SUMMARY: You didn’t mean for it to turn into a betting competition. And yet, here you are on a mission to save that nerd from your calculus class that you've known from last semester before he gets dicked down.
PAIRINGS: jeon wonwoo x f!reader
GENRE: fluff, drama, comedy, angst, university au, smut
add tags❦︎: biker!wonwoo, nerd!wonwoo, mingyu is his best friend, friends to lovers, fake dating(?), reader majored in chemical engineering, winnie the pooh reference, ex!seungcheol, disgustingly in love, lil crack, green flag is sexy wdym, bestie!doremiz, sun x moon dynamics, chan as childhood twin fr, she fell first but he fell harder type of shii aye.
❤︎ part 1, part 2 ❤︎
A/N: woah, that turns dark and depressing real quick. im not that evil, chill. (i was doing charity work and at the mountain, apples. srry for the late update lollol)
Have you ever looked at someone and decided yeah, I’m going to take care of their heart. That was Wonwoo’s first thought when he looked at your face.
He was doomed from the start.
Sometimes the smallest things take up the most space in the room of our hearts. You added colour to his life. Every routine, every habit you occupied his mind so effortlessly. Every corner of his life carried a piece of you. Even when you didn’t talk to him for a while, he found himself thinking about you.
You’re probably laughing with Chan about something stupid again. Maybe you’re sleeping at this hour instead of finishing your assignment. Or maybe you’re rewatching Winnie the Pooh just to feel something because you once told him it gave you a fuzzy feeling.
Do you know how much he misses your presence?
The rain fell heavily, reflecting the way he felt inside. He already knew how much you hated driving on rainy days.
He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. The smoke lingered between his parted lips. He rarely smoked, but tonight felt overwhelming. His eyes drifted to his phone screen, the photobooth picture of you and him set as his lockscreen. He contemplated texting you. Just to ask if you’d eaten but deep down, he just wanted to see your face. Hear your voice.
“Hey.”
Mingyu nudged him with a grin. “You’ve been out here alone. Sorry it was loud—you know how it is inside.” He paused, then smirked. “You’ve been too busy lately. What, did you get yourself a girlfriend or something?”
Wonwoo chuckled.
It was meant to be a joke.
But when he answered with a simple, “Yeah,” without even looking at him, Mingyu’s smile faltered.
Mingyu blinked. “Who—when?? Why do I not know about this?”
Wonwoo couldn’t blame him. From Mingyu’s perspective, he barely interacted with girls. In fact, Mingyu had probably already prepared himself to support him if he wasn’t into women at all.
But then Wonwoo’s eyes drifted toward a familiar figure in the distance.
Mingyu’s voice faded.
Even if his eyesight failed him, he would recognize you anywhere. From the way your hair fell to the way you walked. He left Mingyu mid-sentence, grabbing his helmet as he moved toward you.
He followed slowly behind, riding his bike at your pace as you walked along the sidewalk. Dressed in all black, face hidden under his helmet, he probably looked intimidating.
You slowed down, clearly creeped out by the unknown rider beside you.
When you stopped, he stopped too.
He didn’t say anything. Letting you figure it out.
Your eyes brighten. “Wonwoo?”
He chuckled, removing his helmet with a grin. "You don’t even recognize your own boyfriend?”
You laughed, stepping closer as you always did, naturally occupying his space. “Where did you come from?”
He smiled softly. His gloved fingers brushed your bangs aside. “Just somewhere. Mingyu dragged me to some party to loosen up.”
Oh.
You had a feeling it was probably one of Mingyu’s friends, you weren’t close with them. The road looked familiar. It was probably Yugyeom’s party. And you swore you’d never go there again. That was where you met Seungcheol.
You never imagined Wonwoo being into that kind of scene. But he was friends with Mingyu.
The possibility that he knew Seungcheol wasn’t impossible. You wondered if they were somehow connected.
You just simply nodded.
Your nose tingled slightly. There was a faint scent of smoke mixed with his cologne.
He noticed it quickly. “Ah. Sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t usually smoke. I must reek of it. You shouldn’t stand so close.”
You shook your head immediately. “No… it’s fine. It doesn’t smell that strong.”
He didn’t like you seeing him like this. He always wanted to show you the better version of himself. Not someone smelling faintly of alcohol, cigarettes or maybe with a hint of sex there even though he was inside there for thirty minutes doing nothing.
He felt like he was tainting you. Like he was something impure standing too close to something sacred. He's an asshole, and sometimes he thinks he’s the one corrupting you.
“I figured you didn’t drive today?” he said, watching the way you stood so close to him and his bike, slipping into his personal space like you always did.
You smiled, fingers absentmindedly tracing the plastic bag from your little convenience haul. “It’s raining, and my place isn’t that far from the bus station.”
He smiled back. The small talk between you had always been like this so simple and easy.
“Do you want me to walk you home?”
“Is that okay? I thought you were at the party.”
Wonwoo shook his head. “I’m beat. I want to be with you.”
That made your heart flutter.
If you gave him a reason not to, he would argue back. Stand firm and insist. So you didn’t question it.
He followed you home.
The rain softened into a quiet drizzle as you reached your apartment building. It was peaceful. Almost too peaceful.
He parked his bike, helmet resting against his hip while you waited for him.
This was probably where you’d say goodbye.
You never realized how hard it could feel not wanting to part from someone. Ever since you started seeing Wonwoo, doing everything together had become a habit. You were getting used to his presence.
Too used to it.
It scared you a little.
Maybe you did like him.
Even back then, in class you had told yourself you were just good friends. But maybe you had always thought of him fondly. There had always been a small piece of you that cared deeply for Wonwoo.
He noticed the reluctant look on your face, stepping closer. His gloved fingers gently traced your cheek. Every tiny expression you made he found adorable. Like you were holding something back.
He wished you wouldn’t.
“What’s on your mind, baby?” he asked softly.
God. That tone. Always.
Why did he have to say it like that? Like he was babying you. It’s no wonder Chan always teased that Wonwoo doted on you too much.
Flustered, you cleared your throat and gathered your courage. “Um… do you want to stay over?”
You instantly regretted it. You had a talent for embarrassing yourself. What if he took it the wrong way?
Or maybe you just wanted him close.
That day at the beach that kiss had meant something. Everything.
He blinked.
Then let out a low chuckle. He almost said yes. You had no idea how your innocence drove him insane. You shouldn’t trust him like this. Not alone, especially suggesting to stay in the same space. He barely survived when you stayed at his place.
He wouldn’t even trust himself.
Seeing your slight frown, he softened. “I’m sorry—it’s just…” he was still grinning faintly. “Are you really okay with that?”
“Of course,” you said as if it were obvious. “You’re my boyfriend. Aren’t you allowed to?”
Something twisted inside him. You trusted him too much which you shouldn’t. He’s no different from other men, the only difference is restraint. And yet… it stroked his ego.
You were letting him.
His fingers brushed your hair back slowly, eyes lingering on the strawberry clip he gave you. The locket necklace around your neck and the soft curve of your face.
He almost sighed.
You have no idea. You’re walking straight into a lion’s den.
First, it was Seungcheol. He didn’t mind you being friends with Mingyu, he was decent. But if Mingyu ever introduced one of his reckless friends to you, he wouldn’t forgive him.
Men are shit.
And he includes himself.
You felt his gaze lingering and it made you self-conscious, but also… somehow giddy.
He never looked at you like this before. There was something heavier in his stare. Never disrespectful but different. You were curious about what other parts of him never show to you.
He called your name softly.
You hummed.
“What do you like about me?”
You blinked. “…Well… you’re smart. And kind.”
He hummed. “Is that all?”
You shook your head. “There’s more.”
“Like what?”
You thought for a moment. “You’re handsome…”
He hummed again, stepping closer.
“…You always show up when I need you. You’re reliable. I can count on you.”
He took another step.
You stepped back.
“…You have broad shoulders,” you added nervously. “I think that’s attractive.”
His lips curved then another step. Now you were almost cornered.
“…You’re a good listener. You’re attentive to me. You’re nice to me. You’re just… my type. I like your style.”
“Mhm,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Is that so?”
Your back met the wall.
He stood in front of you, taller, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Cornering you without actually touching you.
Wonwoo felt like a terrible person.
The way you avoided his gaze staring anywhere but at him as if the pavement suddenly fascinated you more than his face.
This was exactly why he never showed this side of himself.
He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want you to see how intense his love for you truly was how it consumed him, how it kept him awake at night.
Yet you didn’t pull away, or run away. And that made it worse.
You could feel his breath against your forehead. The faint mix of cigarette and cologne lingered between you.
Of course you trusted him.
It’s Wonwoo.
He never lets you down. The dependable Wonwoo you’ve slowly fallen for.
His head dipped slightly lower.
You should’ve been nervous. Maybe you were. But something about him made you greedy.
For more.
“…Tell me you don’t like this,” he murmured softly, almost strained. “…Push me away. Please.”
You finally looked up at him.
“…What if I don’t want to?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to. Stay with me like this.”
Something inside him snapped.
He almost punched the wall beside your head just to ground himself. The way your lips trembled and looking at him like that. You make it impossible for him to say no.
Stubborn little thing.
He didn’t hesitate as he captured your mouth. It was a kiss filled with all the pent-up desire and longing he had been holding back, different from the beach. His lips moved roughly against yours, his tongue delving deep to taste you.
It was desperate.
His hand slid to the back of your head, holding you there as his lips pressed against you while the other slid down to grip your hip tightly pulling you flush against his. You melted into him, fingers gripping lightly at his jacket.
A small sound escaped you, barely there.
But he felt it.
And it nearly undid him.
Wonwoo’s hips rocked forward, pinning you harder against the wall with his straining arousal. He had wanted this, wanted you to feel it, to know exactly what you did to him. How much he wanted you. His hands roamed greedily over your body, mapping out the contours he had been longing to explore.
For so long.
And now that he finally had you like this, he didn’t want to stop.
…
You barely made it past the entrance.
The door wasn’t even fully closed when he pressed you back against the wall, his mouth tearing away from yours only to trail downward hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.
You felt overwhelmed, breath turning uneven as he pinned you there, your fingers clutching at his jacket. “…Wonwoo… please stay with me tonight.”
He stilled for a second. Then he let out a low, strained sound against your skin, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now. You had no idea what you were doing to him. You looked up at him with that needy expression, and it only made it worse.
He thinks you mean something soft like a sweet innocent sleepover. But his mind was anything but innocent.
“Baby…” his voice dropped, rougher now. “There’s nothing sweet about letting me stay here.” His thumb brushed under your chin, tilting your face up. “I hope you understand what you’re offering, darling.”
His lips grazed your skin again slower this time, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your throat. Sucking it hard, leaving a mark that would be visible for days, a badge of his claim. His mouth found your pulse point, and he bit down hard enough to make you gasp.
“...Tell me to stop, baby. Use your words and I’ll stop right here.” his voice is rough and heavy with lust. He wanted you to push him away before something inside him snapped.
He wanted to hear you say it, wanted to make sure you understood exactly what you were getting into. Because there was no going back now, no turning away from this, not when he was rocking hard between you and burning so hot now.
You shook your head, brows drawn together as you looked at him with those eyes. The ones that always undid him. “…No,” you whispered. “I want you, Wonwoo.”
Your fist tightened in his jacket, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might disappear the second he stepped away. Like the room would turn cold without him.
You missed him more than you realized.
And you did actually love him.
Wonwoo’s heart clenched in his chest as he heard your breathless declaration, the way you clung to him with desperation that matched his own. He could see it in your eyes—the longing, the desire and the love that had been growing for so long. It made something inside him snap completely.
With a low guttural groan, he swept you up into his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom. His mouth never left your skin, lips, teeth and tongue worshipping every inch of you as he moved. He wanted to taste you, to devour you, to make you his in every way possible.
He laid you down on the bed, his body covering yours as his hips nestling between your thighs. He could feel the heat of you, the way your body softened and yielded beneath his own. It made him ache with need that bordered on pain.
He softly called your name, his hand guided yours as he placed your palm against his hardened dick. Grunted slightly at the feeling of your palm there, giving a slow grind. “Feel that, baby? I’m so fucking rock hard for you, look at what you did.”
Hand slid under your sweater, pushing the fabric up and over your head. He wanted to see you, to drink in the sight of your naked skin so that he could map out every curve and hollow. He wanted to remember this moment, to keep it permanent in his mind forever. Wonwoo’s lips trailed down to your neck, over your collarbone between the soft swells of your breasts. He wanted to taste every part of you to make you feel pleasure so intense that you forgot your own name.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” he urged, breathing hot against your skin. “Tell me how you want me to take you, how you want to be claimed. I’ll give you anything, do anything to make you feel good.”
You breathe out a small plea, your body grew hot at his every touch, “...please, Won. I need you.”
You’re about to reach down, but he already caught your wrist, stopping your hand just inches from your aching core. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the way your chest heaved with ragged breath. The desire was palpable hanging heavy in the air between you two.
“No,” his voice was low and rough. “Not yet, baby. Let me take care of you first.” He wanted to be the one to touch you and bring you pleasure. His hand slid down your body, his fingers trailing teasingly over your skin. He circled your breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm, moving your bra aside as your tits fit perfectly in his hands. He could feel your nipple hardening against his touch, begging for more.
You swear you almost whimper at the small act, you shouldn’t. Might as well your panties are soaking wet, maybe you had always been when you’re around him. Much to your embarrassment.
His hand slid lower, over your stomach and the sensitive skin of your hips. He could feel you trembling beneath his touch, feel the heat of the core radiating outwards. He could smell your arousal and the musky scent of your desire filling the air. When his fingers brushed against your clothed sex and groaned at the dampness he found there. It made you shift a little.
“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet already.” he said, voice rough with lust. It made your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Is this all for me, ____?” Are you this desperate for my touch?”
Before you could answer him, Wonwoo was already rubbing his fingers against your clothed slit. The heat of your body grows which you ache for more. When he heard your stifle moans, he wanted to give you everything, wanted to fill you up until you were dripping. As much as he wants to pound you like crazy, he needs to make sure to follow your pace. It pains him sometimes, but that’s what he’s willing to do for you.
“Tell me what you need baby…” he urged, fingers pressing harder against your sex. “Tell me how you want me to make you feel good.”
You only managed to let out a pathetic whine, grinding against his thick fingers against your clothed sex. “...please, just touch me—however you want.”
Wonwoo’s heart raced as he heard our needy plea, feeling your hips rocking urgently against his hand. The desperation in your voice, the way you’re trembling and aching for his touch was almost making him come in his pants. “Shh, I’ve got you baby.” he soothed, almost tender. “I’m going to touch you, taste you and make you feel so fucking good.” With that he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down to your legs tossing it somewhere carelessly. He took a moment to admire the sight of you, splayed out beneath him with your bare sex glistening and ready.
Just for him.
“Look at you, so fucking beautiful.” he murmured as he leaned against your pussy. ‘So perfect and all mine.” Unable to resist any longer, he ran his tongue along your slit—groaning at the taste of your arousal. You were sweet and heady, as if your flavour exploding on his tongue like a drug he was already addicted to.
Except that he doesn’t take drugs.
Wonwoo focused his attention on your clit, suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves with hunger that bordered on feral. You moaned out again, fingers dangling in his hair. Desperate sounds spilling from your lips. It’s like you’re almost at the verge of tears as he keeps eating you out. “F-fuck! Wonwoo—I’m–” you hiccuped in the middle of it, he could feel you clenching around his tongue and hear the way your breath hitched.
It spurred him on, making him want to push you harder to make you come undone completely. “Fuck, you taste good,” he growled against your sex, breath hot and heavy against your skin. “I could eat this sweet little cunt for hours, baby.”
That made you even more turned on at the way he keeps talking dirty to you. He never spoke so filthy—vulgur, always remained respectful and gentle, but seeing this side of him made something inside you wanted to unleash him. You could feel your body tensing, thighs quivering around his head as he licked and suckled your clit.
Wonwoo could sense you were right on the edge, teetering on the brink of intense orgasm. So, he doubled his efforts, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit as he plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt. “Come on, baby,” he encouraged you, fingers pumping in and out of you curling to hit that sensitive spot deep inside. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come all over my fingers, want to taste your cum on my tongue.”
Your walls flutter, gripping his fingers like a vice as your climax approaches. Wonwoo sucked your clit hard as he thrust his fingers deeper, harder, fucking you with his hand “Do it, baby. Give yourself to me.” he urged, voice rough and commanding. After a while, you were crying pathetically, your back arching off as your climax finally overtook you. A high keening cry tore from your throat, the sound of your pleasure that made his heart race.
His fingers curled inside you, rubbing against the sensitive spot that made you see stars. When he felt your own release finally there, your juices gushing out coating his hand and dripping down the sheet beneath you. The taste of your climax burst onto his tongue, and he groaned in satisfaction. “Fuck yes!” he growled, feeling your cunt clamp down hard around his plunging fingers. Just when you’re about to calm down, thinking it’s already ended, you feel him working through your orgasm with single-minded focus, fingers pumping in and out of your clenching sex. You were writhing under him yet he kept his tongue laving over your spasming clit. Like he wanted to make this moment one you would never forget.
Wonwoo adores you so much like how he adores your pussy.
As your cries and trembles began to subside, Wonwoo slowed his movements as he gentled his touch. He placed soft kisses on your sensitive flesh, his fingers stroking tenderly over your mound as he eased you down from your high. “You did so good, sweetheart.” he praised you softly, looking at you with satisfied eyes. “So fucking beautiful when you come t me like that.” He pressed soft kisses along your trembling stomach, over the soft swells of your breasts. When he reached your face, his heart clenched at the sight of your tear-streaked face and the way you clung to him from the aftershocks of your intense climax. “Shh, I’ve got you baby,” he soothed you, brushing your hair back gently, tucking the strands behind your ear as he peppered kisses across your forehead, down your cheek to the corner of your mouth.
Your chest heaving against his own breath coming in soft shuddering gasps as you tried to catch your breath. It was embarrassing to have him seeing you crying like a baby when he eats your pussy, but it was so good that it almost made you see the stars. Sex can be scary to you, as much as chatterbox you are but when it comes to real intimate feelings, you chickened out so quickly. But with Wonwoo, you feel like everything is guaranteed.
Your Wonwoo.
Wonwoo stayed still, holding you close as he let you bask in the afterglow of your pleasure. As he watched you, he could feel his own arousal pressing urgently against your thigh. It was hard and insistent. He could still taste of your climax on his tongue, the sound of your cries still ringing in his ears. It had only stoked the fire burning in his veins, the need to be inside you. But he held back, not wanting to overwhelm you, to push too hard too fast. He wanted to make sure you were ready, wanted to be certain that you still wanted this as much as he did.
He was hurting. Mentally, physically and carnally.
You could feel the way he was still hesitant. His hand slid down your side, over the curve of your hip, to rest on your thigh. He squeezed the soft flesh making you whimper, fingers sinking into your skin as he leaned close, his lips brushing against your ear. “...I want you but—I can’t help it to feel like a bitch in heat when I’m with you,” he panted, voice rough with barely restrained desire. “Please, baby. Tell me you want to be mine, completely.”
Wonwoo wanted you to let him fuck you.
But as much as he wanted that, he knew he couldn’t push you. He was ready for rejection. He figured out that, he had been too much that he had shown the full intensity of his devotion a little too openly.
You noticed the way he seemed desperate for your approval. It wasn’t hard to see. The whole time he had been taking care of you, he’d been patient and kind. He had always been holding something back. Even though it wasn’t what you expected, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t.
Maybe it was your fault for never questioning him, as if you were afraid that if you did, he might pull away. Or worse, that he might scare you away.
If anything, you were the one allowing this.
And you trusted him.
Cupping his face, you leaned in, kissing him softly. “Won…I want you.” you softly plead, eyes gazing at him sincerely. “I want you just as much as you want me. Don’t hold back.”
Wonwoo groaned deeply as he heard your plea, feeling his cock throb almost painfully as the desperation in your hoarse voice. He couldn’t hold back any longer, couldn’t deny you or himself the pleasure of being one. Almost urgently, he sat back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it carelessly to the floor. You almost drooled at the way his muscles rippled as he moved, the definition of his chest and abs full on full display. It’s not like you’d never seen his muscles, sometimes when you jokingly asked for bicep pictures, he willingly gave it when he was at the gym with Mingyu.
You keep your eyes watching him discarded his jeans, shaving it down over his hips along with his boxers until he could spring free, his thick cock jutting out hard and proud. He felt a surge of male pride when he noticed the way your eyes stared a little longer on his cock the whole time. He chuckled lowly, grinning, settled back over you with his naked body covering yours. “If you keep staring at me like that, babygirl. I think I might just came right here and now.” his hips nestling between your thighs, feeling the heat of your sex, still slippery and swollen from your climax. You instinctively let out a small whine, impatient coming through as you want nothing than him to fuck you now.
“Fuck…” he grunted, voice strained with desire as he rocked his hips against yours. “Feel what you do to me, baby? How hard I am for you?” He reached down, taking his cock in hand and rubbing the swollen head through your slick folds. Groaning at the feeling of your wetness, the way your body welcomed him and drew him in.
You whined softly, nudging yourself closer on purpose with a hint of impatience. “....hurry up, Won. I can’t take it anymore.”
Wonwoo chuckled, way too attractive in your ears or maybe you’re just horny at this moment. “Slow down, I’m all yours tonight.” he lined himself up in your entrance, the tip of his cock kissing your opening. “Last chance to back out, baby,” he said hoarsely, even his hips twitched with the urge to surge forward, buried deep inside you. “Beg me to fuck you, babygirl.”
You frowned, almost whined the way he kept teasing lightly. You just don’t care anymore, and wrap your legs around him. “Please, Wonwoo. Fuck me, I need you inside me.” You didn’t meant to come out needy, but your cunt was already aching with so much need.
Wonwoo’s heart raced at your desperate plea, without hesitation he gripped your hips and began to push forward. The thick head of his cock stretching your tight entrance. He had to grit his teeth at the incredible feeling of your slick heat enveloping him, inch by slow inch. “Relax, baby,” he murmured, “Breathe for me, ____. You can take it, you’re so fucking tight and perfect.”
You had to hold your breath, gasping at the way he’s stretching you well. Messy whimpers slipping as you meekly speak. “W-wonwoo…” His cock was too much for you, God, you almost feel like you’re about to die. He kept pushing, slowly sheathing himself inside you until he was buried to the hilt. Wonwoo paused there, giving you a moment to adjust to the stretch of his cock splitting you open. He let you try to accommodate his size, your walls fluttering around him.
“Fuck, you feel amazing.” he groaned, hips rocking slowly, grinding his pelvis against yours. “So fucking good, baby.” he started to move, pulling out slowly until just the tip remained inside before slamming in, burying himself to the balls once more. You were a moaning mess, fist gripping vice on the sheet as your back arched from the sensation. He set a steady rhythm, hips surging forward and pulling back. Fucking into you with deep powerful strokes making you scream. “Take it, angel," he growled, hands sliding underneath your ass to tilt your hips up, angling you to take his thrusts even deeper. “Take my cock like the good little girl you are. Fuck! You were made for this, made to be filled up by me.”
“Yes! Fuck—keep going, I’m—ahn!” you cried out, feeling your nails digging into his back which would leave marks there as he continued pounding into you. Your pussy was so tight, gripping his cock like a silken vice with every deep, powerful thrust. You couldn’t think straight at the moment, too consumed with your need for him—all of him. It was too intoxicating and overwhelming for you.
His hips slamming forward with increasing force. You feel him hooking your leg over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to drive even deeper into your core. Wonwoo could feel your walls clenching around him, could tell you were getting close to another explosive orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Come on my cock.” he urged, his voice strained with pleasure. His hand slid in between your bodies, finding your clit swollen and throbbing. Rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles, determined to make you fall apart in his arms.
“F-fuck—Won, I’m—” you choked out finally, your release came. With a hoarse shout, Wonwoo followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing and twitching as he spilled hot and deep inside you. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, hips jerking and shuddering as spurt after spurt of his thick cum pumped into your spasming cunt. You naturally let out a satisfied whine, feeling him filling you up.
He collapsed onto the bed beside you, gathering your trembling form into his strong arms. He could feel his seed, hot and thick beginning to seep out around his still-hard cock, which was buried deep inside your fluttering walls. For a moment, the air grew peaceful and calm. It felt like the two of you were the only ones that mattered in the dark room.
He peppered your face with soft kisses, fingers brushing your hair back tenderly as he gazed down at you with pure adoration and something deeper. Satisfaction and relief.
“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m so fucking lucky to have you.” His forehead pressed against yours, eyes closing. He wanted to savor this moment, the way all his pent-up longing had finally settled, the years of yearning quieting in his chest.
He loved you so much it hurt.
“…I love you. So much, ____,” he whispered absentmindedly against you.
Your heart pounded at those three words.
It swelled with emotion at his soft confession. Wonwoo was never vocal about how he felt, but his actions had always screamed that he cared. That he loved you.
It had always been you who said it first. Casually and naturally. The same way you said it to your friends out of habit.
You know I love you, right?
Take care, love you!
Oh my God, I love you for this, Wonwoo!
Bye-bye, love you lots.
Made with love from your charismatic girlfriend <3
Wonwoo, you love me, right?
Come to think of it, you had always thrown those words at him so easily.
You wonder now how he took them. Maybe he had always held his own back, waiting to make sure you were certain of your feelings.
God, you wanted to cry at how overwhelmed you felt.
So you said it back.
Genuinely.
“…I love you too, Won.”
And with that, you sealed it with a kiss, tender and full of everything you had never properly said before.
To Wonwoo, yearning had always sounded delicate. But living through it was anything, whatever he’s going through is much more disgusting.
When you stopped talking to him after that semester ended, the same semester where everything had started and quietly ended. He tried to accept that maybe you were only meant to exist in that specific chapter of his life.
Just a crush.
An unrequited love that would never be returned.
He told himself he would’ve been fine staying friends, even if it meant loving you quietly just to keep you close. But now that he thought about it, he had no reason to talk to you anymore.
You had only grown close because of that class.
That was the excuse.
Even when you shared it, everything between you had felt natural. After lectures ended, you would ask if he wanted to grab lunch because you skipped breakfast and he always agreed. Then it turned into shared study sessions. The same brunch spots. The same seats at the library. Everything at once felt like a routine.
Intimate.
Just never officially “hanging out.”
Except when you procrastinated, poking him at the library while he tried to work. He still remembered the paper ring. You had made it out of boredom while he was drowning in programming assignments. He had been stressed and you had a talent for appearing at the worst possible timing.
“Hey, look. I made a paper ring,” you said sheepishly, despite the fact that you had been doing absolutely nothing beside him.
He turned to you, brows already furrowed from his assignments and now from you. Not because he was annoyed. You just had that light about you, the kind that made it impossible to stay irritated.
You smiled and slipped the paper ring onto his finger.
It looked ridiculous.
He raised a brow in amusement. He should’ve told you to focus on your own deadlines, should’ve scolded you by now.
But he didn’t.
Because then you leaned your head on the table, cheek pressed against the surface as you stared up at him. “You know, I prefer shiny things,” you mumbled. “But would you marry me with paper rings?”
His fingers froze above the keyboard, eyes stayed glued to the screen. He didn’t even dare look at you.
How could you say something like that so casually?
He almost said yes.
But you had confessed before that you liked someone else.
So he stayed silent.
He wanted to know if you were joking. But knowing you, even if he said yes, you would’ve just laughed. Smiled it off, because you were always open with affection.
He wasn’t.
He didn’t say things like that lightly. He wasn’t like you. He wasn’t like Seungkwan or Chan. Not when he had real feelings for you. So he buried it deep inside his heart.
Exams passed. The semester ended.
And when he saw you again during break, he expected you to approach him first. To talk again like usual, but you didn’t. And it broke him more than he expected.
You seemed fine without him. Laughing with your friends like always. Like he had never mattered.
Wonwoo wanted to get close to you again. He just didn’t know how. The only reason you had ever been close was that shared class. And now it was gone.
Why couldn’t it be simple?
Like the way you were with your friends. He couldn’t force himself to be that easy.
Maybe you found him boring. Maybe he had only been convenient. So in the end, he gave up.
…
He wasn’t expecting to see you again.
Not like this.
He had only stopped by the convenience store to buy beer and cigarettes, a bad habit that had slowly returned after that semester. You never liked the lingering scent of smoke. You mentioned it once, wrinkling your nose, and he quit immediately. You never even knew he was a smoker. You didn’t have to.
But after you both drifted apart, the habit crept back in.
He stepped out of the store in all black, helmet still on, mentally cursing Mingyu for asking him at the last minute to grab drinks. And that’s when he noticed someone crouched by the sidewalk.
Crying.
Soft, stifled sobs in the quiet of the night.
And of course it had to be Valentine’s Day. Not that he had anyone to spend it with. The only reason he stopped seeing anyone at all was because you kept occupying his mind long after your one-sided romance had supposedly ended.
He took a proper look, and realized it was you.
You.
Why were you crying like that? Like a child abandoned outside a daycare.
His chest tightened at the sight.
He didn’t want to approach you too suddenly, and didn't want to scare you. You had only just spoken to him again recently when you handed out yellow tulips and homemade cookies to your friends.
And to him.
You said it was Valentine’s Day. That you wanted to share something sweet with the people you cared about. Single yellow tulips. Symbolic of friendship. It had felt like a punch to the gut. Not a direct rejection. But close enough.
Still, he appreciated that you remembered him at all.
So why were you here now?
You looked happy on campus, and here you were, sobbing past midnight in front of a convenience store.
Without thinking much further, he held out his handkerchief.
You looked up, hiccuping, and took it with a small, broken “thank you.” “…Hey, mister,” you sniffed, dabbing at your tears. “Can you give me some life advice? I just need… something nice to hear.”
Oh.
Of course you didn’t recognize him.
He was dressed head to toe in black, helmet shadowing half his face. So he sat down beside you leaving a respectful gap between you. And for the first time in months, he was close to you again.
You sobbed again, burying your face into the soft fabric as you spoke between hiccups.
“…I’m sorry. I was just having a bad day and—” you inhaled shakily. “I was so excited to see my favorite person b-but… I don’t know where it went wrong. I just… I just don’t know. If they don’t like me anymore, they could’ve just said it instead of just…”
Your voice broke.
The image of Seungcheol kissing another girl replayed in your head, and your heart felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.
Wonwoo stiffened.
He had never been good at comforting people. Especially not like this.
God, he felt useless.
But something inside him clenched at the sight of you crying. Whatever happened, he assumed your “dream guy” didn’t feel the same way.
Damn bastard.
Did he even realize how lucky he was to have someone like you?
Wonwoo had never felt so envious, but right now, he focused on you.
“…I once loved someone,” he finally said quietly. “Maybe I still do.”
You sniffled, calming down just enough to listen.
“She was… the brightest person I’ve ever met. She changed the way I see the world. Without her, I wouldn’t have noticed how colorful life could be.”
You listened intently.
“She meant everything to me. She treated me with so much love, even if it wasn’t always romantic. Everything about her was… lovely. She was like sunshine. Warm. Loving. Every day I spent with her was—”
He swallowed the rest.
As if he wasn’t describing the love of his life sitting right beside him.
You just didn’t know it was him.
“Then…” you hiccupped softly. “What happened? What went wrong?”
He went quiet. You couldn’t see his expression under the helmet.
“We just kind of… drifted apart, I guess,” he said with a small shrug.
You turned to him, your crying finally subsiding.
“But mister, you said you love her. Did you ever tell her how you felt?”
He blinked, caught off guard by how quickly you shifted into curiosity.
“…No. Not really. I didn’t see the point in saying it.”
“Then that’s not technically a rejection.”
“I was trying to avoid one,” he replied. “Even if I confessed, it would’ve been awkward to stay friends.”
“Even so,” you said firmly, “at least you wouldn’t regret it.”
Easier said than done.
That’s what he wanted to say.
But he didn’t argue.
You continued, even though you were the one who had been crying moments ago. “Mister, are you familiar with Winnie the Pooh?”
He stayed silent.
“There’s this quote that says, ‘How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.’” You gestured dramatically despite your puffy eyes. “So you should feel grateful you met her. That you got to feel that kind of love. So what’s stopping you?”
He found himself liking this about you, how you still glowed even after heartbreak. Though sometimes, it worried him how fast you forced yourself to be okay.
“That’s… true,” he admitted. “But I’m not the kind of person who expresses love loudly.”
“Then did you ever do anything about it?”
Silence.
“So do it,” you encouraged. “You might regret never trying to make her notice your feelings. Even if your affirmations suck, just do something nice. Actions speak louder than words. Not blatant flirting or cheesy lines but the way you care for her. Mirror the way she cares about you.”
His lips curled slightly beneath the helmet.
“You should regret not doing anything,” you added. “At least make it something. Don’t just sit there quietly and mourn your one-sided love.”
That felt like a direct hit.
Because what the hell had he been doing all this time?
Ever since that night, your words stayed with him.
That’s why, when you suddenly kissed him one day and claimed him as your boyfriend, he said yes. Even if it wasn’t how he imagined it would begin.
Because he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t finally act.
And he was ready to love you properly this time.
They say that if you grow up in a loving family, you’ll learn how to love easily.
Growing up, you were surrounded by decent male figures in your life. Your dad, loving in his own quiet way. Not really loud with words, but his actions always spoke for him. Your older brother was annoying, but in an adoring way. You even grew familiar with his friend, one of whom you had a tiny childhood crush on.
Then there was your cousin Jihoon, rough around the edges, but secretly a softie. And his best friend Soonyoung, whom you had known for years who was very loud and funny. He still is though.
Because of them, you never struggled to understand the difference between male friendship and something more. That’s probably why you’re openly affectionate with boundaries, of course.
Ever since then, you and Wonwoo had grown… closer.
More intimate. More open.
Kisses whenever you feel like it. Mischievous stolen pecks in quiet corners. You didn’t realize how clingy you had become until recently, not that he ever complained.
“I love you” became routine. No longer foreign. And of course, when you were both in the mood, you would occasionally take things further.
You loved Wonwoo. And he loved you.
Love was like candy. Sweet at first taste, melting on your tongue. But when the sweetness faded, you found yourself craving it again. Sometimes the flavor lingered like longing. Like wanting to taste it over and over.
But what felt even sweeter was spending Halloween with your friends.
Another excuse for trick-or-treating, just like you and Chan used to do, fooling around when you were kids. Teenagers.
Maybe even now.
You opened the door to reveal three bears—Well. Three people. They stood outside with snacks in their hands before walking into your apartment like they owned the place.
“At this point, this might as well be my second home,” Vernon said, placing bags of chips on the table where you had already arranged potluck dishes and cute decorations. “I’m here more than at my own house.”
Seungkwan eyed you from head to toe, half judging, half confused. “What are you even supposed to be?”
You glanced down at your dark blue pinafore dress and touched the red ribbon clipped behind your hair. “I’m Kiki,” you said simply. “You know. From that Ghibli movie.”
“What’s that?” Chan asked.
“You idiot,” Vernon said flatly. “The girl who starts a delivery service with a broom.”
Seungkwan blinked. “I thought we agreed on Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”
You paused. “I never said that.”
“You did.”
Chan interrupted, “Excuse me, we agreed to be We Bare Bears. You insisted on being regular bears. Vernon was excited to be Ice Bear.”
He gestured vaguely at Vernon, who was calmly eating cake in the background.
“Nice costume, Dorothy,” Vernon added.
“I’m Kiki,” you corrected.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again. Aren’t we past this age?” Chan sighed as he lifted the lid off the stew you had cooked. “Shouldn’t we be at the Halloween party where all the cool people are?”
Seungkwan bristled immediately. “You mean where they all get drunk and dress like—I don’t know. People say Halloween is when you can live out your typical sex fantasy.”
You grimaced.
Sure, dressing up was fun. But skimpy outfits were never really your thing. Even if you found them cute, you didn’t want your brother freaking out, thinking you’d been influenced by some frat party nonsense.
“Somebody has to keep traditions alive,” Seungkwan continued dramatically. “Annual celebration equals preventing the bond from drifting apart. And let’s be honest, that person is me.”
Chan scoffed. The two of them slipped into their usual bickering while Vernon watched quietly, munching on his food in peace.
Honestly, you didn’t care.
It was nice spending time with your friends. When you couldn’t go back to your hometown for holidays like Thanksgiving, New Year’s, Christmas. They were always there with early plans.
Your second family. Maybe even your only one nearby.
The doorbell rang.
You immediately knew who it was and rushed over.
“Hi,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I brought what you asked for. Doughnuts. They had Halloween-themed ones. I hope you don’t mind.”
You chuckled and let him in before guiding him back to the living room.
All three pairs of eyes landed on him.
Seungkwan was the first to comment. “I don’t think he got the memo about the dress code.”
Chan examined him from head to toe. “Are you supposed to be one of those biker guys from BookTok or whatever they’re obsessed with?”
You punched Chan’s arm.
He winced. “What did I do?” he mouthed innocently.
“Shut up. Wonwoo is just Wonwoo. Let the guy breathe. He just came back from his part-time job,” you huffed.
You placed a pair of black cat ears on his head. He didn’t protest.
“And he’s Jiji,” you announced proudly.
Wonwoo hadn’t dressed up. He had come straight from his shift, still in his all-black gear leather jacket, jeans, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Who?” Seungkwan and Chan asked in unison.
Vernon called out from the kitchen, “The cat.”
“Ohhh.”
That was enough for them.
More importantly, a part of you finally felt healed. The failed situationship didn’t feel that serious anymore. Well, you would’ve appreciated it if Seungcheol hadn’t led you on to the point of kissing you.
Anyway.
You only told Chan about that. Not the other two. Seungkwan would’ve gone absolutely apeshit, especially considering how vocal he’d always been about not liking Mingyu, even though Mingyu wasn’t that bad compared to most guys.
Definitely not your brother. Or his friend.
And absolutely not your cousins Jihoon and Soonyoung.
God, that would’ve been embarrassing. They would’ve made a whole scene out of it and bring it up about your bad choice of men for years.
You didn’t even tell Wonwoo.
Not that it mattered now. You were too busy being happy in your healthy relationship.
Wow.
You could actually call it a relationship now.
That alone felt like progress.
And who wouldn’t be on cloud nine when Wonwoo had sent you a huge bouquet of roses yesterday? Seungkwan had gushed about it more than you did and even posted it on his Instagram story like he was the one who received them. Then this morning, you got yellow tulips. He said they suited you more because they meant “the sunshine of your smile.”
You almost hit his chest out of affection which you tended to do often enough that he nearly bruised from it.
You were all having a great time eating and talking. You even made sure to FaceTime your cousin and Soonyoung, who had dressed up as characters from Winnie the Pooh, Piglet and Tigger.
How typical.
You had told Wonwoo about your cousin before, insisting he meet him one day.
“He looks mean, but he’s a softie. Don’t worry,” you’d said.
“And his friend looks like he might bite. Maybe.” You were obviously referring to Soonyoung.
As you and your friends began cleaning up and collecting trash, the doorbell rang again.
You froze.
Who would come this late? Thank God you weren’t alone.
You opened the door to reveal a guy in a Deadpool costume.
You just stared.
Sensing the silence, he pulled off the mask.
You brightened instantly. “Chanyeol?” you laughed as he opened his arms and pulled you into a hug.
“Wow. Where’s the little girl who used to miss me every time I visited?” he teased, glancing at your brother beside him.
“I’m wondering who the real brother is, to be honest,” Kyungsoo muttered, appearing next to him.
You let them in, welcoming them warmly.
But the joy lasted only a second.
Chanyeol gasped dramatically when he saw three unfamiliar men in your living room excluding Chan, whom he obviously knew.
“_____!” Chanyeol grabbed your shoulders and shook you lightly, pointing accusingly at them. “I thought you were going to marry me if I showed up in an Iron Man costume?!”
Kyungsoo blinked. “Excuse me, what?”
Chan immediately stood up to greet your brother, pulling him into a hug before dapping Chanyeol afterward.
You groaned. “Okay, first of all, I never said that. And second, I was seven, okay?”
You ended up introducing all of them. They say if you introduce your friends or your lover to your family, it means that person is decent enough to be shown genuinely good. And lastly, you casually mentioned that you have a boyfriend.
Your brother and his friend’s reactions weren’t exactly positive. At least, not from the looks of it.
“Oh.” That’s all Kyungsoo said.
Chanyeol choked a little, struggling to swallow his water. “That’s… nice?” he coughed.
“I mean, I figured Chan is decent. He’s okay, I guess.” your brother added blatantly, like he wasn’t standing right there.
“Hey! I heard that, you know,” Chan retorted from the kitchen while cleaning up.
You immediately shook your head. “Uh, no. He’s just there.” You jerked your thumb toward Wonwoo, who was tying up the trash bag.
They didn’t even hide the daggers they were sending, especially your brother. You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. He’s decent too. He treats me nicely.”
“Okay, he’s decent, but why is he dressed all black with cat ears? He looks mean as hell.”
You almost scoffed. Like who’s talking? Showing up in a full Spiderman, with his friend in a Deadpool costume.
“He’s not. It’s just his resting face.”
The rest of the night dragged on, your brother bombarding Wonwoo with questions like he was HR conducting an aggressive interview. You eventually had to kick them out for being annoying as hell.
One by one, your friends drifted off too after helping clean up.
It was only you and him. Alone.
You turned around, finally facing your boyfriend, feeling a little bashful about it.
Boyfriend.
“Hi, girlfriend.” He smiled at you. You always thought his smile was cute, especially the way his eyes squeezed slightly, creating that tiny nose scrunch. When you once pointed it out as a compliment, he immediately launched into a whole scientific explanation about facial structures and muscles that caused it.
You smiled back shyly. “Hi, boyfriend.”
You slowly stepped backward, and he stepped forward, mirroring your movements until your back hit the kitchen counter. He caged you in with a grin resting on his face.
You only grinned up at him innocently, acting like the two of you were still in the honeymoon phase as if you hadn’t already been together for more than a month now. If you calculated everything, you’d known him since last semester. You started off as friends, and then this happened which made it, what, three months and more?
Damn. It’s been that long?
You didn’t care much about the numbers, but you were sure you were lucky as hell to have met him and felt like an idiot for not noticing it sooner.
You had planned to match your Halloween costumes (mainly you). At first, you considered going as Little Red Riding Hood with him as the wolf, but you didn’t want Chan pointing out how kinky it would look. God, you wanted to slap him sometimes for being that annoying. The plan never happened anyway since Wonwoo had his shift and there wasn’t enough time to change things.
So you decided to roleplay a little.
“My, what big ears you have, grandmother.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he removed the cat ears. “Well… all the better to hear you with, baby.” He stayed there, hands still braced on either side of you.
“But grandmother, what big eyes you have.”
He raised an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses. Now he knew what you were up to, but he was willing to indulge in your little foreplay. “It’s just my glasses. But all the better to see you clearly.”
Your hands trailed up his chest, your eyes glinting as you looked up at him. “Oh, but grandmother, what a terribly big mouth you have.”
Oh. Now he definitely knew.
He couldn’t help the wider, almost wolfish grin that spread across his face. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you closer as he leaned in.
“All the better to eat you with…” he murmured against your ear, and you shivered.
You felt the warmth of his breath linger against your skin, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. “You’re terrible,” you whispered, though your hands tightened in his shirt instead of pushing him away.
“For indulging you?” he murmured.
“For knowing exactly what you’re doing.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low in his chest, vibrating against you. His nose brushed your cheek, again that stupid little scrunch appearing when he smiled.
Effortlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling you against the cool surface as he stepped between your legs. His hands rested on your thighs, fingers splaying over the soft skin there.
“Comfortable?” he asked, though his gaze was already roaming appreciatively over you.
“Very,” you confirmed, leaning forward to kiss him.
He kissed you back immediately, lips finding yours in a slow, deliberate press. It was soft at first, unhurried, but it deepened when he felt you respond. One hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, while the other slid to your waist, holding you steady.
It turned heated quickly.
His hands began to wander, moving lower, brushing over the fabric of your dress. His thumb traced slow circles along your inner thigh, the thin material of your stockings doing little to dull the warmth of his touch. The warmth of his touch lingered even through the thin barrier of fabric, and your breath hitched despite yourself.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His eyes flickered up to yours, darker now and slower as if he was watching every reaction like he was studying something precious. “You’re sensitive,” he murmured, not teasing. Just observing.
Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt. “Shut up.”
That only made the corner of his mouth tilt.
Instead of moving further, he paused. That pause was worse. His thumb continued its lazy path along your thigh, never crossing any line, just close enough to make you hyperaware of the space between you. Of him standing there, steady and warm and entirely in control.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
The shift in tone softened something in your chest.
You nodded, swallowing. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He leaned in again, but this time the kiss wasn’t rushed or consuming. It was slower and intentional. His lips moved against yours with a quiet confidence that made your toes curl inside your shoes.
His hand at your waist tightened slightly grounding, not claiming.
When you tried to chase the kiss, he pulled back just a fraction. Not denying you.
Just making you wait.
“You were bold a minute ago,” he murmured near your lips. “What happened to Red Riding Hood?”
Your cheeks burned, but you lifted your chin anyway. “She’s not scared of the wolf.”
A low sound left his throat at that not quite a laugh. “Good,” he said softly. And this time when he kissed you again, it was deeper, slower like he had all the time in the world.
Where is your heart?
Sometimes you really need to think before acting. You’re a smart girl. Use that brain. But occasionally, you find yourself stumbling forward before your thoughts can even catch up. That’s how you ended up tangled with Seungcheol once. You were thrown to the wolves, and you promised yourself you’d never walk into that forest again.
Blame it all on Mingyu.
Come to think of it, the whole thing feels strange now. You had a hunch back then that maybe he was just playing with you, that maybe he wasn’t serious, or…
God.
You need to stop thinking about it.
If he did play your feelings like a fiddle, your old self wouldn’t have known how to handle it. It hurts less now that you’re with Wonwoo, but it still sucks in some quiet, annoying way.
Your thoughts slowed when you reached a familiar place.
The same place you used to come to clear your head when your studies overwhelmed you. You always considered it a one-time thing when Mingyu brought you here. That was also where you first met your situationship.
And then your eyes landed on a familiar bike.
Wonwoo’s.
You were almost impressed that you recognized it from across the street. Curiosity pricked at you. He told you he wasn’t the party type. So why was he here? At Yugyeom’s house? Maybe Mingyu dragged him along. It wasn’t your business anyway. Your boyfriend can do whatever he wants. You don’t control his life. He’s his own person.
Still.
Sometimes you can’t help but wonder.
Was Wonwoo lying to you?
No.
You shook the thought away almost immediately. He’s always been honest. Always reassuring. Always steady. But your mind drifted back to that night when he approached you after his crash, when you both happened to meet at this very place.
Did he already know about Seungcheol back then? Did he know him personally?
The thought made your stomach twist. It would be embarrassing, considering you once admitted to Wonwoo that you liked Seungcheol before. Now that you’re dating, you sometimes wonder what he really thinks about that.
He’s never been openly jealous. But you can tell. He’s… possessive.
Not in a suffocating way. Just subtle and quiet. The way his hand lingers a second longer. The way his gaze sharpens when someone stands too close.
You never pointed it out. You just noticed. And strangely enough, it makes you feel giddy.
Right now, you couldn’t help wanting to know more.
It would be a lie to say you’d never thought Wonwoo could be secretive at times. You figured it wasn’t that he was hiding things, he just didn’t share unnecessary details. Or things he thought weren’t good for you to hear.
You weren’t a child.
But he had this tendency to shield you from ugly things. Not keeping you in the dark, just… preventing you from getting burned by things that didn’t concern you.
You always thought it was sweet.
Maybe a little overprotective.
Still sweet.
And yet, here you were.
You ended up going inside anyway, jacket thrown over your pajamas. In your defense, you had just come back from the convenience store downstairs for a quick snack.
You didn’t plan this.
The inside was rowdy as usual. Loud music boomed through the walls, bass vibrating against your ribs. The air smelled like cheap alcohol and something faintly sweet and burnt.
You remembered this atmosphere.
You sometimes felt out of place in crowds like this. Sure, it was fun when you came with your friends. But this was different. Closer to a frat house vibe though you’d never actually been to one. Seungkwan and Chan once dramatically claimed this place was “defiled,” whatever that meant.
You weaved through the crowd, people brushing past you. A few gave you odd looks probably because you were underdressed. You were aware of that. Very aware. But you didn’t know what possessed you to come in here like this. Maybe you just wanted to see what Wonwoo was doing. Maybe you were just nosy as hell.
Or maybe…
The paranoia was really kicking in now. Was it because of your past experience? You knew you shouldn’t feel like this. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to let you sleep with a heavy heart or leave you drowning in unsaid thoughts.
Just as you were about to spot his figure, someone suddenly pulled you aside, preventing you from crashing into a group holding drinks.
You blinked, staring at the person who had grabbed your arm.
Seungcheol.
It had been a while.
He looked just as surprised as you did. Realizing his grip, he released you almost immediately. “Sorry… I was just—” He paused. “I saw you here, wandering around in… pajamas?” His brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you here?”
You didn’t answer right away. It felt awkward seeing him again after he ghosted you.
“Um. Yeah. I was just looking for someone…”
A heavy pause lingered between you.
He looked… apologetic. And maybe he should be. Every time he tried approaching you before, you’d avoid him, sometimes deliberately clinging to Wonwoo so he’d back off.
Maybe that was petty.
But you couldn’t face him after what happened. And eventually, you just stopped caring, too focused on Wonwoo to bother.
“Hey… I know I was a dick for leaving you hanging like that.” He inhaled slowly. “And I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to lead you on and…” His voice trailed off.
The atmosphere shifted.
He was choosing his words carefully, and you listened despite yourself.
“I just… I don’t know how to explain it,” he continued. “I know I was a bastard for leading you. I realized I couldn’t keep doing that to you because you’re too genuine.”
You weren’t sure how to take that. The old you might’ve demanded a proper explanation. Closure. Something.
But now?
It didn’t matter.
You were happy with what you had.
Before you could respond, two guys slung their arms around Seungcheol’s shoulders. He shot them an annoyed look.
“Hey, man!” the first one slurred, clearly tipsy. His eyes landed on you. “Oh? Isn’t this the chick you were supposed to woo?” He laughed like you weren’t even standing there.
You didn’t like the way he said that.
The other one squinted at you, scrutinizing. “Wait… you’re Jeon’s girl, right?”
You didn’t answer. But you knew exactly who they meant.
“Fuck off,” Seungcheol snapped, shoving them off. “Don’t mind them,” he told you quickly.
You turned, ready to leave this garbage place.
Then one of them called out again. “Don’t be upset, man!” he laughed. “You lost the bet. Don’t tell me you’re mad you couldn’t get her into your bed.”
Your steps halted.
So it really was a bet. You’d suspected it. You’d known, deep down, it wasn’t real.
But hearing it said out loud felt different.
Colder.
And then the other guy opened his mouth again. “Man, don’t act like you didn’t tell Jeon about it,” he slurred. “Wasn’t he there that night? He knew you were messing around.”
Your breath stopped.
Seungcheol’s head snapped toward him. “Shut up.”
“What?” the guy laughed. “You said it yourself. You weren’t even serious. Just wanted to see if you could pull it off before Jeon—”
“Enough.” The sharpness in Seungcheol’s voice cut through the music.
But it was too late.
You were already storming out of the damn house.
The cold night air hits you immediately sharp, quiet, almost cruel. For the first time in a long while, you didn’t know how to process what you were feeling. You didn’t understand why it hit this hard. Sure, it stung knowing you were never taken seriously back then. That part? You could swallow it. But when they mentioned Wonwoo - your heart dropped. Because he knew. Maybe not Seungcheol directly. Maybe not every detail. But he knew those guys.
Which means... .something in your stupid, spiraling head started connecting dots that maybe weren’t even meant to be connected.
He knew these people. So how much did he know?
When you told him you used to like Seungcheol, you told him almost everything. Almost. You never mentioned the situationship. It felt unnecessary. Embarrassing. Something you didn’t want to relive.
He told you he was only close to Mingyu. So who were those guys who clearly knew him?
Had he lied?
Or was he just very good at hiding things?
The worst part was the possibility that Mingyu knew about that stupid bet too.
Was he part of it?
Your stomach twisted.
You had never felt so betrayed.
By your friend. By your boyfriend.
God, it was humiliating after everything you and Wonwoo had built.
Was this why he was secretive sometimes? Was this the “bad things” he didn’t want you to see?
You always saw him as someone unbothered. Detached from unnecessary drama. You never judged Mingyu’s lifestyle either despite everything, he was still a good person.
But now you were questioning all of it again. And it made your chest feel unbearably heavy.
So fucking heavy.
Your breathing turned shallow, uneven. The cold air didn’t help. It felt like your lungs couldn’t expand fully, like something invisible was pressing down on you.
Suffocating.
Before you even realized it, your vision blurred. Tears pooled, then spilled. You crouched down in the middle of the cold night, arms wrapping around your knees as a sob tore out of you.
Was I ever truly loved?
The thought hit harder than anything else.
Was that why it felt so easy for Wonwoo to slip into the boyfriend role? Why he never hesitate? Never questioned it?
Maybe it was natural to him. Maybe he’d been waiting. Waiting for the right moment to step in like a knight in shining armor when Jia humiliated him and you rushed to defend him.
God.
What if you weren’t saving him? What if you were walking straight into something he already knew would happen? Instead of him being played, you were the one being played. Maybe you were just convenient. The conclusion made you want to claw your own heart out.
All this time, you’d been afraid you were the dishonest one, hiding that stupid situationship because it felt irrelevant, embarrassing. And yet somewhere along the way, you learned to love him.
Sincerely, genuinely.
And now here you were again, in another humiliating position. The gullible girl. He must think you’re easy.
The thought made you feel sick.
After everything, after loving him so much it physically hurt. This is what you get?
The betrayal burned. From your friend. From him.
It hurts so fucking much.
The next day on campus, you looked awful. You cried most of the night. You didn’t answer his calls. You didn’t reply to his texts. You just let the screen light up and fade again and again.
When he showed up at your apartment with food and medicine, you accepted it quietly. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.
He looked worried. That almost made it worse.
The days after that blurred together. You avoided him on campus, sticking close to your friends. When they asked if you were okay, you brushed it off with a weak “I’m just not feeling well.”
Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Your phone was filled with missed calls and unread messages from him.
You replied once. Just one line that is ‘I’m unwell.’ That was it.
Eventually, you told Chan. Only Chan.
He was the closest thing to family you had here. You called him that night and everything spilled out of you in broken pieces. Every doubt. Every ugly conclusion. Every fear you didn’t want to admit out loud. You sobbed so hard your chest hurt. And for once, Chan didn’t joke. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t tease and dramatize your whole stuff.
He just listened. When you begged him not to hang up, he stayed. You ended up falling asleep on call, the line still connected because you needed something—someone to keep you from feeling completely alone.
As annoying as he could be, he was always there. And that was probably the first time he didn’t make a single joke.
…
It’s been five days since everything happened.
You ended up shutting Wonwoo out. You know it’s unfair, you should’ve just asked him instead of sitting alone with your thoughts, letting them rot in the dark. But you can’t. You’re too afraid it’ll turn out exactly the way you fear.
What if he is part of it? What if he actually loves you?
That might be even worse. You don’t want this to turn into some stupid cliché story. It feels horrible.
You’re burnt out. Maybe even depressed. More than just heartbroken.
Chan would’ve definitely called you out for looking like absolute shit right now but he doesn’t. Not when you look this bad. Your head rests against his shoulder as he sits beside you on the bed, fingers intertwined with his. For once, he doesn’t complain when you seek physical affection. He just lets you stay there, quiet and small, needing warmth.
You sniffle, cheek pressed against his arm, grip tightening slightly. “…Am I that unlovable?” you ask meekly. A moment of weakness.
You’ve skipped class for two days now. You feel so unwell. So drained.
Chan sighs softly, resting his chin on top of your head. “No. No, you’re not.”
Your throat tightens. “Do you love me?” Of course you’d question everything now your worth, your existence, all of it.
He stiffens. He can tell you’re about to cry again, and he’s terrible at comforting people.
“Of course I love you. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re just saying that because I’m sad.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have stuck around if I’d been farting in your face for years.”
You frown and hit his arm. “Not funny.”
He winces. “Wasn’t supposed to be?” he scoffs lightly, before pulling your head back to his shoulder and patting your hair more gently. “Come on. Don’t cry. I don’t know what to do when you cry like that.”
Silence settles between you.
Then he tries again. “You know… when I first saw you, I knew a grand adventure was about to happen.”
Your lips twitch. “You mean when we were seven and you threw a stick at me?”
“Yeah,” he smiles. “From that moment on, I knew any day spent with you would be my favorite day. So today’s my favorite day too.”
You smile faintly. “That’s sweet.”
“I know,” he replies softly.
Another quiet stretch.
You still feel heavy. He notices. Of course he does.
Vernon has been sending you playlists non-stop since he found out you were sad. Unfortunately, half of them are Taylor Swift songs which only makes you feel worse. Great job, man.
You sigh. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get married,” you mumble. “I don’t even want to fall in love. Who would ever want to marry me?”
There’s a pause.
“I would,” Chan says simply.
You lift a brow, amused despite yourself.
“Remember when we roleplayed marriage when we were twelve?” he continues. “The ridiculous paper rings? Your mom’s red lipstick that you smeared all over my face? I had to use Clorox to get it off.”
You laugh, genuinely this time. “Hey. That ring was not ridiculous. It was cute.”
“And you stole my first kiss.”
“That was my first kiss too.”
You both burst into laughter. And for the first time in days, your chest doesn’t feel quite as tight.
You stay there like that. Comfortable.
The moment feels easy. Light. Just like it used to feel when you were with Wonwoo.
You hate how familiar that warmth is. Hate how your body remembers it so easily. You don’t want to think about him, but you do anyway, recalling the things you did together, the small habits, the quiet laughter.
It hurts. So much.
“I don’t know, Chan…” you start, your voice already wobbling again much to his immediate panic. “All of our friends know we’re inseparable. They know how close we are, and yet…” You gesture vaguely, frustration spilling over. “He just played my heart like—like Pooh or something.”
Chan blinks. “Like as in… Winnie the Pooh?”
You ignore him. “I even introduced him to half of my family. What am I supposed to do now?” Your sobs return, softer but heavier, soaking into his sweater as you bury your face into his arm.
“Hey, hey.” He pats your head awkwardly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You should forgive yourself first…”
He swallows. He’s never been good with words. He’s never seen you this broken before.
When he was the one getting picked on as a kid, you were the one who stood in front of him. You were always stronger. “…Whatever happens,” he continues carefully, “I’ll be by your side, okay? It makes me feel like an asshole seeing you cry like this, knowing I’m not even the one who caused it.”
Your sobs soften at that, turning into hiccups.
He panics again and reaches for tissues, dabbing at your cheeks in clumsy little motions.
“Y-you know…” you choke out, “he never even swore. He was always nice to me. Of course I didn’t notice… God, I feel so, so stupid.”
Chan sighs, wiping the last of your tears. “…What kind of guy has never cursed in his life?” he mutters. “Maybe only during—”
He stops himself too late.
Your face crumples again.
Because Wonwoo did swear. Especially during intimate moments. And now you’re crying harder.
Chan stiffens. “O-okay! Okay, no, no, no—don’t cry!” He fumbles, half hugging you, half trying to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry! I’m stupid! I didn’t mean it like that!”
You just sob into his sweater.
He groans in frustration. “Fine! I’ll be your boyfriend and marry you if you stop crying—dammit!”
After a while, your bedroom door slowly creaks open with a few soft knocks.
One—no, two figures step in, plushies covering their faces. One holds Pooh. The other holds Tigger. The two characters you’ve loved since childhood.
Your tears slowly subside as you sniffle.
“Glad to meet ya! Name’s Tigger! T-I-double guh-er! That spells Tigger!” the Tigger waves dramatically, using the plush’s paw to greet you, voice exaggerated and cartoonish.
Your brows lift.
Then Pooh speaks in an oddly high-pitched tone. “Hi. I am short, fat, and proud of that.”
You blink.
“Come on, Ji. We practiced this. That’s not what Pooh would say.” Soonyoung lowers the Tigger plush, glaring.
Jihoon, your cousin scoffs. “I told you I’m not doing this.”
They immediately begin bickering like children.
You slowly turn to Chan, frowning. “You told them?”
Chan raises both hands defensively. “I only told them you needed emotional support and that you were sad.”
You don’t argue. If anything, you feel a little lighter. Being here, surrounded by them, your family feels like home. They are home. Despite all this warmth, though, you still somehow ended up in such a foolish position. You only ever wanted someone to accept all of you. To understand that when you love, you love completely.
Unconditionally.
Soonyoung carefully sits on the bed beside you, brushing a slightly damp strand of hair away from your face. “…You okay, little bee?” he asks gently.
You give him a faint smile. “A little. Now that you’re both here.”
Jihoon doesn’t look convinced. Of course he isn’t. He can tell this runs deeper, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he places the Pooh plush in your lap and sits at the edge of the bed.
“It’s okay,” Soonyoung reassures. “Happiness doesn’t come with grades. Just look at Chan, he seems happy with his barely passing CGPA.”
Chan frowns. “I was passing.”
Soonyoung ignores him, swatting his hand away. “I have a friend. His name is Seokmin. He’s really, really nice. He even apologized to ants when he accidentally stepped on them.”
All of you slowly turn to look at him.
Your brows knit together.
“I don’t appreciate you introducing a guy to her like that,” Jihoon deadpans.
You honestly have no idea what’s going to happen next. At some point, you’ll have to face Wonwoo again. You need to settle whatever this relationship was.
Was it even real?
Maybe you should’ve crashed out. Screamed. Swung a bat. Or used that frozen baguette Jeonghan once left in his abandoned fridge.
“She can’t. Okay? That’s final,” Chan cuts in firmly.
You appreciate that he speaks up. You don’t think you’d ever survive loving someone like that again.
Soonyoung sighs dramatically. “It’s alright, little bee. The only thing you missed was swinging the bat and watching the man duck.”
Your lips curl slightly. “Thanks, but violence really isn’t my thing.”
“Well, it is mine,” Jihoon mutters.
You sigh. “It’s fine. Let’s not talk about men. I think I’ve had enough. I don’t ever want to get married or fall in love. Boyfriends are overrated anyway.”
Jihoon and Soonyoung exchange a glance. They know it’s about someone. They just don’t know the whole story.
“Hey,” Soonyoung says softly, nudging your shoulder. “Don’t say that. If anything, you still have us.” He pauses, then grins. “Also, I can be your boy—”
Before he can finish, Jihoon smacks the back of his head. “Ow!” Soonyoung rubs his scalp, offended. “I can do a backflip. Just saying.”
…
Just when you’re about to feel suspiciously relaxed, it hits you. Your responsibility and your relationship.
Swore you’d never end up in this position again – yeah, right. This feels worse than your old situationship ever did.
When your phone buzzes, you almost assume it’s Wonwoo. He’s been checking messages you’ve ignored constantly. It hurts every time you leave him on read while he’s practically begging to talk.
You’ve been avoiding him at all costs. Clinging to Chan instead. But the name on the screen isn’t Wonwoo this time, it was Mingyu.
You agree to meet him outside campus, near the small park. His text sounded urgent. Important. Aside from heartbreak, there’s another ache sitting in your chest. Disappointment. You thought a friend had broken your trust.
When you arrive, Mingyu jogs over. “Hey, shortcake…” he greets you with a crooked smile as he sits beside you on the bench. “…Did you wait long?”
You shake your head, offering a faint smile. “No. Not really.”
Silence settles between you. It was heavy and awkward. If anything, friendship betrayals hurt more than breakups.
Mingyu slides a paper bag toward you. You peek inside to find a slice of strawberry cake and carton of milk.
Wonwoo flashes across your mind instantly, and your chest tightens.
Mingyu groans, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Shit. How do I even start this?”
You look at him quietly.
“First, I’m apologizing. For all this mess. You didn’t deserve it.”
So he knows.
He swallows. “To be fair, I had no idea about that bet. Cross my heart. If I’d known those jackasses made some stupid deal with Seungcheol, I would’ve swung at them immediately.” He pauses. “Which I did.”
You frown, finally turning to face him fully.
“Cheol told me everything after that night. You were there — that’s why. We ended up fighting. Those two idiots deserved the beating anyway.”
Your eyes drop to his knuckles. Slightly scraped.
“…You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur. Now guilt creeps in that his friendship with Seungcheol strained because of this. Because of you.
He waves it off. “It’s fine. They were disrespecting you. I couldn’t just sit there.”
He hesitates.“…I heard you and Wonwoo were together though. I only found out recently. My own best friend didn’t even tell me.” He lets out a dry chuckle, glancing at how quiet you’ve become.
“He’s miserable, you know.”
Your head lifts instantly.
Mingyu nods toward the paper bag. “That’s from him. Not me. He figured you wouldn’t want to see him, so he asked me to pass it to you.”
Your throat tightens.
“He’s been depressed these past few days. He didn’t know about the bet. He was only there that night because I was wasted and he had to drag my ass home.”
Mingyu exhales. “He’s not what you think he is. He’s a good guy. Really.”
God.
You feel horrible.
You let your insecurity spiral. You let overthinking consume you whole. You knew you should’ve talked to him, but you were too scared to hear the worst.
You couldn’t even look him in the eye.
“Wonwoo’s not that kind of guy,” Mingyu continues gently. “You know that too. Those idiots only talked to you like that because Cheol called them out. Wonwoo never agreed to any stupid arrangement. If anything, Cheol just didn’t want some random prick getting close to you.”
Oh.
So Seungcheol did that because of… that?
His methods were questionable. Shitty, even.
But still.
Mingyu sighs and leans his head lightly against yours. “…Are we still friends, shortcake?”
You stare ahead for a moment.
Then you smile softly. “…Yeah. We are.”
After a moment, Mingyu exhales like he’s debating whether to continue. “I wasn’t supposed to say this,” he admits, rubbing his face. “But Wonwoo said he’s sorry. Sorry he didn’t tell you everything. That night… he almost beat the shit out of those guys. He even punched Seungcheol.”
You go still. You didn’t expect it to escalate that badly.
Something about it makes you feel… off. Not relieved. Not exactly guilty either. Just heavy. You don’t like drama. And if your brother or Chanyeol ever found out about this?
Oh, boy.
Your cousin and his friends? Absolutely not. They’d demand names. Addresses. Blood. You almost groan at the thought.
“As I said,” Mingyu continues, shaking his head in disbelief, “if you’d seen him that night… you’d know he was holding back. If I hadn’t been there, I swear someone would’ve ended up in the hospital.”
He sounds almost impressed.
You sigh heavily. You were hurt, yes. But you never wanted something this big. And what if Seungkwan finds out too? You’ll never live through it.
Just when you’re about to calm down. Two figures approach.
Jia and her little sidekick. Fantastic timing.
“Well, if it isn’t goody two-shoes,” Jia sneers. You glare at her. “I’m surprised you’re even outside after that.” Her eyes drop to Mingyu. She scoffs.
Her friend pipes up, smirking. “Wow. First Seungcheol and Wonwoo… now Mingyu? I didn’t know you were such an attention whore.”
You feel nothing. Just tired.
“Fuck off. Both of you,” Mingyu says flatly, draping his arm casually behind your shoulders. Protective and easy. “Didn’t take my rejection well, huh? Is that why you’re still bitter?”
He grins.
Their faces flush instantly.
Ah.
So that’s what this is.
You blink slowly. You genuinely don’t have the energy for this. You wish you brought your Nerf gun again like the other day. Jia keeps talking, probably something meant to make you feel small but your brain is elsewhere. You just want to go home. Eat. Sleep.
It’s been relentless harassment. Enough is enough.
Before you even process it, the carton of milk in your hand flies. It splashes directly onto Jia’s face.
Silence.
She gasps, stunned.
You blink. You didn’t even realize you’d done it.
Mingyu stares at you in shock, then bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
“Why, you bi—!” Before she can slap you, another splash arrives. It was banana milk this time. Seungkwan stands there, arm still extended from the throw.
“You again?” Jia shrieks in disbelief.
Oh, no.
You feel it. This is about to escalate.
Seungkwan drops his bag into Mingyu’s arms and starts rolling up his sleeves.
“You can insult whoever you want,” he says with a sarcastic scoff, “but not my bumblebee.”
And he didn’t hesitate to grab her hair while she grabbed his back. They start screaming. It’s absolute chaos. You’re pretty sure hers are extensions. Before Jia’s friend can intervene, Chan appears out of nowhere, grabbing her arm. She kicks him, making yelp. Mingyu tries to separate them but catches an accidental elbow from Seungkwan straight to the stomach and doubles over.
You turn desperately toward Vernon for help but see him standing off to the side. With his ass recording. Muttering something about how this is going to be legendary. Possibly waiting for Chan to attempt a backflip mid-fight.
You stare at him in disbelief.
Before you can even process what’s happening, two familiar faces step into the scene. The jerks from that party.
They stride in like backup, clearly here for the girls. It clicks instantly, they were acquaintances. You feel something snap. You have no reason to be kind anymore. If crashing out is the theme of the day, then so be it.
One of them steps toward you, hand lifting like he’s about to grab you. If you think wisdom is chasing Mingyu, he is faster. “Hold on, buddy,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders. “Bet you missed my knuckle sandwich. Say bye.”
His fist connects with the guy’s jaw cleanly.
You gasp, hand flying to your mouth.
The guy stumbles but doesn’t back down.
And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, Seungcheol appears at the right time. You don’t even remember spotting him, but instinctively you shout, “Cheol!” He doesn’t hesitate either. Next thing you know, his fist lands square on the second guy.
Oh my God.
Now it’s a full-blown mess.
Seungkwan is still yelling, hair-pulling ongoing. Chan is trying to restrain someone while dodging kicks. Vernon attempts to help but gets accidentally elbowed by Seungkwan mid-rant and just stands there, betrayed, still recording. Insults are flying. People are shouting. Mingyu is swinging. Seungcheol looks two seconds away from catching a body.
You make a very smart decision. You are not joining that.
Absolutely not.
While everyone is too busy reenacting a low-budget action film, you step back and pull out your phone to call for your emergency contact. You were contemplating who to call. Not your cousin. Definitely not your brother. If they show up, someone’s actually going to jail.
Your thumb hovers for half a second. Then you press call.
Wonwoo.
Listed under: my pookie bf <3 (emergency contact)
(Which, for the record, is what you labeled almost everyone in your contacts… except Chan.)
The phone rings. Around you, chaos erupts.
And you realize, distantly, that this is the first time you’ve reached out to him since you started avoiding him.
The line clicks.
“…Hello?”
There are certain people who are friends on a whole different level. Like you and Chan. You consider it soul-level. He’s been there since diapers, through bad haircuts, ugly phases, and college.
And then there’s Seungkwan and Vernon. You didn’t even mean to be friends at first. You and Chan met on the wrong foot during your first orientation when Chan farted on Seungkwan’s jacket. Guess the universe has its ways of making all of you inseparable.
You never planned this friendship. The world just knew you needed someone like them to make you feel brighter. And better. Maybe even better at loving.
You did end up seeking Wonwoo’s help.
So how did it end up with all of you including Seungcheol and Mingyu squeezed into a fast-food diner now?
Jia and her henchmen eventually ratted themselves out. Not that they’re relevant anymore.
All of you squeezed around the same table, munching on your food like you just celebrated a world victory.
You had an ice pack, about to gently press it against Cheol’s cheek when Seungkwan snatched it from you and shoved it onto his face, a little too harshly. “Oh, he’s not a baby. I’m sure you can do it yourself, hm?” he said with a restrained smile, as Cheol glared at him, clearly annoyed.
Right. There’s a lot to unpack here.
You sat between Chan and Wonwoo, practically squeezed in.
Vernon shifted between Mingyu and Cheol, looking uncomfortable. “...I think I’m about to be sandwiched here.”
Another shuffle, as Seungkwan purposely moved beside Seungcheol. “Move, fatass,” he grumbled, and they started bickering again.
Chan sighed, dipping another fry into his mouth as he ate quietly. His hair looked like a bird’s nest, similar to his ugly haircut back in middle school.
You almost smiled.
You remembered Wonwoo was just beside you. You glanced at his bruised knuckles and almost sighed at the sight as you softly held his hand, brushing over it gently.
He let you. He still didn’t look at you, afraid to meet your eyes, like he didn’t deserve to see you eye to eye.
It made your heart tug a little. You tapped his hand softly. When his gaze finally met yours, he smiled at the face he had missed so much.
“Hi, boyfriend,” you smiled at him, genuinely. You didn’t need to ask anything. Mingyu had already explained everything, and Seungcheol had apologized just minutes ago.
Wonwoo’s lips curled softly. “Hi, girlfriend.”
It felt like you two were the only ones in the world. The rest didn’t matter.
You saw his long paragraph messages. You read his heartfelt texts. You heard his voice notes, the ones where he drunkenly cried and confessed everything.
You feel bad now. But you’d make up for it with kisses and pick-up lines later, when you’re alone with him.
Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing Soonyoung and Jihoon though it really seemed like only Soonyoung made the dramatic entrance. His eyes fell on your table as he rushed over.
You had called them earlier, but they didn’t pick up. You only managed to text: “Shit is about to go down.”
They were too late anyway.
Soonyoung looked at you. “Which bastard?”
His eyes scanned everyone before landing on Mingyu, and without hesitation, he headlocked him. Mingyu whimpered, tapping his arm. “Not me! Not me!”
“Was it you?” Jihoon asked, raising an eyebrow at Vernon.
Vernon’s eyes widened immediately, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa, chill. I’m one of her homies.”
You sighed, burying your face in your palms as Chan cackled, fries still in his mouth.
God, this is embarrassing. This is exactly why you didn’t want any of your people to know what you’ve been through. Good thing your brother doesn’t know or someone would be facing court charges.
Then the waiter slid in, not caring about the scene Soonyoung just made.
Chan hummed when he saw the strawberry parfait. “Did you order this?”
You shook your head. “Then who did?”
“It was me, actually,” Wonwoo admitted as the treat was handed to him.
You weren’t really in the mood, but since he paid for it, you had to try it.
It was sweet - just like the strawberry milk he once gave you. Just like the first time you met him. He had been sweet and kind, helping you with calculus without hesitation.
You realized something. It was just that simple. You were never alone. All these people loved you. Wonwoo loved you. Maybe you were just scared. Maybe you let your thoughts consume you too easily.
“You know,” Chan suddenly said, scooping his almost-empty sundae, “this reminds me of that time ____ and I got free ice cream when we faked being a couple and got free rides at the amusement park.”
All eyes turned to him like he’d just said the most normal thing in the world.
You punched his arm.
He winced, rubbing it as he stared at all of you. “What? You guys don’t do that with your friends? You know, go to an amusement park or something?”
His eyes flicked toward Wonwoo and Seungcheol. “Wow. Not even you guys?”
They didn’t bother answering.
“I feel special somehow.”
...
The rest was history. All of you ended up going on an impromptu beach hangout to watch the sunset, typical Seungkwan suggestion.
And now, it’s only you and Wonwoo left behind.
Alone.
How silly of you to forget how far you’ve come just because you still have a long way to go. Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.
Just like you thought, perhaps this would be your favorite day. With your friends. With Wonwoo.
“I have a question,” Wonwoo started, facing you, his hands still holding yours as you listened intently. “When you wake up in the morning, what’s the first thing you say to yourself?”
You considered it briefly. “Hm. Realistically speaking, I always wonder what’s for breakfast… and lunch later,” you said. “What about you, Won?”
Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head as he hummed softly. “I say… I wonder what exciting thing is going to happen today.”
He leaned closer, smiling gently. “Because I always look forward to another day with you.”
You melted at his words, wrapping your arms around his nape as the two of you ended up kissing in the middle of the beach.
Wonwoo was right. There were still so many adventures waiting for both of you. And you couldn’t wait to explore them—with him, and with your friends.
You’d say…
It was better than ever.
FIN.
A/N: we've come to the end, apples. sorry for the delays and tq sm for the loves given from the first part arghhh. i was doing charity work lmao. anw, i wasn't feeling good about the ending but i think it was rather sweet. the reason why i didn't add jeonghan n joshua, they would be unstoppable. also, all chan loverssss out there, don't be sad, i promised i will make another fic of him lmao. anywhomst, thank uu once again, dearest apples. pls keep on looking forward for my next work. reblogs and comments are appreciated sm.
SUMMARY: You didn’t mean for it to turn into a betting competition. And yet, here you are on a mission to save that nerd from your calculus class that you've known from last semester before he gets dicked down.
PAIRINGS: jeon wonwoo x f!reader
GENRE: fluff, drama, comedy, angst, university au, smut
add tags❦︎: biker!wonwoo, nerd!wonwoo, mingyu is his best friend, friends to lovers, fake dating(?), reader majored in chemical engineering, winnie the pooh reference, ex!seungcheol, disgustingly in love, lil crack, green flag is sexy wdym, bestie!doremiz, found family trope hinted, sun x moon dynamics, chan as childhood twin fr, she fell first but he fell harder type of shii aye.
❤︎ part 1, part 2 ❤︎
A/N: hello ladies n apples, another masterpiece. shoutout to my friend for recommended me 'to all the boys i've loved before', as a non romcom person i actually enjoyed it w/o me realized it lol.
It’s not that deep.
Of course it is, to them. But you wouldn’t take it lightly.
The thing about you is that you’re always ready to hate anyone’s boyfriend at a moment’s notice. You need approximately zero seconds to prepare. Literally just give you a heads-up and you’re on it.
But again, for a girl like you who prioritizes eating and sleeping, your choice of major is… questionable.
At least for now.
Though, you don’t really care. Your situationship only lasted a while, and you decided never to do that again, especially not in the middle of finals week.
Which is hell.
Never again. You almost failed. Not literally, but enough to make you lose track of everything. It’s practically a universal rule at this point: number one, never get into a relationship during exam week.
Thank God you passed this semester. If not, you would’ve gone insane seeing those red marks on your transcript.
You underestimate yourself. You should’ve crashed out. And it’s all Mingyu’s fault for introducing his friend to you in the first place. You thought you could handle it since Mingyu always had time to party around despite his deadass architecture projects but hell, you never expected to end up on the verge of failing.
Studying may be the only thing you’re good at.
But you know what else you’re good at?
Sleeping.
Either way, reminder: always listen to your friends when you’re on the wrong path. Chan already warned you.
Did you listen?
Obviously not.
And the moment you went into full disaster mode and ran back to him, you swear you almost punched him when he hit you with that smug “I told you so.”
You were hunched over one of the campus cafeteria tables, impatiently waiting for your friend to finish his class. The new semester had just started, but honestly, you felt so, so, so far from immaculate right now. You even considered skipping a few lectures but given your CGPA last semester, which was shit as hell, that wasn’t an option.
If you wanted to graduate this year, you seriously needed to lock in.
No relationships. No sleeping all over campus. No exchanging memes at 3 a.m.
Okay, maybe not the last part. You can’t stop being funny. It’s part of your personality. At this point, if you were going to be with someone, they’d have to be at least funnier than you to catch your heart completely.
Maybe Seungcheol wasn’t the case. He was charming, okay? No one could blame you for wanting something everyone wanted.
And you turned out just like the rest of them.
Disappointment.
The entire semester break, you ended up bedrotting all day. Eat. Sleep. Maybe grieve your failed relationship.
Whatever.
You’d like to think it wasn’t that deep. Love does distract you from important things, something you swore you were never going to let happen again.
“Ugh, I can’t believe Mr. Pi said attendance is compulsory,” a voice piped up behind you. “Seriously, since when did the campus care about their students’ attendance?”
You were sitting at the opposite end of the table, hood up, back facing them.
“What a drag,” her friend added with a chuckle. “That just means you get to see your former darling on campus now.”
“Cheol,” she scoffed. “Speaking of him, maybe I should get him back. Heard his little situationship failed. Why did he choose such a boring girl?”
Ouch.
The mention of his name almost made you slide to the floor right then and there. It was depressing. Yes. What a way to start your day.
Great.
You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they clearly failed to notice your existence.
Not that it mattered. You preferred it that way.
“Why not try to get him back?” her friend suggested.
She scoffed again, snapping her compact mirror shut. “He wouldn’t even want to talk to me.”
You knew that voice. Jia. Seungcheol’s ex. She never liked you when you and him started getting close.
Or maybe she just didn’t like anyone in general. You guessed she hated herself too. You didn’t really know what her deal was, except that she had a problem with you simply because you were close to her man.
You couldn’t care less.
Or at least, you tried not to.
“I have an idea,” her friend continued. “Why not make him jealous? Like that guy over there.” She jerked her chin toward someone at the vending machine.
Your eyes darted in the direction she pointed.
Leather jacket. Jeans. Black-framed glasses.
“Him?” Jia bristled. “Isn’t that guy sometimes hanging out with Mingyu? Looks kind of like a nerd. Never really saw him at parties.”
“He’s not a party type,” her friend said. “Why not make a move on him? Catch Seungcheol’s attention. You can’t hook up with his friends—they’re too loyal.”
“Not really my type, but his face does give,” Jia mused. “I’ll give it a shot. Maybe in less than three days, I’ll have him.”
Wow.
You almost couldn’t believe it. People really lived in this level of shallowness.
Their chatter slowly faded.
You pulled your hood down and turned around.
That rhymed.
You never expected people to bet over feelings like they were throwing darts. It’s almost similar to how you chose your major, impulsively yet somehow took longer deciding what to eat after a morning lecture.
You think people are low, and yet here you are apologizing to your door after accidentally bumping into it.
Wait.
Now that you think about it…
You glanced at the same guy from the vending machine. He was in your calculus class last semester.
What was his name again? Oh, yeah.
Jeon Wonwoo.
You didn’t talk much, but you might’ve left a bad impression on him.
You were flunking that semester, so you always ended up sitting beside him, whispering “how?” and “what?” to almost every question. Probably annoying. You were aware of that. But he never seemed bothered. Always stoic. Quiet. Patient.
And you kept doing it because you were shameless and convinced you’d never see him again.
Oh my God.
That’s the guy they’re choosing?
Honestly, if it weren’t for him, you would’ve already failed that class.
Now you felt… obligated to save him.
Well. Not obligated. But—
Okay, fine. Obligated.
He didn’t deserve to get played.
Then you wondered: if it were someone else, someone you didn’t know, would you do the same?
“….”
Yeah.
It doesn’t matter. You could just think of it as returning a favor to your calculus savior.
(Even if it was completely one-sided.)
Your legs bounced under the table, almost violently. You were obviously deep in thought about the possibility of an unwanted conversation from yesterday. The rush of anxiety felt way too similar to when you fumbled with your answer sheet outside the exam hall.
Jia must’ve made her move by now.
You shouldn’t care. Who even are you to care?
And yet, you found yourself thinking about it.
Chan noticed your shaking leg, glanced at you, then exchanged a look with Seungkwan beside him.
“What’s on your mind?” Chan spoke first.
You answered almost immediately. “Nothing.”
He and Seungkwan exchanged another look.
“You’re biting your nails,” Seungkwan pointed out, “and you’ve been scribbling circles on your book for the past five minutes.”
You stopped. Then glanced at them. “Sugar rush.”
“You didn’t eat any candy today,” he replied.
“Well, maybe I did. What would you know?” The answer came out more defensive than you intended.
A brief silence settled over the table.
Chan tried again. “Did you perhaps, perchance not get over your failed situationship?”
“You can’t say perchance,” you frowned. “We’ve talked about this. No mention of that guy.”
“So it is about him,” Seungkwan confirmed.
You scoffed lightly. “It’s not about him.”
“It is about him,” he shot back. “Judging by your reaction, he’s definitely living rent-free in your head. Come on. He wasn’t good for you and you know that.”
“It’s not about him,” you insisted, aggressively scribbling over nothing in your notebook.
Another silence.
You glanced up at them and sighed when they were still staring.
“Do my dark circles and deteriorating health make me look hot?”
Chan frowned. “What? No. What kind of question is that?”
“I think my under-eye circles are adding to the aesthetic,” you said seriously.
“Look, there’s nothing aesthetically pleasing about your failed love story.”
“It’s not about him!” you snapped.
The librarian let out a sharp “Shh!” in your direction.
After that, the three of you toned it down.
“What is it exactly about?” Seungkwan leaned closer. “You could’ve just told us. You look so troubled it’s making me nosy.”
You hesitated, debating whether you should say anything. But if you kept it in your head any longer, it might actually explode.
So you told them anyway. After a moment, Chan and Seungkwan exchanged a look.
“You know what,” Seungkwan started, leaning back in his chair, “this is your time to shine. Payback at Jia.”
Chan chimed in, “Yeah. What she did to you was not cool. She’s the reason you were spiraling over that guy.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. “No. That is definitely not what you two are thinking.”
“Oh, come on,” Seungkwan whined. “She literally harassed you when you were with Seungcheol, and it wasn’t even your fault!”
Another loud “Shh!” was directed at your table.
“I mean…” Chan trailed off, lowering his voice. “It’s not that bad. You already know him. Who knows? He might actually… you know… feel the same—”
“No.” You stabbed your pen into your notebook. “I doubt it. He looks nonchalant. He sounds nonchalant. I am not risking my time like last semester. Have you not seen how fucked up I was?”
Sometimes you feel like the universe deliberately puts you in alarming situations. You didn’t need more character development. You were smart enough at this point.
“I thought you guys were, like, friends. Buddy-buddy level,” Seungkwan said with a shrug.
Sighing, you dragged a hand down your face. “That’s the thing, Boo. I am not buddy-buddy with him. We shared one class. That’s it.” You slumped in your seat. “He’d be weirded out if I suddenly went up to him like, ‘Hey, someone’s betting on fucking you within three days. Be careful.’”
Chan and Seungkwan exchanged another look.
This time, it came with a mischievous grin.
“Ask him out,” Chan said simply.
You almost choked. “Excuse me? Are you crazy? I’m not—”
“Shh!” the librarian snapped again.
You lowered your voice, glaring at them. “I’m not doing that. Why the hell should I date him just to bruise Jia’s ego?”
Seungkwan scoffed, crossing his arms. “Girl, be serious. She harassed you the entire time you were with that guy. You nearly fucked up your semester—be grateful you even passed, barely. And was it worth it? For a man who didn’t deserve you and only gave you a shitty situationship?” He leaned forward. “Now she’s about to mess with your calculus bestie—who literally contributed to you passing and you’re just going to let that happen?”
You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out. Because, unfortunately, Seungkwan had a point.
You were stupid for letting yourself get distracted by something that was never worth it to begin with.
“…I’m not close with him,” you muttered weakly.
Chan hummed. “So? Get closer.”
“That would be awkward.”
“You’re always awkward,” he shot back.
“Shut up, loser. You can’t even hold a proper conversation with a girl.”
“Okay, that was a personal attack,” he huffed.
“I’m not as unhinged as I could be, and I need everyone to be grateful for that.”
“Wow,” Seungkwan muttered. “The weather’s really nice today.”
You shot him a glare.
As much as you hated the idea, your friends might be amazed at how much you’d already fucked around without actually finding anything out.
Yeah, so unfortunately, the more you fuck around, the more you find out.
So why the hell were you standing there, watching him get flirted with by Jia on a random Tuesday afternoon? It felt as random as Soonyoung showing up with a tub of kimchi in flip-flops.
Judging by his reaction, he was stoic as always. Meanwhile, Jia was trying way too hard, battling her lashes at him like it was a competitive sport.
You weren’t gullible, but you were nosy.
As much as you wanted to yell, “Girllll, he does not give a fuckkkk,” across the hall, yet you didn’t.
Instead, you walked toward your car. Halfway there, you stopped in your tracks, conflicted. Should you intervene or just walk away? He wasn’t an idiot. Surely he was smart enough to know he was getting played.
You muttered a curse under your breath. Even a smart student like you got distracted by someone like Seungcheol. So what made you think Wonwoo wouldn’t?
Human minds and hearts are complicated.
Seungkwan did a damn good job guilt-tripping you.
You fumbled in your pocket for your phone, scrolling through your contacts to see if you still had his number. You’d only exchanged it for academic purposes. Strictly.
When your finger landed on his name, you didn’t hesitate.
You called.
The thought of him ending up in the same position you were in made something bitter curl in your chest. You didn’t want anyone to go through that. It was hell. Dramatic, maybe but still hell.
Maybe you just appreciated Wonwoo more than you admitted. He did help you a lot with your studies.
You felt… indebted.
“Hello? ____? Is that you?”
His voice came through, and your heart immediately started pounding. A voice you’d tried to forget now sounded painfully familiar. When he said your name, you fumbled.
Great start.
“Oh, um… hey,” you began, suddenly shy. “My car… the tire kind of blew out, and I don’t really know how to, you know…”
You let the sentence hang, hoping he’d understand.
There was a pause.
“Ah, I see,” he replied. “I’ll come to you. Stay there. You’re at the campus parking lot?”
“Yes.”
The call ended.
Wow.
You couldn’t believe he agreed that easily, even though it had been months since you last spoke about anything other than calculus equations.
Meanwhile, Wonwoo was grateful for the interruption.
The girl, whose name he still hadn’t bothered to learn had been clinging to him since yesterday. He wasn’t oblivious to her intentions.
He just wasn’t interested.
So when his phone rang, he welcomed the excuse.
What he didn’t expect… was you.
Like, you you.
Hearing your voice again after a while did something to him. Yesterday’s persistent flirting had been mildly irritating. Your voice, on the other hand, felt oddly calming.
And now he was here, crouched beside your car, fixing a tire that you claimed was blown.
“Hey,” he called when you turned around. “Are you okay? Did you wait long?”
You almost stammered again. You weren’t sure if the air suddenly turned cold or if you were just getting cold feet.
“Ah, no… not long.” You gestured awkwardly toward the car. “I just needed help. If you know how to change a tire.”
His gaze flickered to the car, then back to you. “Yeah. Give me your keys.”
You handed them over obediently.
“I’m not really good with this stuff,” you added. “My friends had class, so I didn’t want to bother them.”
Flaming lies.
Your dad raised you to be an independent woman. You absolutely knew how to change a tire.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” you murmured, watching him work. “You must’ve had class, right?”
“It’s fine,” he said, crouched down, focused on the wheel. “I just finished. Good timing, actually.”
You nodded. “Oh.”
You were definitely trying not to make it obvious that you’d just saved him from Jia’s relentless seduction.
Less than forty-five minutes later, he was done.
“Thanks,” you smiled. “Sorry you had to come all the way here.”
He wiped his hands with a napkin and gave you a small smile. “It’s alright. It’s funny how, out of everyone you could’ve called, you called me.”
“But you came anyway,” you replied.
He looked at you, and you looked back.
Your throat suddenly went dry.
He didn’t break eye contact. It felt like he was staring straight into your soul.
This was only the second day Jia tried to flirt with him.
Tomorrow might be her last attempt.
Unacceptable.
“Um,” you broke eye contact first. “For some reason, I’m feeling a little off today.”
“Oh? Are you unwell?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Not exactly. But when you came along, you definitely turned me on.”
Silence.
He blinked.
You blinked.
You had never wanted to crawl into a grave more in your life.
“I—I’m sorry. That was too forward,” you rushed. “I just mean you look… familiar. Like my next boyfriend.”
He blinked again.
Still processing.
You scrambled for your keys. “Okay! Thanks again for today. I really like your jacket. I hope it’s made of boyfriend material.”
You mentally cursed yourself as you rushed into your car, started the engine, and sped off.
In every possible way, this was ridiculous. More ridiculous than Jeonghan using a frozen baguette from Paris as a hammer.
You seriously needed to have a dick in your personality to keep things in your pants.
To put it differently,
you don’t have a dick. You don’t own any balls, unfortunately.
Maybe you aren’t resilient enough. Or maybe you’re just not audacious enough to be like Jia with her relentless flirting.
One talent you were proud of was flirting without actually catching feelings.
Not something to brag about. Really.
The last time you fumbled your words this badly was when you were with Seungcheol.
This isn’t about him.
But this is Wonwoo you’re talking about. You feel like you’re taking advantage of him. Well… technically not. According to Chan, you’re just helping out. Out of care.
You don’t want to be a snollygoster.
You definitely don’t want him to think of you that way, toying with people’s feelings like they’re dodgeballs.
And why do you care so much about what he thinks of you anyway? You were already shameless before you even knew his name.
You bumped your head lightly against the bathroom door and let out a loooong sigh.
You didn’t know if you could face him after yesterday. He probably thinks you’re weird for suddenly hitting him with the lamest pickup lines in history.
You were panicking, okay?
Then you heard voices entering the bathroom.
“Seriously, what’s with this guy?” a familiar voice complained. “I tried small talk and he wouldn’t even look at me.”
Jia.
Here you were, eavesdropping. Again. You leaned closer to the stall door.
“I even wore low-rise jeans and everything. He doesn’t seem interested at all,” she scoffed. “Is he into men or something?”
You rolled your eyes. What did it matter to her anyway?
Their voices blurred until you caught the next line clearly.
“Fine,” she said, probably applying gloss. “I’ll just lock us in the janitor’s closet. Maybe that’ll bring out his real self. You know what they say—it’s always the quiet ones.”
Their laughter faded.
You stared at the door.
She was willing to go that far? Just to get back at her ex?
You used to like Seungcheol too, but you weren’t that crazy.
That wasn’t love for sure, definitely close to possession.
“….”
Wait.
This might be her last day to try.
Something gnawed at you.
Technically, Wonwoo didn’t need rescuing. But hell, you’d rather eat dirt than let Jia ruin your calculus buddy.
...
In the library, you hoped Jia hadn’t gotten to him yet.
You knew where to find Wonwoo. He always studied there after class. At least last semester.
Nothing wrong with trying.
You texted Chan to update you on Jia’s whereabouts, and surprisingly, he was very committed to the mission.
You just needed time.
Wow.
You felt like a possessive girlfriend already.
Anyway.
When Chan sent you a video attachment, you did not expect it to be Seungkwan “accidentally” spilling banana milk on Jia’s top.
You never told them to do that.
But apparently, you were enabling chaos.
Sometimes you feel like a bad person. At least that’s what seven-year-old Chan would’ve said.
Your eyes finally landed on a familiar pair of glasses.
He looked good.
What.
You absentmindedly fixed your hair and smoothed your clothes before walking over, placing your bag and books beside him.
He looked up.
You gave him a sheepish smile.
You used to study together. Strictly academic of course.
Now it felt like you had ulterior motives.
“Hi,” you said, as if you hadn’t practically confessed yesterday.
He blinked. “Hey. Studying?”
You nodded and sat down.
God, you used to send him random updates about how Chan’s disgusting farts and now this felt weirdly intimate.
You studied quietly beside him. One of his earphones was in, the other dangling.
He was completely focused.
“You know,” you said suddenly, “photosynthesis is basically how plants fart if you think about it.”
He looked up slowly.
“Pardon?”
No shit, your personality truly is just like that one drawer in the kitchen that’s just full of random stuff.
You tried again. “Chan did a backflip yesterday.”
“He did?” He actually sounded impressed.
“No,” you said flatly. “He’s too chicken. But it would’ve been cool.”
Silence.
Then he went back to studying.
Same old you, random TMI if it wasn't you.
“So…” you started. “Are you busy after this?”
“I have quizzes to submit,” he replied.
“Anything after that?”
“I need to pick up my family’s dog from daycare. Then send my bike to the workshop.”
“How about 6 p.m.?”
“I’ll probably be home by then. Why?”
You looked at him.
“So I can ask you out to dinner.”
Smooth.
He turned fully toward you now.
“…I don’t mind,” he said slowly, “but can we do it another day?”
Internally, you screamed.
“Okay,” you nodded quickly. “But I’m bad with directions. Even though I’ve had my license for a year.”
“I’ll send you the location.”
“How about your apartment?”
He stopped.
“Oh—I think I dropped something,” you said abruptly, leaning down.
He instinctively leaned down too. “What is it?”
You looked straight into his eyes.
“My jaw.”
He froze.
You sat back down like nothing happened.
Never mind.
Your phone buzzed violently. You received bombarded messages from Chan with his constant “abort mission” spamming in your phone.
Jia was on her way.
You needed to move.
“Do you do weddings?” you asked suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“Because someone I know needs someone important.”
“Depends. What kind of role?”
“The groom.”
Another silence.
“…What are you trying to say?” he sighed.
You couldn’t say, Someone’s trying to trap you in a janitor’s closet and going to fucked you up.
You don’t confront problems. You parkour over them.
And this wasn’t technically your problem.
“I like you,” you blurted.
He blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“I like you, Wonwoo. So… wanna be my boyfriend? I can do a backflip.”
“I—”
“Go out with me. I’m good at girlfriend stuff. I’m not a great kisser, but I can do origami.”
Your phone buzzed again.
Jia incoming.
“Look, I’m not sure—”
Before he could finish, you crashed your lips against his.
Your brain has officially clocked out.
He went still from shock.
You kissed him again, deeper this time, heart pounding.
When you pulled back, his eyes were wide.
You leaned close, barely brushing his lips. “Be mine,” you whispered. “Please.”
He didn’t move away.
So you kissed him again.
This time, slower.
You felt him stiffen. Then, gradually, melt into it. For once, you didn’t use your brain. The only other time you shut it off like this was during an exam.
Your head tilted slightly as you leaned closer to him, practically crushing him beneath your weight. You heard a small groan escape his lips.
Then he slowly grabbed your arms and pulled you back. You stared at him.
You couldn’t blame him, though.
“Listen…” he breathed, your faces only inches apart. When you tried to lean in again, he grunted and covered your mouth with his large palm. “Damn it, I’m trying to talk here. Be good.”
That made you freeze obediently.
Apparently.
He started again. “This is too sudden. I need you to be clear with me.”
You nodded.
“Good,” he said. “I’m sorry, but this is moving too fast—”
“Are you rejecting me?” you asked softly, your voice barely there. Your eyes looked like a kicked puppy.
He immediately stammered. The dejected look on your face made him feel like an asshole. “What? No! I wasn’t— I was just…” He paused, thinking. “I meant we should at least actually get to know each other.”
Oh.
Maybe you did a good job weaponizing your eyes. You never thought that trick would actually work. Or maybe you weren’t acting at all. Maybe you just hated the idea of being rejected. That old, familiar feeling of being unlovable creeping up on you again.
From a distance, you heard someone huff and stomp their feet.
That was probably Jia.
Mission accomplished.
Then... what?
Dear Chan,
whose presence I barely tolerate,
I must say, I’m beginning to think we made a mistake yesterday. Because there’s no way in hell I can look at Wonwoo the same anymore. You did a great job cockblocking Jia, and she looked pissed, alright.
Then again… at what cost?
Oh, where do I begin? I kissed him. And I asked him to be my boyfriend. I’m starting to think I’m about to die today—
“You know,” Chan started from beside you, “you can just say it to my face. You don’t need to write a whole email on your phone.”
You stopped typing and looked at him.
“It’s my inner monologue,” you replied. “My personal digital diary.”
“You do know I’m under no obligation to make it make sense to you, right?”
“Know thy lane and stayeth the fuck in it.”
“What the hell is that?”
“The prophecy,” you shot back.
“The prophecy can kiss my ass. That’s not a prophecy if you just made it clear it was a misunderstanding,” he retorted.
“Well—not my fault that you and Boo kept egging me on to hit him up,” you said dramatically, flailing your arms.
His face suddenly brightened.
He had spotted Wonwoo.
Wonwoo had just parked his bike, removing his helmet. Looking effortlessly handsome.
“Oh look, it’s your boyfriend,” Chan nudged you, nearly knocking you over.
You rubbed your arms and glared at him. “He’s not.”
“Might as well be soon,” he grinned.
Then he added, “By the way, that guy was looking for you.”
“Oh.” That’s all you managed.
Chan studied your face. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on him.”
“I’m not,” you huffed immediately.
But his eyes drifted past you toward Wonwoo again, and he let out a low, impressed whistle.
Black bike. Probably some BMW S1000RR–style superbike. His hair was slightly tousled after pulling off the helmet, and his jacket clung to him in a way that felt illegal.
You found yourself staring a little too long.
“Forget Seungcheol because goddaaaamn, papi,” Chan exaggerated, completely awestruck. “You know what? Get that bag, girl. I’d kiss him too.”
You blinked and turned to him with a frown.
“What?” he stared back.
“It’s not the time for eyefucking. I’m in a crisis.”
“So? Just try being in love with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll actually fall for him eventually.”
Before you could slap him across the face, he suddenly grabbed you.
“Chan—what the fu—”
He shoved you forward.
You stumbled straight into Wonwoo’s arms.
Your eyes widened. You looked up at him, then at Chan, who was already giggling and running away.
Slowly, you stepped back from Wonwoo. “Sorry about that. Chan’s being annoying.”
You cleared your throat and fixed your hair.
“It’s alright,” he replied, setting his helmet aside. “Are you okay now?”
You blinked, trying not to fumble your words at how gentle his voice sounded. Your face was heating up.
“Oh—um. I’m alright. Really.”
Then yesterday hit you.
Sure, Jia might’ve backed off… but was she really gone? Her ego was as big as the Pacific Ocean.
“So… how’s my boyfriend doing?” you suddenly said.
He froze mid-motion while adjusting his bike key and slowly turned to stare at you.
“…Boyfriend?”
God, you wanted to eat dirt.
But you know what they say, the more shameless you are, the greater you become.
“Yeah. Boyfriend,” you said. “Am I not your girlfriend?”
He paused, about to say something, then closed his mouth.
“Who decided that?” he asked. “I don’t remember being your boyfriend.”
Since he didn’t deny it… technically, that’s a win.
“Well, you did,” you replied casually. “The moment I kissed you, I already declared us boyfriend and girlfriend.”
He stared at you, incredulous.
“Why?” you asked softly. “You don’t want me to be your girlfriend?”
There it was again, that look. That voice. Like you were one breath away from crying.
He carefully considered his words. Instead of answering, he grabbed his bag and took your hand.
“Let’s go. I’ll walk you to class.”
And just like that, he led you forward.
Oh my God.
You pressed your lips together, trying so hard not to break into a stupid grin as he guided you.
He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.
And somehow… that made it worse.
…
Sometimes, having someone who waits for you is a great thing.
And the problem is… you don’t know how long this whole “boyfriend-girlfriend” thing between you and Wonwoo is going to last.
You want to scream. Maybe cry a little.
What the hell are you even doing?
Go with the flow?
The only thing flowing right now is your shameless, stupid chain of actions and their consequences.
You’re fucked.
Not literally.
At least not yet. Maybe later.
So what now? You’re going to see his face every day without the constant reminder of, hey, this was all a mistake and you’re about to get exposed!
Chan keeps convincing you that you’re not messing with him. Maybe it didn’t start on the right foot, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make it real.
Right?
Or maybe Wonwoo just feels bad for you.
Yeah. That makes more sense.
There’s no way he’d genuinely want to be with someone who apologizes to the floor after tripping over it.
If you’re wrong, then Chan aced his test, Seungkwan quit drinking, and Jeonghan stopped collecting rocks from unknown places.
Exactly.
Your class ended, and somehow your first instinct was to find Wonwoo.
You saw him waiting, leaning against his bike while scrolling through his phone.
When he noticed you approaching, he looked up and smiled, straightening himself.
Now that you think about it…
He’s kind of cute.
His smile, you mean.
“Did you finish your class?” he asked, his voice softer than you remembered.
Your stomach immediately did that stupid fish-flipping thing.
God. Just kill me.
Seriously, what is wrong with me?
You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. I only had one class today. What about you?”
“Just finished a while ago.” He tilted his head slightly. “Have you eaten yet?”
You paused before shaking your head. “Does a cup of coffee this morning count?”
He gave you a look then nodded once, like he expected that answer. Without another word, he reached for your hand and started leading you somewhere.
Gah damn.
You feel like an idiot right now. You obviously know where he’s taking you, but you ask anyway just to feed your tiny, fragile ego.
“Where are we off to, boyfriend?”
“To eat. Since you haven’t.”
You swear you can practically hear Chan’s stupid grin from across campus, hyping you up. He will never let you live this down.
You have to physically restrain the giggle threatening to escape.
Then suddenly, from a distance, you spot a familiar figure.
Cheol.
Of course.
You want absolutely nothing to do with him.
You quickly tug on Wonwoo’s sleeve. He turns to look at you, puzzled with the sudden tug. And before you can overthink it, you lean up and kiss him.
He freezes.
He pulls back slightly and stares at you.
“Sorry,” you say quickly, trying not to make it weird. “Um… I just missed you so much.”
It takes him a second to process that.
Before he can respond, you grab his hand tighter and drag him away.
...
People always say if you’re going to be in a relationship, you have to be prepared to take the bitter with the sweet.
You know that. Realistically speaking.
That’s how you always end up anyway. When you fall in love, you don’t really think about the consequences.
And apparently, in this situation, you have absolutely no idea how to handle this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing with Wonwoo. At some point, he’s going to find out the truth anyway.
So what’s actually bothering you?
The fact that you started this whole thing, randomly adopting him and declaring he’s your boyfriend just so someone else wouldn’t snatch him?
Or the fact that you weren’t serious about it in the first place?
Or… are you just scared he might actually end up liking you?
Wait.
Let’s not go that far.
Yes, he technically accepted the whole boyfriend-girlfriend label. He never denied it. He could’ve said no.
But he didn’t.
This is so confusing.
At the very least, he takes the “boyfriend” role seriously.
Unlike your previous situationship.
Love-bombed you. Then ghosted you.
Classic.
On the bright side, you’re not addicted to cocaine.
Just caffeine.
On another bright side, you’re seriously considering slapping Chan because why the hell are he and Seungkwan sitting at the same table as you and Wonwoo at the campus café?
“So,” Seungkwan started, sipping his americano while eyeing both of you, “how did you two become official?”
You quietly sipped your caramel macchiato, which Wonwoo paid for.
And when you tried to take out your card earlier, he just looked at you and paid anyway.
You had to physically hold back a fat grin, pretending you weren’t internally screaming that he paid for you.
The bar is in hell.
Wonwoo thought for a moment before answering calmly, “She gave me a pick-up line.”
They snickered and nudged each other, not even trying to hide how annoying they were being.
From the looks of it, they were definitely about to drag you.
Much to Wonwoo’s obliviousness.
“I know,” you said sweetly, smiling at them. “I can give you one too. I like to think I’m creative.”
They both made exaggerated “ooh” sounds, already giggling.
You rolled your eyes. “Chan, I really hope you’re from Europe.”
He blinked.
“Because europiece of shit.”
Wonwoo’s lips pressed together.
Chan’s smile dropped. “Oh come on. That’s not even creative. My grandma could come up with that.”
“Oh yeah? Can your grandma do a backflip? I bet she can’t.”
Sometimes you hate when people say you need to be the bigger person.
If anything, all of you can go to hell together.
“This is why you easily lost to that Jia girl,” Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You’re easily overstimulated. I hope you know that.”
Coming from him was wild.
But at the mention of her, in front of Wonwoo made you stiffened.
Still, you tried not to make it obvious that she was the entire reason you’re in this situation.
“I wasn’t overstimulated,” you huffed, sipping your drink. “Grounding techniques don’t work for me, especially in public. ‘Name five things you can see’ but the only thing I see is a bunch of people pissing me off.”
You heard Wonwoo stifle a quiet chuckle beside you.
That was cute.
What.
Anyway.
“Okay, that was actually funny,” Chan admitted. “How do you even come up with that?”
Another suppressed laugh from Wonwoo.
“What can I say? I learned from the best,” you said proudly, puffing your chest. “Isn’t that right, boyfriend?”
You turned to him with a cutesy voice, not realizing your hands had been intertwined with his under the table the whole time.
At that, Seungkwan almost spat out his coffee.
You were offended.
“That part wasn’t supposed to be funny,” you deadpanned. “I hope you know that, Boo.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No way. I just choked on coffee beans.”
“Really?” Chan peered into his americano. “Thought it was perfectly blended.”
“You know there’s this thing called sarcasm?”
And just like that, they started debating coffee brewing theory like two unemployed baristas.
You decided to ignore the boys.
Instead, you focused on your ‘boyfriend’ beside you.
He had ordered a strawberry frappuccino for himself.
How cute.
WHAT.
You seriously need to stop thinking he’s cute.
But now that you think about it…
You remembered how he used to give you those carton strawberry milk from the vending machine when you had class together last semester.
The first time you noticed one sitting beside him, you casually mentioned that you loved that brand.
He immediately offered it to you, saying he actually meant to grab chocolate milk but the machine gave him strawberry instead.
“Not really my thing,” he had said.
So he gave it to you.
And somehow… every single class after that, there was always a strawberry milk waiting on your desk.
The strawberry milk had always been waiting for you.
Wonwoo reminds you a little of your dad. The moment you tell him you like a specific snack, he’ll buy it over and over until you’re sick of it.
You didn’t realize how much you missed that stupid carton strawberry milk agenda until now.
Maybe that’s just how he shows he cares.
Quietly.
Or maybe… he’s been caring the whole time.
Not just when he patiently taught you complicated equations. Not just when he stayed back after class because you always took forever to pack your things. Not just when he waited for you and walked you to the cafeteria or your next class even when his was on the opposite side of campus. Not just when he saved you the seat beside him because the middle row was always full.
Maybe it was always there.
And you were too busy being dramatic to see it.
Ah.
That realization made your chest ache a little.
Because what even was that?
Here you were, hoping Cheol would give you roses and the moon on Valentine’s Day when you weren’t even a thing. Giggling over his simple “good morning” texts, only to receive nothing after a whole day class.
Not that you could blame him. Hoping for more was probably too much when there was never a label to begin with. You thought you were something.
Turns out, you were just… convenient.
Gut-wrenching, honestly.
He never promised anything. Never compromised anything.
Maybe it really was your fault for wanting more.
And you hated feeling like this.
Did you ask for too much?
Or were you just never clear about what you wanted?
You’re such an idiot sometimes.
Noticing your subtle downcast expression, Wonwoo brushed his thumb gently over your intertwined hands.
“You’re not hungry anymore?” he asked softly.
God.
That tone again.
You snapped out of your thoughts and shook your head, shoving the anxiety aside as you scooped lasagna into your mouth.
You should not be spiraling. He literally paid for this.
“Nope. I’m very hungry, alright,” you said mid-bite.
He smiled and dabbed at the corner of your lips with a tissue.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Is the semester that hard this time?”
“Not really,” you muttered while chewing. “Maybe the lab reports are just a hassle. What about you? Software engineering must be fun.”
“Mm. I guess,” he shrugged lightly. “If you like complexity, it’s exciting.”
You nodded slowly, then offered him a small spoonful of lasagna. He accepted it without hesitation.
“Yeah. No. I don’t think that’s fun,” you grimaced. Then, casually, “By the way… I thought you weren’t a fan of strawberries?”
You gestured toward his strawberry frappuccino.
“…Ah.” He blinked, glancing down at the drink like he’d just remembered something. “I just felt like drinking it today. It tastes nice.”
“May I?” you asked, already leaning in to take a sip from his straw.
Basically making an indirect kiss.
Again.
He simply nodded, letting you drink it like this was completely normal.
Meanwhile, across the table, Chan and Seungkwan witnessed the entire exchange.
They loudly slurped their half-finished drinks, making exaggerated straw noises.
Birds of fucking feather.
Arguing with them was pointless. They were doing it on purpose.
You swore that you have no anger issues. People just make you want to develop them.
And unfortunately, those people are your friends.
Sore losers.
“Yeeeah, you know what?” Seungkwan stood up first. “We’re going to leave you lovebirds now. I’m a busy man.”
“Mhm. I think I have class after this,” Chan added, about to stand.
You kicked his leg under the table.
“Ow! What was that for? Not even a thank you?”
“Sit and stay,” you said sternly, then looked at Seungkwan. “And I know for a fact media studies isn’t that busy. Liar.”
If anything, you’re the busy one here.
Busy overthinking. Busy pretending.
Busy trying not to realize that maybe… just maybe…
This isn’t fake anymore.
They say to be in love is to be seen.
It baffles you that it’s been almost five weeks since this… “boyfriend-girlfriend” thing with Wonwoo started.
You refused to call it a relationship properly, not technically, at least because this didn’t happen purely out of love or devotion.
It’s not like Wonwoo was wishy-washy with you during this time. In fact, he was far more committed than some people who never even show up for 5% of group participation.
Unlike someone who just left you breadcrumbing.
But Wonwoo has his own flaws. You couldn’t even call them flaws. Because…
Wonwoo is just Wonwoo.
He never texted unless you initiated first on random days. His messages were dry, yes, but that’s just the way he was.
Maybe it was because you got used to it when you first met him last semester as your calculus buddy.
If it were someone else, you would have rolled your eyes and muttered, “man, he’s dry as hellllll,” because you’d overthink every single nonchalant message.
You did call him that once.
And you decided never again.
The more you thought about the past every moment, every little habit you observed when you were friends, it felt like you were holding onto tiny pieces of him.
Damn.
You wished your memory worked that well for formulas too.
But instead of feeling haunted, it felt… pleasing. Everything about being with him was easy.
He may not be the first texter, but he always checked in, making sure you arrived home safely, asking if you’d eaten, offering to bring something before you even got to campus.
He never really asked you about your day; he preferred to hear it from you face-to-face.
And somehow, you’d realized… he was a really good listener.
You weren’t an oaf or a fiasco, obviously.
But damn…
He’s a damn good boyfriend.
You don’t exactly remember the last time a relationship felt this… easy. It’s not the rush of adrenaline or butterflies though those exist but something quieter, something steady.
One thing you’d realized: he’s always been the one you keep coming back to. The one you run to, the one you can rely on without thinking twice.
You both were caring friends before this. So it felt… natural, to show gestures and affection. Nothing changed between you two, except for a little hand-holding here, a few soft kisses there.
You know what they say: when you like someone, you naturally want to do nice things for them.
In your case, sometimes being nice isn’t tied to affection. You compliment Chan’s ridiculous haircuts, tease Seungkwan mercilessly, make Vernon laugh until he chokes on his coffee. And Wonwoo…
Even in the current “relationship,” you’d always been nice to him. As a friend, as a calculus buddy, even cracking fart jokes fifty times in a row. It all just… happened.
You admit it, you like being around him. Even when he’s quiet. Even when you ramble about everything, ask too many questions, or repeat the same mistakes in tutorials. Even when you cling to him during class because you’re flunking.
That’s probably why you keep coming back.
And maybe… the whole Jia mess made you take him even more personally. You don’t want anyone pawing at him. You definitely take that personally, and now that he’s yours, you feel… possessive.
Woah. Hold on.
Yeah. Definitely possessive. Never knew you had it in you.
You were waiting at the vending machine, tapping your foot impatiently as it swallowed your money.
“Woah there, you’re gonna get sued for destroying property,” a voice chuckled behind you, snatching the drink from the machine.
You blinked. Of course it was Mingyu, grinning at you like it was a normal Tuesday.
“Well… it ate my money and didn’t give me my drink,” you muttered.
He pressed a button and a new drink slid down. “Chill. I got you.”
A brief silence.
“It’s been a while. How’ve you—”
“Fuck you,” you cut him off, immediately regretting nothing.
He blinked, mouth agape. “What was that for?”
“Nothing,” you muttered, barely hiding your bite about your last… situationship.
He handed over the soda. “Here. Don’t drink it all in one go.”
Your eyes landed on two cartons beside it, chocolate milk and strawberry. And you thought of Wonwoo.
“Really? Didn’t know you were into strawberry,” you said, teasing.
Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. This is for Wonwoo.”
Wait. Didn’t Wonwoo say he preferred chocolate over strawberry?
“Oh,” you said slowly.
Mingyu corrected himself with a shrug. “Sorry, it’s for my friend. I’m used to calling him that sometimes… not everyone knows him.”
So he thinks you don’t know him. Interesting. You had heard Wonwoo mention Mingyu before, but never that they were close. And apparently, Wonwoo hadn’t said anything about being in a relationship…
Wow. Relief mixed with panic. What if Mingyu accidentally snitched?
“I… know him,” you admitted. “We’re in the same class last semester.”
His face brightened. He clearly didn’t know his best friend was now in a relationship.
Whatever it is, you wondered how Wonwoo even ended up friends with Mingyu. Mingyu, the social butterfly, while Wonwoo prefers a small circle. He rarely talks about his social life… except with you, which you didn’t mind at all.
“Oh, cool,” Mingyu said, glancing at his watch. “Anyway, got to go, shortcake. See you when I see you.”
You waved as he slowly disappeared down the hallway.
In every possible way, you were going to need a lot of prayers and a little bit of luck to navigate this relationship.
Because quiet, steady, easy love is one thing. But keeping it under the radar? That’s a whole other game.
...
Chan once pointed out that you and Wonwoo were the epitome of “Love Is in the Air.” As if you’d ever believe that.
Or so you thought.
Because apparently, whenever he looked at both of you, it reminded him of his parents. And that’s how they ended up having him. Which explains why his parents still look suspiciously young.
You told him to shut up.
Still, the comment lingered longer than you wanted it to.
You’ve always been aware that you wear your heart on your sleeve. Blame your lovable parents for raising you in a home where affection wasn’t scarce. And yet somehow, you still managed to get sad over a guy who wasn’t even serious about you.
For someone who had a decent childhood, you sure had questionable romantic encounters.
And frankly… you’ve figured that Wonwoo might be more similar to you than you initially thought.
He’s a good kid.
In this situation, you are calm. Almost way too calm but at the same time, there’s this small anxiety clawing at you because you weren’t honest from the beginning.
No matter how much Chan tries to reason that you’ll eventually grow into it, you can’t shake the thought.
They say when a heart is forced into something it doesn’t want, it slowly dies.
But your heart doesn’t feel like it’s dying.
If anything, it feels… natural. Easy and alive.
Which confuses you more.
What your heart definitely doesn’t want right now, however, is folding another dumpling wrapper.
You and Chan were helping Seungkwan prepare dumplings for his volunteering project at the Carat Retirement Home. Apparently, homemade dumplings feel more “heartfelt.”
Your hands were sore. You just finished your hundredth dumpling. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” you muttered, mid-annoyance.
“Tell me about it,” Chan sighed, placing another neatly folded one onto the tray before immediately starting the next. He was disturbingly efficient.
Seungkwan was already packing another batch, while Vernon worked quietly beside him, focused like he was solving world hunger instead of sealing dumplings.
“Because you guys are my friends,” Seungkwan replied dramatically, patting the sealed box. “And friends stick together.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You said that last time when you made us carry fifty chairs.”
“And?”
“And I developed trust issues.”
Chan snorted at that and Vernon smiled faintly without looking up.
Seungkwan pointed his flour-covered finger at you. “Also, don’t think I didn’t notice.”
You froze when you heard his almost accusatory tone, “Notice what?”
“The glow.”
Chan gasped loudly. “SEE? I TOLD YOU.”
“There is no glow,” you deadpanned.
“There is,” Seungkwan insisted. “You and Wonwoo are disgusting lately.”
You nearly dropped your dumpling. “Excuse me?”
“Disgustingly in love,” Chan corrected, nodding seriously.
You scoffed. “We barely even kiss.”
Vernon finally spoke, calm as ever. “It’s not about that.”
The three of them looked at you like you were the last person to realize something obvious.
“It’s the way he looks at you,” Chan said softly this time. There’s not a hint of teasing behind it.
Your hands stilled.
You swallowed. “He doesn’t.”
“He does,” Seungkwan said. “Like you hung the moon or something.”
That made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t like.
Because if that’s true, if he really does look at you like that—
Then what are you doing?
You weren’t even honest at the start. You kissed him knowing your feelings were messy. You claimed him when you were still sorting yourself out.
And yet…
Your heart doesn’t feel forced. It doesn’t feel pressured.
It feels rather… safe.
And that might be the scariest part of all.
Chan nudged your shoulder. “You’re overthinking again.”
You sighed and picked up another wrapper. “Shut up and fold your dumplings.”
But deep down, you couldn’t stop wondering.
If he really sees you, when will you be brave enough to see him back?
You hated that your friends’ greatest research skills weren’t academic. It was being nosy bitches with investigative journalism degrees in your love life.
After an hour, the dumpling massacre finally ended. Everything was packed nicely, sealed properly, stacked like you were preparing for war. Somehow, random side quests always squeezed themselves into your schedule.
Still, it was better than entertaining some fuckable situationship that drained your soul and GPA at the same time.
“Come to think of it…” Seungkwan scratched his head, leaning over the stack of boxes. “I don’t think any of my committee members can help send these. Or lend their car.”
Chan exhaled sharply. “Seriously, dude? They didn’t help make dumplings and now they won’t even help deliver, what kind of NPC teammates are these?”
Vernon stared at the five—no, six boxes. “These are a lot. A seven-seater would do.”
Then all three of them slowly turned to you.
You avoided eye contact immediately.
Of course. You’re the only one with a car. The designated driver. The unpaid driver service.
“What?” you blinked. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Seungkwan’s smile curled dangerously. “You know I love you, right?”
“Ew. Fuck off.”
“I’ll pay your petrol.”
You scoffed. “Still no. I don’t drive in the rain. You know I don’t do that.”
Rain made your hands tense. Made your mind spiral. The nicest thing about rain is that it always stops. Eventually. You remember that from Winnie the Pooh. You still watch it sometimes.
Chan suddenly perked up, an evil genius smile forming. “I know. Ask your boyfriend.”
You frowned immediately, mildly defensive. “Look. He can’t. Don’t drag him into this.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just ask him to drive. It’s not a crime. We’ll hang out after. You won’t even have to send us home.”
“And what makes you think he would?” you challenged.
Seungkwan didn’t hesitate. “For you? He would.”
Silence.
“…It’s not going to happen,” you muttered while already scrolling through your contacts.
You glanced up. “…You think so?”
The three of them collectively nodded.
For fuck’s sake.
Sometimes it felt like these idiots were just exploiting your assets. But to be fair, they paid for petrol and took turns driving.
Still… asking Wonwoo felt heavier. Even though he never once made you feel like a burden.
“…I haven’t called him yet,” you said, watching them already start cleaning up like it was confirmed.
Chan shrugged while rearranging chairs. “He’ll say yes. He never denies you.”
Heat crept up your neck.
As much as you wanted to argue, he wasn’t wrong.
Wonwoo never says no. Not when you hesitate. Not when you ramble. Not even when you’re clearly spiraling.
Like he’d move heaven and earth for you.
And before you could properly process the weight of that thought, you called him.
You explained everything.
And he came in the end.
Obviously he did.
Now you’re watching the boys load the boxes into your car trunk. When you tried lifting one, Wonwoo gently took it from you.
“I’ll do it,” he said simply.
You stared at his back for a second too long.
You always complain your taste in men is trash. So why are you praising the bare minimum?
That’s what they say, right? Love comes wrapped in dough.
“Can you tie the knot?” Seungkwan gestured at Chan.
“No, I cannot.” He replied.
“So you can knot?”
“Not knot.”
“Knot knot?”
Vernon chimed in smoothly, “Who’s there?”
Seungkwan groaned, not in the time to be funny. “Hansol!”
“Hansol who?”
That’s how the three of them derailed into a full knot-knot-who’s-there argument while you just stood there.
You turned to Wonwoo.
“Sorry for calling you out of nowhere,” you said softly. “It was last minute. Seungkwan’s team bailed.”
He shook his head, hands sliding into his pockets. In the distance, your friends were still arguing about knots.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I didn’t have much to do on campus anyway. And your friends are… fun.”
You smiled at that. A real one.
“Do you want to join us after this?” you asked, hopeful.
Your friends are your pride. You might be unlucky in love, but you’re blessed with these chaotic idiots.
Wonwoo looked at you for a second, just at you.
Then he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
And something about how quickly he agreed made your chest tighten again.
Because Chan was right.
He never denies you.
And you don’t know if that makes you lucky or feeling terrified about it.
…
After completing your little side quest, your three friends kept insisting on going for a hangout afterward. Karaoke, as usual. It’s not like it’s the first time you guys have done this. More often than not, honestly.
Not to mention you had to snap at them every five seconds from the passenger seat while Wonwoo was driving. The car radio was blasting through Bluetooth, “Party in the USA” by Miley Cyrus, their choice, obviously.
Then you ended up at a photobooth, squeezing all five of you into the tiny space. You honestly couldn’t remember how many photobooth strips you had back in your room with your friends from high school, committees, and now them.
But this was the first time you had one with Wonwoo.
You smiled at the group photo of your friends with your boyfriend included, of course.
Then it occurred to you.
Shouldn’t you take one with him? Just the two of you?
You glanced at the three idiots, still crowding the mirror with cute headbands, arguing about whether they should be three bears or minions.
So you poked Wonwoo and sheepishly dragged him back into the booth. “Let’s take a picture. Just the two of us.”
For some reason, you felt a little too giddy. You weren’t sure if it was your pure excitement over adding to your photobooth collection, which you always loved or simply the fact that it was with him. Your first one as boyfriend and girlfriend.
He let you have your way, as usual. But this time, he actually contributed posing properly, leaning in, following your lead. You felt genuinely happy, without feeling anxious or overthinking.
When the third camera click sounded, you pressed your lips against his cheek, catching him off guard.
He froze for half a second.
Then he leaned in.
The fourth photo captured your face half-covered as he kissed you back, making you giggle.
When the session ended, Wonwoo looked at the preview screen.
“Should we retake the last one?” he asked.
You studied it for a moment. It looked natural. Genuine. So you shook your head and pressed the screen to print.
“No. It looks great already.”
When the machine finally dispensed the photo strips, you grabbed them excitedly.
“Aren’t we the cutest pair?” you showed him.
His lips curled softly. “We are.”
The rest was history.
The rain had stopped by then, and your stupidly annoying friends suggested going to the beach.
Not that you minded but Wonwoo was the one driving. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind at all.
What you were actually worried about was whether he ever felt overwhelmed around your circle. They could be chaotic. Not everyone could keep up.
It wasn’t his first time hanging out with them. Somehow, wherever you went, he was there too. Your friends were more than happy to third-wheel. It was like they had unofficially adopted him into the group.
Not that you minded.
Wonwoo once said they were lively to be around. That there was never a boring day with them, even if he mostly observed.
When you asked about his own friends, he didn’t say much. He did mention Mingyu though, pretty confidently. Maybe that was his way of showing how close they were.
The three boys walked ahead of you both, laughing and lightly kicking sand at each other while trash-talking. Probably Seungkwan and Chan.
You suddenly felt like something was missing. Your hand went to your bangs. Your cherry hair clip was gone.
Wonwoo noticed your expression immediately. “Something wrong?” His hand rested gently behind your back as you both slowed down.
“…My cherry clip. I think I lost it in the mall bathroom.”
To be specific, it was a gift from Seungcheol. Don’t ask. You wore it because it was there. Because you told yourself it should be useful for something.
He blinked slightly at your expression. It might seem silly to anyone else but clearly, it wasn’t nothing to you.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. It looked newly bought.
Inside were two strawberry hair clips.
They were ridiculously cute. Your eyes sparkled instantly.
“Here…” He opened the packaging and gently clipped your bangs aside. He smiled at how it revealed your forehead slightly.
He always liked when you wore hair clips while studying in the library.
“…Better?” he asked quietly.
You absentmindedly touched the clip and nodded.
“When did you buy this?” you chuckled softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been hiding more things from me.”
You were joking.
Until he pulled out another velvet blue box.
You blinked.
“Oh. I did, actually,” he said with a low chuckle. “At first I planned to buy it because it reminded me of you. Then I figured… I just wanted to give you something nice.”
Inside was a golden heart-shaped locket.
Your face lit up as you held it in your palm.
“Let me,” he murmured, stepping closer.
He fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing against your bare nape. Warm hands resting briefly on your shoulders.
When you turned to face him, you instinctively held the pendant between your fingers.
“I love it,” you beamed. “Thank you. You didn’t have to—it’s too sweet.”
He shook his head. “I told you. I wanted to.”
Damn.
Your heart felt like it might burst. “Is there anything I can give you in return?”
He chuckled softly, your hands naturally intertwining. “Just you.”
You smiled shyly.
Maybe Chan was right. Maybe love really is in the air when you’re around each other.
“Did you know you can’t spell love?” you asked.
He tilted his head, genuinely intrigued like he always was with your random thoughts. “How does that work?”
“You don’t spell it,” you said, swinging your intertwined hands. “You feel it.”
His smile widened. “Was that supposed to make my heart flutter? Because it worked. How do you even come up with these things?”
You laughed. “I’m unoriginal. It’s from a conversation between Pooh and Piglet from Winnie the Pooh.”
You continued thoughtfully, brushing the locket. “You know, this reminds me of that quote… ‘If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart. I'll stay there forever.’”
You shrugged lightly. “I first saw it on my mom’s Facebook when I was ten. I loved that show. Spent a lot of time watching it with my cousin.”
“That’s sweet,” he said softly.
You shook your head. “But the meaning isn’t really my favorite. It’s often used for condolences or long-distance relationships. Like love surviving separation.”
He noticed the small pout on your face and gently lifted your chin.
“Does that make you sad?” he asked. “You don’t have to see it that way. It can be positive too. If you ever miss me, or if I’m not around, you can think of it as carrying a little piece of me with you.”
Your smile returned, softer this time.
That fish-flipping feeling stirred in your stomach again.
Slowly, the air shifted.
His hand wrapped a little closer around your waist. His head dipped slightly.
And before you fully processed it, he leaned down and kissed you.
You let him, your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him back.
For the first time, you turned your brain off and let the moment happen.
A real kiss. Not the quick peck, or rush ones.
And you didn’t pull away.
You fell asleep during the car ride, your eyes slowly opening when you remembered that Wonwoo had probably dropped your friends off, leaving just the two of you.
Yawning softly, rubbing your eyes with your sleeves, your half-sleepy voice mumbled,
“...Sorry, I must’ve dozed off during the long ride.”
“It’s alright, it’s been a long day,” he reassured, his eyes still on the road. “You can rest a bit. I’ll wake you up.”
You remembered that his place was probably far from your apartment. From the looks of the surroundings, it might’ve taken a while to reach yours first.
“What about you then, if you drop me off at my place?”
“I’ll just take a cab later. I need to send your car there.”
You thought for a moment. “Can I just stay over at your place? It’s going to be a long ride if you go back from mine. Besides, your place is almost there.”
He turned to you as the light went red. “You sure?”
You nodded.
Technically speaking, he’d been driving the whole day. You felt bad if he had to travel again just because of you. That’s what you told yourself that it was to lessen his burden.
Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s heart pounded rapidly at the mention of it.
This would be the very first time you were coming over to his apartment. Come to think of it, he didn’t even realize how easily he had agreed.
He never denies you. He never has.
And when he saw you sleeping soundly later, looking so peaceful on his bed, he felt like it was all a dream.
You in his space. It almost drove him insane. He couldn’t believe this was happening but he knew it wouldn’t last forever.
Because he knew.
It wasn’t real in the first place.
You weren’t honest with him.
When your anxious eyes looked at him with that hint of uncertainty. Those trembling lips. The way you suddenly grew nervous talking to him after not seeing him for so long after that semester.
He already knew.
It all started with Jia throwing herself at him. He had his suspicions. He’d seen her at a few parties, the one or two times he went with Mingyu. Parties were never really his style.
He knew the kind of group she was associated with. Mingyu might’ve been acquainted with them, but he never truly mixed with that crowd. It wasn’t hard to guess her intentions.
It was almost hilarious at first when he noticed you weren’t even subtle about hinting something was going on, yet he let you.
Because it had been a while since he last talked to you. Because he has always liked you.
Since that semester, you were both taking the same class. He met you on the second day when you arrived late, wearing a cat hair clip beside your bangs. Wonwoo thought you were cute.
Then you sat beside him and started asking what topic the professor had covered.
His impression died quickly when you kept saying you didn’t understand half of it.
It was only week two. Then it became a routine.
The professor always had his eyes on you, and you’d sheepishly smile. You were probably the slowest in class but that didn’t mean you were stupid.
At first, he found it bothersome. You kept tapping his shoulder, asking how and why, like you knew it would annoy him. You barely knew each other, yet you kept coming back to him like a cat waiting for treats.
To be frank, you stuck to him the entire semester.
When he asked your major and you answered “chemical engineering,” he was speechless.
How were you majoring in that and still struggling in calculus.
He didn’t say much. He helped you willingly just for that semester while trying not to suck in his breath too loudly at how clingy and close you were whenever you sat beside him.
Have you always been like this with others?
He later learned you were just naturally affectionate.
When he saw you with your friends, he genuinely thought you were already taken. You never cared much about proximity. You were always comfortable, always open.
He may or may not have casually slipped in a question about your relationship status.
Just curious.
When you told him you were single, his heart leaped.
Since then, he couldn’t remember how it started, saving seats for you, waiting for you to pack your things before walking out together.
Listening to you ramble about half your life. Joining you for lunch because you hadn’t eaten since morning.
Heck, he even lied about preferring chocolate milk and gave you his strawberry one.
He loved strawberries.
And since then, he always brought an extra carton of strawberry milk to leave on your desk during class. Even at the library.
What kind of guy walks a girl to her next class when his own is on the other side of campus?
A guy with a massive crush.
Then one day, he saw you giggling at your phone.
He asked what was funny, thinking it was another meme you’d send him at 3 a.m. When you admitted you were talking to someone your face flushed, shyly talking about your crush.
His heart broke a little.
You liked someone.
He hoped, foolishly, that maybe it was him and it wasn’t.
You said his name.
Choi Seungcheol.
He knew that guy. A close friend of Mingyu’s. The type from frat parties he only attended once and never again.
That’s the guy you’re into?
You were the polar opposite of him. You were sweet, bright and charming. You deserved more than some random fuckboy who wasn’t serious about long-term relationships.
He noticed the way your eyes lingered on your phone more than once. The troubled look. The waiting. Always waiting.
You came to class looking more exhausted each day.
He hated seeing you like that.
He wanted the 9 a.m. version of you cracking jokes the moment you stepped into class.
But he couldn’t do anything.
Because he wasn’t the person you wanted and it hurt because it would never be him.
Study week came. Exams happened.
And just like that, the semester ended.
You were only meant to be friends in that specific chapter of life.
It ended as naturally as it began.
He was devastated when you stopped talking to him. No more laughter and random updates.
They said old habits die hard. He got used to your presence and he didn’t want to forget it.
Wonwoo had so much love to give you and you didn’t want it. He couldn’t have your heart because it was never his to begin with. He couldn’t give his to anyone else because it was only meant for you. It was so fucking heavy and he had nowhere to put it.
He genuinely loved you. The thought of never seeing you again killed him inside.
So when his long-time crush suddenly kissed him.
His heart stopped. He knew you didn’t mean it yet you did it anyway. He was confused. Why would you go this far? Force yourself like that?
He wanted to clear the misunderstanding.
But…
When else would he ever get the chance to be close to you again? So he took it. That fucking opportunity.
You claimed he was your boyfriend.
He let you kiss him first and when you asked things of him. He would literally drop everything for you.
He could see your hesitation and guilt. The way you tried not to cross certain boundaries.
He knew it wasn’t real but if you needed him, he would let you use him.
You might not like him the way he wanted but he tried his fucking best to make you love him.
You’ll eventually love him.
Right?
He loves you with all his heart. But he knows you haven’t fully healed. He knows he can never replace the place Seungcheol once had.
And even though it aches him. He foolishly hopes that every gesture, every word, every ounce of love he pours into you will someday reach your heart.
He wants you to accept all of him.
And it hurts.
He had hoped that one day, you would change your mind about him. That you would simply accept him and the heart he has always held out for you.
Because the moment you start to feel nothing, the moment you decide to end everything.
That would be the day his world crumbles.
You are his world. His entire fucking universe.
So he appreciates every single day he gets to spend with you. Every small moment. Every insignificant touch.
He is terrified that one morning he’ll wake up to you telling him you want to break up. That is his biggest nightmare.
So he takes whatever version of you he can get.
If you break up, he doesn’t just lose you as a girlfriend. He loses you entirely. And he knows you wouldn’t talk to him anymore. Who even talks to their ex?
The moment you no longer need him anymore, that would be the day something inside him dies. Why build something if you’re just going to walk away from it? It doesn’t make sense.
Your heart is too genuine to feel absolutely nothing. You must have felt something, even if it’s small and even if it’s barely there. He clings to that possibility. His heart has always been yours. With patience, open and still waiting.
And now, here he was. Sitting on his couch, head thrown back, breath uneven as his hand moved against his cock at the thought of you.
His glasses were somewhere on the floor. On the coffee table sat your recent photobooth strips and the polaroids from the beach of your smiles frozen in glossy paper.
It was all too consuming.
You were innocently sleeping in his bed and he was out here, fisting his cock at the thought of you.
He’s a bastard, he thinks.
You are so precious to him. So sacred that he can’t even bring himself to lie beside you, afraid that if he does, he won’t be able to stop himself from touching you the way he truly wants to.
It hurts him. So fucking much.
All the yearning. The pining. The wanting.
He knows it’s unhealthy. He knows the way he craves you borders on obsession.
But he wants you.
All of you.
Only for him.
His grip tightens around his dick as he thinks about your smile and your laughter. The way your cheeks flush when you’re embarrassed.
He’s a bastard for getting turned on by the smallest touches the way your fingers fit so perfectly between his. The way your lips linger just half a second too long. He’s a bastard for wanting to devour you whole when you kissed him. And he’s a bastard for loving you so deeply while desiring you in the most intoxicating way.
Sometimes he wonders if that makes him no different from Seungcheol.
But at least he’s genuine. At least he loves you.
And if he ever saw Seungcheol around campus again, he’d consider it a blessing because the moment he saw that guy, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw a punch straight across his jaw.
Because he would.
For you.
A/N: had to separate into two parts, no worries apples. the heat is about to get started. lmk if you want to be tagged on the next part here.
Summary: You don’t drink, but the hot bartender at the restaurant near your place is enough to make your head spin.
Word count: 6.9k
Tags/warnings: anxious reader, flirty seungcheol, alcohol/intoxication (not reader), way too many descriptions of food (pretending lactose intolerance isn’t real). Just a lot of wholesome flirting, some mildly suggestive parts. It’s mostly just cute.
This is a first version fic, which I don’t usually post, but I found it cute and wanted to share. Hope you enjoy and forgive the weak points…I plan to rewrite it at some point. ♥️
pairing: slytherin! na jaemin x gryffindor! fem. reader
genre: hogwarts au, fake dating, fluff, smut, angst
wc: 17k
summary: A Gryffindor prefect and a Slytherin golden boy fake a relationship to avoid an unwanted marriage pact, but as staged kisses turn real and secrets unravel, their hearts end up tangled in ways neither expected. Now, with love and pride on the line, they must decide if risking everything is worth the truth.
content warnings: explicit sexual content, loss of virginity, protected sex (contraceptive charms), oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, cursing, alcohol consumption, miscommunication, emotional hurt/comfort, anxiety, self-consciousness, emotional manipulation (though not malicious) lots of harry potter references (obvs), hogwarts setting, slytherin/gryffindor stereotypes and prejudice, pureblood politics, brief mention of emotionally distant/cold parents.
a/n: finally!! i’m so sorry this took forever, i really meant to post it the same day as part one, but i kept adding more (like… a lot more), so i really hope it was worth the wait. i had so much fun writing it though and i’m actually really proud of how it turned out. this fic fully consumed me for months lol😭 i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. please feel free to scream in the comments/inbox, i wanna hear all your thoughts <3
ps: if anyone cares for a bit of music while reading i made this playlist for the fic.
Read part 1 here
In the wake of that catastrophic lapse in judgment at the Three Broomsticks, you had spent the remainder of the weekend engaged in a heroic attempt at total social erasure. Under the flimsy pretext of Prefect patrols, you’d spent twenty four hours haunting the castle’s most desolate corners and developing an encyclopedic, almost intimate knowledge of the drafty corridors behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the specific, rhythmic drip of the second-floor lavatory.
You lived in mortal fear of a confrontation, your brain a frantic pinball machine of panicked justifications. How does one even begin to explain away the fact that you’d essentially tackled Jaemin with your mouth in front of half the student body? You couldn't even blame the butterbeer; no one was that much of a lightweight.
All that strategic hiding, however, proved to be a spectacular waste of time.
Because Monday morning arrived and with it, the unavoidable horror of Double Potions. Jaemin, of course, decided to plop down next to you, looking both freshly pressed and utterly unbothered by recent events. All the while had to physically force yourself not to bolt in the opposite direction.
“Morning, Y/N,” he said pleasantly. “Fancy another go?”
You nearly slid off the stool. “I—beg your pardon?”
His mouth quirked as he leaned closer, lowering his voice until it was a secret shared only between your skin and his lips.
“Just a thought,” he drawled, “since the entire school has already watched us snog, we might as well get our money’s worth, don’t you think?”
You gaped at him, your indignation warring with a sudden spike of heat. Jaemin just watched you, a picture of insouciant grace, clearly having decided that his new favorite hobby was seeing exactly how many shades of scarlet he could make you turn before Slughorn even called the roll.
“I—well—” You faltered, the sentence dying pathetically in your throat. There was no good exit strategy here, no witty retort that could dismantle the sheer smugness radiating off him. “Wasn’t that a bit… much? In the Three Broomsticks?”
His gaze turned positively feral with glee. “I believe the many witnesses there that night will say that you started it. I was merely an innocent bystander, swept along by the current of your passionate improvisation.”
You pressed your lips together, an exercise in sheer willpower to deny him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Swept along, my arse. You’re the one who—” You clamped down on the thought before it could manifest, but the phantom sensation of his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck flashed through your mind.
Jaemin tilted his head, a lock of blonde hair falling over his brow, as if to punctuate how useless your walls were against him now.
“Look, if we’re going to commit to this performance, we might as well aim for the stalls,” he said. “The school already has us pencilled in as the frontrunners for ‘Best Couple’. It would be a tragedy to disappoint the fans now, wouldn't it?”
He slipped his hand into yours, as if nothing at all had changed. But now you were horribly aware how your skin prickled with nerves and the pulse in your wrist kept skipping whenever he brushed his thumb along the side of your hand.
Slughorn, bless his velvet-clad heart, seemed absolutely determined to overwhelm the gloom of the dungeons with his boisterous goodwill. He was in rare form today, circling the room like a parade master, “Today, my dears, we will be brewing Amortentia! The mother of all love potions! Now, who can tell me its greatest danger?”
You raised your hand with perhaps more enthusiasm than Slughorn's question warranted, if only to reclaim it from Jaemin's grip.
“It can’t create real love, sir” you said, voice admirably steady. “Only a very strong infatuation. A kind of obsession, really. And it’s different for everyone who smells it, the scent changes to reflect whatever attracts you most.”
“Excellent! Excellent!” Slughorn beamed. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now then, pair up, everyone, pair up! Today we brew!”
Naturally, this was when things went from bad to infinitely worse.
Brewing Amortentia while in the throes of whatever this mortifying situation with Jaemin was? Spectacularly poor timing. Working close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, to have his fingers brush yours with every ingredient passed between you? Absolute torture of the most exquisite variety.
“Pass me the pearl dust, would you, love?” Jaemin murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the scant space between you.
You passed it quickly and focused back on the cauldron, determined to at least finish before him. You added the frozen ashwinder eggs, stirring counter-clockwise until the liquid began to shimmer.
“You’re quite good at this,” Jaemin noted. “Almost as good as you are at improvisation”.
“Focus on the potion, Jaemin,” you bit out, though you could feel your face go scarlet.
After almost two hours of gruelling labor, the potion was perfect. The steam rose in characteristic spirals, and the surface gleamed with a lustrous, opalescent sheen. You smiled at your technical triumph.
But the smile died on your lips the moment the scent hit your nose.
You'd hoped—prayed, really—for something ordinary. Like the comforting smell of old books, perhaps. Or the woody scent from the fire in the Gryffindor common room. But what you got instead was far more specific, and infinitely more damning.
Expensive cologne that smelled of bergamot and beneath that was the distinct, slightly oily musk of broomstick polish. The exact olfactory combination that seemed to have permanently infused itself into the fibers of Jaemin’s robes, the scent that enveloped you whenever he pulled you close in the corridors.
Godric save me, you thought, your stomach performing a sort of sickening swoop.
Your mind scrambled for a rational explanation. It’s just a common scent, it argued desperately. Half the Quidditch players use that polish. And any posh tosser could wear that cologne.
But the Amortentia didn’t lie. Your Herculean attempt at self-delusion was failing utterly in the face of the irrefutable truth spiralling out of your cauldron.
Fear metastasized across your body, becoming a cold weight anchored in the hollow of your sternum, pulsing in time with the frantic thrum of your heart. If you acknowledged the bergamot and the broomstick polish, you were surrendering the only fortress you had left. To speak it would be to dismantle the safety of the 'fake' and leave you standing raw and defenseless in the debris of your own design.
You were terrified that the moment the truth escaped your lips, the delicate, agonizing balance of your world would tilt, sliding you both into a reality from which there was no clever improvisation to save you.
“So?” Jaemin’s voice was suddenly right at your ear, making you flinch. “What are you getting, Y/N? Freshly bound books and new parchment, I’d wager.”
The proximity forced your lungs to pull in the real version of the bergamot you had just been mourning.
“Yeah, uhm…I smell old books,” you said, the lie ashen on your tongue.
Jaemin turned to look at you, and it was as though he were reading the very thoughts you were trying to bury. Beneath the table, out of sight of the professor and the prowling eyes of the room, his hand found yours again
“Is that so?” he murmured, his eyes visibly darkening as they swept over your face. “Well. I’m getting a very distinctive note of vanilla. And that floral soap you use in the Prefects’ bathroom.”
His words were so utterly devoid of the frantic panic currently hijacking your nervous system, that for a moment, you simply stared. Your brain suddenly tripped over his transparency. He’s joking, you realized, a hysterical sort of relief blooming in the wake of the shock. Of course he is. If he actually smelled that from the potion, he would be guarding that secret with his life, burying it under ten layers of Slytherin steel.
“Aha!” Slughorn crowed, making you both start. He peered into your cauldron, his face shining with delight. “A perfect brew! The spirals are unmistakable. Tell me, Mr. Na, is the aroma potent?”
Jaemin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Distractingly so, Professor,” he said, his lips curving into a smile that made your entire body go on high alert. “It’s enough to drive a man to madness.”
Slughorn clapped his hands together, mercifully oblivious to the silent conversation happening right under his nose. “Splendid! Simply splendid. Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now, for your homework, I want a foot of parchment on the dangers of Amortentia and why its use is so strictly regulated. To be handed in next lesson!”
As the class descended into the frantic clatter of copper stirring rods and the rhythmic scrubbing of stone, you moved through the motions in a total sensory daze. What were you supposed to do with this knowledge? How were you meant to deal with the fact that the scent of your Amortentia, the very distillation of your most primal desires, was inextricably tied to Jaemin?
Right before you exited the room Jaemin’s fingers brushed against your own so briefly it should have been negligible, yet it sent a jolt of fire anchoring itself in the marrow of your bones. He leaned in, his shadow eclipsing you for a fleeting second.
“Think about what I said earlier, yeah?” He murmured, the words ghosting against your skin before he deposited a soft kiss on your temple.
You stood frozen as he merged into the tide of students. A sinking, leaden certainty settled in the pit of your stomach, making your breath hitch in your throat. You were well and truly doomed, there was no more room for clever denials. The Amortentia had stripped away the artifice, laying the raw, pulsing truth bare against the cold dungeon floor.
You liked Na Jaemin, and Merlin help you, there wasn't a potion in the world that could fix it.
Part of you was almost giddy about the novelty of actually fancying someone, of feeling your stomach swoop when they walked into a room. But mostly you were terrified. When had Jaemin stopped being an inconvenience and started being this?
Maybe, you reasoned, you could indulge it. Just a little. Lean into the dating act a bit more and let yourself feel it without examining it too closely.
That’s how the boundaries started dissolving.
Slowly at first, then all at once, every rule you’d established became negotiable. Jaemin would pull you into empty alcoves where no one could possibly see you, press you against cold stone and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. “We’re not in public,” you’d manage between kisses. He’d just smirk against your mouth. “Practice makes perfect.”
No one batted an eyelid at the sight of him pulling you into empty rooms. Even Giselle had stopped questioning you, and became rather repulsed by your sudden displays of affection.
Meanwhile, you walked around feeling as if you’d lost the original plot of this whole thing. Your brain became a pinball machine: every glance from Jaemin sent the ball ricocheting wildly, every brush of his fingers over your knuckles set your whole body on high alert. He, on the other hand, seemed to delight in turning up at the least convenient moments—snagging you between classes, kissing you in the shadow of the greenhouses, catching your hand when you tried to slip past him on your way out of the library and kissing you against the stacks.
You coped by remembering it was all for show, the same way you might recite lines in a play. Only actors didn’t typically wake up thinking about the curve of their co-star’s mouth or lie awake at night replaying every touch of their calloused fingers.
You ran into him outside your common room one evening, just as curfew loomed. Jaemin looked up from a parchment he was pretending to read, tucking it away as you approached.
His eyes seemed to visibly darken at the sight of you. It would have been easy to walk past, make some excuse about homework or an early morning. Instead, you hovered, dithering between the impulse to run and the urge to close the gap.
Jaemin broke the stalemate, stepping forward and catching your wrist. “I was hoping I’d see you,” he said and then pointed at the portraits on the walls that watched you silently. “Thought we might keep the neighbors entertained.”
He didn't wait for an answer. He tugged on your wrist to guide you forward, and then his hand was sliding upward, fingers tangling deep into the hair at the base of your neck. He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before he leaned down to claim them.
His lips moved against yours with devastating confidence. As the kiss deepened, his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, a private noise of satisfaction that seemed to echo against your own heartbeat.
High above, the painted figures in the frames whispered and tittered. The Fat Lady let out a bright, trilling giggle that rang through the hallway, but Jaemin didn't stop. He only pressed closer, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he turned the kiss slower, more rhythmic, and infinitely more distracting than any textbook could ever be.
When he finally broke away, he didn't pull back more than an inch. His breath hitched against your lips, and the dark intensity in his eyes seemed to catch fire.
He had just begun to trail his lips from your mouth to the sensitive line of your jaw when a shrill, cackling whistle echoed off the stone walls.
"Ooh, lookie here! Little lions in a knot! Or is it a tangle? A right royal muddle!"
Peeves the Poltergeist swooped down, hovering upside down just inches from your faces. His wide, malicious eyes darted between you and Jaemin, his tongue poking out through a jagged grin.
Jaemin didn't let go of you, but he let out a long, frustrated exhale against your skin. He slowly turned his head to glare at the spirit. "Not now, Peeves. Go find a first-year to pelt with ink pellets."
"Ink pellets? Boring! Stale!" Peeves blew a loud raspberry and started spinning in a dizzying circle. He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of stale, rock-hard Cauldron Cakes. "I’d much rather watch the lovebirds try to coo while I practice my aim!"
With a wicked flick of his wrist, he tossed a cake. It whistled past Jaemin’s ear, narrowly missing him and thudding loudly against the frame of a disgruntled landscape painting.
"Jammy and the Pouter, sitting in a hall! Kissing 'til the portraits scream and the ceiling falls!" Peeves sang at the top of his lungs, his voice shrill enough to wake every sleeping student in the nearby tower.
Jaemin finally pulled back fully, though he kept a protective arm slung low around your waist. He looked up at the cackling poltergeist, a dangerous, tired sort of smirk playing on his lips. "You’re going to get Filch up here, you menace."
"Filchy-poo? Even better!" Peeves shrieked, preparing another handful of projectiles. "Double the trouble, double the fun! Run, little students, run-run-run!"
Jaemin’s jaw tightened, and the last traces of the kiss's softness vanished into a look of sharp irritation. He reached into his robes and flicked his wand upward with a lethal grace.
"I warned you," Jaemin muttered dangerously. “Waddiwasi!"
The Cauldron Cake Peeves had been preparing to throw suddenly zoomed upward, propelled by an invisible force. It jammed itself straight into the poltergeist’s left nostril.
The poltergeist let out a high-pitched scream of outrage, spinning wildly in the air as he tried to claw the stale pastry out. Realizing he had lost this round, he zoomed through the nearest wall, leaving nothing behind but the faint sound of his frantic thumping as he retreated toward the floor below.
Jaemin let out a huff of a laugh, finally tucking his wand back into his sleeve. The intense look returned to his eyes as he turned his full attention back to you, his hands sliding back to their previous spots on your waist.
"Now," he whispered, pulling you back against the wall. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"
You pressed a hand to his chest before he could close the distance. “Wait—did you hear that?”
“No.” The word was muffled against your neck, which he’d apparently decided required immediate attention.
“Jaemin, I’m serious. I think that’s Filch—”
He went still, listening. Sure enough, the shuffle of uneven footsteps echoed down the corridor.
“Your common room,” Jaemin said immediately, tugging you toward the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Come on—”
“Wait! She won’t let you in!”
He stopped short. “What? Why not?”
“Because you’re a Slytherin? We’ve been over this.”
“I thought you were drunk when you said that.” Jaemin stared at you incredulously. “So you’re telling me she won’t let any Slytherins in? And we’re the prejudiced house?”
“I mean she could, technically. But then she’d absolutely tell Filch about it.”
Jaemin made a sound of disbelief as Filch’s footsteps grew louder.
“Fine. Come on.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” you hissed, jogging to keep up as he led you through several corridors and down the stairs.
“The dungeons.”
“What?! I am not going to your common room—”
“Oh, come on.” He threw you an exasperated look over his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Slytherins actually mind their business when it comes to sneaking people in. Unlike you lions, apparently.”
The further you descended, the more aware you became of where this was heading. You’d never set foot in the Slytherin common room, and now you were sneaking in at night to… Well. The thought alone was enough to make your heart ricochet against your chest.
“Right, here we are.” Jaemin stopped before a blank wall.
“That’s it?” You stared at it with a raised brow. “Kind of underwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, did you expect a giant fanged mouth?”
“Alright, ease up on the attitude.” You glared at him.
He smiled, and spoke to the wall: “Serpensortem.” Then, catching your eye: “Feel free to use that. You know, if you ever need to find me.”
The hidden door (which did, in fact, have serpents carved into it) swung open to reveal a narrow corridor of stairs descending even deeper. How Slytherins didn’t lose their minds being this far underground, you had no idea.
Inside, the common room was both exactly what you’d pictured and nothing like it. Dark stone, high ceilings, and a green-filtered light casting everything in a sort of underwater glow. Because…Oh. The ceiling was glass. There were actual panels looking straight up into the Black Lake’s murky water and the shadows of the occasional creatures drifting by.
Stunning. Also deeply unsettling if you thought too hard about it.
“Nice view of the Giant Squid you’ve got.”
Jaemin was right, his housemates truly didn’t care. The handful of students still up barely registered your presence, offering cursory glances before returning to whatever they were working on. Apparently a Gryffindor in the Slytherin common room wasn’t that much of a strange sight.
“Want to go up to my dorm?”
You gave him a look. “Where all your dormmates are?”
“They’re at the Three Broomsticks getting properly pissed.” He shrugged. “We’ve got the place to ourselves.”
“It’s way past curfew. How’d they even get out?”
“There are secret passages that lead straight to the village. They’re all over the castle.”
“How am I only just learning this?”
His smile turned wicked. “Well, you’re such a good girl.” He pulled you closer by the waist. “A very good girl who owes me a kiss.”
You were completely out of your depth. Although the flirting had become familiar, the fact that Jaemin seemed to want you with the same desperate intensity you felt for him was uncharted territory that left you dizzy and unmoored.
So you didn’t fight when he led you upstairs. You let him pull you into a kiss on the steps, let yourself kiss him back with abandon until you stumbled into the warm sanctuary of his dorm. Only then did you surface long enough to catch your breath and actually take stock of your surroundings.
There were four four-poster beds with dark emerald hangings, the standard Hogwarts setup, but each corner had been claimed and personalized by its occupant.
You recognized Jaemin’s immediately. The one nearest the window, if you could call the glass panel looking into the lake a window. His Quidditch gear was piled carelessly beside his trunk: broom propped against the bedpost, leather gloves draped over the footboard, a jersey with “NA” embroidered on the back slung over his desk chair. The nightstand held an impressive collection of cologne bottles and a few books stacked messily beneath them.
But it was the wall above his bed that caught your attention. Photographs pinned in no particular order of what looked like his family, him and his Quidditch team, a few older shots of him with other friends you didn’t recognize.
“Snooping already?” Jaemin’s voice came from behind you.
You turned to find him leaning against the wall, watching you with a raised brow.
“Just… observing.”
“Mhm.” He pushed off the post and crossed to you in two strides. “And what have your observations concluded?”
“That you’re messier than I expected.” You gestured to the Quidditch gear. “But also weirdly sentimental.” You nodded toward the photographs.
You turned to the other sections of the room and caught on a collection of what appeared to be hand-drawn comics pinned above one bed, surprisingly good actually, depicting what looked like Quidditch matches gone horribly wrong.
“Are those—did someone draw these?”
“Renjun.” Jaemin followed your gaze. “He’s got a thing for documenting Donghyuck’s Quidditch failures. It's quite therapeutic for him, apparently.”
“Donghyuck and Renjun—wait, I thought you roomed with Changmin and Sungchan?”
“I used to. Merlin, don’t remind me.” Jaemin collapsed onto what was clearly his bed—the one nearest the lake-view panel.
“That bad?
“They both snore like bloody dragons. Together it was—” He shook his head. “I got about three hours of sleep a night for two years. Finally cracked in third year and begged the head boy to switch me.”
You laughed. “So who’d you end up with?”
“Jeno, Donghyuck, and Renjun.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “They’re a nightmare in different ways, but at least they sleep quietly.”
“Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”
He got up and started slowly towards you. “I didn’t bring you up here to psychoanalyze our dorm though.”
“No?” Your hands settled against his chest when he pulled you to him. “What am I up here for, then?”
His smile turned wicked. “I believe we established you owe me a kiss. Several, actually, if we’re keeping count.”
“Are we keeping count now?”
“I am.” He leaned in, mouth barely brushing yours. “And you’re severely in debt.”
You could’ve pointed out the flawed logic, could’ve reminded him that you’d just spent the last several minutes kissing him senseless on the stairs. Instead, you closed the distance between you, letting him walk you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed.
“This okay?” he murmured against your lips, even as his hands slid up your sides.
Your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. This was different from the corridors, from the alcoves and the performances. Just you and him and the choice to cross whatever line you’d been toeing for weeks.
“Yeah,” you breathed. “This is okay.”
His smile was soft before he kissed you again. You reciprocated with much enthusiasm making him sigh against your lips. His hands slid into your hair as the kiss deepened, and you let yourself get lost in it .
Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly, and he made a sound low in his throat that sent heat racing through you. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, palm warm against your ribs, and—
Suddenly you heard voices. Loud and slurred, echoing up from the common room.
“—telling you, Hyuck, you can’t just Accio the entire bottle—”
“It almost worked though… I’m just— hngh— a bit wet”
“What—…” You scrambled into a sitting position, trying to finger-comb your hair into something less incriminating. “How do I look?”
He looked at you and tried to hide a grin behind his hand. “Like I’ve been kissing you for the past ten minutes.”
“Jaemin!”
“Right, sorry—” He reached out, gently attempting to smooth down your hair. It was possibly the sweetest thing he’d ever done and absolutely not helping your emotional state. “Okay, just act natural?”
The door banged open and three boys tumbled through in various states of inebriation— a muscular lad with short black hair barely keeping another upright, while a third brought up the rear looking significantly more sober than his friends.
The first one stopped short when he spotted you. “Oh, shit.”
“Jeno, move, you’re blocking the—” The one being held up peered around his friend and broke into a massive grin. “Na Jaemin, you absolute legend.”
“Shut up, Donghyuck.” Jaemin stood, positioning himself slightly in front of you.
The sober one closed the door with considerably more care than it had been opened with. “We can go back down if—”
“No, it’s fine.” You stood as well, acutely aware of how warm your face felt. “I should probably get back to Gryffindor tower anyway.”
“Gryffindor!” Hyuck crowed, stumbling further into the room. “So you’re the Gryffindor. Jaemin’s been—ow! What the fuck, Jeno—”
Jeno had elbowed him, hard. “Subtle as a brick, mate.”
“I’m just saying, he’s been in a better mood lately and now I know why—”
“Hyuck, I will literally hex your bollocks off.” Jaemin’s tone was pleasant. His expression was not.
The sober one gave you an apologetic look. “Ignore them. They had approximately five Firewhiskeys each at the Three Broomsticks.”
“Five and a half,” Hyuck corrected proudly.
“Right. Well.” You smoothed down your skirt. “I should go.”
Jaemin caught your wrist. “I’ll walk you out.”
“I think your friends need more help than I do .”
“They’ll live.” His jaw was set and you could tell he was still annoyed about the interruption.
“Awww, he’s being chivalrous,” Hyuck stage-whispered to Jeno. “That’s so—ow, fuck, Renjun—”
Renjun had slapped the back of his head. “Please excuse Donghyuck. He becomes aggressively annoying when drunk.”
“Just when drunk?” Jeno muttered.
You bit back a smile despite yourself. “It’s fine. I can find my way out.”
“You sure?” Jaemin was still holding your wrist.
“I’m sure.” You gently extracted your hand, very aware of three pairs of eyes tracking the movement. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
You made it approximately two steps toward the door before Hyuck piped up again. “Hey, Gryffindor girl?”
You turned. “It’s—”
“Oh, we know who you are,” Jeno said, grinning.
“He’s absolutely miserable when you’re not around, you know,” Hyuck announced cheerfully, ignoring Jaemin’s death glare. “Like, genuinely unbearable. So thanks for that. You’re doing Merlin’s work, truly—”
“HYUCK—”
You escaped into the corridor before you could hear the rest, but their laughter—and Jaemin’s protests—followed you all the way down the stairs.
By the time you reached the common room, your face was burning and your heart was still racing and you had absolutely no idea how you were going to look at Jaemin tomorrow without remembering the weight of him above you, the heat of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like—
No. Not thinking about it.
Except you absolutely were going to spend the entire night thinking about it. You shook your head sharply as you climbed back through the castle, taking a different route to avoid Filch.
The interruption was probably for the best. It had stopped you from doing something you couldn’t take back, from crossing a line that would make the whole “fake dating” excuse completely untenable.
“Wow, he’s even convinced you to go to a Quidditch game?” Jo said as she observed you putting on the green scarf you’d borrowed from Jaemin. “And wearing his colors? Okay, who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s just one game. Plus, he’s been asking me to go for the past few weeks and I’ve already rejected him too many times. What kind of girlfriend doesn’t go support her boyfriend at a game?”
“A fake one?” She offered with a knowing look.
“I’m already committed to the bit, Jo. Cant back out now.”
“I just want to remind you that there are only 2 more weeks of this arrangement. Personally, I haven't even seen Yuna bother Jaemin in a good while, so there’s really no need to keep extending this thing.”
She was right. Yuna had been conspicuously absent lately. No more pointed stares across the Great Hall, no more appearances in places you and Jaemin frequented, no more saccharine interruptions during your library study sessions. You’d been so caught up in the elaborate fiction of your relationship that you’d stopped monitoring the very threat it was meant to neutralize.
Had she given up? Moved on to easier prey, perhaps? Or had the performance been so convincing that she’d accepted defeat?
And if the threat had dissolved, what justified the charade’s continuation?
More pressingly: did you want it to end?
The thought arrived unbidden, unwelcome, and stubbornly refused to leave. Two weeks. Fourteen days until you’d presumably sit down with Jaemin and declare mission accomplished, shake hands like business partners concluding a transaction, and return to being polite strangers who’d once played at intimacy for an audience.
“I’ll leave it to Jaemin to decide,” you said finally, the words emerging more brittle than intended. You avoided Jo’s reflection in the mirror, suddenly fascinated by the intricacies of your braid. “It’s his arrangement, technically. His problem we were solving.”
Liar, your reflection seemed to whisper. Coward.
Because the uncomfortable truth you’d been studiously ignoring was that you had no idea what Jaemin wanted anymore.
When he kissed you in empty corridors with no witnesses, was that practice? When his thumb traced absent patterns on your hip during meals, was he performing for distant onlookers or had it simply become habit? When he looked at you like that, was he acting or had the fiction begun consuming the actor?
You didn’t know. And you were terrified to ask.
Jo made a small noise of sympathy. “Just… be careful, alright? I know you think you’ve got this handled, but—”
“I’m fine,” you interrupted, perhaps too sharply. “Everything’s completely under control.”
The lie hung between you, obvious and ignored.
At the Quidditch pitch you headed to the Slytherin side of the stands. Thankfully, the finale was against Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor, otherwise you would feel like a horrible disloyal witch by not supporting your own house.
The place was already packed by the time you arrived. You’d expected to sit with the general crowd, but before you could even start climbing the stairs, you felt a hand on your arm.
“You’re with us,” Giselle said, appearing out of nowhere. She was dressed head to toe in green and silver, her house pride on full display. “Come on. We’ve saved you seats.”
“Saved me—what?”
Giselle led you to a prime spot right at the front of the Slytherin stands, where Changmin and Sungchan were already waiting.
“There she is!” Changmin grinned, as if this had all been planned.
“Jaemin’s good luck charm,” Sungchan added with a wink.
You blinked at them, too stunned to speak. These were the same boys who had barely tolerated your presence a month ago. Now they were scooting over, offering you the best view on the pitch, as if you belonged there.
“Jaemin said if we didn’t make sure you had the best seat, he’d hex us into next week,” Sungchan continued breezily. “And I quite like having my kneecaps intact, so.”
You sat down, feeling extremely self-conscious about being front and center in the Slytherin section wearing Slytherin colors. People were definitely staring. You could feel their eyes on you, could hear the whispers starting up.
"Wait," you started, your voice slightly breathless as you looked between their relaxed postures and the players currently mounting their brooms on the pitch. "Why aren't you two down there? Don't you both play?"
Changmin let out a dry snort, adjusting his sleeves. "Suspended," he said, "the Ravenclaw Beaters didn't appreciate my 'aggressive' tactical maneuvers during last week's scrimmage."
"And I'm on the bench today with a 'mysterious' wrist cramp," Sungchan added, though he looked entirely too healthy for an injury. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. "Truthfully? Jaemin didn't want us on the pitch. He wanted us here. Guarding you."
What?
"He’s a bit possessive over you," Giselle noted, settling in on your other side and smoothing her skirt. "He didn't trust the general Slytherin population to behave themselves while his head was in the clouds. Consider them your personal gargoyles for the afternoon."
Before you could process the idea of Jaemin hand-picking his friends to act as your shield, the teams flew onto the pitch, and the crowd erupted in cheers. You spotted him immediately. He was easy to pick out, even among the other players in their green and silver robes. He was a Chaser, and even from a distance, you could see the easy confidence in the way he handled his broom.
He did a lap of the pitch, clearly scanning the stands, and when he saw you sitting front and center in the Slytherin section wearing green his entire face lit up. He changed direction, flying closer to where you were sitting, and the crowd around you started screaming louder.
Jaemin pulled up right in front of the Slytherin section, hovering there on his broom, and blew you a kiss. An unsubtle, utterly ridiculous kiss blown in your direction in front of the entire school.
You felt your face go absolutely scarlet, but you couldn’t help smiling. He looked so happy. So genuinely, completely happy, and it was directed at you.
"Salazar's ghost," Giselle groaned, pointedly looking toward the sky. "The two of you are going to make me sick."
The whistle shrieked, a sharp, piercing herald that set the game in motion. You quickly discovered that Quidditch was an entirely different ordeal when your attention was tethered to a Chaser. It was no longer a sport but a grueling exercise in cardiovascular distress. Every time Jaemin’s fingers curled around the Quaffle, your breath hitched, trapped in the tight column of your throat. Every time a Ravenclaw Beater sent a Bludger whistling toward his skull, your stomach performed a sickening, leaden drop into your heels.
You were on your feet more often than not, screaming yourself hoarse, your dignity dissolving with every reckless maneuver he pulled. Your knuckles were white, clutching the edge of the railing as if you were the one hanging onto a broomstick three hundred feet in the air.
“Look at you,” Giselle observed during a brief lull in the carnage. “You truly have it bad, don’t you? You’re vibrating.”
“I’m simply—invested in the match,” you ground out, refusing to look away from the green-and-silver blur circling the hoops.
“You’re invested in him,” she corrected, a smirk playing on her lips that was equal parts amused and knowing. “It’s a bit pathetic, really. But I suppose he deserves someone who watches him with that level of frantic devotion.”
Whatever biting retort you were preparing to mount was violently incinerated by the roar of the crowd. A deafening, earth-shaking thunder erupted from the Slytherin stands as Jaemin executed a barrel roll that seemed aerodynamically impossible, slamming the Quaffle through the center hoop.
Slytherin dominated the match with embarrassing efficiency, their Chasers running rings around Ravenclaw’s defense, and Jaemin in particular seemed determined to make a personal statement. Then their Seeker caught the Snitch about an hour into the match, ending things decisively. The moment it was over, the Slytherin section erupted in celebration, and before you quite knew what was happening, people were pouring onto the pitch.
“Come on!” Giselle grabbed your hand, pulling you along with the crowd. “We’re going down!”
You let yourself be dragged down to the pitch, caught up in the excitement. The Slytherin team had barely landed when they were being mobbed by supporters, everyone screaming and hugging and celebrating.
You were just trying to stay upright and not get trampled, when suddenly hands grabbed your waist and you were being lifted, spun around, and then you were looking directly into Jaemin’s face.
He was sweaty, and disheveled, and grinning so wide it looked like it might hurt his cheeks.
“We won,” he said, as if you might not have noticed.
“I saw,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You were brilliant.”
“You wore green,” he said breathlessly. “You actually wore green for me.”
“Of course I did. I’m your—”
You didn’t get to finish the sentence, because he kissed you.
He kissed you like you were the only two people there, like he’d been waiting all day to do this, like winning the match was secondary to getting to kiss you. His hands cupped your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, and you forgot about everything except the feeling of his mouth on yours.
People were cheering. You could hear them, distant and muffled, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You just kissed him back, your hands fisting in his Quidditch robes to pull him impossibly closer.
When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard. “That—” Jaemin said, thumbing sweat and hair from your cheek, “was the best part of the whole day. Actually, my entire bloody year.”
He kissed you again, quick and fierce, before setting you down.
The chaos of the pitch threatened to sweep you up—Haechan was flying mockingly around the dazed Ravenclaw Keeper, who looked two seconds away from swearing off Quidditch forever. Jeno was being hoisted onto someone’s shoulders while holding the Cup, still in his gear, a lopsided grin plastered across his face as a small army of younger Slytherins began a chant.
You barely had time to process anything before a dozen Slytherin hands were clapping you on the back, dragging you into the noisy throng. Jeno slung an arm around your shoulder, while Haechan bowed with the sort of exaggerated flourish only he could get away with.
“Oi, Y/N! You’re practically the Slytherin mascot at this point,” Haechan crowed, earning a fresh round of chanting. Jeno nodded and said, “We’ll need you at every match. Jaemin plays like he’s got something to prove when you’re here.”
Jaemin slipped an arm over your shoulders, fitting himself between you and Jeno. It wasn’t the casual sort of touch affectionate boyfriend would do but rather the kind of grip that signaled territorial intent, both “look at me” and “hands off, Lee Jeno.” Jeno raised his brows, smirked, and stepped back with a dramatic sigh as if to say, “I know when I’ve been outmaneuvered.”
Jaemin lead you out of the crush, across the pitch, past the green-robed ruck of his teammates still shrieking and high-fiving each other senseless.
You found yourselves in the lee of the stands, momentarily invisible to the hooting masses. Jaemin bent over, hands braced on his knees, still catching his breath. The flushed tips of his ears glowed through sweated hair, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were shining, open, utterly unguarded.
“I’m sorry if that was too much,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “We agreed—no more public spectacles.” He grinned, sheepish and shameless at once.
You laughed. “That was entirely your fault. You were the one who just put on a whole air show out there.”
“Had to impress you,” he said, then he straightened, hands on your hips. “Did it work?”
The question was clearly rhetorical, but Jaemin’s voice always lilted up at the end, as if the answer mattered even if he already knew it. Your heart did the embarrassing somersault you’d tried to train it out of, and you could only nod, which made him gloat without mercy.
“Good,” he said, and tugged you in for another kiss, backgrounded by the muffled roar of the stadium and the granular crunch of pebbles underfoot.
Suddenly a broomstick whirred to a stop nearby and Jaemin loosened his grip on you, letting you sway back ever so slightly. You barely had time to school your features before Madam Hooch’s voice rang out.
“Na, what in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing back here?” She hovered just above, her yellow hawk’s eyes narrowing as she took in the flush on your cheeks and the state of your hair. “This isn’t the broom shed, though you two seem determined to treat it as one. Save the snogging for after hours—if you must.”
A mortifying heat swept up your neck. Jaemin simply grinned at her. “Just appreciating my good luck charm, Professor.”
Madam Hooch sniffed, unimpressed. “If you’re quite finished, the rest of the team would like their Chaser back for the cup photo.”
She fixed you both with one last look that could have stripped paint from the stadium, then gestured briskly for Jaemin to join the others.
He shot you a look over his shoulder, and winked “I’ll meet you in a bit for the celebration”
As the door to the Slytherin common room opened, you were met with an emerald-hued wonderland teeming with giddy, flushed-faced revelers. It was like being inside a shaken bottle of champagne, the air practically fizzing with elation and an infectious sort of glee.
Despite wearing green, you felt distinctly out of place. Like a single rose petal that had somehow fluttered its way into a bouquet of silver-tipped ferns. But Jaemin’s hand was warm and sure in yours.
“Stick close,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to get lost in this snake pit.”
“And here I thought you’d be eager to feed me to your housemates. Y’know, as a victory sacrifice.”
Jaemin’s laugh was a rich, dark thing, like molten chocolate. “Tempting. But I think I’ll keep you to myself a bit longer.”
The wicked glint of his gaze as he said those words made heat rush to your cheeks. But before you could think much of it, you were swept up in a whirlwind of backslaps and high fives, the team descending upon their star Chaser in a giddy mass of sweat-damp robes and Firewhisky-fueled cheer.
You found yourself passed from embrace to embrace, your hair mussed and your face peppered with exuberant kisses. It was overwhelming, dizzying, this sudden immersion into the tight-knit camaraderie of Jaemin’s world.
But through it all, his gaze never left you. Even as he was jostled and jolted by his teammates, his eyes remained locked on yours, a searing, steady connection that made your pulse stutter and your knees go curiously weak.
As the night wore on and the festivities showed no sign of waning, you found yourself gravitating closer and closer to Jaemin, drawn by some irresistible magnetism. The heat of so many bodies packed into the subterranean space, the buzz of one too many Butterbeers, the maddening drag of his fingers along the small of your back as he steered you through the crowd…it was all blurring together into a delicious haze.
And then you looked up at him in a sudden moment of perfect clarity amidst the chaos, and everything else simply…fell away. The noise, the crush of bodies, the very air seemed to shimmer and warp, narrowing down to the electric pulse of connection stretching taut between you.
In that suspended sliver of time, you knew with bone-deep certainty that there was no going back. No more pretending, no more lines in the sand. There was only this, only him, only the truth of what had been building between you from the moment this mad charade began.
You crashed together like colliding stars, mouths and hands and hearts falling into desperate alignment. Jaemin kissed like a man possessed, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and make a home there, and you matched him beat for beat, pouring months of pent-up longing and frustration and fierce, helpless wanting into the slant of your lips against his.
When you finally surfaced, gasping and glassy-eyed, Jaemin’s face swam into focus, his usually sharp features softened by a look of tenderness.
“Come with me,” he said, his voice a rasping, wrecked thing.
You could only nod, mute and dizzy with want, and let him lead you out of the common room and into the labyrinthine tangle of the dungeon corridors. You walked in silence, the only sound the ragged counterpoint of your breathing and the distant, muffled thump of music.
When he stopped at a stretch of unremarkable wall and began to pace, you knew with a jolt where he was taking you to The Room of Requirement.
Where else would one go to tumble headlong into inadvisable, paradigm-shifting passion?
Jaemin reached for the handle, but then he turned to you with a question in his eyes and an uncharacteristic hesitance in the set of his shoulders…you knew that stepping over this threshold would change everything.
“Y/N,” he said, and there was a whole universe of unspoken things layered into the shape of your name. “Are you sure…?”
“Jaemin,” you said. “Kiss me.”
In the next instant, his lips were on yours again, and you stumbled backward as the hidden door swung open. You didn’t spare a glance for the room that bloomed before you. Couldn’t focus on anything beyond the heat of Jaemin’s body against yours, the desperate, reverent drag of his hands over your curves. The room could’ve been an empty Quidditch pitch, for all you cared.
Every romance you’d ever read and even scoffed at came to life in that moment—the world receding, time slowing to a molasses crawl. There was only sensation, only feeling, only the drugging slide of his lips along your jaw, your throat, the dip of your collarbone.
Your pulse was fucking riotous. You’d talked yourself into this, hadn’t you? Marched up here on legs so wobbly you could’ve blamed the many stairs, convinced yourself you could handle it because it was Jaemin.
His calloused hands roamed with urgent purpose, fingers digging into your hips as he backed you against the nearest wall. He broke the kiss only to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. You immediately turned to flame when his gaze tracked all over you. From your swollen lips, to your flushed cheeks, down to the way your chest stuttered with every shaky breath. His hands found your jaw. Steady, so steady.
“We can stop whenever you want to.” he murmured against your ear.
You managed a nod because your speech simply wasn’t coming. Every nerve was pulled taut with both anticipation and terror at the realization of what you were about to do for the first time in your life.
His fingers unclasped your bra carefully, and when the straps slid down your arms, you tried to fold into yourself, awkward and too aware of skin and imperfections. Jaemin’s eyes caught yours; they were dark but promising patience even as he bent to take your nipple in his mouth.
You arched into him, a gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your nipple. “Jaemin,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair to hold him there.
He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. His hand cupped your other breast, thumb rolling the nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core. You’d never been touched like this before. There’d been secret snogs, awkward fumbles in broom closets that had never gone further than shirt buttons, never left you feeling more than flustered and underwhelmed. This was different.
Your body reacted in ways you hadn’t expected, hips twitching, thighs pressing together, the ache between your legs suddenly urgent and embarrassingly obvious. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing desperately. The sensation was almost alien, and you had to fight the impulse to cover yourself, to pull his hand away and to say wait, let me catch up.
Thoughts scattered in all directions. Was it supposed to feel this good? Did he know how much you were trembling? Could he tell this was your first time? Did he care? Did it matter? You worried you might be doing it wrong by making too much noise, arching too eagerly into his hands, looking foolish and overeager. But his gaze fixed on you, pupils blown, jaw tight with want.
He suddenly straightened, fingers smoothing back the hair from your face. “Hey,” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Still with me?”
You nodded, a little wild-eyed. “I—yeah. Sorry. I just—” You swallowed, eyes locking on the bland pattern of the carpet. “I haven’t…”
When you looked back up, his eyes flashed with a kind of darker satisfaction. “I know,” he murmured. “I thought so.” His hands slid down your waist. “We’ll go as slow as you need.”
You responded by tugging at his shirt, nails scraping against the hem until he chuckled low in his throat and let you have your way. He pulled back just long enough to strip it off, revealing the lean, muscled planes of his chest and abs. His sun-tanned skin bore the faint ghosts of bruises from Quidditch, a testament to the fact that he played rough today.
You stared shamelessly, hands twitching at your sides, before you finally gave in and mapped every line with your fingertips. The kiss that came next was messier, his tongue thrusting into your mouth in a rhythm that promised what was to come.
Jaemin's fingers worked at the button of your trousers, and you remembered with mortification that your knickers did not match your bra. Cool air hit your bare skin, but his body heat chased it away as he pressed closer, his clothed erection grinding against your thigh. You could feel how hard he was, the thick length straining against his trousers.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with desire. “I've wanted this for so long.” His hand slid between your legs, fingers parting your folds to find you already slick. He groaned at the discovery, circling your clit with his thumb while a finger pushed inside you, drawing out tiny sparks of pleasure. Hehen he slipped two fingers inside, your hips jerked in startled delight. He moved slow at first, letting you get used to the stretch, his other hand splayed over your hip, grounding you, steadying you.
You moaned, hips bucking into his hand as he pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you, preparing you. The wet sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths. He added a third finger, scissoring them to open you wider, his thumb pressing firmer on your clit until you were trembling, on the edge.
“Merlin, remind me to–… to read a book on this before next time,” you blurted breathlessly.
Jaemin stilled, and for a second, you wondered if you’d killed the mood entirely. But then his mouth curved into a wolfish grin, and he pressed a slow kiss to your cheek, trailing down the line of your jaw.
“Oh, I think you’re doing just fine,” he murmured, voice gone gravelly. “But if you want me to demonstrate…”
He kissed a path down your throat, across your collarbones, pausing to worship each new inch of skin revealed. It seemed like there was no part of you he didn’t want to learn. When his lips brushed the top of your breast, you gasped, the joke you’d been about to make dying on your tongue.
“Jaemin—what are you—?”
“Trust me,”
You whimpered in protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, guiding you toward the bed. He stripped off his own pants and boxers, his cock springing free, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your eyes locked on it, pulse racing at the sight.
He pushed you down onto the soft sheets, following you immediately until his body was covering yours. His mouth trailed lower, kissing a path down your stomach to the apex of your thighs. He spread your legs wide, settling between them, and looked up at you with eyes dark with hunger. “I need to taste you.”
“Wait—” you started, nerves rearing again.
He glanced up. “I promise you’ll like this.”
Then his tongue flicked out, lapping at your core in one long stroke, and the sound you made barely qualified as human. He sucked your clit into his mouth, alternating with broad licks along your slit, his fingers returning to thrust inside you. The combination of his relentless tongue and his fingers fucking you deep and steady was overwhelming.
“Okay, wow, that’s—oh—bloody hell—”
Right. So. That was new.
In fairness, you thought you were reasonably experienced. You had been alone with yourself often enough. You knew what you liked, had your own routines abd methods. A careful system involving muffled pillows, and a great deal of optimistic trial and error.
This was definitely not that.
This was like discovering you’d been trying to play a symphony on a recorder and Jaemin had just sat down at a grand piano and casually dismantled your entire understanding of music.
Your hips rolled against his face instinctively, chasing the building pleasure. He held you down with one arm across your waist, not letting you escape the onslaught. You gasped, the coil in your belly tightening unbearably.
“Jaemin,” you gasped. “Please—”
You weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for.
For him to stop. For him to continue. For him to explain how this was happening. For him to never leave this exact position.
Suddenly he added another finger, and wow…. that was certainly not how it felt when you did it. It probably had to do with the fact that his fingers were way longer and he seemed to know what to do with them.
He hummed against you, the vibration along with his tongue and fingers enough to push you over. Your orgasm crashed through you and you clenched around his fingers as waves of pleasure ripped you apart. He didn't stop, licking you through it until you were shaking.
Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and a dumb smirk on his lips. “How was that?”
He looked far too smug for your liking, and you—who had spent years pretending to be unflappable—actually giggled. Like a third year after her first Butterbeer.
“It was—” Your cheeks burned. “Brilliant.”
His smile widened. “Alright. Just one more thing before we…” He trailed his wand through a complicated motion. The tip shimmered blue, a faint ring of light settling across your pelvis.
He caught your eye. “Contraceptive charm. Unless you’d rather I hexed my own bollocks off instead, but I hear Madam Pomfrey’s got enough on her hands.”
Another nervous laugh broke from your lips, but Jaemin just pressed a reassuring hand to your thigh and leaned in.
“Tell me to stop if you want to. I mean it.”
You shook your head, want eclipsing every doubt you had. “I want to,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they nearly tripped over themselves. “I want you.”
Jaemin lined himself up and watched your face as he eased forward slowly. The stretch stung at first—your body fighting to accommodate the unfamiliar width. It hurt more than you’d expected.
Your walls stretched, burning, fluttering around him, the ache gradually giving way to a dizzying pressure as he bottomed out. He stayed perfectly still, forehead resting against yours, both of you shuddering through the intensity of it.
“Alright?” Jaemin asked thickly, as if it cost him everything not to move. A low groan escaped him as your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around his cock, the sensation clearly testing his control.
“Yeah, it’s just… a lot,” you admitted, your breath hitching.
He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his hips twitching slightly despite his efforts to stay still. “Yeah, I know. I’m quite big.” The joke pulled a surprised giggle from you, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. His eyes crinkled with warmth at the sight.
“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, a whimper threading through his words, his fingers digging into the sheets beside your head. “It—it’s taking everything not to just pound into you right now.”
He was flushed, hair damp with sweat, the strands sticking adorably to his brow and temples. His cheeks were tinged rose-pink, his jaw clenched tight as if the effort of holding himself back was an actual battle. His lips, swollen from kissing you, parted as he panted, every exhale ghosting warm across your face. A single bead of sweat trickled from his hairline, skimming down to the curve of his cheekbone. You couldn’t help but reach up, tracing it with a shaky finger. He caught your hand, pressing his lips to your palm, and the gentleness of it nearly undid you.
You’d never seen him look more beautiful. All that cockiness and swagger stripped away. This was just Jaemin, undone, desperate, trying to be gentle for your sake and barely managing.
A sudden warmth loosened in your chest, chasing away the last of your tension. You wanted this. The pain ebbed slowly, replaced by a deeper need. You shifted beneath him, hips rolling tentatively, and found the sting softened, yielding to a heady pleasure that made your toes curl.
“Merlin,” Jaemin groaned in response.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, focusing on the sensations: the fullness, the way your inner muscles clenched involuntarily around him, sending little sparks across your body. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the tense muscles under your fingertips, and you whispered, “Please Jaem, move.”
Jaemin pulled back slightly, just an inch or two, and pushed in again slowly. A deep groan rumbled from his chest at the drag, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Shit… so good,” he panted.
The motion made you gasp, the initial burn fading into a deliciously pleasant heat. He repeated it, shallow at first, giving your body time to adapt. Each gentle thrust coaxed a soft whimper from your throat, your nerves firing in ways you’d never even imagined. It wasn’t seamless or effortless like in the stories you’d read; there were awkward pauses, a slight shift when he slipped a bit, both of you chuckling breathlessly to ease the tension.
Then he started moving faster, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. Each stroke hit a perfect angle, his hips grinding against your clit with every push. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked you harder.
The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, skin slapping against skin. Jaemin's hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as he drove into you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was tenderness in the way he held you, even as his pace turned brutal, chasing release.
“You’re doing so well, princess,” he murmured, brushing your temple.
A jolt of pleasure shot through you as the head of his cock nudged a deeper spot. “There… right there,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure.
Jaemin pinned your hand above your head gently. His eyes bored into yours. “I’ve dreamed about this so many times,” he confessed between thrusts, voice punctuated by a whimper as your walls gripped him.
“Me too,” you breathed.
He released your hand to slip between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He circled it slowly at first, matching the tempo of his hips, then faster as your moans grew louder. “Come on, let go for me… you’re so close, I can feel it,” he urged, his own groans growing more frequent.
The added friction served its intended purpose. Your orgasm built fast, coiling tight before exploding, your walls fluttering around his cock, milking him.
He followed you over the edge with a broken cry muffled against your neck, burying himself deep as he came. He collapsed onto you afterward, both of you panting, hearts pounding in that particular post-coital unison that poets find romantic and medical professionals find concerning. He stayed inside you as he softened, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
You lay tangled in Jaemin's arms, limbs pleasantly loose from exertion and spine somewhat less pleasantly compressed by the world's most questionable mattress.
The Room of Requirement, in its infinite wisdom, had conjured a heap of velvet blankets to cover yourself with. You suspected Hogwarts's taste in romantic furnishings had been shaped by decades of adolescent fantasy and the castle's own flair for the dramatic. Regardless, your back ached, your hair was a catastrophe, and you found that you didn't mind at all.
Jaemin, for his part, seemed content to lounge beside you like a Renaissance painting of decadent youth, one hand idly tracing the curve of your hip beneath the sheet. It was all terribly calm—if you ignored the thunderous panic building in your own chest.
You propped yourself up on one elbow and regarded him in the low light. In repose, the sharp edges of him softened into the boy you now knew existed underneath all those sneers. You'd always been rather undone by his eyes, if you were being honest, but now, seeing them half-lidded and so unguarded, the usual sardonic glitter banked to embers, you felt something dangerous clawing its way up your throat.
Don't, warned the sensible part of your brain. Don't you dare.
"I love you," you said.
The words escaped before you had a chance to wrap them in plausible deniability or cushion them with caveats.
Jaemin went very still.
For one absurd, hopeful moment, you thought perhaps he simply needed a second to process. That was reasonable, wasn't it? People usually needed time to absorb emotional declarations. Any moment now, he'd turn to you with that devastating smile and say—
He rolled away. Sat up. And began an unhurried search for his shirt, which had vanished somewhere beneath the bed during earlier, more optimistic proceedings.
Ah.
Ah.
"Jaemin?" you ventured. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.
He didn't turn around. His shoulders, you noticed, had gone rather tense. "It's getting late. We should probably head back to our dormitories."
Your heart, so stupidly full just moments ago, plummeted somewhere in the vicinity of your stomach. "What?"
"It's late," he repeated, to the floor, or perhaps to the shirt he'd finally located. "We have classes tomorrow. We should get some sleep."
You felt as though someone had upended a bucket of ice water directly over your head. You sat up, pulling the sheet around yourself with hands that had begun, rather inconveniently, to tremble. You'd been pleasantly naked in front of him not five minutes ago, and now you couldn't bear the exposure.
"Jaemin." You hated how small your voice had become. "Did you hear what I said?"
He finally looked at you. His expression had shuttered completely, all the warmth and softness of moments ago locked away behind those dark eyes.
"I heard you."
"And?"
He exhaled. "This... what we just did... it doesn't change anything." A pause. "We had an arrangement. A deal. It was never supposed to be more than that."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing you'd ever heard.
You stared at him, vision blurring treacherously, and thought: of course. Of course he didn't love you back. How could he? You were merely a solution to a problem. The fact that you'd been foolish enough to fall for your own charade—well. That was your fault entirely, wasn't it? No one to blame but yourself and your own ridiculous heart.
"Right," you heard yourself say. "Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—that was too—I'm sorry."
"Y/N..." He reached for you, and you flinched away so sharply you nearly toppled off the bed.
"No, it's fine." Your voice had gone brittle, the way it did when you were trying very hard not to cry. "You're absolutely right. We should go."
You stood on shaky legs and began gathering your scattered clothes with trembling hands. Your jumper had ended up draped over a candelabra, and you couldn't find your left sock, but you decided that you didn't care. You needed to leave. You needed to be anywhere but this room that had witnessed your greatest vulnerability and your most thorough humiliation.
Jaemin dressed in silence. His movements were impersonal, as if the tender lover of minutes ago was replaced entirely by a distant stranger pulling on his trousers like this was simply another Sunday. Perhaps, for him, it was.
When you were both clothed, he cleared his throat.
"I'll walk you back to—"
"I know the way," you interrupted, shoving your single sock gracelessly into your back pocket.
His jaw worked, as though he were chewing over some final, unsatisfying thought. You found you didn't want to hear it.
"Goodnight," you said finally.
You turned on your heel, crossed to the door, and walked out of the Room of Requirement with your chin held high and your heart in approximately seventeen thousand pieces, wishing desperately for a Time-Turner and the sense to use it.
You walked back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, barely registering your surroundings. Your mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt shift from blissful intimacy to cold rejection. You stumbled through the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's concerned look. Thankfully, the common room was empty at this hour. You stood there for a long moment, staring into the dying flames, feeling the weight of your own foolishness pressing down on you.
You'd let yourself imagine it, hadn't you? A future where this thing between you and Jaemin was something real. Something that would survive the end of your little arrangement, that would unfold into late-night conversations and stolen kisses in corridors and his hand finding yours under the table at breakfast. You'd let yourself believe it so thoroughly that you'd forgotten it was never real to begin with.
A beautiful lie. A fairy tale you'd spun for yourself, heedless of the inevitable unhappy ending that had been written into the story from the very first page.
And now you were alone in an empty common room at half past midnight, with nothing but the cold truth and the aching, echoing space in your chest where your heart used to be.
"Y/N? Is that you?"
You turned to see Jo descending from the dormitories. She was in her pajamas, hair piled in a messy bun, face still creased with sleep. But the moment she saw you properly, whatever drowsy inquiry she'd been planning died on her lips.
Her eyes went wide. Understanding flooded her features, followed swiftly by something fierce and protective.
"Oh, love," she breathed, and crossed the room in three quick strides to pull you into her arms. "Oh, no. What happened? What did he do?"
And that was all it took. The dam broke, and suddenly you were sobbing into her shoulder, great heaving gasps that shook your whole body. She held you tightly, stroking your hair, murmuring soothing nonsense as you cried.
"I t-told him I l-loved him," you managed between sobs. "And he... he just..."
"Shh, I've got you. Breathe."
"He said it didn’t change anything." You choked on the words. "That it was never supposed to be more than that. And I just—I stood there like an idiot—"
"You're not an idiot." Her arms tightened around you. "You're not. He's the idiot. He's a complete and utter prat, and I'm going to hex his bollocks off, see if I don't—"
A small, inquisitive mrrp interrupted the proceedings.
You both looked down. Whiskers had appeared from somewhere behind the sofa. He blinked up at you with large, knowing eyes, then began weaving between your ankles with pointed determination.
"Oh, Whiskers," Jo murmured. "Good boy. You tell her."
The cat, apparently agreeing that emotional support was required, rose up on his hind legs to bump his head against your knee. When that failed to produce adequate acknowledgment, he meowed again and began climbing your leg in pursuit of a better vantage point.
You laughed, it came out watery and hiccupping and rather awful, but it was a laugh nonetheless.
"See? He thinks Jaemin's a prat, too." Jo said solemnly, scooping Whiskers up and depositing him into the narrow space between you both. The cat immediately began purring and butted his head against your chin.
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, still trembling. "I feel so stupid, Jo. I knew this was how it would end. I knew from the beginning it wasn't real, and I just—I let myself—"
"Hey." Jo pulled back to look at you properly. "Falling in love isn't stupid. It's brave. Even when it's messy and terrifying and the other person is a monumental coward who doesn't deserve you."
"He's not…"
"He is." Her voice brooked no argument. "Anyone who looks at you the way he does and then pretends it's nothing? That's cowardice. That's someone too scared to admit what they feel, so they make you feel like you’re imagining it instead."
You opened your mouth to protest, because surely it wasn't like that, surely you'd simply misread everything, surely the fault was yours for wanting too much, but Jo cut you off.
"No. Don't do that. Don't even try to make excuses for him." She softened, just slightly. "I know you love him. And I know that doesn't just... switch off. But you deserve someone brave enough to love you back out loud, yeah?"
A fresh wave of tears came, because she was right. You did deserve that. And you’d thought, for a few perfect hours, that maybe you’d had it.
“I really thought he—” You couldn’t finish.
“I know.” Her voice was gentle. “I know you did. And maybe he does, somewhere under all that stupid hair. But maybe isn’t good enough.”
You pressed your face into Whiskers’s fur, trying to breathe through the ache in your chest.
"Right," she continued. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sit here, and you're going to let Whiskers work his magic, and you're going to cry as much as you need to. And tomorrow, we're going to eat an absolutely obscene amount of chocolate at breakfast, and you're going to ignore Na Jaemin so thoroughly he'll wonder if he's gone invisible. And if he tries to talk to you, I'll hex him. I’ve gotten really good at Bat-Bogeys."
"Jo, you will get detention."
"I don't care," she wasn't smiling anymore. "No one gets to make you feel like this and walk away unscathed. Not while I'm around."
You leaned into her, letting your head drop against her shoulder. Whiskers purred on.
"I really love him," you whispered. "Even after tonight. How pathetic is that?"
"It's not pathetic at all." Jo's voice caressed your heard, all the protective fury banked into comfort. "Love just doesn't care about timing, or logic, or whether the other person deserves it. It just is." A pause. "And for what it's worth? I don't think he's as unaffected as he's pretending to be. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching."
You didn't answer. You weren't sure you believed her at all, to be honest. But you let her hold you, let Whiskers purr and let the fire burn down to ash while the ache in your chest slowly, slowly dulled to something almost bearable.
Jaemin had never felt more like a prat in his entire life.
No—that wasn't quite accurate. Prat implied mild social incompetence. A tendency to say the wrong thing at dinner parties, forgetting birthdays, laughing at funerals. The sort of harmless foolishness that people forgave with a fond eye-roll and a muttered oh, that's just Jaemin.
What he had done went rather spectacularly beyond that.
He had taken something fragile and rare, something most people spent their entire lives hoping to stumble across, and placed it directly under his own boot. Deliberately. With malice aforethought, or at least malice afore-panic, which hardly seemed better.
He had watched you gather every ounce of courage you possessed. Had felt you trembling against him, breath shallow, voice catching on the edges of words you clearly hadn't planned to say. You had offered him something honest and unguarded and terrifying in its vulnerability, and he had responded by retreating behind technicalities and arrangements like a child hiding behind a curtain and insisting, with full conviction, that he was invisible.
We had a deal.
Merlin. He wanted to reach back in time and throttle himself.
It was never supposed to be more than that.
What a thing to say. What an absolute masterwork of emotional cowardice, delivered with the sort of cool detachment that would've made his father proud. He could practically hear the old man now: Well done, son. Keep them at arm's length. Never let them see you bleed.
Coward.
That was the word. The only word that fit.
A coward with decent grades and a Quidditch record impressive enough to distract people from the fact that, emotionally, he possessed all the sophistication of a flobberworm. Less, actually. Flobberworms at least had the excuse of being invertebrates.
He replayed it in his head for the forty-seventh time that hour, the way your voice had softened when you said it. I love you. Three words, plain and graceles, tumbling out like they'd escaped against your will. Your fingers curling against the sheets and the tiny pause afterward—that breath of suspended time where you had waited for him to meet you there.
And he hadn't.
He had stood on the very edge of everything he'd wanted for six years—six years, which was roughly forty percent of his entire existence and one hundred percent of his adolescence—and he had convinced himself that stepping forward was more dangerous than falling back.
He had finally kissed the girl who'd haunted his thoughts since he was eleven years old and too stupid to understand why her insults made his chest feel strange. He had finally heard you say you loved him to his face, with your whole heart in your voice.
And instead of recognizing it for the bloody miracle it was, he had panicked.
As though being loved were a trap. As though affection were some elaborate con, and you were merely waiting for the right moment to spring it.
As though you, of all people—brilliant, stubborn, infuriatingly principled you—were something he needed protecting from rather than running toward.
He laughed under his breath. The sound came out thin and joyless, startling in the empty corridor.
Afraid of being loved.
Such a stupid thing to be afraid of. It ranked right up there with afraid of winning the Quidditch Cup or afraid of someone handing you precisely what you've desperately wanted and asking nothing in return.
He had spent years wanting your attention.
Years engineering excuses to speak to you, picking fights in the corridors because negative attention was still attention, stealing your quills, hexing your textbooks, memorizing your class schedule so he could accidentally-on-purpose cross your path between classes.
He had told himself this behavior came from an innocent rivalry or perhaps even house pride, just the natural antagonism between Slytherin ambition and Gryffindor recklessness.
He had watched you from across the Great Hall, the way you laughed with Jo, the way you chewed your quill when you were thinking, the way the light caught your hair in the morning, and convinced himself it was harmless curiosity. Academic interest. The detached observation of a worthy opponent.
What a spectacular amount of bollocks he had fed himself.
He had wanted you persistently. Recklessly, in a way that would've horrified his younger self, who had been very committed to the aesthetic of cool indifference.
And when he finally had you, when you were warm and real and trusting in his arms, when you'd given yourself to him completely and then offered your heart on top of it like some undeserved gift—
He had recoiled.
Because being loved meant being seen.
It meant showing up. Being present. Letting someone witness all the parts of himself he usually kept buried under six layers of charm and sarcasm and ambition. It meant responsibility. Knowing that someone else's happiness was now tangled up in his own choices, his own failures, his own capacity to be something more than the sum of his defense mechanisms.
He had spent years telling himself he was being sensible.
Protecting people, he'd called it. Keeping them safe. As though his emotional unavailability were some sort of public service, a kindness he performed by keeping parts of himself locked away where they couldn't do damage.
He lived by three rules: feelings were liabilities, distance was safety, and caring too much was the fastest way to hand someone a weapon and hope they didn't use it.
It had been easy to believe that, growing up in a house where affection came with conditions and approval came with expectations. Where love had always been something that could be revoked at any moment—a privilege, not a given. A reward for good behavior, withdrawn the instant you failed to meet the mark.
So he'd learned early how to ration himself. How to care quietly, in ways that couldn't be measured or weaponised. How to want without asking. How to feel without admitting it, even to himself.
And it had worked. For years, it had worked.
He had been fine. Perfectly content in his carefully constructed fortress of emotional self-sufficiency.
Until you.
You, who had looked at his defenses not as walls to be respected but to be climbed. Who had called him out on his nonsense and refused to be impressed by his posturing and seen through him with a clarity that terrified him.
You had dismantled his entire system without even trying.
And now you were crying in the Gryffindor common room, probably being comforted by Jo who rightfully thought he was the worst sort of person, while he stood alone in a dark corridor with nothing but the wreckage of his own making for company.
He pressed his palm flat to his chest, as if he might physically restrain the ache there.
It didn't work. The ache remained, steady and insistent, a bruise that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. He had been given exactly what he wanted and he had thrown it away because he didn't believe he was allowed to keep it.
Because somewhere deep in the foundations of himself, in all the places his parents' voices still echoed, he had decided that love was not something people like him got to have. Not permanently. That wanting something too much was the surest way to lose it, and the safest course was to let go before it could be taken.
He had pre-empted his own heartbreak.
And in doing so, he had guaranteed it.
The realization settled over him slowly, and Na Jaemin—Slytherin Prefect, Quidditch star, heir to a name that opened doors across the wizarding world—had never felt more utterly, unforgivably small.
He thought of you, somewhere in Gryffindor Tower, believing you had been foolish to love him.
And he thought: No.
The only fool here is me.
Jaemin spent the next few days turning it over. You saying those three words and him saying it didn’t change anything. What a lie. It changed everything and he could feel every new fault line spider out beneath his feet, threatening to split him open.
At first, he tried to convince himself he needed this: to have the edge. He thought of the next two weeks as a sprint, a countdown to the end of the deal, a chance to reset before anyone saw how scrambled he’d become. But the more he tried to hold that line, the more he found himself drifting. A wordless longing in his veins, a kind of hunger not easily starved out.
He looked like hell at breakfast. Sungchan greeted him with a commence-the-mocking whistle and immediately began recounting every detail of the party—especially the part where Jaemin had “dragged his girlfriend off like the end of a Victorian bodice-ripper and nobody saw either of them again until morning.”
Jaemin grunted in response. He’d hoped that the Slytherin table’s perpetual ruckus would drown out his mood, but word had apparently traveled at broomstick speed that he and his Gryffindor paramour had disappeared into the night and returned separately.
“Did you see Y/N?” Giselle asked, low-voiced as she slid onto the bench next to him. “She didn’t come down yet. Jo said something about a headache, but you know what that usually means.”
Jaemin played dumb. It was one of his most reliable talents. “Hangover?”
Giselle’s lips thinned into an unimpressed line. “Try again.”
He almost managed a laugh. “What, mid-semester flu, then?”
Changmin leaned across the table to whack him on the forearm. “Knock it off. You know what she means.”
For a second, Jaemin's lip curled with the beginning of a sneer. Then he caught the genuine concern in Changmin's eyes, and something in his chest constricted painfully. He knew he was being intolerable, but couldn't seem to stop himself. Besides, when had his friends developed this sudden interest in your wellbeing? Just weeks ago, they'd barely concealed their disdain whenever your name came up.
He shrugged. “Didn’t realize you lot were so invested in her.”
Sungchan, mouth full of toast, said, “Are you thick? She’s basically our in-law now.”
Giselle, who had never in her life let a moment of vulnerability pass unremarked, pinned him with a look sharp enough to cut. “Stop pretending you don’t care,” she said quietly. “It’s pathetic.”
Jaemin tried to brush it off, but her words dug in. The table fell into a brief, uncharacteristic silence, broken only by the scrape of utensils and the dull roar of the rest of the Hall. His eyes betrayed him, sweeping across the Great Hall in search of your face. It was four minutes to the start of first period when you appeared, rumpled as a stray leaflet, hair yanked into a bun with a quill, the red in your eyes unsoftened by any attempt to conceal it. You didn’t look in his direction. Not even once.
Jo steered you to a seat as far from the Slytherin table as possible, and for the first time in living memory, you didn’t have a book open with breakfast. You just sat there, picking at a single triangle of toast, the very opposite of the person he’d chased across the halls for half a decade.
He watched you, hating himself for it but unable to stop. Any moment now, you’d look up with a tiny smile and mouth, “What are you looking at?” and the axis of his world would correct itself by one degree. Instead, you slipped out before the first bell.
At least he was reliably consistent. Second period hadn't even started and Jaemin had orchestrated a trinity of fleeting, meticulously planned collisions. He'd spent the first break loitering by the Charms corridor, just to see your profile as you debated something with Jo. You never saw him. Or if you did, you made a point of acting as if he were invisible—a feat that, for someone as volatile as you, must have taken immense restraint. Still, his pulse hammered at the mere proximity, the knowledge that you occupied the same ten-meter radius.
Then, after Defense, he'd shadowed your route to the library, walking the long way around just so he could pass you by the statue of Dymphna the Dazed. He’d spent so many hours studying your gait, the bounce in your step, the way you always fiddled with your wand as you walked that he could predict, to the second, when you'd arrive at the oak doors. The actual moment was almost an anticlimax, though: You breezed right past, not even a flicker of recognition in your gaze.
By the time he wandered into the stacks, he’d convinced himself that running into you was serendipity and not the carefully plotted vector of a moth to its own funeral pyre. He saw you perched at the edge of a reading table, surrounded by towers of books and an aura of such prickly concentration that even Madam Pince hovered before daring to approach. He pretended like he needed something from the Potions section, just adjacent to your fortress of solitude, but when you looked up and caught him standing there, he nearly dropped his armful of textbooks.
But you simply returned to your reading, jaw tight, quill moving in furious dashes. The rejection was as comprehensive as any hex, and it landed him two rows over, staring blankly at a shelf of moldy periodicals and trying to pretend his hands weren't shaking.
This was how the day went: Jaemin planning collisions, you dodging each one with exactness. He wondered if you knew you could destroy him just by looking his way.
You didn’t bite either way. You only spoke once to him, and it was to offer one brittle “Excuse me” as you slid past. He caught a whiff of your hair then and realized he’d missed that scent. It filled his head, left him dizzy. He didn’t turn around as you disappeared down the aisle. He only stood there, polysyllabic apologies crowding the back of his tongue—and not a single one fit to say aloud.
You knew the aftermath would be the hardest part, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the days that followed. They stretched out, elastic and punitive, filled with silences so loud you imagined they could split the castle at its seams.
In a fit of what you would later call “productive despair,” you doubled down on your schoolwork. Every study hour became a refuge, your textbooks a bulwark against thinking. Whiskers responded to your newly-acquired hermitage by laying siege to your lap at all hours, claws lightly sheathed, tail flicking in his sleep like he was chasing the very feelings you’d tried to outrun.
You became an expert at avoiding Jaemin. You timed your arrivals to classes, hung back until the corridors thinned, and made peace with the fact that every now and then, you’d have to let a Slytherin Prefect dock you house points for lateness. Sometimes it was even Jaemin himself; he’d hand you the slip with his eyes fixed somewhere behind your left ear.
Even the Slytherin first years who’d once delighted in blocking your path seemed to shrink away from the tableau, as if the story of your heartbreak had filtered down through the stone like cold water, softening even the nastiest traditions.
Jo, goddess among friends, never pressed. She introduced you to a new array of comfort snacks and developed a proprietary cocoa recipe that she claimed could “reanimate a troll.” She helped you with Charms and let you rant about nothing in particular. When you occasionally faltered—when your hand shook during practicals or you lost your place reading out loud in History of Magic—she’d bump your knee under the desk and say, “We’re almost there, kitten. Keep your chin up.”
You kept your chin up. It hurt but you did it, because Jo was watching, and because Whiskers was watching, and because you refused to let him have any more of your dignity than you’d already handed over.
Four days before the end of the arrangement, your N.E.W.Ts loomed like a darkening storm. You’d just finished revising for Arithmancy when Jo spoke, “We’re doing a girls’ night tonight. No arguments.” She produced two vials of Smuggler’s Pumpkin Spice Spirit (questionable provenance) and a deck of Exploding Snap. “And we’re inviting Yuna.”
You nearly choked. “Yuna?”
Jo nodded seriously. “I saw her crying in the North Tower last Tuesday. She needs it. We need it. Besides, she’s been relentlessly normal lately.”
The idea felt so surreal that you couldn’t bring yourself to object. At exactly ten, Yuna appeared outside your dormitory, balancing a tray of suspiciously glittery shot glasses. She wore pajamas patterned with tiny cats and a hesitant smile, both of which seemed calculated to defuse ancient hostilities.
The three of you sprawled on the floor of the dormitory. You, cross-legged and trying not to look like your entire emotional landscape was scorched earth; Jo, already red-cheeked and deploying her patented “I’m-not-drunk-you’re-drunk” strategy; and Yuna, who poured drinks for everyone.
The first round was vile. The second was marginally less vile, or perhaps your tongue had simply given up. After a few more, your nerves had been numbed enough that you no longer cared if anyone brought up the name “Jaemin”. Or maybe you wanted them to.
Eventually, Jo passed out. She did so with Whiskers pillowed on her belly and her arms flung overhead.Yuna watched her for a long, pensive moment. Then she poured each of you one last shot and raised hers in a slightly wobbly toast. “To stupid boys,” she said. “And to the girls surviving them.”
You clinked glasses. The spirit went down like molten pudding and settled somewhere near your spleen.
A companionable silence fell, the pleasant, boozy sort that felt safe enough to say things you would otherwise never let see daylight.
Yuna was the first to break it.
“He’s terrible at hiding it, you know,” she said. “Jaemin.”
You blinked. “What?”
“What he wants,” Yuna clarified. “It’s…not subtle.” She swirled her shot glass, watching the dregs coat the glassy bottom. “I think he makes things hard for himself, but harder for the people he cares about.” She flicked her gaze up. “And you must know. You’re the only one he’s ever actually cared about.”
You tried to laugh, but it came out flat. “I think you’re mixing up ‘care’ with ‘use as a convenient shield for his own problems.’”
Yuna’s expression shifted to puzzled. “Convenient shield?”
You blinked at her, a little dizzy, a little stunned that Yuna, one of Slytherin’s most preternaturally well-informed gossip, didn’t already know every miserable detail. “You—oh, come on. The arrangement.” You mimed air quotes with your fingers, nearly upending your glass in the process. “We only did this to get you off his bloody back.”
Yuna opened her mouth to say something,but then just burst out laughing. Not even a sly titter but a full-throated snort that startled Whiskers off Jo’s belly and into an escape beneath the bed.
“Oh—oh, Merlin’s balls—” Yuna gasped, clutching her ribs. “You—wait, you actually believed—oh, this is precious.”
You felt yourself flush with irritation. “What’s so funny? That you lost your shot at Jaemin?”
“No, you adorable idiot, not that.” Yuna shook her head, wiping away a tear of mirth. “Are you serious? I’ve only ever talked to Jaemin because he’s Changmin’s best friend, and Changmin—well…”
She trailed off, her cheeks going very pink, then, as if you weren’t present at all, she laid her head back against the bottom bunk and stared at the ceiling, a contented smile on her lips.
You waited for more context, a swirl of confusion tangling up your tongue. There was a thud as Whiskers landed on the foot of the bed, followed by the faintest prickle of claws as he padded up beside you.
Finally, the implication of her words hit your tipsy brain. “Wait. You’re not—I mean. You weren’t even—?”
“Into Jaemin?” Yuna finished for you. “Merlin, no. Not since third year at least—and even then, only in the way you want a new pair of boots.” She shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “He’s nice to look at, but a nightmare to date. Total self-saboteur.” She glanced at you, curious. “You really thought I was after him?”
You felt lightheaded. “I mean you were everywhere—”
“I was following Changmin, you dolt.” Yuna’s face went even pinker if possible. “I set this whole thing up to make him jealous. I mean, it worked, he finally asked me to Hogsmeade, but—” she broke off, suddenly shy. “Sorry for the collateral damage. Truly.”
You stared at her, the pieces of the last months threatening to explode through the air. All that plotting, the drama, every humiliating emotional contortion you’d endured, and all this time…
Jaemin hadn’t been fighting off Yuna. He’d just, what?
Did he just want an excuse to be near you, because he was pathologically incapable of admitting how much he needed it, even to himself? Every ounce of dignity you'd sacrificed, every moment of your life spent embroiled in this nonsense, and the object of his supposed self-sacrifice had been pining for Changmin the entire time.
You took a long, bracing inhale, thumping your head once hard against the edge of the bed frame.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
Yuna, to her credit, had the decency not to gloat. She nudged Whiskers toward you. “He’s always liked you, you know,” she said. “Even before. He used to ask me how to get you to stop hating him, like I had some kind of… girl code manual.”
You eyed her. “Did you?”
Yuna nodded, propping her chin on her knees. “I told him to try being honest for once. Clearly, he didn’t listen.”
You rolled your eyes. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
“You know, out of everyone, I think you’re the only person who makes him utterly lose his composure. He’s usually… impossible to fluster. Kind of his thing. But around you it’s like—you light a match and throw it into his brain.”
“Well, I certainly managed to set something on fire,” you said, and surprised yourself with a half-laugh. “Just not in any useful way.”
Yuna scooted a little closer, lowering her voice. “I know you probably don’t want my advice, but… maybe give him a chance to fix it. He’s genuinely bad at this stuff.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to forgive him, but if you’re waiting for him to say the right thing, you might be waiting forever.”
Her words slotted into place in your exhausted brain, like the last piece of a hopelessly complicated puzzle. Horrible, giddy amusement bubbled up your chest: all this time, you’d been fighting the wrong war, arming yourself against an enemy who’d never even taken the field.
You left Jo and Yuna asleep in each other's arms, Whiskers curled into a protective gray-striped crescent at the foot of the bed. Every portrait squinted with suspicious half-lidded eyes, and every suit of armor clattered medieval disapproval as you ran past them.
You didn't think much about where you were going, but the probability was as precise as Divination could ever muster: the Slytherin common room. Because if there was a single neuron left swimming in your firewhisky-addled brain, it was firing like a desperate flare directly toward Na Jaemin.
You padded soundlessly through the dungeons, fingertips trailing along the cool stone walls for balance, only to round a corner and nearly collide with a tall silhouette legging it up from the other direction. Jaemin, hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours, shirt untucked with three buttons misaligned, and eyes wild as a cornered hippogriff, skidded to a halt so abrupt you both nearly toppled over.
You just stood there, staring, every cell in your body screaming and also quite possibly vibrating. Through the haze of fatigue and shame and liquor, you registered every heartbreakingly specific detail of him: the spike in his breathing, the way he braced one hand against the wall as if he needed it to hold up the rest of him, the deep crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was actively terrified.
The words queued up, fighting to be first out. “I—” “Listen—” “Can we—” “Please—”
A jumble, then an accidental harmony: “I need to talk to you.”
For one second, you considered turning around and running. But the way Jaemin looked at you pinned you to the spot.
He spoke first. “Come to the broom closet? I think I saw Mrs Norris nearby, which means… ”
“Filch,” you finished for him. “Okay, let’s go.”
You followed him in silence, down the corridor to the oversized closet that Slytherins had used for centuries to hide everything from illicit liquor to first-year snoggers. He held the door open, then closed it behind you, which left you not even three feet apart.
Jaemin propped his back against the door and exhaled so slowly it sounded like the last breath of a dying man. You tried not to notice that his hands were shaking. Or that he looked, for all his composure, completely lost. “I, um.” He looked down at his own shoes. “Y/N, I fucked up.”
You blinked. You’d come here to yell, maybe. Or at least to interrogate some truths out of him, like why he had so thoroughly detonated your entire sense of self. But he’d opened with the guilt and you weren’t ready for it. Unpracticed, unbuffered by the ice of pride or wit. It landed inside you with an unexpected warmth that left you unable to launch the first missile of your prepared invective.
He tried again. “I said things I didn’t mean. Or… didn’t say things I was supposed to.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, and for the first time in your long and bitter acquaintance, he looked his age. Not the chiseled, archvillain Slytherin but a seventeen-year-old boy who’d just spent the last week eating his own heart.
You pressed your back to the shelving, feeling a bristle of ancient brooms poking into your shoulder. It was easier to focus on the physical discomfort than the absolute riot of feelings inside you. “Why did you do it, then?” you asked, voice trembling but louder than you felt. “Why pretend? Why go through all of it if you didn’t—”
He looked up then, and the world stopped. You'd always known Jaemin had pretty eyes, almost stupidly so, but you'd never seen them this stripped of showmanship. There was nothing left in them but the need to be understood.
He ran both hands through his hair, almost laughing at himself. “Growing up, love was like a… currency. My parents, they’d dole it out in rations, make you earn it, then yank it away when you needed it most. Every hug, every ‘I’m proud of you’—it was an investment, and nothing was free. I don’t want to do that.”
He broke off, looking at you as if every word took a year off his life. “But then you—fuck, Y/N, you just loved me. Out loud. Not because you had to, or because I earned it, but because you wanted to. And I didn’t know what to do with that, so I panicked and did what I always do, which is ruin things before they can ruin me.”
You might have laughed, if it hadn’t stung so much. “You could’ve just said it back, you know. Or at least not torched me on the way out.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I wanted to. I do. I just—” He exhaled again and met your gaze. “I actually love you so much, and it scares me so bad I’d rather light the whole thing on fire than tell you to your face.I thought if you ever knew, if you ever saw how fucking much it was, you’d run for the hills. I was scared.” He huffed a laugh. “I’m still scared.”
You stared at him, the old defenses rising out of habit—sarcasm, skepticism, the impulse to twist anything freely given—but something in his voice made them shrivel away. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t even posturing. He was sweating through his shirt in a freezing stone corridor, admitting in the most un-Slytherin way possible that he wanted something enough to break himself for it.
He took a faltering step toward you. “I love you. I love you so much it makes my head hurt, and every time you look at me, I feel like I’m being given something I’m not allowed to keep. You’re so smart, brilliant really, you make everything feel less small and stupid, and I like how you argue even when you know you’re wrong, and sometimes I go out of my way just to hear you laugh at me, because when you do it I feel like maybe I’m not a total waste of oxygen—”
He broke off, eyes wild and shining. “You make me better, from the inside out. And I was so terrified that if you ever saw the real me—if I let you in even a little—I’d ruin it. Or you’d hate me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “But I ruined it anyway,didn’t I?”
You listened in shock, because this was the Jaemin you’d believed existed only at the very edges of his brittle, cocky mask. The one who’d made a study of you, who’d learned all your favorite spells and matched your every move. You weren’t sure you knew how to reply. The gravity of his confession pressed you to the wall.
"I'm not going to say it was fine," you whispered, voice cracking. "It felt like you'd reached inside my chest and—" You pressed a trembling hand to your sternum. "God, Jaemin. I couldn't breathe for days. But even then, I never—" Your voice broke completely. "I never really hated you. Not even when I probably should've."
He breathed out. “You’ve no idea how much I wanted you to hate me properly. Would’ve made everything simpler.”
“Why spend all that time and effort in this charade? You could've just been honest... You had no idea how I would take it.”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose as if the pain of the question might physically rupture his skull. “Because I didn’t know how else to have you, and I thought the only way you’d let me close was if it was an act.”
You wanted to spit something cruel, but it collapsed against the lump in your throat. “You incredible, galloping idiot,” you said instead, mostly to yourself.
You were about to speak again when he slipped a hand inside the folds of his robes. A familiar spine emerged, its dark leather cover worn soft across the creased corners, the gold lettering faintly dulled by time.
Wuthering Heights.
It was the very copy you’d pressed into his hand weeks ago, at Tomes and Scrolls, half in jest. You’d expected him to snort and set it aside unread, or skim a few florid passages, shrug, and call it melodramatic nonsense. But now its pages were dog-eared, edges curling; a thin gold ribbon marked a specific chapter. The paper around it was so softened that you could almost see the imprint of fingertips pressed into the margins—tiny scrawled notes in cramped handwriting, evidence of long, late-night wrestling matches with Emily Brontë’s tempestuous souls.
Jaemin’s fingers trembled as he thumbed to the ribboned page. He cleared his throat, that quiet catch sounding louder in the hush around you, and lifted his gaze. The brown of his eyes locked onto yours so fiercely your ribs felt oddly vulnerable, as if he were staring right through your chest. Then, he began:
“Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you.”
Your pulse thundered in your ears. You stared at the book, at the margin notes, at the little crease in the paper where he’d returned again and again.
“You read it,” you whispered shakily. “You actually read it.”
He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear and offered you a shy, sheepish smile. “I got about three pages in and thought, ‘This is the most overwrought melodramatic nonsense I have ever encountered and she’ll never let me live it down if I admit I liked it.’”
Your breath caught, and you laughed softly. “So the Slytherin prince secretly studies Muggle love tragedies for—what? Sport?”
“For you.” His words fell simple and straight, but you saw in the tense set of his shoulders how much it cost him. “I remembered what you once said. That words could be more powerful than any spell. That some stories could make you feel things magic never touches.” He swallowed, eyes flicking away for only an instant. “I wanted to understand. I wanted to see the world the way you do. Even if… even if you never spoke to me again, I needed something of how you think.”
Your throat tightened around all the things you wanted to say.
“I love you,” he said suddenly. “I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. I’ll resign as a Prefect, stop dining in the Great Hall… never speak to you again, if that’s how it has to be—”
“Jaemin—”
“And if you think I’m not worth the effort, if you find some sensible bloke that's smarter and more emotional available instead of—” He gestured at himself “—a stupid prick with a habitual avoidance of feelings, that’s fine too, I unders—”
“Jaemin.”
He stumbled to silence, eyes wide, braced for your anger or dismissal. Instead, you stepped forward. “I think,” you said softly, “I’d rather take my chances with a Slytherin who panics at his own heart.”
His whole face broke into a tentative, trembling smile that brightened by the second, like dawn’s first light spilling over the lake.
“You don’t hate me, then?”
“Oh, I do,” you teased, closing the distance between you. “Just not enough to stop wanting to kiss you.”
He laughed a breathless, disbelieving sound that left him momentarily speechless. “That’s… a very low bar.”
“It’s the bar you set,” you said, reaching up to smooth the crease by his temple. “I’m just acknowledging it.”
He was so close now you could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the restless hours he’d spent reading. His breath hitched, and his fingers, still warm around your forearm, shook.
“One condition.”
“Anything.”
“No more schemes. No more elaborate lies to keep me close. If you want something from me, you ask. And if you ever feel like sabotaging yourself again, you write it in a journal like every other teenager, and you keep me out of it.”
His eyes shone with relief and determination. “Deal. I swear it. Honest to Merlin, I’ll be so transparent you’ll beg me to tell a little white lie.”
“Unlikely.” You tousled his hair affectionately.
“I’ll be boring and straightforward and—”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“—and I’ll read every book you recommend, even the ones you hate, so at least we can hate them together. I’ll tell you if I’m scared instead of running away, and I’ll—”
“Jaemin.”
He stopped and blinked up at you, a hopeful question in his gaze.
“Shut up and come here.”
He closed the last few inches between you, cupping your face as if it were made of spun glass. His thumbs traced the damp paths of your tears, his eyes pleading.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the soft curve of your lips. “For all of it—for the lies, the running, the… spectacular emotional incompetence. I’m so sorry.”
You rested your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart. “I know.”
He drew a shaky breath. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
You pressed your forehead to his “I will.”
"Yeah?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Already there."
And then, finally, his mouth found yours.
The kiss was unhurried. A little clumsy. Both of you slightly out of practice with each other, slightly hesitant, slightly afraid this might still evaporate if you moved too fast.
But it was real.
You could taste the years of wanting and the weeks of pretending and the days of heartbreak. The sharp edge of pain, slowly dulling. The first green shoots of something that might, given enough time and care, grow into something lasting.
You smiled against his lips. Let your fingers curl into the collar of his robes. Kissed him back with every ounce of mortifying hope you'd sworn you'd bury.
There was nothing staged here. Only the press of his mouth saying yes and sorry and I love you and please, over and over, until the words became simpler.
Stay, his kiss said. Stay, and I'll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it.
When you eventually separated, both breathing heavily, your foreheads touched.
"Let's see how long it takes you to mess this up," you murmured.
He laughed, eyes bright with joy. "Reckon I've got until dinner at best."
"Don't push your luck."
You kissed him once more, simply because it was possible. Because you wanted to. Because for five endless days you'd believed this door closed forever, and now finding it open seemed too precious to ignore.
Gossip would explode anew, inevitably. By evening meal, whispers would spread about you two emerging from an empty classroom, looking thoroughly kissed. By morning, a dozen conflicting stories would circulate. Within a week, the castle's most creative rumormongers would have you practically married.
But in this moment—his hand entwined with yours, his smile against your temple, your future sketched in pencil rather than vanishing ink—the entire castle seemed beautifully uncomplicated.
For a pair of hopeless liars, it made for a surprisingly honest beginning.
pairing: slytherin! na jaemin x gryffindor! fem. reader
genre: hogwarts au, fake dating (hell yeah!), fluff, smut, angst
wc: 34k (full fic)
summary: It's a simple deal: fake date the Slytherin golden boy to dodge his arranged marriage. Easy. Except patrols turn into makeouts, a Quidditch win ends in a very steamy contract violation, and suddenly your N.E.W.T.s feel like the least of your problems. After one badly timed confession, it’s clear he’s not acting anymore—and neither are you.
content warnings: slow burn, explicit sexual content (2nd part), miscommunication!!!, emotional hurt/comfort, cursing, alcohol consumption, reader is self conscious/bit anxious, heavy hogwarts canon themes obvs, slytherin/gryffindor dynamics, jaemin is lowkgenuinely manipulative at the beginning, mean slytherin stereotypes, avoidance as a coping mechanism. lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: ok this is gonna be a long a/n so bear with me. this fic genuinely almost killed me. i don’t think i’ve ever struggled so much to finish something in my life and it’s 100% my fault for being too ambitious. you’ll notice i tried to weave in more hogwarts details and brit lingo to make it feel more authentic, but as you may have guessed… i am not british 😭 so that meant a lot of googling, rewatching, and rereading some of my fav hp fics just to make sure i wasn’t embarrassing myself. i did my best okay (shoutout to every hp fic writer before me, yall are the blueprint). also: yes, you may catch a hint of draco malfoy in jaemin’s character and that’s very much intentional. i am, at my core, a draco apologist and i don’t see myself changing. anyways. i really hope you enjoy reading this as much as i suffered writing it. please let me know what you think w ur comments, anons, reblogs. everything is appreciated more than you know 🖤
“I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Hogwarts had always held a certain allure, with its ancient stone walls and magic that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny. For six and a half years, you'd wandered those hallowed halls, immersing yourself in a world so far removed from the mundane that at times it hardly seemed real.
Yet, for all its wonder and mystique, Hogwarts was not without its dangers.
There were cursed objects that lurked in shadowy corridors, waiting for an unsuspecting student to stumble upon them. Staircases that shifted without warning, leaving the unwary stranded or, worse, deposited in some unknown part of the castle. The Whomping Willow that stood sentinel on the grounds, its gnarled branches poised to strike at any who ventured too close. Even Peeves the Poltergeist roamed the halls, cackling with malicious glee as he wreaked havoc and sowed chaos in his wake.
In the face of such peril, you had thus far emerged unscathed, a feat that was nothing short of remarkable given the castle's rather alarming mortality rate. You attributed your survival to a simple yet effective strategy: be invisible, be boring, and for the love of Merlin, stay away from anyone interesting.
Interesting people, you had learned, were magnets for trouble. They ended up in the hospital wing with alarming regularity, usually victims of rogue hexes or potions experiments gone awry. They attracted drama the way honey attracted flies, their lives a constant whirlwind of rumor and intrigue. Interesting people had complicated social lives, with networks of friends and enemies and romantic entanglements that required constant upkeep.
You, on the other hand, were perfectly content with your quiet, unassuming existence. You had one close friend, one beloved cat, and a comfortable routine that rarely demanded more of you than attending classes and avoiding human interaction as much as possible. It wasn't a particularly exciting life, but it was safe and predictable and suited you just fine.
At least, it had until this particular moment, when your sole friend had apparently taken complete leave of her senses.
"Are you having some sort of episode?" You peered at Jo over the top of your book, brow furrowed in concern. "Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey? Is this what happens when you inhale too many potion fumes?"
Jo rolled her eyes with an exaggerated huff. "Please!" she wheedled, her voice climbing to that particular pitch that never boded well. "Please please please, I swear on Merlin's saggy ba—"
You held up a finger, cutting her off before she could complete that thought. "I'm going to stop you right there..."
"I'll never ask you for anything ever again!" She pleaded, clasping her hands together. "I'll do your Potions essays for a month! I'll clean Whiskers' litter box! I'll—"
"I don't think you heard me the first time," you interrupted, fixing her with a pointed stare. "Are. You. Mental?"
The Gryffindor common room was mercifully empty save for the portrait of a tongue-less lady, who watched your exchange with rapt attention. Having gotten her tongue cut out in 1642 for "seditious gossip", the painted woman had developed a keen appreciation for drama in all its forms. Judging by the way she clutched at her pearls, this was the most excitement she'd witnessed in decades. Whiskers was curled up in your lap, observing your best friend with as much judgement as you probably were.
"Come ooon," Jo cajoled, undeterred by your apparent lack of enthusiasm. "When do I ever do things like this? You're always telling me to try new things!"
"I meant take up knitting! Join the Gobstones Club! I did not mean sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night to meet some potentially lycanthropic stranger you've been corresponding with!"
"He's not a stranger, I've been writing to him for months—"
"Which is exactly what every person who's ever been murdered by a pen pal has said—"
"And he's not a werewolf, he's perfectly lovely! I saw him in Hogsmeade last month, I just couldn't say hello because McGonagall was watching me like a hawk."
"Seeing someone from a distance hardly counts as a proper introduction," you argued, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself as if to punctuate your point.
This was the problem with having just one close friend. You knew Jo too well, could read her every expression and intonation better than anyone else. That gleam in her eye, the set of her chin, the way she twisted her fingers in her lap - you recognized the signs of a course already plotted, a decision already made. She would go through with this mad scheme with or without your help, and if you refused, she'd likely end up dead in a ditch somewhere and you'd be left to drown in guilt for the rest of your days.
Guilt, you thought grimly, was a most effective motivator.
With a weary sigh, you closed your book and met Jo's hopeful gaze. "Fine. Fine. What exactly do you need me to do?"
Jo's answering grin could have lit up the entirety of the Great Hall. "Just swap patrol shifts with Sophie Crockett tomorrow night? She's an absolute nightmare, and if she catches me out after curfew she'll go straight to McGonagall."
You could feel a headache blooming behind your eyes. "And when Sophie asks why I'm suddenly so eager to take on the worst patrol slot in existence?"
"Just make something up! She's not going to turn down a chance to skive off for an evening, is she?"
Rubbing your temples, you silently cursed the fickle twists of fate that had led you to this moment. "And the other prefects? I'll still have to deal with them, you know."
Jo waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you're all right. The only other one scheduled is Na Jaemin, and everyone knows he never actually patrols. Just goes and snogs girls in the library all night, doesn't he?"
You raised an incredulous eyebrow. "How would you know that?"
"Everyone knows," Jo said with a shrug. "It's common knowledge."
"Well, I didn't know."
"That's because you never pay attention to gossip," Jo pointed out, flopping down beside you on the couch. "Honestly, you're missing out on prime entertainment. Anyway, I'm sure Jaemin's got better things to do than patrol corridors. You'll probably have the place to yourself.”
You made a noncommittal sound, trying not to think too hard about Na Jaemin and his extracurricular activities.
It was funny, really. Or rather more like cosmically ironic. First and second year, Jaemin had been an absolute pest. Always lurking around corners, waiting to charm your bag so your books would spill everywhere, or jinx your quill during tests so it would only write rude limericks. He’d found you endlessly amusing, apparently, a never-ending source of entertainment. You’d gone to bed countless nights fuming, plotting revenge you’d never actually carry out, wishing he’d just leave you alone.
And then, somewhere around third year, he just stopped. He stopped seeking you out, or looking at you entirely. As if you’d ceased to exist the moment you stopped being fun to torment.
By fourth year, he’d transformed into a whole different person entirely. Suddenly he was all smoldering glances and that insufferable “playboy” swagger, a different girl on his arm every week. Too cool for pranks and too sophisticated for something as juvenile as tormenting students. He’d become exactly the sort of person you’d made it your mission to avoid: interesting, magnetic, drowning in attention and drama.
You supposed you should have been relieved. You’d wanted him to leave you alone, after all. But there was something particularly galling about being so thoroughly dismissed, about going from his favorite target to utterly beneath his notice. At least when he’d been pulling pranks, you’d existed to him.
Now you were just… nobody. Which was exactly what you’d wanted, you reminded yourself firmly. Exactly what you’d worked so hard to achieve.
“You’re probably right,” you said to Jo, pushing thoughts of Jaemin firmly out of your mind. “I’ll probably have the whole patrol to myself.”
Privately, you rather doubted that. In your experience, the universe had a way of placing you in the path of people and situations you'd much rather avoid. Still, Jo was clearly determined to see her plan through, and short of physically restraining her (a tempting prospect, but ultimately impractical), you saw no way to dissuade her.
"Fine," you said again. "I'll take Sophie's patrol. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' in the loudest, most obnoxious voice I can muster."
"You're the best." Jo pulled you into a rib-cracking hug, her hair tickling your nose. "Seriously, I owe you one."
"You owe me several," you grumbled, but you returned the hug all the same.
Later that night, as you lay in bed listening to the soft snores of your dormmates, you tried to ignore the sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Rationally, you knew the odds of anything truly catastrophic happening were slim. It was just one night, one patrol, one tiny favor for your best friend. Surely the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to upend your careful, boring routine over something so trivial.
But then, you thought wryly, life did seem to have a twisted sense of humor where you were concerned.
With a sigh, you rolled over and buried your face in your pillow, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow would bring what it would. For now, all you could do was hope that, just this once, the cosmic forces that governed your life would decide to give you a break.
Poorly planned rule-breaking never worked out the way you expected it to.
There was the first year incident, for instance, involving a misplaced curiosity about the Restricted Section and a borrowed invisibility cloak that was, crucially, not yours. You’d lasted exactly twelve minutes before knocking over a stack of cursed folios and alerting Madam Pince.
Second year had been defined by an ill-advised attempt to brew Pepper-Up Potion in a bathroom sink, resulting in steam, screaming, and a week-long ban from practical spellwork. Jo still insisted it would have worked if you’d stirred clockwise instead of counterclockwise. You maintained that the problem was attempting potion-making in plumbing never designed for magic.
After those things, you'd like to say you saw the impending disaster coming from a mile away, but honestly? You were too preoccupied with figuring out how to convince Sophie Crockett to swap shifts without making her suspicious.
As it turned out, Sophie was pathetically easy to persuade. You caught her after Charms, mentioned something vague about "wanting to study for the Divination exam in the morning" (there was no Divination exam, but Sophie didn't take Divination, so she was none the wiser), and she agreed immediately, no questions asked. Just a breezy "Oh, thank Merlin, I've got an Astronomy essay I haven't even started" and that was that.
In hindsight, that should have been your first warning sign. When things fell into place too smoothly, it usually meant the universe was just winding up for a truly spectacular cosmic sucker punch.
At nine sharp on Saturday you pinned your prefect badge to your robes and made your way down to the Entrance Hall, silently cursing your inability to say no to Jo's puppy dog eyes.
The castle took on a different character at night. Not peaceful, exactly. More... haunting. The portraits whispered conspiratorially as you passed, and the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and deepen weirdly. You'd walked these corridors countless times before, but they never quite lost their eerie quality after dark.
You were supposed to meet Jaemin at the main staircase to divvy up patrol routes. But in theory, if the rumors about his extracurricular activities were true, you'd never actually know have to interact with him at all.
That was the theory, anyway.
The reality was that when you arrived at the designated meeting spot, Na Jaemin was already there, leaning against the banister and looking distinctly un-snog-ready.
Jaemin was the sort of boy who looked like he was born in moonlight and named by a poet. Even in the sallow torchlight, his hair glowed, silver-gold and a little too long for regulation. There was always something quietly triumphant in the angle of his jaw, the tilt of his smile, as if every corridor was a stage and every passing student a captive audience.
You stopped short, your feet suddenly rooted to the spot. Some ancient, reflexive part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to flee, to avoid him the way you’d been so carefully avoiding him for the past four years. The last time you’d been alone with Na Jaemin you’d been twelve years old and he’d been too entertained by your mortification to let you escape.
Now you were seventeen, and he was looking at you with an expression that was completely different and all too intense. He was supposed to be off in some secluded corner of the library, doing unspeakable things with whatever girl was lucky enough to be on his arm that week. He was absolutely not supposed to be here, looking alert and purposeful and like he was actually planning to do his job.
Even more concerning, he looked annoyed.
"You're the Gryffindor prefect," he said, and it sounded more like an accusation than a question.
"...Yes?" Really, what else could you say?
"Where's Crockett?"
"We swapped shifts."
His eyes, a rather striking shade of dark brown that you'd never had occasion to notice before, narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
"Does it matter?"
He closed his eyes briefly, and you got the distinct impression he was counting to ten in his head. When he opened them again, he fixed you with a look that could have flash-frozen a cup of tea. "I needed Crockett on duty tonight."
Well. That was... odd. Extremely odd. Highly, suspiciously odd. Why would Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general too-cool-for-this-nonsense type, care which prefect was patrolling with him?
"Well," you said, channeling every ounce of polite defiance you possessed, "we've already swapped, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Unless you've got a Time-Turner hidden somewhere, which would be highly illegal, so I'm going to assume you don't."
Jaemin's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "This is—" He stopped himself, visibly recalibrating. "Fine. Right. You take floors three through five then. I'll handle the lower levels and the grounds."
And that's when your brain, which had been operating at half capacity due to stress and sleep deprivation, finally caught up with the situation.
The grounds.
Jaemin wanted to patrol the grounds.
The same grounds where, at this very moment, your best friend was likely rendezvousing with her mystery man.
Oh no.
"Actually," you heard yourself say, the words tumbling out in a slightly manic rush, "I was rather hoping to get some fresh air tonight. Bit stuffy in the castle, you know. Mind if we swap? You take the upper floors, I'll do the grounds."
His expression shuttered faster than a shop window in Knockturn Alley. "No."
"No?"
"No."
"Well, that's not very cooperative of you," you said, mentally calculating how quickly you could sprint to the grounds to warn Jo. "Aren't prefects supposed to work as a team?"
Jaemin raised one perfectly arched brow. "Why so keen on the grounds all of a sudden?"
"No reason." Your voice came out at least an octave higher than usual. "Just thought it would be nice to get some air. Lovely night for a stroll, don't you think?"
"You're an atrocious liar," he informed you, taking a step closer. You were suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he was quite a bit taller than you, and that the height difference was doing absolutely nothing to bolster your confidence in this situation. "What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on."
"Of course not. And I suppose you just happened to swap shifts with Crockett tonight for no particular reason, and now you're coincidentally desperate to patrol the grounds."
Okay. This was getting out of control. You needed him. away from the grounds, away from Jo, away from this entire situation. And there was only one thing you could think of that might actually work.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s Saturday night. I just thought you might have… plans.”
“Plans,” he repeated flatly.
“Yeah, well… You don’t actually patrol on Saturdays.” The words came out in a rush, ungraceful and desperate. “So if you want to go do whatever it is you usually do, I can handle this. Really. You don’t have to—”
“Whatever it is I usually do,” Jaemin said, his lips twitching. “And what exactly do you think that is?”
Oh god. Why had you started this?
“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of your schedule.”
“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be standing here trying to… what? Give me permission to skive off?” He was definitely smiling now, the bastard. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I’m just saying, if you have other commitments—”
He laughed, short and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it? Commitments?”
Your face was absolutely burning now. “Look, what you do with your time is none of my business.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Because I’m trying to be helpful!” You gestured wildly at the empty entrance hall. “The library’s right there. I’m sure whoever you’re supposed to meet would appreciate you actually showing up—”
“Ah.” Jaemin’s grin widened, showing teeth. “You think I’m supposed to meet someone in the library.”
“That’s what people say,” you muttered, unable to meet his eyes.
“People say a lot of things.” He leaned back against the banister, looking thoroughly entertained now. “And you believe all of them?”
“That’s not the point—”
“Tell me, what else does everyone say about me? I’m curious.”
This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh no, I don’t think so.” He pushed off the banister, taking a step closer. “You started it. Come on, don’t be shy now. What exactly are these Saturday night activities I’m supposedly abandoning patrol for?”
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “You already know what people say.”
“I do. But I want to hear you say it.” His eyes were dancing with so much glee. “Go on. Don’t spare my delicate sensibilities.”
“This is ridiculous—”
“Go on.”
You took a breath, lifted your chin, and forced the words out with as much dignity as you could muster. “Fine. People say you spend your patrol shifts in the library doing…things.”
“I really don’t. You’ll have to be more specific.”
He was enjoying this far too much, the absolute prat. “They say you… meet girls there.”
“Meet girls,” he said thoughtfully. “Like a book club?”
“Not like a book club,” you gritted out.
“Then what?”
You threw your hands up. “They say you snog girls in the library instead of doing your prefect duties! There! Are you happy?”
Jaemin laughed. “Merlin’s beard, is that it?”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“And you believed it?” He shook his head, still grinning. “That’s adorable, really.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.
“Well, you are when you’re trying to delicately inform me about my own scandalous reputation.” His eyes glittered with delight. “How very considerate, giving me an out like that. ‘Oh Jaemin, don’t let me keep you from your library assignations.’”
He said it in a high pitched tone, clearly trying for a very inaccurate impression of you.
“I was only trying to be nice.” You huffed.
“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he corrected, but he didn’t sound annoyed about it. If anything, he seemed more intrigued. “Which brings us back to the question of why you’re so desperate for me to not patrol the grounds tonight.”
Damn it. You’d played right into his hands. “I’m not—”
“You just tried to use my supposed promiscuity as an excuse to get me to leave.” He tilted his head, studying you. “So either you’re deeply concerned about my social life, or there’s something on the grounds you don’t want me to find.”
Your heart was hammering again. He’d out-maneuvered you completely, turning your own attempt at manipulation back on you.
“Well?” he prompted. “Which is it?”
“The first one,” you lied weakly. “I’m very concerned about your social life.”
“Right.” His smile was sharper now, more predatory. “In that case, you’ll be delighted to know I’m completely free tonight. I have no library dates or clandestine meetings. Just a nice, thorough patrol of the grounds.” He paused. “With you, apparently, since you seem so determined to tag along.”
You rolled your eyes. “You are so irritating.”
“There’s the Gryffindor honesty I remember,” he said cheerfully. “Come on then. Let’s go catch whoever it is you’re trying to protect.”
Wait. What?
“I’m not—there’s no one—”
But he was already turning toward the entrance hall, and panic clawed at your throat. You needed to try something else, anything to keep him from the grounds.
“Look,” you said, a note of genuine desperation creeping into your voice, “patrolling the grounds is easily twice the work of the upper floors. I’m offering to take on the extra effort here. What’s the problem?”
He paused, glancing back at you with an expression of exaggerated surprise. “You? Volunteering for extra work?” He pressed a hand to his chest in shock. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Na Jaemin, and you’re the girl who once hid in a broom cupboard for twenty minutes to avoid helping set up for the Yule Ball.”
“I did not—” You stopped, because you absolutely had done that, and he somehow knew about it. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it though?” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, admit it. You’ve spent six years perfecting the art of doing the absolute bare minimum. I’ve seen you let third years wander the corridors after curfew as long as they promised to go straight to bed.”
Your face burned. “I was tired that night—”
“You’re always tired.” He tilted his head. “So forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical about this sudden burst of civic responsibility. It’s very out of character for you.”
The sheer audacity. The unmitigated gall. To accuse you of apathy and then dismiss you without so much as a backward glance? An ember of indignation flared to life and burned away the last vestiges of your tattered patience. He had no right. No right to stand there and act like he understood anything about you when he was the reason you’d learned to make yourself invisible in the first place.
And now here he was, cataloging your flaws with that same amused smile, like you were still just entertainment to him.
“Fine,” you bit out. “Don’t take my offer. See if I care.”
“Oh, I won’t.” He turned back toward the entrance hall, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “I’m patrolling the grounds. You can join me or check the upper floors. Your choice.”
“Why do you just get to decide that on your own? The grounds aren’t even part of the standard patrol route!”
"They are tonight," he tossed over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
And with that spectacularly unhelpful explanation, he walked out the front doors, leaving you standing slack-jawed and sputtering in his wake.
This was it. The moment of truth. You had approximately five seconds to make a decision that would either save your best friend from expulsion or doom her to a fate worse than death.
Option one: let Jaemin go off on his own. He'd catch Jo, she'd be expelled, and you'd spend the rest of your life weighed down by the guilt of your inaction.
Option two: follow him, try to run interference, and most likely fail spectacularly but hey, at least you could say you tried.
In the end, your choice was clear. The reckless, devil-may-care loyalty that had landed you in Gryffindor in the first place reared its noble head, and before you quite knew what you were doing, you were hurrying out the doors after Jaemin, resignation and foreboding dogging your every step.
"I'm coming!" you called after him.
Jaemin spun around, one eyebrow quirked in a way that suggested he'd interpreted your words in a decidedly less innocent manner.
"To the grounds," you clarified hastily, feeling your face heat up. "To patrol. With you."
“I gathered that much,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Though I appreciate the clarification. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”
You glared at him, but he’d already turned back around, that damned smirk still visible in profile.
Beyond the castle corridors, the night grounds felt twice as ominous. Shadows stretched from the Forbidden Forest, where twisted branches reached toward the sky like gnarled fingers against the dark. Nearby, the Black Lake remained a silent mirror, its surface only occasionally broken by ripples that hinted at the heavy, mysterious life lurking in the depths.
Jaemin had conjured a floating orb of soft white light to guide your path, which was considerate yet irritating, as it seemed to delight in hovering mere inches from your face and nearly blinding you. He walked with an easy grace, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like this was just a casual evening stroll and not a patently absurd situation that could land you both in a world of trouble.
You, on the other hand, were so tense you could practically feel your muscles vibrating. Your mind raced as you tried to remember what Jo had told you about her planned rendezvous.
They’d be in the grounds, obviously, but beyond that? Hogwarts' grounds spanned nearly a thousand acres and included everything from dense forest to rolling hills to a literal giant-squid-infested lake. If you were going to have any hope of intercepting Jo before Jaemin did, you needed a clearer idea of where exactly to look.
And you needed to keep him distracted.
“So,” Jaemin said, his voice cutting through your rising panic, “care to tell me what’s really going on here?”
“We’re patrolling,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed firmly ahead. “That’s what’s going on.”
“And I suppose you always volunteer for extra patrols on Saturday nights, do you? Just for the exercise?”
“Maybe I do. Fresh air is good for you.”
“Right.” He didn’t sound like he believed you for a second. “And here I thought you preferred to spend your evenings in the Restricted Section, avoiding human interaction as much as possible.”
You shot him a sideways glance. “Have you been spying on me?”
“It’s called being observant,” he said lightly. “You should try it sometime. Although I suppose that would require you to take an interest in something beyond your very busy schedule of going through the motions and avoiding anything that might resemble effort.”
There it was again, that annoying assessment of your character, delivered with a smile that made it impossible to tell if he was genuinely criticizing you or just winding you up for his own amusement.
Bristling, you planted your hands on your hips and glared up at him. "I put in effort when it matters."
"And I'm sure swapping shifts with Crockett was a matter of utmost importance, then?" His lips curved into a smirk that made you want to hex it right off his unfairly symmetrical face. "Go on. What’s so crucial about tonight? Did you lose a bet? Secret passion for night-time groundskeeping?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because you’re terrible at being subtle, and watching you try is genuinely entertaining.” He grinned at your affronted expression. “Plus, I’m curious. You’ve spent the better part of six years being aggressively unremarkable, and now here you are, practically begging to patrol the grounds with me. It’s very out of character.”
“Stop acting like you know everything about me.”
“I might not know everything about you,” he said, his voice taking on a knowing tone, “But I know you’re trying to protect someone.”
Your heart skipped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The floating light cast strange shadows across his features, making his expression harder to read. “Here’s what I think is happening. There’s someone out here meeting someone they shouldn’t be meeting. You agreed to swap with Crockett to cover for that person, expecting me to skip patrol like I apparently always do. But I didn’t, so now you’re stuck trying to run interference while pretending this is all perfectly normal.”
You stared at him, your mouth going dry. He’d worked it out. As expected, Na Jaemin might be annoying and smug and entirely too pleased with himself, but he’d never been stupid.
“That’s…” you started, but your voice came out weak. “That’s a very creative theory.”
“You’ve gone red again.” He tilted his head, studying you. “Dead giveaway.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but closed it again, floundering. There was absolutely no way to explain your actions without either incriminating Jo or making yourself look even more suspicious. You were well and truly cornered, and the triumphant gleam in Jaemin's eyes told you he knew it.
But before you could cobble together a halfway coherent response, a sound drifted through the night air that made you stop cold.
Laughter.
More specifically, Jo's laughter, bright and carefree and coming from somewhere worryingly close by.
Jaemin froze too, his eyes narrowing. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" you asked, feigning ignorance even as your heart threatened to beat its way out of your ribcage. "I didn't hear anything. Probably just the wind. It howls around the turrets sometimes..."
"That wasn't the wind." He was already moving again, long legs eating up the ground as he strode purposefully toward the source of the sound. "That was a person, maybe two, from the sounds of it"
"What? No, that's—I really think it was just the wind. Or maybe Peeves playing a prank. You know what a menace he is, always causing trouble, we should probably go back inside and—"
But he wasn't listening. Because he'd caught the scent of rule-breaking, and Merlin forbid he let it go in favor of the much more appealing option of minding his own damn business.
You had no choice. You were either going to have to physically stop him (a laughable notion - he had a good six inches and probably thirty pounds of muscle on you), or you were going to have to get to Jo first.
The words were out of your mouth before you could think better of them. "Wait!"
Miraculously, he actually stopped walking and turned to look at you, one eyebrow arched expectantly.
"I—" Your mind raced, grasping for any excuse, any diversion, anything to keep him from taking another step. "I think I saw something. Over there." You pointed vaguely off to your left, in the opposite direction of Jo's laughter. "We should go check it out."
Jaemin regarded you with exasperation. "You know, for someone who's spent the better part of six years avoiding attention, you're shockingly bad at subterfuge."
"I–I'm just being cautious. It's dark out here, and there could be...things. Dangerous things. Like snargaluffs, or...or a moke on the loose."
"A moke," he repeated flatly. "An invisible lizard the size of a mouse. You think I should be worried about a moke ambushing me.”
“They can be vicious!”
“They’re ten inches tall.”
“Size isn’t everything,” you shot back, then immediately regretted it as his grin widened into something positively wicked.
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he said smoothly, and you felt your face flame.
“That’s not—I didn’t mean—oh, for Merlin’s sake.” You covered your face with your hands, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. “Can we please just check the trees?”
“Why?” He took a step closer, and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “What are you so afraid I’m going to find if we keep going this way?”
You hesitated, weighing your options. On the one hand, the truth was unthinkable. You couldn't just throw Jo to the wolves like that, not after you'd promised to cover for her. On the other hand, you were rapidly running out of plausible lies, and Jaemin clearly wasn't buying any of them.
“Nothing,” you said, but it came out weak and unconvincing even to your own ears.
“Nothing,” he echoed. “Right. So you won’t mind if I just—”
He made to move past you, toward where Jo’s laughter had come from, and you did the only thing you could think of.
You grabbed his arm.
The moment your fingers closed around his sleeve, you realized what a monumentally stupid mistake you’d made. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric and the solid muscle beneath. He stilled instantly, his gaze dropping to where your hand clutched at him, then slowly lifting to meet your eyes.
“Please,” you said quietly, all pretense abandoned. “Don’t go over there. Just—just forget you heard anything, and I’ll explain later. I promise.”
He studied you for a long moment. You were acutely aware of how close you were standing, of the way his eyes seemed to catch every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.
"So you are covering for someone," he said at last. "A friend, I'm guessing. The one you're always with? The loud one, with the"—he gestured vaguely—"the hair?"
"Her hair is perfectly normal, thank you very much, and I don't see how that's any of your business."
"It absolutely is my business, seeing as there are students out of bed and I'm a prefect. I'm supposed to report this sort of thing, you know."
"Yes, well, I'm also a prefect, and I'm asking you not to." Desperation bled into your voice, and you hated it, hated that you were practically begging him for something that you had no right to ask for. “Please, Jaemin. Can't you just...look the other way? Just this once?"
He was silent for a long moment, and you braced yourself for the inevitable. For the sneer, the cutting remark, the gleeful reminder that he was a Slytherin and Slytherins didn't do favors without expecting something in return.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft. "You really care about her, don't you? Your friend."
You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. "She's my best friend. I'd do anything for her."
"Even lie to a fellow prefect and risk getting in trouble yourself."
"Yes." You met his gaze squarely, unflinching. "Even that."
Another long silence, and then he sighed. "All right, fine."
You blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine, I won't report her. But"—he held up a hand as you opened your mouth to thank him—"I want something in return."
There it was. You should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Slytherins always had an angle, and Jaemin was Slytherin to the core.
Wariness crept into your voice as you asked, "What sort of something?"
His lips curved into a smile that could only be described as predatory. "A favor. One favor, to be determined by me, at a time of my choosing. Do this, and I'll conveniently forget I heard anything tonight."
Your stomach dropped. A favor. An open-ended, unspecified, could-be-anything favor, owed to Na Jaemin. Well. This was how you died, not in a blaze of glory like a true Gryffindor, but in the thrall of a serpent's forked tongue and devastating jawline.
But what choice did you have? If you refused, Jo would be caught for sure. And then she'd be expelled, and it would be all your fault, and you'd have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life. A life which, frankly, was looking shorter and shorter with each passing minute as Jaemin stared you down, waiting for your answer.
"Fine," you said through gritted teeth. "One favor. But nothing illegal or dangerous or humiliating."
His smile widened, showing far too many teeth for your comfort. "Look at that. You’re negotiating. Will wonders never cease?"
"Those are my terms. Take them or leave them."
"Oh, I'll take them." He held out a hand, long fingers uncurling in an inviting gesture. "Shall we shake on it?"
You glared at his hand like it might bite you (and really, with Jaemin, who knew?) but reluctantly reached out and grasped it. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and you tried very hard not to think about how nice his hand felt in yours.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he murmured, and was it your imagination or did his thumb just stroke across your knuckles?
You snatched your hand back like you'd been burned, face flushing. "Yes, well. You'd better hold up your end of the bargain."
"I'm a man of my word." He sketched a mocking little bow. "Your friend's secret is safe with me for now."
The words 'for now' hung there as a silent threat, and you suppressed a shiver. What had you just agreed to? What price would you have to pay for your loyalty?
As if reading your thoughts, Jaemin's smile turned sly. "Don't look so worried. I promise I won't ask for anything too dreadful. Probably."
"Probably," you repeated faintly.
"Probably," he confirmed, and then he turned on his heel and started back toward the castle, leaving you to trail after him in a daze.
The rest of the patrol passed in a blur. You walked in silence, Jaemin seemingly content to let you stew in your own anxiety, and by the time you returned to the Entrance Hall, you were a nervous wreck. You kept imagining all the horrible things he might ask for—doing his homework for the rest of the term, being his personal servant, confessing to McGonagall that you were the one who'd let those nifflers loose in the staff room last year (even though that had been entirely Jo's doing and you'd just been an unwilling accomplice).
At the foot of the stairs, Jaemin paused and turned to face you. In the dim light of the entrance hall, his eyes were pools of shadow, unreadable and fathomless.
"I'll be in touch," he said, his voice low and full of dark promise. "Sweet dreams."
And then he was gone, melting into the shadows like he'd been born from them, leaving you with a racing heart and the sinking certainty that your life was about to become a lot more complicated.
The next morning, you cornered Jo in the common room before breakfast, pulling her into the corner by the window where no one could overhear.
“Tell me everything went okay last night,” you demanded without preamble. “Please tell me you didn’t do something insane—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Jo held up her hands, her eyes wide. “I’m fine! Everything went perfectly. Well, mostly perfectly. There was a weird moment where I thought I heard someone coming, but then nothing happened, so…” She trailed off, then grabbed your shoulders. “Wait. What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept.”
“That’s because I haven’t.” You started pacing anxiously. “Jo. I think I might have done something really, really stupid.”
Her expression changed from concern to dread in the span of a second. “What kind of stupid?”
“The kind that involves Na Jaemin and a debt to repay.”
“Oh no.” Jo’s face went pale. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” You tugged at your hair, feeling the full weight of last night’s decision crushing down on you. “He wanted to patrol the grounds, Jo. He would have found you. I couldn’t let that happen, so I… I made a deal with him.”
Jo stared at you like you'd just confessed to murdering the Minister of Magic. "You made a deal with Na Jaemin. The boy who once convinced half the school that Professor Flitwick was secretly a goblin in disguise."
"To be fair, he has a dash of goblin blood..."
"Not the point!" She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to stop pacing. "What kind of deal are we talking about here? What did you promise him?"
You took a deep breath. "A favor."
"A favor," she repeated slowly. "What kind of favor?"
“The unspecified kind. The ‘to be determined at a later date’ kind. The ‘I now owe Na Jaemin a debt that he can collect on whenever he wants’ kind.”
She looked about two seconds away from fainting. “You didn’t.”
“I panicked!” you wailed, not caring that you were probably drawing attention from the other early risers scattered around the common room. “It was either agree to the favor or let him catch you with Mr. Mysterious! What was I supposed to do?”
“Not sell your soul to a Slytherin, for starters!” She released you and began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail in that way she only did when she was truly stressed. “This is bad. This is really, really bad. Na Jaemin with a favor from you? He could ask for anything. Anything.”
“You think I don’t know that?” You dropped your head into your hands. “I’ve been up all night imagining the horrible things he might ask for. What if he wants me to do something illegal? What if he wants me to sabotage someone? What if he wants me to—” You shuddered. “—publicly humiliate myself somehow?”
Jo stopped pacing, her expression shifting from panic to determination. “Okay. Okay, we’re not going to catastrophize. Yes, this is bad. Yes, owing Jaemin a favor is potentially disastrous. But it’s not the end of the world.”
“Isn’t it though?”
“No.” She sat down beside you, taking your hand. “Listen to me. You did this to protect me. You put yourself on the line because you’re a good friend, the best friend, and I’m not going to let you face this alone. Whatever Jaemin asks for, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
You wanted to take comfort in her words, in the fierce loyalty shining in her eyes. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just made a deal with the devil, and the bill would come due sooner rather than later.
“Okay,” you said quietly, squeezing her hand. “Together.”
“Together,” she confirmed. Then her expression turned mischievous. “Besides, who knows? Maybe he’ll ask for something simple. Like help with his Potions essay or something.”
You snorted despite yourself. “Jaemin doesn’t need help with Potions. He’s annoyingly good at everything.”
“Well then maybe he’ll ask you to—I don’t know—organize his sock drawer? Polish his prefect badge?”
“Jo.”
“I’m just saying, it might not be as bad as you think!”
But even as you tried to let her optimism buoy you, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life had just changed irrevocably. That in agreeing to owe Jaemin a favor, you'd set into motion a chain of events that you couldn't possibly predict or control.
Whatever he wanted from you, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be something as simple as organizing his socks.
A haze of anxiety and paranoia defined the following week, one that had you reaching a level of vigilance that would have impressed even Mad-Eye Moody.
You jumped at every sudden noise, flinched every time a Slytherin so much as glanced in your direction, and spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the Great Hall for any sign of Jaemin’s blonde head bent in whispered conversation with his housemates, plotting your doom.
To avoid him, you mapped out convoluted routes to class, opting for deserted corridors even when they made you late. Mealtimes were rescheduled to avoid the rush—breakfast at dawn, lunch in the late afternoon, and dinner only when the Hall had emptied to a few stragglers. In Potions, which was the one class you shared with him, you positioned yourself as far from his usual spot as physically possible, practically pressed against the dungeon wall, and refused to so much as breathe in his direction.
Not that it mattered… Because he didn’t approach you at all.
He just watched you.
From across the courtyard, his gaze would find you through a flurry of Slytherin green. Other times, your eyes would drift upward in Potions only to find him already staring, head propped lazily in his palm. He looked for all the world as if you were far more entertaining than any lecture Professor Slughorn could provide.
You started second-guessing everything. The way you sat, the way you spoke, the way you tugged at your sleeve or tucked your hair behind your ear when nervous. You found yourself becoming a caricature of yourself: rigid, overly cautious, desperate to give nothing away.
By the end of the week, you were a nervous wreck. You’d bitten your nails down to the quick. Developed a stress-induced rash on your neck that no amount of Essence of Dittany could soothe. And even started having vivid nightmares about Jaemin cornering you in increasingly absurd locations like the Prefects’ bathroom, or memorably in the middle of a Quidditch match where he’d swooped down on a broom to demand you juggle puffapods while the entire school watched.
“You need to sleep,” Jo said on Friday night, eyeing the bags under your eyes with concern. “This is getting ridiculous. You look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm.”
“I can’t sleep,” you muttered, your third cup of coffee cooling forgotten beside your Transfiguration essay. “Every time I close my eyes, I just see his face. That stupid, smug, infuriatingly perfect face.”
Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Perfect?”
“Putrid,” you corrected hastily, feeling your face heat. “I meant putrid. The point is, I can’t relax knowing that at any moment, he could just… appear and demand whatever horrific thing he’s been planning.”
“Maybe he’s forgotten about it,” Jo suggested, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe he was just messing with you, and he never actually intended to collect.”
You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you’d seen the satisfied glint in Jaemin’s eyes when you’d shaken hands.
No. He hadn’t forgotten. He was just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The weekend dragged on with NEWTs studying, failed naps and increasingly creative avoidance techniques. By Sunday morning, you were so on edge that when an owl swooped down at breakfast and dropped a letter directly onto your plate, you actually screamed.
Half the Gryffindor table turned to stare.
“It’s just the post,” Jo said soothingly, though she was eyeing the letter with nearly as much suspicion as you were. “Probably from your mother.”
Your hands shook as you picked up the envelope. The handwriting was your mother’s, thank Merlin, and you sagged with relief as you broke the seal.
“See?” Jo said. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Can you blame me?” you muttered, scanning your mother’s cheerful recounting of your aunt’s latest garden gnome infestation. “It’s been a week, Jo. A whole week of nothing. It’s unnatural.”
“Psychological warfare, that’s what this is. Classic Slytherin mind games. He’s letting you stew, letting the anticipation build, until you’re so wound up that you’ll agree to anything just to put yourself out of your misery.”
“Thank you, Jo,” you said through gritted teeth, stabbing your sausage with enough force to make your fork screech against the plate. “That’s incredibly comforting.”
“I’m just saying, it’s textbook manipulation.” She reached for the marmalade, unbothered by your glare. “My cousin Fergus dated a girl from that house once, and she used to—”
But you never found out what Jo's cousin's Slytherin ex-girlfriend did, because at that moment, a hush fell over the Great Hall. You looked up, already knowing what you'd see, and felt your stomach drop straight through the floor.
Jaemin was walking toward the Gryffindor table with purpose and intent, his long strides eating up the distance between the Slytherin table and yours. His eyes were fixed on you with such singular focus that you couldn’t have looked away if you tried.
There was a small satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He was enjoying this, the utter bastard. Enjoying the way every eye in the hall was now fixed on you, the way whispers erupted in his wake like the hissing of a hundred snakes.
He came to a stop directly across from you, and you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. They were dancing with amusement, and you had the sudden, wild urge to tip your pumpkin juice into his lap.
"Good morning," he said, for all the world as if this were a perfectly normal interaction and not a blatant violation of the unwritten rules that governed breakfast seating arrangements. "Sleep well?"
You gaped at him, too stunned to formulate a response. Beside you, Jo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort hastily disguised as a cough.
Jaemin’s smile widened, showing a flash of teeth. “I’ll take that as a no.” His gaze swept over you, taking in the bags under your eyes, the coffee stains on your robes, the general air of sleep-deprived panic you’d been cultivating all week. “Have you been avoiding me?”
The question was delivered lightly, almost teasingly, but there was an undercurrent to it. A knowing edge that said he was perfectly aware of every corridor you’d ducked down, every meal you’d skipped, every desperate attempt you’d made to stay out of his path.
“Avoiding you?” you repeated with a nervous laugh. “Of course not. I’ve been—I’ve been busy. Studying and stuff.”
“Mm.” He didn’t sound remotely convinced. “Well, you’re not busy now, are you? I need to talk to you.” He paused, letting his gaze sweep meaningfully across the rapt faces surrounding you. “Privately.”
Oh no. Oh no no no.
"Huh?" you said eloquently.
"Talk. Privately," he repeated, enunciating each syllable as if you were a particularly slow-witted troll.
“I’m eating breakfast,” you said weakly, gesturing at your plate where your eggs had gone cold and congealed.
“You can eat later.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Come on. This won’t take long.”
Every fiber of your being wanted to plant yourself in your seat and force him to either leave or make a scene. But you could feel the weight of the entire school’s attention pressing down on you.
You glanced around, taking in the avid stares, the blatant eavesdropping, the gleeful anticipation on every face. Even the staff table looked uncommonly interested, with Professor McGonagall peering at you over her spectacles and Flitwick not even pretending not to listen in.
"Fine," you bit out, shoving back from the table with enough force to make the dishes rattle. "Lead the way."
Jaemin inclined his head, that infuriating smile still playing about his lips, and turned to walk out of the hall. You followed, determinedly ignoring the explosion of chatter that erupted in your wake.
He led you out of the castle, across the dew-damp lawn, all the way to the edge of the lake where a lone beech tree stretched its branches over the water. It was, you noted sourly, an incredibly picturesque spot for a clandestine meeting. Almost as if he'd planned it that way.
"All right," you said, crossing your arms and fixing him with your best glare. "What do you want?"
He leaned against the tree trunk, the picture of nonchalance, and regarded you with a calculating expression. "I think you know."
"The favor," you said flatly.
"The favor," he agreed. "Time to pay up, I'm afraid."
Your heart began to race at this, palms turning clammy as every horrible scenario you'd imagined over the past week came rushing back.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Fine. What is it? What do you want me to do?"
Jaemin pushed off the tree and took a few steps toward you until he was so close you could see the individual flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
He looked down at you, his expression turning serious, almost solemn. "I need you," he said softly, "to be my girlfriend."
What the fuck.
You stared at him dumbly. Surely he'd said something else—"be my guard friend" or literally anything that made more sense than what you thought you'd heard. But after several seconds of awkward silence he simply stood there, staring back.
"I'm sorry," you said at last. "I must have misheard you. It sounded like you just said—"
"Be my girlfriend," he repeated, enunciating each word carefully. "That's the favor I'm asking."
You searched his face for any sign that this was a prank, or at the very least a bizarre figment of your overtired and overstressed imagination.
But he looked deadly serious, his eyes never leaving yours, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was bracing himself for your reaction.
"Right," you said slowly. "Okay. So you've clearly been hit with a Bludger recently. Or maybe you inhaled some dodgy spores from the Forest?" You peered at him more closely, genuinely concerned now. "I think you might be having some sort of mental episode—"
"I'm not having a mental episode."
You started backing away slowly, hands raised placatingly. “Just stay there, I'm going to go get help. Maybe Madam Pomfrey has an antidote for whatever's happened to your brain—"
"My brain is fine," Jaemin said, and he actually had the audacity to look amused. "I'm completely serious."
"That's even more concerning!" You threw your hands up. "Jaemin, you can't just—I mean, we barely even—we're not even friends! You spent two years torturing me and then four years pretending I didn't exist! And now you want me to be your girlfriend?"
"Fake girlfriend," he corrected.
"Oh, well, that changes everything," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fake girlfriend. Of course. How silly of me. That makes perfect sense."
"It does, actually, if you'd let me explain—"
"No. Absolutely not. This is—this is insane. You've lost your mind. Gone completely round the bend." You started pacing frantically. "You could have literally any girl in this school. Any girl! I’m sure there’s probably a waiting list even. And you want me to pretend to date you?"
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because you're perfect for this," he said with a shrug.
You let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm what now?"
"Perfect," he repeated, and there wasn't a trace of humor in his voice now. "Think about it. You're a half-blood—"
"Oh don’t start with that blood purity crap—"
"No, I mean that it works perfectly because you're not involved in pureblood politics. You're not part of my usual social circle. You have no reason to want anything from me or my family beyond this one favor." He was ticking points off on his fingers now. "If we start dating, it'll be believable precisely because it's so unexpected."
"You think people will just believe that we're dating. You and me."
"Why not?"
"Because—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "—because look at us! You're you, and I'm—I'm me! I spend my free time reading in corners and avoiding human interaction! You spend yours being disgustingly popular and having your pick of the female population! We have nothing in common! We don't even like each other!"
"All excellent points for why no one will suspect it's fake," he said smoothly. "If I were trying to stage a relationship, I’d pick someone more obvious. Someone from my house, someone I'm already friendly with. The fact that it's you makes it more authentic."
You stared at him, your brain struggling to process this absolute madness. "Have you been Imperisued or something? Seriously, I'm genuinely worried about you right now."
"I appreciate your concern," he said dryly. "But I assure you, I'm thinking perfectly clearly."
"Then explain it to me," you demanded, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Because from where I'm standing, this makes about as much sense as trying to teach a troll how to read. Why on earth would you need a fake girlfriend? You're Na Jaemin! Half the school is in love with you! If you wanted a real girlfriend, you could probably just point at someone and they'd swoon into your arms!"
"That's actually part of the problem," he muttered, and was that... was that a hint of frustration in his voice?
You blinked. "What?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's a girl. Yuna. Her family and mine... they move in the same circles. Have for generations. Old pureblood families, lots of money, all that tedious rubbish."
"Okay...?"
"And lately, she's gotten it into her head that we're meant to be together. That it's our destiny to unite our families, carry on the pureblood tradition, produce the next generation of perfectly bred wizarding heirs." His voice was slightly tinged with disgust. "She won't take no for an answer."
Despite yourself, despite the absolute insanity of this entire situation, you felt a bit of sympathy. "And you don't want that."
"I'd rather wrestle a Hungarian Horntail," he said flatly. "But she's not listening. Every time I tell her I'm not interested, she just smiles and says I'm playing hard to get. That I'll come around eventually."
"That's..." You searched for the appropriate words. "That's actually kind of disturbing."
"It's extremely disturbing," he agreed. "And I can't just tell her to fuck off, because our families... it's complicated. There's business deals, social connections, generations of intertwined pureblood nonsense. If I publicly reject her, it could cause all sorts of problems."
"So you need a girlfriend," you said slowly, finally starting to understand. "A visible reason why you can't be with her."
"Exactly." He gave you a hopeful look. "Someone who won't get caught up in the drama and then can walk away clean when it's over. Someone like you."
You covered your face with your hands and sighed. "This is still insane."
"Is it though?"
"Yes! Completely, utterly, absolutely insane!" You started pacing again. "Jaemin, in case it's escaped your notice, we can barely stand each other! We've barely had a conversation longer than five minutes that didn't involve you annoying me or me wanting to hex you! How exactly do you propose we convince anyone we're madly in love?"
"We don't have to be madly in love," he said. "Just... dating. You know, just act like a regular couple, sit together at meals, go to Hogsmeade on weekends. People see us together, word gets back to Yuna, she backs off. Simple."
"Simple?” you repeated incredulously. "You think any part of this is simple?"
"More simple than the alternative." His expression turned serious. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. But I'm running out of options here, and you're—" He paused. "You're the only person I can trust with this."
That brought you up short. “You barely know me."
"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know you're loyal. I know you'd do anything for your friends, you proved that when you made our deal. I know you're not interested in status or popularity or any of the things most people want from me. And I know that when this is over, you'll keep your word and walk away."
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn't the smug, teasing Jaemin from the patrol or the cold, dismissive one from your earlier years. This was someone... genuine. Vulnerable, even.
"I think I need to sit down," you said faintly.
There was a convenient rock nearby and you sank down onto it, your head spinning.
"So just let me make sure I got it right," you said, staring out at the lake. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. To protect you from an obsessive pureblood heiress who won't take no for an answer and so you won’t get trapped into a marriage of convenience.”
"That's the gist of it, yes."
"For how long?"
"A month? Maybe two at most."
"Two months?!" You whipped around to stare at him. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for two months? Are you completely off your rocker?!"
“Come on, two months isn’t even that long—"
"Two months is eight weeks! Sixty days! Over a thousand hours of my life spent pretending to be in love with you!" You were nearly hyperventilating now. You shot to your feet, pacing again.
“Again, no need to be madly in love—"
"And have you thought about the logistics of this?" You spun to face him. "Every girl in this castle is going to hate me! They already probably think we're shagging or something after your little breakfast stunt, and that was two minutes! Imagine two months of that! I'll need to go into witness protection!"
“I think that’s a bit of an overreaction.”
"Jaemin, people will actually want to murder me. There will be attempts on my life. I'll have to taste-test all my food for poison. Sleep with one eye open. Practice a good shield charm—"
"Nobody's going to try to murder you."
"You don’t know that!"
“And we wouldn't even be together the entire time," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. "Just... in public. Where people can see us. The rest of the time you can go back to pretending I don't exist."
You let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. "Oh, well, that makes it so much better. Thank you for that generous concession."
"Are you finished panicking?" he asked mildly.
You glared at him. "No. No, I'm not finished. I'm just getting started. Do you have any idea how exhausting this sounds? How mortifying? I've spent six years perfecting the art of being invisible, and now you want me to voluntarily become the center of attention? The subject of gossip and speculation? Do you know what that will do to me?"
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
He seemed too casual about all this. It made you wonder if he did this sort of thing often. Not that it would be surprising, purebloods had weird customs that you could never begin to understand.
"Okay," you said slowly after a few seconds of gathering what little patience you had. "Okay. Let's say—and I'm not agreeing to anything—but let's say I did this. Don't you think people would find it a bit suspicious? Us dating out of nowhere? We've barely spoken in years. We're not friends or even friendly. People aren't stupid, Jaemin."
"We'll say we've been keeping it quiet," he said, like he'd already thought this through. "We didn’t want the attention, wanted to make sure it was real before we went public. No one will question it if we sell it right."
"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" You fixed him with a glare.
“Easy. We make it look like we can't keep our hands off each other. You know, hold hands, and that sort of thing. Make it look convincing."
“You want me to hold your hand?”
"Among other things."
"What does that even mean…?”
"Well, we'd have to play it convincingly," he said reasonably. "Couples don't just hold hands. They sit close. They touch. They..." He paused, his eyes glinting with amusement. "They kiss occasionally."
"KISS?!" The word came out as a strangled shriek. "You want me to kiss you?!"
"I mean, not right now necessarily—"
“Oh, you’re barking mad if you think I will kiss you!”
"Come on, y/n. It's just a bit of acting. Surely a clever girl like you can manage that?" His voice dropped, turning silky and persuasive.
You bristled slightly at the blatant flattery even as some traitorous part of you warmed at the compliment. "And what's in it for me? Besides the joy of being glared at by every girl in this castle and kissing your dumb face?"
"The fact that I won’t tell McGonagall about your little friend’s nocturnal escapade isn’t enough for you?” he reminded you.
You froze, shoulders tensing. "You're really going to hold me to that? For something this insane?"
"A deal's a deal. I helped you and nowI need your help."
"I don't know," you said slowly. "This is...it's a lot to ask."
"I know." He took another step closer, his eyes intent on yours. "But I'm asking anyway. I need your help, y/n. Please."
You had agreed to this. You had shaken his hand, accepted his help, promised him a favor. And now he was calling it in.
"This is blackmail," you said weakly.
"It's really not."
You stared at him, at his stupidly handsome face and his infuriating certainty, and felt the trap closing around you. You still could refuse, tell him to shove his favor and walk away. But then he could—would—tell McGonagall about Jo. And Jo would be expelled. And it would be all your fault.
"Fuck," you groaned.
"Is that a yes then? he said.
You truly hated everything about this.
Still, you heard yourself say, "Two months. That's it. And we need to set ground rules, boundaries. I'm not going to do anything that makes me uncomfortable."
Relief flashed across his face, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. "Okay, that’s fair."
"And when it's over, we go back to normal. No hard feelings. We just... end it and move on."
"Agreed." He held out a hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "So. Do we have a deal?"
You hesitated for a long moment, your heart pounding so hard you were certain he must be able to hear it. This was, without question, the most insane thing you had ever considered doing. It was reckless and impulsive and had the potential to blow up in your face in a truly spectacular fashion.
But looking up into Jaemin's eyes, seeing something that might have been hope or desperation or both, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand anyway.
"Deal," you said, and sealed your fate for the second time in a week.
"Excellent." His smile was pure satisfaction. "I'll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow. Try to look a little pleased to see me and not like you want to murder me."
"I make no promises," you muttered.
As you walked back toward the castle, your mind whirling with the absolute insanity of what you'd just agreed to, one thought kept circling back:
Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general menace to your sanity, wanted you to be his fake girlfriend.
Jo was never going to believe this.
A waking nightmare—that was the only way to describe the days following the grand revelation of your supposed relationship.
It felt as though Hogwarts had contracted a plague, a virulent strain of "Y/N-and-Jaemin" fever that consumed everyone from the dungeons to the astronomy tower. No one could quite wrap their heads around the unlikely pairing of a Gryffindor nobody and the Slytherin prince, and that confusion turned into a collective obsession.
Everywhere you went, eyes followed. First-years openly gawked as you passed. Third-years whispered behind their hands, their eyes following your every move with ravenous curiosity. Even the portraits seemed more interested in your comings and goings, their painted heads swiveling to track your progress through the corridors.
Horrible as the attention was, the rumors were worse. Wild, baseless theories seemed to spawn from thin air, multiplying with the rapid, disgusting speed of Horklumps in a garden.
“They've been secretly dating since third year,” one voice hissed in the corridor, “before he was even popular, I heard.”
The theories only grew more ridiculous from there. According to a Ravenclaw, you had saved his life during a Quidditch match—or perhaps from a rogue curse. One Hufflepuff swore on her life she’d seen the two of you kissing in the Astronomy Tower a year ago. Most sinister of all were the whispers of blackmail or pranks, culminating in the one theory that nearly made you choke on your pumpkin juice: “Oh Merlin, do you think she’s pregnant?”
The attention was suffocating, oppressive, like being trapped in a greenhouse in the middle of summer with no windows and too many people pressing their faces against the glass. You couldn't breathe without someone noting it, vouldn't eat without a dozen pairs of eyes watching every bite, and couldn't so much as sneeze without someone speculating about whether Jaemin would find it endearing.
And as if the whole thing wasn’t a nightmare already, there was Jaemin himself. Whatever level of insufferable he had occupied before was nothing compared to this new persona: the devoted boyfriend that was attentive, affectionate, and clearly determined to make the charade as mortifying as humanly possible.
He'd materialize at your elbow between classes, his arrival heralded by the subtle scent of broom polish that never quite left his robes and that you were beginning to recognize with Pavlovian dread. He'd fall into step beside you with that athletic grace of his, his hand finding the small of your back with proprietary confidence.
“There you are,” he’d say, his voice carrying an affected breathlessness as if he’d been searching the entire castle rather than simply memorizing your schedule. “I was looking for you.”
“Were you,” came your flat reply, as you struggled to ignore the sudden weight of a hundred curious stares pinning you to the spot.
“Mm.” Without an ounce of hesitation, his hand would slide around your waist, hauling you firmly against his side. “Missed you in Charms. You disappeared before I could catch you.”
“I was in a rush,” you’d mutter, omitting the fact that the rush was specifically to escape him.
“I know.” His smile would be warm and intimate, a masterpiece of conviction. “Let’s walk together next time. I can’t stand being away from my princess for too long.”
A collective swoon would ripple through the nearby students at the display.
Mealtimes offered no reprieve. He'd bypass his usual spot at the Slytherin table entirely, crossing the Great Hall with long strides to slide onto the bench beside you at Gryffindor. The first time he'd done it, the entire Hall had gone silent, hundreds of heads swiveling to watch as Na Jaemin—too cool for cross-house fraternization—planted himself among the lions.
“Morning, princess,” he’d announce, his voice projecting just far enough for half the table to catch. A casual kiss to your temple followed, delivered with such affection that you nearly lost your balance on the bench.
A sharp kick from Jo connected with your shin under the table. Smile, her wide-eyed expression screamed. You’re supposed to be in love with him, remember?
Obediently, you’d attempt a smile. Though it likely looked more like a pained grimace, Jaemin seemed satisfied enough. His arm draped across your shoulders as he reached for the orange juice, acting as if this were the most natural routine in the world.
Every meal followed the same suffocating pattern. He was always there, a solid line of warmth pressed against your side. Beneath the table, his thigh would brush against yours, making you hyperaware of his every shift. Often, his hand would rest on your knee, his thumb tracing absent patterns that felt far too intimate for public consumtion. Occasionally he’d lean in, murmuring something pointless like “Pass the salt” or “Your hair looks nice today” into your ear—but to the rest of the room, it looked like he was whispering sweet nothings.
The Great Hall devoured every crumb of the spectacle.
But while the general student body watched with wide-eyed fascination, you were forced to contend with a far more dangerous audience: the inner circle.
Jaemin’s friends were not merely students; they were the closest thing Hogwarts had to a royal court. To exist within the castle walls was to know them by reputation—a collection of wealthy, beautiful purebloods who navigated the drafty corridors with the effortless entitlement of aristocrats. Yet, observing them from the safety of the Gryffindor table was entirely different from being the direct target of their scrutiny.
Giselle led the first offensive.
She didn't walk so much as glide, approaching the Gryffindor table like an elegant snake. Everything about her was designed to intimidate, from the lethal sharpness of her cheekbones to the glossy waves of hair that fell perfectly down her back. Even her uniform defied the rules; her tie was knotted into an oversized, rebellious bow that no prefect would ever have the courage to cite as a dress-code violation.
“Jaemin,” she purred, ignoring your existence entirely as she draped herself against the table. “We’ve missed you at breakfast. The Slytherin table is positively bereft without your presence.”
“I’m sure you’re all managing,” Jaemin replied, his tone conversational and mild. He didn't move his arm from its proprietary position across your shoulders.
“Barely.” Only then did her eyes slide toward you in a slow, assessing sweep that made you feel like a piece of furniture being appraised for auction. “And this must be the famous girlfriend. Y/N, was it?”
“Yes,” you managed, forced to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat to keep your voice from cracking.
“Mm.” Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “How… unexpected. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before, have we? What house are you in again?”
The question was a blatant insult, considering you were currently sitting at the Gryffindor table draped in scarlet and gold.
“Gryffindor,” you ground out through gritted teeth.
“Oh, right. Of course.” She paused to examine her dark green nails. “I always have trouble keeping track of the… quieter students. You must be one of those studious types. The ones who hide in the library all day.”
Boring. Forgettable. Beneath notice. The implication was clear. Beside you, Jo’s hand whitened as her grip tightened around her fork.
“I suppose so,” you said, choosing caution over a confrontation you weren't prepared to win.
“Cute.” Giselle’s smile widened, though it never reached her eyes. “Jaemin’s never been much for books, have you, Jaem? More of a... social creature. Though I’m sure you two have found something in common to keep things interesting.”
Beside you, Jaemin remained a statue of calm, taking a slow sip of his tea as if he were watching a particularly dull play rather than a verbal execution.
The pressure didn't let up as the days went on. A few days later, Changmin intercepted the two of you in the crowded corridor between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Towering and broad-shouldered, he possessed the rugged, athletic build of a seasoned Beater. He didn't need words to dominate the space; his presence alone caused younger students to scatter like leaves. When he looked at you, his smile was so predatory and sharp it made you think of a wolf finally closing in on a scent it had been tracking for miles.
"So this is her," Changmin said, his eyes traveling over you with clinical detachment. "Have to say, mate, when you said you were seeing someone, I pictured… I don't know. Someone different."
Jaemin’s voice remained light, though his eyes turned piercing. "What do you mean?"
"Just… different." A shrug followed, along with a dismissive flick of his gaze. "No offense, of course."
"Of course," you echoed through a tight jaw.
"It’s just surprising, is all." Changmin gestured vaguely with one hand. "You’ve always gone for a certain type, and she’s… well, not that."
Not pretty enough, you knew he meant.
Jaemin’s arm hooked around you, pulling you into his side. "She’s exactly my type," he countered. "Perfect, actually."
His words were meant to be reassuring but they'd just made you feel more like a prop in whatever game he was playing.
A shift in strategy occurred by the following week. The subtle snubs evolved into a coordinated siege as Changmin and Giselle began appearing together, a united front of immaculate hair, expensive robes, and thinly veiled hostility.
They seemed to materialize in every common space you frequented, armed with false smiles and poisonous pleasantries. Every interaction was a minefield; every question was a calculated probe designed to expose the fraying seams in your story.
Their interrogation didn't stop at the legitimacy of your relationship. They began taking aim at the very fabric of your life... Quite literally.
"Those robes," Giselle remarked during a chance encounter in the corridor, her eyes sweeping over your silhouette with a look of practiced pity. "Are they... vintage? They have that distinctive, worn quality. That 'hand-me-down' aesthetic."
The fabric felt suddenly heavy and scratchy against your skin. They had been your mother's, mended with care and kept clean through sheer effort, but they lacked the shimmer of new silk. Heat flooded your face, a hot prickle of shame you hated yourself for feeling.
"They're fine," you muttered, clutching your books tighter to your chest.
"Oh, I'm sure they're perfectly serviceable," she added, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Not everyone has the luxury of replacing their wardrobe every season, after all."
Changmin leaned across the table, his expression open and conversational, though his eyes remained predatory.
"So, what does your father do for work?" he asked, swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet as if it were a fine vintage. "My father sits on the Wizengamot, of course. And Giselle’s family runs one of the largest potions corporations in Europe. It's always so interesting to hear what other families do."
"He works for the Ministry," you said shortly, keeping your eyes fixed on your plate.
"Oh? How prestigious. Which department? International Magical Cooperation? The Auror Office?"
"Magical Maintenance."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate. You didn't need to look up to feel the shockwave of silent communication passing between them. You could practically hear the click of the mental locks falling into place: the suppressed smirks, the shared glances, and the smug, knowing silence that broadcast exactly what they thought of your family’s status. You weren't just the 'wrong type' for Jaemin; in their eyes, you were a glitch in the social order.
"Very honest work, I’m sure," Giselle added finally, her voice carrying just enough to be heard at the neighboring tables. "Someone has to keep the toilets functioning."
Jo who'd been next to you the whole time, bolted upright, her face flushed a dangerous shade of scarlet. You moved instinctively, grabbing her arm and hauling her back into her seat before she could cause a scene.
The real ambush, however, didn't come until Friday evening.
You'd been in the library trying to calculate the magical decay of a complex curse for your Arithmancy assignment. Beside you, Jaemin had been hovering for the better part of an hour, his presence a persistent distraction.
"If you carry the nine there," he whispered, his long finger hovering over your string of equations, "doesn't the probability of a backfire increase by 12%?"
"No, Jaemin," you huffed, rubbing your temples where a dull ache was beginning to bloom. "This isn't Divination. You cannot simply guess your way through Arithmancy. Seven is a powerful magical prime, but in an inverted sequence, its weight is halved. I am trying to ensure you don't accidentally liquefy your own bones during the NEWTs."
"Right, right. Half the weight, double the trouble," he murmured. He wasn't even pretending to look at the numbers anymore; his gaze was fixed on the way you were biting your lip in concentration. "Explain the Pythagorean bridge to me again? That was very sexy."
A sharp retort about his lack of focus was halfway up your throat when the shadows fell over the table.
Giselle and Changmin. They were flanked by Sungchan, another Quidditch type you vaguely recognized, and a fourth person whose presence made the air leave your lungs in a rush.
Yuna.
She stood there, ice-blonde and perfectly beautiful. You felt Jaemin’s posture stiffen beside you. You hadn't known. He’d never mentioned she was part of his circle, that she was this close to the people he spent every waking hour with. The "fake" part of your relationship suddenly felt dangerously flimsy.
"Study date?" Giselle asked, sliding into the seat directly across from you. "I’m sorry, is that a textbook, Jaemin? I thought you used those as coasters."
Jaemin didn't look up from your parchment. "We're just working."
"It’s Friday night," Sungchan cut in, leaning heavily against a nearby bookshelf. "The guys are sneaking kegs of firewhisky into the common room as we speak. There’s a party starting in ten minutes, mate. We’ve been looking for you for an hour."
Yuna stepped forward, her dark eyes narrowing as she focused on you for the first time.
"Y/N, right?" she said, her voice a soft, melodic contrast to the tension. "What exactly have you done to him? Jaemin hasn't missed a Friday night since third year. And yet, here he is, looking at... what is that? Arithmancy?"
"It’s important for the exams," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you felt. "And he's actually quite good at it when he tries."
A snort of pure skepticism escaped Yuna. "Since when is calculating the weight of a hex more entertaining than a party?"
"Since I realized I was failing," Jaemin interjected smoothly, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours atop the table. You knew it was a calculated move, a public display for the one person who mattered. "Y/N pointed out that if I don't pass the Arithmancy boards, I won't be able to take the advanced Theo-Magic track next year. She's very persuasive when she wants to be."
"Persuasive, huh?" Giselle repeated, though her eyes flicked toward Yuna to gauge her reaction. “I can only imagine the things she can do, if she’s managed to make you skip every single party since you started dating.”
Giselle’s implication was blatant, dripping with enough tawdry subtext to make your cheeks flame. You looked at Jaemin, waiting for him to shred her with his notorious silver tongue. Instead, he remained maddeningly static. Only the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.
“Did you know there’s actually a betting pool regarding how long youll two last?” Yuna asked, her tone conversational, as if she were discussing the Quidditch scores than your social execution. “The smart money says two weeks. That is, if the novelty doesn’t wear off by Tuesday.”
The news hit your stomach with a cold, hollow thud. “There’s a what?”
“Don’t look so scandalized.” she waved a hand, her emerald ring catching the light. “It’s nothing personal, darling. People adore a spectacle, and this is a bewildering one. Jaemin has spent years as the prize everyone was chasing, and then he suddenly chooses...”
She trailed off. Her silence was more eloquent than any insult.
"The weird girl who hides in corners," Sungchan supplied helpfully. "No offense."
"Loads taken," you snapped before you could stop yourself.
“So defensive.” Yuna chuckled cruelly.
“That’s enough,” Jaemin said. His voice lost its playful lilt, replaced by a low edge. It was the sound of a predator deciding a conversation had reached its conclusion.
“We’re just teasing, Jaem. Don’t be so sensitive.” Giselle stood, smoothing her robes. “If Y/N is going to be part of our inner circle, she’ll need a thicker skin. We aren't known for our gentleness.”
“I am dating Jaemin,” you said, your voice finally steady. “Not applying to be your friend.”
The temperature at the table dropped approximately ten degrees.
“Well,” Yuna said, her delicate features arranging themselves into an expression of theatrical, wide-eyed surprise. “It seems the little bird has claws after all."
They had successfully poked at the seams of your composure and were now departing before the scene became truly messy.
"A little parting advice, Y/N," Giselle said, pausing as she turned. "The more defensive you become, the more it appears as though you’re hiding something. And in this school, secrets are the only currency that matters."
Then they were gone. The only sound left was the rustle of their expensive robes fading into the library stacks. You sat there, shaking, while Jaemin’s fingers remained locked with yours.
“They’re foul,” you muttered, the sharp thud of your textbook echoing too loudly against the mahogany table. “Your friends are actually vipers, Jaemin.”
“I know.” His reply was flat, lacking any of the heat you were looking for. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” You yanked your hand away from his, suddenly angry at him. “Because you just sat there like a statue. You let them say all that, and you didn't even blink.”
“And what did you want me to do? Start a row in the middle of the library?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe defend me!” The words burst out, earning a sharp, hawk-like “Shh!” from Madam Pince.
You leaned in, dropping your voice to a fierce whisper. “Tell them they’re being cruel. Tell them to sod off! But you just sat there looking like you were enjoying the show.”
Jaemin didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“If I get too defensive, they’ll know something’s up,” he said eventually. “You heard Giselle, she's looking for a reaction. That’s what they’re all doing. They're looking for proof that we’re lying. The more I protest, the more suspicious they get.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?” You felt a hot sting behind your eyes and hated yourself for it. “I have to let them slag me off and talk rubbish about my family, all to keep your precious cover story alive?”
“Just for a bit,” he insisted. “Once they’re convinced it’s real, they’ll back off. But right now, they’re testing us. They’re testing you. And if we want this to work, you have to pass.”
“I’m trying to pass the bloody test!” you hissed, your voice rising again.
“Trying, yeah.” He leaned forward, his shadow falling over your parchment. “But you’re not being very convincing, Y/N.”
Your face flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you always look uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair, his composure finally fraying. “You look miserable, Y/N. Constantly. Like being near me is a form of torture.”
“Well, it isn’t exactly a holiday,” you shot back.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” he continued, ignoring the jab. “I know you didn't want this. But we made a deal, and if you keep acting like I’m a Dementor every time I come within a foot of you, no one is going to believe this.”
“So what? You want me to swoon? Hang off your arm like a mindless doll?”
“I want you to look like you can at least tolerate me,” he cut in, his tone sharpening. “I want you to stop flinching when I hold your hand. Lean into me instead of going rigid as a board. Smile, Y/N. A real one, not that grimace you do when people are watching.”
“That’s the best I can do.”
“Well, your best isn’t good enough.” He looked at the library door, then back at you. “Giselle asked me why you’re so tense all the time. I told her you were shy about public affection, but that excuse only works for so long.”
You stared at him, your chest tight with a cocktail of fury.
“Maybe you should’ve picked someone who actually wanted to be your girlfriend.”
“I picked you because I thought you were smart enough to pull this off, but if you can't... ” He trailed off, shaking his head. "If you can’t even manage to stay in the same room as me without looking like you’d rather be drowning in the lake, the whole thing falls apart.”
"So will you be satisfied if I start kissing the floor you walk on? " you asked bitterly.
“It’d be a start,” he said simply. “Look, I know they’re awful. But you need to try harder. Stop pulling away. Stop acting like my touch is burning you.”
“It is burning me,” you muttered. You didn't mean to say it out loud, and you immediately wished you could swallow the words back down.
Jaemin’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.” You stood up abruptly, gathering your things with fumbling hands. “Forget it. I’ll try harder, alright? I’ll be more convincing. I’ll smile and lean in and act like I’m absolutely mad about you. Is that what you want?”
“Y/N, wait—”
“I’m going back to the common room.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, refusing to look at him. “I’ll see you at breakfast. I’ll be sure to put on a proper show.”
“That’s not what I—”
But you didn’t stay to hear the rest. You turned and walked away, your vision blurring slightly as you navigated between the towering bookshelves, Madam Pince's disapproving glare following you all the way to the exit.
Behind you, you heard Jaemin sigh, but he didn’t call after you.
Just as well. You needed to be anywhere but near him.
Expectations of a smooth public performance next morning were shattered the moment Jaemin actually appeared. You had braced yourself for the usual, the effortless slide onto the bench, the heavy weight of his arm claiming your space, and that charming attitude that suggested your library row had been nothing more than a minor blip.
Instead, the Jaemin who approached the table looked like he’d gone several rounds with a rogue Bludger. His tie was a shambles, hanging loose around his collar, and his hair was a chaotic nest of blonde strands as if he’d spent the early hours of the morning dragging his hands through it in frustration. He didn't sit, but lingered at the edge of the bench with a strange, jittery energy.
"Can we talk?"
The question was a mere breath under the noise of clattering plates and the morning owl post.
You looked back down at your porridge. "About what?"
"Yesterday." He sounded nervous, not the polished Pureblood prince, but a boy who was genuinely out of his depth. "Please?"
Jo delivered a sharp kick to your shin under the table. Why did she keep doing that?! You winced, the sting jolting you out of your stubborn trance. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding.
"Fine. Where?"
"Third floor. The corridor by the one-eyed witch statue." He checked his watch, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against the wood of the table. "Ten o'clock?"
"That’s oddly specific," you muttered, finally meeting his eyes.
"Just—trust me on this. Please?"
There was that word again. Please. It was a far cry from the boy who had told you your best wasn't good enough yesterday. And because you were apparently a glutton for punishment, you felt your resolve crumble.
"Ten o'clock," you agreed.
He didn't offer a smirk or a wink for the benefit of the watching Great Hall. He simply gave a tight nod and sat down, keeping a conspicuous gap between your shoulder and his.
Stone walls and guttering torches made the third floor just as drab as the rest of the castle. A few portraits dozed in their frames, and the statue of the one-eyed witch stood sentinel at the far end, her painted eyes seeming to follow your every move with an almost unsettling intensity.
Five minutes of waiting had already passed, which was roughly four minutes and fifty seconds longer than it took to start feeling like a total idiot.
Just as the urge to bolt back to the safety of the common room became overwhelming, the rhythmic scuff of boots echoed against the flagstones. Jaemin rounded the corner, his usual swagger replaced by a stiff gait. You drew a breath, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove this clandestine little meeting, but he hoisted a hand to silence you.
"Before you lay into me," he started, coming to a halt just out of arm’s reach, "I want to apologize. Properly. For yesterday."
The anger you’d been carefully stoking for the last twelve hours flickered and died, leaving you feeling strangely hollow. "Oh."
"I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right." He dragged a hand through his hair, a sign of genuine nerves that made him more like a tired teenager. "You’re right. This situation is mental. My friends are absolute vultures, and I’ve been asking you to stand in the middle of the pack without giving you a single bit of support."
"I mean... yeah." You leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to hide how much that small bit of validation actually mattered. "That has been the arrangement so far, hasn't it?"
"Well, it’s a rubbish arrangement." He stepped into your personal space, his eyes searching yours with an earnestness that felt far too real. "I want to make this bearable for you. But for that to happen, I think we need to... practice."
"Practice?"
"At being comfortable," he explained, as if he were simply suggesting a bit of extra Quidditch drills. "You said my touching burns. Not literally, I hope, but—" He gestured between the two of you. "There’s this tension. This massive wall between us. People can see it, Y/N. It’s written all over you."
"Right. So your grand plan is..."
"Exposure therapy," he said. "We need to get accustomed to one another. And we need to do it without an audience watching your every flinch."
A snort almost escaped you as you processed the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. It felt like a scene ripped straight from one of those tawdry novels Jo kept hidden in her trunk, the ones with titles like The Warlock’s Wicked Whim.
But beneath the embarrassment sat a cold, hard logic you couldn't ignore. Every time his skin brushed yours, your heart panicked. You went rigid, your breath hitched, and your pulse became a frantic drumbeat in your ears. If you could feel that visceral wrongness vibrating through your bones, then vipers like Giselle and Yuna could definitely tell too.
"And you want to do this here?" A wary glance down the drafty corridor followed, half-expecting a gaggle of students to peek around the corner, eager for a glimpse of the castle's most talked-about couple. "What if someone comes by?"
"They won't." Jaemin started walking again, gesturing for you to follow. "That’s the whole point of meeting on this floor."
Confusion was about to mount into another argument when he came to a sudden halt in front of a completely unremarkable stretch of stone wall. Without a word, he began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, his brow furrowed in a look of intense concentration.
For a moment, you just watched him, convinced that he'd finally cracked under the pressure and that this whole fake relationship scheme had driven him round the bend. You were seconds away from suggesting a firm dose of Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey when the masonry began to ripple.
Solid stone blurred and shimmered like the surface of the Black Lake under a midday sun. Then, with a low, tectonic grind, an ornate wooden door bled into existence.
Your mouth fell open. You'd heard of this, of course. Read about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'. But reading about something and seeing it happen right in front of your eyes were two very different things.
"The Room of Requirement," you breathed, awe temporarily overriding your general state of irritation.
"The Room of Requirement," Jaemin confirmed, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I figured if we're going to do this, we should do it somewhere we won't be interrupted."
"Unless you don't want to?" he asked, and there was a carefulness to the question, an unspoken offer of an out. "I know this is... I know it's a lot to ask. But I really think it'll help. I do."
You stared at the door, your mind whirling. This was insane. Completely, utterly, certifiably insane. Practicing feeling comfortable with Na Jaemin in a magical room that appeared out of thin air? This was your life now? This was what your Hogwarts experience had come to?
But what was the alternative? Continue on as you had been, flinching and grimacing your way through this charade until even the most gullible Hufflepuff could see right through you? Let Jaemin's awful friends pick and prod at you until you broke?
No. No, as much as it pained you to admit it, Jaemin was right. If you were going to make it through this with your dignity remotely intact, you had to stop being the weak link. You needed to become a better liar.
And if that meant subjecting yourself to Merlin knows what kind of 'practice' in a secret magic room... well. So be it.
“I swear if this is some kind of prank…”
"It's not." He pushed open the door, warm, inviting light spilling out into the corridor. "I promise."
The moment you crossed the threshold, you felt a strange sensation wash over you. Like stepping into a warm bath after a long, cold day. The room was...not at all what you expected. It was smaller, cozier. There was a plush sofa against one wall, a few cushy armchairs arranged around a low coffee table. The lighting was soft, emanating from no discernible source, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla and old books. It felt safe, somehow. Comforting. Which only served to put you more on edge.
"So," you said, crossing your arms over your chest as the door swung shut behind you with a soft, final-sounding click. "You brought me here to practice. Practice what, exactly?"
Jaemin had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Intimacy."
"I'm sorry, what?”
"Not—not like that," he said quickly, and was that a hint of a flush on his cheeks? Surely not. Na Jaemin didn't get flustered. It must be a trick of the light. "I mean... being close.. and comfortable enough to casually touch each other. You know, the things couples do in public that you keep shying away from."
"You make it sound so simple," you muttered, feeling a blush rise to your own cheeks despite your best efforts.
"It’s not that big of a deal." He gestured to the sofa. "Look, we're going to have to spend the next two months being physically affectionate in front of the entire school. And right now, every time I so much as brush against you, you look like you'd rather be facing a herd of centaurs. So we need to practice. To make it feel normal."
Normal. What a ludicrous concept. There was nothing normal about this. But you bit back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. You’d agreed to this madness, and backing out now would only make you look more pathetic.
"Right. So you want me to get used to you pawing at me."
"I do not paw—" He cut himself off, taking a visible breath to steady himself. "I want you to get used to me touching you in a completely respectful, non-pawing way.
You stared at him and he stared back. You could practically hear the seconds ticking by, feel the weight of the impasse settling over the room.
"Fine," you said at last, the word feeling like it was being dragged out of you with fish hooks. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"
His shoulders relaxed, the tension in his jaw easing just a fraction. "Just… come sit with me. We'll start slow."
He settled onto the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. You approached warily, lowering yourself onto the opposite end and putting as much distance between your bodies as physically possible. Jaemin looked at the three-foot chasm of empty space and raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to have to get closer than that."
"This is close."
"You’re barely sitting on the couch."
"Baby steps," you muttered.
"We don't have time for baby steps." But his voice was gentle, coaxing. "Come on. I don't bite."
That remains to be seen, you thought. But despite every instinct screaming at you to run, you scooted closer. Then a bit closer still. You stopped in the middle of the sofa, a foot of space still separating you, but closer than you'd ever voluntarily been to him outside of your mandated public displays.
"Better," Jaemin said, and the soft, approving lilt in his voice sent a traitorous flutter through your stomach. "Now, I'm going to put my arm around you. Like I do at meals. And I want you to try not to tense up. Okay?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice not to shake.
Slowly, broadcasting his movements like he was approaching a skittish animal, he lifted his arm, draping it across the back of the sofa. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the weight of it startling in its warmth, its solidity.
Instantly, you felt your entire body go rigid, your muscles locking up like you'd been hit with a full body bind curse. Every nerve ending was suddenly alight, hyper-aware of the exact dimensions of his palm, the precise pressure of each individual finger.
"You’re doing it again," he murmured. His voice was much closer than you’d expected. "Tensing up."
"I know," you gritted out. "I’m trying."
"Here." His other hand hovered just shy of your arm, hesitant. "Just breathe. Focus on that."
Breathe. Right. You could manage that.
You sucked in a breath, held it for a count of three, and forced it out. You repeated the cycle until the iron bands of your muscles began to slacken, slowly adjusting to the foreign sensation of him.
"Good," Jaemin whispered. "See? Not so terrible."
"It’s weird," you countered. It was unsettling and entirely too much. "You’re weird. This whole thing is mental."
"Noted." There was a definite streak of amusement in his tone now. "But you aren't flinching. That’s progress."
He was right. The initial shock of the contact was fading, replaced by a strange sort of...not comfort, exactly. Awareness, maybe. You were intensely conscious of the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed next to you.
The feeling wasn't the searing, blistering heat you'd stupidly mentioned yesterday in a moment of unthinking frustration. But it was a lot. Intimate in a way you weren't at all prepared for, in a way that made your heart thud traitorously against your rib cage.
"Okay," Jaemin said after the silence had stretched out just long enough to teeter on the edge of uncomfortable. "Next step. I'm going to pull you a bit closer. Like I do when we're walking to class."
"Do you really need to narrate every little thing?" You couldn't help the note of exasperation that crept into your voice.
"I'm trying not to spook you."
"I'm not a skittish woodland creature."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.
Before you could formulate a properly scathing response, he drew you firmly into his side. Your instinct was to lock up again, but you fought it. This close, the scent of him was overwhelming—clean linen, and a subtle hint of broomstick polish.
It was disorienting. Overwhelming. But...not entirely unpleasant, if you were being honest with yourself. Which you absolutely were not going to be, because that way lay madness.
"Are you okay?" Jaemin asked, and his voice lacked his usual arrogance, sounding instead like he was actually concerned about your boundaries.
For a dizzying second, you wondered if there was more to him than the unflappable, silver-tongued Slytherin. Was this just as strange and unsettling for him? You pushed the thought away immediately. Thinking of Jaemin as a real person with real nerves was a one-way trip to jagged rocks and shark-infested waters. He was a means to an end. A necessary evil.
"It's fine," you said, and if your voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less steady, well. That was nobody's business but your own. “Not terrible, I suppose."
"High praise, coming from you," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, could practically feel the curve of his lips where they brushed against your hair.
You chose to ignore that, focusing instead on keeping your breathing steady and your heartbeat under control.
Time passed, seconds or minutes or hours, you couldn't quite tell. The room had narrowed down to the weight of Jaemin's arm around you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the soft sounds of your breathing intermingling in the quiet room.
The whole thing was almost peaceful, provided you let yourself forget exactly who he was and why you were here.
“How much longer do we have to do this?” you asked eventually, when the silence and the sensation started to feel like too much.
Jaemin shrugged, the movement jostling you slightly. “Until it feels normal, I guess. Or at least not horribly awkward.”
You let out a long sigh. “We’re going to be here a while, then.”
He laughed, the sound warm and resonant in the small room. “Probably. But look on the bright side—at least the couch is comfortable, right?”
You made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an agreement.
“Just think,” he continued, a teasing lilt returning to his voice, “a few more of these sessions and we’ll be the most convincing couple Hogwarts has ever seen. We’ll put the real ones to shame.”
“Be still my beating heart,” you deadpanned. “What a glittering future.”
“We’ll practice the basics for now. Then we’ll work our way up.”
“Work our way up to what, exactly?” You regretted the question the moment it left your lips. His arm tightened slightly, and his voice took on a silkier quality.
“Well,” he said, “eventually, we’re going to have to practice kissing.”
You practically launched yourself off the cushions at that. You scrambled to the very edge of the sofa, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The distance between you was back to a yawning three feet in a matter of seconds.
He’d mentioned kissing when he proposed this mad arrangement in the first place but you genuinely thought he’d been trying to ruffle you. The prospect of actually kissing Na Jaemin was so far outside your comfort zone it felt like another planet.
“Absolutely not!” you gasped, your eyes wide with genuine alarm. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime.”
Jaemin stared at you, his arm still draped over the empty space where your shoulder had been a moment ago. He looked startled by your sudden flight, but it only took a second for that lazy amusement to crawl back onto his face.
“It’s going to come up, Y/N,” he said, dropping his arm and leaning back comfortably, as if he hadn't just suggested something world-ending. “Couples kiss. Especially 'new' couples who are supposedly mad about each other. If the first time I kiss you is in front of the entire Great Hall and you look like you’re about to be sick, the game is up.”
“I get it,” you snapped, your face feeling like it was being held over a Bunsen burner. “I get it. But we’re not—I mean, we don’t need to do that. It’s way too much.”
“We don’t have to do it today,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle as he watched you vibrate with nerves at the end of the sofa. “We’ll work up to it slowly. Baby steps, remember?”
“I hate this,” you mumbled, slowly sinking back into the upholstery, though you stayed firmly out of arm's reach.
“I know,” he said, his eyes tracking you with a look that was far too observant for your liking. “But you’re getting much better at pretending you don't.”
The witching hour, that eerie stretch of night when all respectable souls should be tucked safely in their beds, found you instead padding down the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, your dressing gown pulled tight around you and your wand tip illuminating the way.
It was a terrible idea, really, wandering the castle at this hour. You were a prefect, for Merlin's sake. You knew the rules better than most. Out of bed after curfew, risking detention or worse, all for what? A craving for something sweet that couldn't wait until the civilized hours of morning?
But sleep had proven elusive, your mind refusing to quiet, insisting instead on replaying the events of the past week in excruciatingly vivid detail. The practice sessions with Jaemin in the Room of Requirement featured most prominently, of course. The steadily shrinking distance between your bodies, the way his touch was beginning to feel almost... familiar.
You were making progress. Which was precisely the problem.
So now, at an absolutely unreasonable hour, you found yourself seeking solace in the kitchens. If you were going to be awake anyway, you might as well have a biscuit to keep you company.
You reached the portrait of the fruit bowl, tucked away in a corridor no one ever noticed, and tickled the pear. It squirmed and giggled, as it always did, before transforming into a door handle.
The kitchens were a welcome oasis of warmth, the vaulted ceilings echoing with the industrious sounds of house-elves going about their nightly duties—kneading dough for the morning's bread, organizing the pantry, scrubbing the massive cauldrons until they shone. They looked up as you entered, surprise evident on their wrinkled little faces.
"Miss!" squeaked a particularly diminutive elf, hurrying over to you, her tea towel toga flapping about her knees. "Miss should be in bed! Is Miss hungry? Was something not to Miss's liking at dinner?"
"No, no," you assured her quickly, crouching down to her level with a smile. "Dinner was wonderful, as always. I just couldn't sleep and thought a little something sweet might help."
The elf's large eyes widened further, a delighted smile stretching her mouth. "Oh yes, yes! Dipsy can help! We has treacle tart left over from dinner, and chocolate biscuits, and Dipsy can bring fresh cream for Miss's tea—"
"Just a biscuit or two would be lovely," you said. "And maybe a bit of that apple tart, if there's any left? I don't want to make extra work for you."
"Is no work at all!" Dipsy insisted, already scurrying off toward the enormous cooling racks that lined one wall. "Is Dipsy's pleasure to serve! Miss sit, sit! Dipsy will bring tea!"
And so you found yourself perched on a stool at one of the long preparation tables, watching with a mix of amusement and awe as Dipsy and two other elves fluttered about, assembling a plate of biscuits and tart and a pot of fragrant, steaming tea.
"Thank you," you said sincerely as they presented you with your midnight feast. "This is exactly what I needed."
Dipsy beamed, her bat-like ears quivering with pleasure. "Miss is always so kind, so polite! Not like some students, so rude and demanding they is. But Miss is a good student, yes she is!"
You felt a pang at that, remembering all the times you'd seen your classmates treating the house-elves like mere servants. "You work so hard," you told her. "The least I can do is be polite."
The ancient elf in the tea towel toga shuffled up then, setting a small pot of jam next to your plate. "Special raspberry preserves," he croaked. "Made 'em myself. Good for what ails you, they is."
"That's very kind, thank you," you said, touched by the gesture.
You passed the next quarter hour in the warm bustle of the kitchens, savoring your illicit snack while the elves worked around you, peppering you with questions—did you need anything else, what did you think of the new recipe they'd tried at lunch, would you like to take some extra tarts back to your dormitory? It was soothing, the cheerful chatter and clatter, so different from the brooding silence of your room.
By the time you'd drained your teacup and consumed a frankly inadvisable number of biscuits, you were feeling considerably more yourself.
"Thank you," you said again as you rose to leave. "I feel much better."
"Miss is welcome anytime!" Dipsy assured you earnestly. "Dipsy is always here if Miss needs a little pick-me-up!"
You left with a smile and a promise to visit again, slipping back out into the dark and drafty corridor.
It was deserted, as you'd expected. Or so you thought, until a voice emerged from the shadows some twenty feet ahead, stopping you in your tracks.
"Out for a midnight stroll?"
You nearly leapt out of your skin, your wand raised defensively before you'd even fully registered the words. But then a familiar figure stepped into a pool of torchlight, and your racing heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.
Jaemin. Even in the middle of the bloody night, he managed to look put together, his school robes immaculate and his prefect badge gleaming. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets, and there was a glint in his eye that might have been amusement.
"Merlin's beard, Jaemin," you hissed, lowering your wand. "Are you trying to get hexed? You can't just lurk in the dark like some sort of—villain!"
"I'm not lurking, I'm patrolling," he countered. "It's my job to accost students out of bed after hours. Which, need I remind you, you currently are."
"I’m a prefect too," you shot back, though you were painfully aware that your current attire—dressing gown, fluffy slippers, and basically a bird's next on your head—didn’t exactly command authority.
"A prefect who's very much off duty," Jaemin pointed out, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made you acutely conscious of your bare legs and messy hair. "And wandering the castle at two in the morning, no less."
You crossed your arms, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "I couldn't sleep. Not that it's any of your business, but if you must know, I was hungry. I went to the kitchens."
"The kitchens," he repeated slowly.
"Yes, the kitchens. You're familiar with the concept, I assume? Big room, lots of elves, food comes from there?"
Jaemin, looking awfully like he was trying not to smile, said again, "You went to the kitchens. At two a.m. In your dressing gown."
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt a little. "Yes, that's what I just said. Is there an echo here I'm not aware of?"
"Y/n y/l/n, prefect and notorious rule-follower, snuck out of bed and all the way down to the kitchens in the dead of night...for a biscuit?"
"What, like you've never had a late-night snack craving?"
"No, I can't say I have." He was definitely fighting a smile now. "I'm just surprised. I didn't take you for the type."
"Yes, well, there's a lot you don't know about me," you muttered, brushing past him to continue your trek back to Gryffindor tower. To your great chagrin, Jaemin fell into step beside you, long legs eating up the distance effortlessly.
"And here I was thinking I had you all figured out... Now I come to find you have a dark side. Late-night wanderings, clandestine trips to the kitchen...so scandalous. Merlin only knows what other secrets you're hiding behind that prim prefect exterior."
"Oh, yes," you agreed dryly. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. Careful, Na, or I'll file you away in my mental 'too curious for his own good' cabinet with all my other deep, dark secrets."
It was possibly the most ridiculous thing you'd ever said, made all the more absurd by the fact that you were padding through the halls in slippers, being relentlessly followed by the boy you were supposed to be pretending to date. Who was going to write your biography one day? They'd have a field day with this.
"So why are you lurking about in the dark, anyway?" you asked, feeling the need to shift focus away from your own nocturnal misadventures. "Isn't this usually when you abscond to the grounds to catch hapless rule-breakers?"
"Wasn't in the mood," Jaemin said with a shrug. "Thought I'd switch it up tonight. Catch hapless biscuit thieves instead."
You shot him a withering look. "I'm not a thief. The elves gave me those biscuits fair and square. And anyway, you're one to talk about avoiding the grounds. What, did our last excursion awaken a sudden fear of the dark?"
"Hardly." A pause. "Just wasn't the same without my favorite patrol partner, I suppose."
Your steps faltered a bit at that, and you hoped desperately that the darkness was enough to hide the flush you could feel creeping up your neck. Favorite patrol partner. He had to be mocking you. Nevermind that he'd said it almost...softly. Sincerely, even. A trick of the acoustics in this drafty old castle, no doubt.
“I’m flattered,” you managed, arranging your face into an expression of arch disdain. "Though I think we both know I'm likely the only patrol partner you’ve terrorized on the grounds. Bit of a low bar, as far as favoritism goes."
“I'm grading on a curve," Jaemin said with a smirk. "Bumping you to the head of a class of one."
"How magnanimous of you."
"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."
A slow shake of the head was the only response you could muster. Between the amusement and the sheer exasperation, it was hard to keep track of your own feelings. This boy. This ridiculous, irritating, unfairly handsome boy. How had your life come to revolve around verbally sparring with him in darkened hallways in the middle of the night?
You'd reached the stairs leading up toward Gryffindor Tower, and you paused at the base, turning to face Jaemin. He was looking at you intently, as if he wanted to say something.
"You've been better this week," he said abruptly.
You blinked, caught off guard by the change in topic. "What?"
"At pretending," he clarified. "You don't flinch anymore when I touch you. That thing you did yesterday, with your hand on my chest when you were laughing at Jo's joke - that was good. Natural."
Heat crept up your neck at the memory. You'd surprised yourself with that gesture, the easy intimacy of it. It had just...happened. No thought, no awkwardness. For a moment, it had felt real.
"Oh," you said eloquently. "Um. Thanks?"
Jaemin nodded. "I can tell the practice is helping. People are buying it. Even Giselle's backed off a bit."
"Only a bit," you muttered. Jaemin's prickly best friend had been keeping a hawkish eye on you. She'd cornered you just yesterday, demanding to know Jaemin's favorite Quidditch team. You'd guessed the Falmouth Falcons, only to be informed with a triumphant sneer that he was actually a die-hard Montrose Magpies supporter, had been since childhood, and really, what kind of girlfriend doesn't know that?
"She's protective," Jaemin said, as if reading your thoughts. "But she's coming around. Slowly."
"Hooray for small mercies," you said dryly.
Jaemin's lips twitched. "Anyway, I didn't just track you down to compliment your acting skills."
"So why did you track me down, then?" You folded your arms, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up at his words. "Other than to save me from death by biscuit overindulgence, of course."
"Next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend," he said.
You nodded slowly. "I'm aware."
"It's also Valentine's Day."
"Oh." You blinked. "Right." Somehow, in the midst of all the fake dating drama and NEWTs prep, you'd completely forgotten about the most romantic day of the year. "That's...a thing."
"A thing we should probably do together," Jaemin said. "I mean, it would look weird if we didn't, wouldn't it? The whole school will be there, all the couples will be out in force..."
Suddenly your hands felt clammy. He was right, of course. If you were really dating, you'd be all over each other on Valentine's Day. Holding hands, sharing butterbeer, probably snogging in some corner of Madam Puddifoot's like every other disgustingly happy couple.
But you weren't really dating. And the thought of upping the ante on this charade you were already barely keeping up with...it made you feel a bit sick.
Jaemin must have seen some of this on your face, because he quickly added, "We don't have to make a big deal of it. Just walk around together, maybe get lunch at the Three Broomsticks. I could buy you some chocolate from Honeydukes, let people see me being a good boyfriend. That's all."
"Right," you said faintly. "Sounds...great."
He studied you for a moment. "I mean, if you had other plans, or if you think it's too much—"
"No," you said, more firmly than you felt. "No, you're right. We should go together. For appearances' sake, if nothing else."
His eyes flickered at your words, a brief shadow passing over them before he straightened up. "Great," he said briskly. "It's a date then."
You took a step back, suddenly desperate for the safety of your dormitory. "I should go. It’s late."
Jaemin nodded. "Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll see you in Potions."
"Can't wait." You started up the stairs, but paused at the landing to look back. "Goodnight, Jaemin."
"Goodnight." He waited a beat, his voice dropping to a low, melodic murmur. "Sweet dreams, baby."
You huffed a laugh to hide your skyrocketing pulse and hurried up the stairs, feeling his gaze on your back until you turned the corner.
Valentine’s Day with Jaemin. It was just another scene in the play. You could handle it.
Right?
But as you climbed the stairs to your bed, you had the sinking feeling that 'sweet' dreams were the last thing you were going to get.
The Hogsmeade trip came around quicker than expected. It had barely stopped raining for weeks, but on Saturday the sun was a weak golden disk behind a scrim of clouds, and every student with even a shred of romantic aspiration was queued up to be let out the gates, Gryffindor and Slytherin and the rest all jostling close, careful to keep up appearances for whatever audience they believed themselves to have.
You, on the other hand, spent the first half of the walk pretending that the clumps of snow along the path were of great zoological interest, then the next half pretending you couldn’t feel Jaemin’s hand cradling your elbow, like you were some frail Victorian damsel and the uneven ground posed a mortal peril.
“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” you muttered, as you reached the crest of the hill and saw the town below.
Every shop window had been transformed into a shrine for Valentine’s Day: Sugar quaffles in the shape of anatomically correct hearts, boxes of chocolates spelled to whisper eternal devotion when opened, bargain bouquets of roses that swatted at you if you tried to walk by without paying them a compliment. Even the cobblestone streets seemed to have been scrubbed up for the occasion, each puddle reflecting a film of pink and red banners strung overhead.
Jaemin grinned at your side, unbothered by the spectacle. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” you insisted, though you eyed the brightly colored display tray warily. “I just don’t want to accidentally eat one of those chocolates that makes you recite poetry. Last time Jo had one, she spoke in haikus for three hours. It was a nightmare.”
“That sounds amazing, actually,” Jaemin said, a devilish glint in his eye. He veered off the main path, his long coat swishing around his ankles as he approached the sugar-dusted worker hawking the tray. “Let’s see if we get Lord Byron or... Byron-but-make-it-sexy.”
“Those are the same thing, Jaemin.”
He snagged two samples before you could protest, pressing a heart-shaped truffle into your gloved palm. The chocolate was dark, dusted with shimmering pink edible glitter. “Go on. What’s the worst that could happen? A little rhyming couplet never killed anyone.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smell of rich cocoa was overpowering your common sense. You took a tentative bite.
The chocolate was velvety, melting instantly over your tongue with notes of dark cherry and espresso. For a second, you thought you were safe. Then, a strange warmth bloomed in your diaphragm. It wasn't the heat of the candy, but more like a physical compulsion, like a marionette string tugging at your vocal cords.
Your lips parted against your will. You tried to say ‘It’s good,’ but your voice, suddenly projecting with a nasal, theatrical vibrato that echoed off the cobblestones, intoned:
“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove!”
Jaemin doubled over, nearly dropping his own sweet, his laughter bright and loud in the crisp air. “Oh, brilliant! Shakespeare it is! Give it some more feeling, come on!”
“Shut up!” you tried to hiss, but the magic ignored your intent completely. Instead, you threw a dramatic hand over your heart, your eyes fluttering shut as you bellowed, “O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken!”
You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified, as a group of Ravenclaws walked by, giggling. The spell finally sputtered out, leaving you breathless and flushed.
“I hate you,” you mumbled into your palm, though the lingering taste of cherry was admittedly delicious. You looked up at him, realizing something didn’t add up. “Wait. How do you even know that was Shakespeare? Or who Lord Byron is?”
Jaemin finally straightened up, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. He popped his own truffle into his mouth, looking entirely unbothered.
“We have a library at the Manor that rivals the one at Hogwarts,” he said casually, chewing with a thoughtful expression. “My parents… well, they’re traditionalists, obviously. But my mother has always insisted that a true wizarding education is incomplete without understanding the ‘arts of the common man.’”
He swallowed, and for a second, his eyes went wide. You braced yourself for a poem, but he just cleared his throat and smirked. A dud candy. Typical luck.
“She thinks Muggles are tragically fascinating,” he continued, offering you his arm. “She insisted I read the classics. ‘If you are to rule the world, son, or simply live in it, you must understand how the other half feels.’ Or something like that.”
You stared at him in slight awe. You had never really considered that wizards from old, sacred twenty-eight families cared much about the Muggle world, other than to look down on it. As a half-blood who spent most of your childhood navigating the regular world and reading paperbacks, you assumed Jaemin’s world was entirely insulated.
“I’m just glad they’re using good material this year,” he finished, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Sonnet 116? ‘It is the star to every wandering bark’? Very romantic choice, Y/N. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
You tried to glare at him, to maintain your annoyance at being made a public spectacle, but his smile was so wide, so full of genuine delight, that your irritation evaporated like breath on glass.
“I’m telling you that you’re paying for these sweets,” you said, linking your arm through his.
“Fair enough,” he hummed. “Where to next?
Before you could answer, a shrill voice cut through the chatter of the crowd. "Jaemin! Yoo-hoo, over here!"
You turned to see Yuna Bae waving at you from the doorway of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. She was resplendent in robes of pale pink, her dark hair arranged in perfect curls. Beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, was a Ravenclaw you recognized from your Charms class. Taehyun, you thought his name was.
Jaemin's grip on your arm tightened imperceptibly. "Yuna," he said, his smile never wavering. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Oh, you know me," Yuna trilled, her eyes raking over you dismissively. "I never miss a Hogsmeade weekend. Taehyun was just treating me to tea. Why don't you join us? I'm sure we could squeeze you in."
The way she said that made it clear she was referring solely to Jaemin. You might as well have been a Flobberworm for all the attention she gave you.
“Y/N and I were just heading to Tomes and Scrolls. She’s been telling me about the new research into the Goblin Wars that just arrived and you know I can never resist a good history tome.”
Well, that was a blatant lie. You’d mentioned the book in passing a week ago, but Jaemin would rather drink Bubotuber pus than read a dry history text. Still, you appreciated the save. Yuna’s smile dimmed a fraction, her eyes flicking to the modest storefront of the bookstore as if it were a contagious ward at St. Mungo’s.
“Is this what you’re prioritizing now, Jaemin? This… little excursion into the mundane?”
Her eyes raked over your clothes down to your scuffed shoes. “I’m simply fascinated, Jawm. Your family has spent generations cultivating a certain standard, and you're playing the role of the benevolent saint. Taking pity on the less fortunate is a fine hobby, but surely you’re bored of the charity work by now?”
You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You started to speak, but Jaemin’s voice cut through first.
“Yuna.” The word was a warning, low and dangerous. “Watch yourself.”
“I’m being perfectly transparent,” she snapped, her feline eyes flashing. “It’s embarrassing, Jaemin. People are laughing. They’re wondering how long this little ‘experiment’ has to last before you regain your senses and return to your own kind. You’re a Na. Act like it.”
“I am a Na,” Jaemin said flatly, his arm sliding from your elbow to wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. “And Y/N is my girlfriend. She isn't an experiment, and she isn't someone you get to talk down to. If you can’t show her the respect she’s earned, then you and I have nothing left to discuss.”
Yuna’s jaw tightened, her composure finally cracking into a mask of pure venom. “Earned? She’s a nameless Gryffindor with nothing to her name but a few decent marks and a tragic wardrobe. Don’t think for a second this won't reach your father, Jaemin. He won't be as ‘charmed’ by your rebellion as you are.”
“Send the owl tonight if you like,” Jaemin countered, his voice steady. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Yuna’s eyes flicked to you one last time. “Enjoy your biscuits while you can, darling. The higher you climb, the harder the fall.”
You simply smiled, though your chest was tight with fury.
"Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. Do enjoy your tea, Yuna. I hear the service is wonderfully… swift today.”
As she turned on her heel to sweep into the tea shop, you kept your hands tucked inside your coat pockets, your fingers curling around the smooth wood of your wand. With a sharp, silent flick of your wrist and a jagged thought of Ventus, you sent a precise jinx whistling through the air.
The effect was instantaneous.
Just as Yuna reached for the heavy brass handle of the shop door, an invisible, violent gust of wind caught the hem of her pristine pink robes. They billowed up like a startled peacock’s tail, tangling around her head and blinding her just as she stepped forward.
Thwack.
She walked straight into the doorframe with a dull thud. Her scream of outrage was muffled by her own silk skirts, and as she scrambled to untangle herself, her designer boots skidded on a patch of black ice you’d surreptitiously greased with a bit of Glacius. She performed a frantic, uncoordinated flailing dance that sent her expensive handbag flying into a nearby slush pile.
Taehyun made a strangled noise that was either a cough or a repressed sob of laughter.
Jaemin stood perfectly still beside you, watching as a disheveled Yuna finally managed to shove her way inside the shop, her perfect curls now looking like a bird's nest and her dignity in tatters. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide delight.
"Did you just…?"
"The wind in the Highlands is so unpredictable this time of year," you said, keeping your gaze fixed on the shop window as Yuna frantically tried to wipe slush off her bag. "It’s a real hazard for those who aren't used to the climate."
"You're terrifying," Jaemin whispered, a grin breaking across his face. Absolutely terrifying. I love it."
"I told you," you said, finally meeting his gaze with a defiant spark in your eyes. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. And I really, really hate being called a charity case."
"Fair point," he laughed, steering you away before she could recover enough to look back. "Come on, Shakespeare. Let's check out the books."
Tomes and Scrolls was blessedly quiet, the heavy wooden door acting as a silencer against the bustle of the High Street. You inhaled deeply, loving the smell of aged parchment, beeswax, and the faint, ozone-like spark of old magic trapped in ink. This was your happy place.
You moved instinctively toward the back, trailing your fingers along the spines. Some books hummed under your touch; others, like the Compendium of Common Curses, seemed to shy away.
“There,” you whispered, spotting a thick, midnight-blue spine with silver embossing The Iron Quill: Unfiltered Testimonies of the 1612 Rebellions.
You pulled it from the shelf, cradling it like it was made of glass. “I’ve been waiting for this for months, Jaemin. It’s based on the personal journals of Ug the Unreliable that were found in a sealed vault in Gringotts last summer.”
You opened it to a random page, your eyes lighting up. “Look at the diagrams! Everyone thinks the rebellion started because of the wand-ban, but these letters suggest a secret trade embargo on silver-threaded lace. It could completely rewrite the seventh-year curriculum. If the economic tension preceded the legislative one, it changes the entire motive of the Goblin liaisons!”
You turned a page, your voice gaining speed and volume as the academic thrill took over. “And look at the footnotes! There’s a cross-reference to The Tales of Beedle the Bard that suggests the ‘Warlock’s Hairy Heart’ was actually a coded political allegory for the Minister of Magic at the time. It’s brilliant. It’s... it's...”
You broke off, suddenly aware of the silence. Jaemin wasn't looking at the book. He was leaning against the mahogany shelf, watching you with with interest.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You started to close the book. “I’m boring you to death, aren't I? You probably want to go look at the Quidditch supplies or–”
“No,” Jaemin said softly. He stepped closer and reached out, not to take the book, but to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Not at all. I like seeing you like this. Passionate. A little bit nerdy. It’s... it's really cute, Y/N.”
You froze, the heavy tome suddenly feeling very light compared to the way your heart was thudding against your ribs. You looked down, pretending to be intensely interested in a footnote about goblin-wrought armor, trying to ignore the way his thumb lingered near your temple.
“It’s just history,” you whispered, though your pulse was racing fast enough to win a broom race.
“But you love it,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave. “And that’s why I like listening.”
You didn’t quite know what to say to that so you busied yourself with the book, pretending to be engrossed in the table of contents, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing.
It was just an act, you reminded yourself. A show for the onlookers. Jaemin was a good actor, that was all. There was no real feeling behind his words or his looks.
You lingered by the history section for a moment longer before a small, unassuming sign caught your eye toward the very back of the shop, nestled under a low, sloping ceiling: "Non-Magical Curiosities & Literature."
“Wait,” you said walking towards it. “I didn’t know they kept a Muggle section here.”
Jaemin followed as you navigated the narrowing aisles. This corner of the shop was more cramped, the books bound in plain cloth or faded dust jackets rather than dragon-hide or shimmering silk.
You scanned the titles until your eyes snagged on a familiar, battered spine. You pulled out a well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights.
“Since you’re so well-versed in Byron and Shakespeare,” you said, holding the book out so he could see the cover, “did your mother ever make you read the Brontës?”
Jaemin took the book, his long fingers tracing the silhouette of the moors on the cover. “I don’t think this one made the library list. Is it another tragedy?”
“The best kind of tragedy,” you sighed as you leaned back against the shelf. “It’s about a love so intense it’s practically a curse. Heathcliff and Cathy... they’re terrible for each other, really. They’re vengeful and cruel, but they’re also part of the same soul. There’s this one line—” you paused, closing your eyes for a second to recall the words that had lived in your head since you were twelve. “‘I am Heathcliff. He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.’”
When you opened your eyes, Jaemin was staring at you with an intensity that made the air in the cramped corner feel suddenly very thin. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by something much more sincere.
“That’s a bit more intense than a Honeydukes poem,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of the pages.
“Muggles don’t have magic to fix their problems,” you explained, feeling a rush of that deep-seated passion again. “They don’t have Amortentia to force a feeling or Cheering Charms to dull a heartbreak. They just have words. They have to build these massive, sweeping worlds of emotion just to explain how it feels to be alive. I think… I think sometimes that’s more powerful than any spell we’re taught.”
Jaemin looked from the book back to you, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You talk about them like they’re the ones with the real power.”
“In a way, they are,” you whispered.
He handed the book back to you, but as your fingers met on the cover, he didn't pull away. “Well, if it’s that good, I suppose I should read it. But only if you promise to highlight the best parts for me. I want to see the world the way you see it.”
His words caught you off guard. You looked down at your joined hands, the scent of old paper and Jaemin’s expensive, woody cologne swirling around you.
“I can do that,” you promised softly.
The afternoon bled away as you drifted from one storefront to the next. It was…nice. More than nice, actually. Despite yourself, you found yourself relaxing and enjoying the banter.
Despite the frantic warnings screaming in the back of your mind, you found the armor around your heart beginning to flake away. You were relaxing, leaning into the sharp cadence of his banter and the way his shoulder occasionally brushed yours
As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, Jaemin suggested one last stop.
“Three Broomsticks?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”
Jaemin shrugged, a smile playing about his lips. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? Can’t come to Hogsmeade and not have a Butterbeer.”
He had a point. The warmth of the pub sounded inviting after the chill of the February air. “Lead on, then.”
The place was packed to the brim with students crowding every table, their cheeks flushed from the cold and the Butterbeer. You wove your way through the throng, Jaemin’s hand at the small of your back.
“Y/N! Jaemin! Over here!”
You turned to see Jo waving at you from a table in the back. Beside her, was a handsome boy you vaguely recognized as a seventh year Hufflepuff. Won-something?
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Jo said as you approached, her eyes bright. “Y/N, this is Wonbin. Wonbin, this is my best friend, Y/N. And her boyfriend, Jaemin.”
Wonbin smiled at you. “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Jo’s told me a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” you said, sliding into the seat across from them. Jaemin settled beside you, his thigh pressing against yours under the table.
“Oh, definitely,” Wonbin said, grinning. “Though she did mention something about an incident with a Niffler and a bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion…”
You groaned, shooting Jo a look. “That was one time! And it wasn’t my fault the Niffler got loose, I maintain that to this day.”
Jo laughed, leaning into Wonbin’s side. They looked so comfortable together, so at ease.
Not for the first time since you arrived at Hogsmeade and finding yourself surrounded by dozens of loving couples, you felt a pang of something that might have been envy. What must it be like, to have that? To not have to question every look, every touch, every flutter of your heart?
You glanced at Jaemin, only to find him already looking at you. His eyes were the color of dark mahogany in the firelight.
If this were a real date, he would lean in. If you were a real girlfriend, you would let him.
The thought of his lips on yours, not as a tactical maneuver to thwart Yuna, but as an answer to the restless, poetic ache that had started in the bookstore, sent a shiver through you that was violent in its intensity. You wondered if his mouth would taste like the dark chocolate he’d eaten earlier, or the butterbear he was having now.
Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a drumbeat of "what if" that threatened to drown out your common sense. You looked away quickly, grabbing your Butterbeer and taking a long swig to hide the sudden heat in your cheeks.
The conversation kept flowing around you, but you found it hard to concentrate. Everywhere you looked, couples were leaning into each other, hands entwined, heads bent close. All you could hear around you was the sound of laughter and the soft smack of lips meeting in chaste kisses.
Suddenly, your skin itched with a restless sort of energy. You were hyperaware of Jaemin beside you, the solid warmth of him, his hand on yours on the table.
This was supposed to be a date. A fake date, yes, but a date nonetheless. And what did couples do on dates?
They kissed.
The thought was terrifying and… exciting. Kissing Jaemin, how would that feel? Putting your mouth on his mouth in front of all these people.
“Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice was barely audible over the din, but it vibrated through your very bones. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, his scent of cedar and winter air enveloping you. “You’ve gone very quiet. Where did you go?”
You took another gulp of Butterbeer, trying to drown the sudden dryness in your throat. There was no need to get so worked up about it, really. It was all part of the act. Just one more scene to play, one more line to deliver.
You could do this.
Setting your tankard down with a thunk, you turned to Jaemin, determination surging through you. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.
“Y/N,” he said carefully. “What are you doing?”
“Improvising,” you murmured, and kissed him.
For a moment, he was utterly still beneath your lips. Then, just as you were about to pull away feeling completely humiliated, he came to life, his hand cupping your cheek, his mouth slanting over yours.
It was…Merlin. It was everything. His lips were soft and warm but still demanding, the scrape of his calluses against your skin sending goosebumps down your arms. You melted into him, your fingers curling into the soft wool of his sweater, anchoring yourself lest you float away entirely.
Someone wolf-whistled, probably Jo, and you jerked back to reality, breaking the kiss with a gasp. Jaemin looked as dazed as you felt, his eyes dark, his lips kissed-red.
“Well,” he said, his voice rough. “That was…something.”
“Um… yeah,” you said weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Gotta be convincing, right?”
Jaemin’s pupils were more dilated than before. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”
He turned back to his drink, and you did the same, trying to ignore the way your lips were tingling, the way your heart was doing a complicated tap-dance against your ribs.
That wasn't real, you reminded yourself as you gulped down the rest of your Butterbeer, the alcohol doing little to steady your nerves. None of it was real.
Jo was grinning at you across the table, her eyes knowing. You glared at her, silently daring her to say something. Wisely, she didn’t, but her smile spoke volumes.
As the evening wore on and the empty tankards accumulated, you found your tongue loosening, your inhibitions lowering. The pub seemed overly warm, the laughter too loud, the press of bodies too close. You needed air, needed space. You needed…
“I need to pee,” you announced loudly, lurching to your feet. The room swayed around you, and you grabbed the edge of the table to steady yourself. “I’ll be…I’ll be back.”
You wove your way through the crowd, ignoring Jo’s concerned call of your name and the way Jaemin slightly rose from his seat, his hand outstretched as if to stop you.
You didn’t need his help or anyone’s help. You were fine. You were absolutely, totally fine.
Outside, the night air was a blessed slap of cold. You took in great lungfuls of it. Merlin’s beard, how much had you had to drink? The empty tankards swam before your eyes in a hazy blur. Three? Four? More? It was hard to keep track when the Butterbeer had been so sweet and the pub so warm and Jaemin’s lips so soft against yours…
Oh no. Oh no no no. You’d actually kissed him, right there in front of everyone. What were you thinking?
Well, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting away, finding a quiet place where you could think. Somewhere without Jaemin’s eyes on you.
You picked a direction at random and started walking with unsteady steps. The high street was nearly deserted now, the lovebirds gone home to their castles and their common rooms and their cozy little romances.
Leaving you alone with your thoughts and your too-fast heartbeat and the sinking realization that you were, perhaps, a bit drunker than you’d initially thought.
“Y/N!”
You closed your eyes briefly, both thrilled and terrified by the sound of his voice.
“I’m fiiiiine,” you slurred without turning around. “I just need a minute.”
Jaemin caught up to you in two long strides, his face tight with concern as he reached out to steady your swaying frame. "You're completely blasted. Please, just stand still for a second before you fall into a ditch."
"I am not blasted," you informed him with great dignity, though you tripped over your own feet and ended up slumped against his chest. You looked up at him, your eyes unfocused but swimming with a sudden honesty. "You're the one who’s blasted— Blasted with... with your perfect hair and your Byron talk."
“Let’s just get you back first, okay?”
“I can get there by myself, thank you very much.” You slurred, starting to walk in the opposite direction of the castle.
“I’m sure you can. But I'd rather help you get there in one piece.” He said, sliding his arm around your waist and gently veering you in the right direction.
You tried to pull away, a whine building in your throat. “Don’t wanna. M’having fun.”
“I think you’ve had quite enough fun for one night,” he replied, his voice dripping with that dry, aristocratic patience that made you want to kick his shins.
“Are you mad at me…” You said softly after a second. “Because of the kiss? I—I didn’t mean—”
Your eyes smarted. Tears, sudden and hot, pooled and fell freely. You felt mortified and ridiculous and very impervious at once. The laugh you tried to force came out more like a sob.
“M’sorry,” you hiccuped. “What was I thinking? I’m awful.”
He stopped walking and turned to face you. For a moment, he was quietly furious and perhaps even a little bewildered, which made him look achingly human.
“Don’t say that,” he breathed. He did not sound like someone who believed in platitudes. “You’re not awful. You’re just tired and you’ve had too much to drink.”
“M’drunk, not dumb. I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. Jus’ got…got lost in the moment.”
“Let’s just go back to the castle first” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober.”
You sniffled weakly, wiped at your face with the back of your hand, and let him shepherd you back toward the castle.
By the time you reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were barely keeping your eyes open, your body growing heavier with each step.
“Password?” the Fat Lady trilled, eyeing Jaemin suspiciously.
You tried to form the word ‘Flibbertigibbet,’ but your tongue felt like a thick piece of wet paper and it came out as something closer to "Flub-a-dub". The Fat Lady, mercifully, just sighed and allowed you access anyway.
“I’ll help you,” Jaemin murmured, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you upright as the portrait swung open.
But as he made to step over the threshold, you planted a hand firmly on his chest.
“You can’t come in,” you said, shaking your head slow and wide.
He raised an elegant eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“Cause you’re a snake,” you told him seriously. “And the Fat Lady… She doesn’t like snakes. Nope! No snakes ‘llowed in the lion house. S’the rules.”
You dissolved into giggles, finding this logic unbearably funny. The look on Jaemin’s face only made you laugh harder, a snorting, hiccupping thing that had you clutching at the portrait frame for support.
“Right. God forbid I upset the natural order,” he said, a reluctant, lopsided smile finally tugging at his lips.
He reached out, gently tucking a messy strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s quite enough out of you. Go on, get to bed.”
You sketched a salute, barely avoiding smacking yourself in the face. “Aye aye, cap’n,”
And with that, you let the portrait swing shut, cutting off the sound of Jaemin’s laughter. You made your way up to your dormitory on unsteady legs, collapsing into bed fully clothed.
As sleep claimed you, dragging you down into dreamless oblivion, one last thought chased itself around your fuzzy brain.
No snakes in the lion’s den. Not even pretty ones with soft lips and warm hands.
It was a good rule, you decided muzzily. A very good rule indeed.
saltpeter this, saltpeter that—what about pepperpeter? garlicpowderpeter? paprikapeter? cuminpeter? cinnamonpeter? nutmegpeter? this is peter spice and seasoning erasure.
thinking out loud.
content: fluff, nerd!bf!wonwoo, yapping.
he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
you’re sitting next to him on the couch, legs tucked under you, his shoulder warm against yours. wonwoo has his glasses on — the thin ones that slide just a little down his nose when he gets too into something — and at first he’s talking normally. calm. measured. explaining, like always.
“so the update changed the way the skill tree works,” he says, hands already moving, fingers drawing invisible diagrams in the air. “which is actually good, because before it was kind of unbalanced—”
you hum softly, not interrupting. that’s all it takes.
his voice picks up without him noticing. words start coming faster, brighter, layered with excitement. he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes focused on nothing in particular because he’s already inside the game in his head.
“—and people keep saying it’s overpowered, but it’s not if you actually understand the mechanics. like, okay, look—”
he stops himself, laughs quietly. “sorry. i’m rambling.”
“no,” you say immediately. “keep going.”
that’s the moment he’s gone.
his ears turn pink first. then he smiles — small, shy, but pleased — and suddenly he’s fully yapping. explaining strategies. characters. patch notes. lore you know you’ll forget but still listen to because he cares.
he doesn’t notice how close he gets. how his knee bumps into yours and stays there. how his sleeve brushes your arm every time he gestures. how he starts saying “we” instead of “i,” like you’re already part of it.
“and if you play it right,” he says, eyes lighting up, “it’s actually really satisfying. like—oh, wait, wait—there’s this one part—”
he catches himself again, breathless now, laughing under his breath.
“…am i talking too much?”
you’re already smiling at him. soft. fond. completely gone.
“you’re cute when you do this,” you say.
that shuts him up instantly.
he freezes, blinking behind his glasses. then he looks away, embarrassed, lips pressing together like he’s trying not to smile and failing miserably.
“…i am?” he asks, quieter now.
you lean in, resting your head against his shoulder. feel him relax under you.
“yeah,” you murmur. “you get all excited and forget everything else. it’s my favorite.”
there’s a pause. then his arm lifts — hesitant, careful — before settling around you. pulling you just a little closer.
“…okay,” he says, voice warm now, content. “then i’ll keep going. but just because you asked.”
and he does.
yapping softly now. slower. happier. one hand absentmindedly playing with your fingers while he talks about a game he loves — completely unaware that the best part of your night isn’t the story he’s telling, but the way he feels safe enough to tell it at all.
< 1.8k words and the second to last addition of the sweetest part of me has always been you series .ᐟ
nakamoto yuta is everything you're not.
your shared dorm room is a perfect visualization of this fact — your side adorned with fairy lights and polaroids of cherry blossoms, his covered in band posters with names that most people can't pronounce. your vanity holds neat rows of pastel nail polishes while his bedside drawer contains exactly one bottle of dried black polish and an assortment of silver rings.
the fairy lights strung above your bed cast a warm glow over both of you, highlighting the silver of his multiple ear piercings and softening the edge of his otherwise usual intimidating aura.
your eyes focus on the task before you, carefully applying another coat of black nail polish to his thumb. yuta watches you intently, his dark gaze softening in the way it only does when you're alone together.
"hold still," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft music playing from your speaker. his fingers twitch slightly in your grasp as you carefully paint his thumb.
"sorry," he murmurs, but his eyes never leave your face. there's something so intimate about the way he watches you work — as if you're the only thing worth focusing on in a world full of distractions.
"you always say that, but you still fidget," you tease, your charm bracelet jingling softly as you dip the brush back into the bottle. "one of these days you'll actually stay still."
"probably not," he admits, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips — the one that only appears when it's just the two of you like this. "but you like the challenge."
you roll your eyes but are unable to hide your smile. "lucky for you."
it's become routine between you two — every friday night, your textbooks lay abandoned on your desks, he sits cross-legged on your rose-patterned sheets while you carefully restore his black polish to its intended glory.
the stark contrast of his dark presence against your pastel sanctuary should feel jarring, but somehow it just feels right.
"you got polish on my ring," he observes, but there's no annoyance in his tone. if anything, he sounds fond.
"it's your fault for never taking them off," you counter, carefully wiping away the excess with a cotton swab. your fingers brush against the cool metal of his silver band, and you feel his pulse quicken beneath your touch.
"i like them where they are," he says quietly. what he doesn't say, what he doesn't need to say, is that you gave him that particular ring, slipping it onto his finger after he'd mentioned admiring it at the vintage shop downtown.
it became his favorite almost instantly, though he never said that either — he settled on wearing it like it belonged there amd was always meant to be his.
you finish his left hand and gently blow on the nails, still holding his fingers with both of yours long after it's necessary. "we should let this dry before starting the other one."
he flexes his fingers slightly within your grasp but doesn't attemot to pull away. "no rush."
outside, rain begins to fall, creating a gentle soundtrack to your private moment. his eyes drift to your own nails — painted a soft pink with tiny cherry blossoms on the ring fingers, the design having taken you nearly an hour to perfect last weel.
"how do you have the patience for that?" he asks, nodding toward your intricate nail art.
"the same way you have the patience to outline your eyes perfectly every morning," you reply, smiling as he unconsciously touches the smudged eyeliner that makes him look simultaneously intimidating to everyone else and endearingly soft to you.
"not the same thing," he argues, though there's no real heat behind his words. this is a conversation you've had before, comfortable in its familiarity.
"exactly the same," you insist, reaching for his right hand now. "you just use a different canvas."
he surrenders his other hand to you without protest, watching as you begin removing the chipped polish with careful strokes. there's something so trusting in the gesture — the boy who presents nothing but sharp edges to the world, melting under your touch, proving he belongs there.
"people were staring again today," he mentions casually, though you detect the underlying question.
you don't look up from your work, keeping your voice light. "let them stare."
"doesn't it bother you?" he persists, and now you do meet his gaze. "they look at us like we don't make sense."
"since when does nakamoto yuta care what other people think?" you challenge gently, knowing full well that beneath his carefully constructed indifference, he notices everything.
"i don't," he says quickly, too quickly. "but you might."
you set down the polish remover, giving him your full attention. "yuta, if i cared what people thought, i wouldn't have fallen for the boy who wore a full black outfit to the spring festival."
his lips quirk up at the memory. "you were wearing a pink dress with flowers."
"and you still asked me to share your umbrella when it rained," you remind him, resuming your careful work on his nails. "that's when i knew."
"knew what?" he asks, voice softer now.
"that you were secretly soft beneath all this," you gesture vaguely to his all black ensemble with your free hand. "the scary exterior."
he scoffs, but there's no denying the slight flush on his cheeks. "i am not soft."
"says the boy who lets me paint his nails every friday night," you counter, applying the base coat with practiced precision. "the same one who braided my hair last weekend and also cried during that dog movie."
"i didn't cry," he protests weakly. "there was something in my eye."
"mhmm," you hum, unconvinced but fond. "for two hours."
he falls silent, watching as you work. there's something almost meditative about these moments. just the two of you, the gentle rhythm of your breathing naturally synchronizing.
his dark nails against your delicate hands create a visual metaphor for your relationship — contrasting yet somehow perfectly complementary.
"does it ever bother you?" he asks suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "how different we are?"
you pause, considering the question seriously. "no," you finally answer. "i think that's why we work. you balance me out."
his eyes soften at that, the vulnerability he shows only to you shining through. "how so?"
"well," you begin, resuming your careful painting, "you remind me it's okay not to be perfect all the time and to embrace even the messy parts. and…" you hesitate, suddenly shy, "maybe i help you remember it's okay to let people see past the walls sometimes."
he's quiet for so long you wonder if you've said too much. but then, he mutters so softly that you almost miss it, "not people. just you."
your heart flutters at the admission. for someone who shares so little of himself with the world, these quiet confessions mean everything.
"almost done," you murmur, applying the final coat to his pinky. "don't smudge these ones, please. i used the good topcoat."
"no promises," he says, but his tone is teasing. you both know he'll be careful, just as you know he'll pretend it doesn't matter either way.
when you finish, he examines your work with genuine appreciation. "you should do this professionally," he tells you, not for the first time.
"and give up my dreams of world domination?" you joke, packing away your nail supplies. "besides, i only enjoy doing yours."
"lucky me," he says, and there's a warmth in his voice that makes your chest tight with affection.
you look up to find him watching you with that expression again — the one that makes you feel like you're something precious and rare. his freshly painted fingers reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture achingly gentle from someone the world sees as nothing but rough edges.
"your turn," he says unexpectedly, reaching for your pale pink polish.
you raise an eyebrow, surprised. "you want to paint my nails? last time you got more polish on my fingers than my actual nails."
"practice makes perfect," he shrugs, a challenge in his eyes. "besides, fair's fair."
you surrender your hand to him, watching as he uncaps the remover, and then the polish with the same focused concentration he gives to everything he cares about. his first stroke is hesitant but careful, his tongue poking slightly between his teeth as he concentrates.
"see?" he says proudly after finishing your thumb without disaster. "i've been practicing."
the thought of him secretly practicing nail painting just to share this part of your world makes something warm bloom in your chest. "when did you practice?" you ask, genuinely curious.
"on paper," he admits, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "and maybe on johnny's nails while he was sleeping."
you laugh at that, the sound bright in the otherwise quiet room. "i wish i could have seen his face."
"worth the headlock afterward," yuta grins, carefully moving to your next finger.
by the time he finishes, your nails are far from perfect — polish slightly uneven, a few spots missed entirely but that somehow that makes them all the more special.
"i messed up," he frowns, looking genuinely disappointed in himself.
"they're perfect," you assure him, admiring his work. "because you did them."
he rolls his eyes at your sentimentality, but you don't miss the pleased smile he tries to hide. "you're such a romantic."
"one of us has to be," you tease.
he captures your hand again, careful of the wet polish, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your wrist. there's something in his eyes now — something soft and unguarded that makes your breath catch.
"what?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.
"just thinking," he says quietly.
"about?"
"about us," he clarifies. "we're supposed to be opposites, but somehow…" he trails off, struggling to find the words.
"somehow we fit," you finish for him, lacing your fingers carefully through his — pink nails against black, silver rings against your charm bracelet.
"exactly," he murmurs, the word holding a weight of meaning beyond its simple syllables.
outside, the rain continues to fall, creating a gentle barrier between your shared moment and the rest of the world. in here, with his dark presence against your pastel sanctuary, nothing else seems to matter.
emo yuta who is actually not emo anymore because i sucked the nail polish off his fingers i am so sorry minasan but you have to understand, also johnny caught a stray because i am cigsaftersuh and i love johnny and yuta !! i 🩷 johnnyuta, i ❤️ ny, and most importantly, i hope you 🤍 this story hehe :3
SYNOPSIS. When your Christmas Eve doesn’t go as planned due to a shitty, inattentive date, you’re left crying over yet another failed relationship. Johnny finds you on his way out and goes out of his way, determined to lift your spirits. But as sweet as he is, and no matter how well he treats you, he is just your roommate and best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Maybe this is where your problem in your love life stems from. When they don’t meet your expectations because they are not—and will never be Johnny Suh—you are left disappointed in others and in yourself. Because he remembers all the little things, and that makes you fall in love endlessly.
WARNINGS. y/n has allergies, talk about allergic reactions, alcohol consumption, food consumption; nicknames: (her) angel, pretty girl
DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work. Crossposted on AO3 by sehunnypot.
Christmas Eve didn’t go exactly as planned. It’s seven o’clock, and instead of being on a date with the guy you’ve been seeing the past few months, you’re slamming the door to your shared apartment shut. The mirror by the door shakes against the wall but doesn’t fall. Frustrated tears stream down your cheeks, and a couple of tiny sobs slip through the cracks of your lips.
The thing about being home after a disappointing night is that you’re given the safe space to cry. Thinking your place is empty, you lean against the wall and slowly sink to the ground. If it were earlier in the day, you’d complain about your new plaid skirt getting dirty, but it didn’t matter anymore.
You slip your arms out of your new red sweater and leave it hanging loosely around your neck. Through your tears, you do your best to take your boots off and let out another noise of frustration when your zipper gets caught in your tights. Completely overwhelmed by your emotions, you don’t even hear the heavy footsteps that scuffle their way to the front of your apartment.
You realize you’re not alone when you feel your roommate’s comforting hand on your shoulder. Johnny’s soft voice calls your name. His hand cups your chin gently, angling your face to look up at him.
“What are you doing here, angel?” Johnny crouches down to your level, his thumb rubbing against your stained cheeks. His knuckle comes up to catch a tear.
“I thought you had your family party,” you sniffle. You take in his appearance—he’s certainly dressed for a holiday party, his upper half covered by a white turtleneck that hugs his broad chest and dark slacks that have been freshly ironed.
“I lost track of time while getting ready. I was just about to head out when you came in,” Johnny says while plopping down onto the floor.
You pull away from him, “I don’t want to make you late.”
He shakes his head, his neatly styled hair moving along with him. “They won’t miss me that much.”
“Of course they will, you’re the life of the party, John,” you chuckle, “you host all the games.”
“Yeah, because my cousins can’t get it together,” Johnny rolls his eyes jokingly, “we can’t leave it up to Mark.”
“No, we really can’t,” you whisper.
The conversation fades to black, and he just sits with you. Never mind that his nicely pressed slacks are wrinkling from his current position. His eyes search for anything that will tell him what put you in this condition. You avoid his gaze at all costs because once the floodgates open, there’s no holding back. You’ve burdened your roommate a lot this past year with rants, ranging from work-related things to your sad excuse of a love life—you don’t want to bother him with this, especially on Christmas Eve.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, you know that, right?” Johnny gets into a more comfortable position, his palms pressing against the cold hardwood floor. He lifts his brow, which does a little thing to your heart. You curse it for reacting this way, always skipping for Johnny when you did your best to push those feelings aside.
As sweet as he is, and no matter how well he treats you, he is just your roommate and best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
Maybe this is where your problem in your love life stems from. You hold such high expectations for men, simply because you live with the best of the best. When they don’t meet your expectations because they are not—and will never be Johnny Suh—you are left disappointed in others and in yourself.
You sigh, knowing that Johnny will stay true to his word. “It’s over.”
Johnny’s brows crinkle in the middle, and he cocks his head to the side. “I thought things between you two were going well, though?”
You can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, “He didn’t remember anything I told him.” The more you think about it, the more distressed you become. “He–he really didn’t remember anything!” Your laugh turns into a pathetic cry.
Though the abrupt switch of emotions catches Johnny off guard, he doesn’t outwardly show it. He allows you to take your time to voice out your frustrations, never rushing you despite having somewhere to be. His brown eyes are filled with concern, but he doesn’t touch you; he just leaves you be.
“We decided to spend Christmas Eve together because we both have respective family things tomorrow, right? And since we’re still new, it didn’t feel right to attend a family party together. So he asked for a list of potential things to do, and I gave some to him.” You pause to laugh again, “I gave him a lot of ideas, actually. There was so much to choose from—ice skating, Christmas market, the Charles Dickens Faire, seeing the lights at the town square, all the cliche Christmas-y things you could imagine.”
You look up and shoot Johnny a defeated smile, “He did none of them.”
The frown Johnny wears deepens the more you talk. Having been your roommate and friend for three years now, he knows how much you enjoy the little things that the holidays bring. You love the atmosphere of outside Christmas markets–how lively and joyous everything feels despite the crowded chaos happening all around you. The sound of skates scraping against freshly smoothed ice. The smell of pine that overfloods your senses when you walk through a Christmas Tree farm.
“He took me to a fancy restaurant downtown,” you start to explain. At first, it doesn’t sound too bad. “I felt unprepared, underdressed, and embarrassed. And of course, then we ran into his boss at the bar while waiting, so he basically ignored me the whole time they were setting up our table.”
“Then,” another laugh escapes you, “he takes the initiative and orders for me.”
A beat of silence passes. Johnny hangs onto your every word. “He ordered something I was allergic to. Something I’ve reiterated more than once since we started seeing each other.”
Knowing how severe your allergic reactions are, having helped you recover from one, Johnny understands the severity of that statement. You watch as Johnny lets out a rough huff and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. His arms cross over his broad chest, long fingers digging deeply into tight sleeves. It crumples under his strong grip, but he pays no attention. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, the skin turning redder by the second.
You’re sure that Johnny’s getting flashbacks to your last reaction—how he had to frantically dig through your bag to find your epipen before stabbing you in the thigh. His gaze hardens, and he lifts his chin, gesturing for you to continue.
“That was the final straw,” you start.
“As it should be,” your roommate spits out with venom.
“I walked out shortly after, called a rideshare, waited ten minutes outside the restaurant while crying in front of the valet, and came straight home,” you look him in the eyes and defeatedly shrug, “and now I’m here.”
“Angel,” Johnny calls you with the softest tone. He takes your hand and rubs his thumb against your knuckles. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you because of the party,” you argue. Your red eyes follow the soft strokes of this thumb, soaking in how soothing it feels despite the pain in your heart.
In one swift motion, you find yourself in Johnny’s warm embrace. His arms pull you forward, and you fall into his chest. He keeps you there in his arms as he rests his chin on your shoulder. When you melt into his hold, circling your arms around his neck, he whispers, “You’re never a bother.” It’s so faint that you almost miss it.
You hold him a little tighter. “You’re just saying things to make me feel better.”
Johnny pulls away but holds your gaze. “You’re never a bother to me. Got it?”
He says it with such resolution that you can’t help but believe it. You nod wordlessly, and he squeezes your waist in response. “Good.”
Your friend places a gentle kiss on your forehead, which comforts you but also makes your heart skip a beat, before standing up to his full height. He gives you a hand and slowly leads you down your short hallway. “Let’s go get you freshened up.”
“I’m not going anywhere, John.”
“And I’m not leaving you alone when you’re like this.”
You plant your sock-clad feet on the ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He pushes past your resistance by lifting you with ease and carries you bridal-style to your room. “You’re going to the party with me.”
“I’ll be fine,” you say in a fit of petty annoyance, slapping his large chest.
“Don’t lie to me,” Johnny retaliates, “I know you hate being alone during the holidays.”
You look up at him with wonder. You never explicitly mentioned that fact; you just filled your time wisely with fun activities with friends. You didn’t think he would pick up on it. It didn’t matter if it was a simple game night or a whole night out, hopping from one Christmas-themed bar to another. Often, when you invite him to a holiday movie marathon, he’d join you without a second thought.
“Plus, we don’t want to waste this pretty outfit of yours. You were so excited to wear it today.” Johnny gently sets you down in front of your bedroom door. “Is thirty minutes enough for you to get ready?”
You put up one last fight. “But you’re already late…”
“It’s alright, your presence will make up for it. My family loves you.” He sends a fond smile your way. A little shove to your shoulder gets you moving and doesn’t give you time to argue. “I’ll be waiting for you in the living room, angel.”
With no other choice, you do what your friend says. Looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you quickly assess the damage done to your face. With your makeup being unsalvageable, you wash it and start anew with a fresh canvas. Rushing through your usual routine, you dab foundation and concealer onto your skin. You wing your eyeliner, follow it up with a couple of mascara swipes, and then add blush to your cheeks. You finish off your look with your most flattering lipstick.
Taking one last glance, it’s not the best look you’ve pulled off, but given the time crunch, it will do. With one spritz of setting spray and another of your signature perfume, you make your way out of your room. Johnny is exactly where he said he’d be, now with a cable knit sweater sitting on the couch with his phone in hand. As soon as he hears your footsteps, he looks up from his screen, and he flashes you the most gorgeous smile. “There’s my pretty girl.”
Johnny compliments you regularly, which you always refute, but tonight, you take it in stride. Being the honest person he is, the man has a hard time lying. You smile brightly at his words, your mood already brightening when he leads you through a little twirl.
Beside him rest two overcoats, his black one and the khaki one you saved for special occasions. The knee-high boots you wore earlier rest by his feet. He slips his coat on with ease, looking like a dream as he does so. As you sit down to slip on your boots, he waits patiently at your side with your coat draped against his forearm.
“I got your coat out of the closet, thought it would look good with your outfit,” he mentions as you grab it from his arm. “This is the one you always wear with your nice fits, right?”
You freeze for a moment, taking in what he says. Seeing you rendered speechless at his question, he helps you into your coat. “I’m going to get the car started. Can you grab the container on the counter before you lock up?”
You nod as he grabs his keys out of the bowl, “What did you make?”
“Pull apart garlic bread! It’s nothing special, but it’ll do,” he calls out while opening the door.
You curse. “It’s going to be gone the moment we set it down,” you whine, “I love your garlic bread.”
“That’s why I have a whole container set aside for you. I made extra for you to eat after your date, but I guess we’ll just eat it when we get back from the party,” Johnny laughs, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to lock the door!”
Johnny quickly runs out the door of your apartment and down the flight of stairs. You can hear his grumbles about the cold slowly fading the further he gets. Aware that he is now more than an hour late to his family party, you should get moving. You stand in your empty apartment, shell-shocked at how much he did for you in the short time you’ve been home.
Of course, you’re a bit in love with Johnny Suh. If he treated anyone else with the amount of care, you’re sure they’d be too.
When Johnny pulls up to his parents’ place, you’re still wondering whether or not you should be there. It’s not his birthday party or a random summer barbecue. It’s a time one spends time with your loved ones. Snow starts to fall as you step out of his car, and your friend rushes you inside with his hand resting on the small of your back.
His mother, not at all shocked to see you there like you thought she’d be, pulls you into a welcoming hug. The embrace is unexpected; you barely have time to move the bread away from getting squished. Johnny chuckles lightly as this all goes down and grabs the bread you’re so worried about. “Mom, please let her breathe.”
“Sorry, sorry,” his mom answers as she fusses over you. She lovingly brushes snow out of your hair as she lets you go. Her eyes wander from the top of your head to the bottom, taking in your outfit. “Gosh, always so pretty.”
“Thank you, Auntie,” you flush, immediately taking off your coat. Johnny grabs that too, placing it on the overfilled coat hanger by the door. “Sorry, I didn’t come with presents this year.”
Mrs. Suh links arms with you as she leads you further into the house, her kindness overflowing with every passing second. With her never-ending hospitality on full display, it’s clear who Johnny takes after. “Oh, don’t worry about that at all. You know, I was so sad when John said you weren’t coming at first, but then he called to say you changed your mind. I’m so happy to see you, dear!”
“Happy to be here,” you reply shyly. She ushers you into the kitchen, pushing past the large crowd of family friends and relatives, where all the food is laid out in a buffet style on the counter.
Johnny beat you to the kitchen, his coat off, and his smile wide as he catches up with his favorite cousin. Mark multitasks, engaging in a conversation while holding a shaker in his hand. The younger may not be the best cook, but he is a decent bartender at family parties. He’s an even better one without the kids and elderly around; however, now’s not the time to go too crazy.
Mark’s face lights up as you walk into the room. “Hey, there’s my favorite plus one! I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance.”
“What’s up, Marky?” you giggle.
Instead of a hug, he hands you a glass he just finished preparing. “A drink for the lady.”
You take a sip and are surprised to taste your favorite cocktail. The familiar flavor slides down your throat, the warmness of the alcohol combating the cold weather outside. “How’d you know?”
Mark steals a glance at Johnny, who silently shakes his head. You don’t notice the short interaction, too busy enjoying the way the alcohol warms you up from the blaring cold. Mark brushes it off and chuckles, “Lucky guess.”
“Well, I’m going to need you to make me like three more of these throughout the night,” you joke.
Mark immediately retaliates with his wit, “I happily accept tips. I take cash or any sort of money transfer.”
“Shut up,” you lightly shove the boy.
He reacts dramatically, clutching his arm and calling his cousin for help. “Yo, dude, your girl is hitting me.”
Heat rises in your neck and to your cheeks when you realize what Mark called you. The name isn’t completely out of pocket—after all, it’s not the first time someone from Johnny’s family assumed you were his. You are his, but not in that way—his best friend, his roommate. And although you’ve dated around, being Johnny’s completely and adding another notch to your belt wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
It’ll actually be the greatest thing, but knowing that he only takes care of you because you’re a friend, you’re not brave enough to take that step.
Johnny finds his place right beside you, one arm handing you a stacked plate of food while the other circles around your waist. “So? You probably deserved that.”
Mark huffs, “Rude.”
You take the plate Johnny offers you. “What’s this?”
Your roommate describes all the dishes he set aside for you. He points to a pile of stir-fried chicken. “This had some veggies you don’t like in it, and I did my best to scrape them off.” Johnny nonchalantly says as he takes a casual bite of his own food, “If there’s still some left, just leave it there, I’ll eat it later.”
“Oh,” you say, again surprised at how well he knows you, “thank you.”
He scrunches his nose, “It’s nothing.”
Johnny says it’s nothing, but to you, it’s everything.
Once the chaos of game time calmed down, the crowd breaks into tinier congregations. The younger adults, including you and Johnny, claim the living room. His female cousins squish themselves onto the long L-shaped couch, dragging you along with them. You don’t mind it at all; you get along with his cousins quite well.
The only thing bothering you was the length of your skirt. So used to sitting with at least one leg crossed or folded while on the couch, you can’t find a comfortable way to sit. You envy the girls who chose to wear pants to the party; they’re able to sit however they want without a care in the world. Grabbing your coat from the entryway is an option, but the house is too packed—you don’t want to fight your way through the throng of people.
Sighing, you sit with your legs pressed together and grab Johnny’s small crossbody. You place it at the end of your short skirt and keep it in place with your hands. It’s not the most ideal cover, but you’ll make do with what you have. Now feeling a bit more comfortable, you jump back into the conversation. Fully attuned to Joy’s travel adventures, you don’t notice Johnny slipping further into the house.
Halfway through Joy’s story, Johnny comes back and wordlessly drapes a plush blanket onto your lap. You feel the fluffy texture before you can even process what it is. Your hands grip the fabric, and you take a closer look at what became your saving grace—worn-out Pikachus and Pokeballs cover the entirety of the blanket. Judging by the print, you know exactly who this belongs to.
You glance up at the owner, who towers above you. “This is a relic.”
“Shut up,” he groans as he plops onto the armrest next to you.
With something covering your lower half, you’re now able to shift to a better position. You fold one leg and lean back into the cushions. Your best friend’s arm naturally drapes across your back, and it becomes the perfect headrest for you.
“God, that’s so weird, man,” Mark says out of nowhere while sipping on another drink.
Your ears perk up. “What is?”
“He’s so sweet to you,” Mark points out, gesturing to the blanket Johnny grabbed just for you. “Never seen him like this before.”
You try to brush it off. “I’m sure he’s been like this with girls he’s brought home before, yeah?” You pinch Johnny’s side, trying to get him to agree, but his lips are sealed. He refuses to make eye contact with you.
“I mean, yeah, sure, but not to this extent? At least, I don’t think s—” Mark’s words are cut off by Wendy’s hiss.
“Leave them alone, Markus,” she scolds him. She sends a smile your way. “I think the way he takes care of you is really cute.”
Johnny’s not the type to get embarrassed often, and yet, he does his best to change the topic. “Hey, Wen. You went on a trip to Europe, right? You didn’t post much about it. Where’d you go?”
Seeing right through him, Wendy playfully glares at her younger cousin. You laugh at this exchange as Wendy goes along with the flow of the conversation. “I just went around London and Paris. One week per city.”
As soon as Wendy talks about her trip, your eyes brighten with curiosity. Like Johnny’s cousin, who's known for having at least one international trip a year, you’ve made your way around the world as well. You’ve traveled so much this year, your friends joke that you’ve been on more flights than dates. It came to a stop once you started dating the guy, but with how it all worked out, the teasing will probably pick back up again. Knowing they don’t mean any harm, you take their teasing in stride. Plus, traveling the world is a privilege, and you’re honored to have experienced a vast amount of cultures.
“How’d you like it?” you ask, leaning forward to catch Wendy’s every word. “I’m actually going on a London, Paris, Amsterdam trip in the summer, so I want to know everything!”
Wendy immediately whips out her phone to walk you through her itinerary. You scroll through her pictures and take notes on your own phone. As she answers all of your questions, you miss Johnny eyeing you fondly. He does it absentmindedly, not even aware of it. He also doesn’t notice how his bulky arm slides from the back of the couch and naturally circles your waist. His fingers draw little shapes onto your blanket-covered lap.
Joy, who never misses a thing, catches it pretty quickly. She elbows Mark and draws attention to how Johnny holds you close.
Being the little devil he is, Mark pulls his phone out to sneak a picture. Before he taps the screen, Joy and Mark watch how you instinctively sink into Johnny’s side. The hand that’s not holding your phone slides over to play with Johnny’s fingers. Mark snaps the picture right then. He finds himself grinning at the photo, but doesn’t send it to his favorite cousin, opting to save it for a rainy day. It’ll come in handy one day; however, tonight is not the night.
“You went to Europe, too, right? I saw your Instagram posts! Was it Italy and Austria?” Wendy asks once she’s done recapping her trip.
You nod enthusiastically.
“You went during March, right?” Wendy continues, trying to remember when you posted. “I swear you posted something then.”
You actually went to Europe during the past summer—March was another international trip—but the detail is so minute that you see no need to correct her. You nod again, “Yeah, that trip was fun! I really enjoyed it.”
Johnny interrupts the conversation with a furrowed brow, “Wait, you went to the Caribbean during March. Your Europe trip was in June.”
“Oh, right, right,” you say. “Silly me.”
Johnny continues to boast about your travels proudly, “Yeah, she started in Venice, made her way to two cities in Austria, and then it was Munich, yeah?”
You turn towards him, amazed at his memory. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Spent like two days over there.” You shift your gaze to Wendy. “I crossed swimming through the Eisbach River off my bucket list.”
“How’d you like that?” your fellow travel enthusiast asks. It was her turn to hang onto your every word. “I was thinking Germany for next year.”
“Oh, it was so amazing! The weather was just right, and I jumped off this low bridge—it was super cool! I’d definitely go back just to do that again.”
Wendy smiles, “Adding it to my list then. Where else did you go?”
You clap your hands, reminiscing about the best part of your trip. “I headed over to Switzerland and visited two cities there: Lucerne and Engelburg. Lucerne was nice, but Mt. Titlis in Engelberg–”
“Yo, did she say Tit-lis? Tits?” Mark whispers loudly, eyes widening. Joy slaps his side.
“–and went on this crazy suspension bridge that was like 10,000 feet in the air!”
The small group of cousins gasp at the height reveal. “Weren’t you scared?” Joy asks, taking your phone as you pull up the picture of you at the top of the mountain.
“Oh my god, I hate heights, but I was already there, so I forced myself to go on it,” you shrug while taking a sip of your drink, “I mean, I’m probably never going back there again. It would’ve been a shame if I didn’t go, right?”
Johnny breaks his hand away from yours to ruffle your hair affectionately. “I’m proud of you, angel.”
You scrunch your nose at him as a quiet thanks. “That’s pretty much it. I guess you can say I ended my trip with a bang.”
The hand playing with your hair pauses. Johnny turns to you, “Wait, I thought you visited one more country during this trip.”
“What?” you ask, slowly racking your brain for any detail you missed.
Your friend snaps his fingers. “Yeah, didn’t you guys do a quick stop at the smallest country in the world or something like that? You mentioned something about paying to get your passport stamped there?”
His sentence jogs your memory. That portion was so short, so insignificant compared to the rest of your trip, you forgot all about it. Yet here Johnny—who never went on the trip–sits, recalling moments that you mentioned to him in passing. Again, you’re beyond amazed by his memory. “Yeah, our tour bus stopped by Leichenstein for thirty minutes.”
When the group shoots you confused looks, you explain even further, “It’s the sixth smallest country in the world, and the whole place is around 16 miles long. We just stopped long enough to get a souvenir stamp in our passports and to buy tiny souvenirs. I didn’t even take a picture there.”
“Right, that!” Johnny points a finger at you.
You purse your lips at him. “How’d you remember all that?”
Your roommate, suddenly aware of all the eyes on him, brushes it off like it’s no big deal. “I just remember a lot of things about you.”
Being the mood maker, Johnny usually feeds off the attention he receives. This time, you realize, he strays away from it. He draws his cousins away from the little moment you’re having, busying himself with finding his bag. He stands up, his warmth and woodsy scent going along with him, as he searches the area.“It’s been a minute since we had the whole group together. We need a new picture. Angel, do you know where my bag is?”
You pull his bag from under your blanket. “It’s right here.”
“Can you get my camera? It should be somewhere in there,” he calls over his shoulder, “I’m gonna find someone to take the picture.”
“I’m right here, though. I can do it,” you shoot back.
“And I want you in the picture, too,” Johnny says firmly before he steps out.
“Fine,” you groan, tugging the zipper of his bag open. The small bag doesn’t have much in it, but it’s still a task to dig through in the dim lighting. You take his things out one by one—his wallet, his car keys that are attached to a keychain you bought him while in Austria, a chapstick, and an external battery. The next thing you find is something you don’t expect to see mixed with his belongings; it’s an epipen, one that’s identical to the one you carry in your bag. You stare at it in confusion as Johnny makes his way back into the room with his father in tow.
“Did you find it?” Johnny asks.
In a panic, you reach back into his bag to finally pull out his digital camera. “Here it is!” You hand it over to Johnny, who quickly gives his dad a rundown of how it works.
Your roommate motions for everybody to squeeze into the frame. Joy and Wendy scoot closer to you while Mark situates himself in front of the sofa. Once Johnny’s satisfied with the setup, he holds the camera exactly where he wants it and gestures to his dad to take over. He quickly slides his back to his place on the armrest, draping his arm over your shoulders. You lean into him almost immediately, grinning for the camera once Mr. Suh starts his countdown.
Johnny’s dad takes a total of four pictures, taking his sweet time to press the shutter in between each shot. Tired of holding your smiles, you all hope that at least one picture turns out well. Johnny snaps a few more candids shortly after, as well as one final shot of you all clinking your drinks together.
After putting his camera away, Johnny checks the time on his smart watch. He’s shocked to read that it’s 11:15 pm. It doesn’t matter that much to him since his family chooses to celebrate on Christmas Eve, but he knows that you have a long day ahead. Despite it being late, he knows that you’ll still push to stay a bit longer to hang out with his cousins, only for you to regret it later. So, he makes the executive decision for you.
He rests a hand on your shoulder, and you reach up to grab it. “Hey, so we gotta get going. It’s getting pretty late.”
You pout at him.
“Don’t give me that look, you have an early day with your family tomorrow,” he scolds you.
Your lip twitches in annoyance. “But I’m having fun.”
“If we stay, you’ll be cranky in the morning,” he says, slowly pulling the blanket off your lap. Shifting his attention to his cousins, he asks, “You guys understand, right?”
Being the oldest, Wendy answers for the group. “You guys are good.”
She gets up to give you a long hug, pulling you in close. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? We love having you around.”
“Of course, I’ll be here as long as Johnny invites me,” you reply, reciprocating the hug.
Just before she lets you go, she whispers something incredibly sweet in your ear. “Thanks for making him happy.”
You withdraw from the hug, head cocked to the side at Wendy’s implication. “But I’m not doing anything, we’re not like that.”
“I know,” she shoots you a wink before directing you towards the other two cousins. Mark gives you a bear hug, practically lifting you, and pestering you to come to their family's New Year’s party. Joy helps you escape from his tight grasp, pulling you into a softer hug and making you promise to hang out with her sometime during the upcoming year.
It takes you approximately fifteen minutes to get to the door as you say your goodbyes. Johnny’s sweet mother shoves a bag of leftovers into your hands, which Johnny graciously takes. She walks you to the doorway, nagging Johnny with a couple of last-minute things, and you giggle when he mocks her with his back turned. He reassures her that there’s no need to walk you all the way to his car, since it’s parked down the street, and she leaves you with one long embrace.
The front door closes behind you, leaving you and Johnny alone for the first time in hours. Your best friend finishes shrugging his coat on and begins his descent down the porch steps. You softly call out his name, making him stop in place. When he realizes you’re not following behind him, Johnny runs back up with a concerned look on his face.
“What’s wrong, angel? Did you not have fun?” he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders.
“Why are you assuming something’s wrong?” you shoot back.
“You have that look on your face,” he points out.
“What look?”
His warm palms reach up to cup your face in his hands. Johnny’s thumbs first stroke the apples of your cheeks, then stretch to smooth out your wrinkled brows. “The one where you think too hard.”
The laugh you let out is an embarrassed one. “That obvious, huh?”
“Maybe not to others, but it’s obvious to me,” Johnny chuckles. One of his hands tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear; the action is so minuscule, and yet, it’s enough to feel a little giddy inside.
“You know me too well,” you whisper.
“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing,” he answers back quickly. There’s no true bite behind his words, but there is an underlying desperation. Johnny searches your eyes, never looking away, even when you falter.
“It’s not! It’s just…” You try your best to find your words. There are a lot of feelings stirring within you—appreciated because you feel seen, nervous to have someone see right through your every word, relieved that someone knows you so well, comforted that you have someone to rely on, and yet, sad that this diamond in the rough is not yours to have.
“Why do you have an epipen in your bag? You don’t have any allergies.” You ask the question even though you already know the answer. You just need verbal confirmation from the man himself.
“Just in case something happens to you,” Johnny replies as if it’s no big deal to him, as if it’s second nature to take care of you. “I always carry the extra one you have in the kitchen with me every time we go out.”
It’s the exact answer you’re expecting, and it still renders you speechless. “You–why?”
Your friend takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He exhales, pulling away from you to run his fingers through his styled hair. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself before a sound can come out. Taking another deep breath, Johnny smiles a tight smile. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”
You step towards him, surprised at how stressed your roommate looks. “Do what?”
“Tell you just how much I care about you,” he says defeatedly. The smile he wears forms into a gentler one that makes your heart flutter. Johnny looks you directly in the eyes when he says, “Because I care about you so much, angel.”
“You do?” you ask quietly, playing with the ends of your sleeves.
“Of course, I do,” he laughs, pulling you into an embrace. Your face squishes into his chest, breathing in the woodsy cologne you bought him on his last birthday. Your heart aches to leap out of your chest and finds its way to its rightful owner—the very man in front of you. “Would I memorize every little thing about you if I didn’t?”
Wrapping your arms around his waist, you gaze up at him with a hopeful look. “Sounds like you’re obsessed with me.”
Johnny’s large hand comes up to cup the back of your head. His bright brown eyes shine with complete and utter adoration as he confesses the underlying reason for his utmost care, “Or maybe I’m just in love with you.”
You want to laugh—out of frustration for not figuring it out sooner, out of relief that your roommate feels the same way. Johnny Suh is the embodiment of the idea that to be loved is to be seen. Since you’ve known him, he’s figured you out completely and set an impossibly high standard. He ruined dating for you because he’s been what you’ve been looking for all along. You want to laugh out of complete, utter joy because you love him, too.
Johnny’s sweet confession has you grinning from ear to ear. “Guess what?”
He pinches your cheek. “I tell you I’m practically in love with you, and you want to play a guessing game?”
“Just guess!” you giggle, bringing your other arm around his shoulders. You play with the ends of Johnny’s short hair, sending shivers down his spine.
“Chicken butt,” he plays along, sending you into a fit of laughter.
“I was actually going to say,” you pause for a moment and bring his face a little closer to yours. Resting a hand on his broad chest to keep yourself steady, you stand on your tiptoes, just enough to reach his lips. You stop a breath away from his lips to whisper, “I love you, too.”
You pull away to see Johnny’s handsome face light up. He’s as bright as the North Star, the guiding light that always leads you home. You may have been lost in the past, moving from person to person to find the love that you were seeking. After many following different trials, you’re finally able to walk the path that leads you straight to the person who made you feel at home.
Unable to hide his joy, Johnny looks up. He lets out a loud laugh before gesturing for you to follow his gaze. Directly above you hangs a mistletoe.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” you tease.
“Only if you promise to be mine,” Johnny replies with an indefinite amount of fondness leaking through his words.
“Cross my heart,” you mutter before tugging him down to your level. His plush lips meet yours most sweetly. The hand in your hair holds you in place, while his free arm coils around your waist. You tilt your head, following Johnny’s lead as he breaks one kiss and immediately dives in for another. There’s no rush behind his kisses—they’re slow, deliberate, and the best way to convey how his heart beats for you.
You love the way Johnny kisses you between a giggle and a smile, refusing to let you out of his grasp.
You love how he ends the kiss, placing one last peck on your forehead before rocking you back and forth in a warm embrace.
You love how the lipstick you wore is now smudged against his pretty skin, branding him as yours. You also love the way he bats your hand away from his face, preventing you from wiping away your proof of kisses.
Most importantly, you love the way Johnny loves you. He loves you loudly, shouting it out to anyone who’ll hear him. He loves you softly, remembering all the little things that no one else does. Because of this, you promise to love him endlessly.
You’re absolutely in love with Johnny Suh and all his little things.
AUTHOR'S NOTE. hey! i know this isn't the cruise!au i've been going on and on about (still a work in progress, i swear) but i saw a tiktok that basically inspired this whole thing. a big thank you to @aquarius-johnny and @taelme for bouncing ideas back and forth with me! forever grateful to my johnny girlies. it may not be my best work (wrote it in two days) but i hope this brings you joy this holiday season! please tell me what you think with a comment, a reblog, or an ask! i miss hearing from you all!
check out my other holiday fics: all my loving (johnny) | where are you, christmas? (jaehyun) | the midnight kiss (jaehyun) | when the ball drops, my heart stops (mark) | my xmas wish come true (mark) | risk it all (haechan, rated m) | a day of firsts (jaehyun)
◦ a/n: happy birthday, bin! the world spins for you (or at least mine does)! enjoy this mess of a fic y’all. i have no idea how all those aus come to play… but it will… trust me; this is probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written fml & you have been warned :)
one.
Summer is packing your belongings in a dilapidated suitcase that has been through many airport terminals, throwing your t-shirts and jeans on top until it’s filled to the brim with too many items of clothing and too little occasions to dress up for. It’s taking that burdensome stack of essays you’ve accumulated throughout the semester and tossing them down the trash chute with the rest of the banana peels and ramen cups. It’s taking a breath of fresh air without the imminent stressors of “midterm prompt will be posted at noon” or “printer is low on toner”.
Summer is the honking of Chan’s car outside of your apartment complex, the incessant vibrating of your phone with caller ID that reads “asshole™”, which leaves you questioning why your brother brought his entire entourage to pick you up from college.
The moment you step out of the building complex, you’re greeted by the familiar sound of Jisung’s voice—penetrating, raucous, grating, and other big words for annoying. But that’s not the point.
The point is:
“Hey, hurry up! Changbin says he can’t fall in love without you!”
Summary: You tailor a jacket for Seungmin and fluster him with compliments
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1.8k
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Tuesdays are for ripped hems and last-minute bridesmaid dresses and ahjumma pants that need “just a little bit” taken in even though it’s clearly a lot. Tuesdays are for coffee that went cold too fast and pins that keep vanishing exactly when you need them.
They’re not usually for pretty boys.
The bell over the shop door jingles and you glance up from the sewing machine, a spool of navy thread between your fingers.
Two guys step in, masks up, caps low. One of them you clock right away from the posters outside the music store down the street. The other keeps nudging him forward like he’s here under protest.
You try not to stare, but you know exactly who he is.
Kim Seungmin.
He looks softer in person. Still sharp jaw, still that neat nose, but there’s something very real about the way his hair is slightly out of place, a crease running down the front of his shirt from where it was folded.
Your boss calls out from the back room without even looking. “Can someone take the fitting at three? I’m finishing a suit!”
You wipe your hands on your apron and step out. “I got it!”
Seungmin looks up at the sound of your voice. His eyes widen just a little, like he wasn’t expecting someone his age, then flick to the sign that says “Alterations & Custom Tailoring” as if making sure he’s in the right place.
His friend elbows him. “Go on,” he mutters. “We have rehearsal.”
Seungmin clears his throat. “Uh. Hi.” His voice is lower than you expect, careful, polite. “I have a fitting?”
You smile, professional but warm. “Kim Seungmin, right?”
His shoulders go a tiny bit straighter. “Yes.”
You motion toward the fitting area. “Right this way.”
He follows you behind the curtain, his friend flopping into one of the waiting chairs and immediately pulling out his phone.
The fitting nook is small but bright, mirror on one wall, little platform in front of it, a ring light you swear you only use for work. The table next to you is lined with chalk, measuring tape, pins, the usual arsenal.
On the hanger behind the door is the jacket you spent all morning muttering over. Deep charcoal, narrow lapel, subtle sheen. Pretty. Meant for stage lights.
“You’re wearing this for a performance, right?” you ask, taking it down.
He nods. “Yeah. They said it was too big in the shoulders. And the sleeves are long.”
“They’re right,” you say without thinking.
His mouth twitches like he’s not sure if he should be offended or amused.
You catch yourself and smile. “But don’t worry. That’s my job.”
You hold the jacket out. “Can you slip this on for me?”
He takes it carefully, like he’s scared of creasing it, and slides his arms in. You step behind him and smooth the fabric over his shoulders, fingers light.
He goes very still.
You’re used to this. Some clients tense when you get close, some chatter nervously, some don’t care at all. You talk while you work, filling the space with something easy.
“Have you worked with this designer before?” you ask, tugging the back seam a little.
Seungmin clears his throat. “Uh, I think so. Our stylists said this brand fits nicely on stage.”
“Makes sense,” you say, eyes already scanning the way the fabric hangs. “It’s good on you. We just need to make it your size, not the mannequin’s.”
You step back, circling, head tilted. His shoulders are narrower than the jacket’s default, but they’re nice. Straight. Balanced. A little tense right now.
“Okay,” you say, reaching for your tape. “Can you stand on the platform?”
He steps up obediently.
You come to stand in front of him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He looks away quickly.
You hide a smile. “Relax. I’m just going to check the shoulder line.”
You measure, fingers brushing the seam, then mark it with a little chalk. The fabric dips where it should be clean. You pinch it in place, considering.
“This is going to sound like a weird compliment,” you say, brow furrowed in concentration, “but you have really good shoulders.”
In the mirror, you see it happen in real time.
His ears turn pink.
He blinks. “I… what?”
Your lips tug up. “I’m serious. They sit really even. No slope on one side. Makes tailoring so much easier.”
“Nobody has ever said that to me in my life,” he mutters.
“Really?” you glance up. “People compliment your face, not your posture, huh?”
He lets out a breathy little almost-laugh, surprised. “Something like that.”
“Well, I’m here to appreciate the structural details,” you say, focusing back on the fabric. “You’re a joy to fit. Ten out of ten shoulders, would tailor again.”
His cheeks are definitely pink now, color creeping up under his mask.
You pretend not to notice, mostly because it’s cute and you don’t want him to bolt.
You move down to his sleeves. “Can you let your arms hang naturally?”
He obeys, fingers twitching once like he’s resisting the urge to shove them in his pockets.
The sleeves hit too low, past his wrist bone. You pinch the excess fabric and fold it up once, checking the new length.
“There we go,” you say softly. “See?”
He looks in the mirror, brows knitting. “Is that… better?”
You step up beside him, shoulder nearly touching his, and point. “Here. Before, it was swallowing your hands. Now you can see your wrists. Makes you look taller. And more… put together.”
He stares at the reflection like he’s studying someone else.
“You look good,” you say, like you’re commenting on the weather. “The color suits you. It brings out your skin tone.”
He goes quiet.
You glance at him. “Sorry. Is this too many comments? I talk a lot when I work.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. It’s just…”
“Just?”
He clears his throat. “I’m not… used to hearing it like that.”
“Hearing what?” you ask.
“That I… look good.” He smiles awkwardly under his mask. “They say ‘you look fine, let’s go,’ or ‘this fits,’ but it’s more about the clothes. Not… me.”
Your chest warms.
“Well,” you say calmly, “I’m looking at both. So, for the record, you look good. And this is going to fit perfectly.”
His gaze flicks to you in the mirror. “You’re very confident about that.”
You grin. “I’m very good at my job.”
He lets out a real laugh at that, soft and surprised.
You go back to work, measuring the length from the shoulder seam to the wrist, marking cuffs, checking the buttons. Every time you adjust something, you tell him why.
“This line here? If we nip it in just a little, it’ll follow your waist better. You’re not boxy, so the boxy cut fights you.”
“I’m… not boxy?” he repeats faintly.
You bite back a laugh. “No. You’re quite… proportionate.” You gesture vaguely, suddenly aware of your own face heating. “Long legs, nice balance. The jacket needs to respect that.”
He looks away, ears pink, like he’s trying to hide inside the collar.
“Okay, I’m officially never going to forget this fitting,” he mutters.
“Is that a good thing?” you tease.
He thinks about it, then nods once. “Yeah. I think it is.”
When you’re done with the jacket, you crouch to check the hem of his pants. He tenses again, only relaxing when you tell him to put his weight evenly on both feet.
“You walk a lot?” you ask, eyeing the way the fabric creases at his ankles.
He huffs a tiny laugh. “You could say that.”
“That’s why your calves are like that,” you say absently.
“Like what?”
“Defined,” you say, then immediately want to crawl under the platform. “I mean, not in a creepy way. In a ‘fabric drape’ way.”
He’s definitely smiling now. “Sure.”
You finish marking the length, then stand, clicking your pen closed.
“Alright,” you say, stepping back. “You can change out of it. I’ll have the alterations done by… tomorrow evening, if that works?”
His eyes widen. “That fast?”
You shrug. “Our shop has a reputation to uphold.”
He studies you for a second longer, then nods. “Okay.”
You slip out of the fitting area to give him privacy, scribbling notes while you can still see the adjustments in your head.
His friend looks up from his phone. “Well?”
“How long?” he asks.
“Tomorrow evening,” you say.
“Whoa,” he whistles. “Our stylists are gonna love you.”
You smile. “Happy to make their lives easier.”
The curtain rustles and Seungmin steps out in his own clothes again, jacket draped over his arm. He looks a little less shy now, hair slightly messed from changing.
You take the hanger and carefully place the jacket back on it. “I’ll steam it before you pick it up,” you promise. “No wrinkles.”
“Thank you,” he says. He hesitates, then adds, “Seriously. Thank you. For… uh… being nice about it.”
You tilt your head. “About your clothes?”
“About… me,” he says quietly.
Your heart does something embarrassingly soft.
“That’s part of the service,” you joke gently. “Clothes and self-esteem package.”
He laughs, eyes crinkling.
You ring him up, input his name and number for the pickup ticket. He watches you type, then says, “Um. Is it okay if… I request you? For next time?”
You look up, surprised. “For your alterations?”
He nods, cheeks pink again. “I mean, if that’s allowed. You don’t have to. I just… You explained things. It felt… comfortable.”
Your smile goes warm. “I’d like that.”
You slide the ticket across the counter. “Here. Come by after seven tomorrow. I’ll be here.”
He takes it carefully, folding it once, tucking it into his wallet like it’s something important.
His friend is already at the door, complaining about being late. Seungmin starts to follow, then pauses, turning back.
“Also,” he says, voice a little rushed now, like he’s afraid he’ll chicken out, “if you ever… want to see the jacket in action… we have a show next month. I can… maybe… leave you tickets.”
You blink.
“That’s very generous,” you say, teasing just lightly. “Is that part of the service too?”
He grins, shy but sure. “Maybe I’m trying to match your self-esteem package.”
You feel your face heat. “If… if you leave them, I’ll go.”
“Okay,” he says, that small, real smile pulling at his mouth. “I will.”
The bell jingles as they step out, cold air slipping in, swiping your hair across your cheek.
You stand there for a second, measuring tape still looped around your neck, the quiet of the shop settling around you.
On your worktable, his jacket waits, chalk marks and pins ready for you to make good on your promise.
(where seungcheol is actually zeus, the god of the sky and king of olympus, cast down to earth and now an underground fighter just to feel something. you're his assistant and a tie to a past he can't return to, but he doesn't know who you really are and you're not telling.)
pairing: greek god!seungchol x greek goddess!reader
god: zeus
genre: fantasy, modern mythology, underground fighter!au | angst, smut, open ending
rating: explicit, minors DNI
word count: 22k
warnings: fighting, blood, mentions of fighting related injuries, seungcheol is an underground fighter, morally grey characters at times, deception (both intentional and unintentional), recreational drug use, drinking, implied sex with unnamed characters or background characters, unresolved ending, so much kissing, cheol throws reader over his shoulder (he's a god), fingering (f. rec), oral sex (f. rec), breast/nipple play, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, unprotected sex (don't do this), hair pulling, biting/marking, dirty talk, nicknames (sweetheart), i think that's it
this exists in the same world as poseidon!chan in as wild and untamable as the sea, though you don't have to read it! and that chan may make an appearance here
a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab hosted by @aeristudios & @wooahaeproductions. and yes, i know i already wrote one for that. but i was talking to aeris about the collab and here we are.
thank you: @sailorsoons for coming up with the underground fighting angle, @aeristudios for more inspo, and to both of you for brainstorming. banner credit to the amazingly talented @shadowkoo, this banner goes so hard, thank you so much!
a/n 2: i am planning to return to this next year, but no specific timeline (and also it's semi unedited, sorry!)
The smell that hits your nose the second you open the door to your boss’s side of the residence. Alcohol and sex and a little bit of weed. Disgusting. You drop a couple bags by the door, like every other time, so they don’t get lost in the mess. Stale air clings to you as you pick your way through the debris on the floor in the dark. The only thing that protects you is excellent eyesight. Oh, and that you have the floorplan memorized. You pause by a wall to turn on the air so that there’s at least some circulation. On your way over to the window, your shoe crunches on something. It’s not worth it to look down and see. These are your dedicated shoes for days like this. If you need new shoes after it, well, that’s just another thing your boss can cover. Not like it would be the first time. At least he learned long ago to just give you a new credit card with each move so you wouldn’t bother him.
You reach the bedroom window, more by memory than sight because of some of the most expensive blackout curtains in existence. There’s a moment of hesitation before you open the curtains. Not for yourself, or even for any concern about how your boss will react. It’s just that you’ve done this song and dance before. Know that he’s likely not alone. Know just as well that whatever poor soul, or souls, knowing him, don’t realize what’s coming. Or that he isn’t what they think. Oh well. Not your monkeys, not your circus. You open the shades in one motion, take a moment to blink and appreciate the concept of light inside a room, then crack open the window. Fresh air. Finally. You only get to appreciate it for a moment before a sound pierces your ears.
“Oh my god!” a distinctly female voice shrieks.
When you turn towards the bed, there are two women. One, the one you imagine let out the horrible sound, sits up and clutches the sheet around her chest. The other looks doe-eyed and uncertain, still lying down with the blanket up to her neck. Your boss doesn’t react. Doesn’t even seem bothered as he pulls a pillow over his eyes. Just groans and settles deeper into the mattress. Typical.
“Maybe you can form your next thought at a volume that doesn’t break my eardrums.”
You direct this to the one that’s sitting up. Both women are pretty in the typical kind of way, at least from what you can see. That kind of pretty where they seem confident outwardly, yet crave a little too much validation inwardly. Not exactly your type, but whatever works. You’re not sure if they’re his type, either. If he even has a type. Usually in times like this he’s just looking for an easy pull. Someone that won’t mind him being a little selfish. Unfortunately for you, he also has a tendency towards the type that expects him to call. He won’t. Keeps a strict no-scorched-Earth policy, or what the fuck ever he calls it, that’s a bit sleazy, but that’s not your business. Not what you get paid for and certainly not why you stick around.
The bolder of the two, you’re only assuming this because she’s sitting up, gives you an apologetic look. This song and dance is typical too. They always look at you when you arrive the next day, walking around like you own the place with a scowl, that you’re his partner. Even sometimes say that you look like the kind of person someone like him would actually call back. See you as whatever beauty standard is popular at the moment with that kind of confidence they can only dream about. Something in them can tell you’re the type of confident that doesn’t need any validation. It’s not fair to them, though, because your confidence comes from knowing that you’re different. Not in the cliche way of saying you’re not like other girls. But that’s getting a little ahead of yourself.
In the split second this plays out in your head, you take a breath and turn towards the woman sitting up.
“We, uh, we’re really sorry. We just started drinking and smoking a little…”
“I know, I can smell the weed.”
“Oh, uh, sorry about that too. We didn’t realize that he had a…”
The bolder of the two looks to the other woman, still hiding under the sheets like she’s frozen. Waiting for help from her is pointless. You, however, aren’t going to help either. If he’s going to ignore you telling him to cut it out with this bullshit, then you’re going to find whatever enjoyment that you can. You cross your arms as you lean against the window behind you. Tap a perfectly manicured nail on your arm. You can nearly see the picture you create reflected back from the depths of Bolder’s eyes.
She clears her throat and casts her eyes down. “We didn’t realize he had a partner or we wouldn’t have…”
Finally, he groans and removes the pillow from his face. Fixes you with a stare that would probably melt anyone else. You’re not so easily deterred.
“I don’t have a partner.”
“But, what about…?” It’s still the bolder one asking, but the other one sits up now too. Looks a little less frightened. What a shame.
“That’s my assistant. She lives in the other part of the…”
You scoff out an annoyed sound. This argument is old. “That’s not my title, you…”
“It’s too early in the morning for me to fucking care about getting your title right.”
“It’s noon, actually.”
“And you’re a smartass.”
“I should quit. This is a hostile work environment.”
“Go ahead.”
The women look awkwardly at each other like they can’t really figure out if they should be witnessing all of this. You spare another glare at your boss, who covers his face with the pillow again. It’s the last thing you want to do, but someone has to give these poor unfortunate souls direction.
“You’re dismissed,” you tell them and watch the way their eyes go wide at the comment. They start to look around. “I brought clothes, they’re by the front door. I’m sure whatever you wore last night to…whatever party he hosted isn’t in any condition to get home in. My card is also there if you want to retrieve anything after I’ve had the place fumigated.”
“Oh, uh, thanks,” the shy one says as they scramble out of the bed.
“Call us for the next party, S-Coups,” the bolder one says.
That makes you roll your eyes, though neither sees it. You follow them to the door and make sure they’re clear of the bedroom before closing it. By the time you turn back towards the bed, Seungcheol’s sitting up. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and stretching his body out. Tattoos decorate the bare skin of his arms and his chest. They look disjointed, but he’ll insist everything is intentional. Not that it matters, anyway. Not for someone like him or you when nothing is permanent.
“Did she call you S-Coups? What is an S-Coups?” you ask, nose wrinkling in distaste.
“I wasn’t done with them.”
“How unfortunate for you that I don’t care.”
“I really should fire you.”
“By all means, go ahead. I don’t exactly need the money and your personality wears on me.”
Seungcheol takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Would probably even pinch the bridge of his nose if he thought that he could get away with it. You don’t let him get away with anything, though. Once he stops feeling like he wants to strangle you, he opens his eyes again. You haven’t moved from your position by the window. He’s never met anyone that could stand still quite like you. Not in this world, at least.
“Are you done having your daily existential crisis?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.
Briefly, Seungcheol wonders how difficult it actually would be to find a new assistant. He really doesn’t need this. He’s rich and powerful and currently one of the best fighters in the city. Everyone wants to be around him. Oh, and not to mention, he was once the King of the Olympians. Zeus. One of the strongest and brightest in Olympus. It’s been a long time, though, and…
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sigh out.
“You can’t treat me like this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the God of the Sky and Thunder…”
“Who now gets his face bashed in by mere mortals on Earth…”
“And who are you? Who are you really?”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because you don’t need to know.”
“I was the King of the gods.”
Got him, you think. The look on your face doesn’t bode well for him. He’s not sure how he always loses to you. “Notice how you said ‘was’? Can we move on now?”
He takes a beat. Two, for good measure. “Fine.”
“Lovely. Now can we talk about what an S-Coups is and how we’re dangerously close to running behind on your schedule?”
The two of you fall into a familiar routine. You have a smoothie waiting for him to drink while he gets ready. As he’s drinking, he feels the familiar cool metal on his wrist. It’s how you make sure that his body regenerates from any injuries. A connection to his former life as a god. It clears his head, but that doesn’t do anything to help him focus on you. Like every other time, you have your tablet out. You’re reading out whatever it is that you feel like he needs to know. None of it really matters.
To avoid the spiral, he casts around in his mind for anything else to focus on. He lands on the argument that you and him seem to have at least once a month. Which, if you think about it, is a long time to have an argument when you live forever. Seungcheol knows that you’re a goddess. That’s where his knowledge ends, though. He doesn’t know how long you’ve been on Earth. Doesn’t know how long you were around before finding him. All he knows is that you found him shortly after he parted ways with Poseidon for the last time. The two of them had already exhausted every avenue trying to understand what happened in Olympus and if there was a way to get back home.
Then, you entered the picture. Lingering around the fringes of Seungcheol’s life. He can’t even remember what he called himself back then. A few years went by before he finally approached you, unable to fight the feeling of familiarity. Unable to ignore the call. You were like him, somehow. He just knew it. The only confirmation you gave was that you were a goddess yourself and that you knew who he was. It shouldn’t have been possible. He had taken on a human form. Had done everything that he could to deceive the humans around him. Not you, though. You can see through everything he does when he’s trying to hide. It wouldn’t even matter if he changed his outward appearance without you around. You can always seem to pinpoint him in any room. Like you’re connected to his energy.
It’s confusing. From all the research he and Poseidon did, and there was a lot of it, he thought that they knew every one of the lesser gods and goddesses that survived. Not a difficult task because there hadn’t been many of them. He and his brother had kept records on the energies. Records they copied when they decided to split and give up on finding a way back. Yours didn’t match any of his records. In fact, yours was difficult to ever really get a read on. He sensed a power in you, but it was always shifting. Never static. Impossible to really connect to. Sometimes, when he thought too hard about it, it unnerved him. Now, he’s only annoyed that you refused to answer once again. He’s spent over two hundred years with you by his side and still has more questions than answers. Yet, it’s somehow more comforting to have you around, than to be alone. You’re a connection to his old life and you keep him on his toes.
By the time he pulls himself out of the walk down memory lane, he realizes that you’ve been waiting for an answer. You just roll your eyes and walk out of the condo, knowing that he’ll follow you out.
Everyone has a different method for getting ready before a fight. At least, that’s what Seungcheol’s first trainer told him. Not that he really listened much. He’s an ancient god with plenty of fighting experience. Not that most of it was immediately helpful here. No matter. If he can cling to anything from his past, it’s that he’s a quick study.
So, while everyone around him prepares for the fight, he goes somewhere else. Doesn’t hear the other guys that try to get in each other’s heads (they’ve long since stopped trying with him). Doesn’t hear the people chattering excitedly on the other side of the door where the makeshift ring is. Can’t hear the people weaving in and out of the crowd taking bets. Instead, he thinks about why he’s doing this in the first place. Thinks about why he lets his body take a beating week after week. Thinks about the first time you asked him why, when he could do literally anything, that he chose this life of fighting and scars.
The answer is as simple as it is complicated. It’s the only way he feels anything anymore. Seungcheol hasn’t ever been human, so he can’t say what it’s supposed to feel like. But, that’s worse, in a way. As a god, he feels everything so much stronger. It’s so much more intense. The loss of any kind of feeling had been gradual. When he first found himself on Earth, he took advantage of it. Made the best of the situation and didn’t worry about what it meant long term. After all, Earth wasn’t strange to him. There had been plenty of trips with plenty of excess before Olympus fell. It had been Poseidon that had gathered them all, the remaining Olympians that he could find, to look for a solution. Seungcheol remembers his emotions fluctuating a lot through all of that. Hope, excitement, fear, anxiety, happiness, confusion, anger, calm. All of them. It’s been years, though. Now he doesn’t feel much of anything. Even having you around doesn’t help so much. You get it, but not really. He just feels like he’s going through the motions most days. Blowing money he’s made over the years. Dabbling in whatever the party scene calls for at the moment. Bringing people home to press them into his mattress (or wherever) and hope it stirs something in him.
And then he stumbled onto underground fighting completely by accident. Someone mistook him for someone else and then had no choice but to invite him along. That first trip had been brutal, even though he did not fight. He watched the way fists flew without much in the way of rules. Watched the way bodies reacted every time a punch or a kick connected. Was entirely too fascinated by the way the blood flew through the air. With his better than average eyesight, it was like he could watch each drop in slow motion. From that first visit, he was hooked. He trained, because they told him that he had to before hopping into a fight, and came back. Won his first fight and his second. He won nearly every one after that too, only throwing a loss in occasionally so that they wouldn’t stop inviting him. For however long each fight lasted, he actually felt alive again. He could feel pain and sadness. Excitement when he landed a good blow. Nervous anticipation about where the next blow would catch him. His entire body lit up, like live wires sparking off the pavement. Sometimes, it even lingered after the fight ended. Took him through whatever party that followed like a drug before seeping out of his system.
Tonight doesn’t feel any different initially. His fight is last, as it almost always seems to be. People show up to see him. They follow him from location to location and don’t seem to know anything about him. Don’t seem to care, honestly. He’s a good fighter and that’s all they need to know. When he fights last, people have to stay through all the other fights. It makes more money for the bookies that these types of things draw. It doesn’t matter to Seungcheol as long as he gets to fight.
Once the fight starts, it goes differently than normal and he actually almost loses. Not because he wants to throw this fight, either. This had been one he planned to win easily. The first two rounds go well. It seems like it’ll be an easy win. Then, he catches sight of you on the fringes of the crowd. It catches him off guard for several reasons. You never watch his fights. Not that you mind the thought of him getting his ass kicked, you tell him. It’s just not your thing, the violence of it all. Seems like one of those unnecessary risks that humans take for no reason and you can’t understand why Seungcheol gets sucked in. The second reason it catches him off guard is that you’re talking to someone. A man, he realizes when he chances another look. Someone tall and lean with hair just long enough to fall into his eyes as he looks down at you. A piercing gaze only for you,, like nothing else in that dingy, abandoned warehouse matters. Like there isn’t a full blown fight happening. It’s when Seungcheol chances another glance in your direction that he takes his first serious blow. You’re leaning into the stranger like you’re telling him a secret, a flirtatious smile on your lips that doesn’t belong.
It shouldn’t matter because you’re his assistant and have made it very clear that you’re not interested in whatever Seungcheol has going on, but he still hates it. Hates that you can show that side of yourself to a perfect stranger. Realistically, he knows that you’re not some kind of nun. He knows that you date and that you let people bring you back to their place. It’s just not something he sees very often. And then, he hates that you’re finally out in the crowd and not even watching him. He takes a second hard punch when he checks to see if you saw the first. Despite the way the crowd reacts, you don’t turn from your conversation. He really needs to get his shit together.
After he manages a win that’s much closer than he meant (a fact that the bookies seem thrilled about because most people bet Seungcheol would win big), he sits in the makeshift locker room. He shrugs off any attention or hangers-on tonight. Just unwraps the tape from his hands in relative peace. As he’s thinking back through the fight, he tries not to think of you. A flare of annoyance runs through him. You work for him and won’t come to the actual fights unless it’s to flirt with some random dude. You work for him, yet won’t tell him who you were once upon a time. He slams his fist down on the bench beneath him. Thankfully, it’s not hard enough to do any damage. It’s also not hard enough to drown out the judgmental noise that comes before the clacking of heels on concrete. Only you would think to wear heels in a place like this.
“Now, now,” you chide. “It’s not that bench’s fault you nearly lost tonight.”
“No, but it’ll do as a substitute,” he shoots back without looking at you.
“For who?”
Now he does look up at you, sure that you’re needling him. Your face gives nothing away, though. The perfect picture of composure and innocence. He knows better. “Of all the nights to actually watch my fight…”
“I wasn’t watching.”
“I’m aware,” he says, clenching his jaw.
This seems to pique your interest. He doesn’t like the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him. It never signals anything good. “Don’t tell me that’s why…”
You trail off. It’s perfectly crafted so that someone will fall into your trap. Designed so that someone says exactly what you’re expecting. He knows better. After centuries together, he knows so much better. And yet…
“You work for me and you were too busy to even consider if I was okay while you were flirting with that stranger,” he spits out.
The look you give him is almost pitying. Almost. You make a show of looking around to see if anyone can overhear you, even though he knows that you never come back if there are other people around. The place is empty.
“Let’s be serious for a second, Boss,” you say and he hates the way you emphasize the word, even though he reminded you who you work for. “You’re fine. You’re always fine. And if you weren’t we’d be dealing with it quickly. And he wasn’t a stranger. He’s a promoter, here to scout the earlier fights since he already knows you by both name and reputation. We were talking about you.”
“Sure looked like work.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder and fix him with the same flirtatious smile he so rarely sees. “Jealous, Cheol?”
“No.”
He’s lying and you both know it. It’s not that he’s jealous of you talking to someone else. He expects you to have a life outside of him. It’s that you were so close to the fight and not watching. It makes him wonder why you can’t just fully accept that he needs this and support him. All things considered, he doesn’t think he asks you for that much. He gives you a place to live, plenty of money to live off of, and a built in connection to a former life neither of you can get back.
“Did you imagine me tending to your wounds? Imagine me talking your hand into mine, all gentle, and patching up your knuckles?” Your voice is that dangerous kind of low that does something entirely inappropriate to him. It’s the way you might talk to a lover.
Giving into something he can’t figure out, you sigh and move to sit beside him. You take the first aid kit and open it without a word. Put some ointment on a piece of gauze and gently run it over the cut above his eye. The one he got while spending too much time watching you. It doesn’t hurt, but he still flinches when you make contact with his face. Maybe he’s just not sure what to expect. Especially after asking if that’s what he wants. You’re gentle, though. Thorough, too. Once you clean the cut, you use the strip that’s specifically for cuts like those. Then, you move on to his knuckles, just as you mentioned, wiping them clean of the blood and tending to any wound. He’s not used to having you this close to him without you saying something smart. It makes him a little nervous now. Like now that he’s seeing a different side to you, that he wants to see, he’s not sure how to handle it.
But, when you look at him again, it’s the same look he’s used to. Or, he thinks it is. It seems a bit at odds with the way the next sentence comes out.
“You were wrong, by the way.”
He’s too busy rolling his eyes to realize that there’s no bite to your words. Too busy thinking that you’re reacting exactly the same as every other time to consider you’re being serious.
“I’m always wrong, according to you.”
You level him an unimpressed look. “You’re being an asshole, but I know it’s just because you almost lost, so I’m going to tell you anyway. You assume that I never come out for any of your fights. That I don’t watch them.”
“Because you told me that you didn’t like, what was it you said? The violence of it all?”
“I don’t. It seems pointless.”
“So of course I assume you never watch?”
Seungcheol’s nerves are a little frayed. From the fight, from your proximity, from you taking care of him, and from whatever you’re saying now. He can’t even really process, either, because he’s too caught up in his own head.
By contrast, you’re patient. Like you’re explaining something to a toddler rather than Zeus himself. “I said I didn’t like the violence and I didn’t see the point. That’s all true. I come out for every one of your fights, even if you don’t see me. What kind of assistant would I be otherwise?”
Before he can respond, point out you’re not just his assistant, you rise from the bench and head towards the door. He’s gaping at you and you don’t even spare a backwards glance. It’s still unsettling to him, the way you seem to cycle through your different personas. The different sides to you coming and going before he can put his finger on any one of them. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts and hurries after you.
Once upon a time, when Seungcheol had still been Zeus living in Olympus, his powers had seemed limitless. Untested in their reach. Even now, humans still talk about his famous lightning bolt that could strike down enemies or even entire cities. His strength could move mountains and his temper impacted the weather. No power was more useful, at least not to him, than his ability to shapeshift so easily. There were those that insisted he used that ability too much. That said he should not travel to Earth and to other similar planets as much as he did.
Now, he wonders if they were right. It’s an ability he continues to use now. The only one of his abilities that he really can use. He can’t run around causing storms (though, he does, sometimes, when his emotions get out of control). Can’t use his inhumane speed and strength while fighting. Those other abilities feel dulled, anyway, through lack of use. He knows that’s partially because the majority of his powers are contained in a metal cuff he wears when he’s not fighting. It had been your only non-negotiable for his latest venture. Even though he’s not sure you entirely like him all the time, you at least go along with whatever ridiculous scheme he comes up with. And you make sure he can seem mostly human while doing it.
It’s times like these, when it’s into the late hours of the night when everything else should be quiet, that he can reflect. Times when he turns down the superficial company and lets himself sit with his own thoughts. Usually, you’re also at home. Not tonight. It sticks out to him. You’re so private about everything personal to you that it shouldn’t surprise him. While you typically know where he is at any given moment of the day, that does not extend in the other direction. Seungcheol doesn’t think it’s a lack of interest. Or that he’s somehow more self-involved. You’re just entirely unwilling to share bits of yourself. He’s certainly not going to ask when you won’t tell him who you are.
It is odd, though. When Zeus and the other Olympians came out of a sleeplike state on Earth, they could immediately recognize each other. Even when they separated, took on new appearances, and got back together, he could feel them. It had been the same way before ending up on Earth, too. Each being had a distinct signature and he could pick out any that he had ever come across. At times, he feels something familiar about you. Like he’s on the verge of a distant memory that’s just out of reach. Each time, it’s gone before he can latch onto it fully. You shrug it off every time, saying it’s just because of the years spent in each other’s company.
The air is so still that Seungcheol hears when the door opens and closes over on your side of the apartment. Or maybe it’s just because he’s actively listening and wondering when you’re going to be back. He’s even in the sitting room closest to your part of the apartment. As he strains his ears, he picks up the clack of your heels before a pause. There’s a hesitation before he hears you approach the door separating the two spaces. Another hesitation. Not for the first time, he wonders what’s going on in your mind. He can honestly never tell.
You enter his area of the apartment without knocking and your knowing glance lands on him immediately.
Except, he can’t enjoy your decision to actually join him. Not this time.
As you pass by him to the drink cart without a second glance, he catches a smell on you. Sex. The musky, heady scent clings to you as you move past him. Maybe even a hint of cologne. There’s also the distinct smell of you. An obvious arousal on your part and it makes him a little lightheaded. Which is insane. He’s not attracted to you. Well, not like that, at least. He’s not blind. Anyone can see that you’re attractive. It’s just not deeper than that. And you’re very clearly not interested.
Surprisingly, you pour yourself a healthy glass of his whisky and plop down into a chair across from him. When he looks up, you’re watching him thoughtfully. One leg crossed over the other as you take a careful sip of the amber liquid.
“Where have you been?”
The question comes out more accusatory than he means for it to. The look on your face confirms what he already knows. It’s that infuriating half smile. How he falls into your trap time after time is anyone’s guess.
“I wasn’t aware I had to check in with you, Dad. Did I miss curfew?”
“Funny.”
You take another sip and your eyes sparkle. It’s an unsettling sight. Makes him adjust his position like he’s somehow the one in trouble.
After entirely too long, you give some semblance of an answer. “I was out.”
“Yes, I gathered.”
“Were you waiting up for me?” you ask, getting entirely too much entertainment out of the conversation.
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” he says and you raise an eyebrow. Infuriating. “I am still awake, but it’s not because of you.”
“I guess even gods have to take a break from the endless stream of meaningless flings,” you surmise before looking away from him.
“Bit rich coming from you when you’ve obviously been out having a fling yourself.”
The look on your face should be illegal. He tracks the slow way you turn your head back around to study him. Tilt your head to the side to consider his words. Take a sip of your drink and lick the drops off your lips. “Does it bother you?”
“What?” It’s the last question he’s expecting. Another win in your column, though he’ll never admit it out loud.
“Does it bother you that I was out with some insanely hot man who had me screaming his name while you were home alone? Does it bother you to think of the way he had me coming undone while you were sitting here wondering where I was? Or maybe you’re wishing it was you pressing me against the doorframe, unable to hold off any longer?”
The way you lean forward sends his brain into overdrive. Everything about the low tone of your voice does make him wonder what any of that might be like with you. Makes him wonder what you sound like as someone is taking you apart. Even lets himself consider the satisfaction he would get from shutting that smart mouth of yours. By the time he manages to get himself together, you’re already leaning back in the chair again.
You save him some of the embarrassment of having to answer. “No, that can’t be it. You’re smarter than to be interested in pursuing me.”
“Of course,” he agrees quickly. Too quickly, honestly. “I just think it’s interesting you never bring dates back here when it’s such a nice apartment.”
“I have a lot of reasons for that.”
“Such as?”
It’s clear by the look on your face that he’s wearing on your patience. At least he’s not asking questions that you truly don’t want to answer, though. No matter what he thinks, he can’t really determine anything from your reasons for not bringing people back. What’s the harm in actually answering?
“For one, I don’t want people to see how nice it is and get the wrong ideas about lingering. I don’t want them to linger at all if I’m not feeling it. If I go to their place, then I can leave when I choose.”
“I should have guessed,” he says with a snort. “You like to be in control too much for your own good.”
“Of certain things.”
“Of everything.”
Now, you’re looking at him with some level of pity. Like he’s missing out on a glaring piece of information. He should be better at this. Not because he’s Zeus, but because he’s known you for so long. You’re still a bit of an enigma, though.
“No, of certain things. You can hardly claim to know how I am when it comes to sex when you’ve never experienced it.”
You’ve got him there and he has to bite his tongue to stop the retort from tumbling out of his lips. He wants to say that it’s your doing that he doesn’t know. That he’s been more than willing to explore with you. Maybe you see it for what it is, anyway. The look that crosses your face is too hard for him to place. Part of his brain wants to think it’s intrigue. Like you’re considering letting him cross that line you’ve kept in place so carefully. Then, the fog clears for a moment and he knows that it’s not worth it. No point in complicating something and ruining his relationship with the only person who knows exactly who he is.
It would be easier if he didn’t rise to your bait so easily. Easier if there wasn’t that small, insistent part of him that was curious about you. Better still if you didn’t read his flashes of emotion so easily. It’s not even that he minds broadcasting his thoughts. It feels like part of the bargain while keeping someone like you around. But, the lack of reciprocity does drive him insane. Once, just once, he wishes you would let him into your inner thoughts.
“It also just feels easier this way. To everyone else, I work for you. They don’t know we’re more deeply connected or that it’s more complicated than just saying that. It makes sense that I interrupt your flings. Not so much that you might overhear mine,” you say.
Not for the first time, Seungcheol wonders how honest that is from you. Do you mean it? Is there more to it? Part of him kind of hopes there is. Kind of hopes that the part you’re not saying is that you don’t want him to overhear you. You don’t want to add more fuel to the fire. That maybe you would cross that line as well.
Instead, what he gets is you downing the rest of your drink. Gets to watch you place the glass on the table and rise from your seat. Watches you disappear back onto your side without so much as a backward glance. Infuriating.
The next time Seungcheol finds himself in the ring, he has to test if you told him the truth. Looks around into the crowd of people while he waits for them to go through the introductions to the fight. There’s so much pomp and circumstance before his fights. It normally lets him focus. Today, it lets him scan the crowd for your face. Then, he lands on you. Towards the back of the space by the makeshift bar. Your eyes are already on him, looking smug. It might be embarrassing in another situation, to be caught looking. But, it’s just so surprising that you’re out there watching. Feels like a victory.
It also feels like a victory that you’re on your own for this fight. Makes it easier to have the fight go exactly as he wants. Which is a relatively easy win. Other than a few bruises to his knuckles, he comes out mostly unscathed. Lets the thought of you bandaging him up again pass quickly because he cannot imagine you doing that a second time. Then again, he couldn’t see you doing it the first time. Maybe the years are finally softening you.
His entire mood shifts when he comes back out from the locker room to find out nearly in the same spot you watched the entire fight from. You’re no longer alone, though. In fact, he recognizes the same man from the last fight that made him lose his cool. It makes him see red for a second, too. Why is this guy hanging around if he’s a promoter when the fight is over? There are probably a number of reasons for that, actually. None of which Seungcheol considers. Because why is he leaning into you like he’s telling you a secret? Why are you looking at him like that? If there are reasons for a promoter to hang around, surely none of them include hanging all over you.
Your eyes meet his over the stranger’s shoulder and you smile. It causes the man to turn around and look at him as well. Seungcheol doesn’t think he likes that look. There’s a cool confidence about this stranger. Like he knows he’s good looking and probably exactly your type. But, your eyes suggest you’re waiting for Seungcheol. And the stranger looks expectant. No choice but to move forward. Up close, he realizes that they’re close to the same height. His ego won’t let him admit the other man might be a touch taller. Or acknowledge the broadness of his shoulders. All Seungcheol can focus on is that this man is at least less muscular than him. Or, appears to be.
“Wonwoo,” he says and extends his hand.
Seungcheol hesitates before shaking it. For the worst reason, too. He catches a whiff of that cologne from a week ago when you came home late and joined him for a drink. From the time he could smell the sex on you. So much for this just being a professional relationship. But, now is not the time or place, and Seungcheol extends his hand to shake the other man’s.
“I’ve heard about you,” he says for lack of anything else to share.
“Yes, I’m interested in sitting down to talk about a proposal I have,” Wonwoo says and then throws a look your way. Undisguised interest. It pours off of him, actually. Then, his eyes are on Seungcheol again. “Your charming manager here has done an excellent job of selling you.”
There’s nothing on your face to suggest that anything is out of place. Nothing to suggest you realize that he’s putting any sort of pieces together. “Ah, well, she’s incredible at what she does.”
“She certainly is,” the other man agrees. It sets Seungcheol’s nerves on edge.
“I’ll have her reach out to set something up,” is all Seungcheol says before turning to you. “But, tonight, I have something else to deal with, not related to fights.”
Your face still remains impassive. A perfect mask to prevent anyone from realizing what you may be thinking. Just for a moment, you glance over at Wonwoo with an inviting gaze. A private smile just for him. Except, it’s one that you know Seungcheol sees as well.
“I’ll text you,” you confirm to Wonwoo. It makes Seungcheol’s stomach turn to watch how the promoter seems to melt under your gaze. Makes him want to throw a punch. Even makes him wonder if this promoter could handle it. Then, you turn back towards him with that sparkle in your eye. “Shall we, Boss?”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw, lets you see the flash of something in his eyes. Something he knows that Wonwoo won’t process as quickly as it happens. “Let’s go.”
The ride back to the apartment is silent. Oppressive. At least to him. You cross one leg over the other in the back of the car and take your phone out when it becomes clear that he has nothing to say. He gives your phone a cursory glance to see that you’re at least not texting that stupid promoter. A small victory.
By the time that the two of you get back up into the apartment, he can feel your own patience wearing thin. He’s so annoyed by everything that he doesn’t even register how unusual it is for him to feel your emotions at all. Doesn’t stop to dwell on why you’re letting him in. Just rounds on you as soon as the door closes.
“Oh, so are we going to talk about what’s got you in this charming mood?” you ask, arms crossing over your chest. The disdain drips off of you.
“I thought it was just professional?”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
Seungcheol clenches his fist. Slams his palm down on the table without realizing that he has his cuff back on. The table splinters under the pressure. You, however, don’t even flinch. Just stand there, regarding him like he’s some petulant child throwing a tantrum.
“You and that promoter…”
“Wonwoo,” you supply needlessly. The look on your face says it all. You know that Seungcheol knows his name and chose not to use it. Rubbing it in is also a choice.
“I recognized his cologne.”
You give him another look and then smirk. “Oh, should I do a little matchmaking? Are you interested? Didn’t know you had it in you, but…”
“Cut it out,” he says and your mouth actually snaps shut. Seeing the storm brewing in his eyes is enough. “I could smell him on you. That night you came back and had the drink with me.”
You roll your lips together for a moment and then sigh. Switch tactics in the middle of the…discussion. “Okay, and? I’m allowed to have a life outside of you, Cheol.”
“Why lie about it?”
“Because it’s none of your damn business!”
“Still…”
“Still, nothing,” you bite back. “You don’t own me.”
“No, I just pay for your entire life,” he says and you bark out a laugh. “Something funny about that?”
“Yes,” you say with another laugh. “The idea that you pay for all of this out of the goodness of your heart and not because you can’t fucking stand the thought of being alone without anyone knowing who you really are.”
He crosses to you and puts himself in your space in a split second. Clearly warring with how to respond. Anger ripples just beneath the surface. But, so does something else. Something that feels an awful lot like desire. And he doesn’t feel like it’s only coming from him.
“Say that again.”
“I don’t think I need to.”
The tension rolls off both of you. Eyes locked on each other, tracking each minute movement. There’s a crackle to the air. Did Seungcheol cause that? He’s honestly not sure. And then, another shift. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and his eyes track the movement. Hungry and a little frayed. It’s too much. Without overthinking it, he reaches out and wraps an arm around your lower back to pull you against him. The gasp he expects never comes. Instead, your lips crash into his in a searing kiss. Something all consuming. Something that threatens to undermine his very being.
Somehow, the two of you topple back into the couch. You straddle his lap without breaking the kiss, knees pressing into the couch on either side of him. His hands are everywhere. On your thighs, on your hips, on your ass. Even running up your sides, sneaking underneath your shirt to feel your skin. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull yourself in closer. And even though you’re on top of him, you’re actually letting him set the pace. Take the control. His hands run up under your shirt, along your spine, and he relishes the way you shiver.
It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. Like now that he knows what it’s like to have you like this, he’s never going to be able to think about anything else. When you readjust in his lap, lips still insistent on his, you brush against his already hardening dick. Groan into his mouth at the feel of him underneath you. He growls, something low in the back of his throat and slides his hand up into your hair. Breaks the kiss so that he can work his mouth down your throat. Leaves sloppy kisses in his wake.
And that’s when the energy shifts again. The haze over him settles too deeply for him to feel it at first. You’re pulling away. Both literally and figuratively. He pulls his lips off your neck and sits back on the couch to look at you. Eyes asking the question he’s not sure he can voice out loud. Is something wrong? Did he read this wrong? Are you going to…
“I have to go,” you say, breathless. Before he can even respond, you’re on your feet and making a beeline for the door. Only stop to grab your purse. Then you’re out the door.
Well, fuck.
At first, Seungcheol expects you to just show up by his side unannounced after a day or two. It’s not the first time you’ve disappeared or pushed him away. It’s not even the first time the two of you have kissed. In fact, the two of you seem to get carried away at least once every few decades without ever going as far as actually having sex. If he let himself think about it, he would be incredibly frustrated about it. Which is exactly why he doesn’t. He doesn’t linger on the way your lips felt against his. Doesn’t wonder at the feel of your body against his. Definitely doesn’t fantasize about pressing all your buttons until you relent and let him take you apart. Can’t fantasize about all the sounds you might make as he fucked you into his mattress.
No, he’s being ridiculous.
With a shake to clear his head, he figures that he might as well just carry on with his business as usual. You’ll be back in a day or two, like always, pretending that nothing happened. It’s almost predictable, at this point. That is, if anything about you could actually be described as predictable.
Except…well, this is clearly different.
You don’t show up after a day or two. Two weeks go by and Seungcheol hasn’t so much as heard from you. There’s no trace of you anywhere he looks. Even though, rationally, he knows that you’re likely okay wherever you are, he can’t stop looking. Can’t stop that expectation that you’ll show up wherever he is, acting like nothing is wrong. You know his schedule better than he does. Know his patterns and his favorite places. Of course you’ll just show up. How could you not?
As it slips into the third week, Seungcheol starts to wonder if you’re really gone this time. It feels remarkably lonely. Feels like maybe he shouldn’t waste as much time as he does being annoyed with you. If you need to roll your eyes at him or force him to adhere to some kind of schedule, then why can’t he just let you? If that’s the price for keeping you around and keeping you happy, it’s a small price to pay. You must be happy, at least on some level, because you stay. You get something out of this weird dynamic just the same as he does. Maybe it doesn’t matter who you are or who you were as long as you understand the deep sense of loss that comes with being permanently exiled from Olympus. The loss of you feels so profound that he even wonders if he should try to find Poseidon again. At least his brother had been easy to be around before parting ways. Yet, the loss of you feels worse. Worse, even, than realizing he may never see Olympus again.
Seungcheol notices something else that he doesn’t like during your absence. He’s moody. Snaps at the people he tries to bring back to his place to help him forget. And then he stops trying to bring anyone back at all. Every annoying little quirk feels exhausting. He can’t pretend to want to listen to any of them like normal. Fighting doesn’t feel the same, either. It doesn’t seem to make him feel much of anything without you around. He also almost misses a fight (as well as several other engagements) without you to remind him. That makes him angrier still. Why have you just up and left him? Why can’t you understand that you’re the only one who keeps things running on any kind of schedule? Why can’t you at least let him know if you’re never coming back for real?
He decides to do something a little bit dumb and makes an appointment to have his hair dyed. Dying his hair isn’t really the stupid part. He’s had a lot of hair colors over his time pretending to be human. It’s just…he can shape shift. He doesn’t need to pay someone to do his hair. He just kind of feels like it, though. Wants to appreciate the feel of some nameless woman running her fingers through his hair and pampering him. That’s what it always feels like when he pays someone to do something he could just do himself (without the use of chemicals, either). It makes him feel moderately better as he heads back to his place.
It takes him a moment, after coming in the front door, to realize something is off in his home. It hits him as he sets down the keys by the door. Did he leave a light on in the living room? Why does the atmosphere feel different? Why does it smell different? He carefully heads in the direction of the light and lets out a low groan when he sees that he’s right about something feeling off.
There you are, sitting in your favorite armchair with a book open in your lap. But, you’re already looking up at him. He’s not sure if you heard him enter or why you’re wrinkling your nose at him. Narrowing your eyes like he’s the one that did something wrong. Like you haven’t just been gone for weeks.
“Do I smell bleach?” you ask, nose still wrinkled.
“I - what?” he asks. His eyes are wide and his jaw feels slack. What the actual fuck is going on?
“I do! You paid someone to dye your hair.”
“So what if I did?”
“Have you forgotten that you are a god and you can do that without the chemicals?”
“No, I just wanted…”
Suddenly, he snaps his mouth shut and glares at you. Anger rolls off of him in palpable waves. His fists clench at his sides. Can feel the power percolating beneath the surface. In another life, the storm would already be sparking off. Unimpressed, you mark the page in your book and set it to the side. Cross one leg over the other and just wait for whatever he’s going to say.
“What the fuck does it matter to you what I decide to do with my hair?”
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Great, glad we cleared that up.”
What Seungcheol aims for: something so biting that it actually makes you flinch. What Seungcheol actually gets: something that sounds petulant and a little childish. You cluck your tongue in response, but don’t make any move to get out of your chair.
“Heard you nearly missed a fight.”
“Oh, you heard that, did you? Weren’t too busy off doing whatever the fuck you were to keep tabs on that?”
If you hear the tone for what it is (you do), you don’t comment on it. Just watch him for a moment to see if he’s got anything else to say on the subject. Your calm is infuriating to him. It’s always hard to read your energy. It’s the hardest when you’re like this. Like you’re actively keeping him from getting a read on you. Not for the first time, he reminds himself that it shouldn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re back. That reminder just makes him more annoyed, though. Why did you have to worry him when you were going to come back like you always did? It’s fucking annoying.
“Yes, I heard what you were up to. One of the promoters texted me.”
“Was it Wonwoo?’ he asks and internally curses at himself for remembering the name. You purse your lips.
“Does it matter?”
“Didn’t answer my texts, though.”
He looks away from you as he says it so that you can’t see the way he pouts. Even tries to say it softly. Which is dumb, isn’t it? He knows that you can hear him all the same. The least he could do would be to have the courage to look you in the eye as he says it. It’s not like he’s hiding anything. He knows that you can hear the pout even if you can’t see it by some miracle.
“Well, I can see that you’re alive, at least, despite my absence. Though you don’t seem to be doing very well at keeping your schedule without me. We’ve got things to do.”
Stubbornly, Seungcheol holds his position. Juts out his lower lip and crosses his arm. You give yourself a moment to laugh at the idea of this man, who has been around for millenia, acting like a teenager just because you disappeared for what amounts to less than a blip in either of your lives. It’s part of what keeps you coming back, even when you know that life might be a little less dramatic with one of the other Olympians living on Earth. There’s never any boredom with this one.
“Are you going to keep pouting or can we carry on?”
“Are you going to disappear again?”
You sigh and he actually looks over at you. For the briefest moment, you look tired. Worn. Like this all takes a toll on you as well. Somehow that actually softens him a bit. Makes him a bit more receptive.
“Probably,” you answer after a moment.
“But, you can’t just…”
A hand in the air cuts him off. Why he listens to such a simple gesture is anyone’s guess. Sometimes he really doesn’t act like Zeus anymore. “Seungcheol, our lives are long and I’m never gone for more than a moment in the grand scheme of things.”
“I know, but…”
“I also never go far and I always keep tabs on you. If something truly bad happened, I would be there in a moment.”
“Then why leave in the first place?”
He’s not sure why he asks or even allows himself to be a little vulnerable. This isn’t how the two of you normally interact. Yet, surprisingly, something in you also seems to soften. There’s something approaching affection on your face for a second.
“Because, sometimes you wear me out,” you say with a chuckle. “Now, can we get back on track?”
There are a lot of things you miss about living in Olympus. Everything just felt different there. More like you belonged even when you weren’t behaving your best. But, there are things you appreciate about this new world, too. More as each year passes and the world evolves. One such thing you’re thankful for now: farmer’s markets.
Of course, the farmer’s markets in your current city are big affairs. Always packed with people. You don’t mind, though. It’s nice to just get lost in a crowd while finding some of the best items that you can imagine. Fresh produce, the most flavorful juices, bouquets of local flowers, and more crafted items than you can imagine. You’re never looking for anything in particular and always seem to leave with multiple bags weighing you down. It’s one of those things that you do when you need a little break from Seungcheol.
Like now.
Thoughts of him seem to take up entirely too much of your brain. It’s getting harder and harder to act like it’s business as usual. To keep him at arm’s length. Yet, you know it’s the only thing you really can do. Know that it’ll all be over when he figures it all. Know that he may never forgive you for keeping such a big secret. And he’s getting closer to it by the month. You can feel the way he slips further into your thoughts. Or the way he senses your moods more easily lately.
No. You need to pull it together.
That’s when something entirely unexpected catches your attention. You spot someone meandering through the stalls like he’s looking for something. For someone. His essence hits you like a tidal wave. It rolls off him in the waves you know he used to command. And you find it interesting to him in the new form he’s chosen. He looks so young. So unassuming. Beautiful, for sure, even by your standards. Still, though. A little different from what Seungcheol tends to lean into.
You’re still deciding what you want to do when he turns to you. Like he can feel your eyes on him. Assessing. His face breaks and it’s not what you’re expecting. There’s hope there. Something else. It’s nothing like what you expect from the one that was Poseidon in a previous life. Something…soft. Before you can turn away and decide not to engage, he starts approaching you. Makes you feel almost rooted to your spot.
“Hi,” he says and you only smile at first. “I’m sorry, it’s just…this is going to sound crazy but I feel like we’ve met? Or something?”
The answer should be easy. You’ve spent centuries not telling anyone exactly who you are. But, it’s not like you have to tell him who you are. “I wouldn’t say met…exactly.”
“Are you…?” he asks, eyes filling with that same hope. And that’s when you sense it. The questions rolling off of him. The need for…something. The need to find Zeus, you think. He carries on before you can stop him, not even looking around to see if anyone else is listening. “I mean are you from…”
“Stop,” you say quickly, glancing around. He snaps his mouth shut, yet his eyes still watch you hopefully. “I know who you are.”
“And who are you?” he asks. You give him the name you use here on Earth in this version of yourself. Hurry on before he can question it.
“And if you’re looking for who I think you’re looking for,” you start and reach into your bag. Pull out a flyer and hand it over. “You should check this out. It’s tomorrow night. I think you’ll find who you’re looking for.”
The stranger, who somehow also feels so familiar, takes the flyer immediately. Lets his eyes scan over it. Raises his eyebrows at the fights billed. He’s looking for his brother and he isn’t really sure if an underground fighting ring is the place to find him. When he lifts his head up to thank you, or to ask you follow up questions, you’re gone. If not for the flyer, he would wonder if you had ever been there at all.
By the time you get back to the apartment, you’re a little distracted. What does it mean that you found Poseidon walking through a farmer’s market, of all places? Did you do the right thing in telling him how to find Seungcheol? You don’t really know. There’s just something about the way his energy feels now. Different. Softer. More…complex. It could just be down to the fact that you never really knew him all that way. Or that you’ve spend centuries by Seungcheol’s side, so everything else feels dull by comparison.
When you walk through the door, it’s exactly that familiarity that hits you first. The air feels bitter. Tinged with something a little heavy. And the silence that greats you when you close the door is deafening. Not the kind of silence you expect if Seungcheol is still asleep, which would make sense. It puts you a little on guard, though you’re not sure why. You make your way into Seungcheol’s side of the apartment and things only get heavier. The air is thicker. It’s almost like he’s holding back a storm. Though you can’t think of anything that would set him off now. Until you see it. Your work phone in his hand. He doesn’t look up right away, though you know that he hears you.
Finally, you clear your throat and he looks up at you. In all the time you’ve known him, he’s never looked that upset over something that must be harmless. After all, it’s just your work phone. A phone that he has access to as well because it’s for setting up fights and managing other business.
“Everything okay? Did I miss an appointment or something?” you ask, an uncharacteristic hesitancy to your voice.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” His voice is hard. Edged with irritation. He still has the phone in his hand, barely seeming to notice.
“I’m sorry, I’m a little lost…”
“Clearly,” he says with a snort.
“Cheol, can you just talk to me about what’s going on?” you ask and he rolls his eyes. Tosses the phone over to you and you pluck it out of the air. It’s open to a chat with Wonwoo and your heart sinks a little. You remember moving things over to your personal phone, but he’s still got this number as well. The messages at the bottom of the chat say all they need to. From this morning, a series of messages saying that he wants to see you and misses the way you feel. He’s sorry for sending them to this number, but you’re not answering his other messages. A deliberate choice and a mistake, clearly.
“What the fuck were you saying about it just being work with him?” he asks. You roll your lips together as something to consider.
“As you can see, I’ve been avoiding answering him,” you say. It’s not an answer. Not really.
“Did you see him again? After that first time?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”
Seungcheol slams his fist down on the arm of the chair, though you can tell that he’s controlling himself, before standing up. He moves closer to you. Leaves space between the two of you, which is probably a good thing.
He opens his mouth and then closes it. His face soften, body relaxes. There’s something like resignation hanging in the air. “I just want to stop playing games. I don’t want to be worrying about saying the wrong thing and driving you away for you to run off with some…promoter.”
The last word comes out sounding as bitter as it tastes. It takes everything in him to be able to say it in the first place. Your eyes go wide and your body pulls back for a second. It’s the last thing you’re expecting to hear. Seems insane that after all this time, he can still surprise you.
“I didn’t…” you start and then frown. Unsure what to say. You clear your throat and softly say his name, his real one, so that he’ll look up at you. “I didn’t run off to be with him while I was away from you. I wasn’t off shacking up with someone while I was gone. Not that I’m saying you care, I just…”
“I do.”
“What?”
“Care. I do care.”
You swallow. Buy yourself a minute. “I know I keep you walled off from a lot of things in my life, but I’m being honest to you about this. I wasn’t with him. I wasn’t with anyone, not like you mean. I just need a break sometimes.”
“Okay,” is all he says. Until he closes the space between you. Almost experimentally. Reaches one hand out to you. Brushes a piece of hair off your face and lets his hand linger there when you don’t pull away. You’re not really breathing either, though. He steps a little closer and leans into you. Puts his free hand on your hip to hold you in place. Brings his lips almost to yours, barely a breath between them.
“This is a bad idea,” you say, breath tickling his skin.
“I know,” he agrees. Doesn’t pull away though. “I just want…just one time. One time where you don’t pull away and you don’t run away afterwards. One time and I won’t even complain if you go back to being snarky afterwards as long as you don’t run away.”
It’s a terrible idea. You know that. He probably does too. There’s nothing good that can come from this. Especially because you can’t run away. Not when you told his brother to show up at his fight. Not when you’re too nosy for your own good and you want to know what Poseidon wants.
“Okay,” you agree, despite all that.
And he doesn’t waste his chance. Doesn’t give you the option to second guess if this right (it’s not). Just tightens his hold on your hip and pulls you against him, erasing any remaining space. Yet, despite all that, despite the way you can feel the need rippling off him, his kiss is surprisingly gentle. He keeps his other hand cradling your face and uses it to guide the kiss. To ground you to him. Or maybe to confirm that it’s happening in the first place. You’re not really sure. Not sure it matters either, though.
This is far from the first time you and him have shared a kiss. Still, it feels entirely new. Like something different. Something that could be more if you let it. If you were someone else. If you could let it happen. But, you can, can’t you? Just for now. This doesn’t have to change anything. You can just finally stop being curious about everything. Something you commit to as soon as he deepens the kiss. It makes your mind go a little blank. You’re arching into him. Into the kiss. Letting your hands slide up his toned arms to find purchase in something.
Seungcheol, confident in everything to the point that it gets annoying, isn’t confident in this. He’s confident in kissing you, that’s clear. And he’s an excellent kisser, even if you would never admit that to him. It’s just that he doesn’t seem confident in anything beyond that with you. Which makes sense. It’s somewhere around here that you usually pull away. That you throw up your walls and run away. It’s tempting to consider it again now. You remember your promise. What’s more, you know that you also want to try. Find yourself curious.
You pull yourself away from him. Gently. Carefully. Nothing abrupt like normal. You still feel it. Feel the way the energy around you shifts again. Like some of the sexual tension dissipates to give way to an awkward tension. Clock the look on his face when you put enough space between you to see him. It sucks that he looks like that because you know it’s fair. You try not to dwell on it. Just shake it off and put a smile on your face. Reach down to grab one of his hands.
“We can’t just stand here and kiss forever,” you say and turn towards your side of the apartment. Pull him along behind you.
“Are you…are you taking me over to your bedroom?” he asks and you snort in response. It’s not funny. Except that it’s the former King of the Gods that’s asking you, sounding like any other insecure human. There’s power in knowing you have that effect on him. Something that could easily go to your head.
You look over your shoulder at him and smile. “Am I making you nervous?”
He’s about to answer when he catches the look on your face and huffs out a breath. Grumbles for good measure. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
You turn around again and walk partially backwards. “Maybe I just don’t want to be where countless have been before me.”
There’s another comment on your lips that dies the second Seungcheol gets that look on his face. He closes the gap in a split second. Gets into your space. Seems like he just wants to be imposing. Until he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder. Obviously he’s strong, he’s Zeus, but you’re not used to this type of strength. Not directed at you in some kind of positive way. It’s kind of nice. Another thing you likely won’t admit to him.
He covers the space to your bedroom in no time. Like it’s just something that he does all the time. Opens any doors along with way without even adjusting you over his shoulder. When he lets you down, it’s somewhere between roughly dropping you and gently depositing you. Like he can’t quite decide if he wants to be a little rough or softer. His eyes give away the same struggle. They’re burning with desire, yet also something deeper. Something that gives him away. Something that suggests this wouldn’t be one time if he thought he could get away with it. If he could know that you wouldn’t run away like you always do.
Just as you’re repositioning on the bed, he moves onto the bed. Crowds into your space so that you can’t move. Gathers both of your hands in one of his own to pin above your head and then kisses you again. Fierce. Possessive. Searing. It’s just so all-consuming. Much like Seungcheol himself. He wants to fill your head with nothing but him, him, him. And you’re going to let him. At least for now. You barely even remember that you should struggle a little against him. Not make it too easy. Not that he seems to mind.
In another surprise, the moment that you start to struggle, he pulls away. Makes you wonder if you read the entire situation wrong. But, then he’s moving down your body to your pants. Undoing the button and pulling them down your legs quickly. Reaches for your panties next and tosses them aside. He doesn’t even give you time to consider that you’re partially naked while he’s fully clothed when he moves up your body again. Pulls you up a little so that he can remove your shirt. Your bra follows and you’re laying bare before him. The first time in all the time he’s known you that he’s actually seen you like this. He sits back on his heels to just admire you.
You clear your throat and look away for a moment to catch your breath. It’s really overwhelming to have him look at you in that way. He doesn’t let you get away with it, though. Just leans forward again to tilt your head back to him. “You are the most beautiful being I have seen in my entire life.”
“You’ve been on this planet too long. It’s clouding your memory,” you say. It’s a non-answer.
“My memory is as good as ever, actually. I remember everything from the dress you were wearing when I first met you to the way you look when you disappear to the way you look when you’re smug,” he says and you swallow hard. It’s…well, a lot to say the least.
The only thing you can think to do is to pull him back into you. To kiss him again. There’s things that you just can’t say. Things that you can’t seem to even consider. So, instead, you try to put them into the kiss. And he doesn’t seem to mind. Kisses you back as if he’s saying he understands. You break the kiss only long enough to pull his shirt over his head and then reach for his lips again. He dodges your lips instead so that he can kiss down your neck. Sucking marks into your skin as he goes. Making you arch into him. And you know that he can be a giver, you’ve heard enough of his conquests, but it’s not his default. He likes to chase his own pleasure first and foremost. This doesn’t feel like that.
When he moves across your collarbones and leaves a mark there, you gasp at the feeling. Wind your hand into his hair and pull a little. Not enough to make him leave your skin. Just enough to give him a tiny taste of pain. It makes him smile against your skin. You can feel it without even needing to see. He keeps working down to your chest. Kisses between the valley of your boobs and fidget the tiniest amount. For some reason, that makes him chuckle. You know you’re in trouble when he swirls his tongue around your nipple, then pulls away to blow across the sensitive bud. It makes you squirm. Makes him use a hand to anchor your hip to the bed.
“”Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to get my mouth on these perfect tits,” he says into your skin like a prayer. Moves to kiss your boob for real, hand moving from your hip up to your other boob so that he can show it the proper attention. He’s still using his other hand to keep himself a little suspended over you.
“Cheol,” you whine as he laves attention on one while kneading the other. It’s desperate and a little whiny. What does it matter? He’s trying to ruin you and he’s going to succeed at this rate.
“All those outfits you wear. All the times you parade around in tight clothing. I’ve been waiting to just tear it off you. Like you’re trying to tease me,” he says into your skin, moving to the other boob.
“Not trying to do that,” you whine out under the attention.
“Sure,” he says placatingly and returns his mouth to your nipple.
You should have known that he would be someone that would take his time. Especially with you. Especially with the amount of time he claims he’s been waiting for a chance like this. When he lets himself rest a little more on your body, you feel the way he’s hardening through his sweatpants. Already getting turned on just by teasing you. Something about that only makes you want it more. There’s just something about a man that gets as much from foreplay as sex itself. You would not have pegged him as fitting that. Maybe you judged too quickly.
He pulls his mouth off your body after what feels like an eternity and you actually arch into him. Body searching for his mouth at the loss. Lock your eyes onto him at the dark chuckle he lets out.
“I want to taste you. Really taste you. I can’t wait any more,” he says and it gives you a certain amount of power. Lets you know that, despite him seeming in control, he’s a little desperate for you. Like maybe he’s thought about this before.
“Been wondering how I taste?” you ask. It’s nice to hear that your voice comes out a little even. A little mocking. Just like your usual dynamic.
“Don’t be a brat,” he warns, sitting back.
“Why? I’m pretty sure you like it,” you retort.
He gives you a look that says he doesn’t trust himself to answer. Instead, he just opens your legs and gets that glint in his eye. Runs a finger slowly up your center, dipping just inside your folds. The grin only gets worse. “You get this wet just from a little teasing? Or are you ready to admit you’ve been waiting for this too?”
“You sure have a lot of confidence,” you say, but your voice wavers just a bit. Anyone else would probably miss it. Not him. Of course he doesn’t. But, he still plays with you.
“Hard not to,” he says and runs a finger up your entrance again. Pulls it away to put it in his own mouth. Tastes you and wets his finger all in one. It should not be so hot and it’s all you can do to stop from shuddering. Still, he sees you’re holding something back. “Oh I really can’t wait to taste you now.”
The gasps escapes your lips without your permission as soon as he returns his finger, this time sliding it into your pussy. Watching you as he starts to pump it painfully slowly. You bite your lip and your body leans forward.
“Cheol,” you whine.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks. Tone all sweet and smug and a little condescending at once.
“You know what it is,” you say. He still doesn’t pick up his pace.
“Not if you don’t tell me,” he answers. Eyes watching your every little movement.
“More, please, I need more,” you say. You’re doing everything to keep it from sounding like begging and you’re not sure you’re achieving that.
“All you had to do was ask,” he says, but pulls his fingers out. Doesn’t give you a chance to protest, though, before he repositions between your legs. Kisses up one of your thighs with deliberate movements. When he reaches your core, where you need him the most, he throws your legs over his shoulders. Uses a hand to spread you open for him. And then he flattens his tongue against your cunt and licks up.
Unfortunately this is yet another thing that he is insanely good at. He buries his tongue deep in your cunt as he licks into you. Doesn’t make you beg for him to go faster because your moans seem to be enough. The way you writhe against the sheets seems to drive him deeper, faster. Seems to be the only thing he needs to know that you really do want this. Your body tells him what you’re not sure that you can. And you’re not going to keep trying to keep your own reactions at bay. Not when it feels this good to have him between your thighs. Not when you can’t even remember the last time someone ate your pussy this good. If they ever have.
There’s a confidence about Seungcheol in the way that he moves. Something that you’re appreciating, for once, instead of rolling your eyes at. He knows how to vary the speed. Knows when to switch up to swirl his tongue around your clit. Sucks it between his teeth and uses his fingers to pump into your pussy. As your words become less and less coherent, it seems to spur him on more. You can even feel him smile at some of the nonsense spewing from your mouth.
When you clench your thighs around his face, he moans into your pussy. The vibration is almost too much for you to handle. Almost sends you right over the edge. Which is what he wants, you’re sure. And, of course, being a little shit, he experiments again. Groaning into your pussy so that it vibrates through you.
“Fuck, Cheol, what are you doing? I’m gonna…fuck I’m gonna,” you scream out.
He squeezes one of your thighs, almost like an encouragement. Hums into your cunt. And that’s it. That’s all you can take. The orgasm rips through your body and he rides through it without removing his mouth. Drinking up everything that you give him like he’s never had anything so great in his life. Which is exactly what he’s thinking. And would even tell you, if you would let him.
Once the orgasm subsides, he pulls away. Gently pulls your legs off his shoulders and kisses your calves as he does so. He hovers over you again to kiss you quickly, to let you taste yourself on his lips, and then falls onto the bed at your side. Doesn’t say anything, just lays on his side facing you. After a moment, he reaches out to trace lines into your skin. It’s unusual for him to be quiet like this for too long. You’re just waiting for him to break. And you don’t have to wait long.
“Think I finally know why you don’t bring dates back here,” he says quietly and you scoff. Of course.
“And why’s that?”
“You wouldn’t want me to hear how they can’t get you streaming like I just did. It’d be too hard to keep resisting me.”
You laugh out, nearly snorting. “You are the cockiest person I have ever met.”
“Is that you saying you want my cock?”
The comment causes you to turn your head to look at him. He’s not expecting to see that smug, snarky look on your face. Worries he really is in over his head. “I don’t know. I feel pretty satisfied.”
“That’s still a compliment, you know,” he points out and you roll over onto your side to look at him as well.
“And you being this hard,” you say, reaching down to palm him through his sweats, appreciating the way he groans, “is also a compliment.”
“I don’t know…”
You pull your hand away only to reach for the waistband and slide your hand inside. Take his hard cock in your hand, but don’t move it at all. Drop your voice to a whisper. “Is this just from eating me out? Is this what finally getting to taste my pussy does to you?”
“You were moaning so loud, what did you expect?” he challenges. Falters just enough for you to register it.
“Mmm, is that it? Or is that that actually getting to eat me out was even better than you imagined when you rubbed one out thinking about me?” you ask, running your hand very slowly along his length.
He growls, low in his throat, and grabs your hand. Pulls it out of his pants and is off the bed in the next step. There’s that storm in his eyes again. This time, it only serves to excite you because you know that you’re pushing his buttons. Know that he’s going to follow through. He pulls his sweats and boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free. You swallow hard, unsure if he sees. Even though you just had him in your hand, this is different. He’s big and you can already imagine the way it’s going to stretch you.
“What? Like what you see so much it’s shutting up that smart mouth of yours?” he teases and you roll your eyes.
“Let’s not pretend here, Cheol. You want this.”
“And so do you.”
You consider him for a moment before you nod. “Fine. Yes, I do. If it’s half as good as you ate me out…well, I need to see.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, seemingly without thinking about it.
“There’s lube in that drawer,” you say, indicating one of the nightstands.
Seungcheol smirks at you like he knows you’re only trying to be casual about it all. Still, he doesn’t say anything. Just goes to the drawer and pulls out the bottle. Puts some in his hands to warm up before coating his cock. Then looks over at you. “Turn over.”
“Excuse me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Just, come on, turn over,” he says.
You make a show of considering it for a moment. Wonder if he somehow knows that this is one of your favorite positions. Then figure, well, two can play at this game. You turn over while he’s moving towards the bed again. Get onto your knees and lean forward. Stretch your arms out in front of you until your cheek touches the sheets. Arch your back and wiggle your ass, appreciating the low groan when he sees you.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath.
“Is this how you wanted me?” you ask, lacing as much innocence into your voice as you can.
Before he answers, he grabs your ass. Squeezes it tightly, almost experimentally. Pulls one hand away and smacks it lightly. You moan softly and wiggle again. Giving him permission.
“You can smack it harder,” you tell him, just for good measure. Which makes him groan. And then he follows through. Pulls his hand back and smacks you harder. Watches the way your skin recoils at the contact.
“Fuck you’re so hot,” he says in that low voice.
He pulls his other hand back and smacks your other cheek for good measure. Have to even it out. But, that’s all he’s going to allow himself or he’ll get distracted from what he really wants. He’s got you beneath him. Totally at his mercy. And he needs to really get to where he wants to be. So, he reaches for the lube again and drips some down onto you. Appreciates the way you shiver at the cold contact. He drips a little more onto you and uses a finger to spread it. Watches the way his finger disappears into your pussy. Relishes the noises you make. He really thinks that he could do this forever and never get sick of any of it.
But, that’s a thought for another time. For now, he runs a hand along his length a few times. Makes sure he’s coated. Then lines up at your entrance, pausing just for a second to admire the sight of you like that. Ass in the air and face pressed into the mattress. Fuck, you really are stunning. Every bit of you. It’s unfair, even by the standards of you being a goddess. You’re just perfect in his eyes. Shaking that thought away as being a little too soft, he presses his cock into your pussy.
“Oh fuck,” you cry out as he inches in slowly. “Fuck, Cheol, please just…”
“Mmmm,” he groans. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
“Just, please, I need you to…” you start and then let out a scream when he snaps fully into you. “FUCK!”
“Gods you feel good. Perfect. Amazing,” he says before he starts moving. He leans forward to press a kiss into your back. Then he pulls back and puts his hands onto your hips. Thrusts slowly, once, as if he’s testing you.
“Just fuck me please, I’m begging you,” you babble out.
Never, in the over two hundred years he’s had you by his side, did he think that you would beg him for anything. And if you did, he certainly never imagined it would be for him to fuck you. It shoots straight to his dick and he doesn’t even need to worry about the dynamics. Doesn’t even think to give you a hard time for this. Just wants to give you anything and everything that you’re asking him for.
There’s nothing slow or tentative about it. Seungcheol rocks his hips into you rapidly. The sound of his skin slapping against your mingling with all the moans filling the room. It doesn’t escape him that your body fits perfectly against his. That you meet every thrust. That you arch your back without him even saying something so that he hits you deeper. It’s like you can read his mind and exactly what he wants. Like he could fuck you every day and still not get sick of the way it feels because it just works in a way he’s not really expecting.
It feels a little too impersonal for a second. Sure, he loves this view of you. Loves feeling like he has complete control over you after so many years of your dynamic. Loves the way he can grip at your hips to hold you to him. But, he wants more. And he’s not really willing to consider wanting more might not just mean more closeness during this particular time. As a way to shake that thought off before it can fully form, he reaches down and grabs your hair. Pulls you back so that your back hits his chest.
“Oh my god,” you whine, throwing your head back. Turn your head over your shoulder. And his mouth is on yours before he can consider what it means. He lets go of your hair and instead takes hold of your boobs in his hands. Gripping them hard enough that you moan into the kiss. You move one of your hands so that it’s wrapping around his head to hold him in place, despite the awkward angle.
This is something else that’s a bit new for him. Sure, he’s fucked a lot of people during his time on Earth. He can’t remember any of them feeling like this, though. So connected and desperate and needy. Like no amount of contact is going to be enough. Like no amount of you is going to be enough. Which is kind of a terrifying thought while he’s inside you and doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to experience this again. Especially as he feels the way you’re starting to clench around him. Can tell you’re getting close.
Without warning, he slows down and you break the kiss. Can’t really look at him at this angle, though you try. It’s not until he starts to pull out that you find your voice.
“What are you doing?” you ask. He kisses along your shoulder to your neck before answering. Appreciates the way that you seem to lean into it. Maybe your body really will keep telling him things that you just can’t if he looks close enough.
“I want to see you,” he says into your skin. Not willing or able to look into your eyes. “I want to watch you as you come for me.”
“What do you…”
“Lay back down,” he says, impossibly soft, finally pulling his lips from your skin. Not even realizing that your skin misses the contact. “Lay on your back.”
The admission feels overwhelming to you, but you do it anyway. Can’t bring yourself to say anything as you lie back down and roll over onto your back. Can’t seem to miss the way Seungcheol’s eyes track your movement either. It’s all you can do to block out all the energy rolling off him. You’re not sure that you can handle it. Seungcheol, in contrast, doesn’t even consider reaching out for your energy. He’s letting himself read your body cues. They’re speaking louder than you ever have anyway.
Seungcheol nudges your legs apart and gets between them once again. This time, when he lines himself up, he’s watching you. He’s seen what your pussy looks like swallowing his cock. Now he wants to see what you look like when he enters you. Though you’re a little stretched already, it’s still tight. Your eyes flutter closed and you lean your head back. It makes him pause.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he says. Voice soft, yet incredibly commanding. He watches in appreciation as you actually listen, shuddering a little at the request.
“Can’t take your eyes off me,” you tease, though there’s no heat behind it.
“Why would I want to?”
It’s too honest and he worries for a second because you freeze. Is that too much? It’s only for a second, though. The next moment, you’re running your hands up his arms where they bracket you in. Figures that’s his cue to move again, now that he has what he wants. Your chest heaves with the effort to keep your eyes on him as he bottoms out in you again. This position gives him a different angle. Not deeper, necessarily, just different. And he appreciates the way he fits inside you. He holds himself there for a moment so you can adjust. Until you start to squirm and he chuckles.
“Come on, Cheol, please,” you say. Just soft this time, more than begging.
“So needy,” he chuckles, but moves anyway. How’s he supposed to deny you anything now?
“You’re going to ruin me,” you grumble under your breath, hands sliding up to grip his shoulders and pull him closer.
“That’s the plan, yeah,” he says.
It’s too honest again. This time he kisses you instead of letting you respond to it. And again, your body says what you won’t. Your lips meet his fiercely. Almost possessively. The kisses catch each moan so that it’s hard to tell which of you it comes from. Doesn’t really matter, either. The kisses are messy and desperate and full of a lot of unspoken emotions that you’re going to have to deal with at some point. Maybe.
Seungcheol sets a fast pace again. He doesn’t want to rush it, but he also needs to feel you pull a release out of him. And if all your reactions are anything to go by, this won’t be the last time that he gets you like this. Why act like he won’t be able to have you again? Why set himself up that way? No, he’s going to be confident. Confident that he’s finally cracking the code and getting behind your walls. Confident that there’s more here than you want to admit. Confident that this will be enough for you to start admitting all those things you usually don’t.
When Seungcheol feels you start to clench around him, he pulls away from the kiss. Takes a split second to smile at the way you try to chase his lips. Then, he does exactly what he set out to. Focuses on your face as he thrusts into you. Memorizes each expression. Each moan. Stores it away that you dig your fingers into the sheets to grab onto anything. Watches your eyes roll back a little. Doesn’t even tell you that you have to look at him. This is all he needs. He feels himself about to lose it too. Reaches down between your bodies to rub your clit. He wants you to come with him. Wants to know what that feels like after already having tasted you.
A moment later, you pussy clenches around his cock. Your body shudders. And another orgasm takes you over. Just a second before his own release. He pumps into you a little sporadically, both of you a little lost to the moment, until you’re both spent. And then he lowers himself onto you, offsetting his weight as much as he can without pulling out. He’s not ready for that. Not yet. Not when your breathing starts to even and you look over at him with something he swears might be genuine affection. Something he’s never seen on your face before. Not while looking at him. He knows you like him or you wouldn’t stay around, but this is different. This is something he’s a little scared to admit that he could get used to.
To distract himself, even just a little, he slowly pulls himself out of you. Watches the way the cum leaks out of you and wonders if you mind. The two of you made such a mess of your sheets, yet you’re only looking at him. It’s like you’re trying to hide a little bit of a smile. Or trying to hide just how content you are. He figures he the might as well keep testing his luck. He settles back next to you, lying on his side, and puts an around across your stomach. Pulls you into his chest. Instead of fighting it, you just let your legs tangle with his when you get closer. You sigh a little and sink deeper into the bed. He places a featherlight kiss at your temple and catches your smile out of the corner of his eye.
“So…” he starts and you roll your eyes.
“Do not ruin this by saying something cocky,” you warn.
“I was actually going to ask if you wanted me to go get a towel so I could help you clean up,” he says. Lies. He wasn’t going to say something cocky. Okay, well he did consider it. But, he was thinking about saying something a little too real.
“Mmmm,” you say and settle further into him, almost unconsciously. “Can I ask for something else?”
“Sure,” he says slowly.
“I wanna take a bath in that really nice tub in your bedroom,” you say and he actually chuckles. Of all the things to ask for and that’s what you want. It’s almost comical.
“You know what? I’ll even get it all set up for you,” he says and starts to move away. You roll onto your side to look at him.
“Really?” you ask.
“Hey, I can be a gentleman,” he protests. Figures it might be easier to keep it a little lighter. You laugh. Real. Unguarded. It’s beautiful and he’s in so much trouble.
“Well, if you do a good enough job, I might even let you share it with me.”
“Now there’s a tempting offer,” he says with a smirk. “Wait here, I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”
He turns away without waiting for your response. Doesn’t miss the smile, though. And, even though you say it impossibly softly, he hears the next thing you say, too.
“I could get used to this.”
Everything feels different and you let yourself sink into the feeling, just for now. There’s still something of a desire to bolt. A leftover habit from doing it for so many years. Habits are hard to break, after all. Especially when it’s always gone the same way. You and Seungcheol, or whatever he’s calling himself at the time, fight and fight and fight until the tension is too much to bear. Then one of you (usually him) crosses that invisible barrier and starts the kiss. Which is when you freak out and pull away. Disappear for a few days (or a few weeks) and then come back like nothing’s changed. And it hasn’t, not really. Not when you follow the script. Running away gives you a chance to breathe and reset. Helps you to keep this persistent God from locking into your signatures and figuring out who you are. There was a time, maybe a hundred years ago, give or take, where you figured you could just tell him. Rip off the bandaid and deal with whatever fall out that follows. That seems like a distant thought, now. For all the jokes you make about your constant company hating to be alone, you might be worse.
Considering being alone feels like a death sentence. So you keep to your patterns. Until now, that is.
Now, you look over at Seungcheol in the back of the car on the way to the fight and consider everything anew. Consider what it might mean to share everything with him. Consider that, even if he’s mad at first, he’ll understand. Things just feel…different. Sure, you agreed to just one time. Does that have to be it, though? Without your permission, thoughts of the night before flood into your brain. Aided, of course, by the pleasant lingering soreness to your body. You think of the way he took care of you after. The way he drew the bath and then invited your invitation to get in as well. The way he could have easily tried to get more, but was content to just help you relax. It’s not a side of him that feels familiar. Maybe that’s your own fault for always keeping him at a distance. Maybe there’s a lot of things about him that are more your assumption than fact.
He’s relaxed in the seat next to you. At ease in a way you’re not accustomed to before a fight. The contentment rolls off him. Where you’re a little tired and sore from the night before, he seems rejuvenated. You also can’t deny, with this glimpse at his profile, that he is stunning. Especially when he’s like this. At ease and unbothered. Even the energy around him feels relaxed. It feels like something else, too. Before you can pinpoint it, he senses your eyes on him.
“You’re watching me,” he comments, looking over with a smirk.
“I was trying to figure something out,” you admit.
“You know, you could just ask me,” he says and you roll your eyes at his tone.
“Believe it or not, it’s less painful this way.”
He barks out a laugh and you smile despite yourself. “For the one who won’t ask for help for anything, I believe that.”
“I’m going back to being snarky. You’re annoying,” you huff out and he laughs again.
“Fine by me.”
“I hope you’re still dialed in. You seem relaxed, but you need to win tonight.”
“I am relaxed.”
“And the other thing?”
“When have I ever missed a step in a fight?” he asks and you quirk an eyebrow up. “Okay, don’t answer that.”
“It’s been more than one time,” you say and pull out your phone.
“Do not tell me you keep a list,” he groans.
“What if I forget?”
“Why do you need to remember?”
“How else can I keep you humble?”
“I can think of plenty of ways,” he grumbles under this breath.
You smile to yourself and let the conversation lie. Look back at your phone and toggle over to the calendar, though you know it by heart. Near perfect memory and all that. Still, it’s a reminder that Seungcheol has a little bit of a break. Another point at your insistence. Normal humans, especially ones in Seungcheol’s position, take breaks to let their bodies heal. Someone like Seungcheol, that’s always the main fight, takes a lot of punches. Sometimes has cuts to his hands or, rarely, if he can help it, his face. Bruises bloom along his sides. All of which take time to heal on a normal human. And all of which you have to help him put back on after the fights when they heal at God speed rather than human speed.
The break could end up being good timing for another reason, too. You never got a chance to tell him about running into his brother at a farmer’s market or inviting him to the fight. Which isn’t only down to what happened. You’re still not sure that Poseidon will show up. And, if he doesn’t, where’s the point in getting Seungcheol distracted over it? If he does show, though, then the two likely have a lot to catch up on. A break gives him the chance to just enjoy something familiar without any outside pressure. It may even give you a chance to sort out some of whatever is going on in your own head.
Now, you really are kind of hoping that his brother shows up at the fight.
Seungcheol has been through this whole song and dance before and it’s fucking bullshit. He came into the fight in such good spirits, especially with the car ride over. He knows he’s not crazy. Things feel a little different. It doesn’t even feel like you want to bolt after what happened. Though, admittedly, your energy is still kind of a mystery to him. But, for the first time in…well maybe as long as he’s known you, he just doesn’t care. What does it matter who you all were hundreds of years ago when that past feels so distant? No. Things are fine the way they are. At least for now.
Until they’re not. Even though he knows that you watch all his fights, he rarely sees you. Figures you must linger in the back or in the shadows. Sometimes, you mention being by the bar. Not that he looks every time (read: he absolutely does). It just feels like you pick the worst possible times to make yourself visible during the few fights he’s noticed you. Tonight isn’t any exception.
The first time he notices you out in the crowd of people, it’s actually fine. He’s between rounds and grabbing a drink. You’re by yourself. That’s fine. Until it’s not. Until he looks over again and you have someone he doesn’t know standing next to you. He’s not tall and brooding like that guy that won’t leave you alone. Wonwoo. But, his face is no less striking. He’s got the kind of beauty that Seungcheol knows that you like. Carefree smile, friendly face. Dressed well without being arrogant about it. Confident and not cocky. Which feels like an unnecessary jab after finally getting to fuck you. Makes his head spin after the way you’ve acted since. Unlike the last time, though, the stranger seems to be watching him instead of you. His eyes go wide when Seungcheol’s opponent lands a hard right hook against his jaw. Seungcheol feels the way his skin recoils and his head snaps to the side. Okay, maybe he can pull his shit together to at least finish this fight. Then, you and him are going to have a talk.
Despite the distraction, Seungcheol does end up winning the fight convincingly. He catches your eye as he heads back to the locker room and you seem to know that you owe him a conversation. As soon as he’s back in the room, he puts on the metal cuff. Something about this makes him feel like he wants to be fully himself. It’s only a few moments later that you wander in. Probably giving him time to make sure the room is clear. But, you don’t look apologetic. You look smug. Too confident. Back to your normal look, which is very at odds with the car ride over. It’s infuriating.
Everything happens in seemingly a split second. Seungcheol crosses the distance to you entirely too quickly for a human. He presses you against the nearest wall without stopping to consider if it’s too hard. That look never leaves your face. Nothing suggests that you’re afraid, which needles him more. He doesn’t want to scare you, but how are you so confident that he won’t hurt you? How are you always so calm in the face of his moods? How do you manage to turn this public persona with him back on so quickly? You maintain your calm even seeing the storm brewing in his eyes. Let the moment stretch even though you know you’re on the precipice of something dangerous. It’s written all over his face. If you let this mood linger too long, he might cause a storm. You think you can even see the lightning bolts behind his eyes. Can definitely feel the anger radiating off him.
Maybe the night before confirmed something for you, too. Maybe now you really do know that he would never actually hurt you. But, maybe you should be a little more cautious, too. He knows what it’s like to have you in the way he’s always wanted. And he isn’t one that likes to share when he truly cares for someone. A little jealous. A little possessive. Can’t let himself wonder when he started to truly care for you. Not now.
Just as you’re opening your mouth to actually say something, the door into the locker room area opens. Both you and Seungcheol look over to find the very man causing this entire reaction. Seungcheol actually growls a little, hopefully too low for the newcomer to hear.
“Uh, am I interrupting? I can come back…”
You say “no” at the same time as Seungcheol says “yes” and he levels you with a look that would probably crumple a lesser being.
“What the fuck are you playing at? Inviting him back here?” His voice is low and rough as he keeps you pinned against the wall. You clock something else there, too: hurt. He’s hurt and you can guess why. He thinks this is another Wonwoo.
With a roll of your eyes, you push back on him. “Can you calm the fuck down long enough…”
“To what? What could you possibly have to justify this?”
“To look at him, you moron. Don’t you recognize your own fucking brother?”
The words take a second to sink in and then you watch the emotions quickly cycle behind his eyes. As he’s processing, he loosens his hold on you so that you can actually step away from the wall. You run your hands down your clothes to smooth them before looking over at the newcomer. Once upon a time, he had seen endless sides of his brother’s anger. Now, it seems foreign to him.
Seungcheol lets his mind relax a little bit. Allows his mind to wander so that he can sense his surroundings a little better. That’s when things start to click. He smells the salty, fresh smell of the ocean. The subtle hints of seaweed. He hears the rush of untamed water, the wind churning up a storm. The power comes after, quiet and confident. It’s all right there. How did you pick it out so easily when he couldn’t? Has something about you dulled his senses?
“Poseidon,” he says softly.
The other man relaxes, sensing that his brother is much calmer now than when he first walked into this weird locker room. He can actually smile. “I go by Chan now, actually.”
“I go by Seungcheol,” your boss admits with a bit of a reluctant smile.
“Now that we’re all reacquainted, I think we should move this somewhere more private,” you suggest.
The two men agree immediately. After all, now that Seungcheol is calming down again, this is definitely not the place where they should be having any kind of private conversation. And it seems, at least from his brother’s face, that there’s a deep conversation to come.
Once they’re back at Seungcheol’s place, with drinks that you insist on making, Chan lays out his entire story. He doesn’t seem concerned, at least at first, about who you are. Instead, he tells Seungcheol about what he’s been up to over the years since they parted. It feels personal in a way that you feel separate from. Not that either of them seems to pay much mind to you during it. There are a lot of questions to answer. Some that you haven’t even heard Seungchol mention. That’s kind of always been your dynamic, though. It feels unfair of you to expect him to share painful topics when you’re unwilling to share your own past. Most of what he shares, though, is known to you. After all, you’ve been with him nearly since he and his brother parted. So, you just pretend to busy yourself with your tablet.
Nothing is of any interest to you…until it is. Until Chan mentions that he’s somehow come across his, Poseidon’s, wife, Amphitrite. Reincarnated in the body of a seemingly normal, human woman. He can’t figure out how it’s possible or how he’s found her after all these years. Has so many questions that come rushing back. Will she have a normal human lifespan? Is this the first time she’s been reincarnated? What does this mean for them and any renewed attempts to return to Olympus? Just questions pouring out as he tries to process information he never expected.
The questions are not what catch your attention. Seungcheol had asked a lot of questions of you when you first came across him. And you did not have many answers to give him at the time. Not because you don’t know anything. You know much more than he realizes, actually. It’s just, well, his questions always feel selfish, somehow. A little narcissistic, maybe. It isn’t a judgment. More like an observation. It doesn’t bother you. It just also didn’t make you want to help. It also didn’t make you want to let him know that you even could help. That feels like it could create falsehoods where he pretends he’s changed.
When Chan asks questions, you don’t see Poseidon. Don’t see the former God of the Sea. Not that you really knew him well in Olympus. Your paths rarely crossed. But, his reputation was nearly as legendary as his brother’s. He could be cruel, selfish, and prone to excessive punishments. The story of him and Amphitrite is also legendary. Even if he tried to keep the worst of it private. You have always heard a lot. It’s the nature of who you were. The man before you isn’t any of those things. There’s still undeniable power rolling off him. There’s also a softness. The way he speaks about finding Amphitrite is gentle, kind. He’s full of self reflection on all the ways that he could have done things differently. Earnest in saying he thinks this could be a second chance to right his wrongs. Vulnerable in his concern with loving her only to lose her to the inescapable old age that gets all humans. It’s touching. You didn’t even realize you could still feel so deeply.
“There may be a way for you to get your answers,” you say. Seungcheol’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline, eyes larger than you’ve ever seen them. But, your eyes are on Chan, heart breaking at how hopeful he looks.
“Really?” he asks, a little breathless.
“What do you mean?” Seungcheol asks.
“You can seek out the Fates to ask them,” you carry on. Irritation radiates off Seungcheol’s body. This is going to be bad and you know that.
Chan and Seungcheol share a look. A sort of silent communication. You’re still trying very hard not to meet Seungcheol’s eyes. This is a risk that you’re taking. A massive one. It’s going to piss him off. And given the way you’ve complicated your relationship, it could be even worse. You’re not sure if you can handle him not forgiving you. Something that surprises you. This is going to be a glimpse into how you really ended up on Earth. But, Chan looks so earnest that you’re throwing caution to the wind.
“You never told me that the Fates made it into this world.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“We can discuss your irritation later. I’m trying to help Chan.”
“Why help him and not me?”
You finally turn to face your…what is he? Boss? Friend? Something more? The set of his jaw and narrowed eyes don’t surprise you. You can feel his emotions without looking at him. His anger is always the strongest. The easiest to pick out. When you spend this long with someone, their reactions almost feel like your own. The hurt does surprise you. Nothing hurts him, not really. It seems inconceivable that you could. Even with the night before.
“Can we do this later?”
“Who are you, really?”
Chan looks between the two of you here. A wide-eyed wonderment that makes him look much younger. Like he could just be a normal human instead of the ancient god that he is. He’s the first to break the moment, too. “Don’t you know who she is?”
Seungcheol clenches his jaw so hard that you worry for his teeth. Know that it can’t be good for them. The blaze in his eyes returns before softening as he looks away to his brother.
“No. Do you?”
His brother considers the question for a moment. Looks over at you like he might be able to gauge it just from observing you. You look away, not wanting to take the chance. He’s much more removed from anything you did in your past life. It’s possible that he could place you when there aren’t so many other things clouding his judgment.
“No, nothing feels strong enough for me to get a read. Like something’s blocking me.”
You sigh. Roll out your shoulders to release some of the tension. It’s clear that you need to just get over part of this in order to move everything forward. “Your relationship with them, the Fates, as Zeus, was always a little bit complicated. I…owe them a great deal. In turn, I didn’t tell you that they made it to this world or that I could find them.”
“But you can?” Chan asks hopefully.
“Yes, they always leave it open for me to return to them. It’s not going to be easy and I’m only offering because you seem a lot different than the stories about what Poseidon was like before Olympus fell…”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Chan says. Immediate and earnest. Someone who’s obviously approached his time on Earth very differently than Seungcheol.
Even after you walk Chan through the process of finding the Fates, he sticks around. You’re going to have to accompany him anyway. Know that they won’t help him the way that he needs without physically seeing you. A small part of you also hopes that they’ll allow you to keep the artifact that allows you to find them again even after this favor. It sinks in that you may lose that card from your back pocket. It’s scarier, still, to realize that you’re willing to take that risk for the former Poseidon.
Chan also seems to want to stick around because he misses his brother. As much as he wants to say it’s been good to not have constant reminders of their old life, it’s clear he feels differently now. While Seungcheol stays silent during the conversation about the Fates, only shooting you glares, he’s an active participant chatting with his brother. Animated in a way that you rarely get to see. More alive than after his fights. Brighter. More vibrant. Like he’s in full color again. It’s easy to see why so many people fell for his charms. It almost hurts to see the way that he looks at you in those brief moments while talking to Chan. All of the luster disappears and you see flashes of a storm.
Eventually, Chan does excuse himself. Doesn’t go far, though. After a lot of back and forth, he agrees to stay in the downstairs part of the unit that neither you or Seungcheol ever use. As Seungcheol says, they’re family and why bother paying to stay somewhere else? It’s not like it’s got another use. Seungcheol just wanted more privacy and this had been the only way to do it. As soon as it became available, he had snatched it up. Now, he finally gets to use it. Chan is appreciative and smiles on his way out. Suddenly, you don’t really want him to leave. Don’t want to be alone with someone you know is upset.
You even try to excuse yourself as Chan does to head into your side of the apartment. Think about slipping out entirely so that you can let Seungcheol cool off. No such luck.
“Hang on. I need to talk to you,” he says with far more calm than you’re expecting. Chan gives you a sympathetic look before slipping through the door. You stop but don’t look up at him. Don’t want to kick things off before you have to. “Please look at me.”
Grudgingly, you look up. There’s a range of emotions behind his eyes. You expect to see the anger and it’s definitely there. You aren’t as prepared for the hurt. Even less prepared for the betrayal, though you should be. It’s all written right there. He doesn’t bother trying to hide anything. “Seungcheol…”
It’s his turn to hold up a hand. Your normal confidence wavers and it unnerves him. After so many years spent by your side, he should know every one of your emotions. This version of you is a stranger to him, though. Which makes it worse. How can you have kept so much of yourself from him? And how can you look at him like you’re almost afraid? “Why?”
You sigh, shake your head, and then look back at him. This time it’s more defiant. More like what he expects. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”
“I don’t think you’re in a place to sass me.”
“It’s not sass. I’m not a mind reader.”
“Funny, you always seem to know exactly what I’m thinking or feeling.”
“Because you’re easy to read after all these years.”
“And you’re harder than ever.”
You’re on the verge of retorting, but clamp your mouth shut instead. Seem to be warring with the idea of having the last word and further angering the former Zeus. Won’t let yourself consider that you’re genuinely concerned about how he’s going to take this. The idea of him casting you out gnaws at you more than you expect. Last night clearly means more than you’re ready to admit.
Seungcheol presses on in the gap. “Why did you really help him when you haven’t ever helped me like that?”
“You and him are looking for different things for very different reasons. The Fates don’t know how to return to Olympus. Or, they didn’t tell me that they knew…”
“What do you mean by different reasons?”
He looks almost pouty again and you roll your eyes before answering. “He found the reincarnation of Amphitrite, fell in love all over again, and wants to see if there’s a way he can be with her. Beyond her being bound to the normal human life span because it’s so short. And despite everything that happened between them, despite her memories as Amphitrite returning, it seems like she’s forgiven him. He’s not the same as he was in Olympus as Poseidon.”
“Why does that matter?”
It’s so petulant that now you’re the one taking a breath, asking for patience to help you deal with this man. You’ll still take it over whatever else lingers on the horizon. “Because the Fates didn’t like you or the other rulers of Olympus. You, most of all. And I’m not sure you’ve changed. I doubt they would help you.”
“You talk like you actually knew me in Olympus.”
You hesitate. Weigh some options at light speed. Know that, realistically, he already knows who you are. Or, if he doesn’t, he’s on the precipice. It makes your chest tight. “We…crossed paths.”
“And did you cross paths with Hera as well?”
“Ask what you really want to ask.”
“Is there a reason that I can’t read your energy? Is it, perhaps, because you were the goddess of trickery and deceit? The daughter of Nyx herself, who was so gifted in existing in shadows?”
Never before in your life have you felt any pause in doing exactly as you please. It’s not who you are. Your whole life has been crafted around causing chaos and sowing deceit. That can take many different forms. It can also even fool the gods. Now, though, you hesitate. Unsure of how Seungcheol will react. Unsure if he’ll forgive you. Unsure why it matters so much that he does. Your chest feels tight and you’re really not even sure what to do. A million responses chase around your head in a split second. And then…
“Yes.”
“Apate,” he hisses the name with hatred flashing in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“You conspired with Hera to get Semele killed while she was carrying my son. You…”
“No,” you interrupt forcefully.
“Excuse me?” His eyes flash dangerously, yet you stand your ground.
“I did not conspire with Hera.”
“You deny helping her?”
“No,” you acknowledge grudgingly. “No, I did help her. But what would you have me do? Refuse a demand from the Queen of Olympus? And how would that have gone?”
“Someone died.”
“And was resurrected.”
“But my son would have died.”
“I would have died if I refused her. Would you have preferred that? I made a calculated choice.”
“So that makes it all okay?”
You fix Seungcheol with a stare. It’s so rich coming from him. Won’t let yourself admit it stings to think he would have just been fine with you dying. Though that is not what he said and he hasn’t even considered the meaning. Can’t see beyond his own hurt. “Thousands of people die. You should understand that better than anyone.”
“I do,” he says, eyes still flashing. “So, what’s been the point of all this? What does the goddess of deception, trickery, lies, and fraud want to accomplish by hanging around with me?”
It’s the first of many questions that you’re not really sure you can answer. Somehow, you manage to keep most of your composure as you begin the very long process of answering. Try to figure out how to put it into words that being around him is better than surviving in this world alone. That you aren’t trying to play some big game by staying close to Seungcheol all these years. That you haven’t been trying to trick him for any reason other than not wanting to be alone. You know that if you had just admitted to being Apate, then he would have cast you out immediately. Maybe that was his right, maybe this is his penance. You’re not really sure. After never really feeling like anyone would choose to be around you in Olympus without needing something, how can you think any differently? Understandably, nobody who knew you as Apate trusted you. How could they, when your entire purpose is to deceive? It’s in your very nature. So, can he really blame you for taking a chance? Can he really say all the time has been awful? You don’t come out and explicitly say that something has been shifting. Don’t really need to. You trust that he can tell. That he knows last night was real.
Everything feels like it changed when you went back into Pandora’s Box. Then, you came back out of the box on Earth, some time after the rest of them had made it here. You’re not sure how much time passed. The Fates don’t really like to deal in something as finite as time. Don’t really like to give straight answers, either.
Then, you get a little angry. Who is he to act like he’s somehow so much better than you? You are a product of how you were created. Existing to carry out your purpose. It just happens that your purpose is to create chaos. To trick people into believing lies while imagining the truth as unimaginable. That’s also not necessarily who you are now on Earth. Not always, at least.
Zeus has a long list of atrocities attributed to him. A long history of cruelty and violence. A history of infidelity and manipulation. None of which is down to his purpose as King of the Olympians and God of the Sky and Thunder. Gods like him just took and took and took, always expecting those beneath them, everyone in their eyes, to do without question.
The Fates have every reason to not want to do him any favors. It’s not like they’re dying to do you favors, either. They just have some level of interest in you that you have taken care to foster over the years. Visiting them each time you take a break from Seungcheol. Letting them know what you’ve seen and sharing any knowledge you can. In turn, they promise to honor you with a favor should you ask. However, the terms are always the same. It has to go to something worthy. They’re not specific on worthiness or what that actually means. That’s down to you. You remind Seungcheol that nothing he’s done has shown any change. He isn’t the same God anymore because he’s been on Earth for so long. Yet, he’s not like Poseidon, Chan, either. There isn’t that same sense of self reflection. That desire to right past wrongs.
He’s seething when you point this out. “Did it ever occur to you that there may have been a reason for that?”
“What are you talking about?”
“My brother, Chan, as he’s going by now, found who he thought to be his true love again in this life and she accepted him.”
“Because he had already changed! He, himself, expressed how much regret he has over what happened with Amphitrite.”
“Maybe I could have changed, too.”
You snort at that. “If you found Hera again, you mean?”
Now he snorts back. “I am too smart to think the solution would be as simple. I also don’t believe she was ever my true love in the way that I believe Poseidon loved Amphitrite.”
“So, who?”
“Someone I’ve gotten close to in exile here on Earth. Someone that, despite my best attempts, occupies all my thoughts.”
The room suffocates you. It feels like all the air leaves the room. Because, isn’t this what you want to hear? Don’t you want to know that you mean something to him? You just didn’t expect it to sound like that coming from him. Don’t expect the venom there. There’s some of that lightning behind his eyes, but there’s something else too. A sadness that feels unfamiliar. A resignation. The realization that he’s spoken it out loud now and he can’t take it back.
“That would be incredibly unlucky to depend on a goddess of trickery to change the King of Olympians,” is all you say. Can’t think of anything else that fits. Chicken out from telling him that you might feel the same.
“Or is it poetic? That someone with so many bad deeds should fall for something that’s nothing more than tricks and deceit.”
“Cheol,” you say, soft as a whisper and watch the way his face changes. Watch the way the wall slams back into place. Watch as the divide grows without him even stepping away. He does step away too, though. It’s your only chance to say something real. “This isn’t just…I don’t want you to think that I don’t…”
“I can’t do this right now.”
“Cheol, wait. Last night did mean something to me, too. I know I can’t just take back what’s happened, but it wasn’t a trick. I never planned for this…”
“Don’t,” he says.
And he’s gone, disappearing from the room without another word. Which is fair, isn’t it? You’ve been lying to him for over 200 years without ever stopping to think what you would say when he eventually found out. There’s a strong part of you that just never considered he would or could find out who you were. Everything over the past two centuries has been so careful. So intentional. Any time things got too difficult, you could disappear for some period of time to reset yourself. It’s been a good system.
Until you let him cross the line. Let him see more of you. Have more of you. Let yourself consider that you might want all those things. And then Chan shows up.
It’s not his fault, you know that. You also know that telling him you might be able to help had been your choice. There’s no regret there. No matter what happens to your life, he deserves the chance that he wants. Deserves a chance to find some kind of happiness. Or at least get answers.
All good things must come to an end. Isn’t that the saying? It’s impossible to know if this is going to be the end of something good. If that would even be a bad thing. There’s no future where you and the literal King of Olympians live happily ever after on Earth. There’s no saying that you’ll ever even see him again. Maybe it’s what you deserve, though. After all the times you took some space, wouldn’t it be so poetic, to use his word, if Seungcheol just walks out and never returns?
Maybe you shouldn’t linger here waiting to see what he decides.
pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader [branches into individual parts]
genre: romance. darl+ing inspired au (peter pan-esque in ways). fantasy, slightly (there’s implications of magic). [future genres to be added]
release date: 07/03/2022 – 7/26/2023
warnings: amnesiac reader + non-idol!svt has missing memories. food mentions. lots of skinship. heavily implied that reader + svt are the only people left in the world.
summary:
It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name or any memories to define yourself with. Thirteen men take you in as one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what is going on within this world… and between you and one of them.
— synopsis: you're alone in the woods following the tail-end of a very bad live-action rendition of the walking dead and you're in jeans of all things: but welcome to kim mingyu's early post-apocalyptic guide to falling in love. in three days, no less!
– genre: strangers to ??? ; post-apocalyptic au (think very, very early post-apocalypse) ; angst, fluff, mild smut.
— pairing: architect!kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 42.1k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing. mentions of zombies, though it's really not that serious or pertinent to the plot once they start spending time together. mentions of death, porn, wattpad...and essentially, they're fucking stupid. smut warnings: virgin!reader (so essentially mildly unrealistic but i do what i want) ; mingyu consent king because i said so, unprotected sex (it's the apocalypse where are they gonna find rubbers??), mild choking (f.rec), clit play, 'just the tip' (was not just the tip), fingering (f.rec), brief oral (f.rec), jokes during sex because i can't be serious to save my life, dirty talk, begging?, creampie (ew!!), pet names (baby, sweetness, slut (whoops)) and i think that's about it.
— what to listen to: sweetness - elliot james reay ; my kind of woman - mac demarco ; remedy - adele ; piece of my heart - janice joplin ; love at first sight - kylie minogue ; anyone - seventeen.
– author's note: welcome back to haologram. i want to preface that i don't know jackshit about zombie apocalypses but i know a lot about camping and angst! apologies for any typos, and thank you to @aeristudios for beta-ing this before i put in the smut (i am a woman of many talents, but smut is not one of them!) as always, thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers & this behemoth is dedicated to none other than @gyuswhore. to emberly: happiest birthday & congratulations on your graduation. i love you eternally. ♡
YOU HAVE NEVER KISSED A BOY.
It’s the only thing that crosses your mind as you sit in the middle of the forest, your hands covered in wild blackberry juice and blood from a gash on your palm, cause of the thorns. It sounds stupid, for that to be the thought that crosses your mind – but it means something to you.
You run your tongue over the gash, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the sweetness of the berry juice in a gross cocktail on the back of your tongue.
It was one of your hidden secrets.
One you talked about only to your pillow, not even bothering to waste precious gel ink on confessing it into your journal. You hid behind your hair in classes; you barely spoke up at your part-time job – letting your hands do the talking. You spent your hard-earned pennies on cool lip gloss: sparkly, shimmery, sticky and smelling of berries, vanilla, even mint. You were meant for more, you thought – your life couldn’t be all studying and entitled customers demanding half off their service.
You kept to yourself, and you had been close with two people: Lee Jian and Jang Jieun. Your best friends all through high school and college, glued at the hips like gum to shoes. They, too, knew of your lack of...boy kissing. Jieun had dated Jian’s cousin Hyunjin for three years before they broke up when he went abroad, and Jian had dated around through most of college – so neither of them had this problem.
And now, as the world continued to crumble around you, neither would you – it was unlikely. Eventually, almost surely – you would also succumb to the brain-melting that turned you into one of those undead things. Rotting, your flesh practically falling off the bone as you lost all sense of coordination and eventually, hopefully, got taken out by one of the surviving, merciful humans.
You lean your head back, scrunching your nose as your hair gets caught in the rough bark of the oak tree. You don’t bother complaining as you straighten again, rummaging through your backpack limply when you hear the familiar crunch of twigs. Your uninjured hand freezes, your shoulders tense as you peer over the edge of the ratty brown JanSport bag.
If it was slow, you could easily outrun it. You could climb one of the trees, you could kill it from a distance—
Your breath hitches as the rustling stops, and you look up through your lashes to see a very tall man looking down at you. He doesn’t look like he’s running; rather, walking – donning nice olive-green cargo shorts, a brown t-shirt paired with well-loved hiking boots and thick white socks. He wears a black watch that blinks 3:32 PM, and a silver chain peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Your fingers tighten inside the bag as you see him adjust the white cap on his head, and he raises a brow at you.
“It’s kind of counterproductive to hold a knife in your hand if you’re just going to...sit there.”
You glance down – your hand is gripping a red box cutter you’d taken from an abandoned warehouse you slept in a few weeks back. It had been a solace for a few days, until you heard the familiar chittering of the stupid, rotting bodies surrounding the building. You bolted out, leaving behind a rather large stockpile of bread and water – but you were alive, and you didn’t care.
Your bag was almost empty now; aside from the box cutter, some rope, a jar of honey you were almost too frugal with, half a sleeve of crackers, an extra pair of ratty socks and underwear, an unscented bar of soap...
And a stupid, unused tube of sparkly lip gloss that smelled like sickly sweet bubblegum. You didn’t even have a bra, the one you left with stolen by a fucking raccoon of all things.
“Are you hurt?”
His eyes are probing, and you remain silent as you nod slowly.
“Can you show me? I have—”
“Do you have any food?”
His eyes glimmer with amusement as he nods, and he tugs the packed rucksack off before crouching next to you. You push your own bag out of the way, pressing both your hands into your dirty jeans as you peer over the opening. The bag holds a netted pouch of oranges, apples and carrots, and there are tons of scattered plastic sandwich bags – not holding sandwiches, but what seemed to be dehydrated meals. Your eyes widen at the three biggest bottles of water you’d seen in weeks, your throat dry as you attempt to swallow. You’d run out the day before, hardly wanting to risk it with the streams.
“Can I—”
“Let me see where you’re injured, first. And we can wash your hands, too.”
You huff, sitting up on your knees and showing him your bleeding palm. The gash is still trickling, and he shakes his head as he fishes out a plastic first aid kit. You furrow your brow, watching as he pops it open to reveal it freshly stocked – and you move back slightly, eyes narrow.
“Where are you getting all this stuff from?”
He shrugs, “my family has a cabin in these woods. About a hundred miles north, give or take a few detours. But they’re gone, so. Yeah.”
Your heart sinks a bit for the too-friendly stranger, but you don’t let it tug too hard.
“...So, what are you doing out here? If you have shelter, I mean?”
“Looking for people to take back. You seem...alive. No undead freaks try to eat your brain yet?”
You try not to look offended at his questioning of your consciousness, but you can’t find it within yourself to say anything as he carefully pops open a bottle of antiseptic. He holds his hand out for yours, your eyes running over the healed calluses on his palms. You’re not as wary as you normally are and it worries you, but you place your own hand palm-up in his with a restrained tremble.
He’s cool to the touch. Almost as though he’d just run his hands through a stream, or the less possible option (for you, at least) — a nice, cold bath.
“How long have you been on your own?” He asks, and you’re easily distracted from the sting of antiseptic by his conversation. You shrug, watching the dirt and blood and sticky berry juice melt away as he wipes at your hand with a pinch in his brow.
“Since the beginning,” you mutter, your chest tight at the acknowledgement. Jieun and Jian had been amongst the first to go, and you’d narrowly escaped their attempt at infecting you by climbing out the window of your shared apartment after barricading your bedroom door. The entire ordeal had been so terrifying that you didn’t really remember it, much less how they got infected – but it wasn’t like you could do anything now.
You’d been on high alert since – your muscles tense as you prowled the streets alone. Your phone had been long dead, tucked in the very bottom of your bag. You tried payphones, but you grew more and more fearful of any sounds in your vicinity. The city was seemingly abandoned at that point; the chitter of the undead was the only thing you could hear for miles – and you missed the cicadas.
The man frowns, nodding as he smears a thick gel onto your palm. A roll of bandage is rummaged out of the bottom of his bag, and he carefully wraps your hand before tearing the end with his teeth and tucking it in place.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” He mumbles, shoving the kit back into his bag. You shake your head eagerly, and he smiles inwardly before pulling out one of the bottles of water. He uncaps it for you, the click of a new bottle soothing to your ears. “Careful, you’ll throw it up if you drink too fast.”
You take the bottle gingerly, holding it awkwardly as you drink. It’s smooth down your dry throat, your eyes fluttering shut as you slump slightly against the oak tree. He chuckles softly, and you hold the bottle to your chest tightly with a pout on your lips.
“You have no idea how long I’ve needed that.”
“You also need a bath—”
“Will you shut up? I’m already down, don’t kick me anymore.”
He snickers, reaching into the rucksack and retrieving several bags.
“You have a name?”
“Obviously,” your tone is uninterested; eyes fixed on the bags in his hands. He glances up, wiggling his fingers to get your attention. You tongue your cheek as he tilts his head.
“Well, what is it?”
“What’s it to you, guy?”
You bite back a grin as he snorts, “cute. Fine, have your secrets.”
He holds up a bag, “this is something you can just soak in the water. It’ll be cold but it’s a meal, there’s rice—”
“That’s great and all, but I do not care. I’ve been surviving off berries, honey and a sleeve of crackers for three days. Just give it to me, please.” You hold your hand out, your exhaustion settling on your shoulders, making his eyes soften. He fishes out a thermos from his bag, placing it in your hand. You unscrew the top, warmth floating up to your face as you sniff it – your eyes never leaving him as he provides a spoon.
“Porridge. It’s plain, but—”
You don’t bother listening, your hand reaching into your bag and pulling out the honey jar. You take the spoon and shove it into the porridge, before thrusting the honey into his hands, open, please.”
You kneel closer to his bag as he pops the lid, your fingers wiggling through the netted bag and prying an apple out through the opening. Wiping it across your shirt, you sink your teeth into it and take a bite, holding it in your mouth before grabbing the now-open jar of honey from his hand and carefully tilting it into the thermos. A soft drip of nature’s gold swirls into the porridge, and you stir it in carefully before taking the apple between your fingers to spoon some into your mouth. It’s warm and sweet with the crunch of the apple, and you feel your eyes sting with tears as you lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree again. Your eyes close as you chew, a hot tear streaming down your cheek that you wipe away haphazardly, before practically inhaling the porridge as though it were your first meal ever.
Which...it kind of is, but that’s none of his business.
The guy just coos, watching you eat as he carefully repacks his bag and you adjust to fold your legs beneath you. The apple core is held between two of your fingers; the large bites subsiding as you scrape the bottom of the thermos for the last bit of porridge. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the items. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the thermos and spoon. You shovel the last bite into your cheek, coughing slightly around the last chunk of apple in your mouth as he screws the lid back onto the dish and shoves it to the bottom of his bag.
“Feel better?” He leans back on his hands, and you swallow hard around the porridge before reaching for the bottle of water. He takes it before you can, unscrewing the top and you mutter something adjacent to a thanks before carefully taking a sip. You hiccup slightly but fix your posture once more to sit with your back against the tree trunk.
“I missed hot food.” You admit, watching his hand spin the lid back onto your jar of honey. He slides it back into your bag, and you pull the ratty thing to your chest and look over at him. “Thanks for...helping me out. Uh, you didn’t have to.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.”
“You should get going. I’m sure someone else could need your help, too.”
He snorts, shaking his head, “I’m on my way up to the cabin. I don’t know how I missed you on the way down, but there is literally no one else in these woods aside from the occasional bear and deer. Have you ever had deer? Delicious.”
“No, I haven’t had deer. Are you always this talkative with strangers? Don’t you worry—” You cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes as you scoot back slightly, “aren’t you worried about stranger danger?”
“Stranger danger became a thing of the past when that loser in those downtown chemistry labs released that stupid experiment upon the general public. If you were so worried about me, you wouldn’t have eaten the porridge, drank the water, or let me bandage you up.” He shrugs, before giving you a pointed look, “you’re injured, hungry, in jeans of all things and you’re lost.”
“I am not lost.” You huff, and he raises a brow as he speaks, “yeah? Which way is North?”
“That way.”
“That’s left, my friend.”
“And it’s about time you do just that, guy. I am not your friend, either.”
“You’re quick with it. I like that.” He laughs, before gesturing at the bottle in your lap. “You can keep that, and we can refill it along the way.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere—”
“Again, you’re hungry, you’re lost and you’re dirty. I have food, I know this place like the back of my hand, and we can get you a nice bath if you just chill out.”
“Did you just call me uptight?” You scoff, crossing your arms as he bites back a smile, shrugging one shoulder as he zips his bag closed, hiking it over the other and standing carefully. He dusts his hands of debris, giving you a lopsided smirk.
“I said no such thing.”
“You implied it.” You hop to your feet, and he only smiles down at you. The warmth in it makes your stomach settle slightly, but your brows remain furrowed as he leans down and picks your bag up by the strap. He hitches it over the same shoulder holding his own, before moving forward.
“Come on, stinky. We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can joint he rest of the people I’ve found at the cabin.”
“I do not stink! How dare you—”
“Come on, princess. There’s a spring deeper in the forest. When was the last time you took a bath?”
You reluctantly follow behind him, your fingers gripping the water bottle before he takes it and tucked it into the netted pocket of his rucksack. You tongue your cheek, wrapping your arms around yourself and tucking your fingertips under your sleeves as a breeze blows softly. Autumn would set in soon, and maybe the end of the despair, too.
“Did you hear me?” He prods, and you kick a patch of grass behind his boot. He snickers, swatting his hand behind him and brushing your elbow. You smack the heel of his hand, his fingers pulling your fingertips before you twist them out of his hold.
“Three days ago. I finished the last of my water cleaning myself up, I don’t trust the streams.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around you tighter as you move to his side. He bumps his hip to yours with purpose, and you spare him a glance to see his soft smile. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m clean.”
“I’m not some weirdo, you know. I know these woods, and I wouldn’t put you in danger. You have to have some inkling of that, too, because you’re following me.” He raises his brows at you, and you only roll your eyes, kicking more twigs and pebbles.
“Yeah, right. I don’t even know your name, guy.”
“Well, it’s—”
You throw your hand up, the bandaged injury brushing his shoulder as you shake your head.
"Don't tell me. You'll get attached and I fly solo."
"…Right. Totally, princess. There's a spring this way—"
"Stop calling me that!"
"Well, it's not like I know your name, right?" He smiles cheekily, and you bite your tongue as you move ahead of him. Your back is damp from sweating in the sticky August afternoon, but you hold your head high as you keep trudging forward. This guy seemingly took pleasure in bugging you like his life depended on it; granted, you'd been in these woods for almost a month and a half and hadn't seen another living soul…you can't really blame him.
But because you'd been alone for so long, you also couldn't really blame yourself for not wanting to get attached. Who knew what lingered in these woods — bears, mountain lions…more of the undead, and creepy crawlers that would kill you without a second thought. All you could do was hope that he wasn't one of those.
"So," He starts, and you almost want to punch him in the face as you curl your fingers into your palms and tuck them under your armpits. He only chuckles at the visual, "what did you do before the world started crumbling?"
"I was an architecture student with a focus on interior design. Three months from graduation and with a first-class ticket to to Germany where I scored a major internship." You grouse, your eyes still glued to the forest floor. You kick a bigger rock out of your way with the tip of your canvas sneakers, "I was top of my class. My models were outstanding. I was displayed all over my professor's lecture hall. I would've been great. God, I would've been so fucking great. Stupid outbreak."
"Isn't surviving on your own for this long also something you could consider greatness?" He questions you carefully, almost as though you're a ticking bomb with no timer. You only shrug.
"That just means you're great, too."
"You don't think I'm great?"
"I think you're annoying. God, is this spring actually close or are you just gonna lead me down some ridiculous winding path?"
He snorts, his fingers cool against your skin as he carefully tilts your face to the left. The spring is down the hill, seemingly man-made and lined with big boulders. Your eyes widen, and you swat his hand away as you make your way down. He follows closely behind, your excited cheers being heard all throughout the woods as you slide down the hill, crouching on one of the boulders and sticking your hands into the flowing water. The water is slightly warm from the high sun but refreshing to the touch as you press your wet fingers against your neck, a sigh slipping from your throat as you dip them below the collar of your shirt.
"God, that's good." The sigh of relief from your lips must be amusing, because you hear a soft chuckle from the top of the hill. You quickly untie your shoes, ripping them off your feet and stuffing your socks into them. You dip your feet in, sore and blistered from days of walking as he slides down the hill.
"You should…take a dip. I can wash your clothes down the stream."
You scoff, "that's vulgar. A stranger washing my intimates? Please."
"You can wash your pink panties yourself, princess. I'm talking about your shirt and jeans. I have a change, if you want it." He rolls his eyes, tugging at hem of your shirt over the belt loops of your jeans. You swat his hand away, "go away! I can wash my own clothes! And I have a change, too!"
"Whatever you say, princess. I'll be down this way…enjoy. Holler if you need me." He shrugs, standing abruptly as you scoff inwardly. You cross your arms as he crunches leaves and twigs beneath his heavy boots, and you nibble on your lip as you stare at the water. A groan leaves your lips.
"Are you sure this water's safe!?" You call out, hearing an annoying chuckle from a few feet away.
"Do you want me to get in with you, princess?"
"Ugh, men." You grumble, tonguing your cheek as you stare at the water. You weren't a camper or anything, and your family never frequented hiking trails or the great outdoors all that often…but if he fed you, and he led you there, and he had experience in these woods…he had to know something, right?
Hesitantly, you peek over the boulders to see him holding a rag in his hand, his bag still hitched over his shoulder as he plucked berries skillfully from a bush. Blackberries, you think — but not too much as you strip yourself of your top and jeans, folding them neatly on one of the boulders before glancing over your shoulder again. He's kneeling now, still carefully sorting through brambles and thumbing berries as you cross your arms around your chest, ignoring the heat radiating off your cheeks as you remember that your underwear is in fact, pink, and only turning darker as the water soaks into it.
You're not gonna let a man you don't know see your intimates!
You wade into the water, cool against your skin as you reach about neck deep. A sigh falls from your lips as you lean your hair back into the water, refreshing against your scalp. Your eyes are closed as you swim through the water, working away the ache in your shoulders from your backpack straps being too tight.
"Feels good, huh?"
Your eyes immediately fly open, your arms wrapping around your chest as you look up to see the guy setting his bag down…with his eyes closed. He's set down the berries on the boulder where your clothes are, but they're not blackberries. They're red, and kind of enticing as you try your best to quietly swim over. You lift yourself up slightly, covering your chest with your arms still as you touch one with your wet hand.
"What are these?" You pick one up, piercing the flesh cell with your fingernail as he shrugs, eyes still closed as he expertly digs through his rucksack. You throw the berry at him, hitting him square in the chest and making him tongue his cheek as he shakes his head.
"Thimbleberries. You can eat some if you want, they're pretty good. I use the bark to make soap, which is what I'm going to give you here in a second."
"Bark to make soap? Incredible." You murmur, eyeing the berry in your hand. You run it under the water, wiping at the flesh carefully with the pad of your thumb before taking a tentative nip. The juice is sweet in the forefront of your mouth but tart on the back of your tongue, a hum from your throat catching his attention.
"Good? I like it as spread. Sometimes we make wine back at the cabin, or those fruit leather strips." He nods, eyes still closed as you throw another berry at him. "Stop that! You're wasting berries and I worked hard to pick those!"
"Open your eyes, dude. You can't see anything from where you are." You roll your eyes, and he lets out a huff as he tentatively peels open one eye. You give him a pointed look, holding out one of the washed berries as he pouts, plucking it from your fingers and stuffing it into his cheek as he speaks.
"I'm just trying to be respectful."
"And I appreciate that, but I'm sure you've seen boobs before."
He rolls his eyes, "that's not the point."
"The point, guy, is that I don't care. You've seen boobs and it's not like you're gonna do anything to me, so what the hell. We can be adults about this." You shrug, shoveling another berry into your mouth. "Now, what's this bark soap shit you're talking about? How does that work?"
"You've warmed up to me really quickly, haven't you?"
"The worst you could do is kill me. You don't have the guts, and I'm faster than you."
Your voice is confident as you take more berries in your hand, making him shake his head in amusement as he digs into the bag one more time. A flash crosses his eyes, and he pulls his hand out to reveal a small bottle with a pink cap.
"Here it is!" He holds it out to you, popping the cap to waft the smell into your face. You crinkle your nose, backing up slightly when he rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on! It smells nice!"
"It smells like eucalyptus and despair, and I can taste it. I hate that, bleugh." You make a disgusted face as you bite into another berry to erase the scent from your palate, and he frowns.
"It's either eucalyptus and despair or you stink for the next two days."
"I do not stink!"
He snorts, and you reluctantly hold your hand out for it. He drops it into your palm, "I wouldn't recommend…being in the spring while you wash. You'll contaminate it."
"So what do you suggest I do, genius? Give myself a little sponge bath?" You scoff, only for him to nod as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You give him a deadpan look, slapping the boulder beneath your arms. "How the hell would I do that?"
"Uh, you step out and scrub yourself with a washcloth, then rinse until you're clean? The point of hiking is to enjoy nature while preserving it, princess."
"This is surviving, guy. Not hiking for fun!"
"Still. You may be faster but I'm stronger and I have no problem fishing you out myself." He shrugs, and you suck your teeth as you stare up at him. He doesn't budge, his eyes stern as he gestures you to get out.
"I don't like you, guy." You mutter, and he only snickers as you make your way to a lower boulder to pull yourself out. He looks away, digging in his bag quickly before pulling out a soft washcloth and handing it to you blindly. You snatch it out of his hand as you pull yourself onto the boulder, making a wet plop sound as you sit on the edge.
"I'll…give you some privacy. Just give me—"
"A holler, yeah. Scram, guy."
He does just that. You do as you're told, peeling your soaked underwear off and scrubbing yourself silly with the stinky soap and washcloth— unfortunately, feeling a lot cleaner than you had in months. Your scalp tingles as you haphazardly scrub the soap into it, and you feel almost insane as you keep looking over your shoulder to see him nowhere to be found. You rinse yourself off with the bottle of water he'd given you, glancing over to see he's left his rucksack and your backpack next to you. You grab yours, fishing out the pair of clean underwear and pulling it over your legs before ringing your hair out.
"Uh, hey, guy? Do you have a shirt in this thing?" You call out, glancing over your shoulder to see him jerk his head up from under the berry brambles. He quickly shuts his eyes as you cover your chest, your cheeks warming as he stutters.
"Y-Yeah, yep! Uh, just…dig around!"
You do just that, holding your arm over your chest as you root in the bag, pulling a brown shirt out and quickly pulling it over your head. You dip your feet back into the spring, "Thanks, I got it! We're good!"
"Great, great." He stumbles back over, holding the rag of berries in his hand before clearing his throat. "Are you…you're not gonna walk around like that, are you?"
"Well, I was kind of hoping to wash my clothes and just…lay here until dusk. Then…fall asleep in a tree or something." You shift, and you glance over to see him trying to hold in either a fart or laughter. You guess the latter as a smile breaks through, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he turns his face away.
He clears his throat, letting out a suspicious cough as you narrow your eyes.
"You're laughing at me."
"I'm not, promise."
"You're a liar."
He lets out a breath, corners of his lips upturning involuntarily as he smooths his shorts with his hands. "I am not. You're just…funny."
"So you are laughing!"
"This is bear country, sweetness." He manages, clearing his throat again and fighting back his smile. "We can't stay here. Bears climb trees, bears maul you, then you're dead before the world's back in order. Wouldn't want you to miss that internship."
"Yeah right, internship's as dead and gone as any idea of society rebuilding itself after this. At this point we'll have to repopulate—" You cut yourself off, looking at him to see his eyes wide and cheeks red from the hot sun. "Uh…I just don't have very high hopes for that. So, I'm just going to take it day by day, I guess. If I die, then I die."
"Except you won't, because you have me! So, get up. There's a cave we can camp in around here, trust." He rolls his eyes, flipping through his rucksack before producing a pair of shorts and holding them out to you. "…Seriously, you're not gonna walk around in your underwear, right? You'll get eaten alive by the mosquitoes."
"Not true, guy. The DCA—"
"You wanna trust the DCA right now?"
He gives you a look of disbelief, and you shrug.
"A study in 2014—"
"That was a decade ago, sweetheart."
"I'm not your sweetheart, and who cares? Eucalyptus oil was approved as an effective mosquito repellent. If I get bit, I'll put my jeans back on. Not a big deal."
"What if that virus is zoonotic?" He argues, shaking the shorts in his hands as a way to emphasize his point. You raise a brow, crossing your arms as you jut your hip out.
"This ass is hypnotic, so at least I'll die knowing I gave it my all."
"I have another pair, just put them on. You're not being serious right now."
"Take a look if you want, pervert." You scoff, before crouching to gather your dirty clothes. You stuff them into your bag, before peeling your socks out of your shoes with a discontented sigh. There's a hole in the toe, but the other socks have suffered the same fate. You sit on the boulder to pull them over your feet anyway, before his hand wraps around your ankle and he snatches it out of your hand.
"Stinky, worn thin and one, two, three holes. Good grief, princess." He mutters, tossing it onto your lap before grabbing a fresh pair and a little box from his rucksack. You have half a mind to pull your leg away, but something about the cool feeling of his fingers around your hot skin makes you sit still as he cracks the box open. "These are moleskin bandages. We'll change them every night, because your shoes are horrible for this."
He touches the side of your pinky toe, hearing you hiss before examining the sole of your foot with a frown. He pads at it with his thumb, tonguing his cheek as he sets it on his knee to look at the other.
"You'll need insoles. I'll have to see what size boot you wear when we get back to the cabin, these are no good." He reaches over to grab your sneaker, peeking inside to see the soles worn and thin. He shakes his head, "maybe I should just carry you. This really won't do."
"I'm not a baby." You spit back, and his hand on your foot squeezes, making you wince. You kick him gently, only for him to pop your toes with one hand as you squirm.
"Not a baby, my ass." He moves to tend to your foot silently, even reaching into his bag several times for different ointments and oils before your feet are covered in slivers of moleskin bandages. He shoves the socks on, rolling the ankles as you realize how thick they are. He puts your shoes on for you, double-knotting the laces before glancing at the shorts.
"You sure you don't want them?"
"Good God, man. If it makes you feel better, I'll wear your stupid shorts."
"Well, now I don't want to give them to you." He sniffs, grabbing the shorts by the pocket as you loop your fingers into the waistband. "My shorts are not stupid."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, shorts. I'm so sorry your owner is restricting—"
"Shut up!"
"Good, now you know how annoying you are." You suck your teeth, yanking the shorts out of his hand and pulling them over your legs quickly. You tuck the drawstring until they're snug, before standing and pulling your backpack over your shoulder. "Now, move it, guy. I'm tired and I want to rest without feeling like I'm gonna die."
You shove past him, marching off with no direction as he snorts behind you. You hear him behind you; the rustle of his bag being thrown over his shoulder. You keep walking aimlessly, before crossing your arms on your chest and talking over your shoulder.
"What did you do before the world decided to end?"
"I thought you said you didn't wanna get attached, princess?"
You scoff, "yeah, that's why you don't need to know my name. That's how people keep stray animals, you know. They say they'll only take care of them until they're healthy, then they name the thing and suddenly that animal is getting scraps off the table and it sleeps at the foot of the bed."
He chuckles, his stride lengthening to end up next to you. He tilts you slightly to the left, to a different pathway than your original wandering.
"That's a good point, I guess. But like animals, people are won over by personalities. We could have things in common, shared experiences and the like."
"I doubt you and I have anything in common, guy." You quip, shaking your head and feeling your damp hair brushing your neck. You swipe it back, behind your ears as he hums.
"You sure?"
"I won't like you anyway. You're annoying and invasive, you know that?"
"Annoying and invasive got you clean, fed, and is now finding you a place to sleep. I'd watch that mouth if I were you."
You don't like the way your stomach flutters at his tone, but you scoff anyway.
"Throwing it in my face only shows you're doing it to make yourself the good guy."
"Or it's me reminding you that you don't know me, and I don't have to do this."
"See my previous statement, guy."
He only clicks his tongue, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he shrugs.
"So what did you do? Were you always a professional loser?" You loll your head back, looking up at him as he runs his tongue over his lip.
"You're mean, you know that?"
"You'll learn to like it."
"No doubt about that, princess."
He pushes you behind him as he steps in front of you, a rockier path leading downwards appearing a few feet ahead. He reaches back, his fingers brushing your hip before you instinctively give him your hand. He grips it carefully, his other hand reaching back to hold your hip as he leads you down the unstable terrain.
"I was an architect with a Master's degree in interior design. I completed my degrees in three years because I was an overachiever, but that got me chances to design three buildings downtown and a few apartment buildings in the outskirts. I was working on a house before the outbreak started." His voice is straight, almost a bit solemn as he kicks a few rocks out of the way. "It was for my family, but you know how the wind blows."
You feel your chest tight as you reach the bottom of the terrain, his hand slipping off your hip, but you don't let his hand go as he moves to pull it away. He glances down at you, and you clear your throat as you drop his hand, rubbing your palm on the back of your shorts.
"I'm sorry for your loss…guy."
"Life goes on, princess."
You hate the way your heart sinks as he shrugs, before his hands tilt your shoulders to the right. You force one foot in front of the other, clearing your throat again and staring up at the trees surrounding you.
"How do you feel about mahogany?" You blurt, tucking your hands behind your back as he carefully maneuvers your shoulders to move you in certain directions. He snorts, "mahogany? The wood?"
"Yeah. Let's have a conversation."
"You feel bad now, don't ya?"
"Never fucking mind."
His laugh is full bellied as you stalk forward exaggeratedly, your shoes kicking pebbles and twigs out of the way as you worm your way along. He catches up to you in two quick strides, the heel of his boot nudging the back of your sneaker as you stop to climb over a fallen log.
"Stop that!"
"I like mahogany, but mostly for flooring, staircases and doors. Not so much for anything that's eye level or above, I think it's too heavy. It's too rich of a color to be so high, I think."
You feel your lip twitch as you manage to get over the fallen log, crossing your arms defiantly as you glance over your shoulder to see him doing the same.
"Hm."
"Disagree?"
"No."
He smiles inwardly, but you quickly face forward once more as a clearing comes into view. Running water can be heard in the distance, and you try to walk confidently as the path becomes muddy.
"How do you feel about…elm burl?" You try, any nonchalance escaping your throat as he hums next to you, his lips pursing as he shakes his head.
"I love the patterns on it, but I don't think it's ethical to use it. It's so scarce and deforestation is a problem as it is, I can't imagine using it willynilly. Or willingly, actually. There are better materials."
You blink up at him, your cheeks warming as he glances down at you. His brow raises, "what?"
"Nothing."
"It's something. What, you like burl?"
"No, I actually hate burl. I don't think it's worth the time it takes to harvest, and I don't like the fact that people think the scarcity makes it more beautiful. It feels superficial and it grosses me out when I see homes that have it because I just know they paid up the ass for it. I know it's a great wood for homes in terms of durability and even super moisture resistant but it's frustrating to see the ignorance go over people's heads." You huff, crossing your arms tighter as he nods slowly, a quick hum from his throat as you look away.
"Sorry."
"No, I like it. You've got passion."
"Whatever." You roll your eyes, feeling your ears grow hot as he scoffs, his hip bumping yours with purpose. You swat at him, his hand grabbing your wrist and pushing it away as he speaks.
"It's good that you're like that! I knew so many people in the industry who didn't care. You don't know how frustrating it is…or maybe you do, depending on who you know." He grouses, his lip jutted out in a pout as you stop at the edge of the path. Lower is more muddy terrain, but you're too in awe of the beautiful waterfall to even care.
"Woah." Your arms fall to your sides, your eyes wide as he stops next to you.
"It's pretty, isn't it?"
"Will you judge me if I cry?"
"Yes."
"You suck," you shove his arm lightly, before wrapping your fingers around the straps of your bag tightly. You watch the water flow, before feeling his hand on the back of your head. He turns it slowly, and you see a series of boulders leading up to the waterfall.
"Wanna see it up close, princess?"
You don't get a chance to respond as he takes your arm anyway, pulling you down the terrain and around the water. You try your best to keep up, carefully maneuvering over bigger rocks and shaking your arm out of his grasp, only for him to reach back again and you slide your hand into his.
Like it's normal.
Because it is.
"Be careful, alright? These are slippery." He pulls you in front of him as the boulders appear in front of him, moving your hands to hold onto the dry edges. You wedge the tip of your shoes into the gathered rocks beneath it, and he grips your hips to hoist you up easily.
And you ignore the stupid flutter in your stomach again, standing up straight and moving out of the way as he pulls himself up with ease. You flicker your eyes away from the bulge of his biceps against the fabric of his shirt, swallowing hard as you carefully make your way up the boulders.
The spray of the waterfall is cooling against your warm skin, your eyes wide as you watch it cascade over the rocky ledge. You carefully put your bag down as he reaches your side, your fingers poking through the running water. You crouch down, running your fingers along the jagged edge of the platform you're standing on.
"How'd you find this?" You voice is full of air, only to hear him hum behind you, the weight of his rucksack hitting the stone as he sets it down. You glance over your shoulder to see him staring at the water, head tilted to the side as he shrugs.
"I found it on the way down, actually. It was pouring and I couldn't risk sleeping in one of the trees or in one of the tents. I used to play a game on Nintendo that had a world with a cavern behind a waterfall and when I saw this one, I looked around. The cavern, I mean, and there's no bears or anything. Lots of stalactite, though; it's pretty cool." He nods, looking down at you. You must look amused, because he scoffs. "What's so funny?"
"You play Nintendo games?"
"I was a boy once! A teenager!"
"What game was it? Super Mario Odyssey? The first world has a waterfall. Actually, a couple of them do, I think." You turn your attention back to the water, only to feel him crouch next to you. He wraps his arms around his knees, sticking one hand into the water as he clicks his tongue.
"It was, actually. Nerd."
"No way, loser."
"Way," he chuckles, pressing his wet fingers against his neck before carding them through his hair. "I'm gonna check out the cavern, make sure nothing's in there. I'll catch a fish or something and we can eat before we turn in for the night."
"Oh, I'm not all that hungry—" Your lie is cut off by the grumble in your stomach, and you give an exaggerated cough to cover it up before he nudges you with his elbow. He has a knowing look on his face, rolling his eyes at you as he stands up straight. He turns on his heel, and you watch over your shoulder as he takes a flashlight out of the pocket of his bag. He clicks it on, whistling to himself as he ventures fearlessly into the cavern.
You let your shoulders relax as he disappears, a breath falling from your lips as you sit on the ground. You tug your shoes off, tossing them to the side before laying on your back next to the water with your knees bent, crossing your arms on your chest. Closing your eyes, you let the anxiety of trusting a stranger seep out of your bones — because had he wanted to harm you…he would've done it already.
Some people are good!
Your nose burns as tears line your lashes, but you find an odd comfort in the sound of the waterfall paired with crickets you hadn't heard the entire time you were alone. Practicing vigilance, constantly being on edge…lack of sleep from almost falling off tree branches definitely left your body in fight or flight mode. You don't remember the last time you cried, either — likely even before the outbreak, if not the day you found out you got the internship in Germany.
"Fuck," You mutter, covering your face as you remember the letter you left on your desk, the envelope practically shredded from your excited hands. You'd even bought a frame to hang it over your desk, but it had been left dismantled for days while you called everyone who knew, while you celebrated and recovered from the gnarliest hangover you'd ever had. And it stayed there, when you escaped your roommates by a hair and fucked off into the woods.
Your mind races with what ifs.
What if you hadn't gotten out? What if you'd come home later like you'd planned to, having been asked to dinner by one of your group mates to compare notes? What if you'd been more prepared — the university had done everything to keep the students calm, promising a safe, virus-free environment. You'd packed a bag haphazardly, anyway, leaving it propped on your windowsill should you ever need it. You practiced constant distancing, staying two feet or more away from anyone at all times.
The outbreak at the University started with the football team. A nice boy named Jaehyun was in the wrong place at the wrong time, only to trail his way back onto campus during a tailgate and infect three other people before he was taken out by two cheerleaders with a crowbar. At least, that's how you remember it before you practically sprinted your way back to the dormitory, finding Jian and Jieun along the way and telling them what had happened. They immediately u-turned with you, and you all packed your bags that night. T-shirts, tank tops, underwear…snacks and water.
Eventually, you'd be the only one to use yours. Shirts ripped from snagging on tree bark; snacks finished within three weeks of your escape. You rationed water so carefully that you were in a constant state of dehydration, until you found the stocked warehouse. There was only one person there, and she never spoke to you — ducking out of the facility within hours of your arrival. You gorged yourself on the bread and canned foods, spearing them open with your box cutter and drinking all the water you could reach for.
Until that place was raided by those things, and you once more narrowly escaped.
You'd been in the woods since. Alone, tired, hungry. Cold on some nights, having lost your only sweater to a tree branch tearing straight through it when you fell off. Your jeans were wearing thin, and the summer heat only made surviving all the harder — but for whatever reason, despite your pessimism, you couldn't bring yourself to give up.
You were meant for more.
"You alright?"
His voice startles you, making you jolt up. You clear your throat, running your hand through your hair as you nod almost too quickly.
"Yeah. Yep, fine. Is uh…are you good?" You curse yourself for stuttering, staring at the scar on your knee from when you fell off your scooter as a kid. He crouches down next to you again, facing you before you hear the click of the flashlight. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, his own glued to your face.
"You're not a very good liar, you know that?” His voice is softer, but you scoff as you tilt away.
"I'm a great liar, thank you."
"Tell me a lie right now."
"You're cute."
You roll your eyes as he gapes, shoving your knee with the end of his flashlight. "You take that back! I'm very cute!"
"Sure, guy." You snort, before tilting your head towards the rucksack. "Aren't you tired from carrying that thing? Don't you have like, shoulder pain? Shouldn't you lay down?"
"Worried about my well-being, princess?" He teases, and you raise a brow at him, an almost disinterested look crossing your features as you nod.
"Yeah, who else will lead to me safety? If you're exhausted, you'll make all sorts of mistakes—"
"It would actually kill you to be nice, wouldn't it?"
His voice is still lighthearted, eyes warm as you turn to look at him. You run your eyes along his face, taking in his features before you blink slowly, meeting his eyes once more with a shrug of your shoulders.
"It might, I don't know. I've never tried it."
"Might be a good time to start, pretty."
"Shut up," you roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the ground and grabbing his flashlight. You tug your shoes on haphazardly as he snickers to himself, and you feel his eyes follow you as you flip the flashlight in your hand. You click it on, shining it into the cavern as he gets up to follow behind you. Your eyes widen as you flash the light up to the hanging stalactites, your lips parting with a soft woah.
"Nice, isn't it?"
"Beautiful. It's shimmering, the salt. Do you see it?"
"It's even prettier when it's warmer light. We'll light a fire in here in a bit, you'll see."
You nod, carefully trudging forward, "do you think any animals have ever lived here? Bats, even?"
"If that were the case, I think we'd be surrounded by bat shit."
"Bat guano is actually very important for some cave-dwellers. Lots of animals eat it."
"Taking the phrase 'eat shit' to another level, huh?" He makes a sound of disgust, only making you chuckle as you shake your head.
"Well, the animals who eat it are inherently gross to the average person, anyway. They're detritivores, the bugs and stuff that eat it. They're eaten by spiders, and pseudoscorpions. Ever seen a pseudoscorpion? Cutest little dudes."
He doesn't reply, making you glance over your shoulder to see him smiling inwardly as he looks at the ground. You narrow your eyes but move your attention to the pebbled floor beneath you. You run the light over it, seeing the toe of your shoe incredibly close to an otherwise blind pseudoscorpion. Your eyes widen as you crouch, your fingers gently pinching its round body as you turn to him.
"Look! See? Pseudoscorpion; claws like a scorpion, but he's just a little guy." You smile widely, holding the light above the small arachnid. "Not dangerous to humans at all, either. Very helpful, they eat bugs and pests, which makes them…"
You trail off as you notice how intently he's looking at you, his hands clasped in front of him. You clear your throat before quickly setting it down and watching it scurry away. "Anyway, uh. Yeah, so there was likely a bat colony here at some point. Maybe a couple big spiders, but they won't do anything to us if we don't bother them."
You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line before turning on your heel and venturing deeper into the cave.
"Why do you do that?" His voice rings out behind you, and you stop walking, glancing over your shoulder.
"Huh?"
"Why do you stop yourself from talking about things you like? Or get embarrassed by it?"
Your cheeks feel hot as you turn fully, but you keep a straight face as you tilt your head, opening your mouth to say something when you see him hold up the pseudoscorpion you'd put down. He holds it out to you, taking the flashlight from your hand and lowering the brightness to create a spotlight of sorts as you take the animal in your hand. He shines the light on your hand, eyes expectant and…warm.
"They're…uh, so they're synanthropic, or synanthropes. Like raccoons, that means they're technically harmless to us, but they've developed in environments near humans for so long that they can benefit from us without being a bother. Generally, that is." You nod slowly, before gesturing at the spindly arms the arachnid is holding up. "Their pinchers have venom they use to subdue their prey, usually smaller bugs like ants or mites, but it's not enough to cause damage to a human. They also have spider-like silk glands in their jaws, which helps them stay safe during winters. There are more than four thousand species of these things."
You clear your throat, "my father was an entomologist. He and I were really close before the outbreak, and he liked arachnids most. He was covered in tattoos of bugs, but he had one of these on his wrist for me, and he had a sequin spider on his chest and a peacock parachute on his arm for my mother. When I asked why I got this one, he said it was because I was half of him, and half of my mother; but that's a story for another day."
Pressing your lips together, you carefully place the arachnid back on the ground, watching it pinch at a passing ant. You let a smile cross your face, before feeling the heat of his eyes on you.
"I don't like bugs, personally." He starts, bringing the brightness back up on the flashlight and handing it to you. "I think my biggest fear is actually wasps."
You nod, biting back a smile as you shrug, "wasps are the Devil incarnate, so I don't blame you. Such angry things."
"Exactly! How is it my fault that I have to go outside? Should I just cease to exist for them?" He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as you chuckle, tapping the flashlight against his arm before slipping past him.
"Let's get outta here, I'm starting to feel itchy." You say, carefully maneuvering your way back out of the cavern with him hot on your heels. The air outside is sticky, warmer than inside the dark cave, but it's welcome as you flick off the flashlight. "I'm getting tired."
"I'll get started on dinner, then." He nods, and you don't get a chance to say anything before he stops, looking at you over his shoulder, " and I'll listen to you any time. So just…talk, yeah?"
Your eyes widen, but you can't reply as he makes his way down the boulders, pulling something shiny out of his pocket. You hear a click as he reaches the edge of the water, and you peer over the ledge to see him crouched, his hand stuffed in his pocket before pulling out a palm full of what looks like to be seeds. His eyes are concentrated as you lay on your belly, using your elbows to prop yourself up and watch him toss the seeds into the water.
Almost instantly, the surface ripples with fish — a quick flick of his wrist pinning one of the poor fish in place on the rocky spring floor. The rest scatter, his jaw tight as he reaches into the water from the shore and plucks the fish out, pulling the knife out and rinsing it in the water. He clicks it closed, shoving it back into his pocket before laying the fish on one of the boulders.
You watch him repeat the process twice, from different angles around the spring until he silently returns to the boulder with his pile. You keep watching as he examines the fish carefully, running his fingers over the scales and tosses one into the woods behind him with a tick in his jaw. He stills suddenly, looking around before meeting your eyes. The tips of his ears tinge pink as you blink at him, his voice clear as he speaks to you.
"Are you just watching me?"
You don't respond verbally, only nodding as a smile creeps onto your lips. He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he descales the fish quickly. Your eyes are low as fatigue begins to sink into your bones, before you hear his voice again.
"You're real pretty up there, but you'd be prettier if you gathered some wood. Hop to, princess." He calls, using his knife to gesture around himself. You scowl as he looks up, a toothy grin on display as he waves you down. "I can't have you falling asleep just yet, you'll miss dinner. Come on."
Scoffing, you ignore the heat in your cheeks as you push yourself off the ledge, carefully making your way down the boulders. You land on the ground with a crunch of twigs beneath you, making faces at him as you start picking sticks up. You hold them against your arm, examining them and plucking any remaining leaves off before you come across the fish he threw behind him. You glance up, seeing his back muscles tense beneath his shirt as you leave it where it is, his silver chain sparkling in the sun; picking up the sticks around it and covering it carefully.
"Why'd you kill it if you weren't going to eat it?" You ask as you near him, holding your collection in your arms. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you peer at the fish in his hands, "how do you know what fish is okay to eat?"
"You kind of just have to trust your gut and also, fully cook it. We've never had advisories around here, and there's no salmon in these areas. If you see a bear with tapeworm around, it's usually from the fish in the waters. Therefore, don't eat the fish." He says pointedly, carefully clipping the fins of the fish off, "you'll know what to do depending on what the conditions are. You have to be alert and pay attention to your surroundings."
"So, why'd you kill it?" You ask again, watching him look away as he sliced the head clean off with a shudder.
"It's either sick and dying or getting ready to die. It was bloated around the kidneys; it likely had disease. It wouldn't have spread to the other fish, but it's always best to put them out of their misery." He nods, before grabbing the head and throwing it as far as he could into the woods. You hear it land somewhere, but don't look away from his hands as you clear your throat.
"Have you ever killed anything else?" You ask softly, and he glances down at you with concern.
"Not people, if that's what you're asking."
Your face must show relief because he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "There's no way you think I'm capable of that. I have morals."
"I don't know that, guy."
"Well, now you know. The biggest thing I've ever killed was a trout when I was sixteen, and I cried the entire summer. I couldn't eat it, either; my mother made me soup for three nights." He rolls his eyes, and you look at the fish in his hands, holding out one of the sticks. He takes it, stripping it of the bark with his knife before spearing the fish on it.
"Then how do you know deer is good?"
"I'll only eat it if someone else takes it out. I'm good at a lot of things but I can't kill anything. Fishing is the closest I get to it, and even then, I'm only doing it out of pure survival. I've never been a good hunter; it makes me sad and…queasy."
You nod, watching him behead the other fish before looking up at him.
"So, what about those undead things? Would you kill one?"
"I've had the pleasure of never coming across one. I think, morally…"
He trails off, spearing the fish with the stick before tossing the other head into the woods. He sighs, looking down at you.
"They're already dead. Out of survival, you have to do it if you're in danger. It's the only way I can justify it, if it were the case." He holds the stick of fish out to you, scooping the wood out of your arms as you take hold of the stick. "I have a lot of morals and values that I'm not willing to give up, even out of survival. I believe things should happen naturally, but I also don't believe anyone should suffer. That fish was suffering, and likely in pain. Those things…they're rotting from the inside out, they're suffering and in turn, making others suffer. Full death is the only option."
You nod silently as you both climb the boulders, his hand on your back at an arm's length from behind to catch you if you slip. You both make it back to the ledge, and you glance over your shoulder to see him looking into the forest before scooting into the waterfall.
"The sun is starting to set, so we'll have dinner and then you can get some rest. I'll stand watch for a bit." His voice is a little flat as he makes his way towards you, and you feel a bit of guilt settle in your belly.
"Sorry if that conversation made you uncomfortable." You murmur as he walks by, and he waves you off as he slips into the cavern, only taking three steps into it before answering you.
"It doesn't. It's good to talk about what you think, even if you're not sure when you'll go through it yourself. Death is an uncomfortable topic for everyone, but there is growth in that discomfort. Death is not the end of life, or love, for that matter, but it is inevitable." He shrugs, putting the pile of sticks down before separating a few. You peek in, before he appears in front of you and flips open a pocket of his rucksack, procuring a box of matches.
"Morals, values, it's all growth. Both to keep them, and to release them. Death is only temporary, because you live on in those who knew you. That's why I'm trying to stay positive in these days, you know? It's hard to be sad when you're making yourself look at life from a different angle."
He kneels, striking a match and tossing it into the pile of sticks as you slink into the cavern. The crackle of the wood is soothing to your ears, and the flame grows bigger within a few seconds.
"If you always think, why not me? Or even, why me? You'll get nowhere. Those aren't answers you're supposed to have, because if it was meant to happen to you, it would have. You just have to keep your head up." He nods, skirting past you as he slips his matches back into the rucksack. He picks it up, along with your backpack, and pulls them closer to the fire. He pulls out a few washcloths, before untucking the sleeping bag he'd had strapped to the back of the bag.
"Here, sit." He unzips it, laying it flat on the ground before taking the fish from you. You glance down at it, watching him sit cross legged on the other side of the fire. You look at him for a second, watching the way he props two stones on either side to hold the stick of speared fish in place. Toeing your shoes off, you lay them off to the side before kneeling onto the bag. It's cool against your skin, and you almost lie down but keep your arms rigid at your sides as you clear your throat.
"Do you think that's easier for you because you have your life more figured out?" You ask, and he glances at you with an amused look.
"You keep talking like I'm just this experienced guy," he snorts, carefully balancing the speared fish over the flame. "I've had one job my entire life. I've had the same group of friends since I was a kid, and I've kissed one girl."
"Well, yeah but you've already done so much more than I could ever imagine. You've designed things and actually saw them come to life, you've helped people," You shrug, poking the fire with a stick before tossing it in to hear it crackle. "For example, I've never even kissed anyone. Now that the world is ending and all—"
"The world is not ending, princess. You're being negative." He interrupts pointedly, and you give him a glare.
"Yeah, well…I should be allowed to complain."
He only smiles inwardly, turning the fish over once. The smell is beginning to fill the cavern, your stomach growling loudly; your arms wrapping around you as he snickers.
"It'll be ready in a bit, don't worry." He says, tentatively pausing before you feel his eyes on you. You glance up from the fire, his gaze shamelessly falling over your face and shoulders as you lean back.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You bring your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them before wrapping your arms around your shins. He just shrugs, shaking his head before leaning back on his hands.
"Why haven't you kissed anyone? Just…didn't want to?" His head is tilted to the side, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you stare up at the stalactite around the curve of the cavern.
"…I mean, I had chances. I just kind of kept dodging them." You say slowly, picking at a loose thread in the shorts you're wearing. "I've been on dates and stuff, and they'd always lean in, but I just wasn't that into them. And it's not like I value abstinence or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that but it's just not my vibe. I've…felt lust, and shit like that. However, I feel like a kiss should mean something, and if I'm not attracted to them enough, then…"
"That's one less step towards a kiss. Okay. I get it." He nods, "if it makes you feel better—"
"Don't try to relate to me right now. I'm sure you had girls throwing themselves at you." You scoff, and he rolls his eyes.
"Again, just the one girl, and I was with her for three years." He holds up three fingers, and you tongue your cheek before shrugging.
"Why'd you break up?"
He seems hesitant to answer, nibbling on his lower lip before looking up at the stalactite. You take the moment to peer at him in the flickering light of the fire, and you really look at him — soft lips, slope of his nose…paired with sharp eyes, and strong brows.
Pretty.
"She wanted to get married." He says quietly, kicking at a bit of rubble. "I was fresh out of school, and I'd just started designing my first building…I wasn't going to have time to dedicate it to wedding planning. I wasn't sure if I would have time for her, but I tried my best. We got engaged anyway and I was always busy. It just didn't work."
"Who broke up with who?" You ask, leaning forward nosily as he tongues his cheek.
"I broke off the engagement." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy, but it also wasn't working. Sometimes I wonder where I would be if we had gone through with the wedding. Would I be a dad? Would we have fought as much as we did towards the end of it all? Just…so many questions that I also can't bring myself to care about because I'll spiral over nothing. It was two years ago, life goes on."
"Do you want to be a dad someday?" You grab another stick from the pile next to you, poking the flame as he takes the fish off. He shrugs, staring at the fish tentatively. He turns it gently, watching the flame lick at the skin of it before answering your question.
"My future wife has to want kids for me to be able to make that decision." He clicks his tongue, "no use in me wanting something when she's the one bearing them. I'd just…you know. It's not fair to make that decision on my own."
"You think you'll get married? If the world doesn't end?" You continue messing with the fire as he turns the fish again.
"I mean…I hope. I made a bucket list on the first day of my freshman year in university, and it was the third or fourth thing I had on there." He carefully adds two more sticks to the bottom of the fire before glancing up at you. "Do you want to get married? Have kids?"
You dig your chin into your chest, smiling inwardly as you give a weak shrug.
"…I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I think I should focus on actually kissing a guy, first. Imagine if this outbreak hadn't happened. Maybe I'd be getting lots of dudes hitting my line in Germany." You roll your eyes, before sighing.
"I think I just want to fall in love one day. I was very focused on my studies my entire life, I've been to two tailgates, and I've been drunk twice in my life, and one of those was when I found out I got the internship. I've never kissed a guy, and I've never been a girlfriend, but that was my choice. And now, I don't have that choice, because the universe has just decided that it is fate for me. It's not like romance has ever been my top priority. I was loved by my friends and my family all the same, and the only love, or passion, or desire I truly had in life was design and architecture. God, I used to dream of my buildings being part of skylines and I went through a phase where I'd conjure up dream homes for my friends. I even promised that one day I'd build them, and I'd help decorate to their style…and now they're gone. They're gone and I'm here, with a stranger and in a cave complaining about the fact that I'll now never get the chance to fall in love or kiss a guy; when neither will they, because they are gone."
You close your eyes momentarily, tucking your chin into your chest before you blink up at him. He's looking at you with a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he shifts back on his hands, a slight tilt to his head. You maintain eye contact, nibbling on the inside of your lip and poking at the fire with the stick in your hand.
"Tell me your name."
"Y/N." You speak plainly, making the choice to lay down and toss the stick into the fire. You cross your arms on your chest, closing your eyes. "Not princess, sorry to burst your bubble."
"Y/N what?" He leans over slightly, and you feel a smirk tug at the corner of your lips. You open your eyes, catching him staring down at you. He doesn't look away, his eyes incessant as you turn your head slightly so he's not upside down in your vision.
"What's it to you, guy?"
"The curiosity will kill me, princess."
"I literally just told you my name, you don't have to keep calling me that."
"I like watching you squirm, it's cute." He shrugs, carefully pulling the stick off the rocks and out of the fish, laying it flat on a washcloth and slipping out his knife. He sinks the blade into the flesh of the fish as you turn to rest on your side, your eyes heavy as he holds a piece of the fish on the blade out to you. "Careful, it's hot."
You lean forward slightly, biting down on the piece of fish with your teeth before pulling it into your mouth. It's hot, yeah, but it's juicy and even a bit sweet as you chew.
"Good?"
You only nod as you hold your hand out for another piece, the sound of the crackling fire making you sleepier by the minute. You both eat in silence, with him grabbing the end of the sleeping bag and pulling you to his side of the fire so he doesn't have to keep reaching over to give you pieces. You pick it off yourself, still laying as you eat despite him telling you it's bad for you.
"Is the sun down yet?" You mutter, wiping at your eyes lazily. He glances over his shoulder, the sun peering through the waterfall and creating a pattern on the walls of the cavern.
"Almost. Come on, I have to put the fire out and let the smoke air out. You can sleep in a little bit."
"You've said that twice now, guy."
"Sue me for wanting to spend time with someone." He scoffs, "and my name is—"
"No, don't tell me. You'll get attached." Your sentence is almost interrupted by a yawn, but you force yourself off the sleeping bag, lazily dragging yourself towards the entrance of the cavern when you hear the hiss of the fire dying under the bottle of water he dug out of his rucksack. You hear the crinkle of the plastic before rustling, the smell of burnt wood wafting out of the cavern as he appears next to you with the sleeping bag. He spreads it out for you again, and you lay on your stomach as he moves to the side. He sits next to your head, a rag in his hand as he pulls the knife out of his pocket once more.
"What're you doing?" You ask tiredly, leaning up on your elbow to watch him.
"Just cleaning the knife. If my math is right, we'll be at the cabin in two days if we don't get any rain. If we do, it's three or four. I've got to ration things properly." He nods, and you peer at the knife. There's a corkscrew on it, and you forget the name of the style of knife but you smush your cheek with the heel of your palm as you point at it.
"Why do you need a corkscrew?"
"Do you always ask this many questions?"
"Well, guy, it's not every day we're being hunted by the undead, you know." You say pointedly, tapping his knee as he scoffs.
"Mingyu."
"Hm?" You look up at him with tired eyes, and he glances down before shaking his head with a sigh.
"That's my name. Mingyu."
"Okay? What am I supposed to do with this information?"
"Pft, I don't know. Maybe stop calling me guy?"
"And what, build a foundation of trust? You'd kill me if I got bitten by one of those rotting things." You huff, a hint of humor in your voice as you move to lay on your side.
"Uh, yeah. You'll be dead anyway, princess."
"I don't like your attitude, Mingyu."
"Sucks to be you, sweetness." He shrugs, and you let out an annoyed huff. You fold your arms under your head, using your bicep as a pillow. You blink at the running waterfall in front of you, the sun's rays bleeding through when you speak again.
"Where are you going to sleep?"
"Probably right here. I'm just gonna zip you up later, because it gets kind of cold in the cavern."
"Won't you be cold?"
You feel him shift next to you, your eyes looking up at him as he shrugs. "I can handle it. You already have goosebumps."
It's silent for a while. You watch the sun continue to set from behind the waterfall, the moon rising and illuminating the water. You blink tiredly, your body sore from the day but your fingers tap his knee gently as you push yourself up. He looks down at you, leaning back on his hands with a gentle smile on his lips.
"Yes?"
"Can we go to sleep now?"
"Yeah, you can go to sleep."
You shake your head, "that's not what I said."
He snorts, "what do you want from me, princess?"
"I want you to sleep! That bag is so heavy, I know you're probably sore all over and you're not admitting it to save face or something." You point an accusatory finger at him, and he purses his lips, nodding his head as if in agreeance.
"Wow," he says incredulously, "you're quite the mind reader. What else can you see? Can you tell my shoulders hurt real bad, too?"
"Mingyu!"
"You're so freaking cute, actually."
"Fine, freeze." You huff, laying back down and flipping the rest of the sleeping bag over your shoulders. You face into the cavern as he chuckles, patting the sleeping bag over your shoulder.
"I'll sleep soon. Just gotta keep you safe for a little longer." He admits softly, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before sighing. You don't respond, curling your knees to your chest and hugging yourself in an attempt to sleep. The last thing your eyes catch before you close them is the time blinking on his watch — 9:42 PM.
You manage to doze off for a bit, your back popping as you stretch your limbs slightly; only to feel Mingyu has disappeared from next to your head. You lean up a bit, the moon in a different part of the sky now before feeling the heat of his body on the ground. He's snoring softly but shivering, still wearing his boots but his watch is slipped off and next to his head. You grab it: 2:09 AM.
Groaning, you move to shake him awake when he jolts up on his own. He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes slightly bloodshot as he squints at you.
"Are you okay?" His voice is raspy, and you shake your head as you run a hand over your face. He shifts to sit up, when you drape the folded-over part of the sleeping bag out onto the floor and point at it.
"Lay down." You pat the bag, before sitting up on your knees and tucking your mussed hair behind your ears. He blinks at you, silently giving in and sprawling across the bag. You crawl towards his feet, untying the laces of his boots quickly before yanking them off.
"Leave them on," He mumbles tiredly, but you just pat his knee.
"You're shivering, you're tired and you're sore. Just take them off to sleep well." You murmur, bringing the boots up to his head and sitting them next to him. You tuck the watch into them, before laying back down on your side of the bag. "Good night, Mingyu."
You try to ignore how his name feels on your tongue, only to hear him whisper behind you as he turns onto his side, his breath hitting the back of your neck.
"Mmh. Good night, Y/N."
THERE IS A MOP OF HAIR UNDER YOUR FINGERTIPS AS YOU STIR THE FOLLOWING MORNING.
It's slightly chilly, your skin prickling at the soft breeze that blows through the waterfall, but the rest of you remains warm as you wiggle slightly. Your hips are achy as you strain your neck to see Mingyu's head laid on your chest, his arms wrapped around you like he was trying to protect you from something. Your legs are hooked at your ankles around his waist, holding him flush to your torso. Your hand in his hair is nothing to the one dipping below the neck of his shirt, imprinted with the pattern of his necklace and absolutely not comparable to his on your hip – under your shirt.
"Mingyu." You pat his shoulders, the man not stirring in the slightest. You pat harder, only feeling him inhale deeply, but not wake up. You let out a huff of annoyance, making a fist and hitting his shoulder with the side of your hand. He jolts on reflex, waking up almost instantly as his hand shoots up to rub at his shoulder.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Why'd you hit me?!" You refuse to let the rasp of his voice distract you, and you force yourself to focus as you scowl and measure the distance between you with a pat to his chest and yours.
"You're on top of me, dimwit. I'm practically roasting." You wipe sweat from your neck, the sleeping bag sticking to your damp back. His eyes widen, and he glances down at the hand under your shirt. He rips it away, pushing himself off you almost in a tizzy before clearing his throat, kneeling above you.
"I, uh—"
"If you're gonna say you're sorry, just save it for when you actually fuck up."
"Still, I'm—"
"Mingyu." You hold your hand up, watching the guilt flash through his features as you point your fingertips at him. "I genuinely don't care. I'm just concerned about the fact that you radiate so much fucking heat. Aren't you sweaty? Jesus."
You sit up, grimacing as you feel your shirt stick to you. You reach into his boot, fishing his watch out — 6:07 AM. You tap the face with your nail, "we should get moving. If today is anything like yesterday, I need to get up before I lose motivation and leave myself out on a platter for the undead."
"Even in the mornings, you just say the most insane shit." He mutters, rubbing at his eyes before sitting back on his feet. "Are you hungry? I made more porridge before—"
"Will you catch another fish?" You ask quickly, sitting up on your knees and clasping your hands together. He gives you a deadpan look, and you jut your lower lip out in a pout, "come on, buddy! Just one fish, please? Please, please—"
"Don't beg, I haven't even processed your question." He grumbles, wiping at his eyes again, before stretching his arms over his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, a sliver of skin peeking out from his untucked shirt. "What if I just teach you how to catch one? It's easy."
"Or…you can just catch it for me while I start another fire." You wiggle your brows, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches again. "C'mon! You've gotten me used to a certain lifestyle—"
"Okay, okay." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face before standing up. "Alright, checklist. Fish, porridge, bath. Oh, and changing your bandages…what else? Oh! Laundry, too. We might get out of here closer to nine."
He shakes out his legs, marks from the sleeping bag imprinted on his skin. He takes his watch from you, slapping it on his wrist before lolling his head back.
"My back is killing me, I can't wait to get back to my bed." He huffs, twisting from side to side and you wrinkle your nose at the sound of the joints popping before his eyes widen and he glances down at you with an accusatory look. "For the love of God, please stretch before we head out today. You were kicking the shit out of me in your sleep last night."
"Is that why I woke up being melted into the sleeping bag?" You chide, and he just rolls his eyes before running a hand through his hair.
"Shut up."
"Mmh, I don't think so."
You giggle as he scowls down at you, and you stretch your arms over your head as he grabs his boots. He shakes them out, making sure no critters crawled in during the night before shoving them on. You reach over before he can bend, tying the laces quickly before patting the tip of the boot and pointing to the spring.
"Come on, fisherman. Bring me home something good."
"You're lucky you're entertaining."
"You can say I'm cute."
"And why would I lie like that?" He muses, chuckling as he skirts past your swatting hand and grabs his cap off the rucksack inside the cavern. He stretches his arms over his head one more time, letting out a pained grunt before rolling his shoulders back and making his way down the boulders. You peer over the side of the waterfall like you did the day before, sitting with your legs hanging over the ledge as you watch him pop his knuckles before crouching at the edge of the spring again.
You'd never admit out loud that watching the way his brain works is a little…intriguing. The seeds, the quickness of his reactions, the way his eyes never lost focus despite the movement of the waters. Really, this is nothing that should impress you as much as it does — but you've also been alone for so long that the most entertainment you have is your brain replaying The Breakfast Club spottily as you roamed the forests aimlessly.
"What happened to starting the fire?" He calls from the same boulder he stood at last night, hand on his hip as he looks up at you. You shrug, pointing at your socked feet, "can't find my shoes."
"You mean you didn't look for your shoes. I moved them to the entrance before I went to sleep. Put 'em on, princess."
"What if I wash your clothes for you while you bathe? Will you gather the wood then?"
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he guts the fish and beheads it faster than he did the day before. He looks around, finding a stick at the edge of the spring and spearing it through. You watch with a bitten smile as he makes his way back up the boulders, holding the fish out to you with a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you take it.
"You're so annoying, stop smiling like that." He mutters, turning around as you chuckle.
"Thank you, guy!"
"Stop calling me that!"
You only laugh harder as you get up, propping the speared fish on the side of the cavern and pulling your shoes on. You grab your bag, opening it carefully and slipping your jar of honey into the pocket of his rucksack before digging out your dirty clothing and the bar of soap you had. You roll your intimates into your shirt, staring at the bunched pair of jeans at the bottom of your bag before pulling them out. You shove it all under your arm, glancing over the boulders to see Mingyu already climbing back up with his arms full of wood.
"Need some help?" You call, and he shakes his head, making it back with a tick in his jaw. He drops the wood, rolling his shoulders back slightly before clearing his throat.
"You should probably bathe; the fish can wait. Plus, then I can take your clothes," you hold your hand out, and he nibbles on his lip.
"I'll make the fish first, then I'll bathe. I don't want it to sit out for too long. You can wash your stuff first and lay it out in the sun so it can start drying. Use the bottled water, I've got a filter and we can fill up before we leave." He nods, almost to himself as you put a hand on your hip.
"At least give me your shirt and socks, guy. You're not going anywhere, anyway, you're gonna make the fire right here." You shrug, holding your hand out as he raises a brow.
"You just wanna see me strip—"
"I'll fucking kill you, actually."
He laughs, dodging your attempt at hitting his arm swiftly. He gathers the sticks carefully, piling them together as you set your stuff down before moving to shake out the sleeping bag. You roll it back up, tucking it under the straps of his rucksack before plucking at his shirt.
"Give it here, fella."
He snorts, flicking his cap off before tugging his shirt over his head. You take it, your eyes not missing the deep bruising on his shoulders from the weight of the rucksack. You chew on your cheek as you take a closer look, your fingers floating over the skin when he clears his throat.
"The bag is heavy, but it's fine. I'm fine, plus we should be home by tomorrow night. Don't worry about it." He says softly, and you involuntarily let out a noise of distress as he unties his boot laces to hand you his socks. You take them, huffing as you make your way to the second boulder down — the biggest one, and you soak each item individually in the higher end of the spring water. You barely dip your underwear, not wanting him to see the lace in your hand.
Your knees dig painfully into the boulder beneath you as you lather soap all over the clothes, the smell almost sterile as you rinse them and wring them out repeatedly. The knee pain only stops when you tug your shoes off to wash your socks. You wring your underwear out the most, wanting it as dry as possible so the sun can finish drying it faster than the rest of the clothes. You lay everything out, the morning sun hitting the boulder just right as you manage your way back up to the cavern.
Your eyes linger on the bruises on Mingyu's shoulders, spanning down his back. You crouch behind him, tossing your shoes to the side and examining the purple and yellow splotches before you feel his hand reach back and pat your thigh.
"Stop it. You're making me self-conscious."
"I'm just admiring your back muscles." You blurt, his laughter immediately ringing out as he swats at your leg.
"Seriously, stop. Just come eat your fish, princess."
"What will you eat?"
"Don't worry about me." He says pointedly, before standing up and grabbing his rucksack. He digs through the front pocket. He procures a bag of what seem to be toothpaste tablets, and two toothbrushes (one used, one new) are seen through the plastic. Your eyes widen, and you almost topple over as you stand to hold your hand out.
"No please or thank you anymore, huh?" He snorts, pulling the bag open to give you the packaged toothbrush. You tear it open as he holds out two tablets, "chew them. They have fluoride so I wouldn't recommend swallowing it, but…you do what you do, you know?"
You do as you're told, chewing the tablets until a paste forms and you scrub at your teeth for what seems like twenty minutes before the foam gets too much. He only bites back his smile as he does the same, before his eyes widen in realization and he pulls more bandages out of the bag. He holds his toothbrush in his jaw, grabbing your injured hand and peeling the wet bandage back. Your gash seems to be healing fine, but he dries the skin out with an alcohol pad before wrapping new bandage around it.
You end up swallowing your toothpaste like a lunatic, giving Mingyu the toothbrush to put away before plopping in front of the fire that has now slightly charred the side of your fish. You flip it over, waiting for Mingyu to sit with you as you speak.
"I used to be a masseuse, you know." You nod, and he seems interested as he nods, sliding everything but the moleskin bandages back into his pack and pulls out the same washcloth he used for the fish last night. He sits next to you, pulling the fish off the fire and sliding it in front of you before taking your foot in his hand, stretching your leg over his thigh.
"Were you? Was that your part-time job?" He asks, carefully peeling the bandages off your feet. You wince as he presses the pad of his thumb into the arch of your foot, nodding as you wave his hand away from your foot.
"I did it for three years, I think. Almost four, I made pretty good money, but I almost always needed a massage, too. I quit when I found out I got my internship," Your voice is soft, almost as though you're trying to butter him up for something. He seemingly catches on, pressing his lips into a thin line as you pick pieces off your fish to feed him and yourself.
"You don't have to do that for me, you know. Don't feel like you need to repay me or anything, I'm helping you because I want to and it makes me feel useful. Just let me do it." He says sternly, carefully sliding a bandage over the top arch of your foot. He wraps another on the side, your fingers holding a piece of fish to his mouth. He takes it, chewing almost angrily as you sigh.
"Don't you think that you should let people help you, too?" You ask, "I mean, what if it makes me feel useful? I may not know you all that well, but it doesn't mean I want to see you in pain."
"I'm not in any pain. It's just uncomfortable, it'll go away."
"Mingyu."
"Please, just drop it."
You huff, tucking your foot under you as he gestures for you to give him the other one. You glance at the watch — 7:03 AM, or something similar because his hand keeps moving as he wraps bandages around your feet.
"We're making pretty good time, I'd say." You nod at the watch, and he glances down at it with a semi-impressed look. "Maybe we'll be out of here by eight instead."
"Maybe. Eat up, I'm going to bathe." He murmurs, patting your knee before he slips away, taking a netted bag with him that you hadn't noticed him take out. You watch the way his back is stiff, the bruising patching up to the curve of his neck. His biceps are just as tense as he disappears around the waterfall, and you lean back on one hand as you pick at the fish in front of you. You sip your water diligently, hearing the soft running of the waterfall amongst the buzzing of flies and bugs.
The morning is quiet aside from the sounds of nature. You finish your breakfast, putting the fire out with the little water you have left in your bottle before reaching over to his rucksack and fishing out one of the apples in the netted bags. You wipe it across your shirt, sinking your teeth into it and holding it between them as you lay on the ledge with your foot hanging off the edge.
Mingyu returns shortly, hair dripping before he shakes his head like a dog, spraying the side of your leg as he makes his way up the boulders. The sun is significantly hotter now, so the spray doesn't bother you nearly as much, but you still kick the side of his thigh with your eyes closed.
"Come on, princess. We've got to get moving, and we only have one water bottle left so we gotta fill up before we leave."
You don't open your eyes, blindly feeling around for your empty water bottle and tilting it to the waterfall. The sound of water falling into the bottle is enough confirmation for you, earning a chuckle from Mingyu as he does the same. You can feel his presence around your head, before he takes the bottle from your grasp and finishes filling it for you.
"Can you get the clothes? I'll filter these while we walk."
You peel your eyes open, looking up to see him donning a form-fitting, sleeveless white shirt that nearly makes your eyes bulge out. You sit up quickly, almost choking around the last bite of your apple before you push yourself off the ground and scramble down the boulders, tossing the apple core far into the woods as you reach the clothes. They're surprisingly dry, almost hot to the touch as you fold them quickly and stuff them into your backpack. You hold your socks in your hand as you pull your backpack over your shoulders, tightening the straps before making your way back up to the cavern. You practically throw his socks at him, not catching the furrow of his brows when they land on his arm (and then, the ground.)
"What's got you so frantic? Take a deep breath."
"Nothing. Just…excited to get the day started." You speak through your teeth, shoving your feet into your socks, not bothering to shake out your sneakers before pulling them on. You lace them up haphazardly, before looking into the cavern. There's nothing, but you still pat the side of the opening in gratitude before making your way down the boulders. "Uh, you take your time. I'm just gonna…roam."
"Like hell you are, stay put." He scoffs, screwing a contraption on each of the water bottles before setting them down and grabbing his bag. You look away, focusing your eyes on the forest ahead of you and the sunlight spotting through the trees. "You need sunscreen."
"No, I don't."
"Being stubborn gets you nowhere with me. Get up here."
"Can't, sorry. Already said my thanks to the cavern, means I can't go back."
You shrug, feigning nonchalance as you imagine the irritated look on his face. You dig the toe of your sneaker into the ground beneath you, kicking at the dirt when you hear him move around behind you. His arm brushes your shoulder as he skirts past you, the bottles of water held tightly upside down by the straps of his rucksack as he grabs your shoulders and makes you face him.
"There's no trees for about ten miles with the route we're taking. If you don't put on sunscreen, you're gonna get a sunburn and I don't have anything to soothe it." He says flatly, his fingers covered in thick sunscreen as he presses them to your face. You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as he works it into your cheeks and forehead, trailing his fingers down your neck. You can feel your pulse pick up a bit, and you're hoping he doesn't as the tips of his fingers breach the collar of your shirt.
"Arms and legs. Sit." He makes you sit on the edge of the boulder, a scoff leaving your lips as he rolls up your sleeves slightly and spreads more of the sunscreen all over your arms and fingers, even working it into your cuticles. "Mingyu, I'm gonna be all sticky."
"Sticky beats blistering sunburn, plus this dries faster when you're not complaining."
"I'm not complaining!"
"Yes, you are, but I can handle it. So just let me take care of you, damn."
He rolls his eyes as he crouches, pushing the shorts up high on your thighs before wrapping his arms around your ankles. You glance down at him, and you must have some sort of look on your face because he holds the sunscreen up to you.
"Is this fine or do you want to do it yourself? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"You're not making me uncomfortable. I'm just not…used to this."
"Yeah, princess, no one is." He says pointedly, almost slowly as if he's talking to a child. You scoff, crossing your arms as your cheeks turn hot.
"That's not what I'm talking about." You grumble, your fingernails digging into your arms as he uncaps the sunscreen again, taking some in his hand before shaking his head.
"Then what are you talking about?" He slathers the cream on your shins, dipping slightly under your socks as you chew on your cheek. He reaches your knees, reaching behind them to coat the back of it before tapping the side. "Answer my question."
His fingers brush the inside of your thigh, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist as you take the sunscreen in your hand.
"The touching. I'm not used to the touching, okay?" You mutter, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you quickly cover your thighs in sunscreen, "you're so casual with it and I don't know what it's supposed to make me feel, and I don't want to think about it right now."
You cap the cream, shoving it into his chest before standing up and fixing your clothes to cover you. He blinks down at you, confusion and concern coating his gaze before he clears his throat.
"I didn't—"
"It's fine, Mingyu. I'm not uncomfortable, you're not in any trouble, nothing like that. It just makes me think too much. Now, let's fucking move." You gesture to the woods behind you, and he nods slowly, slathering the rest of the sunscreen left on his hands on his arms. He seemingly doesn't know what to do with his hands, crossing his arms on his chest before walking into the forest.
The first few minutes are silent. Just crunching of leaves and twigs under your shoes, his posture rigid as he tries to hide how often he rolls his shoulders back. You keep your eyes on the ground; your own arms crossed on your chest as he keeps about a foot of distance between you. His shorts are navy blue now; a cute little flower embroidered on the pocket with baby blue thread and the letters KMG.
"What's the K for?" You ask, and he glances at you over his shoulder.
"What K?"
"On the pocket of your shorts. KMG. MG is for Mingyu, right?"
You gesture at the embroidery with your pinky, and he reaches his hand back to touch the pocket before a look of understanding crosses his features.
"Ooh. It's Kim. Kim Mingyu." He shrugs, patting the pocket before crossing his arms on his chest again. You nod, "Lee Y/N."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Lee."
"Nauseated to meet you, too, Mr. Kim."
You miss the way he smiles inwardly; your eyes focused on the caps swinging from the back of his bag. You notice they also have his initials embroidered, as does his rucksack on the bottom left corner.
"Why is all your stuff labeled with your initials?"
"I went a little crazy when the outbreak happened, and all the things at the cabin that I took there in case of something like this look exactly the same. So, I hand-embroidered my initials on everything that was mine, and then everything else with whoever has it. There's a handful of guys up there, but you're the only girl I've come across thus far. When we get there, you'll get some clothes and a towel, and we'll pick a color and put your initials on them, and you can stay as long as you want."
He shrugs, your chest warm at the idea of having community again.
"As long as I want?"
"As long as you want, sweetness."
You bite back your smile, nodding to yourself, "do I get my own bed, too?"
"I believe so. If not, I'll just make some of the guys room together so you can have your own space." He glances down at you, "you can be happy about it, you know. You must've been very lonely out here by yourself. Don't think I didn't notice how tired you were, you were practically stiff from all the stress in your back."
"It was just…I felt a little pathetic." You start, "I wasn't prepared, but who truly is for something like this? We speculate, but we never actually think or hope it will happen. I was so sure I'd be in Germany, I thought my life was set in stone for me and I'd be…well. Yeah."
"This idea you have that you can't be great because you didn't make it to Germany is a little concerning to me." He speaks softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You've made it on your own for this long, I think that shows resilience. I don't necessarily commend you for making it this far with such little food sources, because that's dangerous but things are scarce and you're alive. You're still kicking, so who says you can't do bigger things? Better ones?"
"You should be a life coach."
"I was a cheerleader in grade nine, I know a thing or two about spirit."
You snort, "I was a cheerleader, too. I only lasted six weeks because I broke my ankle during a standing back tuck. I ended up having to get surgery; it was the worst pain of my life and my mother was furious about the money we shelled out for the uniform and summer camp."
He bites back his laughter, shaking his head before clearing his throat. "What other things did you do besides school and work?"
"You mean did I have any hobbies?" You tilt your head, trilling your lips and sucking your teeth, "I was pretty good at playing guitar. Electric, bass, acoustic…my mom taught me. And piano, she loved piano, all that classical mumbo jumbo but she loved rock. I was also an incredible masseuse, you know—"
"You just don't let up, do ya?"
"You're asking me questions, I'm just answering. I was a master assembler of furniture, I was also good at baking. I made a cake or a pie for me and my roommates every week. I'm an ice cream connoisseur, specifically Ben & Jerry's and my favorite flavor is Cherry Garcia. I also really like soup and stews. Soft tofu stew? Absolute gas, my man."
There's a soft glimmer in his eye as he hums, "anything that you wish you could do right now?"
"Listen to the radio. I'd sit in my room with my mom's favorite station on odd days and my dad's on even. Rock on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and dance pop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then I'd alternate on the weekends. My dad loved Kylie Minogue, my mom was super into Janis Joplin."
"What's your favorite song? Of all time, and not your parents'. Yours." He looks around, carefully slipping in front of you as another hill is in your way. He starts reaching his hand back but quickly pulls it back to his side as he skillfully makes his way down, looking over his shoulder at you. You glance at his hand stuffed in his pocket, giving him an odd look before holding onto his elbow and making your way down.
"Of all time? Can I do top five?"
"Sure."
"Safe and Sound by Capital Cities, Ooh My Love by Stevie Nicks, You Don't Know My Name by Alicia Keys, You and Me by Lifehouse, Look On Down from the Bridge by Mazzy Star." You nod along as you speak, still holding onto his arm as you make your way through a vast field.
"You have a very 'divorced dad that's still in love with his ex-wife while trying to fit in with his kids' type of music taste."
You laugh as you register what he says, your fingers tightening around his arm as you shrug, "my parents used to sing together like they were going through a million and one divorces. Instead of fighting, they sat at my mother's piano and sang until they got over it. What's your favorite song? Top five?"
"Hm, I don't know. I liked a lot of different genres, but I think one of my favorite songs was definitely My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco. I listened to it a lot when I was in high school, almost on loop on days I had exams. I haven't heard it in a while." He nods, before clicking his tongue. "In fact, I think the last time I heard it was on the drive back to my parents' house after things ended with my ex-fiancée."
"Oh, boy." You wince, "what was she like? Was she nice?"
"Oh, the sweetest, really. Got along well with almost everyone. Smart, reliable, dependable…" He trails off, shrugging his shoulders with a tick in his jaw. "She was great."
"So why didn't you try harder to make it work?" You ask softly, "I mean, if she was so great, and she sounds almost perfect…what happened?"
"I wish I could tell you." He lets out a sigh of defeat, clicking his tongue, "I felt like a jerk, and I constantly wondered if I'd done the right thing. I would get calls from her, and I was cruel to answer, knowing things wouldn't change and I was drowning myself in work to avoid my feelings of guilt. We stopped talking a month or so after, because I stopped picking up her calls. She moved to Taiwan just before the outbreak, she got a really good job out there working with the Society for Wildlife and Nature and I'm here. I abandoned the house project for my family because I needed time to process everything, and though I'm over it now and I'm moving on…the guilt of never finishing that house eats away at me now."
"You're just a mess, huh?" You chuckle softly, patting his arm before shaking your head.
"We live with so much guilt, humans. We feel guilty about the things we do, the things we don't do, the things we think about and the things we don't. It's a never-ending cycle, and someday…it ends. Yeah, your family isn't here anymore to enjoy that house. But you can still finish it, you can bring new growth there. You'll marry, you'll have a kid or two and that golden retriever that everyone seems to want…and you'll heal because you'll see the space used for what you intended it for, you know? Togetherness, love, care and caution. Someone will trip up the stairs, and you'll have anticipated it. Someone will get shoved into a hall closet by their sibling and you'll have already pictured it because that's what a home is. Memories, good and not-so-good, tangible and in the mind, alike; because you are your family. And they live through you, still, and whatever you put into the world."
He doesn't speak for a minute, your hand still holding onto his arm as you both keep walking in the field. The silence is comfortable but thick, like one of you said something the other wasn't expecting and it's still suspended in the air, processing. You stare at the ground, watching your feet go in front of each other as the sun beats down on your backs. Mingyu rolls his shoulders back silently, and your fingers slip off his skin as you move to slip your hand into your pocket.
His fingers dart out of his own pocket, grabbing yours and interlacing them. Your fingers are stiff for a second, and you lean forward slightly to look at him — only for him to turn away. You frown, but curl your fingers around his hand…
And you ignore the way your heart quickens stupidly in your chest at his thumb rubbing circles into your skin.
The walk continues without much conversation, minutes turning to hours but his hand never letting yours go, even as he rolls his shoulders back and winces in discomfort. You feel a pang in your chest as he does it repeatedly, the sun moving overhead and making your skin grow hot. You ignore the fatigue settling into your thighs, leaning your head on Mingyu's bicep when he glances down at you.
"Your hair is scorching hot." He presses his free hand to your face, before reaching behind him and pulling one of the water bottles off his bag. He looks at it, the water clean on one side and the filter blinking green. He lets go of your hand, twisting the filter off and standing in front of you. "Close your eyes, this is gonna be cold."
"No way you're soaking me with that right now."
"I'm not, but your head is hot, and I have an extra cap. It's just to cool you down. I'll even give you a carrot if you just let me do this."
"Do I look like a horse—"
He sprays you with the bottle mid-sentence, an unimpressed look on his face as you scowl. He does it again, and you just close your eyes as he runs his fingers through your hair. The water drips down your shirt, soaking through as you move your arms to cover your chest. He tugs a cap off the back of his bag, pulling it over your head before moving to tuck your hair over the backstrap in a makeshift ponytail. He swings the bag off, flipping it open and handing you a carrot. You stare at it, tonguing your cheek as he pulls the bag back over his shoulders.
"I'm literally soaking wet."
"The sun'll dry you out, don't worry. And you'll bathe later, so it's no big deal."
"Sure, no big deal. What about the carrot?"
"Eat it." He shrugs, holding the bottle of water in his fingers as he blindly feels around for your hand. You let him take it, rolling your eyes as he bumps your fingers with his thigh in every movement. You glance at the carrot in your hand, sucking your teeth before holding it up to him.
"You didn't breakfast."
"I wasn't hungry."
"Bullshit. Eat it."
"You eat it." He sticks his tongue out at you, but you give him a stern look that makes him roll his eyes, his hand coming to grab the carrot and he bites a piece off with his teeth. You take the water bottle from his hand, swinging it on your side as you keep your eyes trained to the trees in the horizon, your dripping hair keeping you cool in the beating sun.
"What are your hobbies?" You kick at the grass patches, and he hums as he chews.
"Well, I was just very go-with-the-flow. I liked cooking, I did almost all the cooking when I lived in the dorms with my roommates and when I moved in with my ex. I also drew a lot, I designed a few album covers for a few of my friends that were underground artists in college. I also play guitar, but just electric. I have a shit poker face, and I can't lie to save my life; so, I know better than to gamble with my friends, but I'm very hands-on. I like embroidering things, if it wasn't obvious, but I overall just like using my hands to do something. It keeps me busy and the end result is almost always something I'm satisfied with."
You nod silently, before clearing your throat.
"What was her name?"
"Mina. Jeong Mina."
"Mina and Mingyu…M&M." You mumble to yourself, your fingers around the water bottle tightening slightly. The trees seem to be getting closer, and you stay silent for the rest of the walk, even when it feels like hours. Your hair dries slowly, your shirt drying even slower as you limply trek the last few miles with your hands linked between each other. Your back tenses as you hear a noise in the distance, but you see nothing as you look around slowly, even stopping Mingyu before walking into the shade of the trees. You glance around, your skin prickling but nothing catches your eyes until you hear Mingyu whisper in your ear.
"Don't move."
Your eyes dart around the field behind you, before you catch a sparkle less than half a mile away. You try to focus, but Mingyu's hand is pulling you slowly behind him as you realize that it's an animal, a bear. The sparkle is the eyes staring straight at you in the high afternoon sun as your breath hitches in your throat. You watch it move slowly, preparing to run as Mingyu's foot crunches something, and you both freeze as it keeps gauging your every move.
"When do we start running instead of standing here like idiots?" You speak through gritted teeth, now fully behind Mingyu and moving deeper into the trees.
"They're not usually around these parts, the bears stay closer to the water…so if there's one, there could be more." He mutters, his hand tightening around yours as you pull on it. "Don't let go, okay?"
"Mingyu!" You grit, pulling harder as you turn to face into the woods. Yet another dilemma lays ahead — a mountain lion, watching you from the trees. Emerald eyes are set on your face, ears are set back, black-tipped tail flicking as you make eye contact. You must stop moving because Mingyu bumps into you, glancing over his shoulder to see the large cat's claws dig into the bark of the tree.
"We have a better chance with the lion that we do the bear. At least she'll give us a head start," you're breathless, not wanting any sudden movements to make it pounce. You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest as the lion glances down before making contact with your eyes again. You dare yourself to look down, seeing a deer carcass laying on the forest floor.
"Bear is turning around," Mingyu's voice trembles slightly, but you mention nothing as you stare up at the lion with the most courage you can muster. For whatever reason, you put your hands up, carefully skirting around the dead animal that makes your heart sink in your chest. It's nature, you tell yourself as Mingyu keeps himself close to your back, pressed into you so hard that you can feel his chest rising and falling with every quipped breath. The lion follows you with every step, occasionally glancing at the carcass beneath it as you make it to the other side of it.
"We're leaving now," you say to no one in particular, and the lion stares you down, lowering its head as Mingyu's fingers dig into your arm, his hand in yours tightly squeezing. You watch the lion's tongue peek out to run over its snout, before a lazy yawn guarantees your temporary safety. Mingyu pulls you deeper into the forest, but you don't turn around, even as the lion closes its eyes.
Your grip on Mingyu's hand is almost bruising as you turn slightly, a shiver running down your back as he lets out a breath. You don't want to seem weak — because you're not. You're strong, you've done this for months alone.
Emotions are not weakness.
"I think I'm gonna throw up," you mumble, your breathing shaky as Mingyu pulls you into his chest. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck, squeezing softly as your forehead rests against his shirt — you can feel how fast his heart is beating as his necklace digs into your face, hearing him try to regulate his breathing and wrapping his arms around you tightly. You swallow a sob, but he just pulls the cap off your head, resting his cheek on top of your hair.
"It's okay. We're okay, we're alive." His voice is full of air as he squeezes the back of your neck again, your eyes watery as you squeeze them shut, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as you let a breath out. He keeps you close until you've stopped trembling, his hand squeezing your arms and neck, running up and down your back. "God, that carcass made me so nauseous."
You let out a snort, the reality of it all hitting you in the face. You're actually in this world right now, surrounding by things that the government created to hurt its own people. You're in the woods with this stranger named Kim Mingyu, who is annoying to the point that it's slightly endearing, and you can feel your breakfast unsettled in your throat. You let out a humorless laugh, your shoulders shaking as the laughter takes over your body.
"What the hell is so funny?"
"I should be in Germany. That's what's so funny."
You pull back, wiping at your eyes as another hysterical chuckle slips from your lips. "I should be in Germany! Instead, I'm letting a man I don't know take me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and opening up about myself when I could be falling in love and being successful in Germany!"
He nods, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. His thumbs stroke the skin of your face gently, before he lets go and tugs your cap back on. He grabs your hand, taking the water bottle from your other hand and slipping it back onto his rucksack.
"Come on, we're a few miles out from another cavern." He mumbles, holding your hand tightly as he pulls you flush to his hip, his eyes alert as you both move through the forest tensely. Every footstep is too sudden, your hands tight around each other and you mouth a silent prayer to whatever God is out there to calm you the hell down. Mingyu is in no better shape, opting to constantly glance down at you when he thinks you're not looking — but he doesn't break eye contact when you meet his. He only blinks at you, gaze roaming your face before turning back to the unmarked forest floor.
"Are you upset with me?" His voice is soft, meek even; your hand squeezing his lightly before you lean your head against his arm with a sigh.
"Never," you shrug. "It's scary. I'm scared, and you're just as human as I am. I could literally feel your pulse going crazy. We're fine. You don't have to be brave all the time, you know? Fear is human."
"You're like a quarter. Both sides different, but still the same coin." He sighs, lolling his head back before rolling his shoulders, not letting you question him about what that meant. "My back fucking hurts."
"Thought you said it didn't."
"Yeah, well sometimes I lie."
"To save face?"
"Absolutely." He nods, rolling them back once more. "I can't be a wimp in front of a pretty girl; it's like shitting my pants."
"That's a bad analogy, whatever the fuck you were trying to say."
"That it's embarrassing, princess."
"That's such a horrible analogy, Mingyu." You wrinkle your nose, choosing to will the flutter in your belly away as you reach a shadier part of the woods. He keeps you close to his hip as he peers ahead, your cheek beginning to stick to his arm as you both sweat. You can only imagine how much his back hurts, the heavy rucksack moving with every roll of his shoulders. You glance down at his watch, the blurry face reading 4:53 PM.
"We still have so many hours left to our day." You groan quietly, feeling his thumb rub at the side of your hand in attempts to comfort you. "How long until we get to this cavern?"
"An hour or so. Don't worry, you can lie down as soon as we get there." He nods affirmingly, and you sigh as you force your eyes to stay open, the heat making your exhaustion set in much faster. You remind yourself that Mingyu is just as tired, if not more, and in pain as you put one foot in front of the other for what feels like an eternity.
Eventually, another slight clearing appears. Your eyes widen as you take in the height of this cavern — seemingly man-made but ancient. The trees have grown around it, warping around the entrance and mosses have overtaken the exposed rock. There is yet another spring below, but you can't bring yourself to bathe. You're too tired, and unfortunately, still very shaken up – even as Mingyu's touch grows increasingly comforting.
And confusing to your wildly beating heart.
"Here it is," he says plainly, pulling you in front of him as you both make it to the steps. "This was made hundreds of years ago, passed through generations before the last owner died and left it to the people that live in the cabins up in the colony. We opened it to the hikers; there's a sign on the north hill for it. It's just kind of a refuge now; it's kind of an unspoken rule that we have to keep it clean and tidy if we want it to stay usable."
You nod along to what he's saying, your thighs burning slightly as you make up the stone steps with his hands on your lower back. The entrance has a battery-powered lamp hidden inside the corner, and Mingyu grabs it, turning it on and illuminating the entire cavern. There isn't much to see — some dying potted flowers in the corner, a small window with glued sticks as a muntin. As you step in; a hinged door, oddly shaped but perfect for the entrance. You step inside cautiously, your foot landing on a soft rug. It's almost like a small apartment, except there is dust everywhere and you're certain there is a spider in the upper left corner of the wall. You glance down at the rug; a large sun embroidered in orange thread staring back up at you as you look at Mingyu.
He's not looking at you; his eyes are closed as he leans against the entrance of the cavern – a weary sigh falling from his lips as he forces one foot in front of the other, stepping inside and letting his bag fall off his shoulders. He reaches to close the door, a wince crossing his features as he manages to drag the locks in place quickly.
"Hungry? I can go catch something, it'll be quick." His tone is pained as he rubs his shoulder with a grimace, and you just shake your head as you toe off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the ground with a stretch.
"Maybe later, I'm not that hungry." You let a shudder fall off your frame as you kick your shoes into the corner, grabbing the rucksack and hauling it against the wall. You tug the sleeping bag out, unzipping it and laying it out on the ground as Mingyu sits on a milk crate that's next to the lamp, fiddling with the brightness as you toss the cap on top of his bag. You pull the water out of his bag pockets, reaching into the main slot and pulling out two oranges.
"I thought you said you weren't hungry?" Mingyu's voice rings in your ears as you kneel in front of him, pulling at the laces of his boots. "Let me go catch something—"
"Can you shut up?" Your voice is gentle, holding no malice as you tug his boots off one at a time. You toss them to the side of the room, watching him lean against the wall of the cavern with an uncomfortable sag to his shoulders. You pat the sleeping bag, "come. Lay down, I'll peel an orange, and you can sleep."
"I can peel my own orange."
"Or you can just let me do it for you."
He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you move out of the way, patting the sleeping bag again. He reluctantly slides off the milk crate, and you take his place as you sink your nails into the orange skin. He turns uncomfortably, grunting softly as he lays on his side, looking up at you. You raise your brows, smiling softly before crossing your legs at the knee.
"Something on your mind?"
"I didn't reapply sunscreen every two hours and we didn't stretch properly. Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine, gosh." You roll your eyes, carefully keeping the peel together as you move around the orange. He sits up painfully, "but—"
"No buts, Kim Mingyu. I'm okay." You nod affirmatively, before pointing your pinky finger at him, "it's you I'm worried about. You and your back. I watched you walk down the boulders this morning, you hold a lot of tension in your traps and deltoids, and even a bit in your acromion."
"It's like you're speaking Klingon to me right now, princess." He blinks up at you with drowsy eyes, resting his chin in his palm as you roll your eyes.
"Your back, you hold a lot of tension in your upper back from the fucking bag." You jerk your thumb in the direction of the brown rucksack, but he just shrugs as if it doesn't make him want to stiffen forever.
"I'll just take a hot bath when we get back to the cabin. I'll be fine." He mutters as you split the orange in half, and you slide off the milk crate onto your knees in front of him. You offer a slice, only for him to open his mouth lazily. You slip it past his lips, before eating one yourself with a shake of your head.
"Hot bath is not enough, you need a cold one, too. Maybe even a massage, and I can help with that." You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes again, turning away from you defiantly. You chuckle, leaning over his broad frame and holding another orange slice to his lips. He takes it, chewing carefully as you hold another in front of him. "What are you so afraid of? Relief?"
"Nothing, I'm just not used to the touching." He repeats your words back at you, and you scoff.
"You had a partner!"
"Two years ago, I had a partner two years ago. And what if I moan or something? Isn't that embarrassing?"
"That's literally normal. It's only weird if you make it weird, tons of people moan during massages. Even I've done it."
He pouts, his lip touching the side of your finger as you tap the orange slice to his mouth. He takes it, and you pat his shoulder. "It'll bring you lots of relief. I wouldn't offer if I didn't know what I was doing, you know. I'm not going to hurt you, not on purpose, anyway."
"I know." He mumbles, picking at a loose thread in the sleeping bag.
"Let me just work out a few knots," you whisper, hearing him groan exaggeratedly as you lightly tap your knuckles into his back. He sits up, meeting your eyes with a tired look in his, "what if you're a bad masseuse? What if you're just talking up your skills? I won't even know until my back still hurts in the morning."
"At least try me out, damn." You scoff in mock offense, shoving an orange slice in your cheek as you pluck at his shirt. "Take it off. Lay down on your stomach, and you can put your arms under your head if you want."
He tongues his cheek, "what if it hurts?"
"It's going to hurt a little bit. You're already in pain, but this will be more of a release pain. Not a pent-up pain," you shrug, before tilting your head towards his bag. "You have any oil or lotion in that bag? Even the sunscreen is fine, too, if you don't."
He shifts, thumbing at the hem of his shirt before sighing. "There's a bottle of almond oil at the bottom. It's in a bag so it wouldn't make a mess."
You nod eagerly, crawling over to it and flipping the bag open. You dig around through the items, your eyes widening at the hidden pistol at the bottom. It's covered with a sheath, seemingly never used as you hear the thwip of Mingyu's shirt being pulled off. You shake your head slightly, spotting the oil in a bag and grabbing it before closing the bag. You turn to see Mingyu's teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stretches his arms behind him.
"Stop stretching, fool. Lay down." You nudge his thigh with your foot, and he swats you away as he reluctantly does as he's told. You open the bag, taking the oil out to read the front, almond oil. "Oh, this is gonna smell so nice. At the place I worked, we'd heat this up and the rooms would smell for days."
You kneel next to him, popping the cap of the oil as he shifts slightly "We can stop any time, just let me know, okay?"
"Are your hands cold?"
"No, they just smell like oranges."
"Great, now all the bugs are gonna want me."
"At least someone does," you snort, earning a swat from his hand as you snicker. You pour a bit of oil on your hands, warming it in your palms as you lean over him. "Tell me about your life. Anything."
"What happened to not wanting to get attached?"
"Sometimes I lie."
You don't show any emotion on your face as he turns his head to look at you, only giving him a raise of your brows before tapping the side of your hand on his ribcage. "Go on. Talk to me."
He looks a bit skeptical, settling his head back on his arms as you slide your slicked hands onto his skin. He flinches slightly as you lightly dig your fingers into the tense muscles, running up the marks of the bruising. "Uh…so I used to play football. That's how I got my scholarship."
"What position did you play?" You wrap your hands lightly around his shoulders, squeezing softly as he tries not to squirm, "I was a wide receiver for the first year, then a quarterback the rest of my time on the team. I would've made captain but I graduated early."
"Athletic, smart, hardworking…and ridden with guilt. What a dreamboat." You tease, digging your thumbs into his shoulder blade. He scoffs, almost a grunt, "shut up. I'm sure you've got your own demons."
"Skeletons in my closet are few but sentimental," you admit, your skin prickling as you hear a soft gasp fall from his lips as you work through a small knot. "But we're not talking about me."
"Fine," he huffs, the heel of your palm digging just under his shoulder. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you wanna tell me. What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you think you're a bad kisser? Do you have a favorite color? Ever considered modeling?" You shrug, all the questions nonchalant as he hums, "what would you do with your life if you weren't an architect?"
"Well, I'm not an architect anymore, so I'd probably be doing this." He says pointedly, biting down on his lip as you press your thumbs into his lower back. You tap the skin softly, making him jolt as you snicker, "what about the rest of my questions?"
"Well, let me get to them!" He squirms as you slide your hands deeper, your thumbs settling in the dip of his spine comfortably.
"You've got back dimples. Cute."
"Shut up."
"They're cute. You're so cute."
He doesn't reply, but you watch the tips of his ears turn pink as he buries his face into his arms.
"You fluster easily?" Your voice has a coolness to it that you've never heard, but you don't care as you watch the flush crawl down his cheeks. "Oh, you're adorable."
"Will you stop that?" His voice is whiny as you laugh, softly digging your fingers into the skin. "I like red. The color."
"Is there any other red?"
"You know what—"
"Shh, just answer my questions." You smile inwardly as you slide your hands back up, finding another knot under the bruises. You work your fingertips into the muscle gently, watching his brow furrow as he clears his throat.
"Ice cream…I like strawberry. Sometimes vanilla, but strawberry is usually the contender. There was a creamery I used to go to a lot as a kid, and I never chose the flavor because the auntie who worked there gave me strawberry the first time I ever went. So, I got it every time until we got an ice cream maker at the cabin, and we just started making our own." He sighs as the knot slowly starts to give, your palms hot against his skin, "as for the modeling, I did a bit of that too, for money. I posed for the photography students, and I was semi-nude for the art students for a semester."
"Semi-nude? You're so scandalous," you chide, smoothing your palms over his shoulders once more. He sucks his teeth in response, opening his mouth to say something but you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide under the necklace, squeezing the sides of his neck. You lean down slightly, "so, are you a bad kisser?"
"You can't ask me that. It's in poor taste."
"Oh, you're such a bad kisser."
"What would you know, virgin?"
"Hey!" You pout, squeezing the back of his neck lightly, digging your thumbs into the skin as he bites back a groan. "I told you that in confidence!"
"Last I checked, we're here alone, sweetness. And you didn't tell me that, I just confirmed it." He grunts into his arm, a muttered fuck falling from his lips as you run your hands down his shoulders tightly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, shifting on your knees as you clear your throat.
"Yeah, well. It's one of my only secrets, so I expect you to guard it with your life." You grumble back, rubbing your hands down the length of his back with slight pressure. You squeeze his side, your fingers coming to pull at his necklace as you lean down further, "did you hear me, Kim Mingyu?"
"Yeah," his cheeks are burning red as his voice comes out a bit breathless, turning his head to face away from you. You lean over his body, finding his eyes open as he glances at you out of the corner of them. You give him a pointed look, making him huff as he closes them. "Yes, I heard you."
"Thank you."
"It's not like I was going to tell anyone, anyway."
"I don't know that," you say, leaning back onto your legs and patting the dip in his shoulders. "Feeling better?"
"I feel tired." He mutters, wrapping his arms tighter under his head as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips. He lifts his head up, giving you a defiant look with pursed lips before clicking his tongue, "you're pretty good, I guess."
"You guess?" You snort, tapping his side. "I can keep going until you fall asleep, if you want. I'll turn the light off, too."
"What about you, though?"
"What about me?" You question, dropping the closed bottle of oil into the bag and sealing it, putting it aside as you peer at him through your lashes.
"Aren't you sore? Tired? Shouldn't you sleep, too?"
You shrug, "my bag isn't as heavy, and I just need to stretch a bit. I'll do it in the morning, probably take a bath, too. I'm just offering because you're actively in pain, more than I am. Just take it as a thank you."
"You don't need to thank me."
"But I want to, and this is the only way I can."
"Tell me about yourself instead. I'll take your thanks that way."
"Nope." You shake your head, untucking your legs from under yourself and stretching them out. You take your socks off as he sits up, a pout on his lips as he gets in your face.
"Come on! You asked me all those questions and I answered!"
"You answered because you have no self-preservation skills. That's a problem."
"I've kept you alive for two days!" He shoves your shoulder lightly, and you turn your head to look at him, glancing at the spot where he touched your shoulder. He swallows carefully, fixing the sleeve of your shirt where his fingers wrinkled it. "Sorry."
"I kept myself alive for much longer, but fine," you roll your socks, squeezing your calves with your hands as you bend at the waist. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around your knees and bringing them to your chest. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you wanna tell me."
"You suck at this."
"You're so mean." He huffs, resting his cheek against your shoulder. You try not to stiffen, opting to continue running your fingers down your shins as you clear your throat, "Mingyu."
"Fine." He shifts, instead resting his chin higher up. "What's your favorite color? Have you ever considered modeling? Do you think you'd be a bad kisser?"
"You're so unoriginal." You snicker, making him scoff. "Fine, why are you braless in the middle of the woods?"
"First of all, a raccoon stole my bra, like, two weeks into this mess! That's not my fault!" You gape, your brows furrowing as you turn to face him. He's really close, his eyes boring into yours as you wrinkle your nose at him, "you're such a man. Of course you'd notice."
"Or, I have my chin on your shoulder, and I don't feel the strap."
"I could've gone strapless."
"There's no support in those things."
"You saying I need support?"
"I'm saying you seem like a reasonable person, and no reasonable person likes strapless bras." He rolls his eyes, and you bite back your smile as you turn away from him. "Are you going to answer my questions or not?"
"My favorite color is green. I was a nude model for a portrait class last year and no, I don't think I'd be a bad kisser. There is skill in the yearning." You shrug the shoulder he's not perched against, and he gasps in feigned shock.
"Fully nude?"
"Fully nude. It was a bunch of girls, and most of them were my friends, anyway."
"But you called me scandalous for semi-nude?"
"I'm a woman, it's different. Women have this gravitational beauty that men just don't possess. It's the same feeling you get when you look at, I don't know, the Northern Lights, or the moon, or the ocean." You quip, turning to face him again. "I'm sure you'd agree."
He tongues his cheek, eyes burning into yours before he shrugs. "I would but that's just—"
"Shut up."
"But I have more questions."
"Then ask them, loser."
He leans his cheek against your shoulder, eyes round and wet as he stares up at your face. You raise a brow, your gaze pointed as he wrinkles his nose at you.
"What is your dream partner like?" His voice is soft, his arms crossing on his bare chest; the face of his watch blinking at 9:43 PM. You hum, your tongue darting out to wet your lips again. His eyes follow the movement, before shamelessly looking back up at you.
"I don't know, actually." You admit, "I just hope he's sweet. A nice guy, but he has to be nice to everyone, you know? The aunties, kids, animals, too, because I don't like assholes. Uhm, I like lip gloss, so he'd have to be okay with me wearing it, and I like it when they dress nice. Also, when they smell nice. And I like a man that can eat, too. I don't know."
"You wear lip gloss?" He's gentle as he asks, and you move away carefully. You grab your bag, leaning back with it in your lap. He lingers behind you, and you move back enough and bring your hand up to rest his cheek on your shoulder again. He goes without resistance, watching you open your bag and pull out the folded clothes. You reach into the bottom, taking out the sparkly pink tube of bubblegum lip gloss and holding it up to the light.
"I used to collect them before the outbreak. I had at least two in every bag, all sorts of flavors and colors. I don't like this one all that much, that's how you can tell I wasn't really expecting this to seriously happen." You laugh humorlessly, unscrewing the cap and giving it a soft sniff. It was brand new, still sweet with the scent as you close it.
"Put it on, let me see." Mingyu nudges you, and you scoff, "it's just sparkly. There's nothing more to it."
"Let me be the judge of that." He huffs, making you roll your eyes as you uncap it again, reluctantly putting it on. The formula is a little sticky, but it tastes fine as some of it seeps into your mouth. You wipe the corners of your lips, seeing Mingyu watch you intently out of the corner of your eye.
"Up to your standards, Mr. Kim?"
"You're so pretty when you shut up, you know that?"
He's rolling his eyes almost too hard, but you just smile widely as his cheeks flush once more.
"You've done that a lot, you know." You mention slowly, putting the things away in the bag and sliding the lip gloss on top before zipping it up and tossing the bag aside.
"Done what a lot?"
"Call me pretty. Five times, actually. And you called me cute three times."
"You're keeping count?" He asks pointedly, before you give him an annoyed look. "So what? I can't have eyes?"
"Sure, you can, I just know that you're gonna fall in love with me." You jest, hearing him click his tongue, "would that be so bad? I'd say I'm pretty cool, the aunties love Kim Mingyu. And I don't care if you wear lip gloss, I like the way it looks on you."
"You met me yesterday," you deadpan, and he gives you a look that says so?
"I can still think you're pretty. I can think whatever I want; which is why I think you're smart, and strong, and mean, and you're pretty but that won't change." He shrugs, "you're…something. I can't quite figure it out, but I will."
"Or you could give up." You wiggle your brows, "it's not that serious. The world is ending."
"Then why are you so resilient?" He whispers, his eyes intense as he leans slightly closer. "Why are you so intent on staying alive if you're so convinced there is nothing to live for?"
You blink at him, lips parting before he leans forward slightly.
"If you didn't think there was something worth living for, you would've easily given up on yourself ages ago. I wouldn't have found you literally licking your wounds, and you wouldn't have let me feed you, or bandage you up. You would've looked that mountain lion in the eyes and taunted it, and then you'd be dead." He shrugs, his breath hitting your lips as your jaw tightens slightly. "So, stop acting like the world is ending. It's not. It doesn't end until you want it to, and even then, I won't let you think that way. Life isn't over because of this. Life doesn't end, ever. It keeps going, so you keep going."
He's so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours, "stop playing both sides of the coin. Either you're in it, or you're not. And as far as I can tell, you're in. So, stay in."
You can't tear your eyes away from him, your breath hitched in your throat as you stare at each other. A beat passes, a minuscule beat where you glance down at his lips — before you move back from him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips. Glitter smears over your skin with the thin layer of lip gloss, and you move behind him to turn the lamp off. He says nothing, allowing you to lay on your side and face the wall. You curl your knees to your chest, staring at the light bleeding through the window that illuminates the room.
He shifts behind you, a groan as he likely lays on his back. You say nothing, even when his voice whispers good night.
You can't sleep.
Mingyu took his watch off at some point, tossing it to the side and you saw it blinking lightly above your head, reading twenty minutes until one in the morning. His eyes are closed, back rising and falling steadily as you turn for what feels like the hundredth time, facing him as he sleeps shirtless and on his belly. You're shivering slightly, the cold of the night seeping in through the floor as you wrap your arms around yourself.
You think about what he said. Not because it bothered you, of course not…
You just didn't like to be seen that way, to be perceived further than what little information you voluntarily offer about yourself: architecture student, design snob, mean girl who doesn't need anyone. You had a problem with accepting whether this was something you could be positive about, and you think that of all people, Mingyu could understand — a life set in stone, something you'd wanted for so long…just ripped away. The idea of becoming great in what you wanted versus the reality in becoming great for survival were two different things, and while you knew you'd done well in keeping yourself alive…a part of you wonders what would've happened if you'd made it to Germany. If the outbreak happened after you left, if you would've managed to escape the hurt in your chest when your parents on the island stopped picking up your calls.
Or the way your mind flashes the day you hit the pavement falling out of your first-floor window, falling away from your two lifelong friends that you'd never get to see again. All because of a loser in downtown that opened fire against public health for no reason other than stupidity and selfishness.
You simply wonder, but wondering does nothing for your bitter heart as you watch Mingyu sleep soundly; a shiver sweeping through your body as you give in to your heart's incessant tugging.
"Mingyu." You whisper, but he doesn't open his eyes. A huh is heard, soft and sleepy, before you speak slightly louder. "Mingyu."
He doesn't respond, only sighing and lifting his arm, his fingers beckoning you to come closer. You nibble on your lip for a second, before he reaches over and curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You move with it, letting him tuck you into his chest before pulling your side of the sleeping bag over your shoulder. You're engulfed with warmth, his arm holding you close to him as you feel him move your leg over his hip, your cheeks heating before you hide your face in the dip of his neck, his necklace cool against your lips and cheek.
"Sorry." You mumble, but he just squeezes his arm around you lightly before you feel the ghost of his lips on the shell of your ear.
"S'okay, princess. Can't sleep?" He sighs, his palm rubbing circles into your back as he drums his fingers in tandem. Your nose is filled with a mix of him as you bury your nose deeper into his neck, "it's just cold in here."
"You'll warm up soon." He mumbles, his hand sliding up to palm at the back of your neck. Your skin prickles slightly as he squeezes, breath hitching in your throat as your face is engulfed in a hot flush. His thumb traces circles into the side of your neck, "wear your lip gloss tomorrow. I like it."
"Think I'm gonna do stuff just because you like it?" Your voice isn't nearly as confident as you move back to look up at him, his eyes still closed as he shrugs.
"I think you should do stuff because you wanna, but if you want to do it because I like it—"
"Mingyu."
He laughs tiredly, and you scowl inwardly as you rest your forehead on his bare chest.
"You're cute, Y/N."
"Why are you messing with me right now? Aren't you sleeping? Go to sleep."
"I can't sleep when you're tossing and turning. I was just waiting for you to tell me you were cold."
"Pft." You grumble, trying to turn out of his hold when he tightens his arm around you, sliding down a bit to be eye level with you. He's hovering over you slightly, eyes teasing, tired, as they look down at you. Your blush grows hotter as he blinks down, your fingers curling into fists as you lamely hit his shoulder. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I'm cold."
"If anything, I think you are doing that. It's been cold before, when you were on your own. You managed." He raises a brow, his fingertips drumming against your back again. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could've just said that."
"I don't."
"Then move."
He lifts his arm up, giving you a pointed look as you cross your arms on your chest. You chew your cheek, looking away from him as you click your tongue. "You're being mean."
"You're not being honest."
"Mingyu!"
"Stop whining and tell me what you want, babe." He quips, "you're cute."
"That makes four times, you know. Or five, actually." You mutter, clenching your jaw repeatedly to will the stupid flutter in your chest away before groaning. "Can you just hold me? Please? I'm tired and I'm cold and I just wanna go to sleep."
He doesn't respond, wrapping his arm around your waist once more and holding you close. Your cheek is smushed with his as your arm drapes around his side, your fingers dangling over his back. If he feels your lips curve into a smile against his jaw, he says nothing — but you feel his frame relax under the weight of your limbs wrapped around him, his arm under your head bending at the elbow to pat the back of your head. His fingers run through your hair soothingly, your eyes fluttering shut as you whisper thank you against his skin.
"Good night, sweetness."
MINGYU IS STILL ASLEEP WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM YOUR BATH.
You'd escaped his grip without waking him just forty minutes earlier — and you're grateful you did, because you can't be blamed for the insane butterflies filling your stomach. He'd been fully on top of you once more, his head resting between your breasts and his hand slipped into yours, pinning it next to your head. He'd been snoring softly, pouting in his sleep with every inch you managed to move away, but eventually turned on his side as you wiggled away. You took a deep breath then, covering your face with your hands and feeling the heat of your skin against your palms.
You can't lie and say you didn't curse everything that got you into this mess — but you absolutely hate the idea of the crush you knew was forming in your chest. A crush, your mother always said, is a lack of information. And boy, do you lack information right now.
But something about him makes you not want to care. You want to throw caution to the wind, you want to let him hold you close every single night, you want to rub his back until he falls asleep, you want to wear lip gloss for him, and you want him to kiss you. You want to kiss him, over and over until you can’t breathe.
Until you need him to breathe.
You wonder if this shows how inexperienced you are, how easy it was for him to get into your head. His words, his help…his spirit and incessant need to keep going when the world is crumbling around him.
But he's just you in another person, isn't he? Smart, strong, resilient…and full of guilt.
So full of guilt — but his is from the past, and yours is from the present, from the thundering in your chest caused by him and his casual touching that you welcome without a word, by him and his ability to show fear despite wanting to be brave and succeeding.
Him, and how easily you felt seen, and how you've never, ever given in so easily.
Not to your feelings, not to your circumstances, not to a man.
You've religiously fought against every single odd in your life. Every single fight with your parents, every argument with your friends that left you in a puddle of furious tears, every single stepping stone that was set slightly higher for you because you're a girl. A girl with dreams and aspirations and a need to be the top of your class, the best in your department.
A girl with the incessant need to be great.
And you feel a little foolish to think that a few words from a man, a man you don't know, can make you realize that greatness can be found in anything. You hate it, honestly, because then, your mother is right. Your father is right, everyone who has ever told you to take it easy has been right — greatness is found everywhere, and your father's voice echoes in your mind from the night you left the island for Yonsei.
"You are going to shine, because you are a star. Stars shine everywhere, so just take it easy, kid. We'll be here when you get back, in all your greatness."
And now, they're gone.
Just like Jian, and Jieun.
Just like all the boys you never kissed, and all the boys that gathered the strength for weeks to tell you what Mingyu has been able to say so easily — that you're strong, smart, pretty. And you're only more skeptical of him as you realize just how easy it is for him to talk to you like that; like you're prey he's about to sink his teeth into, like you're going to fall in love with him and it'll be the best thing in your life for three months before he decides to find another, or that you're just simply not enough. Not experienced enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to keep maneuvering a world like this — where nothing is for certain.
Not enough.
You feel guilt seep into your bones as you glance down at him from your spot in the entrance, your hair dripping down your shirt — his shirt, the one he was wearing when he found you. The brown one with KMG stitched into his chest pocket, and the lace of your pink underwear peeking through the bottom as you feel your eyes burn with tears.
You move around quietly — covering yourself in sunscreen, peeling yourself an orange and grimacing at the taste after the toothpaste tablet. You wash your clothes, letting them dry on the steps, you stretch fully and even massage your feet lightly. You bandage your hand up, replacing your moleskins as silently as possible before slipping your socks on and tugging your jeans on.
You stare at the tube of lip gloss at the bottom of your bag, your heart fluttering as you swipe on a thin layer — before wiping it off with the back of your hand. You shove it back in the bag, your hands gripping the fabric before you toss it onto the steps and grab a carrot out of Mingyu's rucksack.
You watch the sun rise by yourself on the steps of the cavern, nibbling on the carrot when you hear a grunt from inside. You lean back slightly, peering into the entrance to see him stretching his arms over his head, his hair mussed with sleep.
He looks around for a second, patting the side of the sleeping bag when he sees you looking at him from the entrance. You give him a curt nod, pressing your lips together before tapping your wrist and looking away.
He moves about — you listen to him brush his teeth, put things in his bag, shoving his boots on before stepping out with an apple in his mouth and your shoes in his hand. His watch blinks 6:39 AM, and you feel him pull his cap over your head as you grab your shoes from him.
"Why didn't you wake me?" He murmurs, sitting next to you to lace up his boots. You scoot over slightly, your thigh still brushing his as you shrug, chewing far too much for your small bite of the carrot. He gives you a pointed look, sighing before turning slightly. "Did I make you upset? Did I do something? Say something?"
You don't respond verbally, shaking your head as you tug your shoes on; and that's when he notices you're fully dressed, and your hair is damp. He leans back slightly, your indifference making his eyes narrow as he studies you. You don't acknowledge it, tying your shoes and finishing your carrot in two bites.
"We should get moving." You murmur, and his brow furrows as you move to get up. His hand grabs your ankle before you can move away, looking up at you with confusion in his eyes.
"What's with you? Is this about last night?"
"What about last night, guy?"
"You tell me, princess."
You roll your eyes, shaking his hand off your ankle like a bug off your hand before turning to grab your bag. You slide it over your shoulders, hooking your thumbs in the straps before making your way down the steps. You stop a few steps from the bottom, looking over your shoulder.
"Come on. We don't have forever, you know."
Mingyu seems taken aback at your change in attitude, and you kind of applaud yourself for staying in character. You hear him slowly stand, and you make your way to the forest floor as he barrels down the steps. You walk forward until you feel him move you in the right direction, and then you pull away from his fingers. You roll your shoulders back, gripping the straps of your backpack as if they'll keep you sane.
You don't speak for a while. He gives you wayward glances that you don't bother meeting, holding his hand out with every hill that needs descending, but you don't take it. He grows a little stiff in front of you, awkwardly sliding his hands in his pockets as the sun starts to grow hot with the waning morning.
You look around diligently as you both walk, your eyes still a bit tired from your late-night tossing and turning. You'd woken up twice during your slumber, both cause of odd flashes in your dreams about the very same mountain lion you'd seen yesterday — only to be soothed back to sleep by the feeling of Mingyu's heart beating steadily against your ear. You scowl inwardly, keeping your eyes trained to the ground and kicking pebbles out of your way.
Mingyu stops abruptly, making you bump into his back, hitting your forehead on the clip that holds his sleeping bag. You grimace, rubbing at the skin when he turns around with a frown, his arms crossed on his chest as he peers down at you.
"I can't keep going in silence. Tell me what I did."
"Why do you think what you do is so important to me? Why do you think you're that worthy of having an effect on me?" You snap, sucking your teeth as you let your hand fall from your forehead, "not everything is about you. It's not like what I do will matter to you this much, so just leave me be."
"Oh, this is so about me." He scoffs, letting out a humorless laugh. "What the hell is the problem? What did I do?"
"You're confusing me! That's what you're doing!" You scream, screwing your eyes shut and covering them with your hands before letting out a defeated groan. "You ask me questions like you care, you touch me like it's second nature and you say nice things to me like you don't need reciprocity. You act like you're just this nice guy, and you tell me all this shit about how resilient I am as if I don't know. I know I'm strong, okay? I know I am, it's all I've ever been. I don't need you to tell me and I don't want to hear it anymore, because I want to have a chance where I don't need to be any of that!"
Your breathing is shallow as you wipe at your face, unaware at the tears streaming down them. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you, and you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard you see splotches of color amidst the darkness.
"I need you to stop acting like I'm the only girl in the world. The cuddling, the teasing, the casual touching, holding hands and all of that…it has to stop. I can't do it. I don't know what it's like to be liked, much less to like someone. I have a weak mind and a weaker heart, and you're confusing me. Just let me be if nothing will become of it."
Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you can't bring yourself to look at him as you sniffle. You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance at his watch.
11:32 AM.
"Keep moving. It'll be lunch time soon." You murmur, pushing past him to keep walking in the general direction. You get maybe three feet ahead of him when he finally starts moving. He doesn't say anything, just stepping ahead of you and trailing to the left. You follow silently, aside from the sniffling — watching the way his hands palm at the fabric of his shorts before he just stuffs them in his pocket.
You entertain yourself by watching the time tick by on his wrist as you keep walking in silence — the sniffling stopping around 1:15 PM. You stop to eat, and he hands you things without looking at you; which somehow, hurts far worse than you could have imagined. He uncaps the water for you, he peels an orange for you, but he says nothing; only pulling his hand back if he brushes yours accidentally.
And suddenly, the fullness of your belly can't win over the emptiness in your chest.
You hadn't expected the day to go by so slowly. It feels agonizing — the heat of the sun on your back, the weight of your heart in your throat paired with a dryness in your mouth that no amount of water can quench. You ignore the worried glances he gives you as you bring the bottle to your lips again, his arms crossed on his chest as you cap it.
The walk is uncomfortable. Sure, the dense trees bring a comforting refuge from the sun…but you can't stop thinking about him, even from ten inches away. You can't stop glancing at him every time he's in front of you, every time he instinctively reaches his hand out before retracting it, every time you almost take it. It's 3:29 PM before he finally speaks.
"You're not the only one with a weak heart, you know. You're confusing me, too."
It's all he says, keeping his voice gentle and quiet, his eyes trained forward as another clearing comes about. Instead of a field, you're met with what seems to be a newly constructed fence — heavy iron and lined with chicken wire at the bottom. He moves in front of the gate, kicking gravel around until the sparkle of a gold key catches your eye. You point at it silently, before he sees it and grabs it. He unlocks the gate, pushing it open slightly and poking his head in when you hear a shriek so loud that it makes you wince.
"You're back! Mingyu's back!" It's a man's voice, and Mingyu is pushed back by whoever it is throwing himself at him. He doesn't stumble much, wrapping his arms around the guy with a smile.
"I told you I would be, Chan. And we have company." He pats the man's back, who stiffens as more people gather around the open gate. More men stare back at you, their excited smiles turning to faces of horror as they lay their eyes on you. Gasps and chatter rise, and Chan embarrassedly drops from Mingyu's arms, avoiding your eyes as he clears his throat.
"Introduce her, idiot." One of the men with thick brows speaks up, a pouty look to his lips as he crosses his arms on his chest. Mingyu scowls, "mind your damn business, she's not here for you."
"It's not like she's here for you, either." Another one rolls his eyes, leaning against one of the posts. He's lanky, nimble fingers running through faded blond hair as he looks you up and down. "In jeans? You're brave. What's your name?"
Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as an embarrassed look glazes your face. "Uh…"
"Y/N. Her name is Y/N, now let us in. Don't you know? We're really tired." Mingyu speaks mockingly, waving them all back before grabbing Chan's wrist and pushing through them. You follow hurriedly, taking the key off the lock and holding it between your fingers as they let you slink past and one of the men locks the gate behind you. You lose Mingyu in the gaggle of men, chattering heard as they all push him towards the cabin that towers over you — four stories, you think. You can't see that high.
"She's cute," you hear someone whisper behind you, and you instinctively curl in on yourself before you hear a smack, followed by an ouch!
"Shut up. Leave the girl alone, she's needs to feel safe here."
"I just said she was cute! I didn't mean anything weird by it!"
"You're a guy, Soonyoung. We're all guys. She's gonna take a while to get used to us, so don't make her uncomfortable."
A grumble is heard, and you glance over your shoulder, the blond from before and another man with jet black hair behind you.
"It's okay. Mingyu's called me cute five times." You hold up five fingers, his name heavy in your mouth as the man with the jet black hair elbows the blond.
"See! It's not weird!" He scoffs, before holding his hand out. "I'm Soonyoung. This is—"
"Minghao. I can introduce myself, thanks." He rolls his eyes as you turn to shake Soonyoung's hand, his fingertips cold against your skin. "You must've been scared out of your mind out there. Were you on your own?"
"Uh, it's not really scary." You shrug, before shaking Minghao's hand. "I was alone from the beginning, so I just…adapted, I guess. I almost didn't let Mingyu help me."
Minghao's eyes hold something you can't recognize, before his other hand covers yours.
"You must be tired. Let's get you inside, hm? Seungcheol is making dinner." He pats your hand, before pulling you forward. You follow behind him, but his hand in yours doesn't make you feel anything different. It's just like holding hands with Jian or Jieun, or your parents — warm, kind. Just supportive, really, a guide.
Holding Mingyu's hand makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Not that you have a crush on Mingyu, anyway.
You let them lead you to the front of the cabin, with Soonyoung taking the keys out of your hand and placing them in a bowl by the door. You step inside, immediately hit with a blast of cold air that makes your skin prickle. Minghao pulls you in, shutting the door behind you and pulling you closer, your hip bumping his as you walk through the open living room.
"You should settle in. Let's see if Mingyu has a room for you." He squeezes your hand softly, before pulling you towards a hall closet. You see Mingyu's back inside, sorting through piles carefully. Minghao lets your hand go, "come downstairs when you're done settling in. We'll get you some food and you can meet everyone."
"Okay. Uh, thanks, Minghao."
"No problem, sweetheart."
You miss the way Mingyu's back tenses at the pet name, but you turn back to see him holding a pair of navy blue shorts up. He shrugs, draping them over his forearm before grabbing a towel off the top shelf. He glances at it, touching the corners before putting it back and grabbing another one. He does the same, before nodding to himself and closing the door, a ring of keys around his wrist.
He doesn't say anything as he turns to you, tilting his head towards the set of stairs to your right. You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as he turns without speaking, two steps at a time. You follow silently, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of your jeans as you look down hallways upon hallways of rooms. Some doors ajar, most closed — but your thighs are burning as you reach the fourth landing.
"Jesus Christ, are we almost there?" You grouse, and he only chuckles inwardly before stopping in front of you. You frown up at him, but he just shrugs, leading you down the hall of several doors, before a blue one ends the hallway. The letters KMG mock you in white paint, before he turns to the one next to it. It's green.
"This used to be a bed and breakfast before it came into my family. Hence, all the rooms." He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. He holds the items in his hand close to his chest before looking through the keys with one hand, before finding one with a matching green stripe on the bow. He unlocks the room carefully, opening the door to show a fully furnished room with pale pink walls and a cherry-print comforter. You feel your chest tight as he slips inside, setting the items in his hands down on the white desk in the corner.
"There's pajamas in the bottom drawer, if they don't fit you, we can alter them. Uh, you have your own bathroom and a hair dryer, so don't worry about sharing. There's a radio, so you can listen to music or the news or whatever you want. There's a TV, and a VCR player because this place is kind of old, but everything still works. There is also a handful of different chargers in one of the desk drawers, I don't know if you brought anything with you but I'm sure you can find something compatible if you have a phone or something. The bed is yours, and so is the room, as long as you want it. And you get your key, so no one comes in here unless you want them to. Lights out by eleven, though, so just be a little quieter than normal if you're not going to bed. Oh, and there is a pair of slippers in the closet that you can have, so don't worry about walking around barefoot."
You feel a little silly as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, nibbling on your lip as tears fill your eyes. You try to blink them back as you look around the room, the bathroom door ajar next to a white dresser with painted cherries. Mingyu looks up from the keys, holding the one to the room in his hand when you let out a shaky breath. His eyes widen, and you quickly turn away from him, wiping at your eyes and fanning at your face.
"You can just leave the key." Your voice is thick, "thanks."
He doesn't say anything, but his boots are heavy against the wooden floor as he stands behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him, only to feel his hand pull at your backpack. You let him take it off, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance over your shoulder to see him hanging it on a hook next to the bathroom door.
"You don't have to stay, if you don't want to. You can pick any other room, but I chose this one for the sake of privacy. I'm the only other person on this floor, so feel free to move around. Just let me know, and I'll unlock another room for you."
You nod, almost scared to step past the threshold — almost like it makes it real. That you have a bed again, a door that locks, a place to shower whenever you want. He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets before stepping in front of you.
"We don't have to talk, either, if you don't want to. Just…don't miss meals, okay?" His voice is soft, and you bite back the words in your mouth as he skirts around you. Your hand reaches for him, your fingertips brushing his wrist. He stops, glancing down at you as you tear your eyes away from the room in front of you.
"Are you upset with me?"
He shakes his head, his own fingers tapping the inside of your wrist as he moves away.
"You set a boundary. No matter how I feel, I'm not going to overstep that. We're all good." He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tries to move away again, but your fingers grab his elbow gently. He glances down at your hand, raising a brow as you quickly drop your hand. You clear your throat, and he turns to face you fully with a questioning look on his face.
"What do you mean, how you feel?"
He shrugs, the corner of his lip twitching into a lopsided smile.
"I think you have this idea of romance that's kind of…misconstrued. It's not always like the movies, and it's not always like the examples of romance we see around us. Our parents, friends, etcetera…romance is different for everyone."
You must look unimpressed, because he swipes his tongue over his teeth before he smiles.
"Are you seriously mansplaining romance to me right now?"
"No, I'm telling you that it's not the same for everyone. I think romance can happen fast, and I think that one person can experience different kinds of romance throughout their lifetime. I think there's romance in everything, including the way you're staring at me like I'm a dumbass."
"You are a dumbass." You mutter, "and I know what romance is. I know it's not the same for everyone, so you're just telling me shit I already know. So, you're a mansplainer."
"Sure, but I'm also absolutely enamored with you. Smitten, bewitched. Under your spell, even." He admits gently, before turning on his heel. "Think about that, sweetness."
You feel all the air sucked out of the atmosphere as he walks away, humming to himself as the keys jingle on his wrist. Your eyes are misty as you process the words out of his mouth, watching him walk confidently down the stairs like nothing has changed. You almost hate him, your heart beating normally just for a moment.
Just a moment.
The clock on your desk reads 9:22 PM.
Instead of going downstairs, you settled into your room a bit; after crying your eyes out in the shower, you diligently stepped out and did little skincare with what was stocked in the bathroom, and swiped on a thin layer of your lip gloss before getting dressed. Mingyu had given you three shirts, three pairs of shorts, a pair of long pants, a bunch of socks and a zip-up. You were given a pair of boxers, and you limply laughed as you pulled them over your hips before pulling one of the black shirts over your head, only to see KMG embroidered on the pocket in pink thread. You hold back your tears, opting to dry your hair in the bathroom before digging through the mess of cables in your desk for one to charge your phone. You manage to find one, plugging it into the wall before turning on the radio to 105.7 Seoul City Central — your heart skipping as My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco starts bleeding through the static.
You leave it on, opting to pull the comforter back and examine the sheets when a bump in the hallway makes you jump. You still, feeling footsteps clambering on the wooden floor before you quietly tiptoe your way to the door.
"Get off me!" You hear bickering in the hallway, but you don't recognize the voices. You twist the knob of your door, peeking your head out to see three men wrestling as Mingyu holds a tray in one hand with an unimpressed look on his face. Soonyoung is amongst the men, as is Chan and another man you've yet to meet.
"I don't need a pack of wild animals following me to drop off food, you know." He puts his hand on his hip, steam rising off the plate as your stomach rumbles. The men on the ground continue horsing around, making Mingyu shake his head before rolling his eyes. You stare at the men on the ground with your brows raised, before your eyes flicker to Mingyu. He's watching them too, walking closer to your door before one of the men breaks free, and Chan starts screaming his head off as you cover your mouth with your hand.
"Mingyu! They're pinching me!" Chan whines, as he tries to crawl away. Mingyu snorts, switching the tray in his hand to the other side before helping him up. Soonyoung continues to pin down whoever is beneath him, earning a shriek along the lines of not the nipple!
"How many guys does it take to bring dinner up four flights of stairs?" You ask softly, and Soonyoung looks up from the man beneath him, nipples pinched painfully over the man's shirt. The man takes the chance and knocks him off, wrestling Soonyoung's arms to his sides and pinning them with his knees on either side. You cover your eyes as he twists Soonyoung's nipples through his shirt, a strangled yell ringing out as you bite back your laughter. Soonyoung manages to push him off, and they end up rolling down the stairs as you, Mingyu and Chan share a pursed-lip look until you all clear your throats in unison.
"Usually, just the one. But, Chan here has something he wants to give you." Mingyu tilts his head in Chan's direction, who smiles shyly as you look at him. You give him a soft smile, "nice to meet you, Chan. I'm Y/N."
"I know." He nods, before wincing. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, too. I just…I noticed you're not wearing earrings. I don't know if you wear them or not, but I have a pair I don't use. I just wanted to know if you'd like them."
He holds up a plastic baggie, a tiny pair of gold hoops with small rubies dangling off. Your eyes widen, and you hold your hands up as he shakes his head, tucking them into your palm, "just take them. We were all new at some point."
"I can't, really—"
"Good night, Y/N. Rest well."
Chan waves as he skips off, leaving you with the earrings in your hand and Mingyu standing next to you. You look at the earrings in your palm, before trilling your lips as you look up at Mingyu. He's already looking at you, holding the tray out to you. Your eyes widen at the colorful array, reaching to take it before dropping your arms to your sides and moving out of your doorframe. He slips past, setting it on the desk as he turns the radio down.
"Dinner. Soft tofu stew, rice, half an orange, and this yogurtade thing that Junhui likes; he made it for you. He was the one with Soonyoung." He nods, "oh, and this. Cake. Dark chocolate with raspberry filling, from Joshua. You didn't meet him yet, but I said you'd be up for it tomorrow. Hope that's okay."
He gestures vaguely at the tray, "just leave it in the hallway if you don't want to go downstairs. I'll pick it up later."
He pats the back of your desk chair, pulling it out for you. You silently take the seat, crossing your legs at the knee as tears fill your eyes for the third time. He coos, patting the back of the chair again before turning to leave, "enjoy."
"Will you stay?" You blurt, looking at the earrings in your hand instead of him. You can feel the heat of his eyes, and you clear your throat as you shift in your seat, "I don't like eating alone."
He hums in response, tapping the door before slipping out. You look up to see him opening his own door, light filling the hallway as he ducks inside. He comes back with a chair in his hand, closing the door behind him and sliding it next to yours. He closes your door gently, leaning back in his chair as you reach for the utensils on the tray. You run the pad of your thumb along the engraving on the spoon handle, blowing a breath out through your lips before setting it back down.
“Thanks. For everything, you know.” You’re quiet as you stare at the steaming food, shifting slightly on the soft cushion of the chair. Your hair is still damp, your skin almost raw from how hard you scrubbed at yourself but it was the best feeling in the world. Your hands splay on your knees, tugging at the hem of the boxer shorts as he clicks his tongue.
"You don't have to thank me. Just eat." He nods at the food, his eyes averting as your phone buzzes on desk as it turns on. Hundreds of notifications fill the screen, making the entire table buzz incessantly. He reaches over, carefully silencing it before turning it over. There is a photo of you holding up your acceptance letter to the internship in Germany stuck inside your phone case — one you'd meant to send back to Jeju before the outbreak. You'd slipped in there for safekeeping, only for it to find a permanent home there when you assumed the island was destroyed.
You eat in silence, ignoring the tears building in your eyes as the warm meal fills your belly. Mingyu is quiet next to you, content with just sitting beside you and watching you eat, shifting slightly with every few bites. You only make it halfway through the slice of cake before you push it away.
"Full?"
"Very."
"Want me to take it down?"
"I can take it, just give me a minute." You shake your head, leaning your elbow against the back of the chair and using your hand to hold up your head as you look at him. He's relaxed, showered — donning another brown shirt, but in sweatpants and his watch is gone, replaced with a silver bracelet. His eyes are warm as you meet them, but you clear your throat and look away.
"Are they nice? The guys?"
"Oh, yeah. A little annoying and loud at times, but sweet. They like to have fun."
"Are you the only one who ventures the great outdoors for survivors?" You try to add some humor to your voice, but it's meek as you pick at your cuticles. He pulls your hands away from each other, and you instinctively interlacing your fingers with his. He doesn't pull away, watching you cross your legs at the knee.
"I don't want them to get hurt. A few of them were pretty banged up when I found them, and Chan was wandering around bear territory a few miles south of here when I found him. I actually found him a month before I found you, so he's relatively new. And the youngest, by far." He nods, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "His parents were jewelers. He had a bright future coming his way, too, but the outbreak took his parents, his brother and the business with them. He's been alone since, but…he's surprisingly positive. Quite the mood maker, actually."
"That's so…wow." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you glance at the tray. "I don't know my way around."
"Come on, I'll show you." He grabs the tray with one hand, standing up carefully and keeping you flush to his hip. He barely makes it out of the bedroom when he glances at you, letting go of your hand and gesturing at the sweater you'd hung on the bedpost. "Put that on, you're not decent."
"I thought you said they were nice guys?" You raise a brow, but indulge him anyway, zipping the sweater halfway up before pushing in your chair and moving his out of the way. He rolls his eyes, holding his hand out for you to take. You interlace your fingers again, letting him keep you close as you both make your way down the stairs. You grow a bit wary as you reach the first floor, squeezing Mingyu's hand as you tuck yourself behind him — a group of men gathered on the living room floor with bottles of soju and empty Yakult scattered around a table with playing cards.
"Mingyu! Join us, Jeonghan can deal you in." Soonyoung calls, but he shakes his head, "Jeonghan is a cheater and I hate playing games with you, you're always on my dick about everything."
"He's just mad because he's bad at mafia." Minghao mutters, and you snicker inwardly as Mingyu pulls you into the kitchen. "Wait, is Y/N with you!?"
"That's none of your business!" He calls over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as you look around the kitchen, your eyes landing on the same man with the pouty lips scrubbing dishes with a set of pink dish gloves all the way up to his elbow. Mingyu sets the tray down on the island, and the man with the gloves looks up, brows furrowed, "this is Seungcheol. He's the oldest, he's actually an old friend from college. We played football together."
Seungcheol gestures at the tray, "I'm not washing that. Everyone eats downstairs."
"She's new, give her a break."
"It's not about her, it's about you. You made the rule, Gyu."
"Yeah, well. I didn't tell you to wash it, anyway."
Seungcheol tongues his cheek, shaking his head before directing his gaze at you. "Was he this fucking annoying when he was bringing you back?"
"Oh my God, yeah." You nod eagerly, feeling Mingyu's hand squeeze yours as Seungcheol laughs. "He was so annoying and invasive, asking me all these personal questions—"
"Asking your name is not invasive!" He refutes, but Seungcheol is only amused as you hold up your interlinked hands. Mingyu huffs, pouting as he lets go of your hand; only for you to find it again as he tries to move away. You keep him at your hip, the warmth of his body comforting against your back.
"Invasive." You reiterate, "but it's nice to meet you, Seungcheol. And I'll wash this, don't worry about it."
"Nah, just leave it. I got it." He shakes his head, taking the dishes off the tray before looking at you pointedly. "But no more eating in your room. That's how we get ants, and you need to socialize. I heard you were alone out there, that's not good for your mind."
"I'll try to eat down here more often, promise." You cross an X over your chest, and he nods, "rest well, okay? We can get better acquainted tomorrow."
"Good night, Seungcheol."
"Good night, gorgeous."
"Don't call her that." Mingyu grumbles, pulling you out of the kitchen before Seungcheol can quip back. You let him pull you along, glancing at the men in the living room once more to see them all looking at you. You give them a quick smile, only for Soonyoung to point at you and turn to the group, and Minghao rolls his eyes as the man's name fall from his mouth as you and Mingyu reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Soonyoung—"
"See, Jeonghan? I told you she's cute! And Mingyu's keeping her to himself! Look at him, practically dragging her like a hostage—"
"Soonyoung, that's enough."
He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as the other men glance at you.
"I'll be downstairs tomorrow, and we can all get to know each other. I swear I'm cool, I'm just…nervous." You give them a thumbs up, and Minghao just gives you a wave of his hand.
"We're not going anywhere, sweetheart. You take your time." He nudges Soonyoung with his elbow, "and stop calling her cute. She's a lady."
"Stop calling her anything that isn't Y/N. Her name is Y/N, call her that." Mingyu scoffs, earning an oooh from the group as he tugs you up the stairs. He tongues his cheek, grumbling to himself as you make it up the first two flights of stairs.
"What did you mean by saying that you're 'enamored' with me?" You ask as you reach the first step of the third floor, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, "just that. Enamored."
"Okay, yeah, but what does it mean?"
"Whatever you want it to mean, sweetness."
"Mingyu."
"It means I'd kiss you, if you let me. If you wanted me to." He says softly, shrugging his shoulders like it's not a big deal. "I'd kiss you breathless, if you wanted me."
You don't respond, your cheeks hot as you walk up the rest of the steps in silence. Your hand stays slotted in his, before you reach the fourth floor landing. Your hips bump as he walks you back to your bedroom, and you still in the threshold of the room. You glance around, and sure, it's yours — but it doesn't really feel like it.
"Mingyu?" You look up at him, nibbling your lip as he hums in response. You tug on his hand, wanting his full attention as you speak, "Mingyu."
"I'm listening, princess."
"Can I sleep in your room?"
"But I'm invasive?" He jests, and you scoff, pulling your hand out of his when he grabs your arm, pulling you into him with a chuckle. "You don't get to make fun of me in front of my friends and then pout when I do it back. It's unfair."
"I can do whatever I want," you huff, trying to twist yourself out of his hold when he spins you around to face him, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he looks down at you. You glare up at him, much to his amusement, "can I sleep in your room or not? I don't sleep well alone."
"I just don't know if we'll get any sleep if I say yes."
"You are so fucking annoying, Kim Mingyu. No wonder Seungcheol hates your ass."
"Cheol doesn't hate me, otherwise he wouldn't be here." He says pointedly, glancing at your lips before inching slightly closer, "and considering how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think you hate me all that much, either."
His fingers drum on the side of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he tugs on the collar of your shirt.
"Brush your teeth, turn the lights off. I'll make room for you."
He slips away, ducking into his bedroom without another word as your hands cover your face like you're trying to hide the stupid smile spreading on your lips. You let out a breath, doing as you're told…and swiping on a bit of your lip gloss before grabbing your key and your phone off the desk and closing the door behind you. Mingyu's door is slightly ajar as you peek into it, your knuckles rapping against the painted wood as he's crouched in the corner of the room.
"Close the door, please." He waves you in, returning to his task. You look around the room, illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the window — a desk like yours, but his bed is bigger, the room is bigger. He's got lots of knick knacks lining the walls, and a bunch of photos. You stare up at them, seeing him pictured with a newborn baby girl; the image marked 2001.
"Little sister?" You say softly, and he hums. "Yep. She's safe, in Shanghai. She's there for school, I sent her money to stay over the summer so she wouldn't be trapped here during the outbreak. I haven't seen her since last spring. There's a landline downstairs, we call once a week when I'm not out looking for survivors, but my watch has a tracker that she can follow on her phone. It's fine."
You feel your lips curve into a frown as you cross your arms on your chest, but you nod anyway.
"Aha! Found it, I knew I had this somewhere."
You turn on your heel to see him holding up a vinyl — specifically, Stevie Nicks' 1989 album, The Other Side of the Mirror.
"Here, you can have it. You mentioned one of the songs on here in your top five." He holds it out to you, your eyes catching a silver reflection in the moonlight on the corner of the vinyl — an autograph. Your eyes widen, and he taps your arm with it. "Take it."
"I can't."
"You can. I'm giving it to you, princess. Have it." He tucks it under your arm, and you jut your lip out in a pout as you hold it to your chest. Your nose burns as he laughs in disbelief, and you tuck your chin to your chest as a tear trickles down your face. "You're such a crybaby."
"Shut up!" You stomp your foot like a child, "my mom had this one, she stood in line for it. She said she'd give it to me when I graduated."
You sniffle, running your fingers along the cardboard as Mingyu moves around the room, opening the window and fluffing his comforter.
"You're shit at comforting people, you know." You mutter as he glances at you from the headboard, fluffing a pillow in his hand as you wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. He snorts, pulling at the pillow before dropping it on the bed.
"Literally, what do you want from me? Huh?" He shakes his head in amusement as you slide the record on top of his dresser, your forefinger tracing the autograph as he bumps your hip with his. He meets your eyes, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek as you sniffle again. He slides his hand down your face, fingers curling around your neck as he pulls you close, leaning down. "You act like I can read your mind."
"You should learn," You grumble as he pinches your cheek between his knuckles, "that's what good men do."
"Okay, what good men do you know that can do that?"
"I knew my father."
"That's a good start."
"And I know you can learn." You mutter, before moving away from him and climbing into his bed. You throw the comforter over your shoulder, feeling the bed dip behind you as Mingyu yanks it back. "Mingyu!"
"You didn't even ask if I was ready to go to bed."
"Well, I'm ready. That means you should be ready."
"You're also in my spot, sweetness." His lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans down, his hand squeezing your side gently before patting your back. "Scoot over."
You move away begrudgingly, a scowl on your lips as you turn onto your back. He slides into bed next to you, opting to prop himself up on his elbow. You blink up at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he tugs at your sweater.
"Why do you still have this on?"
"Wouldn't want to be indecent."
He rolls his eyes, and you zip it up the rest of the way to make a point. "I'm just sleeping in here. No funny business."
"I never said we'd be partaking in any 'funny business' to begin with, sweetness."
"Yeah, well, you're looking at me like I mean something to you and I don't like it."
"You don't?" He leans slightly closer, and you bite back a smile as you press your hands to his chest. pushing him away lightly.
"No."
"You're lying."
"A little."
He takes your hands off his chest, pining them on either side of your head before interlacing your fingers. You tilt your head at him, "is this your way of keeping me all to yourself? Like Soonyoung said?"
"You wouldn't like any of those guys, anyway. Not the way you like me," He rolls his eyes, hovering over you. He runs his eyes over your face as you suck your teeth, stopping at your lips. "You're wearing lip gloss."
"Who said I like you in any kind of way? You're fucking annoying." You lie, rolling your eyes as you realize he's still looking at your lips. You nudge the side of his hip with your knee, "Mingyu."
"Hm?"
"Let me go."
"Not until you admit you think I'm at least cute."
"Oh boy, we'll be here all night." You sigh in feigned concern, before gazing back up at him. "How's your back? Still hurting?"
He shakes his head, "a lot better, actually. I guess you were right."
You huff, "you guess? I was right! Even with all my hard work—"
"You enjoyed it, don't lie to yourself."
"That's not the point, dipshit. It's still work."
You turn away, "I used to charge a hundred and eighty dollars for a 90-minute massage, you know. I gave you one for free."
"Because you're a shitty business magnate." He smiles, and you tongue your cheek as his nose brushes yours slightly. Your breath hitches, "no, because I care about you. Sometimes."
He stills on top of you, eyes slightly narrowed as he scans your face. You nibble on your lip nervously, your knees twitching on either side of his hips as you avert your eyes to the headboard, littered with carved swallows. He lets go of one of your hands, instead cradling your cheek gently, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he makes you look at him.
"Sometimes?"
"Well, we just met." You lose all confidence in your voice as you meet his eyes, so fucking warm as he looks at you. Warm and kind and comforting, inviting…caring. Loving, maybe.
Hopefully.
"You don't care about that," He probes, eyes scanning your face, "you threw caution to the wind the moment you met me."
"I did." You admit in a whisper, your hand carding through his hair as you swallow hard. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice, though."
"You did. You could've not spoken to me at all, like you didn't speak to me for hours today until you yelled at me." He pouts, "eight hours, you know. Eight hours without talking to me."
You mock his pout, "so long, huh? Must've been the worst for you, poor baby."
"You're so fucking mean." He gripes, burying his face in your neck. You snicker to hold off a shiver that wants to snake down your spine as his lips brush your skin, "you like it."
"Shut up." He mutters. Your hand cards through the hair at the nape of his neck before plucking at the collar of his shirt, moving his necklace over your fingertips and dipping your hand beneath it. The bruises are still there, albeit a bit lighter as you rub the pads of your fingers against them. His breathing tickles you, making you squirm when he squeezes your hand. "I missed hearing you talk today. I missed you."
Your cheeks heat slightly as you shift beneath him, your fingers tracing random patterns into the skin of his back, "you met me two days ago."
"I don't care." He groans, "I wouldn't care if I met you this morning. Time is relative, anyway, because it feels like I've known you an entire lifetime. I like having you around. I like it when you're mean and that you smell like honey and that you're so fucking smart and I like you."
You sink your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from smiling, but your chest bounces slightly with embarrassed laughter. Mingyu pouts into your neck, your fingers slipping out from under his shirt to squeeze the back of his neck.
"Stop laughing at me!" He whines, sitting up as you slide your hand down his chest. You pluck at his shirt, opening your mouth to speak when you hear someone knock on his door. You roll your eyes as he looks over his shoulder, and you sit up on your elbows, his hand slipping out of yours to hold himself up properly.
"What's up?" He calls, and the man on the other side clears their throat.
"You sleeping yet? The guys wanna play a couple rounds of pool." It's Seungcheol, and you pull at Mingyu's shirt as he opens his mouth.
"Tell him you're busy." You whisper, your lips brushing his cheek as you talk. He glances at you, your eyes pointed as Seungcheol knocks again. "Tell him."
"Uh, sorry, Cheol. I'm a little tied up at the moment." Mingyu lies through his teeth, making the man on the other side scoff, "doing what? You just got back, pull your pants up and come join us."
"Do you really think I'm rubbing one out right now? I'm tired." He tries to defend himself, but you press your lips to his cheek. He stills, and you plant another one right on the curve of his jaw, the soft slope of his neck before your hand slides up and tilts his face towards you.
"Tell him you're busy." You say again, your lips touching his as you speak. He leans into it, but you shake your head, pulling back as you gesture towards the door. He groans inwardly, letting you pull away fully and speaking loud enough for Seungcheol to hear him as you move to tug your zipper down.
"I'm really tired, Cheol. Maybe another night. Promise."
"Lame. I bet if Y/N came down, you would too."
Seungcheol leaves with two knocks to the door, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, words dying in his mouth as you tug on his shirt again — only to be interrupted by two more.
"Mingyu! Stop being a bitch and come lose!" Soonyoung's voice rings through the door, making Mingyu turn to look over his shoulder again, "Hosh, I already said no. And you just want an easy win!"
"Mingyu." You whine quietly, wrapping your legs around his waist to get his attention. He tries to focus on you, your lips pouted as you brush them to his again. "Want you to kiss me. Please, please."
"So fucking cute." He mumbles, nuzzling his nose to yours, only for another bang on the door to make you jump. He groans, pressing his forehead to yours as Soonyoung hits the door yet again.
"Come on, Gyu! We haven't seen you in an entire week! What could possibly be more important right now?!" Soonyoung complains, jiggling the thankfully locked doorknob and Mingyu's brow furrows in frustration as he opens his mouth to retort when you roll your eyes, sitting up abruptly and slotting your lips with his. You kiss him softly, your hands holding his face as he melts into you, a satisfied hum sounding from his throat. He pushes you back against the bed, his hand sliding to your hip as you slide yours down his chest and around his sides to rest on his back. Soonyoung knocks again, and you pull away with a huff.
"Can you please go away? We're a little busy!" You call, your nails digging into Mingyu's back as Soonyoung's gasp is heard through the door. His footsteps are heard clambering down the stairs almost immediately, and you look back to see Mingyu a little dazed with glitter on his lips.
"Are you really that bad at games? I thought you were kidding when you said you don't have a good poker face." You huff, making him blink a few times before he shakes his head.
"No, I'm not bad at games. I do have a shit poker face, though, and they like embarrassing me about it." He mumbles, and you tongue your cheek when he leans down, brushing his lips to yours. "I don't believe that was your first kiss."
"Good thing I didn't ask," You mumble, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth and slipping your hands under his shirt. He's warm to your cool fingertips, making him flinch slightly as you laugh against his lips. "Take your shirt off. Wanna see you."
"You just wanna see me strip." He chides, and you raise a brow as you drag your nails down his back, earning a shaky moan against your jaw, his hand tightening around your hip. You brush your lips to his cheek, your hands bunching his shirt against his skin, "take it off. Please?"
He sits up on his knees, towering over you as he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere across the room. You let your eyes roam shamelessly as he leans back over, your hands sliding up the hot skin as you sit up slightly. You kiss him again, slower — feeling your belly fill with warmth as his hands pin your hips to the mattress, sliding up slightly and bunching your shirt under his hands as your underwear grows damp. You feel him stop moving, only sinking down lower and the back of your head hits the pillows as he breaks the kiss, trailing down your jaw. You tilt your face away, giving him more room when he stops, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"We have to stop." He mumbles, his thumbs tracing soft circles in your sides as you turn to face him. His cheeks are flaming red, your own warm to the touch as you clear your throat.
"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Your hands ghost over his shoulders, and he frantically shakes his head, his own hands coming to hold your face gently, "no, not at all! I'm just…"
You look at him pointedly as he trails off, only raising a brow, "Mingyu, if you're pitching a tent—"
"Why do you have to say it like that?" He whines, burying his face into your neck as you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your hands patting his shoulders, "how else am I supposed to say it? Boner?"
"What is wrong with you? Not like that!" He groans into your neck, making you laugh even harder as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a kiss to his shoulder, your fingernails raking lightly against his skin as you let your head fall back against the pillows. You hum, "you act like you've never done this before."
"Not with you, I haven't."
You still slightly, giving him a soft sigh as you run your fingers down the back of his neck, before running your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from your neck. He pouts at you, clearly embarrassed as you press a kiss to his cheek. He sits up slightly, holding himself over you as you run your fingertips down his chest, "We can fool around, you know. I just…don't wanna go all the way yet."
“Got it.”
“Maybe just the tip. I heard that’s a thing.”
"We're not doing anything you don't wanna do, I promise." He nods, and you smile softly, puckering your lips up at him. He meets you halfway, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, "this is all at your pace, sweetness."
You nod, a bit of insecurity washing over you as you look at the ceiling. "Was it bad? The kissing?"
"Absolutely not," he shakes his head, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. You make eye contact as he huffs, "again, I don't believe that was your first kiss. Unless you're a fucking witch, of course."
"I just read a lot of books," You mutter, picking at your cuticles, "watch a lot of movies…not necessarily of the general rating variety."
"Books and pornography didn't teach me how to kiss. Say it like it is." He scoffs, and you raise a brow, "not everyone can be as good at applying knowledge as I am. Plus, I told you yesterday…there is skill in the yearning. And I don't watch porn!"
"Everyone's seen porn at least once."
"…Not me. I can't even spell pornography."
"You're such a liar, babe."
"M'not your babe." You grumble, biting back your grin as he mocks you, before pressing his forehead to yours. You blink up at him, sticking your tongue out as he squishes your cheeks in his hand. You swat his hand away, "not yet, anyway. I guess. Ugh, I hate you."
"First of all, I kissed you." You argue, poking an accusatory finger in his chest. He only grins down at you, kissing the tip of your nose as you wrinkle it.
"And you're so brave, sweetness. I can be a little softer, if you want." He states, his eyes searching yours as you smile, "I'm not gonna break, you know. You can be whatever you want. Be rough, even."
He clicks his tongue, ears tinging pink once more as he looks away. "We don't even know if you like that."
"You don't know if I like that. I know myself pretty well, I'd say." You shrug, "not having experience with guys doesn't mean I don't know what I like. I can explore on my own."
"Have you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, dude."
"I would, yeah. And don't call me that."
He lowers himself slightly, holding his head up over your belly with his chin in his hand. You shift to look at him, sitting up on your elbows, "you know I don't care, right? I can help, if you want me to."
"I care." He says softly, "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for, I'm never going to expect or demand anything from you. I just…want you. We can talk about what you're ready for when you're ready for it, even if it takes years."
The idea of years by Mingyu’s side settles a bit of fear in your bones. The idea of years by Mingyu’s side, having known him for three days – something in his gaze truly does make it feel like a lifetime.
A lifetime of you and him. Of no engagement before you, of no other boys before him. Of learning all over again, with someone new...even if he’s the someone new for you.
You trill your lips to hide the smile daring to inch itself onto your face, nodding as you look down at him, running your fingers through his hair. "I would've been ready right now, if they didn’t come banging on the door. Your friends are really good at killing the mood, you know?"
"They normally don't come all the way up here, I don't know what's gotten into them." He pouts, eyes apologetic as you chuckle, "they miss you, I guess. It's normal to be oddly attached to some cute guy that saves you in the woods."
"That feels backhanded, but I'll take the cute, I guess." He rolls his eyes, and you wrinkle your nose at him as you tug on the strands of his hair. He grunts, pulling your hand out of his hair and interlacing your fingers with his when he glances down at your body, suddenly letting go of your hand and hovering over you again as he speaks to you. "Why aren't you wearing pants? Did you go downstairs like that?"
"Yeah? It's not like I need them; it's just us here." You shrug, snapping the waistband against your hip. He scoffs, "next time, put a pair of pants on."
"Why, if you're just going to take them off me?"
"Y/N."
"So scary, ooh."
You smile, running your hands up and down his chest. You palm at his arms, raking your nails down the skin and watching it prickle. Your eyes trail all over him, biting down on your lip as you wrap your fingers around the base of his throat, tugging lightly at his necklace as the cross pendant dangles above your face.
"Wear pants when you go downstairs." He repeats, and you nod, thumbing at the pendant before making eye contact. You run your hands down his chest again, plucking at the waistband of his sweatpants, "can I see?"
He tongues his cheek, "maybe. What's in it for me?”
"Does there have to be something in it for you? What, do you want me to beg?" You smirk, pulling at the drawstring to untie it. He shakes his head, "if you beg, I'll give in too fast. I'm weak."
"Good to know…" you click your tongue, toying with the drawstring as it comes undone. You tug on it, "just want you."
"Do you?" His lips brush yours as he leans down, your hands moving to tug your sweater off. It slips down your arms, and Mingyu takes it, tossing it somewhere across the room as you wrap your legs around his waist again. Your teeth nip at his lower lip before you kiss him gently, carding your fingers through his hair, "want to see you."
"You're looking at me right now, though?" He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheeks warm as you shake your head. His eyes are patient as he ghosts his lips over yours, smiling against them as you pout.
"Wanna touch you."
"Yeah? Where?"
"Everywhere. Anywhere you want."
"Take me to dinner first, why don't you?" He laughs as you let out a whine of annoyance, nudging his hip with your knee as he buries his face in your neck. He peppers a few kisses along the exposed skin, mumbling against it, “so pretty, baby.”
“Mingyu.” You draw out his name as he smiles against your clavicle, his hands sliding up your sides and bunching your shirt around his wrists as he brushes his lips on yours again. You’re unamused as he pulls back before you can kiss him, but he shrugs.
“What’s in it for me, sweetness?”
“Uh, hot girl in your bed. In her underwear. At your mercy.”
He gives you a deadpan look, “‛at my mercy’ is a stretch, I think.”
“What, you don’t think I can be nice to you?”
“No, actually.”
“Ye of little faith,” you feign hurt, holding your hands to your chest as he shakes his head. He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile as your fingers toy with the waistband of his sweatpants. Your hands move to touch him; fingertips cool against his warm skin making him jerk away slightly. You wrap a finger with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging on it gently, “what about these?”
He opts to shrug, before his hand plucks at the hem of your shirt, “what about this?”
“Oh, this old thing? Got it from a guy who rescued me in the woods, and he was real cute—” He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, muffling your laughter as you feel his hands push it higher. His thumbs graze the swell of your breasts as you shiver, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping a soft mark under your ear. Your skin litters with goosebumps, “you can touch, if you want.”
“I want to take it off.”
“Then take it off me, Mingyu.”
He pulls the fabric of your shirt over your head carefully, letting your hair fall around your head before tossing it to the side and pressing a wet kiss to the column of your throat. His voice is a hushed whisper, “thank you.”
Your words get stuck in your throat as he trails down your chest, kissing and nipping your skin; your fingers carding through his hair as his hands cup your breasts, carefully thumbing at your nipples. A shaky breath falls from your lips as he looks up at you through his lashes, tracing the left bud with the tip of his tongue before he pulls it gently between his teeth. The soft gasp that cuts through the air makes him chuckle, wrapping his lips around your nipple with a soft suck; your fingers tightening in his hair as your cover your mouth with your other hand.
He pulls at your wrist, interlacing your fingers and pinning it next to your head, “need to hear you, baby.”
“You don’t n-need to–“
“Well, I want to.” He’s eye level with you, pressing chaste kisses to your face, “I want to hear you beg and cry and say my name like it means something to you. I want to know I can make you feel good.”
He hovers over you slightly, his gaze raking over your flushed face. You can’t keep eye contact, your voice lost on you as his fingers ghost over your skin, “if you want to stop, we can stop. Just say the word.”
“I want you to touch me, Mingyu.” You murmur, his hand splaying on your hip as he kisses the apple of your cheek, “I am touching you, baby.”
“No, I want you to touch me.” Your fingers cover his hand on your hip, pulling it slightly lower. He raises a brow, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of your underwear as you nod, burying your face in his neck. He pulls the fabric down, and you lift your hips to help him slide the damp underwear down your legs. He tosses them somewhere, your thighs falling open for him as you plant soft pecks to the expanse of his shoulder; before feeling his cool fingertips dip between your legs and slide between your folds. You suck in a breath – your nails digging into his bicep as he collects your arousal on his fingers, and you hear a soft chuckle fall from his lips.
“Look at you, huh?” He whispers, tracing slow, tight circles into your clit. You whine into his neck, making him shiver as your teeth scrape the soft skin, “so needy.”
You’re almost embarrassed at the way your hips move against his hand; the room filling with the slick sounds of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge and your soft whimpers of his name and please, please don’t stop.
“Please, please?” He mocks you, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing pace as you feel the coil in your belly tighten. “Please, please don’t stop? Why?”
“Wanna cum for you,” your voice is shaky and barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to your hairline. You mouth at the column of his throat, “wanna be yours.”
“You are.” The rasp in his voice sends you over the edge, a choked mewl of his name falling from your throat as his hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you away from his neck as your thighs close around his hand, kissing you messily. It’s all teeth and tongue, a touch of desperation when you feel his painfully hard cock against your hip.
“Gyu,” you breathe out against his lips, nipping at the lower one to get his attention. Your hand trails down his softly chiseled chest before you tug at the sweatpants. His eyes are heavy with query as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, “let me help.”
“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, but his eyes betray him by fluttering shut as you palm him over the thin material. He tilts his hips away, pulling his hand from between your thighs and plucking at your lower lip with his fingers, “open, pretty.”
His eyes are low as you take his fingers in your mouth, snaking your tongue between them before he pulls them out and grabs your jaw gently. The kiss is slower this time – his lips sucking on the tip of your tongue as your stomach fills with butterflies at the weight of him over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he moves to settle himself between your thighs again.
“Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be fine. Just relax and let me know if you want to stop.” He plants a kiss on your hip, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you to his face. You suck in a breath as he drags his tongue through your slick folds, your thighs trembling slightly as he carefully sucks your clit into his mouth. Your head falls back against the pillows as he busies himself between your thighs; pulling a whimpered moan from your chest as your hand finds his hair and tugs hard. You earn a grunt, your free hand finding your nipple to pinch between your fingers as he traces your entrance with his tongue. You grind your hips against his face, feeling the way he’s humping the mattress beneath him in a desperate attempt to get some friction.
“Mingyu,” your voice is airy as you manage to pull him away from your dripping center, “wanna feel you.”
His eyes widen, his hands around your thighs tightening as he glances up at you, “...you said you didn’t—”
“Mingyu.” You interrupt, your eyes pointed as you tug on his hair gently. He lets you pull him up, making his way up the mattress. Your hand pulls at his sweatpants, “please. I’m ready, I promise.”
“Y/N,” he sighs as you plant a kiss to his clavicle, “are you sure? We don’t have to do this, and I don’t have—”
“I promise, I am sure.” You nod before stilling and meeting his eyes. He blinks at you, your hand still holding the waistband of his sweatpants, “you...want to, right? I don’t want to if you don’t.”
“I want you to be sure, Y/N.”
“I don’t like when you call me that, actually.”
“You called me guy for like six hours,” he snorts, making you pinch his hip and earning a squeal. He huffs, swatting your hand away from him before hooking his thumbs in his waistband, “you are positive you want this? With me? Right now?”
“Yes. Take your fucking pants off, Kim Mingyu.” You roll your eyes, and he sticks his tongue out at you as he does what he’s told. He wraps his hand around his cock as he settles between your knees, your eyes widening slightly at the mess of precum on his lower stomach, “you’re big.”
He raises a brow, “huh. Never thought of it that way.”
“Yes, you have.” You deadpan, the little smirk on his lips proving your point as you sit up, “but...it’ll fit, right? You’ll make it fit?”
“There is no way on this earth you haven’t seen porn if you’re talking like that.”
“Consider I used to read Wattpad?”
“And somehow, that’s worse.”
You move your hand in a mock-talking motion, earning a roll of his eyes as he takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together before pressing a kiss to your hairline. You let him lean you back against the mattress again, peppering the side of your face with his lips before feeling him speak against the shell of your ear, “just let me know, okay?”
You nod silently, eyes fluttering shut as you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your folds. He keeps you close, giving you a tentative nip at the side of your neck.
"Gorgeous," his teeth scrape against your throat as you cant your hips up, your body begging for the weight of his cock against your clit. He pins you down against the mattress, mouthing at your neck with a slow roll of his hips against yours. A shudder runs down your spine as your nails dig into his back, whined sounds spilling from your lips as the room grows hotter around you.
"You sure you want it?" He pants above you, your thighs shaking with overstimulation as you rut against his weeping cock. "Just the tip, yeah?"
"All of it. Will you give it to me if I do?" Your voice is airy, your nails digging into his shoulders as he ducks his head down, connecting your lips in a searing kiss. His hips roll slowly, your skin prickling as he bites down on your lower lip, tugging at it before letting it spring back.
"Beg me for it."
"Mingyu," you whine, feeling his mouth hot and wet against your neck. His teeth graze against your collarbone, making you gasp as he lapped his tongue over the spot with a groan, "come on, pretty girl. Beg for it."
“Please. Want you to fill me up.” Your voice is shaky as he sucks a mark into the base of your throat, your fingers moving to tug at his hair, “Gyu, please. Need to be yours.”
His lips are on yours before you can say anything else, carefully dipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight stretch, and he lets his hand snake down and trace tight circles in your clit, “I know, baby. Just relax for me, yeah?”
“Kiss me,” you whisper, feeling his lips brush yours almost instantly. He’s soft, interlacing your fingers for the umpteenth time that night as he licks into your mouth. You let him, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue as he carefully buries himself to the hilt inside you; stilling as he feels your fingers tighten around his, “you wanna stop?”
You shake your head, digging your nails into his skin as he moves slowly, kissing anywhere his lips can reach. Your fingers drag down his back as the burn ceases, your legs wrapping around his hips, “move, Mingyu.”
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, giving a harsher roll of his hips. “So pretty, made just for me, right?”
“Yes,” you gasp out, burying your face in his neck as he brushes that spongy spot that makes your vision blurry. Your voice is lost on you, choked whimpers of right there filling the room as Mingyu’s hands roam your body with a searing touch before he holds your jaw gently, brushing his lips to yours as he brings you closer to the edge.
“Mine,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss on your lips as you clamp down around him. “I’m yours, yeah? Just for you, baby.”
He doesn’t await your response, sitting up and pulling you onto his cock as your eyes prick with tears of pleasure. His ears are tinged pink as your moans of his name slip out, pleas of harder making him bite back a whine as his grip on your thighs becomes almost bruising. He pushes your knees to your chest, your eyes rolling back at the suddenly deeper angle. The familiar coil is building in your belly as his hand moves to wipe your tears, your own covering the back of it as you tilt your head to kiss his palm.
“So good for me, yeah? Take my cock so well, angel.” His voice is soft, diabolically paired with the way his hips were meeting your ass with sharp thrusts. Your hand wraps around his wrist, pulling it down, and his fingers instinctively wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze to the sides, “fuck, you’re so perfect.”
His movements grow sloppy as the mix of sounds fills your ears – pitched whines from your lips, soft groans from his, the embarrassingly wet squelch between your legs that makes your cheeks hot as he teases you about it, tells you that you’re such a messy little slut.
“Come on, baby. Need you to cum for me, yeah?” His fingers find your clit, tracing tight circles as your gummy walls clamping around him – the heat in your belly flushes throughout your body with a choked mewl of his name. His hips stutter against yours, only making your legs tighten around him as he bent to kiss your lips, spilling inside you with a soft whine that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.
He stays sheathed inside you for a minute, his hands running up and down your sides as you limply try to kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hold him closely, nipping at his lower lip with a whispered thank you.
“Tired?” His voice is low against your lips, thick fingers massaging your thighs as you nod silently, making him chuckle as he pulls you off the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you off to the bathroom as you lazily mouth at his neck.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”
“Will you kiss me again?”
“I’ll kiss you all you want, princess.”
Mingyu’s eyes are glued to your face in the dead of night.
The moonlight streams through the blinds of his bedroom, casting lines across your back and bleeding over your shoulders. Your lips are pouted, brows furrowed as your head rests on his chest. You’re covered in another one of his shirts, but this one more personal – a ‘lucky’ one he had from before the world went to shit, covered in paint stains from his projects during college. You’d pulled it from his drawer without a second though, thumbing at the frayed hem of the sleeve before pulling it over your head and crawling into his embrace.
Not a second thought before your eyes closed; your arm draped across his waist as you buried yourself into his side.
And Mingyu wonders if the feeling of not being good enough for you will go away.
Of knowing you were meant for more, for greatness. How your heart yearned for that internship in Germany, to go home to your parents and brag about it. He wonders if he’ll get the chance to fall in love with you and truly fall in love with you – before you realize he might not be enough.
Mingyu is not all that experienced. In life, love, feelings. Sex, art, music. Mingyu knows one thing and one thing only, and that’s the cadence of his heart – the steady rhythm never wavering. Beating carefully for over two decades, softly guarded albeit accepting.
A handful of friends. A mother, a father, and a little sister he misses dearly. An ex-fiancée. A woman whose hand he held, lips he kissed, body he roamed. A woman who gave her heart to him, and he’d realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. A woman who, with angry tears in her eyes, told him he wasn’t worth the time she gave him because any other man would’ve locked it down by then.
That he simply wasn’t man enough for a woman like her, but that she wished him the best – though, she would be the very best he’d ever come across.
She was right about one thing: Mingyu had never really felt man enough for a woman like Mina. He hadn’t felt the earth beneath his feet for years before that final fight – simply flying by the seat of his pants and giving his all to everything he could. He burnt out, and he burnt out fast – his relationship crumbling before anything else could, and he remembers the way the diamond ring he saved to buy for six months bounced right off his chest as she threw it at him.
It sits somewhere in Shanghai with Minseo now. She was the first to know Mingyu had called the engagement off and comforted him by shipping over a container of almond biscuits from the local bakery. His parents had been supportive, even offering to pay his rent for a while if he needed a minute to figure himself out – but Mingyu did what he did best when he felt out of control: he started a new project.
He drew up blueprints for a house – a beautiful two-story for his parents, with rooms to fit him and Minseo should they want to visit and stay. He gathered vendors, he put in orders for materials, he even contracted Wonwoo onto his plan before the world around him also crumbled. He left the city with his best friend and Seungcheol, their arms linked and beelining for the cabin.
Mingyu has those blueprints still shoved in a shoebox in his closet. He brought them with him. He kept paint samples, a singular nail and a sample of mahogany wood he’d intended to use for a porch swing – one he’d pictured his parents sitting on and Minseo wiggling her way between them, but things didn’t turn out the way he’d intended. Minseo was across the sea, and his parents were gone.
Mingyu had felt such an ache of despair in his chest that he’d been tempted to call Mina at the beginning of it all. She always knew the right things to say, especially in his moments of crisis – but he stopped himself from doing it. He deleted her number instead and made Wonwoo stay in the cabin with Seungcheol with the excuse of going out to look for survivors. This was his new project.
He found all the boys in different states. Hansol and Seungkwan had been together, sharing a backpack and taking turns doing night watches. Jeonghan and Joshua were tree dwellers, and they’d hung around Minghao and Junhui often enough to lead Mingyu to the cavern they were all sleeping in. Seokmin had been the ray of light for Soonyoung, the both of them attempting to stay positive throughout their scavenging, and he remembers how Soonyoung burst into tears after eating a piece of fish roasted by Mingyu. He’d found Jihoon on the west end of the mountain – carrying nothing but a bottle of water and a notebook, a pen slotted over his ear. Chan had been the fastest to warm up to him, badly bruised from several tumbles out of trees and all sorts of scraped up.
Then he found you – tired, hungry, and hurt. In jeans, and alone. Your eyes were distrusting, but there was something in them that made his heart lose that normal cadence he’d been so used to. The arch of your brows when he walked closer, the curve of your lips when you quipped back with a quickness he was not used to, and it made his head spin. The way your lashes kissed your cheeks as you slept...
The way your hands felt. Soft despite a couple scrapes, but you moved them with a flair only an artist has. You spoke coolly, your expressions fitting every word spilling from your lips perfectly. You were smart and convincing, and riddled with guilt. You were weighed down with the guilt of not graduating, of not making it to Germany, of not seeing your parents one last time. Of not knowing what you’re doing – even when none of it is your fault.
Mingyu thinks he’s fallen in love with you at first sight.
“Why are you awake?” Your voice is raspy against his chest, his brows jumping as he glances down at you. Your eyes are barely open as you press a kiss to his skin, a terrible blush crawling up his cheeks and ears as he tries to respond. You shake your head slightly, patting his hip with your hand, “cat got your tongue?”
“Sorry.”
“Answer the question, guy.”
“Just...thinking, princess.”
You hum, carefully sitting up and looking down at him. Your hair is in disarray as you run a hand over your face, blinking a few times before tilting your head at him, “about?”
“You.”
He can see your face go through a range – confusion, contentment, skepticism. It settles on something he can’t quite put his finger on, but you shrug, “what about me?”
“Anything and everything.”
“What, am I the girl of your dreams?”
Your brow is raised, and Mingyu can’t seem to find the words as you cross your arms. Your eyes are expectant, but Mingyu averts his attention to the ceiling fan – following the lazy spin of it when he feels you move closer, throwing your leg over his hip and hovering over his face.
“What’s your deal, Kim?” You ask, your hair falling into your face as he smiles. He reaches up, tucking it behind your ears as you carefully swat his hands away, “tell me!”
“Go to bed, pretty. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He leans up, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. You huff, your lips pouted as you get off him and lie down on your side, facing away from him. He rolls his eyes, turning over before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back to his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make a show of closing your eyes and huffing again, before he presses his lips to the back of your neck.
“Good night, sweetness.”
“Shut up.”
Mingyu cannot believe he’s fallen in love with you. In three days, no less.
MINGYU DOESN'T KNOW IF LIGHT EXISTED BEFORE HE MET YOU.
Well, of course it did.
Maybe not as bright, not as welcoming, not as warm or moody. Maybe not in the way the sun illuminated your skin at dawn, seeping through the blinds and casting patterns on the curves of your nude frame. Maybe not in the way your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him, a shy smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you physically blocked him out of your view with your hand to finish whatever you were doing. Maybe not in the way your laugh rang out through the cabin and made his skin prickle, and maybe not in the way that he can't sleep when you're still awake because he swears, he can see your face through his closed eyes.
He didn’t really know what the feeling was, but something stirred in his stomach every time he saw a sliver of skin when you stretched. Every time he saw you settle in your chair to eat dinner, every time you eagerly climbed four flights of stairs just to flop on his bed and make out until you were both too turned on to ignore it.
You turned into a different person then. Sure, you were confident, cocky even on a regular basis — but there was something that changed. You became an enchantress of sorts, and he couldn't bring himself to say no to you even if it meant he ruined his sweatpants and his sheets over and over again getting you off, even overstimulating you to the point of tears. He won't say no, because he loves the way his face grows hot when you say his name all sorts of low and raspy and how you didn't bother closing the door all the way anymore, your sounds bouncing off the walls shamelessly. He kind of liked that someone got sent up to slam his bedroom door shut every night.
It’s been three years since he met you in the woods.
Things had progressed slowly in the beginning, but he knew how you felt by the way you settled in his arms at the end of the night. You would kiss him good night, you would invite him in the shower with you, you would crawl into his lap if he was sitting somewhere – even if he was in front of the guys. No one said anything as you settled into his chest, his arms immediately pulling you closer as he continued his conversations.
And he felt something settle in his belly when he saw you getting along well with the guys. You became a master at beating Jeonghan at cards, and you would spend hours just sitting with Minghao in one of the basement corners talking about anything and everything. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan would rope you into their hooting and hollering, and you would find an escape in Joshua or Wonwoo once your ears hurt from all the yelling. You, Hansol and Chan grew accustomed to falling asleep on the couch while watching old movies, piled on top of each other, and Seungcheol would be the one to throw a blanket over you. You added a touch of something to the group, but he found himself quietly staring at you from across the room when you would settle in the breakfast nook.
That was when you looked the calmest, other than right before bed. There was always a cup of untouched coffee sitting on the table, and a handful of blue pencils you’d found in Your knees would be pulled to your chest and holding a sketchpad he’d found in the back of his closet, specifically after you said you were bored while hanging off the edge of his bed two weeks into your time at the cabin – and you’d been glued to it. You’d flip it closed if he came too close, and you would leave it in your room and hide your key if you were doing something else.
You’d left for Germany six months ago, with a snug ring on your hand that meant you had someone back home waiting for you.
The country had fallen back in order, almost too soon after you’d situated yourselves in the cabin. Community clean-ups were organized as the same labs downtown tried to find any way to fix the damage caused. They were out billions of dollars, and eventually, things fell back into place. Hospitals were rebuilt, airports were reconstructed, and travel was reinstated. Diplomas and degrees were awarded to seniors who had been on track to graduate before the outbreak, and Mingyu watched you try on your cap and gown with a satisfied little smile.
And you got an email a few months later – congratulating you on your graduation and telling you that your internship in Berlin was awaiting your arrival.
Mingyu remembers it like it was yesterday – you’d almost thrown up out of excitement before something settled in the back of your eyes. Uncertainty, worry.
Guilt.
“It’s only six months,” Mingyu whispered as he cradled you in his arms, pressing a kiss on your temple as you cried quietly. “It’ll fly by and it’ll be like you never left.”
You were on a plane the very next week. You held determination in your eyes then, even when glossed with a layer of hot tears that you refused to let spill. Until you got to Berlin and called him every night for a week straight – trying not to sob as he gave you updates on himself and the guys, and showed you designs. He’d been hired to do a few projects around the city, finally putting a little extra cash into his pocket.
“You’re almost home, just a few more days.” Mingyu had reassured you just yesterday, as he looked down at the designs on his workbench. Your designs – the ones you’d hidden before you rolled them up the week you left and handed them over at the airport.
“A project for us.” You’d said, and he’d peeled them open (per your instruction) once you were in the air and on your way to Berlin. It’d been a perfect mix of your design and his old one – two floors, enough rooms to fit his sister and now, many brothers. A kitchen big enough for an island and to hold an annoying amount of boisterous people shouting about how hungry they are, and still – a cozy breakfast nook, one a lot like the cabin had: where you used sidle up to Mingyu and steal off his plate, kiss his bare shoulder, ask for a kiss. And his porch swing – big enough to fit you, him...and hopefully, a growing family.
“How’s the house comin’ along?” Seungcheol asks, holding his daughter above his head as Mingyu crosses his arms on his chest. “Looks about done to me.”
“It is done,” Mingyu nods, “just need to furnish. Paint, too...but Y/N is home soon, and I don’t think I’ll have enough time to move everything alone. She might wanna help, anyway, so I guess it’s fine.”
He feels his throat tight as he speaks, nibbling on his lip as he glances over at Seungcheol, who has a warm smile on his face, “thanks for helping me out. I thought I was going to lose my mind without her.”
“You put on a brave face for the woman you love, it’s only natural you freak out once she’s actually gone. Plus...I think you got most of the jitters out when you put that ring on her finger. Nice job.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he looks up at the house again and turns his daughter to face it, “can you believe Uncle Mingyu’s gonna make you a big house like this one? You get a room all to yourself, I never had one of those.”
Mingyu snorts, “I never said I’d make you one.”
“And jealousy is a disease.” Mingyu stiffens, his fingers on his biceps tightening as he hears a car door slam behind them. Seungcheol smiles inwardly, hiding his face in his daughter’s hair as she lets out a string of incoherent babbling, something that sounds a lot like Y/N amongst it.
“And to think, I was going to ask you to design it.” Seungcheol teases as Mingyu forces himself to peek over his shoulder – seeing Chan smiling brightly as he unpacks the trunk of Seungcheol’s SUV. Tears blur his vision as Seungcheol’s hand moves to squeeze his shoulder, the rough denim of your jacket rubbing against his arms as you wrap your arms around his waist.
“Where are your manners, Kim Mingyu? No hello for your fiancée?” He covers his face as he sniffles, and Seungcheol’s rickety laugh is heard as you sway Mingyu from side to side with all your strength. You squeeze him, “aren’t you happy to see me? I wanted to surprise you!”
He wipes his face haphazardly, taking a deep breath before turning around and almost crushing you in his embrace. Your arms wrap gently around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo that he’d missed so much.
“I’m gonna put your bags inside,” Chan announces, “since Mingyu’s gonna cry—”
“Shut up, pipsqueak. When you find a girl worth waiting for, you’ll cry, too.” Seungcheol snaps, balancing his daughter on his hip before grabbing your duffel out of the front seat. “Take your time, lovers.”
Chan is heard in the distance asking why Seungcheol can tease you but not him, paired with a heavy hit of something and an oof as you tap Mingyu’s shoulders, “I can’t breathe.”
“Just a little bit more,” he murmurs, albeit loosening his grip as you suck in a breath, “I thought I was dying.”
“Pft, you can’t die without me, Gyu. Also, I bought a Switch in Germany. We’re playing Super Mario Odyssey and reliving the days we met, because I had a dream you didn’t find me and I cried.” You ramble, “we should get together with the guys, and we should order pizza, I’m starving. I missed you, did you miss me? Oh, and I—”
Mingyu stops you with a kiss, cupping your face gently and pulling away before it can turn greedy. Your eyes are wide, “are you okay?”
“Do you still hate burl?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, good. Had to make sure Berlin didn’t change your morals,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing another kiss to them before holding you close, “I missed you.”
Your smile is shy as you let him card his fingers through your hair, looking up at him through your lashes, “I love you.”
“I love you more.” He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and he’s sure you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips to your cheeks and forehead, “let me show you the house.”
You nod excitedly, grabbing his hand and leading the two of you up the porch steps. He shamelessly looks at the fit of your jeans on your hips, “do you remember when I posed the question of whether or not the virus was zoonotic?”
“Yes, and yes, my ass is hypnotic. That is precisely why I wore these jeans. God, Mingyu. Get with the program, learn my moves!” You scoff, and he ignores the bickering he hears in the newly built kitchen as he pulls you into one of the downstairs bedrooms, his hands tight on your waist.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He presses you against the door, his lips traveling the side of your face before meeting your lips in chaste, flirty kisses before resting his forehead against you. “I missed you, so much.”
“Enough to catch me a fish, guy?” You laugh, tucking your hands into the back pockets of his jeans, making him roll his eyes.
SYNOPSIS. Of course, the one time you decide to put yourself out there you end up with a creep for a date. Your older brother, Yuta, is out of town so his overprotective self can’t get your out of this mess. Jeno, your roommate, can’t either since he’s working a late shift. And to be honest, your best friend, Mark, looks far from intimidating. This all leaves you no choice but to rely on your brother’s best friend and your crush since the beginning of time, Johnny Suh. Great.
PAIRING. older brother’s best friend!Johnny x (fem) Yuta’s little sister!reader
GENRE. brother’s best friend!au, slightly suggestive, fluff (?)
WORD COUNT. 3.8k+
WARNINGS. alcohol consumption, creepy date doesn’t understand that no means no, unsollicited touching, a lot of nicknames (johnny calls her “bunny” lol), making out (?), allusions to sex (no explicit content)
DISCLAIMER.This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work.
You should’ve listened to your gut in the first place. Your gut never lied. And of course, the one time your stubborn self refused to listen to your gut, you ended up in an unfortunate situation.
To be fair, the only reason you pushed yourself to go on dating apps was because you were the only one out of your friend group without a partner. For heaven’s sake, even Mark–your pathetic best friend who had almost zero game–had a girlfriend just in time for cuffing season. Your older brother, Yuta, had a partner as well. All bullshit aside, you were lonely. So fucking lonely. And it killed you.
💌 part of the OF FIRST SNOWS AND SOULMATES collaboration
with @ppangjae, @smoll-tangerine, and @jeongvision
💌 SYNOPSIS: When your collection of unsent love letters and heart-wrenching poems becomes a best-seller, you are left with the pressure of releasing another collection that is better than the last. In search of inspiration, you return home for the holidays only to run into Johnny Suh– the very man who broke your heart, and discover a variety of letters convincing you to change your fate.
So, riddle me this: if you had a chance to change your fate, would you take it?
💌 WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex and divorce, odd references to sci-fi shows and movies
💌 PLAYLIST. lover by taylor swift • for life - english version by exo • unless it’s with you by christina aguilera • i don’t wanna see you cryin’ anymore by adam melchor • love letters by juris • sick of losing soulmates by dodie clark • best friend by jason chen • popo (how deep is our love?) by yerin baek • sun&moon by nct 127 • i’ll like you so much you’ll know it by wan junqi • if by juris • anyone else by joshua bassett • hate everything by golden
description: Mark Lee thinks he’s the next big indie artist. You think he’s the reason you have eye bags. After weeks of listening to his 2 AM guitar sessions through your ceiling, you finally snap and put up a very direct complaint on the bulletin board. He, of course, does not take the hint. Now you have to march up there and personally make him stop—except it turns out Mark might actually be kind of… cute? Annoying, but cute.
Part of the Notice Me (literally) series!
warnings: food mentioned, language, second hand embarassment? slander too I suppose
w/c: 7.1k
a/n: phew its here and um this was supposed to be some silly little thing for all the dreamies djsdk (by the time this is up the masterlist for the series will also be out but try to guess who's who!! i've left a few hints hehe) also i dont play the guitar but if a mark swoops in offering to teach me i will not say no.
taglist
The printer whirs, spitting out the paper, and you snatch it up before it even lands in the tray.
“Okay, but have you considered not escalating this?” Giselle asks, sprawled across the common room couch, half-watching you and half-scrolling through her phone.
You don’t bother with a response. Instead, you dig through the mess of random supplies on the bookshelf, hunting for tape.
“Like,” she continues, “what if he’s going through something? What if this is his only coping mechanism? Are you really gonna be the villain in some dude’s healing arc?”
You pause just long enough to glare at her. “Bold of you to assume I’m not the one going through something.”
Giselle hums, tilting her head in consideration. “I mean. Fair.”
You find the tape—buried under a pack of sketch pens—and tear off a piece with your teeth. Giselle doesn’t even blink. You’ve clearly been driven past the point of rational behavior.
The common room is nearly empty at this hour. The vending machine hums in the corner, a lone microwave beeps from the communal kitchen, and some guy is asleep at one of the tables, his face smushed into an open textbook. Outside, the campus is quiet, bathed in the dull orange glow of streetlights.
And above all that—above you—the same godforsaken sound drifts through the ceiling. A soft, melancholic strumming, like the soundtrack of a coming-of-age movie that just won’t end.
You slap the notice onto the bulletin board and smooth the tape with your palm. Giselle huffs as she gets up from the couch to read the piece of paper you’ve put up.
NOTICE: TO INDIE GUITAR GUY
Some of us just crawled out of finals week held together by caffeine and regret, and the only thing we want to hear at 2 AM is nothing. But instead, every night without fail, you’re out here strumming away like we’re all living in some coming-of-age movie where you’re the main character.
Newsflash: we’re not. This is a dorm, not some group therapy tent at a shitty music festival, and I promise you, no one is having a life-changing moment listening to your sad indie ballads through these paper-thin walls. I don’t know what heartbreak you’re working through, but please—either take it somewhere else, invest in some headphones, or play at a reasonable hour like a normal human being.
If not, I will personally start hunting you down to cut your guitar strings. Try me, asshole.
“You do realize you could just go up there and knock, right?”
You cross your arms. “And then what? Have a conversation?”
“That is generally how human interaction works, yes.”
You shake your head. “No. If I knock, I have to be nice. And if I’m nice, I can’t say everything I want to say. This is a better solution.”
Giselle gestures toward the board. “Your better solution is an unhinged public rant?”
“Yes.”
She squints at the paper, then snorts. “You threatened to cut his guitar strings.”
“Because if I get my hands on them, I will.” You shove a thumbtack through the top of the page for extra measure, pinning it onto the board with a little more force than necessary. The other notices tremble in protest—flyers for dorm cleaning (which you think would definitely be a scam), someone looking for a new roommate, and a very questionable ad for adopting a cat together.
You furrow your eyebrows at the last one. Whoever put that up actually lacks brain power because pets aren’t allowed in the building and the RA can easily see what’s on this board.
You turn away from the bulletin board, brushing your hands together like you’ve just solved a great moral dilemma. “Okay,” you say, “I’m going to bed.”
Giselle barely glances up from her phone. “Good luck with that.”
You ignore her and make your way toward the hallway, already fantasizing about the blissful, uninterrupted sleep that will hopefully be in your future. Maybe you were a little dramatic, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
And if Indie Guitar Guy has even an ounce of common sense, he’ll take the hint.
E
The placebo effect is when your brain tricks your body into thinking something is working, even when it isn’t. Like when people take sugar pills in medical trials and somehow start feeling better just because they believe they got real medicine. It’s mind over matter, proof that sometimes, the illusion of change is just as powerful as change itself.
And right now, you’re pretty sure you’re experiencing it firsthand.
For the next two days, you sleep like a rock.
The thought of guitar guy reading your notice, and finally stopping his antics makes all your post-exam exhausted brain latch onto the idea like it’s a lifeline. It doesn’t matter how it worked—whether it was shame, guilt, or a sudden revelation that 2 AM concerts aren’t a personality trait. What matters is that it’s quiet. No more strumming drifting through the walls, no more tossing and turning while waiting for him to get tired.
You wake up feeling victorious.
For the first time in weeks, you don’t have to drag yourself out of bed like an extra in a zombie movie. Your coffee tastes better, the air smells cleaner, and even your 8 AM lecture seems bearable. Giselle eyes you over her cereal as you practically float around the dorm, humming to yourself.
“Wow,” she says, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. “I almost forgot what you’re like when you’re not being slowly driven to insanity.”
“You see?” You gesture at yourself. “This is what happens when people respect community living.”
By the third night, you almost forget he ever existed.
But of course, you were being delusional. Stupid, even. Because this dorm not only houses you and your friends, but also stupid boys who would probably not give a flying fuck about notices like the one you put up.
You rub your eyes vigorously, trying to scrub away the sleepiness. It’s past midnight and you should be cruising through your REM cycles right now. Instead, you listen to the strumming of a guitar somewhere above you.
And because the universe is cruel like that, you actually recognize the damn song.
Why would anyone sane play Mariposa by the Peach Tree Rascals at fucking 1 in the morning? You curse internally before groaning, rolling onto your stomach and shoving your face into your pillow, as if that’s going to block out the sound. It doesn’t. If anything, the acoustics of the dorm—cursed, absolutely cursed—only amplify the soft, lazy strumming. He’s not even playing the full song, just absentmindedly plucking out the chords, like some guy in a movie sitting by a campfire, contemplating life or whatever.
For a brief second, you think, Okay, fine. It sounds kind of nice.
And then you remember that it’s past midnight.
Sitting up abruptly, you push your covers off, jumping off your bed with a newfound motivation. What kind of asshole sees that big notice that you put up and still doesn’t have the decency to stop?
When Giselle hears you shuffling around, she looks up from her econ textbook, shaking her head with a sigh. “You’re going to feel bad when this guy turns out to be, like, the sweetest person ever.”
You scoff, yanking a hoodie over your head. “I’ll take my chances.”
Giselle closes her book and watches you with something between amusement and resignation. “What are you even gonna say?”
You shove your feet into a pair of slides. “I don’t know. Something about common courtesy and how not everyone wants to listen to his fuckass music?”
She snorts. “You’ve already committed to the villain role, huh?”
You jab a finger in her direction. “No. I’m the protagonist. He’s the inconsiderate side character messing up my storyline.”
Giselle slumps into her desk, her voice coming out muffled. “Again, you’re going to feel so bad when this dude is actually, like, a golden retriever in human form.”
You ignore her, grabbing your phone and stomping toward the door. “I highly doubt that.”
And with that, you march out of your room, slamming the door behind and scaring the scrawny but tall kid who lives in the dorm next to yours. His clothes and the corridor smell vaguely of something burnt, but you don’t think too much of it, fully prepared to give Indie Guitar Guy a piece of your mind.
The walk to his room isn’t long, but it gives you just enough time to fully work yourself up. Your footsteps are firm, your hoodie sleeves bunched around your fists like you’re ready to throw hands if necessary. Every tired, miserable night flashes before your eyes.
You knock once. The chords still continue to be played. You knock again. No reaction.
Your eye twitches as you knock again—hard, promising that this is the last and you’ll break his door the next time if you have to.
The strumming stops. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of soft shuffling. You hear the doorknob turn and then the door swings open and the entire speech you’d prepared dies in your throat.
He’s cute.
And not in the way you were expecting (not that you were, but still). He stands there, slightly disheveled, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it, an old hoodie hanging loose on his frame. His guitar pick is still caught between his fingers, and his eyes—dark, warm, blinking at you in confusion—look way too soft for someone who’s been torturing you for weeks.
You forget, briefly, what you came here to do.
Then he scratches the back of his neck, looking at you in confusion. “Hey… Can I help you?”
To your absolute horror, instead of going off on him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is, “Um.”
UM?
What happened to excuse me, asshole, do you have no shame? Where the hell did that go?
He looks at you expectantly, still waiting for you to continue.
You swallow hard, mentally scrambling to put yourself back together. “So… I don’t know if you saw, but I put up a notice on the bulletin board?”
He blinks. “What notice?”
You hate how your stomach flips at the way his brows pinch slightly, confused but genuinely curious, like he actually wants to know.
You clear your throat. “Just—about the, uh. The guitar.” You gesture vaguely, as if that explains anything. “At night.”
“Oh.” It comes out almost sheepishly as he looks down at the pick he was flipping in between his fingers, like he’s only now realizing.
You should push. Tell him off right now, stand your ground and speak your mind. But all you manage is to say—
“It’s just, um… really late, y’know?”
Oh my God.
What is this? A customer service complaint? Where is the wrath, and the all-caps shouting you promised yourself on the way up here?
He blinks at you again. Then, slowly, his lips part in realization.
“…Wait,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I the asshole from the notice?”
You stand there, every inch of your body fighting to scream YES. YES, YOU DUMB, SILLY, PRETTY BOY.
“...I mean—I wouldn’t say asshole?” You grimace.
You did. In fact, you didn’t just say it—you typed it out, printed it AND posted it in the common room’s bulletin board. Why didn’t you just scream it out of the windows while you were at it?
“Oh, shit.” He scratches his forehead, “That was you?”
Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—uh.”
He watches you for a second before exhaling. “Oh, man. I’m really sorry about that,” he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, I didn’t see the notice until earlier tonight.”
You should still be annoyed. Should. But the way he says it—so earnestly, with his brows slightly furrowed—makes you forget.
“I thought it was just some general complaint,” he continues, glancing down before hesitantly meeting your eyes again. “Didn’t realize I was the ‘asshole.’”
You feel heat creep up your neck. “Okay, but, like, not seriously—”
His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Right. Totally.”
Your face burns.
Guitar guy must sense your embarrassment because he quickly clears his throat, straightening up. “Anyway,” he says, voice a little softer, “I really didn’t mean to keep you up. I just—I play when I can’t sleep.” He scratches his forehead, looking almost bashful. “Didn’t think it was carrying through the walls that much.”
Before you can mumble out something incoherent or non-sensible again, he continues.
“No, yeah. You’re right. I’ll stop.” Then, almost shyly, he glances back at you. “I, uh… I don’t think we’ve met before?”
You blink, caught off guard.
“I’m Mark,” he says, smiling a little. “Since, y’know. You technically already know way too much about my sleep schedule.”
You let out a breathy laugh, more surprised than anything. You hadn’t expected him to be this nice. Or this—
Well. This.
“I guess that’s fair,” you mumble, suddenly feeling a little stupid standing here in your sleep shorts and oversized hoodie.
Mark’s smile lingers. Then, with a little hesitation, he nods toward you. “So, uh. Do I get to know your name, or?”
You hesitate for half a second—because this is not how this was supposed to go, and he is not supposed to be this sweet—but eventually, you sigh, giving him your name.
Mark nods, a small grin on his lips, “Cool, well. I’m really sorry. I’ll stop now, so you can go sleep!”
Maybe it’s because he said he couldn’t sleep, or maybe it’s because you think that in your notice it may have seemed like he’d a bad player (he’s not), or maybe it’s just because your sleepy brain finds him cute that you pipe up, just before you leave.
“I’m sorry if I came off as really rude. It’d just been a hard week.” You sigh, a little hesitant, “And you don’t have to stop playing… I mean—at this time, please don’t. But I wouldn’t mind listening to you some other time.”
Mark blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Oh—uh—really?”
You nod, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah. You’re… not bad.”
His ears turn a little pink. “Oh. Thanks.” He scratches his neck, smiling softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
There’s a pause.
Then, before you can process it, Mark lifts a hand, pointing his fingers toward you like a finger gun. “Sleep well, neighbor.”
Oh my God.
You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Goodnight, Mark.”
And with that, you turn away, fully aware that you’ve just lost the battle. God, Giselle is never going to let you live this down once you tell her.
A
The next morning, you groan as you shuffle out of bed, running on autopilot as you grab your mug and head to the common room, your only goal in life being to reach the sad, overworked coffee machine.
The moment you step in, the sharp smell of burnt coffee greets you—bitter, slightly tragic, but necessary. You yawn, rubbing your eyes as you press the button on the machine, waiting for it to sputter out something drinkable.
“You actually slept last night, right?”
The voice makes you blink. You turn, and standing next to you, looking way too put together for this hour, is Mark Lee.
Oh.
You fight every urge to react. He’s in a hoodie, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed, his hands shoved into his pockets. He’s looking at you, head tilted slightly, waiting for an answer.
“Uh.” You blink again, processing. “Yeah?”
Mark lets out a tiny breath of relief. “Good,” he says, nodding. “I, uh… I stopped playing. Like I said I would.”
Oh, he’s shy.
Somehow, this is worse. You were prepared for maybe an awkward nod or a "what’s up?". Not this gentle, earnest follow-up on whether you got enough sleep.
“Yeah.” You swallow. “I noticed. Thanks”
Mark nods again, rocking back on his heels. He’s quiet for a second, then gestures toward the coffee machine. “You, uh… do this every morning?”
You shrug. “Unfortunately.”
He lets out a small laugh, and for some reason, you feel stupidly warm.
“There you are.”
You both turn as Giselle enters the room, hair still a little messy from sleep, her own mug in hand. She barely glances at you before heading straight for the coffee machine, too preoccupied to notice the tension in the air.
When she’s finally done shoving your mug out of the way and filling her’s first, she looks up at the two of you.
“Who’s this?” Giselle asks you, voice loud enough for Mark to hear.
You’re about to reply when Mark steps forward instead, holding his hand out for her to shake. She stares at it for a second.
“I’m Mark. Um… the annoying guitar guy.”
“Oh!” Giselle exclaims, a smile making way onto her lips as she shakes his hand. “Good to meet you. Damn, did she yell your ears off yesterday? I tried to stop her, I swear.”
Mark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, it was fair. I didn’t even realize how loud I was.”
Giselle smirks, nudging you with her elbow. “See? Not everyone’s out to get you.”
You roll your eyes, choosing to ignore her as you finally bring your coffee to your lips. The second the burnt liquid hits your tongue, you wince. “God, this is awful.”
Mark watches, slightly amused. “Yeah, it smells kinda brutal.”
You sigh. “It’s usually bearable. Can’t function without it.”
“You ever try the café across campus?” Mark asks. “Way better than whatever this is.”
You shake your head. “Too much effort. This is closer.”
Giselle hums, sipping her own coffee. “She’s lazy,” she supplies helpfully.
You glare at her, but Mark just chuckles, rocking back on his heels. “Well, if you ever decide to make the trek, let me know. I’ll come with.”
You nod absently, still focused on your coffee. “Mm, noted.”
Mark hesitates for half a second, like he’s waiting for something, but when you don’t react, he clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll catch you later.”
“Later,” you mumble into your mug, already preparing for the day ahead.
As soon as he’s gone, Giselle turns to you, staring.
You blink. “What?”
Her lips curl into a slow smirk. “Oh my God.”
You narrow your eyes. “What?”
She snorts. “Nothing. You’re just an idiot.”
You scowl. “Great. Love to hear that first thing in the morning.”
Giselle just shakes her head, looking far too entertained as she takes another sip of coffee. “No, no. This is fun. Let’s see how long it takes.”
“See how long what takes?”
But she just grins. “Nothing. I’m going to shower first.”
D
The library is quiet, save for the occasional sound of pages flipping and hushed whispers between students. You’re not here by choice. You’d have preferred to sit in the common room, a little more comfortably, but the heated discussion over banning glitter for the upcoming door deco competition isn’t something that you’d sit through either.
So now, you’re here, settled at a table near the corner, your laptop open, coffee beside you. You don’t even realize someone is sitting a few seats away until you stretch, glance up—
And Mark Lee is looking right at you.
Oh.
Your brain stalls for half a second before you lift a hand in a casual wave.
Mark grins, like he was waiting for you to notice, and—without hesitation—grabs his stuff and moves over.
"Hey," he says, plopping down across from you.
You blink at him. "Hey?"
He gestures vaguely. "Thought I’d say hi."
You squint. "Didn’t look like you were studying."
Mark laughs, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah, well… he’s having roommate trouble right now, and I’m a great listener."
It takes you a second to register that he’s talking about the guy still sitting at his old table. When you glance over, you realize—oh. Renjun.
You nod as you glance back at your laptop. You vaguely remember seeing the notice that he needed a roommate, but it’d probably been taken down a few days ago.
“Has he not found one yet?”
“Worse. He forgot to mention that he’d only room with guys,” Mark sighs, glancing at him before shaking his head, “And now he’s living with a girl that he’s definitely starting to like.”
You almost laugh out of disbelief. “Is co-ed rooming even allowed?”
“Nope,” Mark pops the p. “But he’s a fucking goody-two-shoes and the RAs love him, so honestly, even if they find out, they’ll give him a good notice period for either to move out.”
“I can hear you two.” Renjun hisses, before shrinking a little as he looks around, hoping no one was bothered.
You clear your throat. “So, what, are you just here for moral support?”
Mark grins. “Kind of. I keep them sane.”
You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Naturally.”
He leans in slightly, chin resting on his palm. “But, you know, the library’s not so bad.”
You shoot him a skeptical look. “Didn’t take you for the type to hang out here for fun.”
Mark shrugs, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a dedicated academic weapon.”
You exhale. “Right. And I’m the dean of the university.”
He gasps. “Wow. No faith in me at all? For all you know, I could be topping my classes.”
You hum, unconvinced.
Mark watches you for a second, then leans in just a fraction closer, voice lowering slightly. “Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then.”
You blink at him, caught off guard, but before you can say anything, Renjun finally looks up from his laptop, fixing Mark with a withering stare.
“Can you prove it somewhere else?” he mutters. “Some of us are actually trying to study.”
Mark grins, completely unbothered. “See? Told you he’s suffering.”
G
You’re halfway through filling your water bottle when you hear a loud clatter followed by an equally loud “Shit!”
You whip around just in time to see Mark Lee standing in the dorm kitchen, staring at the floor like it personally betrayed him. A broken instant ramen cup lays at his feet, noodles spilled across the tiles in a sad, soupy mess.
“…Do I even want to know?” you ask.
Mark looks up, startled. He must not have noticed you walk in. His hood is halfway up his head, and his sweatpants are hanging loose at his hips, like he just rolled out of bed to grab food.
“I—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought I could grab it before it hit the counter.”
You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to assess the damage. “And?”
He sighs. “And I could not.”
You try to hold back your laugh, but it slips out anyway. Mark groans, crouching down to clean up the mess, and you, feeling slightly bad for him, grab some napkins to help.
“Appreciate it,” he mutters as you both start wiping up the broth.
“No problem. Midnight disasters seem to be a running theme in this dorm,” you joke.
Mark huffs a small laugh. “Tell me about it. Last week, Jisung nearly set the toaster on fire.”
You pause, still crouched down. “Is that the kid that lives next door to me? I swear that the night I came and complained—” You shoot a slightly guilty look at him. “—to you, he smelled like burnt stuff.”
“Probably,” Mark shakes his head, “I mean, I’m not the best person to teach him how to cook, but he’s got a few friends. The kid’s just too stubborn and a little bit of an airhead to ask for help.”
The two of you continue cleaning in comfortable silence for a moment before you stand to toss the napkins in the trash. When you turn back, Mark is still crouched on the floor, gathering the last of the noodles into a pile. His hood has slipped back slightly, revealing the messy strands of his hair, and his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms.
Not that you’re looking.
Mark groans as he tosses the ruined noodles into the trash. “Man, this sucks. I was really looking forward to eating that.”
“You could just make another one?”
He hesitates, then sighs. “That was my last cup.”
You frown. “That was your only food?”
Mark scratches the back of his head, avoiding your gaze. “…Maybe.”
You stare at him. “Mark.”
“I meant to get groceries,” he mutters. “I just forgot.”
“For how long?”
“…A while.”
You let out a long sigh before turning toward the fridge. “Alright, come on.”
Mark blinks. “Huh?”
“You’re not starving on my watch,” you say, pulling out a container. “I made extra earlier.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Wait—really?”
“Don’t make it weird.” You shove the container into his hands before you can think twice.
Mark stares at it for a second before looking back up at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re kind of nice, huh?”
You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t spread that around.”
He hums as he pops open the lid. “Guess I owe you one now.”
“Damn right you do.”
Mark laughs, leaning against the counter. “You know, if you ever wanna cash that in, we could go grab real food sometime.”
You snort. “Yeah, sure. In exchange for a half-eaten bowl of ramen.”
He grins, scooping up a bite. “Deal.”
You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle before heading back to your room.
You twist the cap back onto your water bottle just as Giselle walks in, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. She doesn’t even look at you before flopping face-first onto her bed.
“I give up,” she mumbles into her pillow.
You glance at the clock. “On what? Life?”
“Basically.” She groans, turning her head just enough so her voice is no longer muffled. “I ran into my ex on the way back. He saw me trip on the dorm steps. I don’t think I can recover from this.”
You snort. “You literally dumped him. Why are you embarrassed?”
She lifts a hand in the air, shoving her middle finger at you. “I have my reasons.”
Shaking your head, you take another sip of water. “You could always poison his meal plan or something.”
“Maybe.” She turns onto her side, finally looking at you. “What about you? You were out late.”
You shrug. “Just went to get water.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. “And?”
“…And Mark was there.”
That gets her attention. She sits up properly now, leaning forward. “Oh?”
You frown. “What?”
She tilts her head at you. “Nothing. Just…interesting.”
You roll your eyes. “He spilled his ramen. I helped clean it up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s it.”
“Uh-huh.”
You sigh, climbing into bed. “What?”
“Nothing.” She flops back, pulling her blanket over her legs. “You just seem to run into him a lot.”
You pause for a second. “He lives upstairs.”
“Mhm.”
You throw your pillow at her before slumping into your bed as well, switching your lamp off with a sigh.
It’s not weird.
Mark lives upstairs. You’ve only run into him a couple of times. Completely normal, considering the dorm isn’t that big. Still, as you stare at the faint outline of your ceiling in the dark, you think back to the way he laughed, how he leaned against the counter, how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
He’s cute. That’s just a fact. In an endearingly clueless way, with his messy hair and his habit of rubbing the back of his neck when he talks. Objectively cute. Universally acknowledged cute. Annoyingly cute, even.
But it’s not like that. Obviously.
You roll onto your side, pulling your blanket tighter around you.
Just a coincidence.
You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep, but for some reason, you can still hear his voice in your head. The soft laugh, the way he said we could grab real food sometime. The casualness of it.
Not an invitation. Not really. Right?
You huff, pressing your face into your pillow.
Whatever. You’ll probably forget about it by morning.
B
You hear the music before you see him.
The common room isn’t empty, but it’s quieter than usual—just the occasional shuffle of someone flipping through a textbook, the distant hum of the vending machine. And then there’s him.
Mark is curled up on the couch, one leg tucked under him, guitar resting easily against his chest. He’s not playing anything loud—just soft, absentminded strumming, like he’s working through a song in his head.
And you should keep walking. You really, really should.
But instead, you hesitate, shifting from one foot to the other just enough that the floor creaks under you. Mark glances up at the sound, fingers faltering slightly over the strings.
“Oh,” he says, blinking like he wasn’t expecting company. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, already regretting this.
His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. “You look like you were about to turn around.”
You scoff, stepping fully into the room. “I was just—” You pause. What were you doing?
Mark tilts his head, waiting.
“I needed a break,” you sigh.
He nods, adjusting the guitar in his lap. “Good timing.”
He doesn’t elaborate, just keeps playing, and maybe that’s your cue to leave—but your feet carry you toward the couch anyway. You sit down—not next to him, but close enough to see the way his fingers move over the strings.
You watch for a second, then glance at his face. “You play in the daytime now?”
Mark exhales a quiet laugh. “Only because I’ve been feeling considerate towards a certain someone.”
You’re sure that there’s colour rising to your cheeks now, but you try to mask it off by laughing. “Wow. Growth.”
He shakes his head, letting out a soft hum under his breath, but he doesn’t deny it.
For a while, there’s no talking—just the sound of the guitar, the occasional scrape of his pick against the strings. You don’t realize how much time has passed until you catch yourself fully zoning out, elbows resting on your knees, watching his hands like an idiot.
Mark notices.
He doesn’t call you out for it, but his fingers slow slightly, like he’s suddenly aware of the attention.
You snap out of it immediately, shifting your gaze. Nope. Absolutely not.
Mark clears his throat, tapping his thumb against the body of the guitar. “You play?”
“What?”
“The guitar,” he says, nodding toward it. “You don’t play, do you?”
“Oh.” You shake your head. “No.”
Mark hums, considering. “Do you want to?”
You blink. “What?”
He shrugs, adjusting his grip. “I could teach you something. If you want.”
You hesitate. You could say no. You should say no.
But Mark is already tilting the guitar toward you, his brows raised in a quiet ‘well?’
And against all logic and reason, you reach for it.
The guitar is heavier than you expected.
You fumble with it, your fingers slipping against the strings as you try to mimic the way Mark holds it. It feels unnatural, like trying to write with your non-dominant hand.
“Here,” Mark says, shifting closer on the couch. His knee brushes against yours, and you stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care. He reaches over, adjusting your grip. “You’re holding it like it’s gonna bite you.”
“Maybe it will,” you mutter.
Mark laughs, low and warm, and you try not to focus on how close he is. His fingers guide yours to the fretboard, pressing down on the strings. “This one’s the B,” he says, plucking it. A soft, clear note rings out.
You frown. “Sounds like every other string.”
“Wow.” He feigns offense, clutching his chest. “And here I thought you had an ear for music.”
“I have an ear for silence at 2 in the morning,” you deadpan.
Mark grins, “Fair.” He leans back slightly, but his knee stays pressed against yours. “Okay, try pressing here.” He taps a spot on the neck.
You attempt it, but the string vibrates pathetically under your finger.
“You’ve gotta press harder,” he says.
“I am pressing hard.”
Mark hums, skeptical. Then, before you can react, he reaches over and presses his finger on top of yours, adding pressure. “Like this.”
Your brain short-circuits.
His hand is warm. His fingers are calloused from playing. And he’s so close you can smell his stupid laundry detergent—the one that everyone else in this dorm uses.
You swallow. “...Right.”
Mark doesn’t move his hand. “You got it?”
"Yep." Your voice cracks slightly.
"Sure?" His thumb brushes against yours as he adjusts your positioning - just for a second, but it's enough to make your pulse jump.
"Positive." You stare very hard at the guitar's soundhole.
Mark finally pulls back, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are pink. "So, uh. That's... the basics."
You strum all the strings at once. It sounds like a trash can falling down stairs. "I'm a prodigy."
Mark snorts. "Yeah. Next Ed Sheeran right here." He fiddles with his pick. "We could... keep practicing sometime. If you want.”
You shrug. "I mean, I guess I owe you for not murdering me over that notice."
"I wouldn't say no to, like. Coffee instead." He says it too fast, then backtracks. "I mean—not like—just caffeine helps with—"
"Mark."
"Yeah?"
"You're rambling."
His shoulders hunch. "Right. Sorry."
You hand the guitar back. "But yeah, coffee's fine. The dining hall swill is killing me anyway."
Mark brightens instantly. "Remember that place across campus? Their cold brew is actually decent and they've got these chocolate croissants that—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "I mean. If you're into that."
"Cold brew gives me heart palpitations."
"Oh." His face falls. "We could find somewhere else—”
"But I'd commit crimes for a good chocolate croissant," you add.
Mark's smile returns, slow and warm. "Tomorrow? I'm free after two."
"Sure." You stand up, completely missing the way his fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the guitar body. "Don't be late."
"I won't!" It comes out too eager. He cringes at himself. "I mean. Yeah. Cool."
As you walk away, you don't see him slump back against the couch, dragging a hand down his face. You definitely don't hear the quiet, frustrated whisper of: "Smooth, Lee. Real smooth."
E
You're lacing up your sneakers when Giselle walks out of the bathroom, rubbing her damp hair with a towel. She pauses mid-step when she sees you.
"Where are you going?"
"Getting coffee with Mark." You tighten the knot on your shoe.
She stares. Then, very deliberately, looks you up and down.
You're in a hoodie (a slightly wrinkled one), sweatpants, and the same sneakers you've been wearing for three years.
"...Dressed like that?"
You frown. "What?"
She gestures vaguely at your entire existence. "You're just going out like that?"
You scoff. "Dude. We’re just hanging out."
Giselle presses her lips together like she’s trying very, very hard not to lose her mind.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
You glance up. She's watching you in the mirror, towel slung over one shoulder, eyes sharp.
You narrow your eyes. "What."
She exhales sharply. "Okay, tell me this: how many times has Mark asked you to ‘hang out’?"
You shrug. "I dunno. A few times? Haven’t really been able to go."
"And these ‘hangouts’—" she makes little air quotes, "—were they things like, ‘Hey, wanna grab food?’ or ‘Hey, wanna get coffee?’ Or, oh, I don’t know, ‘Hey, wanna come sit really close to me while I teach you how to play guitar?’"
Your mouth opens. Closes.
Because, yeah. That is... exactly how it’s been.
Giselle sees the realization hit. "Oh my God," she says, dragging a hand down her face. "He’s been asking you out this entire time!"
You blink. "What? No. He hasn’t—he’s just been nice."
Giselle shoots you a deadpan look. "Nice?"
"Yeah!" You wave a hand. "Some people just—invite other people to do stuff! It’s normal!"
Giselle rubs her temples. "Okay. Let’s say, for a second, that I believe you. Do you think Mark has asked anyone else to ‘just hang out’ like this?"
You open your mouth. Pause.
Giselle’s smile is way too smug. "Mhm. Exactly."
You shift uncomfortably. "Okay, but—but what if you're wrong? What if this is just his personality?"
Giselle flops dramatically onto her bed. "Then I will personally apologize to you for enabling your delusions." She waves you off. "Now go. And if he confesses, don't let your dumbass panic and run into traffic."
You scowl. "That happened one time."
Giselle is already onto her dressing table, raking through her makeup brushes.
You check the time. Mark’s already waiting.
Your stomach flips.
You swallow. "I'm gonna go."
"Yeah," Giselle sighs, rolling onto her side. "Go figure your shit out."
—
You’re definitely overthinking this as the two of you walk around campus.
Mark walks beside you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed. He kicks a stray pebble down the sidewalk, eyes mostly on the ground. Meanwhile, you are internally spiraling.
Because Giselle’s words won’t leave you alone.
"He’s been asking you out this whole time."
And the more you think about it, the more obvious it feels.
The coffee. The late-night talks. The stupid guitar lesson where his hand had covered yours, warm and steady.
You sneak a glance at him. He looks normal. Maybe a little cold, but not like someone who’s been trying to ask you out for weeks.
You fidget with your sleeves. Just ask. It’s Mark. It’s not like he’s gonna laugh in your face. Right?
“…Hey.”
Mark glances over. “Hm?”
You swallow. “So. This whole, uh. Hanging out thing.”
His brows lift slightly, like he’s waiting for you to continue.
You take a deep breath. “You—you weren’t, like. Asking me out, were you?”
Mark stumbles.
Not dramatically, but just enough that his shoe drags weirdly on the pavement.
You immediately regret everything. “Never mind! Stupid question, forget I—”
“What?” Mark fully stops walking.
You stop too, face burning.
Mark turns to you, brows slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. “…Why would you ask that?”
You die internally. “Giselle said something,” you mumble.
Mark blinks. Then he shifts from one foot to another. “What… exactly did she say?”
You stare very hard at the sidewalk. “Just. That you might’ve been, um. Subtly. Asking me out this whole time.”
Silence.
You dare to look at him.
His ears are so red.
“Oh,” he says, voice sounding a bit strung, higher than usual.
You panic. “You don’t have to say anything! I just—”
“I mean,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, looking very interested in a nearby streetlamp. “I… kinda was?”
Your stomach flips.
Oh.
Oh.
Mark winces. “Not in, like, a weird way! Just—” He exhales, rubbing his temple. “I thought you were cool. That night when you came up, i thought you were like…really pretty. And I figured, if you weren’t interested, we could just keep hanging out and it wouldn’t be—” He gestures vaguely. “A thing.”
You nod. Maybe too much. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”
Mark watches you carefully. “So, uh. Is it weird now?”
You pretend to think, but you already know your answer. You can see Mark’s shoulders shrinking with every waiting second.
“No.”
Mark’s shoulders relax. “Oh. Cool.”
You fidget with your sleeve. Your breath stutters.
“I think I like you too,” you admit, voice way too soft.
Mark stares for a few seconds, like he almost didn’t hear you, before his whole face lights up.
“Oh.” He clears his throat. “Uh. That’s—that’s cool.”
You laugh, nervous. “Yeah?”
He nods, a little too fast. “Yeah.”
When he looks at you again, he’s still flushed, still blinking like he’s trying to process this in real time.
“So, uh,” he starts, “what now?”
You don’t really know how to answer that.
You rock back on your heels. “I mean… we’re still getting coffee?”
Mark lets out a soft laugh, like he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “Right. Yeah. Obviously.”
The two of you start walking again, a little slower this time. The air between you is different now—not awkward, but buzzing, like a chord just on the verge of ringing out.
You steal a glance at him. His hands are jammed in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, but there’s something almost relieved in the way he carries himself now. Like he wasn’t expecting this to go well.
You bite your lip, hesitating.
“You know,” You begin, “I thought you were cute too.”
“What?” Mark lets out, a little too loudly.
It almost makes you giggle. “That night when I came up to complain. I was supposed to go all out on you and make sure you’d never play your stupid guitar again. I was quite serious about cutting your strings off.”
Mark shakes his head sheepishly with a small laugh.
“But when you opened the door, I kind of forgot all of that.”
He stares at you, lips parted slightly like you just short-circuited his entire brain.
You shrug, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “I dunno. You just—looked cute.”
Mark drags a hand over his face, groaning. “What the hell.”
You blink. “What?”
“That’s so unfair,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You showed up looking all pissed off and intimidating, and I was standing there in, like, the ugliest shirt I own.”
You snort. “It wasn’t that ugly.”
Mark groans again, looking up at the sky, almost too embarrassed to meet your eyes. “This is crazy.”
“What is?” you ask, still laughing.
“That you thought I was cute!” He gestures wildly. “Like. That doesn’t happen!”
You roll your eyes, but your stomach is doing so many flips. “Shut up.”
Mark looks at you for a second, then exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are still bright red. “I was really nervous that night, you know,” he admits.
Your brows lift. “Really?”
He nods. “You were just—you had this whole, like, ‘I will end you’ vibe, and I was trying so hard not to make it worse. But then you kinda—” He stops, mouth twitching. “You hesitated. Just for a second. And I thought, ‘Oh. She’s not actually as scary as she looks.’”
You gasp, shoving his shoulder. “Wow. Rude.”
Mark laughs, bumping into you slightly. “Sorry, sorry. But I was right, wasn’t I?”
You purse your lips. “Debatable.”
Mark hums, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time with you to figure it out.”
Your heart does a weird little jump.
You don’t let yourself overthink it.
Instead, you nudge him back, eyes flicking forward to the coffee shop just ahead. “You better buy me the best chocolate croissant they have.”
Mark grins. “Deal.”
And when his fingers brush yours, just briefly, you don’t pull away.
