faint glimmer of a red cord— looped around his thumb, tied to your pinky. ” 🥺
“ “I thought so, too,” you say, and something in his chest thrums.
It feels a lot like an answered prayer. ” oh 🥺🥺
Spring is about rebirth, change, and fresh starts — and we want to celebrate that with stories, recommendations, and a lot of love for writers and readers alike.
The wonderful Merfolk at Do Re Reef have worked hard the past couple of months to put together a collection of stories to share; all centred around the theme of Spring! Our members have both written some spring themed stories, and found some written by other brilliant writers here on Tumblr to recommend.
Please show the fics and their writers love and support by reblogging the stories you read, and leaving a kind comment to let the writer know how much you enjoyed the story.
🌸 Spring with S.Coups
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @thestraybunny
Spring Storm - Now Blooming.
14.5k. Angst. Slowish Burn. Smut. Strangers to Lovers. 90s AU. Small Town AU. Carpenter Seungcheol. Waitress Reader.
Seungcheol thought he had his life planned out. From his job to his home to who he was going to spend his life with. You were just a lost soul trying to find a place to call home, a new face to the small town of Diamond Ridge. Coming into his life and make him question if he really had it planned out?
Growing up, you and Jeonghan were inseparable, best friends, partners in crime, each other’s rocks when needed. It was always you and him against the world.
Then you grew up. You moved away for college while he stayed behind. Lives took you in different directions, further away from your hometown, from the world you knew, from Jeonghan.
But you both made a promise, the year you turned 31, you two would meet again no matter where life took you. To reconnect, to catch up, to remember your friendship. It was meant to be a rebirth of your friendship, but really it was the beginning of something more. And remind you that he's home.
🌸 Spring with Joshua
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @livmarauder
through the cherry seasons - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Soulmate AU. Strangers to Childhood friends to Lovers. Fluff. Idol Joshua.
a tale of five destined encounters of fated lovers who meet through different seasons of spring and the amazing love story that came from it.
🌸 Spring with Jun
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @gam3bo17
Free Love - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Angst. Yearning. Second Chance. Rich reader. Stable boy Jun. Non-Idol AU.
The first time you saw him you didn’t know his name, only that he didn’t look at you the way everyone else did.
The countryside air felt different: cleaner, lighter, like it didn’t matter who you were. No chauffeurs. No bodyguards hovering nearby. No people trailing behind you like shadows. For the first time in your life you felt normal. Not the child of the family that owned Pledis Industries. Not the face plastered across city billboards and magazine covers. Not someone people bowed to before they spoke. Just you.
🌸 Spring with Hoshi
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @gam3bo17
Under the Cherry Blossoms - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Angst. Fluff. Best friend’s brother. Open Ending. Military AU. Non-Idol AU.
You wanted this spring to be your new beginning but you didn’t know it was going to be with your best friend's brother Soonyoung.
🌸 Spring with Wonwoo
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @mellow-wishes
A Perfect Meal - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Fluff. Acquaintances to Lovers. Mutual pining.
jeon wonwoo visits your restaurant with his daughter, jeon bomi, every morning before he takes her to school. after much begging from her about his horrible cooking skills, you teach him how to make a good meal.
🌸 Spring with Woozi
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @thestraybunny
Simple - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Strangers to ???. Fluff. Yearning. Non-Idol AU
Jihoon likes to live simple. He’s not into flashy stuff, he’s modest, and he’s content where his life is, but one thing isn’t simple. Is the girl who works the counter of the shop by his house.
🌸 Spring with DK
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @mylovesstuffs
husbandable - Coming Soon.
2.7k. Fluff. Romance. Established Relationship. Non-Idol AU.
You say you have high standards. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend, Lee Seokmin, is exactly what your mental list calls for; as you joke about him being ‘too husbandable’ during a walk under cherry blossoms, he decides to fix that problem permanently.
🌸 Spring with Mingyu
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @woozilovespinkunderwear
The Season You Return - Coming Soon.
2.4k. Slow Burn. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining. Friends to Lovers. Spirit Mingyu. Fantasy AU.
Every spring, he returns.
For six years, you’ve watched Kim Mingyu appear with the first bloom of cherry blossoms and disappear before summer arrives. No explanations. Just soft smiles, afternoons, and a love that only exists between March and May.
But this spring feels different.
Because after years of waiting, you finally decide to uncover the truth behind the boy who belongs more to the season than to the world itself, even if it means learning that some beautiful things were never meant to stay forever.
🌸 Spring with The8
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @nothoughtsjustfic
You Make Me Glow - Coming Soon.
7.6k. Fantasy. Fluff. Some humour. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Neighbours AU. Witch Minghao.
After divorcing your cheating asshole of an ex-husband, you use the very generous money you gain from the ordeal to buy a house on the complete opposite side of the country to make a fresh start.
The online photos of the house are beautiful, and the gardens even more so, though the reality is a little different by the time you arrive. Still, you love it and are determined to turn this house into a home.
It’s just a matter of doing your best to ignore the man who seems to have serious issue with you moving into the house, and makes his feelings known with glares that are the furthest thing from neighbourly as a person can get. It’d be a whole lot easier to ignore him if he wasn’t so damn attractive.
🌸 Spring with Seungkwan
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @mellow-wishes
Back Then - Coming Soon.
WC TBA. Childhood friends to Lovers. Idiots in Love. Unrequited Love. University AU.
you visit your old neighborhood for spring break, meeting an old friend, you remember the tidbits of your time being close with seungkwan. maybe it was right that you still love him that way.
🌸 Spring with Vernon
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @mylovesstuffs
ships passing in the night - Coming Soon.
12.1k. Angst. Modern AU. Non-Idol AU.
And just like that, you realize that no matter what you say, no matter how much you ask, no matter how much you plead, no matter how much you cry, he’s already decided… and you can’t change his mind.
🌸 Spring with Dino
WRITTEN BY OUR SCRIBE @nothoughtsjustfic
For The Record - Coming Soon.
9.1k. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Vet reader. Simp Chan.
The day Chan first lays eyes on you, his life changes. The day after that, he suddenly becomes very interested in animals, with absolutely no relation to you being the new vet in town. Not that anyone believes him about that.
After all, subtlety has never been Chan’s strong suit.
FICS FOUND BY OUR EXPLORERS @yethoughts & @mylovesstuffs
🌷finding spring by @joshujin
Junhui x Reader. 22k for Part One. Slow Burn. Strangers to Lovers. Smut in Part Two (18+).
Tale tells of a water spirit bound to the Elysian River, destined to guard the very magic her human body once sought after. She lives where the animals come to drink, where the children wade in the water, where the river empties into the sea. And she is waiting for the chance to be freed.
DK visits your flower shop after every performance, always buying the same bouquet. You think it’s for someone he loves. It is — he just hasn’t given them to you yet.
🌷Love in Bloom by @welcometomyoasis
Seungkwan x Reader. 6.1k. Fluff. Doctor AU
Seungkwan always makes it a point to bring fresh flowers to brighten up the Emergency Department every week… or at least that’s the reason he tells himself whenever he visits the hospital’s (very cute) florist.
🌷The Way of The House Husband by @wonustars
Mingyu x Reader. 19k. Angst. Fake Marriage AU. Fluff. Smut (18+). Ex-Mafia Mingyu. House Husband Mingyu.
you and mingyu (a former mafia member and also your ex-fiancè's former best friend) are forced into witness protection. All you’ve been told is that you’re meant to act like a happily married couple. Pushed into a cookie cutter house, and a suburban neighbourhood far from the city, where people bring you baked goods on your first day and partake in small talk, it’s all foreign and new. There’s so many things you don’t know about him, but for a man who’s only known violence and all things illegal, he’s somehow the perfect house husband.
🌷caught in bloom, caught on you by @wheeboo
Minghao x Reader. 8.3k. A Pinch of Angst. Fluff. Hurt/ Comfort. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Florist Minghao.
in which you find yourself becoming a regular𑁋or perhaps more than that𑁋at minghao's flower shop.
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Updated: 01/03/2026.
summary: soon to be wed, you are brimming with panic about what comes with this new change in your life. luckily for you, your Royal Advisor will not let you leave the castle without being fully prepared.
word count: 3.9k
warnings: princess!reader, royal AU, smut, nsfw, 18+, fem!reader, oral (fem!receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, mentions of inexperience and virginity, political arranged marriage.
tags: @picheolin-17
The hallway is quiet save for your hurried footsteps, a sharp clack sound echoing every time your heel meets the stone floor. Your breaths are slightly labored from your urgent pace, your hands clamped tightly over the abundant fabric of your dress where it flares out at your hips and flows all the way to the floor. It makes a slight rustling sound, but it is nothing compared to the roar of blood rushing in your ears, or the deep, heavy pounding of your heart in your chest. Anyone who sees you right now will know that you are nervous.
When you reach your destination, you push the heavy oak door open. The room is well lit, and your eyes catch sight of the wall to wall shelves, lined with hundreds of books. It smells like books too, that pleasant scent of paper and ink. It briefly crosses your mind that your study is not nearly as big as your older brother’s. No surprises there. He was the heir to the Throne. And you were….. someone who would be married off soon to become Queen of a foreign land.
Two heads look up at the sound of the door opening, and your brother frowns at the sight of you.
“Why are you here? Do you need something?”
You refrain from rolling your eyes at his lack of manners. Your mother would admonish you if you did.
‘It’s not very lady-like.’ She would say. You have learned to not protest.
“I need to speak with Seungcheol.” Your gaze turns to the other man in the room, and your brother turns to look at him too.
Seungcheol’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He blinks at you before looking at your brother, who only sighs in annoyance and waves his hand in your direction, allowing Seungcheol to move from his side to join you.
He holds the door open for you and you step out, taking a few steps away before turning around to look at the man before you.
“Is everything okay, Your Highness?” His voice is low and soft, and you clench your teeth, feeling your heart speed up again. Now that he is before you, in the flesh, you hesitate in your words. It is dawning on you how ludicrous your request is. Even if you are making it to Seungcheol, someone you have known all your life.
Seungcheol’s father was the Chief Royal Advisor, a man so sharp and smart that he had been by the King’s side since he took the Crown. When you were born, Seungcheol was merely a toddler, and as you grew up, you saw him nearly everywhere you went, because of how close your fathers always were. You were raised alongside Seungcheol, though with a vastly different set of etiquettes and skills. Seungcheol had inherited his brains from his father, and he had watched his father work in Royal affairs all his life. It was only natural that he would succeed his father in the role of Advisor once your brother took the Crown. It was written in his destiny a long time ago.
And then there’s you, second-born and a daughter. Your destiny was sealed while you were still in your mother’s womb. When you turned fourteen, you were betrothed to a prince from another land, a neighboring country whom your kingdom had rocky relations with until your betrothal. You had met your future husband only sparsely since then. You knew of him only what your ladies-in-waiting had heard through word of mouth. Now, as an adult, with your wedding mere months away, you were realizing the gravity of your situation.
The very same ladies-in-waiting had said a few scandalous words about the night of your wedding. You knew it was really the combination of the late nights and the wine they so often consumed that made them loose-lipped, but as someone who wasn’t allowed to drink and was sober for all these conversations, you couldn’t help but wring your hands at their words. And these conversations had happened enough times for you to get worried.
“But of course, you won’t know until then, your Highness.” One of them had slurred. “Who knows what goes on in men’s heads?”
Men. You had thought. Men know what goes on in men’s heads.
You stare up at the man before you right now, the only one you could think of. You aren’t very exposed to a whole lot of them that you aren’t related to, but there’s always been Seungcheol. Your face feels hot now, and you fidget again.
Seungcheol notices, ever so sharp, how nervous you are. He lowers his head a little, looks at you with concern, links his fingers in front of him, patiently waiting. You appreciate his attempt to make you feel more at ease.
“I have been hearing some….. things.” You clear your throat and shift on your feet.
“Rumors?” He guesses.
You shake your head. “About my wedding. Or rather, what happens after the wedding.”
He frowns. “You become Queen.”
“No-” You can’t meet his eye, so you look over his shoulder. “What happens on the wedding night.”
There’s silence while you watch comprehension dawn on Seungcheol’s face, and you are embarrassed at the horror that takes over. “Who has been telling you this?”
You purse your lips and look away. The back of your neck feels like it’s on fire. You resist the urge to run a cool hand over it.
“Is it your ladies-in-waiting?” He asks, sighing sharply in annoyance. “They are bad influences on you. I have been suggesting distancing you from them-”
“Are they wrong?” Your voice is an octave higher than usual. Seungcheol stops mid-sentence.
“They’re- it’s not my place.” His voice wavers, and you finally meet his eyes. He is the one who looks nervous now, and if you were not so mortified, you would be amused that this is the first time you have seen him look nervous. Seungcheol is a very confident person.
“You’re the only man I know who is not my father or brother.” You sigh.
“You could ask your mother. She has been where you currently are.”
You make a sour face at the thought of talking to your mother about….. anything. Seungcheol stifles a laugh.
“Okay, well-” His eyes shift around, and you know he is trying to come up with a solution. You sigh and step closer.
“Seungcheol,” you plead with him. “I’m scared. I don’t know…. anything. And I am to be wed in a few months. What if I’m not ready? What if I don’t know what to expect? What if I disappoint him-”
“Stop.” His voice is firm, and it makes you halt mid sentence immediately. His gaze has hardened, and your heart skips. “Do not speak that way about yourself. You are a treasure that he will cherish for the rest of his life.”
Your cheeks heat, and you give Seungcheol a grateful smile. You don’t believe him, of course. But his confidence in the statement makes your own doubt waver. He contemplates for a moment longer, hesitating.
“I will come see you tonight after you have retired to your chambers.”
You beam at him. “Great! We can have tea and talk.”
Once it is decided and you turn to leave, Seungcheol watches your retreating form. He isn’t sure how exactly he is going to explain to you the details of a consummation. All he knows is that you came to the right person with this. Anyone else would have found offense in your brazen question, would have admonished you and told you never to bring it up again. Seungcheol, however, feels only a stirring in his stomach, a heat rise within him as you disappear from his view.
………………………….
Seungcheol is dressed down when he comes to see you that evening. All his outerwear is gone, leaving him in a simple shirt and slacks. You are still dressed to the nines, as always, layer after layer of garment weighing your body down. You wonder if you should have changed into a lighter evening gown, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to notice, standing before the sofa facing the fireplace, only sitting down once you have taken your seat in your armchair. He is silent while your maid serves tea, not engaging in small talk like he usually does. You are a bit taken aback, but take his lead nonetheless.
You watch the liquid steam in your cup, confused when Seungcheol turns the tea down. You gesture to the maid, dismissing her. She leaves quickly, closing the door behind her with a soft click. You stare into the fire. You feel nervous now, after seeing how stiff Seungcheol is acting.
“Is it something bad?” You finally ask. He looks up at you, appearing confused. You shift.
“You aren’t being your usual self.” You explain.
His eyes soften, and he gives you a small smile. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to scare you, your Highness.”
His words don’t placate you much. You set your tea down, not having taken a sip, and fiddle with your hands.
“I know I have to consummate the marriage.” Your face burns as you speak. No point in delaying why he is here. You want to get right to the point. “I know the theory of it. But you are being… strange. And that makes me feel afraid.”
Seungcheol shifts again. “It’s not something to be frightened of at all.”
You ask the question that has plagued you the most. “Will it hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Not if- not if he does it properly.”
You frown, contemplating his words. What if he doesn’t do it properly? You don’t have a lot to go on. All you know are words. Your practical knowledge is zero, maybe even in the negatives, and from what you’ve heard, men are selfish in bed.
“The ladies-in-waiting said-”
Seungcheol huffs and scowls, making you stop. “You need to stop listening to those women. All they do is sit around, gossip and drink the day away. You are better than them, Princess. Soon you will have a kingdom to run.”
“And a husband to please.” You add, still sulking. Finally, you shift closer to him, to the edge of your seat, and place a hand firmly on his wrist where it sits on the armrest. He doesn’t brush you away, not like he would if you were in public.
“Seungcheol, please do not hold back.” You plead. “Your words are doing nothing to placate me. I have had enough of cryptic predictions and knowledge. I know you are hesitating. You are on track to be a Royal Advisor. Your job is to think of everything that will go wrong and prepare me for it. So please, I need you to prepare me for this.”
He does not correct you that he is technically Advisor to your brother specifically and not you. These strict roles do not apply to someone you had grown up with. You are as much a responsibility of his as your brother. You watch his face shift, as if he has come to a resolve. He moves his arm so that his hand is now placed over yours, and he squeezes it.
“Your Highness, think carefully about what you have said.” His voice is low and soft. “You want me to prepare you for your consummation?”
You think for only a beat, remembering your fear of that dreaded night. You nod.
“Do you realise what this entails?” He leans forward. “I will have to touch you. In intimate places.”
Your stomach twists a bit at his words. “I am aware.”
“And you are okay with that?”
You nod again. “I am.”
“You are sure?”
You pause, frowning. “Why are you being this way?”
“Because this is important.” He emphasizes the last word. He leans forward, still holds your hand, and his face comes closer to you than it has ever been in your life. “This is a part of you no one has ever seen before. Untouched and unmarked.”
“I trust you.” You whisper. The moment feels gentle, and you dare not disturb it. “There is no one else I trust like you.”
It is the truth. You have only a few friends, none of whom would be loyal to you over your family. And your family? Deeply motivated by political agendas. You know even your marriage is political. It is a reality you have come to accept. But you know Seungcheol. You have known him since the moment you opened your eyes in this world. He is fiercely loyal to you. Sometimes, you believe he might be more loyal to you than to your brother. And in this moment, looking into the depth of his warm, brown eyes, you know he would never do anything to hurt you. You know he would bleed for you if you asked.
He nods slowly, and gives you a smile so tender that you feel some of the tension in your muscles melt.
“Okay.” His words hold a finality. “Then let me take care of you tonight, Your Highness.”
He stands, turning to walk towards the door. You watch his back, the muscles that shift under the thin cloth of his shirt. He turns the lock, and it clicks into place. When he comes back, he doesn’t sit on the sofa. Instead, he kneels before you on both his knees. You blink at him in surprise.
“Lean back.”
You do. His tone is kind but firm. You do not hesitate to follow his instructions. Your back meets the soft cushion as you settle into the armchair. Seungcheol’s hands come up, resting on your knees, squeezing them a bit before rubbing with his thumbs. You barely feel his touch through the many layers that cover your legs. But the littlest of brushes make your heart beat a little faster. You watch him, and he watches you.
His hands travel down, over your shins and to your feet. They snake in, until you feel his fingertips on the bare skin over your ankle. Your breath hitches.
“Okay?” His voice is soft. You nod.
His hands push up then, tracing lines from the sides of your feet up your leg, until they meet the backs of your knees. The touch is foreign to you, and it sends chills up your spine. But you don’t stop him. The material of your dress bunches up over his arms, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. His hands close over your knees then, gripping them firmer than before. He shifts forward, and pushes your knees apart just slightly. He keeps his eyes on you. His mouth opens, and you know what he will ask, so you beat him to it.
“Please keep going.”
He smiles, barely there, just an uptick of his lips, and speaks anyway.
“You are so beautiful.”
You gasp when he pushes on your knees more, and they fall open. Cold air hits your inner thighs, and you sink back farther into the cushions as your position changes. Seungcheol lifts your left knee by hooking his hand under it, pushing it up until it is lying over the armrest of your chair. He does the same with the other leg. Your face heats at your position, at being pulled so open for the man in front of you, even though your clothes still conceal your most intimate parts from him. You’ve sunk lower on the chair, until your head is barely propped up. You cannot see him anymore over your skirts, but it seems that you don’t need to. He shifts the dress up, and then his head of brown hair disappears under the cloth.
Your eyes widen, and you are seconds away from clamping your legs shut on instinct when you feel his hands on your skin. Starting at the knees and tracing up until they brush over your inner thighs to reach the apex. You feel something stir in your core. You feel yourself clench hard. Your breath is already coming in harsh pants. You wait for something, anything.
And then you feel his breath, hot, light, right at your center. You jerk.
A chuckling sound fills the air, followed by muffled words. “Relax, Princess.”
It’s easier said than done, especially when his fingers dip into the fabric that covers you, the last flimsy piece separating you from him. You can feel it when he pulls it to the side, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You are anticipating his touch, so you aren’t caught off guard when it comes. But it feels…. strange. It’s softer than his fingers, more flexible, and it’s wetter.
You can’t help but cry out when it moves all the way up your slit, sliding through your folds to hit the innermost sensitive part of you. You feel his breath again, hot on your already sweltering parts, and you realise it is his tongue he is using, and not his fingers.
Your back arches off the cushion when he licks up again, this time stopping at the very apex and closing his lips around the tiny bud to suck. You cry out again.
One of his hands emerges from beneath you, and you instinctively grip it, intertwining your fingers. His lips leave you for just a moment.
“You will have to be quieter, Your Highness. Or the guards outside your doors might hear.”
His voice is rougher, and at least an octave deeper. It sends a shiver up your spine. His breath hits you as he speaks, and you clench hard. You can tell when he laughs, the vibration of his torso under your skirts, the exhale of his breath right over your core.
“I saw that.” His tone is teasing. You nearly yelp when his fingertip prods at your hole. You clench again.
“Seungcheol, you are being mean.” You whine. It is all you can muster. You feel like your brain is melting inside your skull. You crave to feel his lips on you again, to feel the electricity that zips up your stomach when he sucks on you. A pleasure so intense, it feels like your soul is leaving your body.
“My apologies.” He hums. You are just about to call him out, saying he doesn’t sound apologetic at all, when he licks another thick stripe through your folds. You sigh at the feeling, gripping harder at his free hand. He squeezes reassuringly. Very fleetingly, it enters your head that it feels very intimate, holding hands with him like this, but then you feel the way he hardens his tongue a bit, licking over your clit, and you realise there really isn’t anything you wouldn’t let him do to you if it means he can make you feel this good.
You whimper and moan with every lick, every suck of his lips over you. He leaves no part of you untouched, even retreating for a few moments to dig his teeth lightly into the meat of your inner thighs. He returns when you try to push your hips up, needing to feel his mouth on you again.
“So impatient.” He mumbles into you, and the vibrations nearly make your eyes roll. Your back, now aching from the constant arch it was in, undulates a bit so you can lean into him.
“More.” You babble. You don’t know what exactly it is you want, but you are heady, and there’s a fog of lust settling over you, and all you know is that you want more, more, more. Of him. Of his touch. Something is missing, you just don’t know what.
Seungcheol is your answer, though. And when you feel his fingertip prod at your hole once again, some primal part of you realizes that it is what you need. His finger, inside you. You feel empty without it, and when he finally breaches that opening, sinking one digit in you up to the knuckle, you keen and let out a long, broken moan.
“Yes.” You choke out, body twitching when it moves in you, as Seungcheol’s tongue runs fervently over your clit so he can ease you into the intrusion.
“You taste so sweet.” His voice is husky and rough. He mouths at you as he speaks. “Such wonderful sounds your pussy makes when it is played with. And you’re so wet for me, Princess. Are you enjoying yourself that much?”
His words are filthy. He has never spoken like this. The crude language, it suits him. It makes you clench hard around the solitary finger inside you. He hums and curls it, the finger wiggling in further until he hits a spongy part deep inside you that makes sparks shoot up your core. You cry out again, arching impossibly deeper as your vision swims. Seungcheol seems to close in on that spot, and you don’t realise he has slipped another finger in until you feel impossibly full, and the force on your walls increases. He pulls his other hand, intertwined with yours still, down over your clothed waist, holding you down. His strength leaves you immobile, and you are helpless as his fingers start moving, in and out, in and out, lips sucking harder and harder over your abused little clit.
You don’t know when you hit your peak. All you know is that it comes hurtling into you until your jaw is going slack, your toes are curling, and your vision is turning white. All you feel is him, him, him, his fingers, insistently pumping into you over and over, his tongue, lapping over you like a man starved, and you can feel more than hear when he groans into you, coaxing you through this feeling, this crest of sensations that you have no name for, that feel so good it makes tears slip from your eyes and roll down the sides of your head and into your hairline.
You gasp in great gulps of hair, legs lifting from their places on the armrests to close. Seungcheol moves away, prying his hand from you with a wet squelch that would embarrass you if you still had any control of your mental faculties. His head emerges from beneath your dress, and he is a sight. His hair is disheveled, sticking up in all directions, his normally porcelain pale skin is flushed a deep shade of pink, particularly high on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. And the lower half of his face is drenched in transparent liquid, making his skin shine. He watches you as he pops his middle and ring fingers, equally wet, into his mouth, tongue lapping over the digits to clean them. Something zips through you at the sight.
Your body feels like jelly, so you are grateful when Seungcheol straightens your skirts, sliding his arms under you to lift you up and carry you to the four poster bed behind you two. He settles you down with a sigh, brushing your hair away from your face. You watch him as he pulls the blankets over you. Watch as he places a glass of water by your side from the tea tray. Your heart swells and you wonder. Will the man you marry care for you the way Seungcheol does? It feels so impossible. You are convinced, as you watch his broad shoulders move under his shirt, that there is no other man in the world like Choi Seungcheol.
“Is this what it will be like?” You think out loud.
Seungcheol smiles and kneels beside the bed so he is on eye level with you.
“There will be more.” He says. “But don’t worry. We will prepare you fully before the time comes.”
I think we all need a man like advisor Seungcheol in our lives 😌
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ It briefly crosses your mind that your study is not nearly as big as your older brother’s. No surprises there. He was the heir to the Throne. And you were….. someone who would be married off soon to become Queen of a foreign land. ” booooo
“ You refrain from rolling your eyes at his lack of manners. Your mother would admonish you if you did. ” those double standards though 🥴
“ Men. You had thought. Men know what goes on in men’s heads. ” with the dumb shit they come up with sometimes, I don’t think even they know 🤡
“ “About my wedding. Or rather, what happens after the wedding.”
He frowns. “You become Queen.” ” okay but his response made me snort 😂 the innocence of it, which I get is very understandable but knowing better (as a reader) makes it very amusing
“ “Do not speak that way about yourself. You are a treasure that he will cherish for the rest of his life.” ” 🥺
“ Seungcheol, however, feels only a stirring in his stomach, a heat rise within him as you disappear from his view. ” 😏
“ “Your job is to think of everything that will go wrong and prepare me for it. So please, I need you to prepare me for this.” ” yeah, Seungcheol, do your job; prepare her 😈
“ “I trust you.” You whisper. The moment feels gentle, and you dare not disturb it. “There is no one else I trust like you.” ” oh 🥺
“ You are convinced, as you watch his broad shoulders move under his shirt, that there is no other man in the world like Choi Seungcheol. ” so true 😭
“ “There will be more.” He says. “But don’t worry. We will prepare you fully before the time comes.” ” aw, hell yeah 😈
Synopsis: Seungkwan always makes it a point to bring fresh flowers to brighten up the Emergency Department every week… or at least that’s the reason he tells himself whenever he visits the hospital’s (very cute) florist.
Pairing: ED Nurse! Seungkwan x florist fem! reader (ft. ED charge nurse! Soonyoung, best friend gift shop employee! Vernon’s girlfriend, mention of Psychiatrist! Dokyeom)
Genre: doctor au, fluff | sfw
Word Count: 6.1k words
Warnings: mentions of illness/ injuries/ death (nothing explicit or descriptive), emotional distress/ stress of working in an Emergency Department (mention of burn out), pet name (he calls her flower twice, pet names between reader and her bestie), food, harmless teasing and nicknames (between Seungkwan and Soonyoung), low self-esteem (convo between reader and her bestie)
Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. This fic contains incorrect medical information and is supposed to be taken as a work of fiction.
A/n: dedicated to our lovely @wheeboo!!!! happy birthday again rania!!! i hope you had a great day and here's to being in the 20s club! you're going to achieve such great things. ilysm <3 next, a big thank you to @hursheys and @tomodachiii for being so encouraging as i wrote the whole series!! This fic occurs before Soonyoung’s fic, after Dokyeom’s fic, and after Vernon’s fic. The rest of the fics in the Seventeen Med series can be found here. With that, this is the last of the fics I will be writing and posting for this series, thank you all once again for loving the series so much!
There was no point in sugar coating it.
Working in an Emergency Department was trying, to say the least. Patients who came through the ED’s doors could be in all sorts of conditions. On a good day, many patients only had minor illnesses or injuries. Slap on a bandaid here, administer a little medicine there, and they were good to go. Unfortunately, these good days were few and far between.
The majority of patients who came into the ED were in serious condition. Any ED staff member would tell you their work was extremely fast paced and stressful. They saw the ugliest sides of mankind, and the worst that life has to offer. Their days (and nights) working in the ED could be characterised by thousands of life threatening injuries, allergic reactions, and serious illnesses. While many lives could be saved thanks to their valiant efforts and the wonders of modern medicine, just as many patients could not escape from the clutches of death.
Not to mention, working in an ED was a thankless job. They weren’t only treating their patients, but their patients’ distraught or hysterical loved ones as well. The ED staff members were witnesses, participants, and often the so-called “perpetrators” in some of the worst, if not the worst days of people’s lives. Many times, when a patient’s loved one could not handle the stress of the situation they were suddenly thrown into, tensions and emotions would run high in the ED, which meant the staff were usually on the receiving end of many emotional outbursts.
The ED staff members shouldered these burdens, silently enduring the physical, mental, and emotional stress that came with the job. It was a small price to pay to be on the front lines. If they could have a hand in saving lives, everything they endured was worth it.
However, just because they silently endured it, doesn’t mean the stress never got to them.
Having worked as an ED nurse for almost a decade, Seungkwan knew this all too well. He had, afterall, been one of the miserable, burnt out, overworked, underappreciated nurses who still gritted his teeth and went to work day after day. While he enjoyed being a nurse, it came to a point where the sterile white felt dull, and the blinding fluorescent lights in the ED ironically became an omen of darkness and suffering in his life.
But, everything changed when Seungkwan moved over to Seventeen Med. When Jihoon offered him a new position, one where he could work with his university friends, he accepted immediately. He loved his friends, and he was in desperate need for a change of environment. Who knows, he thought, perhaps he could rekindle the spark he was looking for… perhaps he could come to genuinely find love and fulfillment in doing his job again.
Seungkwan wanted a change of environment, and he certainly got it. As Soonyoung, Seungkwan’s old friend (and new boss) gave him a tour of the hospital’s premises, Seungkwan looked around, completely awestruck. Seventeen Med was unlike any other hospital Seungkwan ever saw before. Gone were the white walls of his past, replaced by walls painted in pretty shades of PANTONE 13-1520 and PANTONE 15-3919, or rose quartz and serenity respectively. The contrast of the warm pink and cooler blue colours helped to ground people by evoking a sense of tranquility in an otherwise chaotic place. The beautifully coloured walls, coupled with the floor to ceiling windows, dove grey tiles lining the floor, sunbleached wooden furniture, and decor made of crystal, marble or glass, allowed the entire place to feel bright, open, calm, and inviting. In Seungkwan’s opinion, the design of Seventeen Med was less like a hospital, and more of a luxury retreat.
By the time Soonyoung brought Seungkwan to the Emergency Department where they would be working, Seungkwan felt more refreshed than he had felt in a long, long time. He was feeling excited to begin his new job, and he felt oddly inspired. It was amazing how a change in the colour scheme and decor of a place could impact his mood. He followed Soonyoung into the ED, chattering animatedly about all the ideas he had about sprucing up the place further. Caught up with Seungkwan’s newfound enthusiasm, Soonyoung began rambling along with him.
“Maybe we can create a tiger themed ED,” Soonyoung said, grinning gleefully.
“No. That’s so tacky.”
“Seungkwan pppllleeeaasssseeee. Come on, we can get those tiger print blankets.”
“No.”
“Small tiger figurines we can give away to the children.”
“No, you would hog them all.”
“Tiger snacks?”
Seungkwan gave Soonyoung a disgusted look, “Absolutely not.”
Soonyoung’s grin faded into a sad pout. He whined, “Not even tiger lilies?”
Seungkwan was about to immediately reject Soonyoung’s next stupid suggestion, but he held his tongue because decorating the ED with tiger lilies didn't sound stupid after all. Rubbing his chin, he deliberated over Soonyoung’s surprisingly good suggestion, “Tiger lilies huh? You might be onto something. How about we get flowers for the ED? Fake flowers of course, since real flowers pose a risk. We can buy a new bouquet every week to change up the atmosphere. Plus when we change the bouquet, we can give the old ones away to the children.”
Soonyoung nodded, “Yes. We can even set up a small arts and crafts station near the back of the waiting room mended by volunteers to teach people how to make bouquets, paintings, or origami flowers.”
Filled with pride at his own suggestion and Seungkwan’s idea, Soonyoung gave Seungkwan a thumbs up and a smirk, “Okay! I approve of this proposal. Your first task as my second in charge will be to go to the hospital’s flower shop and get some fake flowers for the ED, preferably tiger lilies… They should have it because the shop actually brings in a whole variety of fake flowers as an alternative for those with allergies. We’ll try this idea out for a month, and if it works, you can write a formal proposal to Jihoon to get funding to turn this into a full time project. I would do it, but you know, I’m your boss and you have to listen to me.”
Rolling his eyes and giving Soonyoung a mock salute, Seungkwan turned on his heel to seek out the hospital’s flower shop.
--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–
Absent-mindedly fiddling with his new staff ID, Seungkwan hummed as he approached the hospital’s flower shop. He would pick up the tiger lilies Soonyoung ordered him to get, albeit begrudgingly, before returning to his post. If he was quick, the whole transaction shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes.
Seungkwan was sorely mistaken. Upon arriving at the front of the flower shop, he came to an abrupt halt when he spotted you, adorned in your apron and armed with your gardening shears. His breathing hitched, his grip on his staff ID loosening, causing it to fall to the floor with a soft “clank.” Despite there being a vast display of various types of flowers, they didn’t matter to Seungkwan, nor did he pay them any mind. He ignored the regal roses, charming carnations, heavenly hydrangeas, colourful chrysanthemums, ornate orchids, dainty dahlias, and the luscious lilies. Instead, his eyes were completely transfixed on you.
To him, you were the most stunning flower of all.
Hearing the sound of something dropping on the floor, you turned to look in that direction. Noticing your stare, Seungkwan blushed and averted his gaze. He bent down, fumbling to pick up his staff ID. Whether it was out of embarrassment, or the adrenaline pumping through his body because he saw just one of the most stunning women ever, he couldn’t get a good grip on his ID.
You giggled, amused at how adorable Seungkwan’s clumsy movements were. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you crouched down beside him, picking up his staff ID for him.
Curious as to who this butterfingered stranger was, you read off his staff ID, “Boo Seungkwan. RN. Date of Issue? Oh, it’s today. Hey, welcome to Seventeen Med! I’m Y/n L/n, Med’s resident florist. As you can see, I run this flower shop.”
Seungkwan stared at you, wide eyed and very red faced. He stuttered, grimacing slightly at his mistake, “Uhm… Yes… Nice to meet you flower… no sorry. I mean Y/n.”
You flush, clearing your throat to cover up how flustered you really were over his tiny slip up. Hanging him his staff ID back, you ask him kindly, “How can I help you today Nurse Boo? What type of flowers are you interested in? Perhaps a bouquet for a special someone?”
Seungkwan waved his hands in front of his face frantically, “No, no, not for a special someone. I’m looking for a bouquet of fake tiger lilies. It’s for the ED.”
Pretending not to notice the way your heart leaped when he said he wasn’t going to give the flowers to a special someone, you focused on the fact he was looking for tiger lilies instead, “Soonyoung?”
Seungkwan let out an exasperated, exaggerated sigh, “You know about his tiger obsession too?”
You laughed, “Please, the whole hospital knows about it. On his first day of work, he came dressed head to toe in a tiger print jumpsuit. His excuse was that he was going to change into scrubs anyway, so why not dress in something comfortable? I think Mr Xu almost burst a blood vessel when he saw Soonyoung.”
Seungkwan muttered, “You don’t even know half of it. One time, he came to class dressed in a tigger onesie underneath his lab coat.”
You snickered, moving around Seungkwan to get to the flower display. You carefully picked out some fake tiger lilies from the corner, laying them out on the table to be wrapped up into a bouquet. Meanwhile, Seungkwan watched silently as you worked, trying to ignore how the sight of you arranging the flowers and wrapping the bouquet in a soft, delicate piece of paper sent the butterflies in his stomach fluttering wildly.
After a short while, you handed over the bouquet to Seungkwan after giving the bow a final tug to ensure you tied it securely, “You can transfer the whole bouquet into a dry vase. If the material of the flower petals gets dusty, just use a slightly damp cloth to wipe it off.”
“How much do I owe you for it?”
Shaking your head, you gave him a smile, teasing him, “Don’t worry about it. Since it’s for the ED, this bouquet is on the house. Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around more frequently, Nurse Boo.”
--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–
And see Nurse Boo around more frequently, you did, because you became one of the main suppliers for the hospital’s newly implemented “Smile Flower Initiative.”
Built upon Seungkwan’s proposal to start decorating the ED with flowers, the “Smile Flower Initiative” turned out to be a major success. Regardless of how well designed the ED was, how well run the ED was, or how nice all the staff members were, at the end of the day, Seventeen Med’s ED was still an ED. Injuries, illnesses, and distraught and disgruntled people were still commonplace in the ED. Working there was no less fast paced or stressful as working in EDs elsewhere.
Although a seemingly simple addition to the ED, the flowers worked wonders and there was a noticeable difference in the atmosphere. The presence of flowers helped to significantly improve the mood of staff, patients, and visitors alike. As his friend, psychiatrist Dr. Lee Dokyeom, would explain, flowers release a chemical called mycobacterium vaccae, which signals the brain to realse the “feel good” hormone, serotonin, thereby naturally improving people’s moods. To put it simply, the flowers, yes even the fake ones, brought happiness, serenity, and hope to people, especially in a place like the ED.
Jihoon signed off on Seungkwan’s proposal to have the hospital fund the flowers for the ED even before the end of the one month trial. He saw how well received the flowers were, and admitted that while real flowers were used as decorations elsewhere in the hospital, he never thought to use fake flowers as a replacement in departments where real flowers were a safety hazard. Seungkwan mentally face palmed at Jihoon’s admission, but preened under his praise.
Once the proposal was implemented, the ED was soon full of different types of fake flowers. Knitted or crochet flowers, flowers on blankets, pieces of art featuring flowers, etc. Most items were either donated, handmade by volunteers, or funded by the hospital. Seungkwan loved how each item was unique, usually personalised by the person who supplied it to them. He strongly believed the flowers brought more life and colour into the ED.
Out of everything he saw though, Seungkwan’s favourite types of flower decorations were still the bouquets you would so lovingly arrange and prepare for him every week. Week after week, month after month, Seungkwan would meet you at your flower shop on Mondays at 10.30am sharp to collect the bouquet of the week. He always looked forward to seeing what new bouquet arrangements you prepared specially for him. The excited expressions from his co-workers, patients, and visitors to the ED when they saw the new bouquets were also highly anticipated.
At least, those were the reasons Seungkwan told himself justify the excited, tingly, jittery feeling he had whenever it was time to pick up the flowers from your shop. As the time approached, he would be overcome with a rapidly beating heart, hot flushes, a wild blush on his face, clammy hands, and sweaty palms. He would feel slightly lightheaded, and yet he couldn’t manage to keep still, like he needed to bounce or jump about to release some pent up energy.
Despite the many, many times Seungkwan told himself it was simply adrenaline from the excitement of being able to bring joy to the ED, he knew it wasn’t that. He knew the real reason behind his buzzing nerves - you, the flower shop’s (very cute) florist. While he could try to live in denial, it wasn’t lost on Seungkwan that he might have a huge tiny crush on you.
Seungkwan’s feelings weren’t lost on Soonyoung either. Soonyoung would frequently observe Seungkwan from a distance as he floated off to pick up the bouquet with a spring in his step, and a lovestruck expression plastered across his face. There were so many times Seungkwan tripped over a cart or almost bumped into someone because he was thinking so intensely about you. Seungkwan liked to believe no one saw him fumble about, but Soonyoung was more observant than most people thought. If Soonyoung was being honest with himself, he was tired and fed up that most of his friends were so hopeless when it came to love. For how much crap Seungkwan liked to give Dokyeom for being a trainwreck before the latter began dating his girlfriend, Seungkwan was no better.
The process of Seungkwan actually accepting that he did in fact have a crush on you was rather long and arduous, much to Soonyoung’s chargrain. But, Seungkwan was eventually able to accept his feelings for you, and not a moment too soon because Soonyoung was about to start screaming his head off from exasperation.
Fortunately for Soonyoung, before he worked himself up into having a terrible sore throat, Seungkwan sought him out one day asking for a pleasantly surprising favour.
“YOU WHAT???”
Seungkwan’s hands flew up to protect his ears. He gave Soonyoung a death glare, “You don’t need to screech in my ears, you hamster face. Did you not hear me? All I asked was if you could do me a favour and cover my shift next Sunday so I can take Y/n out on a date.”
Soonyoung brought his hand to his face, pretending to wipe away his fake tears, “Yea I heard you the first time. I’m just so proud of you. My little shriveled up tangerine tree, you bore no flowers, leaves, or fruit, for your dead roots never found a pool full of love to drink from. Now, you’ve found it, you’re finally growing up, heart open, leaves sprouting. You’re ready to love so go forth, and let your flowers, drinking hungrily from the pools of love, bloom. BLOOM I SAY. BLOOOMMMMMMMPPPHJHHHHHHHHHH.”
Soonyoung’s enthusiastic monologue was cut off by Seungkwan clamping his hand over Soonyoung’s mouth tightly, “I take it that’s a yes?”
“MMMHSMMM.”
“You’re going to cover my shift? So I can go on my date?”
“MMMHSMMM. MMMHHHMMM.”
Seungkwan, satisfied by Soonyoung’s answers, released his grip on the elder. Soonyoung grumbled, “You ask me for a favour, I grant you what you want, and this is how you treat me. Woe is me.”
Seungkwan shrugged, “You were the one being overdramatic.”
Rubbing his sore chin, Soonyoung retorted, “You can’t blame me. You were pathetically pining over her for months now, and now out of the blue you ask me to cover your shift because you’ve finally asked her out and she agreed to go on a date with you. Can’t a guy be happy for his friend?”
Seungkwan paled, the words “you’ve finally asked her out and she agreed to go on a date with you” echoing through his head repeatedly.
Noticing Seungkwan’s unusual silence and lack of a snarky comment, Soonyoung looked at him questioningly, “Uhm… you have asked her out right? That’s why you’re asking me for the favour? Because you asked her on a date and she said yes?”
Alarmed, Seungkwan shrieked, his hands flailing all over the place as he dashed out of the ED, “Wait. Wait… WAIT. YOU’RE RIGHT. I NEVER ASKED HER OUT TO BEGIN WITH!”
Soonyoung reached out to grab Seungkwan’s shirt, wanting to stop him from rushing off halfway during a shift, but he missed it by an inch. Completely bewildered, Soonyoung stood motionless in the corner of the ED. He opened his mouth to try to say something, only to close it again. After what seemed like an eternity, Soonyoung finally processed what he saw and leaned against the nearby wall for support. He exhaled shakily, “Whooo boy, and I thought Dokyeommie was helpless. Seungkwan, he’s on a whole other planet.”
--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–
Meanwhile, you were assisting your best friend at the hospital’s gift shop.
“My angel, do you think these orange petunias would go with the new shipment of teddy bears?”
Your best friend lightly pinched your cheek, “Munchkin. Orange flowers with those purple teddy bears? I don’t see why not. Go for it.”
You squealed, immediately grabbing a teddy to try and put together a cute teddy flower bouquet. As you picked out new flowers for the bouquet, your best friend worked on a new gift basket arrangement. You worked in comfortable silence for a while, but your best friend soon grew bored.
With an evil glint in her eye, she abandoned the gift basket, propping herself up on her seat. Leaning in towards you, she asked, “Sooooooo. How’s your Boo?”
You rolled your eyes, “I should be asking you how’s your dating life now you’re with Dr Chwe.”
Unimpressed, she retorted, “At least I have a dating life babie. Nurse Boo and you should be dating by now. Go and ask him out on a date.”
“I don’t have the guts to ask someone out and you know it. Besides, what if he says no? He’s Nurse Boo. I’m sure he’s surrounded by pretty nurses and doctors all the time. Why settle for me?”
Your best friend reeled back, placing a hand over her heart, “EXCUSE ME? Settle for you? Babie. Munchkin. My love. My heart will die if you say that. Anyone who cannot see how amazing you are needs to get their brain checked. You’re more than enough so don’t doubt yourself like that.”
Fiddling with the finished teddy flower bouquet, you nodded shakily.
Your best friend patted your head, swiveling your seat around to face the shop’s entrance, “Good. Now. Once again, you’re more than enough. I can see that, and Nurse Boo definitely can see it too.”
From your position, you could see Seungkwan frantically looking around your flower shop calling out your name. You stared in shock as you felt your best friend gently nudge you forward and out of her shop, guiding you towards him.
Your best friend cheekily called out, “Delivery for Nurse Boo!!”
Snapping out of your daze, you glared at her as she retreated back into the gift shop howling with laughter.
You muttered an apology to Seungkwan, awkwardly asking, “Sorry about that Seungkwan. Is there anything I can help you with today? Do you need a new bouquet urgently?”
Face flushed and ears pink, both from being out of breath and from what he was about to do, Seungkwan shifted around a bit, wringing his bands, “Uh. Yea, there is something you can help me with… Would you… umm, happen to be free next Sunday? For a date, with… me?
Seungkwan was asking you on a date. Next Sunday. Just the two of you. You and him. Together. Alone. On a date. Romantic date. Date with Seungkwan.
Letting Seungkwan’s question sink in, you squeaked, hiding your warm face behind the teddy flower bouquet you were still holding. Through the gaps in the flowers, you could see Seungkwan’s eyes sparkle with apprehension, and more importantly, hope. Your heart fluttered with the same adoring feeling you had whenever you saw flowers swaying gently in the wind.
Seungkwan wanted to go on this date with you.
Somehow, that realisation made your grip on the bouquet grow tighter, and you refused to meet his eyes.
Standing opposite from you, Seungkwan’s hope was beginning to falter. With you hiding behind the bouquet, he was unable to read your reaction properly. Were you shy because of the question? Was he weird? Were you so turned off by the idea of having to go on a date with him you hid behind your flowers? Beads of sweat rolled down his face, he gulped, sucking in a deep breath, about to try to cut through the uneasy, uncomfortable tension by telling you it was okay if you didn’t want to you know? There was no pressure at all.
“NURSE BOO, YOU BROKE HER. BUT Y/N WOULD LOVE TO GO ON A DATE WITH YOU. GO ON Y/N SAY YES. GET YOUR MAN.” Your best friend, who was finally unable to take the silence anymore, screamed from the gift shop.
You quickly lowered the bouquet, giving Seungkwan a reassuring, albeit sheepish nod, “Yes yes. What she said. I would love to go on a date with you Seungkwan.”
Relieved, Seungkwan let out the breath he was holding in, “Oh thank the heavens. I’ll pick you up next Sunday. Say, 11am?”
You smiled, hugging the bouquet closer to your body, “11am sounds perfect.”
--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–
If there was one word to describe how Seungkwan felt last week after he actually asked you out on a date and you said yes, it would be “perfect.” Everything was perfect. While he was apprehensive about the date, he was more excited than anything else. He spent the week agonising over every inch of his plans, the places to bring you, food to eat, conversation topics. Everything was going to be perfect. It had to be, for you.
Alas, when perfection is what is highly sought after and anticipated, reality always falls short of it. Fast forward one week, and the one word to describe how the date was going now was “disaster.”
Seungkwan’s original plan was to pick you up at 11am, drive two hours away to a pretty flower field you mentioned in passing one time during your previous conversations. You would have a quiet lunch at the restaurant overlooking the flower field before roaming around and taking in the sights for a few hours. Should you feel parched or tired halfway, there was also a cafe on the edge of the flower field where you could have some tea. During the drive back into the city, you would stop by another restaurant serving your favourite dish. If all went well, he would have you home safely by 9 or 10pm.
Unfortunately, Seungkwan’s plans were derailed one by one, and soon the perfection he was aiming for was nothing more than a fleeting dream replaced by this disaster of a date.
Absolutely nothing went his way. In the morning, Seungkwan’s car wouldn’t start when he prepared to head over to your apartment to pick you up. By the time he managed to get a hold of a mechanic to jump start his car, he was over an hour late. Despite your reassurances that it was okay to reschedule the date, Seungkwan was stubborn. He wasn’t going to let this little setback ruin the perfect day he so meticulously planned.
The drive to the flower field started out lovely. There was a lot of talking, and even more laughs. Everything was looking up for Seungkwan, but as the saying goes, “when it rains, it pours.” In this case, quite literally. What began as a sunny day turned into a dark, gloomy, overcast one as rain began pelting down harshly on the ground. Nevertheless, Seungkwan insisted on moving forward with his original plans. Sudden showers weren’t uncommon during this time of the year, and perhaps the rain would clear up by the time you arrived at your destination.
When you finally arrived at the flower field, the rain stopped, but Seungkwan’s good spirits were dashed by further setbacks in his plans. The restaurant regretfully informed Seungkwan that you had missed your reservation, and because you arrived 2 hours late, the restaurant was now closing for the afternoon. To make matters worse, the flower field which housed the cafe, was also closed due to flash flooding from the rain.
Seungkwan’s shoulders slumped as his last rays of hope were dashed. So much for the perfect date. This date could possibly have been the worst date you had ever been on. Throughout the day, you had been reassuring him that you could always reschedule the date, or spend the day at a cafe in the city. And when he insisted on going through with his plans, you never once objected to them or complained about his stubborn nature. He felt like the biggest fool of the century. In his mission to plan the perfect date for you to make you happy, he ended up ruining the entire date. Although you didn’t show any indication of it, he was sure you were having a horrible time and would never want to go out with him ever again.
You observed Seungkwan silently from the passenger’s seat of his car. His dejected, dull, downcast eyes told you everything. He was full of regret and disappointment at how the day turned out. Worst of all, he was most disappointed with himself. He blamed himself for ruining the day and was chastising himself internally.
You nudged him gently, “Seungkwan, it’s kind of late now and we both haven’t eaten since this morning. How about we turn around and head back into the city? I saw a burger place on the way here. Maybe we can grab some? I know you like burgers…”
By requesting something from Seungkwan, you hoped you could pull him out of his fixation on the ruined day. Seungkwan was a giver, someone who was always ready to help others. You had a hunch that by giving him something else to focus on, he would shift his attention onto how he could best carry out your request to satisfy you. Your hunch proved to be correct. A deep frown was still evident on Seungkwan’s face, but he visibly relaxed at your request.
The drive to the burger place was silent and slightly tense. Seungkwan’s mind was muddled up with countless thoughts. What should he say to you? Were you mad at him for this ruined date? He practically wasted your time when you could have been at home, warm and well fed. He would obviously have to apologise, but how? He continuously grabbed at the steering wheel as he glanced at you nervously from the corner of his eye. You didn’t look the least bit upset. In fact, you appeared to be quite content with gazing out the window at the passing scenery. That was a good sign right?
As the burger place came into sight, Seungkwan’s stomach growled, cutting through the silence in the car. You snickered at him, “Looks like someone is hungry. Let’s go and get some food for you.”
Knowing Seungkwan was trying to make himself feel better just as much as he was trying to make the day up to you, you didn’t bother arguing with Seungkwan when he insisted on paying. You could always treat him to a meal another time.
A little while later, Seungkwan returned with your meals and you both dug in hungrily. There was nothing like a warm meal on a cold and wet day.
“I’m sorry.”
At the sound of Seungkwan’s voice, you retracted your hand from your french fries. Ah, so the time had come.
You asked him gently, “Whatever for?”
Poking at his burger, Seungkwan murmured, “For ruining the date. I’m sorry I ruined it. Everything was supposed to be perfect. I wanted this date to be perfect for you so you would be happy and instead I ruined it. It was a total disaster.”
You shook your head, “Seungkwan. In my opinion, this date was perfect. So what if our plans were derailed. I’m still enjoying this date with you immensely.”
Seungkwan’s eyes widened in shock. He sputtered, “You mean… you’re not disappointed or upset at me?”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes.”
You softened, your heart breaking at his self-reprimanding tone, “Am I disappointed the flower field was closed due to flash floods? Yes. But am I disappointed and upset at you? Absolutely not. You couldn’t have predicted what would happen today. You planned a wonderful day for us and I am grateful to you for that. Besides, despite everything you still tried your best to ensure the date was perfect. It was perfect, and still is. Spending this precious time with you is more important to me than anything else. How else was I supposed to learn you were in a comedy group named BooSeokSoon in college along with Nurse Kwon and Dr. Lee?”
Seungkwan’s head lifted and his frown morphed into a proud smile, “Comedy slash singing group. We wanted to bring smiles to everyone around us. I guess you’re right. This time I spent with you is precious.”
You smirked, “Of course. I wouldn’t want to spend my Sundays in a random burger place with anyone else but you.”
Content with the way Seungkwan’s mood was lifted significantly, your heart swelled with pride as you gazed at him fondly. This was the man you came to adore over the past few months. The man who was selfless, who always sought to do his best for everyone else around him just so he could uplift their moods and bring them happiness. Even when he wasn’t doing much, his smile and presence alone could brighten up the whole room, a feat not many were able to achieve. You saw the warmth surrounding his heart, his patience, kindness, and gentle actions towards others, which were always carried out with such attention to detail and love. Boo Seungkwan was the epitome of a nurse and he set the standard for what kind of human you aspired to be.
Musing over the wonderful being that was Seungkwan for a moment longer, you couldn’t help but blurt, “You’re such a kind person Seungkwan.”
Caught off guard by your compliment, Seungkwan stammered, “What… what brought this compliment about?”
You shrugged, “I was thinking about you. All the things you do to make others smile, bring them happiness. Your whole “Smile Flower Initiative” for instance, or the date you planned today. Oh and don’t think I don’t see you regularly buying coffee for the staff and volunteers who work at the ED, or the way you sometimes get those small tiger pins from the gift shop to give to Nurse Kwon. I’ve also heard stories about how you would work frequently overtime at the ED because some of the elderly regulars are most comfortable around you. One time, I heard from my best friend that you spent the whole night singing to one of the children who was going to undergo an orthopedic surgery. Hospital regulation stated his parents couldn’t be there, and so you stayed with him until he went in.”
Seungkwan grumbled, “Vernon has a big mouth for someone who talks so little sometimes.”
You snorted, “My point being. You’re always putting other people’s happiness first. But what about you? What are some times you like to do which brings you happiness?”
Stirring his drink, Seungkwan wrecked his brain for an answer, “I like talking to the people at the ED, and spending time with the elderly in the geriatric ward. To be able to speak to them outside of when I’m working is fulfilling for me. It humanises them in a way, helps me to see them as individuals, it reminds me how important my work is to helping them get back on their feet. Working in the ED can be tiring, but it is refreshing to finally feel fulfilled and passionate about my job again.”
Cheekily chucking a french fry at Seungkwan, you pressed him further, “As nice as all that is, I mean what are some things you like to do outside of work to decompress? What are some things you like to do for you?”
Pushing around the empty wrappers on the table, Seungkwan’s smile faltered. Yea, what has he done for himself lately? At his previous hospital, he didn’t have the luxury to even think about having time off for himself. When he went home, he would shower, eat, and go straight to bed. Now, he had more downtime, but what did he decide to do? Throw himself into doing more work because he was caught up in his renewed passion for his work. Today was probably the first day since he began working at Seventeen Med where he took a full day off work. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he spent a day doing absolutely nothing.
“Hmm. What are some of your hobbies?”
Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Without hesitation, Seungkwan declared smugly, “I love badminton. I used to play in a team recreationally on weekends, and I was good.”
“Favourite food?”
“Jokbal, braised pigs trotters.”
“Favourite places to visit?”
“The beach just off the road from the Caratland theme park. Years ago, I used to spend my days off feeling the sea breeze in my hair and blowing on the dandelions.”
Clapping your hands together gleefully, your eyes sparkled in excitement, “Okay! That settles it. If you’re okay with it, for our next date, we can play badminton in the morning, have Jokbal for lunch, and then visit the beach, make wishes on dandelions, and have a simple picnic for dinner while watching the sunset!”
Seungkwan’s eyes widened, “Next date? You want to go on another date with me?”
Tilting your head questioningly at Seungkwan, you exclaimed, “Of course I would! Uhm, only if you want to?”
Overcome with emotion, Seungkwan shot out of his clair and walked over to sit next to you. He gazed into your eyes, brushing your cheek lightly with his hand, “Earlier, you asked me what are some things I like to do that bring me happiness. I think I have something new to add to my list.”
You shuddered under his soft, feathery touch, “And what would that be?”
Intertwining his hand with yours, Seungkwan whispered, “That would be going on many, many dates with you, my beautiful flower.”
--⌃⌄-💎-⌃⌄–
The following day in the break room, Soonyoung scuttered around Seungkwan, probing him for details on his date, “So, how was the date?”
“It was a total disaster. Nothing went according to plan.”
Patting Seungkwan on the back empathetically, Soonyoung comforted him, “I’m sorry to hear that…”
Recalling the events of the previous day, Seungkwan sighed blissfully, “Don’t be. It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
Watching Seungkwan strut out of the break room, Soonyoung shrugged. He was confused but he would accept the answer. Who was he to question his friends’ weird love lives?
Because love was in bloom, and that was the most important point.
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ The ED staff members shouldered these burdens, silently enduring the physical, mental, and emotional stress that came with the job.” They really do deal with so much shit and do not get paid enough for it
“ The beautifully coloured walls, coupled with the floor to ceiling windows, dove grey tiles lining the floor, sunbleached wooden furniture, and decor made of crystal, marble or glass, allowed the entire place to feel bright, open, calm, and inviting. ” fancy
“ “Maybe we can create a tiger themed ED,” Soonyoung said, grinning gleefully. ” oh, soonyoung 😂
“ “We can even set up a small arts and crafts station near the back of the waiting room mended by volunteers to teach people how to make bouquets, paintings, or origami flowers.” ” oh, that actually sounds so cute 🥺
“ “I would do it, but you know, I’m your boss and you have to listen to me.” ” 😂
“ You giggled, amused at how adorable Seungkwan’s clumsy movements were. ” same
“ “You don’t even know half of it. One time, he came to class dressed in a tigger onesie underneath his lab coat.” ” okay, but that’s actually precious
“ “Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around more frequently, Nurse Boo.” ” 😏
“ He would feel slightly lightheaded, and yet he couldn’t manage to keep still, like he needed to bounce or jump about to release some pent up energy. ” sounds like a serious case of “ants in his pants”, in my oh so professional opinion 😌
“ There were so many times Seungkwan tripped over a cart or almost bumped into someone because he was thinking so intensely about you. ” omg 😂 silly boy
“ Soonyoung brought his hand to his face, pretending to wipe away his fake tears, “Yea I heard you the first time. I’m just so proud of you. My little shriveled up tangerine tree, you bore no flowers, leaves, or fruit, for your dead roots never found a pool full of love to drink from. Now, you’ve found it, you’re finally growing up, heart open, leaves sprouting. You’re ready to love so go forth, and let your flowers, drinking hungrily from the pools of love, bloom. BLOOM I SAY. BLOOOMMMMMMMPPPHJHHHHHHHHHH.” ” 😂
“ “Uhm… you have asked her out right? That’s why you’re asking me for the favour? Because you asked her on a date and she said yes?”
Alarmed, Seungkwan shrieked, his hands flailing all over the place as he dashed out of the ED, “Wait. Wait… WAIT. YOU’RE RIGHT. I NEVER ASKED HER OUT TO BEGIN WITH!” ” omg, Seungkwan 😂😂😂
“ Face flushed and ears pink, both from being out of breath and from what he was about to do, Seungkwan shifted around a bit, wringing his bands, “Uh. Yea, there is something you can help me with… Would you… umm, happen to be free next Sunday? For a date, with… me? ” aww, cute babie 🥺
“ Unfortunately, Seungkwan’s plans were derailed one by one, and soon the perfection he was aiming for was nothing more than a fleeting dream replaced by this disaster of a date. ” oh no :((
Genre: fluff & humour with a slight side of angst. kind of a slow burn.
Word Count: 17K
Warnings: adult language. alcohol and food mentions galore. Hoshi meddles and creates more problems for everyone involved. reader’s size is not specifically mentioned, but Jihoon and she fit into each other’s clothes. one mention of “daddy” as a joke.
[best friends to lovers!AU] For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.
♡ This fic is a part of @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab! Please check out the other writer's works as well! They're all so good and we've all worked so hard!! ♡
[Still don’t know what to get your loved-one for Valentine’s day? We’ve got you covered!]
You stared at your phone, almost praying it would blow up and disappear along with the message. Unfortunately, you still needed your phone and the universe knew it. You sighed and deleted the message.
Maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter every February if the world was a little kinder to single people. After all, at least half the people in the world must be single – whether by choice or not. And yet it seemed that everything in the world was keen on reminding you of how entirely single you specifically were, your sister included.
She all but wrestled the phone out of your hand. “That’s it. I’m signing you up for dating apps.”
“Please don’t,” you replied with only half your usual annoyance and enthusiasm. Maybe a part of you thought this was exactly the push you needed.
Already nose-deep in the app store, she didn’t even bother to pretend to hear you.
“This one has good reviews–” she mumbled to herself as if it was her phone all along.
You only hugged a cushion to your chest and stared at the TV. Whatever romantic film your sister had chosen to watch today was not helping your problem.
“What’s the point? Maybe Soonyoung’s right.”
“Who?” She finally glanced up.
“Soonyoung.”
She blinked. “Is this Soonyoung cute?”
“Can you please stop trying to set me up with every guy you hear about?” You rolled your eyes. “He said that the key to finding love is to first love yourself.”
“That’s, like, basic philosophy,” she replied easily and turned back to your phone. “I need your email and a password– Oh, wait, I can just make something up.”
You were fairly certain she wasn’t listening to a word you were saying but you were past the point of caring. At least talking to a person who isn’t listening is a (small) step above talking to the lonely snake plant on your windowsill.
“Maybe I should take some time to just find myself,” you contemplated out loud. “I could try a new hobby. Or a new style. Find new books to read. Maybe then I won’t even care that I’m single.”
Still not looking up from the app she had newly installed on your phone, your sister hummed. “One of my friends did say that fictional boyfriends are better than real ones.”
So maybe she was better at multitasking than you had thought.
You put the cushion away and leaned closer to her. “What are you doing on my phone anyway?”
Proudly, she turned the device for you to see. “Ta-da! Your first ever dating app profile!”
A shiver of fear ran up your spine. “You signed me up for a dating app?”
“And you’re not allowed to delete it until you find a boyfriend,” she declared. “And if you do, I’ll just download it again.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Whatever,” she laughed and handed you back the phone, picking up her own from the coffee table. “Oh, I should get going.”
You couldn’t help but pout. “Already? Why?”
She rolled her eyes and went to pull on her coat. “Because, unlike you, I have a boyfriend who wants to take me out on a date. In fact,” she was practically beaming and you felt the ugly green tentacles of jealousy crawling up your leg already, “he’s taking me on a date every day until Valentine’s day.”
A pause. With a startle, you soon realised she was expecting you to cheer for her. You tried to find words that weren’t as bitter as you were feeling. “Oh, that’s so sweet of him.”
It was the right answer. She actually squealed as she confirmed, “Right? He’s such a romantic.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper as she leaned closer to you over the back of the sofa. “I think he’s going to propose on the big day.”
You almost sighed in despair. “I hope so! You deserve that ring.”
“You are so right,” she agreed and opened her mouth to say something more when the door suddenly opened.
You tilted your head to see who had intruded. It was Jihoon, black hat covered in white snow and a takeaway bag in his hand. He blinked at the sight of your sister before smiling and waving. “Hi. I didn’t know you had visitors.”
“I do have friends other than you, Hoon,” you informed him. “Also, I do have a working doorbell.”
He gave you a funny look. “And I have your spare key.”
It was clear you had made a mistake when you awarded him the honour. Now you were stuck dealing with him even when you didn't want to.
“I’ll leave you two,” your sister announced and left, not before whispering something in Jihoon’s ear in the passing.
Jihoon’s ears turned red as he cleared his throat and set the takeaway bag on the table.
“What did she tell you?” you asked him with a groan. You knew your sister better than anyone – there was no way she hadn’t told him something so embarrassing you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for weeks to come. “Lay it on me.”
“Nothing. It was nothing.” His reply was just a little bit too quick and wavering, but you decided to let it go this once. “I brought you some leftovers.”
You raised a brow. “Leftovers?”
“They ordered too much food to the studio today, so I brought you the extras,” he told you almost timidly, gesturing to the bag like it was no big deal and had required zero thought from him. He was a strange man but maybe that’s why you liked to keep him around. “Can’t let the good food go to waste. Besides,” his eyes seemed sharp all of a sudden, “have you eaten at all today?”
He didn’t need an actual answer – you both knew the truth.
“I’ll be sure to savour it,” you told him with a joking salute. “Want to join me for a movie?”
His nose scrunched up at the mention. “I wish. I promised to help Seungkwan set up for the party tonight.”
Right. The party. Seungkwan’s “Jeonghan’s party”. In three hours. You had forced yourself to forget about it.
Jihoon pursed his lips in thought, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “But we could always pretend we got kidnapped by a serial killer.”
“Sounds like too much work.”
“We escape to Iceland, become anonymous sheep herders and no one ever hears from us again,” he then suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis and raising his brows as he waited for your reaction.
But as tempting as that sounded… “Seungkwan would find and skin us in fourteen days flat.”
He groaned and threw his head back. “Then I guess we have no choice. We must commit a crime so vile they give us a life sentence.”
“He’d just bring the party to the jailhouse,” you laughed. “And we wouldn’t even be able to sneak out.”
He took a deep breath and straightened back up. “Well, I’m out of ideas. Just plain suffering it is then.”
You glanced at the clock. “It’s not too late to fake our deaths.”
Jihoon snorted a laugh. “You just said that pretending to get kidnapped would be too much work.”
“Faking deaths is different! Or! We could summon a freak storm that would leave us stranded here,” you suggested.
“How?”
“I’m sure there’s a good Youtube tutorial somewhere.”
He giggled at the idea. “You really don’t want to go to the party, huh?”
You could only sigh and wish for the plush green fabric of the sofa to swallow you whole. “There’s definitely going to be so many couples there, all dressed in matching outfits and giggling and making out. And I’ll be all lonely and miserable, quietly downing all of Seungkwan’s wine.”
When you looked at Jihoon, he was smiling at you almost fondly. He was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, “I’ll keep you company. Don’t worry.”
“It’s not the same,” you whined like a little brat even as his promise made you feel a tiny bit gooey and soft inside.
“I’m sorry?” He just laughed again and shook his head, the remnants of snow falling onto the floor. “I’m bringing those muffins you like so much.”
You felt yourself perk up immediately. “Muffins? Why didn’t you just say so?”
He laughed harder but said nothing else as he turned and left. You would’ve been upset if you didn’t know him better.
Your phone chimed with a new notification.
[Claim your Valentine’s day coupon now and surprise your partner with a free tour of the museum!]
You groaned but didn’t delete the message.
[HOON: if you want to match with someone, I’m wearing red today]
You groaned harder and shut off your phone.
It wasn’t that you actually disliked these parties. You quite liked them, really. Seungkwan had figured out the perfect balance of socialising, snacks and music. It was a joy to be present, hanging out with your friends as you forgot about the problems of the week.
The only problem was that ever since Seungcheol and Chan had introduced the idea of an annual friendly “Party King” competition, the number of parties you were gently blackmailed to attend had doubled. And, frankly, your social battery was due for an upgrade that never came.
You suspected the same went for Jihoon.
Clad in his dark red hoodie, he joined you on the sofa the moment his eyes caught yours. Sipping his soda and softly singing along to the music, he completely ignored your personal space and made himself comfortable by your side.
“No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend,” Seungkwan joked when he walked past the two of you, a box of party games in his arms. His smile was blinding as he told you, “Your guard dog’s going to scare all of the guys away.”
You blinked in confusion. He nodded to your side. Following the gesture, you found yourself face to face with Jihoon. A groan left your mouth.
“What?” Jihoon wondered.
“Seungkwan says you’re the reason I’m single.”
He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the fact. “Well, if they want to date you, they have to impress me first.”
You almost felt a little fond of him, appreciating his protectiveness. But you also knew your Jihoon and you knew he wasn’t finished yet.
Under your warning eyes, he took a sip of his soda before smirking. “God knows you wouldn’t recognise a red flag if it slapped you in the face.”
Glancing down at his clothes, you snorted a laugh. “You’re literally dressed as a red flag yourself. I should be avoiding you of all people.”
“No, I’m just warning other people that you are a red flag,” he replied effortlessly, cutting your laugh short. Sensing he was now in real, actual danger, his eyes widened. “That was a joke. Just a joke. I’m sorry–”
You smacked him upside the head and shook your head. “Did someone mix alcohol into the soda? You’re so mean today.”
He blinked once. Twice. Looked into his soda cup. And then cursed. “I knew it tasted funky! Yoon Jeonghan!”
You could only laugh harder as he jumped up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen with fury that could not be matched. Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. Which is precisely why you hardly drank anything at these gatherings.
Jihoon returned less than two minutes later, two unopened colas in hand. There was still an attitude to his foot stomps and a glint of annoyance in his eyes, but he opened one of the cans before handing it to you like he always did.
“Not even Jeonghan can tamper with closed cans,” he reasoned almost bitterly. “Who mixes vodka into soda?”
“Lots of people,” you told him with a chuckle and a gentle pat to his shoulder. “It’s called mixing a cocktail.”
He rolled his eyes. “Rude of them to not consider people who don’t drink alcohol.”
“Kind of like it’s rude of them to not consider the single people here,” you half-joked in camaraderie. “Have you noticed they’ve only been playing love songs tonight?”
Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Have they?”
You nodded towards the speakers that were blasting Love Me Right. “The last two songs were Lover and Steal the Show.”
He grimaced. “There’s still 12 days left until Valentine’s day. Are they insane?”
“Probably.” You rested your legs onto his lap. “I guess I’ll just be extra bitter and lonely this year then.”
“No shot at romance?”
You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “You literally just said you’re wearing red to warn others how much of a red flag I am. And now you want me to find romance?”
“I have mixed feelings about you dating,” he told you honestly – a little too honestly, if the red tint of his ears was anything to go by. He cleared his throat. “I should start checking the drinks for alcohol before I drink them.”
Pretending not to notice, you took a sip of your cola. “I keep thinking about what Soonyoung said yesterday. About loving myself before I can find someone.”
“Isn’t that just social media nonsense?” Jihoon wondered quietly, resting his free hand on your knee. His thumb rubbed little circles onto your skin, comforting you.
“What if he’s right?” you continued. “What if I love myself so little that I simply cannot be loved?”
Frowning, Jihoon let out a sharp noise of protest. The gentle touch of his thumb turned into a warning pinch between his fingers. “You are loved! Who put this dumb thought into your mind?”
“... Soonyoung?”
“I’ll beat him up on Monday,” he half-heartedly promised, a heavy look still on his face. Softening his voice, looking straight into your eyes, he spoke, “Don’t you dare think you cannot be loved. You are loved.”
“By whom?”
He looked away and didn’t say.
“Whatever,” you sighed once the silence became too much. The speakers began playing Die With a Smile. You sighed once more. “Can’t they play something less romantic? I’d kill for a dumb, mindless party song right now. Do you think you could ask Jeonghan to play something else? He scares me–”
But it seemed that Jihoon was still stuck on the last topic. “What are you doing for Valentine’s day this year?”
“... Aside from crying myself to sleep after watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before for the 15th time?”
“You don’t think you love yourself enough to be loved by someone else,” he echoed your earlier words, his eyes stuck on something in the distance, “so why not change that? Treat yourself to something good this year. No sad movies and ice cream,” he finally looked at you again, “just do something you’ve always wanted to do.”
You knew he was right – he always was right. “But it’s boring to do that alone.”
“Then I’ll come with,” he decided after a moment of thought. A small smile appeared on his face. His thumb finally resumed its circles on your knee. It was sweet. Until he opened his mouth again, repeating the words playing on the stereo: “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”
To the sound of his giggles, you snorted and slapped his hand away. “You’re awful.”
“I’m serious–”
“Aren’t you two just the cutest!” Jeonghan interrupted your banter with a childish pout on his rosy lips as he leaned against the wall across from the table. Soonyoung was smiling brightly at his side. “Are you dating yet?”
You wondered if he was done asking that at every party yet. It’s not like it was ever going to change (no matter how much he, Soonyoung, and your mother hoped it would).
Jihoon sat up, narrowed eyes settling on Jeonghan as if he was the devil himself. “Did you mix vodka into the soda?”
“Maybe,” came the reply with a shrug and a wicked giggle.
“I could get you a boyfriend for Valentine’s day,” Soonyoung suddenly said, his brown eyes set on you. There was that glint of mischief again. You realised you feared this man more than you feared bears, and not for the usual reasons.
Even so, you laughed. “Soonyoung, if you were any good at being a wingman, Jihoon wouldn’t be single right now. In fact, you’re, like, the number one reason why he’s single.”
Forgetting his own argument with Jeonghan, Jihoon seemed to take offense to your statement. He let out a noise of hurt before pinching your knee once again.
“Au contraire, my friend,” Soonyoung argued and leaned so close that you could smell the raspberry-flavoured liquor in his breath, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”
You raised a brow. “Remember, just last week you told a girl Jihoon’s not into women when she asked if he was single.”
“I was drunk,” he told you, wearing a mask of nonchalance. “I don’t remember much from that night.”
“Or the time I got a girl’s number but you stole it and dropped it in the pool,” Jihoon pointed out with a smile that seemed almost venomous. You had no doubt he’d hold that mishap over Soonyoung’s head for the rest of their lives – you almost hoped he would.
Soonyoung had the decency to look a little deflated at the mention, at least. But even so there was no stopping him. Mumbling under his breath, he repeated himself, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”
You shared a look with Jihoon and mutually decided to forget this exchange.
When you were sixteen, Jihoon’s dad let you in on a little secret. He had peeked out of the kitchen to make sure his son wouldn’t hear and then he’d told you that Jihoon had set his phone up so that he would never miss your calls. He thought it was the most adorable thing, and so did you.
You hadn’t even realised your phone’s Do Not Disturb setting had an option to do so but suddenly you were giddy, excited to set your phone up in a similar manner. And when you didn’t quite manage to figure it out, you decided to compromise and just make his ringtone the loudest one you could find. It worked just the same for you.
You’ve had many phones since then, but the ringtone never changed.
Though you were no longer sure if it was the obnoxiousness of the ringtone itself or the muscle memory of answering so many calls from him late at night, it never failed to wake you up when he needed you.
Once again you woke up to the noise, hand automatically reaching for your phone even though your eyes were still closed and your mind was still halfway lost in dreamland.
“Jihoon?” you mumbled his name as if his ringtone hadn’t been burnt into your memory.
The other line was silent for a moment. Then you heard a soft sigh. “Sorry. Did I wake you up again?”
“No,” you lied, dragging the vowel out as much as you could to loosen up your vocal cords. “What’s up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmare, stress or boredom?”
“... All three?”
“You have to pick one.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
He groaned but it was soon followed by a soft laugh. “Do you remember when we were kids and I threw that ball into Mr Yang’s window?”
Weird change of topic, you thought, but Jihoon did love to reminisce. So you humored him. “You mean the time he yelled at you so hard that you cried?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And then you told me he deserved to have his window broken. And you built a pillow fort in your closet for me to hide so my parents couldn’t find and scold me.”
“It had world-class security,” you joked. “Buddy and I were a trusty team.”
But it was like he hadn’t heard your interjection, too lost in his own memory book.
“You hid in there with me and hugged me when my mom came to get me,” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “You know, she wasn’t even that mad at me. I only had to do the dishes for a week.”
“You were just a kid and she knew that,” you spoke so softly that you wondered if he even heard you this time. The shared memory of the day ran in front of your eyes. It was a simpler time but even back then you had been ready to do anything for him.
Silence engulfed the two of you, only the gentle static of the phones reminding you of the other still being there. Ten whole minutes went by like this and for a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
“I should go to sleep,” you spoke low in case he really was asleep. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”
He hummed. “Why?”
“I’m going to a museum and I want to leave by 10. So I should get up before 9. And it’s already almost 3 am, so you know…”
“Since when is 9 am early?” he half-joked before suggesting, “Just go later.”
“I’m a woman of principles, Lee Jihoon. When I have plans, I see them through.”
He scoffed out a laugh. “Liar. Remember that novel you said you were going to write?”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” you feigned innocence, “and you have no proof.”
His laugh sounded like he was sitting right next to you. You silently thanked the wonders of modern technology.
As you prepared to say good night, you heard his voice again. “You remember the thing Soonyoung said yesterday? About finding you a boyfriend?”
You scoffed. “You don’t think he was serious about that, right? He was just joking, being Soonyoung.”
“Right. Right…” He sounded distant again, like he was in a daze, as he spoke, “Do you think– Have you ever wondered if—” He groaned and you could practically see him scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. Sleep must be sneaking up on me.”
You hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath. It came out in a not entirely genuine laugh. “Maybe we should both go to sleep.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “You’re right, like always.”
“Always?” you teased.
“... Well, maybe not always.”
“You can’t take it back now,” you whined through laughter. “You almost never compliment me or my choices.”
He took a breath like he was about to say something. But nothing came out. Only a sigh. Then the phone call ended without another word – the way Jihoon liked it.
You rolled over to your side, reaching to put your phone away again when it buzzed. The screen lit up with a message.
[Hoon: if I complimented you and all of your good choices, it would take forever.]
Crawling out of the comfort of your bed on one of your few days off, you wondered if the art of loving yourself was really worth the effort.
As usual, half an hour was spent on reading the news and watching videos you weren’t entirely interested in. Another half an hour went by as you stared at the ceiling and contemplated your life decisions until you finally found the willpower to shower, get dressed, and eat a quick breakfast.
By 10, you were starting to feel like a human-being again, so you grabbed your keys and bag, and you walked out of your apartment.
“You said you wanted to leave by 10,” Jihoon’s voice nearly shocked you into running back to your room. He was the dictionary definition of nonchalance as he stood in front of your door, barely even lifting his head, trying to read something off his phone. “It’s already 10:04, slowpoke. Are you ready to go yet?”
You stared at him for a while. Why was he here? Had you invited him along? No, you were sure you hadn’t. And then your jaw dropped as his words sunk in. “You’re the reason I stayed up until 3!”
“And to make up for it, I already sacrificed my arm by cleaning the snow off your car. You’re welcome. Let’s go.”
He never once looked up from his phone as he headed back down the stairs. You could only laugh in disbelief and lock your door before following after him.
“Why are you here anyways?” you finally asked when the two of you reached your car which had, indeed, been brushed clean of snow. “I was going to go alone.”
Jihoon shrugged. “I was bored.”
“You were bored and just invited yourself along?” You wished you had that kind of audacity.
The car seemed to be colder than the weather itself. You involuntarily shivered as you pulled the door closed behind yourself. Jihoon let out a noise of complaint as he settled into his usual spot in the leather passenger seat. Envy filled you as he adjusted himself and burrowed further into his warm fleece jacket.
In an act of something akin to revenge, you tossed him your phone. “Read the directions. If I miss a turn because of you, I’m making you pay for my coffee.”
“Yes, captain,” he joked and turned the heat up to the maximum. One could only pray that your car’s battery would survive the trip. “Are we making any stops on the way?”
“I wasn’t going to.” You really weren’t. It was just a 70-minute drive to the museum – adding to the duration really wasn’t on your bucket list – but knowing Jihoon, not stopping for snacks was simply not an option. The deepening pout and his wide eyes were enough indication that you were right to assume so – he only ever used his cuter side to win. A deep sigh bubbled in your throat. Through gritted teeth you spoke, “But I suppose we could squeeze in a quick stop.”
He let out the tiniest cheer and happily gave the first instruction: “We need to go right, turn left at the intersection and then–” A noise of curiosity. “A Hyunjin wants to know if you have any pets? I guess?”
You frowned. There wasn’t a single Hyunjin you could think of. “Hyunjin?”
“That’s what it says,” he told you with a shrug. “He also wants to know how you feel about… ferrets.”
You weren’t entirely sure what that was about. “Just ignore it. Where to next?”
“Uh,” he vocalised, “right again.”
“Why did we even turn left then?”
He chuckled. “I’m just telling you what the app says.”
“Whatever. Next?”
“Just keep going straight. We should reach the highway in, like, fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes straight through the busiest part of the city? You regretted your museum plans already. Should’ve just stayed at home and watched Youtube the whole day. There was a sneaking suspicion that even if you had watched traffic camera livestreams, you would’ve seen fewer red lights.
While you painstakingly stared at the lights, praying for them to turn green already, you noticed Jihoon happily scrolling through your phone. Your hand rose and somewhat forcefully landed on his thigh in a warning gesture. “Stay out of my private messages, creep.”
“Why would I want to read your private messages?” he half-joked and made a face that made you roll your eyes. “By the way, your mom said to bring tiramisu cake to dinner on Friday.”
Defeated, you sighed. “Tell her I’ve got it covered. What’s the occasion?”
“She wouldn’t tell.”
“You’re chatting with her right now?”
He smiled at you like it was obvious. “She’s my mother too.”
“Stop. That’s gross.”
“Also, who’s Andrew?” he then asked, smile dropping.
Another name you weren’t sure could be associated with yours. “Who?”
“An Andrew Johnson,” he slowly read the screen. “He wants to know what your favourite colour is.” His head whipped up just as you pressed the accelerator. “What’s with all these weird chats? You don’t seem to know these people?”
Desperately, you tried to recall a Hyunjin or an Andrew. You had no recollection of either. And somehow the list only seemed to grow with Jihoon calling out a new name and question at what felt like every minute: “Jongho just sent the cringiest pick-up line I’ve ever read”, “Joshua wants you to know that you have a typo in your profile”, “Minjae asked if you prefer walks on beaches or forest hikes”.
Each notification made you more confused than the one before and soon you felt your brain would melt.
You finally had enough of the confusion when he said, “Turn right. I want a burrito. Also, Chanyeol says you look hot in your profile picture.”
“What profile picture?” you nearly cried out as you slammed the brakes in front of the gas station. “What is going on?”
Jihoon looked just as disheartened and puzzled as you felt, if not even more so. He unbuckled his seatbelt like it had been trapping him and threw your phone back to you for inspection like it was burning hot. He was already halfway through the door when you caught your bearings again. “You want anything?”
“Just a coffee,” you told him, barely paying half a mind to the conversation as you scrolled through your notifications.
You barely noticed he left when you tapped on one of the notifications showcasing an unfamiliar name, a message and a photo of a handsome man. The screen opened on an app you had barely any recollection of ever downloading. A familiar ‘swipe left or right’ homescreen made you groan and shut your eyes as you locked the phone and tried your hardest to pretend this wasn’t real.
Minutes passed in blissful almost-ignorance. You felt at almost-peace. It was almost nice.
Until Jihoon arrived once again, two burritos, a water and a coffee in hand, and a scowl on his face.
“Did you figure out who those guys are yet?” he asked and for a moment you thought he sounded bitter.
You didn’t have any sighs left in you, so you just grabbed a burrito and the coffee. “Yep.”
He raised a brow while he silently took the burrito back and handed you the other one instead. “So?”
You frowned at his actions. “Did you just swap the–”
“You wouldn’t like this one,” he said and took a pointed bite out of the burrito. “So, the mystery men?”
There it was: the last sigh you could force out of yourself. It didn’t feel anywhere as freeing as you hoped it would. “My sister got a hold of my phone the other day and downloaded a dating app. I think she might’ve messaged a few guys she thought I’d like.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.” You barely understood his words with his mouth so full of food.
“I don’t really believe in dating apps working, you know,” you told him honestly and took a bite of your own burrito. Your eyes closed in bliss – you should’ve trusted Jihoon’s judgement from the start. “This is so good.”
“I know,” he replied with a knowing half-smile that disappeared as fast as it appeared. “If you don’t believe in the app, just delete it.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Made a promise to not uninstall it.”
Your phone made the executive decision to light up with another notification just then. Jihoon tilted his head to read it and carefully voiced out the message: “Seungho says your eyes look as pretty as the starry night sky– Okay, that’s just cheesy.”
Brows furrowed and nose scrunched up in disgust, he grabbed the phone, unlocking it with ease (you had only half a memory of ever giving him the password), and scrolled through the apps until he found the culprit.
“I’m uninstalling it,” he told you when he felt your curious eyes on him.
Your eyes widened at their own accord. “You can’t. I promised my sister–”
“Lucky for you, she’s not my sister,” Jihoon says as he swiftly uninstalled the app and brought peace into your life once again. His frown turned into a proud smile as he handed the phone back to you. “You’re welcome.”
You stared at him, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, confused. “Did you really just–?”
“Anything for you.” He said it with the uttermost seriousness. “If she tries that again, tell her she’ll have to deal with me first.”
Shaking off the odd wave of appreciation you felt for this man – your best friend, you reminded yourself –, you settled back down in your seat. You stared out the window for a while, slowly devouring your burrito.
Head whipping around to stare at him in disbelief, you jolted upright again. “Wait, so my mom is your mom, but my sister is not your sister?!”
He was too busy enjoying his food (and accomplishments) to ever reply.
The banners of the café were mocking you.
Bright reds and pinks snickered as you walked past. Papers cut into perfect little hearts flew past your head, giggling as if they were better than you.
“Happy Valentine’s day!” they all said, side-eyeing you while you resisted the urge to commit your first arson.
“When was the last time you ate something other than candy?” is all that Jihoon said in reply when you told him such.
You spared a glare at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “You just tend to get a little…” he hummed in thought, glancing up at the sky as if he was expecting a dictionary to drop from a cargo plane any second now, “imaginative when you’ve had too much sugar.”
“I’m always imaginative.”
“It was not a compliment.”
You rolled your eyes in response and opened the door. “You can say what you want but I know for a fact that this whole holiday was invented to make fun of me.”
It didn’t take much to figure out that the pensive scrunch of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head meant that he was holding back a question that would probably end with one of you in the ER and the other in a police car. You decided the look alone was enough to warrant slamming the café door closed in front of his face and marched up to the register. His loud laughter taunted you as you did so; not even the thick walls of Soonyoung’s mother’s café could muffle the sound.
You didn’t bother to turn around to look at him as the bell chimed and Jihoon walked right up, taking his usual spot next to you, the remnants of laughter still on his tongue. “I will never get your deal with Valentine’s day, I swear.”
“There’s no deal. Only hatred. Even loathing, if you will.”
“I’ll make sure to ask Soonyoung to make your coffee as dark as your soul then,” he promised with a cheeky grin. The list of crimes you wished to commit on this day was growing by the second – he knew damn well to not come between you and your vanilla mocha latte.
“Anyways,” you sighed theatrically, “can’t Valentine’s day be over already?”
“I sure hope not,” Soonyoung’s bright voice sounded as he practically danced out of the backrooms, “our sales are always the best on Valentine’s day. So, what can I get you two?”
Why did everything have to be Valentine’s themed anyway? And so expensive? The new higher price of the chocolate muffins had you absolutely appalled.
Your bitter thoughts were interrupted by a nudge to your side. “What do you want?”
A new wave of confusion hit. “Since when do you ask that?”
“You’re acting like I order at random,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “They don’t have your usual waffles.”
You were even more appalled. Absolutely horrified, really. “They don’t have waffles?! What kind of a café doesn’t have waffles?!”
“We have waffles!” Soonyoung seemed offended by your best friend’s claim, a pout on his lips as he stood at the counter in his red apron (and was his name tag heart-shaped? (You could’ve sworn it was just a rectangle last week)).
Who were you supposed to believe? Soonyoung who worked at the café and was too earnest to ever really lie to you? Or Jihoon who sometimes lied to you just to have a laugh? You were leaning towards the former, and Jihoon could read it from your face.
He groaned. “Fine, I’ll get you your pink heart-shaped waffles.”
The use of emphasis was not accidental and his brows rose in challenge, daring you to agree to his absolutely horrifying order.
“Heart-shaped?” You prayed he was joking.
Turning to face Soonyoung, you found yourself disappointed to realise he wasn’t. With a bright, proud smile on his face, Soonyoung nodded. “We’re switching up the menu for the holiday.”
Single and lonely as you were, you could think of few things less appetizing than pink heart-shaped waffles. Biting back a whine of frustration, you leaned your forehead onto Jihoon’s shoulder and mumbled, “Just get me anything but that.”
You realised your mistake almost as soon as you said those words. Eyes widening, you pushed yourself back upright and tried to stop him as he placed an order for cinnamon rolls and a Nuts About You praline latte with a wicked grin on his face. You both knew exactly what he was doing and he found great amusement in your misery.
“Perfect–,” Soonyoung started, already clicking away to add your order.
You interrupted with a rather loud, “I do not want that!”
Jihoon’s lips quirked. “Why not? Too nutty for you?”
“I just don’t want it,” you declared, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “Just because.”
He pretended to roll his eyes before turning to Soonyoung again, “She’ll have a Cupid’s Special Never Bean Kissed instead.”
“We’re no longer friends, Lee Jihoon.”
The stupid smile didn’t leave his face. “You don’t want me to pay for lunch?”
Second mistake of the day. You groaned and his laughter filled the store as you did so.
“Your food should be ready soon. Are you paying together or separately?” Before you could answer, Soonyoung added – and you could’ve sworn his eyes glinted with something not entirely wholesome –, “If you say you’re a couple, I can give you a 20% discount and two slices of cake for free. This goes until February 15th.”
You and Jihoon stared at him dumbfounded.
He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to assume.”
“What about this–” Jihoon widely gestured to the both of you, appearing equally baffled, “–says ‘might be a couple’?”
Soonyoung shrugged once more and put on a wide smile. “Are you?”
“No!”
“Worth a shot,” he sighed, his smile never fading. “You two could pull off being a couple though.”
“Why are we friends with you again?”
“Because you love me.” Your scrunched up face must have seemed doubtful enough because he soon added, “And my mom makes me give you employee discounts.”
“Exactly why does he keep offering us the couples’ discount every year?” Jihoon wondered under his breath two minutes later while practically throwing himself onto the chair across from yours. “He knows we’re both single.”
“Maybe he’s trying to play matchmaker,” you joked, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the plate he’d placed on the table. “You know, to set us up or something.”
Jihoon caught your eyes. A moment of silence passed as you contemplated your words.
Then he shook his head and huffed. “He’s not dumb enough for that.”
“No, you’re right.” You took a bite and almost moaned at the taste – Soonyoung’s mother had a knack for baked goods. “God, this is so good– Besides,” you quickly returned to the topic, “I think he might have been right last time.”
Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “What?”
“You know, the whole ‘you have to love yourself to be loved by someone else’,” you reminded him with a shrug. “I’ve been trying to do things for myself this week and it’s actually been so nice.”
“Things like what?” he wondered, grabbing a cinnamon roll as well.
“Well, the museum visit, for one. I got a text about it and thought ‘I don’t have anyone to take with me, but I might as well go for myself’, so I went and it was actually really nice,” you pointed out. “Freeing, in a way.”
He blinked. “I was literally with you the entire day.”
“You’re practically attached to me,” you joked with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It doesn’t count.”
“Your coffee’s ready!” Soonyoung appeared at the table with two cups. He placed one in front of you, keeping the other in a flimsy grip in his other hand as he did so.
Before you could comment on it, the other cup dropped from his hand with a loud gasp and an apology.
“I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung was reaching for tissues before you could even comprehend what had happened.
Then you felt your suddenly cold button-up shirt press and stick to your skin. Glancing down, you cursed under your breath and reached for a handful of tissues of your own, starting to dab away at the spots of coffee on your white shirt.
“Should’ve known something like this would happen,” you spoke through gritted teeth as Soonyoung’s lips kept spilling apologies after apologies. “This is why I never wear white.”
Jihoon sat frozen on his chair, wide eyes wildly switching between you trying to clean your shirt, and Soonyoung, practically on his knees, wiping the floor. Eventually, he settled on watching you.
Your desperate clean-up attempt soon slowed. It was no use. You didn’t possess the magic necessary to get an iced americano out of the white fabric.
“Can I do anything…?” Jihoon asked softly.
“Nothing short of finding me a new shirt to wear,” you told him with a laugh that had no joy in it. You still had four hours of work left and you were certain your boss would have a word with you for the accidental dress code violation – wearing clean clothes was, after all, written in bold on the first page of the employee handbook.
He frowned. “I could give you my hoodie to cover-up?”
You perked up at the idea. “Would you?”
He snorted a laugh. “Is that really a question?”
Without another word, he sat upright and pulled on the hem of his black hoodie, revealing a grey t-shirt under it. It took him a few seconds and some noises of struggling (that you suspected he only made to cheer you up), and then he handed the hoodie to you.
It was warm to the touch and smelled like your best friend when you pulled it over your head. Your day was better immediately.
“It feels like a hug,” you mumbled without really meaning to.
Jihoon’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat at that exact moment. He coughed twice before humming, “You say the weirdest things.”
Thursdays are movie nights. No matter the situation, no matter your feelings, Jihoon and you would buy copious amounts of snacks and gather at either of your apartments to watch a movie together.
“We’re not watching The Lion King,” he declared while hauling your giant grocery bag up the stairs (he’d insisted it was easier to just stuff everything into a giant bag than to carry several bags; who were you to try and stop him?). “I don’t feel like crying today.”
“You never cry anyway,” you grumbled and supported the bag from underneath. There was just the tiniest tear in its side and you were growing wary. There was only one more flight of stairs to go.
He stopped and turned his head to glare back at you. “Are you suggesting I’m a monster? Who doesn’t cry during The Lion King?”
“You,” you supplied with an innocent smile and pushed at the bottom of the bag to urge him forward. “If you don’t want to watch The Lion King, then pick something better. I dare you.”
“Captain America.”
“I’m locking you outside,” you replied with a scoff. “You can sleep on the doormat, or maybe Ms. Kim will be merciful and give you one of her dog beds.”
“Can you stop acting like you don’t enjoy Marvel movies?” he wondered. “Or would that break your programming?”
As you arrived on your floor, you told yourself it was not worth the fight. You reached into your pocket to pull out the keys, ignoring Jihoon’s groans of exhaustion as you slowly and meticulously pressed the key into the hole. But when you began to turn it, the door handle tilted downwards and the door opened.
You blinked in surprise as Yoon Jeonghan gently ushered you out of the way so he could leave. He wore a pleasant smile as he opened the door wider to let you into your own apartment.
“What are you doing here?” you asked when you found your voice again.
He shrugged. “Wanted to see if you had any of that good ramyeon.” When you lifted a puzzled brow, he victoriously held up three packets of your favourite ramyeon. “I’ll be taking these. Thank you for being such a good friend!”
While you searched for words to say, he rushed down the stairs. He was still in hearing range when your brain kicked into gear and you called out, “How’d you get inside?!”
“Stole Jihoon’s key!” came a joyous reply from three stories below.
Beside you, Jihoon let out a loud groan of frustration, brows knitted and nose scrunched. “That son of a bi–.”
“I was looking forward to that ramyeon!” you whined and stomped into your apartment, pulling your best friend after you by the sleeve.
Lost in noodle-grief, you burrowed into the sofa cushions as he placed down the bag and began rummaging through the two drawers you had so kindly surrendered to him and his clothes. You watched as he closed the drawers with a defeated short hum and opened your closet instead. It didn’t alarm you – it hadn’t in years.
“Why are your shirts so much nicer than mine?” he suddenly asked, pulling off his crispy black button-up shirt to replace it with your favourite white t-shirt.
Momentarily you were brought back to reality just to reply with a short and simple: “Because I actually pay attention to what I buy from the store?”
His head turned just to give you good-natured glare. It soon gave way to a mischievous smirk – one crafted to annoy you. “Why would I do that when I can just borrow your clothes?”
“One day I’m going to take away your closet privileges,” you lazily vowed.
He stuck his tongue out. You always did bring the more mature side of him out.
As you turned on the TV – one that came with your studio apartment and would have been entirely useless if not for the movie nights –, Jihoon threw himself into the cushions next to you.
Taking advantage of your state of not-quite-being-there, Jihoon stole the remote. When you whined and tried to get it back, he laughed and pushed you away with his free hand. While you fought to get the remote, the TV began playing yet another Marvel movie.
The opening credits began playing and you only knew it was Iron Man because he’d made you watch this movie a thousand times. You wanted to argue but the movie nights had one unbreakable rule: once a movie starts playing, there’s no changing it.
“Seriously?” you groaned and threw your head back against the backrest of the sofa.
Like the TV, the green sofa had also been in the apartment for as long as you knew. You had always thought it to be a rather cosy and perfect lounging spot. Slowly, however, you were realising it had its flaws, the worst one being that with Jihoon’s manspreading habit, there simply wasn’t enough space.
“Move,” you nudged his leg that was leaning too close to yours for comfort. “Hoon, you’re on my side of the sofa.”
He only nudged your leg back with a laugh. “Since when?”
“Since ten minutes ago,” you declared, pushing back harder. “And stop manspreading. That’s rude. You’re taking up all of the space.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice to guests?” he teased, leaning even closer with his whole body now until his chin rested on your shoulder.
You found yourself pleasantly surprised by his warmth. It was cold outside, you reasoned with yourself, of course you were enjoying any warmth you could get your hands on. Besides, it wasn’t often that Jihoon burrowed this close to you. You were bound to find joy in his rare act of affection.
Your joy was short-lived though because it was only now that you noted (with slight to moderate annoyance) that he had stolen a coke from your fridge. You scoffed.
“You’re hardly a guest. A parasite is more likely.”
As more and more of his weight pressed onto you, you groaned in pain. He only laughed at your misery.
“You steal my clothes. You steal my space. You use me as your personal cushion,” you counted. “Does your audacity have no limits?”
He paused, lips pursing as he thought for a moment. Then he smiled brightly. “No.”
It took all your strength to push him off you. He had the gall to giggle the whole way, and you soon found yourself laughing along with him.
“You’re awful,” you told him with an affectionate grin. Your efforts of moving him were in vain and he happily rested his head on your shoulder, occasionally slurping his (formerly your) coke. You tried really hard not to think of how awfully domestic this position would’ve looked to a stranger.
“You’re not allowed to complain,” he eventually told you. “You’re the one that stole my hoodie yesterday.”
You gasped, appalled by his accusation. “You offered!”
“I was practically blackmailed,” he spoke loudly as if announcing it to a theatre of people. “What choice did I have?”
“Maybe I need to do this self-love journey just so I’ll have someone who actually loves me and isn’t faking it to be a drama queen,” you concluded with a theatrical sigh.
Jihoon laughed and nudged your side. “No way. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”
And you appreciated that. You really did. But. There was always a but.
“How am I supposed to learn to love myself more anyway?” you wondered, leaning into the cushions as well as his warmth, angling your body to enjoy the benefits of both. “I socialised at Seungkwan’s party. I went to a museum. I feel like I love myself enough. What else can I do?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Something that says I’m unapologetically me,” you said thoughtfully, trying to think of something. You weren’t entirely sure it had anything to do with self-love. Really, it was probably more-so to avoid your loneliness on Valentine’s day. “Something I’ll enjoy but find a little challenging, so when I’m done with it I’ll feel pride.”
“You could order your own coffee for a change.”
Dreams shattered, you let out a scoff. “I would but you never let me.”
“Yeah,” he agreed readily, “you always get the same thing anyway.”
“Well, what if I wanted to try something different?”
“You snooze, you lose. Just be glad I pay for your lunch.”
“Thank you, daddy.”
Silence. Long and awkward (just how you liked it) as you watched his reddening face with a wicked grin. This is what he got for being mean and useless. Finally, he ran a rough hand over his face and declared, “That’s it. You can pay for your own lunch from now on.”
“Oh no, how will I live,” you bemoaned, fully aware that he’d never let you pay for your own meals. “I’m still open to ideas though. I need something to do.”
Jihoon offered a mocking smile. “Well, you didn’t like my idea, so–”
“Please,” you begged, tugging at his shirt with one hand. “Anything. Please. Tell me to read The Odyssey. To start a charity. To paint an overcomplicated mural–”
Clearly uninterested in the topic at hand, he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”
Now that he mentioned it, your hands were feeling a little freezing. Just a bit. And your toes felt like they’d been on an ice block this whole time. You frowned.
“No, you’re right,” you realised and jumped up to check the thermostat. It proudly showcased the number 10. You hurriedly set it to a higher heat. 10 degrees was not enough to keep you alive, you feared.
“Someone’s messed with my thermostat,” you told him as you returned to the sofa. “This old building gets cold so fast.”
Jihoon’s brows furrowed in thought. “You don’t think…”
“What?” you wondered, pressing closer to him in an effort to get warm again. The world off the sofa was far worse than you had anticipated and now you were forced to shiver as you waited for Jihoon’s natural warmth to reach you as well. You felt your eyes widen as the pieces clicked into place. “Jeonghan?”
“He was acting suspicious,” he confirmed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you closer.
Though you found yourself wanting to purr in bliss, you told yourself he only did so because he felt sorry for you – you never were built for the cold climate. Making a mental note to fight Jeonghan the next time you saw him was the best distraction you had.
Minutes passed in silence, par the movie playing in the background. You weren’t sure either of you were focused on it. But the rule stood and neither of you dared to be the first one to break it. So you remained right there, in his arms, unable to think about anything other than your vengeance plan and Jihoon’s embrace.
It was warmer now. Whether it was the doing of your apartment’s heating or Jihoon holding you like you were his lifeline, you were too comfortable to contemplate. The soft chimes of dreamland were calling you now.
“You know,” Jihoon spoke, voice low and gravelly, “they say cuddling helps to preserve heat.”
You knew it was just a dumb excuse. You knew you should’ve poked his side and made a joke about him using you for his personal gain. But as you pressed your cheek against his chest and wrapped your arms around his frame just a little tighter, you forgot all about it.
By the time you remembered to argue, you felt your eyes getting heavy and his heartbeat slowing down under your ear.
You hadn’t disliked Seungkwan’s parties all that much last week or the week before that. But this was getting excessive – even Seungcheol had said so, but Seungkwan listened to no one. Seungkwan, you see, had a goal and no one could dissuade him from reaching it.
“I think at this point they have no choice but to crown him the party king,” Jihoon mused, once again sitting by your side on the sofa as the two of you watched the party host gloat about his impeccable party streak. “It’s quantity over quality.”
Taking a sip from your soda, you hummed in agreement. “If nothing else, they should crown him for all the effort alone. Have any of the others even planned any parties yet?”
“I think Seungcheol’s planning the Valentine’s day Party with Soonyoung.”
You nodded. “I’m definitely going to be sick for that one.”
“You’re going to have to pick a different excuse,” Jihoon pointed out with a chuckle. “You’ve pulled the flu excuse four times already this year. They’re getting suspicious.”
“Join me in becoming sheep farmers in Iceland?”
“If Seungkwan would find us in 14 days, Seungcheol would find us in half that,” he told you and you weren’t entirely sure he was joking.
You sighed. “Do you have to ruin all of my dreams?”
He laughed and nudged your shoulder. It was only recently that you’d noticed how often he did that. You hadn’t seen him do it to his other friends, now that you thought about it. It was always him and you. Perhaps, you thought, you had finally discovered his love language.
You noted with glee that he did it again, this time so slightly you almost didn’t feel it. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?” you wondered, unable to think of anything you had done to warrant those words.
The room seemed to get brighter, lit up by a radiant magical glow, as his face broke out into a wide smile. “For staying sober with me. I think I’d go insane here if you didn’t.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic. You’d live,” you told him and took a sip of your cola as you surveyed the room, taking note of your friends’ antics. “I’m not entirely sure about the others, but you would live.”
He burst out laughing at your words as if it was the funniest joke in the world (it really wasn’t; you had elicited far colder responses to far funnier jokes but you appreciated the enthusiasm). “You’re probably right. But still,” he took a calming breath, a bright grin still on his face, “I’m glad to have you with me. I can’t imagine you have much fun sitting here with a sober me when you could be doing drunk karaoke with Joshua and Jihyo.”
You were about to tell him there was no place you’d rather be when Vernon appeared from what you could only assume was the shadows and gave the two of you that blank helpless wide-eyed look of his.
You and Jihoon sighed in unison.
“What is it this time?” he wondered, already adjusting his sleeves and flexing his fingers in preparation for whatever herculean task awaited him.
The reply was short and laconic. “The fridge is being weird.”
Jihoon offered you a look that told you he couldn’t have cared less about the decade-old fridge Jeonghan had wrestled out from some old lady’s hands at the second-hand store. It wasn’t his property. It had, in fact, absolutely nothing to do with him because he didn’t live here.
“Just go,” you laughed and waved him away, earning a look of betrayal. “The child won’t leave you alone if you don’t help him.”
“I’m not a repair guy,” he told you with a mild glare before groaning once more and finally getting up. From his new higher vantage point, he could look right into your empty cup and roll his eyes as if he didn’t want to say the words he’d utter next: “I’ll get you a new drink while I’m gone.”
You sent him off with a grateful smile and a plan to conquer the space he’d left behind. Your feet would thank you for the gentle stretch of being rested on the sofa and you could already practically hear the odes they’d sing to you. But then, as fast as the spot beside you became empty, it immediately was filled again.
“I’m sorry if this upsets you,” a girl you vaguely knew by the name of Yeonmi spoke as she slumped into the free space Jihoon had left, slurring her words, “but I’m going to marry him.”
You quirked a brow. “Who? Vernon?”
“No!” She pointed at your best friend. “Him! Jihoon!”
You suddenly wondered if you were hallucinating this entire interaction. You blinked once, and then once more, before turning your head to look. Certainly Yeonmi was drunk off her ass and had mistaken him for someone else! Or maybe you yourself were drunk – who’s to say Jeonghan hadn’t mixed vodka into the soda once again? He’d done it before, more than twice.
But then you saw: Jihoon stood at the kitchen aisle. Laughing at what appeared to be the funniest joke in the world, he passed bottles of water around for his drunk friends. One by one, they accepted their bottles with grateful glee and promises to never drink again.
Then, whining something about how he’s not that drunk yet, Seungcheol tried to push the bottle away and your best friend’s grin morphed into a short-lived frown as he smacked him across the back of his head with the very same bottle and forced it into his hand. Just like that Jihoon’s smile returned as Seungcheol’s pout only pursed out more.
As you began to laugh at the scene, you suddenly remembered why you’d looked over in the first place. Brows furrowing, your head snapped to glare at Yeonmi once again. “You want to marry him?!”
You weren’t entirely sure why the idea irritated you as much as it did. Maybe Jeonghan actually had mixed something into the soda. You certainly had no other reason to be so irate by the concept of Jihoon marrying someone.
“Absolutely,” Yeonmi mumbled, gaze stuck as if Jihoon was a beautiful mirage that would disappear if she took her eyes off of him. She took a sip of her cocktail, unaware of the scathing look of disapproval she was on the receiving end of. “Isn’t he just perfect?”
Fighting to keep your irrational temper in check, you took a deep breath. “Since when do you like him like that?”
“Today.”
“What?”
Yeonmi must have taken the growing volume of your voice for a sign of excitement because she quickly added, “I think we’ll get married tomorrow.”
“You can’t marry him,” you told her without as much as a scoff. It wasn’t a joke. It was not a threat. It was a clear-cut fact of life. To you it was anyway.
Finally, Yeonmi tore her attention away from him and stared at you, blinking her saddened puppy-dog eyes. “Why not?”
You didn’t have a reason. Not a very good one anyway. “You just can’t.”
“But I want to!” She continued pouting. You noted with glee that it was the alcohol talking. Sober Yeonmi would never do this to you. But sober Yeonmi was far gone – six beers deep gone. “Why can’t I marry him?”
Unfortunately, drunk Yeonmi was far less reasonable than you knew sober Yeonmi to be. You had to think long and hard about your words if you wanted to put this conversation to rest soon. “Because he–”
“Who’s marrying who?” Seokmin stumbled into the conversation and onto the sofa, settling right between the two of you like a rather ill-fitting puzzle piece. A drink in his hand, a backwards cap askew on his head, and a comically large tiger plushie under his arm (one you could practically hear Soonyoung already frantically searching for), he stared at you two in child-like excited wonder.
You almost had a spark of hope – could this be your saving grace? your ticket out of this conversation that was irritating you for reasons outside of your comprehension? – until you realised that Seokmin was almost certainly just as drunk – if not more – as Yeonmi. You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned.
“I’m marrying Jihoon,” Yeonmi declared all too proudly, her pout turning into a bright smile that could rival the sun. For a moment you found yourself almost bitterly thinking she was exactly the pretty kind of girl your best friend deserved. Then she just had to open her mouth again: “Tomorrow. I’m marrying him tomorrow, for sure.”
Her words were met with a dramatic gasp and a matching bright smile. “You are?”
“I am!”
“She’s really not,” you mumbled from where you’d been pushed against the armrest by their celebration.
Then Seokmin froze mid-squeal-of-joy. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He loudly whispered, “But you can’t!”
Yeonmi’s smile once again dropped. “Why not?”
“Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend!” He told her with such conviction that you began to wonder if you had missed a major life event of your own damned life.
You frowned. “We’re not–”
“Oh.” Yeonmi nodded solemnly. “You are right. I can’t believe I forgot that.” She paused before loudly whispering, “You know, I heard they’re actually married. Eloped in Vegas during spring break back in college.”
“I heard that one too!” Seokmin pointed out with inexplicable uncontained glee. “I heard he wrote a song and sang it to her at the proposal.”
“That’s so romantic,” Yeonmi swooned, smiling like it was the cutest news she’d heard all day. Her dreams of marrying Jihoon had disappeared just like that.
But you felt like you were living in a nightmare.
“What are you guys talking about?” you cried out, watching them in astonishment and horror. “There’s nothing going on between us!”
“I mean,” Soonyoung joined in, leaning against the armrest like he’d been there all along, “you’re practically married, even if the elopement thing isn’t true.”
Yeonmi gasped. “It’s not?”
You ignored her.
“It’s okay if the spark goes out a little bit, you know what I mean,” Soonyoung attempted to explain? comfort you? Whatever he was doing, you wished he’d stop. “Relationships take work, you know.”
You felt your left eye twitch. “We’re not dating.”
This was news to your friends – if their wide eyes and dropped jaws were anything to go by, anyways.
“But–” Seokmin started, slumping in his seat as if his whole world had shattered into pieces. “But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). You’re practically always glued together.”
“So? We’re friends. Best friends. You know this.”
“If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is?” he wondered, asking no one in particular it seemed. His gaze had frozen on the fairy lights taped to the ceiling. He looked close to tears and you decided you’d had enough of this and got up off the sofa.
It had been a while since you’d been out on the balcony anyway. It was nice and quiet and away from your nosy friends who clearly could not wrap their minds around the possibility of two friends not dating. The fresh air bit at your nose but you decided it was better than facing them again.
Looking out at the nightlife of the city below, your thoughts kept drifting back to what they said. Why had you felt so irritated at the idea of Jihoon being with someone else? He wasn’t yours to keep, as much as you liked to joke about it. He wasn’t your husband, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not even a friend with benefits. He was just Jihoon.
You were just you and Jihoon. That’s what it had always been.
So why did the idea of being ‘just (Y/n) and Jihoon’ suddenly sent a rush of rage and insult up your spine?
“(Y/n)?” a voice called out and you felt the subtle warmth of the apartment creep out through the opened balcony door. You turned to find Seungkwan standing right there, his kind eyes looking at you as if you were insane. “Aren’t you cold?”
“It was stuffy in there,” you excused yourself and turned back to stare over the railing.
He hummed in understanding but couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Could’ve just opened a window instead of standing out here without your jacket.”
You let out a short laugh. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Warmth surrounded you, the feel of a soft knitted cardigan following soon after. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“I’m a little surprised Jihoon hasn’t given you his sweater yet,” he noted under his breath as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted you to hear it or not. He cleared his throat and added louder, “Sorry, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of Jihoon today. Seokmin and Yeonmi are a lot, I know.”
You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You heard them?”
“I’m sure half the party heard them,” he told you as if it was obvious before his expression melted into something more compassionate. “Do you want to talk about it?”
It was hard to choose. So you stayed silent instead. Seungkwan seemed to decide that was a yes.
“You know, I think Jihoon holds you closer to his heart than he sometimes lets on,” he told you. “Most of us see through his facade by now, but sometimes I wonder if you’re still one of the few who can’t.”
Great. Exactly what you needed: a double dose of ‘I’m an awful friend’.
“You know that keychain you have? That little cat he whittled out of wood back in high school?” He chuckled to himself. “He spent a whole week making it, constantly texting the group chat if it was perfect yet. Perfect for what, we’d ask and he’d always say it was for you like it was the most obvious thing.”
He leaned against the railing with you. Just as soon as he did so, he cursed. Seungkwan stepped away almost immediately. His voice was suddenly much louder than before: “It’s so cold! Can you even feel your arms?”
A little dazed by the information you’d learnt, you shrugged. “I guess.”
“That’s it,” he decided and grabbed a hold of your arm before dragging you back inside against your will (not that you were complaining; you suddenly realised it was indeed very cold outside). “If you want to be cold, I can give you ice cream, but please stop trying to contact frostbite.”
You barely made it through the kitchen door before running into Jihoon. It was starting to feel like Seungkwan needed to find a bigger venue for his parties because you were clearly not able to find even a minute of peace here.
“There you are,” he practically cheered at the sight of you, a wide grin breaking out on his face as if he hadn’t seen you in days rather than mere 20 minutes.
You were painfully aware of Seungkwan’s knowing smile as Jihoon handed you a cup of soda. You took a small cautious sip – it didn’t taste anything like alcohol. There went your accidentally tipsy theory. You let out a soft groan at the thought.
“You good?” he wondered, hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Soonyoung said you looked kind of upset.”
“I’m fine,” you said. It was a lie – at least it felt like a lie. You always did hate to lie to Jihoon. But what else were you supposed to say? “It’s just been a long day.”
If he caught onto your false narrative, he didn’t mention it.
It was 2 am and you couldn’t sleep. Your friends’ words kept echoing in your head and no amount of “we’re just friends” could keep them at bay.
For a short moment, you almost reached out to him. Your fingers knew the path to Jihoon’s contact in your phone without you even thinking about it. It was only when your thumb hovered above the green call button that you realised what you were doing.
You found yourself scoffing. Exactly was your plan? To text him? To call him and tell him…? Tell him what?
“Hey, Jihoon, I just wanted to let you know that Seokmin and Youngmi and probably half our friend group think we’re married or at least dating and, honestly, not even gonna lie, I think it suddenly made me realise I might be and have been for a while sort of, kind of, maybe just a little bit or maybe even very much in love with you. Thoughts?”
You didn’t exactly pride yourself in your ability to put together words (and you were certain Jihoon wouldn’t have cared much for it if you did), but even you knew you couldn’t tell him that. Certainly not at 2 am and definitely not after being his friend for so many years.
So you muted your phone, put on a ridiculously long historical movie you weren’t planning on paying any attention to, and found a tub of ice cream from the deepest crevices of your freezer. It was you against your demons now. You weren’t going to leave your apartment until you’d figured out how to look him in the eyes again.
Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend. You’re practically married.
The voices kept echoing in your head like annoying little mosquitoes, sucking on your lifeforce. It was nothing short of irritating; not because you thought they were wrong, but precisely the opposite.
You sat on the sofa, head heavy with foreign thoughts. Foreign thoughts that weren’t all that unfamiliar at all – they’d been peeking their heads out every once in a while ever since high school. But you had always acted like they weren’t there: you brushed them aside, painted over them with other thoughts, and told yourself what you felt for Jihoon was just friendship.
Good old plain and very platonic friendship. Nothing else at all.
Your heart fluttering every time he laughed at your jokes? Friendship.
Your breath getting caught in your throat every time you saw him without a shirt? Definitely friendship.
The ugly jealous feeling in your chest – the very one that took over your entire being when Yeonmi said she’d marry Jihoon? Friends get jealous all the time, don’t they?
“They don’t,” the character on the TV said at that very moment, like a sign from the universe.
But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is?
The voices kept on echoing. You squeezed your eyes shut and drowned your sorrowful realisations in stracciatella ice cream.
Spoonful after spoonful, your brain numbed and froze. But the knowledge had sunk deep into the crevices of your very being and you knew that no matter what happened, one thing was true: nothing about your feelings for Lee Jihoon was platonic in the slightest.
Jihoon’s studio was a cosy and comfortable place. Dimly lit and full of his soft humming along to the songs he rarely let you listen to, it had become your safe space the day he showed it to you.
Never once had you felt out of place in it. But when he invited you to come keep him company this evening, you found yourself hesitating at the door for the first time.
It was as if you had forgotten how to act.
Did the you who felt only platonic feelings for Jihoon ever knock? Did you simply burst through the door and throw your keychain at his head when he was too focused on his work to notice? Or did you just sit outside the door until he suddenly remembered he’d invited you over and come searching for you?
Had your heart always sped up, doubling its pace when you stood in the hallway? Had you always worried your hair was a mess? Surely you hadn’t. Suddenly you felt like a fool for putting on a lip stain.
You forced a deep breath of air into your lungs and knocked on the door. It immediately felt wrong.
The door opened seconds later. Jihoon greeted you with furrowed brows and an amused smile. “Since when are you so polite?”
You feigned a laugh. “Had to make sure you weren’t rotting away in your chair.”
He rolled his eyes. His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist before swiftly pulling you inside. “Come on, you’re probably freezing. How long have you been standing there?”
Silence filled the room as he led you to the sofa.
You realised under his confused gaze that the old you – the definitely-not-in-love-with-my-best-friend you – would’ve argued. You would’ve told him something silly to distract him from your tells of embarrassment. You would’ve shoved him and he would’ve laughed. He had expected you to.
Making your lips curl into another smile that wasn’t quite sincere, you nudged him with your foot. “Did you miss me? Be honest.”
Another silence. You thought of how he should’ve snorted a laugh and told you “you wish” before turning to his computer and telling you about his woes as a music producer. Instead, he frowned.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Your mouth felt dry. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s just,” he started, scratching the back of his head all the while watching you cautiously. You felt like a cornered stray cat as you sat on his sofa, still clad in your coat and hat. “You’ve been acting a little weird today.”
You wanted to laugh. You hadn’t even interacted with him enough for him to come to that conclusion. In fact, there had been a conscious effort to avoid him until you could trust yourself to look him in the eyes and not burst into ballads about how wonderful he was.
“I guess I’m just a little under the weather.” You still despised lying to him, but you told yourself it wasn’t a complete lie. If nothing else, you were at least a little bit love sick and you weren’t entirely sure yet whether seeing him was the cause or the cure.
His eyes blinked wide. “You’re sick?”
Jihoon waited a minute, watching you patiently (though you could see a line between his brows that only appeared when he was particularly frustrated). Then he walked forward. You blinked up at him standing over your seated form, his brows knitted with concern as he held the back of his hand to your forehead.
“Do you have a fever?” he wondered and leaned his face closer on instinct, pressing his lips to your forehead like a mother would to her child. He pulled back before long, seemingly finally realising his error, and grumbled, “Definitely a fever.”
Right. A fever. You were hot to the touch. Definitely a normal reaction to seeing your best friend for the first time all day. Nothing abnormal about that.
“It’s nothing,” you told him, still forcing a smile, and patted his hand. “What are you working on today?”
At the mention of his work, he seemed to perk up a little. His lips quirked in that way they always did when he was about to tell you a lie. “Nothing interesting.”
“I’ve known you for nearly two decades,” you told him with a scowl. “You can’t keep things from me.”
He scoffed and turned on his heel, returning to his usual seat at the desk. His eyes narrowed when he glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll keep all the secrets I want from you.”
“No chance,” you teased, resting your head on your palm as you leaned forward against your knee. “You're practically transparent.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he told you with a chuckle and turned to the screen. Before long, his headphones were on his head and his head was deep in the music again.
You’d never felt like you didn’t belong in this room and you didn’t feel like it now either, even as your chest threatened to burst open with all of your doubts and feelings. Your coat slid off your shoulders and you settled down on the sofa.
The you from before would’ve unlocked your phone and watched something on it at an obnoxious volume just to annoy him (but had that ever really been the goal and not just a ploy to get his unwavering attention at any cost?), but you found yourself lost in your thoughts, overthinking every memory you had of him.
You thought back to how he always seemed to be pressed to your side on movie nights – giggling in your ear, repeating and mimicking the actors just to make you laugh, nuzzling his cheek against your collarbone like a cat showing his affection.
You thought back to the late night calls and how they made you so giddy despite the fact that you desperately wanted to sleep; to the protective glares he gave any man that looked at you and how a shiver went up your spine every time he crossed his arms over his chest while doing so; to the shirts and sweaters of his that you had unapologetically stolen to keep warm at night and breathe in his scent.
As you watched him – his head bopping along to the beat you couldn’t hear, his lips pursed in an effort to not spoil the lyrics, his dark eyes flitting your way every so often –, you realised there was no room for doubts. There was nothing uncertain about your feelings for Lee Jihoon.
All this time, you had loved him for his laughter and his jokes. You had loved him for his yelling and his tears. You had loved him for his melodic voice and his silly 3 am ideas. You had loved him for the warmth of his hands when he taught you to play the guitar and the fond disappointment in his eyes when you failed your driving test for the first time.
There was nothing you didn’t love about him.
Even now you noted with certain fondness that one side of his headphones was off his ear just enough so he could hear you and it made you love him all the more so.
The only thing you didn’t entirely adore about this man was that he wasn’t yours.
His eyes found you again and he quirked a brow. “Why are you staring at me?”
“I think I just realised why I don’t like Valentine’s day,” you told him without thinking. It was silly. Of all the millions of things you could’ve told him, of all the possible insults and puns and jokes, you told him the vulnerable truth you had only barely just grasped yourself.
Jihoon swiveled his chair to face you, suddenly intrigued. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His raised both his brows this time, staring at you with interest. You didn’t shy away from eye contact – not now when you’d finally learnt to appreciate the shades of brown. You only smiled and watched him as he sighed in defeat and turned back to the computer.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” he mumbled under his breath.
You weren’t sure you had another option.
While you had always hated Valentine’s day, Seungcheol and Soonyoung loved it with their whole hearts. Who would’ve guessed that the two men who could strike fear in anyone’s heart with just a look were hopeless romantics?
After spending hours contemplating if you wanted to be present at this event at all, you arrived fashionably late. Why they had decided to hold the celebration the night before Valentine’s day was beyond you, even if it was the reason that finally convinced you to go.
Welcoming you into their house brimming with roses and heart-themed decorations, Seungcheol handed you a red paper rose at the front door and sent you on your way with a wink.
“Jihoon’s in the kitchen,” he told you with a smirk that said he could see right through you. You hoped you weren’t as obvious to the others.
Taking your time to look around was just an excuse and it felt like everybody knew it. They gave you smiles and winks and claps on your shoulder as you passed them by with soft greetings. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.
Looking for distractions, you craned your neck to look at the decorations. Heart-shaped balloons of red and pink and white floated against the ceiling. They were surrounded by pink and white party banners hung between the walls, cut into triangles with little hearts drawn in the centre, little fairy lights wrapped around the strings keeping them together. The floor was covered in rose petals. If Seungcheol and Soonyoung knew anything, it was how to go all out (and the amazed yet annoyed look on Seungkwan’s face told you he realised it could cost him the competition).
As you walked through the crowd, you realised that for once the pinks and reds hadn’t filled you with frustration and anger and resentment. Instead, a strange feeling of bitter sadness filled your chest. The spot on your side felt empty even with tens of people pushing past you. Even when you were avoiding him, you missed him.
You decided there was no point in torturing yourself further. After all, you thought, wasn’t being by his side but never being able to call him yours torture enough?
True to Seungcheol’s word, you found Jihoon in the kitchen. And you quickly realised why people had been greeting you the way they did. A laugh threatened to bubble out of you at the sight.
Jihoon stood on the kitchen island, surrounded by countless bottles of beverages, singing into a wood spoon. Eyes heavy-lidded in a way you hadn’t seen them be since that one night he got drunk in an act of teenage rebellion in 11th grade, he swayed in his spot and sang love songs at the top of his lungs.
You dreaded to think what Seungcheol and Soonyoung might think of his actions. But when you looked around you found that rather than trying to get him down, Soonyoung sat on the kitchen counter across from the island, a whisk in hand, harmonising. People came and went, getting their drinks, and loudly cheered the duo on but didn’t pay them much mind beyond that. Perhaps they didn’t realise how unusual this sight really was.
Their rendition of a Bruno Mars song came to an end to the sound of a drunken applause and a few shouts for an encore. Jihoon waved away the compliments, nearly knocking himself off balance in doing so. As he lifted the spoon to his lips to start another song, his eyes met yours. The spoon clattered to the floor and his body followed not much more gracefully.
He called your name with such joy that you couldn’t help but smile and open your arms as he practically tackled you in a hug. His face pressed against your shoulder so tightly that you worried if he could even breathe. “You came!”
You didn’t have any words to tell him, still too baffled by the situation at hand. Your eyes found Soonyoung’s and you raised your brows in question. He only smirked and shrugged innocently before practically dancing out of the room.
Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. That is the only reason why you hardly drank at gatherings; not at all because Jihoon once smiled at you all pretty and told you he was glad he had at least one sober friend to keep him company. But it seemed that tonight he was too drunk to appreciate the sentiment.
“I think I’m drunk,” Jihoon mumbled after a while and pushed himself upright. You kept one hand on his shoulder to keep him from tilting further left than he already was. “But it doesn’t feel so bad.”
“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” you told him softly and led him to sit down.
Like an obedient puppy, he followed your command and sat on a chair, leaning his forearms on the back of it and his chin on the very top. His eyes watched you curiously as you found a glass and filled it with water. You held the glass out for him to take but he just stared at you with starry eyes.
“You look pretty tonight,” he finally uttered when you raised your brows in question.
You frowned and pushed the glass closer to him, hoping he’d take the hint. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he told you, a smile appearing on his face but there wasn’t any humour in it. It was hard to tell what emotions he was trying to convey: happiness? fondness? adoration? Whatever it was, it was making you just a little flustered. And then he delivered the final plow: “You always look pretty.”
Your heart was positively working at three times– no, ten times its usual pace. You sucked in a shallow breath and nudged him with the glass again. This time he took it.
“Since when do you drink anyway?” you asked to change the topic.
For once he answered the question and shrugged. “Soonyoung thought that maybe I should give it a try again. You know, with all the rejection and everything.” His gaze fell to the tiled floor as he mumbled, “It’s actually been kind of nice.”
“What rejection? Who would reject you?”
He laughed but it sounded bitter. “Who indeed?”
“Did you ask someone to be your Valentine?” you realised and it felt like someone was trying to carve out a piece of your heart. “And they said no?”
Jihoon scoffed and placed down the water. His hand reached for a different cup, full of liquor you could practically smell from all the distance away. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he spoke, “What’s the point of asking if they’re going to say no anyways?”
The room felt hotter than usual. You could hardly breathe. You hadn’t even known Jihoon liked someone. Of course you had to find out merely days after coming to terms with your own feelings for him. Your love life was cursed and so was everything related to Valentine’s day.
You stayed silent to mourn the reality.
“You know what’s the worst part?” he then spoke again. It was hard to tell how drunk he was because he was hardly slurring his words. “I see her every day. Well,” he frowned, “almost every day. Whatever.” He shook his head and took a long sip of the drink. “Every day I see her and every day I think today is going to be the day I finally tell her. And then I don’t. Because I’m just her friend. She’s spent all those years telling everyone we’re just friends and I don’t want to be just her friend. I want so much more. But every time I try to tell her so, I chicken out.”
You could hardly listen to his proclamations. Your eyes were burning, ready to shed silent tears. You wondered if he’d even notice if you did cry. The Jihoon in front of you was a side you hadn’t seen before and you loved him just the same, even if this side was reserved for another woman.
Finally lifting his head, his eyes found yours. They widened. “Are you okay?”
Turning away to discreetly rub the tears out of your eyes, you nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Must be allergic to something in the air. Maybe it’s all the pollen.”
When you turned back to him, he looked almost deflated. He looked down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re just allergic to me.”
The tears seemed to vanish at the absurdity of his words. “... What?”
He shrugged. “Every time I say something nice to you, you start acting all weird. Avoiding me. Sometimes I think that if I confessed to you, you’d die on the spot.”
Whatever Soonyoung had been making him drink had to be incredibly strong. Every sentence he uttered seemed more absurd than the one before.
“I should get you home,” you decided with a sigh, resisting the urge to tug your hair out. Just because he was drunk didn’t mean he could play with your feelings like this – knowingly or not.
He whined. “I don’t want to–”
“You’re drunk, Jihoon,” you told him firmly. “If you drink any more tomorrow, you’ll murder me in the morning for letting you get this hungover.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes and glared at you before pouting and looking away. “As if I’d ever hurt you.”
“You’re drunk and you’re not making any sense and I’m taking you home to sleep,” you repeated yourself and reached for his arm. You expected him to resist your strength as you pulled him up but instead his hold on your fingers tightened. He stood up and leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.
“I don’t want to go home yet,” he told you after a moment of resting. “Can we just nap somewhere?”
You didn’t have the willpower to fight. The little you had, he had shattered without meaning to. You went to hook your arm around his elbow – he didn’t let you, only tightening his hold on your fingers.
Without much of a choice, you squeezed his hand and slowly led him to a guest room. Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s house had two of these, one on the first and one on the second floor. For a moment you headed towards the one on the first floor. Then your heart ached just a little and you decided you needed to get away from the people to let your heart break in peace.
The second floor guest room had floor to ceiling windows covered with white curtains. The streetlights shone through at an angle that you knew would annoy you if you tried to fall asleep. You suspected that’s why they had designated it for guests rather than sleeping here themselves.
You practically shoved Jihoon onto the mattress to avoid any further complications. Instead of grumbling like you expected him to, he fell down with a series of giggles. You couldn’t help but smile.
There was a single fleece-lined blanket folded on the foot of the bed. You placed it over him with care. When you went to turn around and find a place to sit – or maybe even go back downstairs to drown your sorrows in wine –, his hand shot up and grabbed a hold of yours.
“Stay,” he spoke so softly you almost thought you hadn’t heard him right. “Stay with me. Don’t leave. Please.”
“I was just going to sit down,” you told him gently, trying to pull your hand free.
He let out a whine. “See? This is what I mean. You’re allergic to me.”
Exhaustion was making your head ache. Or maybe it was all the tears that were waiting to be shed. You didn’t have the energy to fight, so you sank down next to him, crawling to fit under the blanket with him. “Just go to sleep.”
His hand never left yours as he curled it to rest against his chest and placed his heavy head on your chest. Silence filled the room. You didn’t dare breathe – who knew when you could have him this close again without feeling guilty or angry at the fates?
Minutes passed. You thought he’d fallen asleep when he whispered, “When other guys flirt with you or smile at you or tell you you’re pretty, you smile and thank them. When I do that, you avoid me.”
You wondered when the topic had shifted from his mystery crush to you.
“Because we’re friends.”
“There it is again,” he mumbled, glaring at the ceiling as if willing it to crumble and rain down on him. “Friends.” The word sounded like venom. “I pour my heart out to you, I write songs to you, I dream of you every time I fall asleep, but that’s all I ever am. A friend.”
“It’s never bothered you before.” You frowned. Despite his harsh tone, you found yourself playing with his hair, and him leaning into your touch.
He let out a deep breath. “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.” His head nuzzled closer to you, his breath tickling your skin. You thought you felt his warm lips press down before he whispered, “The other guys will have to go through me if they want you for themselves. I found you first.”
Silence filled the room again, soon accompanied by his soft snores and mumbles of promises he wasn’t conscious enough to actually make. You weren’t sure you could sleep now or ever again, too busy putting the puzzle pieces together.
His words had mangled your heart in every way possible. And yet there was a glimmer of hope as you wondered what he’d meant by his words.
Drunk words are sober thoughts they say and now you found yourself wondering how much truth there was to his words.
He whispered your name in his sleep and you found yourself giving in to the wistful dreams of that being his truth. As you pulled him closer, you prayed you wouldn’t have to wake up to another heartbreak.
If you had thought the streetlights at night were a curse last night, then now you found yourself thinking that any and all kinds of outside light had been invented just to make whoever inhabited this room as miserable as possible.
The morning sun shone right into your eyes even through the curtains at 6 am. Even if you hadn’t spent the entire night in a restless limbo between sleep and trying to solve the mystery of Jihoon’s words, you would've been upset to awaken to the horrid rays of bright sunshine.
The more you woke up, the more your world seemed to be upside down. Sometime at night, Jihoon’s arms had wrapped around you, tight and secure as they held you close to his chest. His lips were pressed to your temple. You almost wished he’d never wake up so you could enjoy this embrace for an eternity.
But another part of you didn’t want to face the disappointment of him jerking away from you as he’d wake up, embarrassed to have ever cuddled you in his sleep.
You took a deep breath and slowly tried to detangle yourself from his limbs. Finger by finger, you pulled yourself free. You were just about to roll off his left arm when it suddenly curled and effortlessly pulled you back into his chest.
When you looked at him, Jihoon wore a frown and a pout. “You were supposed to stay.”
“I did,” you whispered, unsure if he was really awake yet or not.
“Stay longer,” he demanded almost childishly, wrapping his newly free arm around you once again. “It’s still early.”
Your brain was trying hard to convince you that he thought you were someone else. Then he mumbled your name again and you saw his eyes slowly flutter open. Instead of pulling away and apologising like you expected him to, he offered you a smile.
“What?” He chuckled, voice gravelly from sleep.
You hesitated. But you knew that if you didn’t get answers, you’d drive yourself insane. “Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you remember what you said last night?”
His brows furrowed just a little but his lips remained in a pleasant smile. “About what?”
“About the girl who you’ve wanted to ask out for years but never did,” you supplied softly. “And about us being friends?”
The joy melted from his face. His eyes wavered. His lips quivered. He gave them a nervous lick before practically gasping for air. He remembered.
You tried to choose your words carefully, you really did. But they still came out all clumsy like they always did. “Is the girl me?”
He looked like he’d been caught in a crime. But his arms remained around you – you wondered if he was filled with the same selfishness you’d felt the night before: the urge to enjoy this feeling of closeness before it could get ripped away forever.
“How’d you know?” he whispered.
“You said something last night,” you told him carefully. “Something that made me realise that maybe you feel … the same way as I do.”
He avoided your eyes, looking around the room. Then his gaze snapped back to you, suddenly full of clarity. “The same way?”
This was it, you realised. It was now or never. It was true love or losing your best friend. Except you weren’t sure you could still be friends even if you didn’t pour your heart out – could you look him in the eyes again and not think about the words he said last night?
“Jihoon, I think–” The words were on the tip of your tongue, clinging to it like it was their last lifeline. It was hard to say what you wanted to.
His face, so devoid of joy just moments before, had lit up with hope. “Yeah?”
“I think I’m in love with you. I thought I could keep it a secret and not ruin our friendship,” you told him through nervous laughter, turning to look at the ceiling, “but now I’m not so sure I could have.”
“What made you change your mind?” he wondered as he looked at you with nothing short of awe.
“When you were talking about that girl last night,” you were still struggling to breathe, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “I was so heartbroken. I was going to cry all through the night. Then you said something that made me think… It made me think, or maybe foolishly hope, that you meant me. Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you mean me–?”
“I love you,” he replied before you could even finish your sentence. A smile appeared and you were filled with relief as he leaned his head closer to press against yours. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded to know.
His breath sounded more like a hopeless laugh. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought there was no way you’d love me back.”
“Clearly you were wrong.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled and surged forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. You savoured the feeling, pressing closer to him, tugging him closer with a hand on the back of his head. He pulled back and laughed again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
“Good thing you can do it again as many times as you please,” you told him with a smile. “You know, I’ve always hated Valentine’s day, but you have a real shot at changing that right now.”
The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter.
You exchanged startled looks with Jihoon. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss you again.
“All the more time to make up for the lost years,” he told you as he pulled you closer. “Happy Valentine’s day.”
Author's Note: I both loved and hated writing this fic. If at any point, you found yourself thinking "huh, i wish the writer did more with this random crumb in this story that looks like it should've been a part of something bigger", i can almost guarantee you i had plans to do something with it and then forgot or abandoned the idea mid-way through.
Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least moderately and if you did, please feel free to reblog with comments or leave an emoji-filled reply or maybe even send me an ask to let me know what you thought!
This story was so sweet and funny, I haven’t stopped smiling the entire time!
Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us!
When I was reading, I decided to write down my thoughts as I go as I knew I'd forget otherwise. Below this is literally just the thoughts I wrote down because I do not have the brain power to convert them into actual fully coherent comments [I'll put them below a read more cut for the sake of spoilers and such].
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“ “Is this Soonyoung cute?” ” extremely
“ “He said that the key to finding love is to first love yourself.” ” aww, cute. True though
“ At least talking to a person who isn’t listening is a (small) step above talking to the lonely snake plant on your windowsill. ” for a second, I forgot what a snake plant is and imagined literal snakes sprouting out the soil 🤡
“ “One of my friends did say that fictional boyfriends are better than real ones.” ” omg 😂
“ “Hi. I didn’t know you had visitors.”
“I do have friends other than you, Hoon,” you informed him. “Also, I do have a working doorbell.”
He gave you a funny look. “And I have your spare key.”
It was clear you had made a mistake when you awarded him the honour. Now you were stuck dealing with him even when you didn't want to. ” This whole exchange made me giggle. Also, who wouldn’t want to deal with that lil gumdrop?!
“ He was a strange man but maybe that’s why you liked to keep him around. ” so valid 😌makes life more interesting!
The scheming to get out of the party though 😂
“ When you looked at Jihoon, he was smiling at you almost fondly. ” 🥺
“ [HOON: if you want to match with someone, I’m wearing red today] ” !!!!
“ “I have mixed feelings about you dating,” he told you honestly – a little too honestly, if the red tint of his ears was anything to go by. ” 😏 oh, I wonder why that is 😏
“ You realised you feared this man more than you feared bears, and not for the usual reasons. ” 😂😂😂
“ “Remember, just last week you told a girl Jihoon’s not into women when she asked if he was single.” ” omg, I actually snorted 😂
“ When you were sixteen, Jihoon’s dad let you in on a little secret. He had peeked out of the kitchen to make sure his son wouldn’t hear and then he’d told you that Jihoon had set his phone up so that he would never miss your calls. He thought it was the most adorable thing, and so did you. ” I AGREE! THAT’S SO FUCKING PRECIOUS OMG IM GONNA COMBUST
“ [Hoon: if I complimented you and all of your good choices, it would take forever.] ” okay but im actually going to lose my mind, he’s so precious 🥺
“ “You were bored and just invited yourself along?” You wished you had that kind of audacity. ” tbh, same
“ He smiled at you like it was obvious. “She’s my mother too.”
“Stop. That’s gross.” ” 😂
“ “You can say what you want but I know for a fact that this whole holiday was invented to make fun of me.” ” 😂 the delusions are strong in this one 😂
“ “Maybe he’s trying to play matchmaker,” you joked, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the plate he’d placed on the table. “You know, to set us up or something.” ” ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!
“ “He’s not dumb enough for that.” ” 1- yes he is, and 2- to contradict myself, it’s not dumb at all 😌
“ It was warm to the touch and smelled like your best friend when you pulled it over your head. Your day was better immediately.
“It feels like a hug,” you mumbled without really meaning to.
Jihoon’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat at that exact moment. He coughed twice before humming, “You say the weirdest things.” ” okay, but I love them though, they’re so 🥺🥺🥺
“ “Thank you, daddy.” ” omg, the snort I let out 😂
“ “He was acting suspicious,” he confirmed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you closer. ” and his plan is clearly working 😏
“ Vernon appeared from what you could only assume was the shadows and gave the two of you that blank helpless wide-eyed look of his. ” aw, babie
“ “I’m sorry if this upsets you,” a girl you vaguely knew by the name of Yeonmi spoke as she slumped into the free space Jihoon had left, slurring her words, “but I’m going to marry him.” ” why did I find that so funny though
“ Yeonmi must have taken the growing volume of your voice for a sign of excitement because she quickly added, “I think we’ll get married tomorrow.” ” 😂
“ “Oh.” Yeonmi nodded solemnly. “You are right. I can’t believe I forgot that.” She paused before loudly whispering, “You know, I heard they’re actually married. Eloped in Vegas during spring break back in college.”
“I heard that one too!” Seokmin pointed out with inexplicable uncontained glee. “I heard he wrote a song and sang it to her at the proposal.” ” omg 😂
This whole scene on the sofa is actually so fucking hilarious I can’t stop laughing 😂😂😂
“ “Maybe you’re just allergic to me.” ” damn, he’s a dramatic drunk huh 😂
“ The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter. ” the little shit lol
