maison de shua

"Why should I change? I've never even got to find out who I am and you want me to change, that's crazy."

[pinkshua-mp3]

𝓴 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝔂𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰...

𝓷𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓰𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

-> writing

-> old works

-> masterlist of fic recs

-> username change: harrisonsoceaneyes > elios-timotea

-> thank you to @allyz for creating the divider 🤍

[seungcheorry]

wonwoo's head turns the moment he hears you sighing in frustration.

"what's wrong, my love?", he asks, walking around the room looking for his glasses, still shirtless after the shower he took.

you're sitting in front of his giant, state-of-the-art black computer, headphones placed on only one side of your head, covering just one ear.

"this stupid game! i've died again", you groan. "it's like, the seventh time already."

wonwoo laughs, finally getting his glasses from under a pillow on the couch - and mentally cursing himself for leaving it there - before walking up to you. he slides his glasses up his nose, reading the "YOU LOSE" words on the screen.

"um... your skills are rated as a B, so you might not be that bad. maybe you're just not defending yourself right."

"and how the hell do i do that?"

in a swift motion, wonwoo pushes your chair a bit, so he can stand behind you. one of his arms snakes around your left shoulder, while the other one slides down your right arm, holding the computer's mouse with you.

he clicks on the "REMATCH" button that is glowing blue on the screen, and the game starts loading again. as soon as your character appears, wonwoo clears his throat.

"alright, so what you gotta do is make sure you're always next to something that can hide you", he clicks a bit, covering your hand with his. "you see that big barrel over there? that's your best friend."

you - him - makes the character walk over to the barrel, hiding as a few shots start to ring on your headphones. the other players are already shooting each other.

"how do i know when to shoot too then?"

"you feel it", wonwoo smiles, turning his head a bit to look at you, which makes his breath hit your cheek.

on your own, without his help, you peek from behind the barrel, seeing two other characters unprotected. you hit both of them, hiding again and then running to some other place.

"your aim is really good."

"thank you, baby."

someone runs after you, and wonwoo is quick to take control over the keyboard (and over your hands), teaching you how to duck behind a car.

"you did right, leaving the last place so they wouldn't find you after you killed those guys. but remember to be quicker than them."

you nod, feeling the way wonwoo's fingers move over yours as he helps you, trying to remember everything he's clicking and how, when, why.

soon enough, your character is clear again, and wonwoo takes a step back, his warmth no longer embracing you.

"now you do it."

"thank you, baby", you say again.

"we might have to get a computer set for you. we can place it right next to this one, he mentions to his set, where you're sitting.

"can i get a white one?"

wonwoo looks around his game room. a white computer set isn't exactly going to match the decoration, but what else can he say besides-

"yeah, of course. anything for you, love."

a/n: i'm sorry if there's any typos here, it's been a while. all it took was ONE wonwoo tiktok edit to make me write this. he will always be my muse, won't he?

[envygyuu]

Dude?

ˋ°•*⁀➷

this is how i imagine cheol and wonu would react to you referring to them by their name or anything besides their respective term(s) of endearment just to gage their reaction.

Pairing(s): c.seungcheol x fem!reader, j.wonwoo x fem!reader (ft. h.joshua)

CW/TAGS: comedy, prank wars type of scenario, sort of angst but not really bc it’s a joke?? , mainly just domestic slice of life-esque dialogue with a twist, established relationships, worrywart cheol, talks of breaking up (unserious), heavily suggestive dialogue between reader x wonwoo, degradation kink, name calling (attention whore, fiend, deranged), mentions of being gagged, sir kink (only if u squint hard enough to catch it), pet names; baby, doll, pretty girl, honey.., very dom!wonu, submissive reader ( in this scenario..👀).

< envy yaps: well I promised to have this drop last night and then it didn’t happen... but here it is! it’s a little funky since it’s my first time but it is what it is. ( I do want to try making more of these smau style works though ) and as always, please like, reblog, and comment on this post! It lets me know to keep writing :).

= SEUNGCHEOL =

= WONWOO =

< envy yaps: oh to be a lady in lurve with a guy like cheol.. or wonu. maybe both at the same time. idk.

Check out my other works here!

[papercupids]

a second longer - kim mingyu.

part two.

pairing -> kim mingyu x reader

genre -> fluff, friends to lovers, kinda slowburn?

summary -> you've been friends for too long, and mingyu's had enough of the pining.

a/n -> this is one of my first works in over an year so be kind to me ^_^ and haha i apologize for it being a little shorter compared to my other works but i feel like this is how the plot should have played out! anyway feedback is much, much appreciated <3

The camera is old, and the quality is just down the drain, but somehow, mingyu still looks attractive, you blush a little as he makes eye contact with you and quickly turn your camera away from him, pointing it at wonwoo.

“Wonu! Smile,”

The tension between you both was evident to everybody in the room except you both, or maybe it was, you just refused to acknowledge it.

Even now, as mingyu smirks, you can feel your completely freezing up.

Nothing, nothing. It’s nothing.

And you continue to avoid his eyes as you put the camera back in your hand bag as if the only reason you agreed to this dinner wasn’t him.

You weren’t even sure how it had become so awkward with him suddenly, you both were a part of this friend group alongside wonwoo, joshua, some other friends of yours for years, and in april you’d have been crushing on mingyu for over an year.

Maybe it was that one drunk night in September, when during karaoke, you were so into the song that you ended up being inches apart from him, his face so up close that you could just. Kiss the mole on his nose.

That could be it, perhaps, even though you weren’t even sure he remembered it, or anybody else here did, it just embarrassed you so much that you made a pact with yourself to not drink more than a glass or two in these gatherings.

After everybody was done with the dinner, a few of them decided to hit the karaoke, tomorrow being a sunday, but you excused yourself, relieving war flashbacks from that place.

And wonwoo was leaving as well, having some urgent task to attend to, in the morning.

“Let’s-”

Before you could finish that sentence, someone interrupts you.

“Let me walk you home,”

Wonwoo looks between you both awkwardly and then nods, announces he’s going to take a bus from a stop a little ahead and your home is in the opposite direction.

By now, cold sweat has started breaking down your neck.

“Dinner was nice,” he offered to walk you home, but wouldn’t talk to you?

You try breaking the ice.

“Hmm,” he nods. Still not looking at you.

“How was your day?”

And he stops walking. You turn to him, puzzled. He makes eye contact finally.

“How long are we going to beat around the bush?”

A small “huh?” escapes your lips. When he doesn’t respond neither breaks eye contact, it’s obvious what he’s talking about.

“Uh, well, i-”

“I like you, y/n, i’m not going to pretend otherwise a second longer,”

You stand there speechless, in all the scenarios you imagined, this one was quite different. And while you really wanted to be the one to confess first, it was just a dream that he said what he did.

You step a little closer to him, inspecting the street and then looking at his lips as if asking for permission.

He whispers as he leans down a bit, “can i kiss you?”

You nod.

And as you pull away, you apologize.

“Sorry, i didn’t do that sooner,”

[selenophyyy]

Spilling Into Your Life

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: Mingyu has an uncanny talent for running into you and spilling coffee on you in most random places.

Note: Writing short oneshots feels so weird after writing long ones. Anyways, I wrote this at 3 in the morning so the writing style is more simple than usual (also I doubt poetic style will go well with comedy). Enjoy! Dividers by bunnytoppop and strangergraphics.

Mingyu has an uncanny talent, and it's not for cooking, photography, nor for making every oversized sweater look like it belonged in a fashion campaign.

No.

His true gift is colliding with you in the most statistically impossible ways.

The first time it occurred was when you stepped outside the café under the glaring sun with your fresh iced latte and your eyes lost in your phone.

And he had stepped out with his Americano.

For a single, fatal second, while you're both glued to your phones, a tsunami of coffee drenched you to the bone.

Crash.

Your latte painted his white hoodie.

His Americano baptized your cream cardigan.

Silence.

Then he blinked.

"... I think we invented mocha."

You laughed despite the absurdity of the situation.

He apologized approximately forty-three times, bought you another drink, and insisted on paying for your dry cleaning.

You assumed you'd never see him again, but fate had other plans as you ran into him again in the bookstore three days later.

You reached for the same novel on the top shelf.

Someone else reached too.

Your fingers brushed against each other with a feathery touch.

You both stretched.

He lost balance.

The stack of books tumbled down like dominoes, and the other person shielded you with his arm.

You looked up.

"Coffee Guy?"

His eyes comically doubled up.

"Cardigan Girl?"

Neither of you had coffee this time.

Progress.

But that progress didn't last long, as only a week later, you stood under the weeping clouds on the crosswalk, opening your umbrella.

Someone sprinted towards you across the street.

"MOVE—"

It was too late.

Mingyu's ankle twisted on the slippery pavement as he lost his balance. Your hand instinctively grabbed him.

Both of you spun dramatically before landing on a nearby bench.

But his iced coffee held some grudge against you as it flew directly towards your white blouse.

"Seriously?" You deadpanned.

"I don't know how physics works anymore!"

By the fourth accident, your coworkers had begun asking if you secretly dated him.

"We don't!"

"You've mentioned him five times this week."

"Because he keeps attacking me with beverages!"

"That's flirting," they teased.

"It's an assault!"

And your laundry basket agreed in tears, because now half of your wardrobe smelled faintly of espresso.

By the seventh accident, you were turning a corner in a mart when a shopping cart rammed into yours.

"I swear this isn't on purpose," he cringed.

You look up to find Mingyu, of course.

His cart is filled with his weapons, which are also known the bags of coffee beans.

"Why do you always have coffee?" You queried.

"I like coffee," he replied, scratching his nape.

"You weaponize coffee."

"I don't mean to," he let a nervous laugh.

"You absolutely do," you refute.

He looked so genuinely distressed that your annoyance melted into laughter.

His shoulders slop down at witnessing your relaxed demeanor.

"There it is," he pointed out with a soft smile adorning his lips.

"What?"

"That laugh."

"… What about it?"

"I was hoping you'd laugh instead of reporting me."

And that intelligent attack succeeds in painting your cheeks red.

The tension between you both began to dissipate after the eighth collision and the eleventh apology for your wet laundry, making you expect to see him more.

The expection wasn't conscious, but it popped up whenever you entered a café, bookstore or a convenience store.

A part of your brain always wondered—

Is he here?

And he usually was, sometimes carrying coffee (unfortunately).

Your patience finally gave out one afternoon, not with a shout but with a sigh.

You stood in front of him after he'd accidentally splashed cold brew across your jeans.

Again.

You sighed toward the heavens.

"I think the universe wants us to fight," you heaved out for the third time, patting your poor, drenched jeans.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, looking like a scolded puppy himself.

"I think the universe hates your laundry."

"My laundry basket has developed trust issues."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You've already paid for dry cleaning six times."

"Seven," he mumbled under his breath.

"You keep count?"

"I have spreadsheets," he affirmed.

"You have spreadsheets?" You gawked.

He pulled out his phone and opened his very informative sheet, turning it towards you to witness his meticulous work.

There really was a spreadsheet.

Date.

Location.

Type of coffee.

Estimated stain severity.

Laundry reimbursement.

You stared.

"... You're insane."

"A little," he agreed with a lopsided grin.

"You categorized espresso separately," you call out with an arched brow.

"It stains differently," he clarified.

Doubling over with laughter, you clutched a nearby shelf for support.

A smile bloomed on his face as if he'd won the lottery.

"So..." he prompted carefully after a few minutes.

"What?"

"I've been thinking," he continued.

"Dangerous," you squinted your eyes playfully.

"Should I just... pay your monthly laundry bill?"

You crossed your arms.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I have a better idea."

His eyebrows lifted.

"If you're going to keep ruining my clothes..." you dragged on deliberately.

"..."

"... you owe me one date," you highlight your term of bargain with remarkable sangfroid, although your heart threatens to hammer your ribcage.

He froze completely.

The supermarket music continued to flow in the background while his brain visibly rebooted.

"... A date?"

"Yes."

"With you?" He inquired again, still not believing his ears.

"No, with the cashier," you deadpanned.

"Very funny."

"Oh, please, I'm hilarious," you sassed.

His ears turned pink.

"Is this pity?" He asked again for his thrumming heart.

"No," you demurred.

"Revenge?"

"Maybe a little," you admitted, flashing a grin.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'll take revenge," he squared his shoulders with such confidence that it made you burst into laughter all over again.

The following Saturday rolled in with him arriving fifteen minutes early.

Of course he had arrived early; he had spent thirty minutes prior changing shirts more than models do for a high-end runway.

He'd double-checked weather forecasts and researched cafés with lids designed to prevent spills. And he didn't forget to stuff his bag with protective measures such as packed tissues, napkins, wet wipes, a spare shirt, and a stain remover pen.

And—

He didn't walk in chugging down coffee—not a single cup.

When you arrived, you immediately noticed the rare sight.

"You're empty-handed," you pointed out as you sat down.

"I quit coffee," he declared.

"You what?" You gaped.

"For today," he added.

"I don't believe you," you laughed and shook your head.

He pulled down the zipper of his bag slowly for extra dramatic effect and showed you his safety items.

Inside sat bottled water and a bundle of sanitary items, with no instant coffee packets in sight as he had proclaimed.

You chortle at the ridiculous amount of cleaning stuff.

"I refuse to become a public safety hazard," he announced with rosy cheeks.

The date followed wonderfully by visiting an art museum, browsing vintage shops and sharing ridiculous sunglasses.

Even arguing over whether dinosaurs would enjoy bubble tea.

"You can't prove they wouldn't," you refute.

"They're extinct," he objected.

"Exactly. No evidence," you concluded, slamming the table.

In the four straight hours... nothing spilled.

You actually began believing the curse had broken until the server approached during lunch.

"What would you like to drink?" The server asked.

"Water," Mingyu answered without a thought.

You stared.

"You're traumatized," you opined, trying not to laugh.

"A little," he admitted as he rubbed his nape.

You ordered lemonade—a harmless choice.

The server arrived back after a few minutes, placing water in front of Mingyu and your glass before you.

Mingyu let out a sigh of relief. "We made it," he cheered.

The restaurant door suddenly swung open by a mischievous child, who ran in laughing with a blaring red balloon in his hand.

The balloon's string got wrapped around another server's wrist, who also had a glass of lemonade on his tray.

The tray tilted and everything rolled in slow motion in Mingyu's eyes.

"No!" he whispered and shook his head.

The lemonade performed an elegant aerial flip before landing—

Directly onto his own white shirt.

Silence.

You stared.

He stared.

The server began apologizing profusely.

Mingyu looked down at himself.

Then at you.

"I think karma finally found me," Mingyu commented, looking dejected.

You burst into uncontrollable laughter with actual tears.

You laughed so hard that nearby diners smiled.

He watched you for a second before letting a laugh escape of his own.

"You know," he paused.

"What?"

"I think this is the first time you've laughed because coffee didn't hit you," he stated the fact as he flashed a grin.

"Lemonade counts," you grumbled.

"I'll update the spreadsheet."

"You still have it?" You snickered, taking a sip of your own lemonade.

"It has sentimental value now," he smiled, dabbing his shirt with a fistful of tissues.

After lunch, you two wandered through a nearby park as the golden afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees.

The air felt lighter and comfortable as you two synced in footsteps.

"So..." you prompted.

"Mm?"

"Can I ask something?"

"Anything."

"Why did you keep trying so hard?"

He blinked.

"Trying?"

"You apologized every single time."

"Because I kept ruining your day."

"You didn't know me."

"I wanted to."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

His eyes widened.

"... Well."

"... Well?"

"I guess I accidentally confessed."

You smiled.

"You kind of did."

"Should I pretend I didn't?"

"You could."

"I don't want to."

He scratched his neck nervously.

"I know meeting someone through repeated beverage crimes isn't exactly romantic."

"It is memorable."

"I genuinely started hoping I'd run into you."

"You manifested it."

"I might've visited that café more often."

"I knew it."

"... Maybe the bookstore too."

"I knew it."

"I didn't bump into you on purpose!"

"I believe... eighty percent of that sentence."

After a brief chuckle, his expression turned earnest, his eyes locking onto yours with a more serious mien.

"I really like you," he confessed with his heart running a mile.

You tilted your head.

"I know."

"... You do?" He gaped.

"You made a spreadsheet," you pointed out.

"Fair."

"And you gave up coffee."

"That one hurt."

"It was very brave."

"So..."

"So… would you maybe want a second date?"

You pretended to think. "Hmm," you drawled, making him wait and hold his breath.

"I suppose," you grinned and shrugged.

His grin arrived slowly before exploding across his face.

"Really?!" he asked with pure glee sparkling on his face.

"On one condition," you pointed out.

"Anything," he concurred.

"You are permanently banned from carrying coffee."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. " I solemnly swear."

"Good," you grinned.

"Although..."

"What?"

"If I accidentally spill tea—"

"Mingyu!"

"I'll run," he mirrored your grin from earlier.

"You should," you warned, making him laugh as you lightly nudged his shoulder.

This time, neither of you stumbled nor spilled anything. Instead, your fingers brushed together naturally and then intertwined.

Your laundry basket, for the first time in months, finally got a well-deserved break.

Mingyu's spreadsheet, however, received one final update.

Accident #12: No beverages spilled. Unexpected outcome: Got the date anyway. ❤️

Note:

Mingyu (and me) if given an opportunity:

                            ⌝

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[bluewhitehues]

Kiss you later💋

Seungcheol× reader, S.coups× reader.

Genre:fluff,romance,humour.

Summary: Seungcheol took you out on an impromptu date,where you look so pretty in your baby blue top and he just wants to kiss you,but you have a reason why he can't kiss you right now.

t/w: mention of a hickey? Nothing else ig.

word count: idk,but very less.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You are out with your boyfriend. You had said you were bored,cause you had weekend off,while he was still working on a saturday. So,he sent you a location and booked you an Uber when you had eagerly agreed to go there with him. It was an old palace which now was a historical museum.

He had a shoot in the complete opposite corner of the city,which was somehow closer to the palace, so he managed to finish his shoot a little earlier. He knows how much you love sunset, so it's a win win situation to spend the early hours of evening there.

"Ah ah, you're not kissing me on the lips, it took me so much effort to get this lip combo. You'll get a kiss after I get my pictures." You push at his chest.

Cheol pouts and sighs. "Thats not how you greet your lover,babe." Well you did give him a hug with all smiles,when you greeted each other at the entrance,but he's dramatic like that. But from his perspective,it's not his fault that his girlfriend looks too good right now. The cute baby blue top, cheeks pink with the blush,hair half tied up, with the tiny natural wavy curls adoring her face and God, don't get him started on the sun-kissed smile. He cannot handle her. So,definitely not his fault.

You tilt your head towards him, so that he can kiss your cheek instead. But,he just looks around and pulls you to a rather secluded corner,undoes your top two buttons and lowers his head to suck a hickey on your chest, your eyes widen simultaneously,"Cheol what the fuck?" You whisper shout. But he just rises up,meets your eyes and gives a satisfied smile,licking his plump lips.

You scowl at him. "You're a freak." He just arches his sexy brow, "And? you love me ."

You heave out an audible sigh as he puts your buttons back and drags you by your hand. "You're lucky you're hot, i wouldn't let just anybody do that."

"I wouldn't do it to just anyone either,just you hottie." He kisses your knuckles,sending you a wink. You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes lovingly at him.

You don't even need to instruct him for your pictures, "baby,quick stand there." "Woah,that spot looks perfect." "God,you're gorgeous" "a smile over your shoulders, please" he matches your excitement to click your pictures, the love seeping out through his smile and eyes.

You are at the end of your tour, walking to his car.

"And I'm the idol,huh? " "Hey, I offered to click your pictures too,you said,No." You say offended. He chuckles, "Not like that, baby. I mean, you do it better than me, you would have been so famous if you were an idol, your pictures look too good, like some photoshoot. You're gorgeous." He whispers the last part dreamily.

You are blushing as you say,"Stop it." covering your eyes with your palm briefly,making him giggle. "Also, I do not want to be a celebrity, this is your premium subscription, only you get to admire me." You say,sheepishly smiling at him.

"You got enough pictures?" He asks with darkening eyes, you nod,knowing where this is going. "Good thing I brought my car." He says unlocking it. He's opening the backseat door,your hand still in his,when he motions you to sit inside. "Babe?" You mutter shakily, your heart almost in your throat. "You told me to kiss you later. Sit,before I start kissing you right here." And, you know what he means by that,the look in his eyes telling you everything you want to know. You don't need to be told twice, so you're sliding inside instantly,he doesn't waste any time sliding beside you either.

As soon as he closes the door, you just look at him with your doe eyes,he's cupping your face instantly leaning down to your lips. You take in a shaky breath,before melting into his plush lips. "Mmmh" he lets out a barely there soft purr, which has you clutching his collar harder and pressing yourself into him.

"You deprived me of you." He mutters,when you both pull back for a breath. You chuckle,"Aren't you just dramatic,baby? We saw each other in the morning." You say amused, putting your knees on either side of his thighs and sitting on his lap. He pulls your hand back,where you were tracing his lower lip with your thumb. "That's different,it's like you're saying I shouldn't eat dinner just because I ate lunch. And that never happens, you scold me if I want to skip my dinner." He says that with a serious face,this guy.

You can't control your laugh, "what do i do with you?" You say with a dreamy smile. "Just kiss me more." He tightens his hold on your hips as he says that, and how can you deny those wanting sparkly eyes,so you comply. Kissing him again, harder this time as you thread your fingers through his hair.

You loose the track of time,just making out,until a loud honk startles you. "Fuck,what the hell." He looks around,startled. Thankfully,the honk is not meant for you,his tinted windows shielding you from outside.

You pull yourself back begrudgingly,"that was getting dangerous,lets go home and order dinner?" You ask,removing your heels,throwing them on the floor of passenger seat and climb over to it. "Careful." He lets out a surprised laugh,holding your elbow to support you,just incase. He shakes his head at you fondly,as he opens the door and steps out to sit in the driver's seat.

You grab a wet tissue,taking his face in your hand. "Got my lip combo on you too." You smile sheepishly at him,his lip twitches with a smile. "You don't wanna take my picture?" He raises his brow. "That's...don't give me ideas." You shake your head as he laughs at you.

When you're both ready to go, he starts the car while you're busy playing your Playlist. And the song plays~

Authors note: Happy sundayyyy! Here's a treat,Hope you guys enjoy this!😋

Masterlist

[scarletwinterxx]

casualties of chemistry - choi seungcheol imagine finale

and here we are🤍 thank you so much for loving this fic. truly it's been a rollercoaster. I had so much writing it, seeing the response it got made me sooooo happy🥺tbh every time i post a fic, that's exactly how i feel. To have something I only imagined, something that only existed in my mind, and have it loved by others it always make my hear feel warm.

see you on the next fic🤍😊🌻

PART ONE | PART TWO

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The goodbye itself feels unfinished somehow.

Like neither of you say the words fully because speaking them too clearly might make everything too real. The last day before he went the atmosphere was heavy despite trying to find the light.

Even when the both of you try to not show the fear, the worry was obvious behind your eyes.

The last night, while you help him pack his stuff he takes a simple gold chain from his drawer and put the ring there before clasping it around your neck. He tucks the chain with the ring carefully beneath your shirt himself.

Neither of you says What if this is the last time because neither of you can survive hearing it out loud.

Then he was gone. 

The first few weeks aren’t too bad. You get three updates total. Short. Obviously screened for safety but still it was enough to ease your heart and mind even for a bit. Enough to know he’s alive. Enough to keep breathing easier for another few days.

Cheol: Don’t forget to eat.  Cheol: Don’t drink too much coffee, take a cab if you’re too sleepy to take the bus Cheol: I miss you

After that, it was silence.

Your own messages stop delivering entirely. Calls unreachable. No updates. Nothing. And logically, you know what that means. Operational security. Dangerous mission. 

He told you enough information to know when this happens it means he’s in the middle of it all. The most dangerous part. 

Eight weeks pass then nine. Ten. Then suddenly it’s been twenty six weeks total. One Hundred Eighty Two days. 

Too long. Far too long.

Your shifts become harder somehow during this stretch.

You’re still Dr. Y/L/N in the ER. Still terrifyingly composed during trauma calls but now exhaustion follows you home differently because there’s no one waiting outside the hospital with coffee.

Just silence.

The ring stays around your neck every single day. Simple chain. Simple promise.

Sometimes during particularly bad shifts, your fingers curl around it instinctively beneath your scrubs. Like touching it grounds you.

Nurse Yang notices once while you’re scrubbing in for surgery.

“No news?”

You shake your head once but you repeat his words to yourself constantly now. 

No news is good news.

Meaning somewhere out there… He’s alive. Somewhere out there Captain Choi Seungcheol is still fighting his way back to you.

That thought becomes enough to survive on. But logic becomes a fragile thing at 2 a.m. when you’re staring at your phone rereading old messages like they might suddenly update themselves.

Some nights are worse. You’ll sit alone in his apartment curled into the couch wearing one of his sweatshirts while rain taps softly against the windows.

The city glowing outside. That’s when your mind drifts too easily to possibilities, to worst-case scenarios, to all the things trauma surgeons know too well about fragile human bodies.

Those are the nights you force yourself toward the shelf with his medals instead.

Toward proof that he survived before, that he came back before.

Proof that Captain Choi Seungcheol is too stubborn to lose.

One particularly brutal night after losing a patient in surgery, you come home shaking with exhaustion. You barely make it through the apartment door before sinking onto his couch still in scrubs.

And for the first time since he left, you break. Exhausted tears hidden behind your hands because you miss him so much it physically hurts.

And eventually your hand slips beneath your shirt automatically until your fingers curl around the ring resting against your chest.

You close your eyes tightly and whisper into the empty apartment “You better come home, Captain.”

The silence afterward feels endless but somehow somewhere deep down beneath all the fear you still believe he will.

=

Thursday starts like every other impossible hospital day. Too bright fluorescent lights. Too much blood. Too little sleep.

You’ve been awake for almost twenty hours when you finally finish a trauma surgery that nearly went sideways twice.

By the time you step out of the OR, your scrubs are sticking to your skin and your shoulders ache from tension.

Still you saved them. So you scrub your hands slowly at the sink afterward trying to steady your breathing again.

Another life dragged back from the edge. Another day survived.

You’re already mentally preparing for charting when you push through the ER doors.

And then you see him, an officer standing near the nurses’ station.

Military uniform. Formal posture waiting by the main lobby. At first your brain doesn’t process it. Hospitals get officers sometimes. Paperwork. Routine check-ups. 

You glance around briefly assuming he’s here for someone else.

Then he looks directly at you.

And suddenly every cell in your body goes cold.

No.

No no no.

The world narrows instantly.

You stop walking. The officer takes one careful step forward.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

Your heartbeat becomes deafening.

Somewhere far away monitors keep beeping. Nurses move past. Someone calls for transport but all you can hear is blood roaring in your ears.

The officer’s expression shifts subtly.

Gentler.

Prepared.

And you know. You know before he even speaks.

The floor beneath your feet feels like it physically gives out

“Captain Choi Seungcheol was injured during deployment—”

No.

“—he was airlifted immediately—”

No.

“—he’s currently being transferred to the base hospital—”

No.

“—doctors are already operating—”

Operating.

“—the injuries were severe—”

Your breathing stutters violently.

“—he’s unconscious—”

The word slams into you hardest.

Unconscious.

Everything after that blurs. 

Too close. Critical. Heavy blood loss.

None of it makes sense because this morning you were literally thinking about him while making coffee, because his hoodie you wore last night is still hanging over the couch. 

Because he promised.

You stare at the officer but suddenly can’t feel your hands properly. Your fingers curl instinctively around the ring beneath your scrubs.

Cold metal against shaking skin.

No.

No no no.

Not him.

Not Seungcheol. Not your Seungcheol. 

Your vision blurs instantly. The hallway tilts sickeningly.

Then somewhere nearby “Doctor Y/N?” Nurse Yang spots you talking to the officer, walking slowly towards you.

Bless Nurse Yang. She takes one look at your face from down the hall and immediately knows something is wrong.

“Y/N?”

Your knees buckle before you even realize it. The floor rushes up terrifyingly fast. Then suddenly arms catch you halfway down.

Voices erupt around you.

“Get a chair—”

“She’s pale—”

“Doctor, breathe—”

But all you can hear is:

Unconscious.

Severe.

Operating.

You start crying before you even realize you are. Terrified broken sobs that rip out of your chest uncontrollably while Nurse Yang kneels in front of you holding your face steady.

“Hey hey hey—look at me”

Your breathing turns sharp and uneven

“I can’t—” you choke out “I can’t—”

“Yes you can” her hands wipe your tears quickly like she’s done this your entire life, purely maternal. Grounding. Steady.

You grip desperately at her sleeves

“Where is he?” you choke out in between sobs

The officer answers carefully, “He arrived at the military hospital approximately twenty minutes ago.”

“Is he alive?” The question comes out broken. Barely audible.

The officer pauses just long enough to destroy you further

“Yes.”

You inhale shakily. Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

You cling to the word immediately.

Nurse Yang smooths your hair back gently while you struggle to breathe through the panic crushing your chest.

“You need to go” she says softly

Your eyes snap to hers immediately “But—”

“He needs you more right now.” That nearly breaks you all over again.

You shake violently while trying to stand. Doctor instincts and terrified girlfriend instincts colliding painfully together.

Your brain keeps supplying possibilities automatically.

Internal bleeding. Head trauma. Ventilator. Emergency thoracotomy.

You know too much. Far too much.

“Hey.” Nurse Yang grips your shoulders firmly before you spiral further “Don’t do that to yourself yet.”

Your eyes fill again instantly “What if I’m too late?”

Her expression softens painfully “This is the same man who waited for you for seven hours. I’m betting everything that even now he’s fighting his way back to you”

Neither of you can promise that and you both know it but she still says it to you.

The officer offers to escort you immediately. Someone brings your bag. Someone else presses water into your shaking hands.

The ER around you keeps moving. Life continuing cruelly normal while yours cracks apart in real time.

As you walk out of the hospital, your fingers clutch the ring beneath your scrubs so tightly it hurts.

Your engagement ring.

Your promise.

Your Seungcheol.

Please. Please come back to me.

Because suddenly the thought of a world without Captain Choi Seungcheol in it feels impossible to survive.

The drive to the base feels unreal, it felt like you’re watching someone else’s life happen through thick glass.

The officer beside you speaks occasionally.

You think. Maybe. The words barely register. Everything sounds distorted underwater.

Your hands won’t stop shaking. You keep rubbing your thumb against the ring hanging beneath your shirt until the skin feels raw.

Outside the car window, the city passes in blurred streaks of light. Entire worlds continuing normally while yours feels suspended somewhere between hope and catastrophe.

By the time you reach the military base hospital, your body is running purely on adrenaline and terror.

Everything there feels colder somehow. Security escorts you through corridors too clean and too quiet.

You catch glimpses of uniforms. Doctors moving quickly. Restricted doors.

No one tells you much. Only fragments.

“He’s still in surgery.” “There was significant blood loss.” “Multiple shrapnel injuries.” “Close-range impact.”

Each sentence lands like another crack splitting through your chest. And because you’re a doctor that makes this infinitely worse. You know what significant blood loss means. You know how dangerous shrapnel is, how unpredictable.

How one tiny fragment can tear through organs and arteries like paper.

Your brain fills in every possibility automatically no matter how hard you try stopping it.

You imagine ventilators. Chest tubes. Open abdomen. Internal hemorrhage.

You hate yourself for knowing too much.

They settle you in a waiting area eventually.

Someone offers water, coffee, food but you refuse all of it. You can’t swallow properly anyway.

Hours pass strangely after that. Time becomes measured in footsteps outside the OR and every time the doors swing open your heart nearly stops.

At some point an officer quietly approaches you again.

Older. Gentler expression. The kind reserved for terrible conversations.

Your stomach drops instantly.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says carefully “may we speak privately for a moment?”

No.

You already know what kind of conversation this is before he even finishes.

You stand. Your legs feel numb walking into the quieter office nearby.

The officer gestures toward a chair.

“Captain Choi updated his records before deployment.”

Your chest tightens violently. The forms, the ones at the dining table. The ones you cried over.

The officer continues carefully

“In the event of worst-case outcomes, you were designated primary next of kin regarding medical authorization and personal directives.”

Worst-case outcomes. Your vision blurs immediately again.

The officer slides a folder carefully across the desk. Inside are signatures you recognize instantly.

Seungcheol’s handwriting.

Steady. Certain. Prepared.

Prepared for things he never prepared you for.

Your breath catches painfully.

“There are protocols we may need to discuss if his condition worsens—”

“No.” The word leaves you instantly. Sharp.

The officer pauses gently “Doctor—”

“No.” You back away slightly from the desk

Because if you let this become real. if you let yourself imagine life support decisions and emergency directives and memorial procedures. You’ll shatter completely.

“He’s alive,” you whisper desperately

“Yes”

“So don’t talk to me like he’s not coming back”

Then it was just silence again. Not the comforting kind, heavy. Too loud. 

The officer’s expression softens further. Not pity. Something sadder. Understanding.

“Captain Choi spoke very highly of you” he says quietly instead

You look away quickly before another sob escapes. The officer thankfully doesn’t push further.

Eventually he guides you back toward the surgical floor where the waiting becomes unbearable again.

Hour four.

Hour five.

Hour six.

You don’t move.

Not really.

You sit curled slightly forward in the chair outside surgery with your hands clasped so tightly together your knuckles ache.

Every doctor who walks past makes your head snap up instantly. Every time it’s not his surgeon, disappointment crashes into you again. Someone drapes a blanket over your shoulders at some point.

You don’t notice who.

Your eyes burn continuously from exhaustion and crying.

Still you stay.

Because what if he wakes up? What if he asks for you?

What if—

You can’t not be there.

By hour seven you’ve started bargaining silently with every higher power you’ve never properly believed in.

Please. Take anything. Take sleep. Take years off your life.

Just let him survive this.

Just let him come home.

Please.

Then finally by hour eight the surgery doors open again. This time a doctor steps out removing his surgical cap slowly. And immediately you know this is it.

Your body jerks upright so fast the chair nearly tips over behind you.

Your heartbeat becomes violent. 

The surgeon looks exhausted. Blood still staining part of his scrub sleeve.

You cross the distance toward him before he even fully reaches you.

“How is he?” Your voice breaks halfway through the question

The doctor studies your face for one terrible endless second “He survived the surgery.”

The air leaves your lungs so sharply it hurts.You physically stagger with relief.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

But the doctor’s expression stays serious.

“He lost a dangerous amount of blood,” he continues carefully “There was significant internal damage. We removed the shrapnel we could safely access”

Your chest tightens again instantly.

“He’s critical right now,” the surgeon says honestly “The next twenty-four hours are extremely important.”

Not safe yet. Not stable. But alive. You understand fully what he’s talking about but still it’s like the words are not sinking in. 

You nod shakily while tears spill again despite yourself.

“Can I see him?”

“…Yes.”

And suddenly your legs almost give out from relief and terror all over again.

Because Captain Choi Seungcheol survived.

Barely but he’s still here.

Still yours to hold onto.

The first twelve hours pass with your heart lodged permanently in your throat. You didn’t even dare to sleep even when your eyes hurt and every fibre of your being was beyond exhausted. 

The fear is still flowing stronger in your system that every time you so much close your eyes for 5 seconds, every ugly outcome plays in your head. 

So you stay awake through the night, until the day breaks again and the world continues turning while yours stay suspended. 

Every monitor beep becomes life or death.

Every slight shift in his vitals sends adrenaline through your bloodstream instantly.

You barely sleep. Barely eat. Barely move from the chair beside his bed.

But he makes it through the night.

Then another and another.

By the second day, the doctors cautiously stop using the word critical every other sentence.

By then you finally breathe slightly easier. Not fully but enough to stop feeling like the world might end every time a nurse walks toward his room.

As a doctor, you know exactly what his body is doing right now. Healing takes time especially after trauma like this. You know waking him too early would only strain recovery further.

So instead you wait.

That becomes your entire existence. Waiting, watching, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through machines.

Sometimes talking quietly to him when the room gets too silent.

Telling him about your shifts.

About Nurse Yang threatening to physically drag you home if you didn’t shower soon.

About how Minho nearly cried seeing him in surgery recovery.

Anything. Everything.

Because the idea of him waking up alone feels unbearable somehow.

By day three, nearly everyone on the floor knows you.

The exhausted ER doctor who refuses to leave Captain Choi’s bedside.

The nurses start bringing you coffee without asking, one older nurse even gently scolds you for sleeping bent over his bed like you’re trying to become part of the furniture.

Nurse Yang arrives that afternoon carrying an overnight bag and enough judgment in her face to rival a disappointed mother.

“You look horrible” she says immediately

You nearly cry from affection alone “You came.”

“Obviously.” She hands you the bag then hugs you tightly. Exactly what you needed after all these days.

 “Fresh clothes. Toothbrush. Skin care because frankly this situation is tragic.”

You laugh weakly for the first time in days. Then immediately start crying afterward anyway because exhaustion makes emotions ridiculous.

Nurse Yang hugs you tightly again “He’s alive,” she reminds softly

You nod shakily against her shoulder “I know.”

Still you don’t leave. Even after showering in the hospital facilities and changing clothes, you return right back to his bedside.

Because this is where you belong right now. Beside him. Waiting for him to come back fully.

And finally on the third night Seungcheol wakes up.

At first, it’s pain.

Everywhere.

Heavy. Blunt. Like his entire body’s been shattered apart and stitched back together wrong.

His chest burns. Hiis ribs ache sharply every time he breathes. Something pulls unpleasantly at his arm. Machines beep steadily nearby.

Then memory crashes back all at once.

The mission. The explosion. Blood. Darkness.

And instantly his eyes force themselves open harder.

Disoriented.

The room swims briefly before focusing slowly.

Hospital. Recovery room.

Alive.

Then—

You.

That wakes him fully despite the pain screaming through his body.

His head turns sharply enough to make dizziness hit immediately but he barely notices because there you are curled awkwardly in the chair beside his bed.

Asleep.

Your body slumped at an angle that absolutely cannot be comfortable. Eyes obviously swollen even during sleep. One hand loosely gripping the edge of his blanket even in sleep.

And his hand—

His hand is resting against your cheek like at some point you must’ve taken it carefully and placed it there yourself.

Seungcheol stares at you silently. His chest hurts worse for entirely different reasons now.

You look exhausted.

No—destroyed.

Dark circles heavy beneath your eyes, like the light that was there before he left also went away with him. Cheeks thinner somehow like life drained everything from you the past months he wasn’t present.

His throat tightens painfully.

How long have you been here? The thought alone nearly wrecks him immediately.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his fingers slightly against your cheek.

Tiny movement but enough to stir you awake. As if even in your sleep, your body is in tune to his movements. 

Your brows twitch faintly then your eyes slowly open. Disoriented at first, heavy with exhaustion. You blink once.

Twice.

Then freeze completely.

Your gaze locks onto his and suddenly you’re awake.

“Cheol?” Your voice cracks instantly

Seungcheol tries speaking but his throat feels wrecked

“…Hey pretty girl.”

The moment you hear his voice awake and real, it took you a second to let it all sink in. And then… you break.

A sob leaves you immediately before you can stop it. You stand so fast the chair nearly crashes backward.

“Hey—”

“Don’t,” you choke out instantly while tears spill down your face “Don’t even start.”

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time. Then suddenly you’re gripping his hand carefully with both of yours like you’re terrified he’ll disappear if you let go.

“You idiot,” you whisper through tears “You absolute idiot.”

His lips twitch weakly “There she is.”

“You almost died!”

“I know”

“You promised me!” the words come out broken.

Small, breaking with each syllable and somehow that hurts him more than the explosion ever did.

Seungcheol’s gaze softens painfully while watching you cry beside him. His thumb brushes weakly across your cheek.

“I’m sorry”

“You scared me so bad” your voice shakes violently now “I thought—”

You can’t even finish it because saying it out loud feels impossible. It’s a version of reality you don’t even want to speak out to the universe.

Seungcheol watches you silently for a second before gathering enough strength to squeeze your hand back.

“But I came back.”

That absolutely ruins you. You lean forward carefully immediately, forehead pressing shakily against the back of his hand while you cry silently.

And Seungcheol… even half destroyed. even barely conscious, even in pain looks at you and realizes one terrifying undeniable truth:

Coming back to you was the only thing he thought about while dying.

You cry, you let out all the tears you didn’t know you still had in you even after the past 4 days you’ve cried by his bedside. And Seungcheol, even with the stabbing pain on his side, every bone aching in his body, he holds you close. 

He soothes you as you cry, until it quiets down and you’re sniffling softly still glued to his side. 

You look at him, thankful you get to see those eyes again staring back at you. 

“Don’t you ever, and I mean ever scare me like that again. I swear I will revive you myself just so I can scold you some more” you mumble jokingly, earning a small smile from him. 

Despite the bruises, cuts, and wires still attached to him, you see that dimpled smile. He’s still him. Still your Seungcheol. 

Still the same man who promised he’ll come back to you every single time. 

=

The following weeks settle into something quieter. Like the universe finally decided you both suffered enough for a while.

Seungcheol gets discharged with strict instructions and an even stricter girlfriend.

His doctors barely finish explaining the recovery guidelines before you’re already nodding seriously beside the bed.

“No strenuous activity.”

You nod.

“Limited movement.”

Another nod.

“Absolutely no returning to active duty until cleared.”

You point directly at Seungcheol “You hear that?”

Seungcheol, still pale and sore in the wheelchair, looks entirely unbothered.

“Yes ma’am.”

One doctor snorts into his coffee, another outright laughs but you ignore them.

“This man,” you continue firmly “thinks almost dying means light stretching.”

“It was one time,” Seungcheol mutters

“One time too many” you glare at him

The nurses adore you instantly. Mostly because Captain Choi Seungcheol—terrifying decorated military officer—apparently becomes suspiciously obedient around you.

Back at his apartment, you immediately take over. You of course still refused to leave his side. Not that he minded, he loved it even. Seeing his apartment slowly turn into a shared space with you. 

He sees a plant by the windowsil. He knows you’re definitely the one who put it there. He never stayed home long enough before to bother taking care of anything. 

But that small plant, that was a simple reminder of all the months you waited for him. All the weeks you both were standing opposite sides of the world, under the same sky, different timezones. 

The following days it has become clear you run the house now.  You move his medications into neat schedules. Adjust pillows behind his back before he can complain. Hover whenever he walks too quickly.

And god forbid he tries lifting anything heavier than a water bottle.

On day three post-discharge, you walk into the kitchen to find him reaching for a pan. Your expression hardens immediately.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

He freezes mid-reach, slowly glances over “…Yes?”

“Put it down.”

“It’s one pan”

“You have internal stitches.”

“I was making breakfast”

“You were making bad decisions.”

He laughs while obediently setting the pan down anyway.

Honestly, the near death experience somehow made him worse because now he looks at you with this soft, unbearably fond expression every single time you fuss over him.

Like almost dying only made him love you harder. Which is deeply unfair.

A week after discharge, reality unfortunately catches up again.

You have to go back to work.

You stand near the front door in scrubs fixing your ID badge while glaring suspiciously toward the couch.

Seungcheol lounges there comfortably in grey sweats and a black shirt, watching obiediently before he gets scolded yet again. 

Still healing. Still slower moving. Still the prettiest man you’ve ever seen apparently.

“I will know,” you warn seriously, pointing at him “And I mean it, Choi Seungcheol. I will know if you don’t rest today.”

He raises both hands immediately in surrender 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t yes ma’am me”

“Yes doctor.”

“That’s worse.”

His laugh rumbles warmly through the apartment.

God you missed that sound so much.

You grab your bag dramatically “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“No lifting.”

“Mhm.”

“No training.”

“Mhm.”

“No pretending you’re fine.”

That makes his expression soften slightly “…Okay.”

You hesitate then.

Because even after weeks beside him in hospital beds and recovery rooms, leaving him still feels wrong somehow. Like your body hasn’t fully recovered from almost losing him.

Seungcheol notices instantly.

Of course he does.

His voice gentles “Come here.”

Immediately your eyes widen

“What?” You rush toward him instantly “What hurts? Your stitches? Let me see.”

You’re already kneeling beside the couch trying to inspect him before he starts laughing softly.

“Pretty girl”

“What happened? What hurts?”

“Nothing.”

“You said come here in the serious voice!”

“There’s a serious voice?”

“Yes!”

He chuckles helplessly before catching your wrist gently. Then with surprising ease despite the healing injuries, he pulls you closer until you tumble onto the couch beside him.

“Cheol—careful—”

“I’m okay.”

You immediately check his expression anyway.

So instead of teasing further, Seungcheol reaches slowly beneath your scrub top.

You blink “What are you—”

His fingers find the chain around your neck. The one you’ve worn every single day.

Carefully, gently, he pulls it free. The ring catches softly in the morning light.

Your breath stills immediately.

Seungcheol’s expression changes then. Softer than you’ve ever seen it.

No captain.

No soldier.

Just him.

Just the man who came back to you.

His fingers carefully unclasp the chain while you stare silently.

“You kept wearing it,” he murmurs quietly

Your throat tightens “Of course I did.”

His gaze lifts to yours slowly. Then with infinite care he slides the ring onto your finger.

Exactly where it belongs.

Your breath catches sharply the moment it settles there. Seungcheol’s thumb brushes gently over your knuckles afterward. Staring back down to your finger where now the rings sits beautifully. 

“Told you I’d ask when I came back.”

The tears hit instantly. Again.

You let out a watery laugh while covering your face briefly.

“Oh my god.”

Seungcheol smiles softly. Not teasing, almost nervous somehow. Which feels insane considering this is Captain Choi Seungcheol.

“You’re crying already,” he murmurs

“You almost died!”

“And?”

“And now you’re proposing on a random Tuesday morning!”

“It’s Wednesday.”

You stare at him in disbelief “That’s your defense?”

His dimples appear immediately and despite yourself, despite the tears and fear and everything you’ve both survived—

You laugh.

The kind he was terrified he might never hear again.

Seungcheol watches you like the sound itself keeps him alive.

“I was serious, you know.”

Your laughter fades slowly “I know.”

“When I said I want a life with you.”

Your chest aches painfully because you believe him completely, because you can’t imagine if you didn’t get to live this moment. Because you know you can’t see any other version of you and him but this. 

Together. 

Seungcheol reaches up carefully, fingers brushing stray damp hair away from your face.

“I know my life is…” He exhales softly “Complicated.”

“You got blown up.”

“A little dramatic, yeah.”

You glare instantly “Choi Seungcheol.”

“Sorry” but he’s smiling faintly now. Then serious again 

“I can’t promise easy,” he says honestly “Or normal.”

You shake your head immediately “I don’t need normal.”

His eyes search yours carefully.

“I can promise I’ll love you properly though.”

That destroys whatever composure you had left. Your mouth trembles before you lean forward suddenly and kiss him hard enough he nearly forgets every injury in his body.

Seungcheol makes a startled sound against your lips before immediately kissing you back.

One hand cradling your jaw carefully while the other settles against your waist.

When you finally pull back, both of you breathing unevenly, your forehead drops against his.

And finally, finally he asks 

“I used to think coming home meant a place. I used to tell myself I can’t want that, a future, a normal life. That I wouldn’t llve long enough to long for it. And then came you” he breathes out, the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life. 

This is all him, Captain Choi, your Seungcheol, all versions of him you’ve come to love, completely surrendering to you.

“If I get a second chance at life, I want to spend every second of it with you. Will you marry me?”

You’re crying, laughing, smiling, grabbing at his face as you mumble yes over and over again. 

He laughs, holding you close. 

“You know,” you whisper shakily, “you’re really lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

“Obsessed?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he murmurs “Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since the convenience store.”

You freeze then slowly pull back.

“…What.”

Seungcheol immediately realizes his mistake but it’s too late. Your eyes widen dramatically.

“The convenience store?!”

His ears redden faintly.

You gasp loudly. “Oh my god you fell first”

“I’m recovering, be kind.”

“No absolutely not.”

You grab his face immediately “You were gone for the convenience store girl?”

He groans while you laugh helplessly. Sitting here in his apartment wrapped in morning light, your engagement ring warm on your hand while the man you love looks at you like surviving was worth it—

You realize something quietly wonderful.

You made it.

Against every terrifying possibility.

You made it back to each other.

=

One year later, somehow, the world still hasn’t slowed down for either of you.

Your schedules are still terrible. Your sleep schedules even worse.

There are still nights you come home with blood on your shoes and mornings Seungcheol leaves before sunrise without being able to tell you where he’s going.

Some things never change.

But now, now there’s always someone waiting at the end of it.

And that changes everything.

It’s been one year since the hospital room.

One year since the ring slid onto your finger in his apartment while he looked at you like surviving was the only option.

One year of learning each other’s rhythms completely.

Your toothbrush permanently beside his. His clothes somehow invading every corner of your shared apartment. Your coffee order already waiting before shifts.

His hand automatically finding yours whenever you walk beside each other.

Home becoming less a place and more a person.

Tonight you’re exhausted enough to hallucinate.

The ER was chaos from the second your shift started. You barely sat down once.

By the time you finally clock out close to midnight, your shoulders ache and your brain feels fried.

You’re half listening to one of the nurses complaining about a resident while walking toward the hospital exit when suddenly you stop.

Then immediately bolt “OH MY GOD—”

The nurse behind you yelps in shock as you sprint full speed across the parking lot “Doctor?!”

But you’re already gone. Because leaning casually against a black SUV under the parking lights is Seungcheol.

Freshly back from deployment.

Four weeks gone this time, dhorter than before. Still too long.

The second he sees you running toward him, his entire face softens and then you crash into him hard enough that he actually stumbles backward laughing.

“Hey—” “YOU’RE HOME.”

Your arms lock around his neck instantly while his wrap tight around your waist. Lifting you fully off the ground without effort.

You don’t even care that several nurses and staff definitely witnessed you abandoning professionalism entirely.

Let them.

Your fiancé is home.

Seungcheol buries his face briefly against your neck while holding you impossibly close.

God you missed him.

“You almost tackled me,” he murmurs against your skin

You finally pull back enough to look at him properly. Healthier this time. No visible injuries. No bandages hidden beneath clothes.

Just slightly longer hair, tired eyes, and the familiar warmth that settles in your chest every single time you see him.

Your hands immediately grab his face anyway

“You’re okay?”

Seungcheol smiles softly “I’m okay.”

You inspect him suspiciously “Any scratches?”

“Pretty girl—” “Answer carefully.”

He laughs quietly “No scratches.”

“Good”

Then you kiss him. Right there in the parking lot.

Like you physically cannot help yourself.

Seungcheol kisses you back instantly, one hand warm against your jaw while the other stays firm at your waist.

Somewhere nearby someone whistles loudly.

You break apart immediately glaring toward the hospital doors.

“Mind your business!”

The ER nurse cackles while disappearing back inside. Seungcheol laughs helplessly against your temple.

God, he missed this life.

Later, he drives you somewhere unexpected. A convenience store.

Specifically the convenience store. The one where this entire disaster started.

You stare at him as he parks “…Seriously?”

He shrugs innocently “You said you were hungry.”

“You’re sentimental.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Correct.”

Now you both sit outside on the little plastic convenience store chairs under bright fluorescent lights.

If someone told either of you that that night was going to change both you’re lives, you wouldn’t believe it. But here you are now. 

You’re wearing his hoodie over your scrubs while inhaling instant ramen like you haven’t eaten in years.

Seungcheol watches you with narrowing eyes

“How much ramen did you eat while I was gone?”

You freeze mid-slurp “…Normal amount.”

“Define normal.”

Silence. Seungcheol already looks unconvinced.

“Babe.”

You avoid eye contact aggressively

“Y/N.”

“…Enough.”

“How enough?”

You point your chopsticks at him accusingly 

“First of all, your fault.”

“My fault you committed sodium crimes?”

“You stocked the pantry with ramen!”

“Emergency ramen.”

“Every ramen is emergency ramen when you work trauma.”

Seungcheol groans while rubbing his forehead

“Pretty girl, that cannot be healthy. You’re literally a doctor.”

You immediately defend yourself “I barely slept!”

“That’s not helping your argument.”

“You think after twenty hours I’m cooking vegetables?”

“Yes?”

“I could barely identify my own reflection.”

He stares at you in disbelief “So you just lived off ramen?”

You mutter into the cup quietly “…Maybe.”

“Yah.”

“What?!”

“Three weeks!”

“I added eggs sometimes!”

He shoots a fond but disappointed look “That’s not nutrition!”

“It’s garnish.”

Seungcheol looks genuinely distressed now meanwhile you continue eating shamelessly. Then suddenly his hand reaches over and wipes broth from the corner of your mouth with his thumb automatically.

The movement is so practiced now neither of you even pauses.

You look at him while chewing slowly 

“…I missed you.”

His expression softens immediately “I know.”

“No, like seriously.” You slump dramatically against his shoulder afterward “I almost started talking to your plants.”

That makes him laugh, the sound still feels like home to you.

“It was dark times.”

You lean more comfortably against him while the cool night air settles around you. Cars pass occasionally. The convenience store doors slide open and shut every few minutes.

Nothing extraordinary and somehow that’s what makes it precious.

Because your lives are anything but ordinary.

Tomorrow you’ll both go back to chaos again. He’ll return to military briefings and dangerous assignments. You’ll return to trauma calls and impossible surgeries.

There will always be risk.

Always uncertainty.

But now there’s this too.

Plastic convenience store chairs at midnight. His hand resting warm on your thigh absentmindedly. Arguing over ramen like an old married couple.

Love woven quietly into ordinary moments between disasters.

Seungcheol suddenly glances at you.

“What?”

He studies your face for a second.

“Still ran toward me.”

Your brows lift slightly.

“Huh?”

“In the parking lot.” His thumb brushes lightly against your knee. “Every time I come back, you still look at me like that.”

Your chest squeezes immediately.

Because he says it like he’s still surprised, like some part of him still can’t fully believe someone waits for him this way.

You set your ramen down quietl before you  lean over and kiss him once.

When you pull back, your forehead rests briefly against his.

“Captain, I would run through wars for you,” you whisper, giggling against his lips. 

He chuckles, not doubting for a second you would. Just like he would, and always will. 

Seungcheol looks at you silently afterward and even after everything he’s survived but nothing has ever hit him harder than that simple promise.

His hand lifts slowly, thumb brushing over your engagement ring glinting beneath the convenience store lights.

Then he smiles softly.

And sitting there beside him one year after everything almost ended, you realize this is what makes all the chaos survivable.

Just this. Him beside you.

Alive.

Loved.

And coming home every single time he can.

[scoupsakakitty]

One Shot Stories

S.coups:

Just Friends angst, fluff

Last Goodbye angst

Don’t Dance Alone Tonight angst, fluff

Velvet Haze fluff

The One He Doesn‘t Know About (overprotective brother cheol) fluff

Not The Way You Love Me 14thMember angst

Jeonghan:

No More Excuses angst fluff

Symptoms Include: You fluff angst

Joshua:

Blueprints of The Heart angst, fluff

Jun:

coming soon.

Hoshi:

coming soon.

Wonwoo:

The One He Doesn‘t Know About fluff

Woozi:

Foerver angst, fluff

You Drive Me Crazy fluff

Soft Spot fluff

Midnight Producer fluff

Under Your Protection fluff

DK:

coming soon.

Mingyu:

Our little Princess fluff

The Sunset Before Goodbye fluff

The8:

Against All Odds angst, fluff

Seungkwan:

When Love Smells Like Tangerines angst, fluff

Vernon:

coming soon.

Dino:

coming soon.

14th Member:

You’ve Got Company? fluff

Not like This fluff, angst

Not The Way You Love Me Scoups angst

[scoupsakakitty]

One Shot Stories

S.coups:

More Than Friends angst, fluff

Silent Flames angst, fluff

The Edge Of Us angst, fluff

Front Row Hearts fluff

Under Pressure angst, fluff

Behind closed Doors angst, fluff

Next Chapter angst, fluff

A Rose for Every Regret fluff

Knock Knock angst

Silent Apologies angst, fluff

Lost In The Crowd angst, fluff

Cover Up angst, fluff

In the Moment angst

Jeonghan:

Cold Love angst, fluff

Snowflakes fluff

The Call fluff

Coffee Shop fluff

I Want You To Be Mine angst, fluff

Joshua:

Drowning in Us angst

Runway to my Heart fluff

Safe With You fluff

Jun:

Cherry Blossom fluff

Unexpected Reveal angst, fluff

By Your Side, Always fluff

Hoshi:

Five Years Apart fluff

Timing is Everything fluff

Beautiful angst, fluff

Beautiful pt.2 fluff

Wonwoo:

Secrets and Suspicions fluff, slightly seductive

It Was Always You angst, fluff

Before You Go angst, fluff

Every Night with You fluff

Woozi:

A Beat of Fate fluff

Learing to Care Again angst, fluff

The Secret Between Us angst, fluff

Public but Private fluff

Ten Years Too Late fluff

Mr.Producer fluff

Ruby fluff

DK:

Fan Letter fluff

Almost too Late angst, fluff

Morning Bliss fluff

Mingyu:

In the Spotlight fluff

Where Friendship Meets Fate fluff

More than Words fluff

Childhood Love fluff

Please Don‘t Leave Me angst

Please Don’t Leave Me pt.2 fluff

Like Cotton fluff

Like Cotton pt.2 fuff

Family Surprise fluff

Life With You fluff

Misunderstood Intentions angst, fluff

The8:

Safe in Your Arms angst, fluff

A little Life angst, fluff

Chasing The Unknown fluff

Seungkwan:

Flowers fluff

The Letter You Never Sent angst, fluff

Like Sunshine fluff

Vernon:

Misunderstanding angst, fluff

Unspoken Feelings fluff

Eyes on You fluff

Hidden Moments fluff

Burning Jealousy angst, fluff

Dino:

Closer Than Ever fluff

Meeting the Family fluff, slightly seductive

Lean and Strong fluff, male reader

Caught in the Firelight angst, fluff

Happy Birthday fluff

Say my Name angst, fluff

14th Member:

Under Pressure angst, fluff

Unspoken Tears angst, drama

Lean on Me fluff

Wingmen and Wings fluff, slight angst

Cold Love angst, fluff

Through the Storm angst, fluff

Distance Hurts angst, fluff

Seungcheol Approved fluff

Out of Reach angst

All Eyes on You fluff

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights angst

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights pt.2 fluff

Under Their Wings angst

Black Dress fluff

Sleepy Snuggles fluff

Standing Together angst, fluff

Lost & Found at 3 AM angst, fluff

Late-Night Secrets fluff

Late-Night Secrets pt.2 fluff

Intruder In The Dark angst

Signed With Worry angst, fluff

Operation: No Surgery angst, fluff

Breaking the Ice angst, fluff

Respect is Non-Negotiable angst, fluff

Secret Love fluff

The Fake Hickey Prank fluff

Ten Years Too Late fluff (woozi)

Love Languages fluff

Say my Name angst, fluff (dino)

Misunderstood Intentions angst, fluff (mingyu)

[euphoriaishername]

These are some of my favourite stories of Hong Joshua I've read so far!

Make sure to support these authors. I'll be adding more as time goes on.

Also find my other recommendations post of:

Stories: [Part 1]

One-shots: [Part 1] [Part 2]

1. coffee, black. by @woncheolisms

2. say my name by @mylovesstuffs

[thestraybunny]

SEVENTEEN MASTERLIST

This is my updated Masterlist to seperate all my works by Members instead of in my original Masterlist. You can still access it here. That masterlist also houses fics from other Groups.

A/N: All my work is for 18+ only. It doesn't matter if it's a SFW fic, my page is not for minors, and I will block if I don't see an age indicator. You do whatever the fuck you want but not on my page.

*Photos for banner are from Pinterest, Twitter, Rednote, google, and here on tumblr. Credits to all owners.

*tags will be added as I post members.

🖤- Smut, 🩷- Fluff, ❤️‍🩹-Angst, 💢- Violence, 🛑- Read Tags on Fic

Spring Storm *Finished* 🖤🩷❤️‍🩹 More Stories in progress

It’s Always You *finished* 🖤🩷❤️‍🩹 More Stories in progress

Vacation With Joshua *Finished* 🖤

In My head Masterlist *Finished* 🖤❤️‍🩹🩷

High As you *Coming Aug*

More Stories in progress

Stories in Progress

Stories in Progress

Games We Play Masterlist *In Progress* 🖤❤️‍🩹🩷 The Shadow District Ch.1 🖤🩷❤️‍🩹💢🛑 More Stories in progress

Simple *Finished* 🩷

More Stories in progress

Title to be Announced *Coming Oct* Stories in Progress

Heartrate *Finished* 🖤🩷❤️‍🩹💢 More Stories in progress

The Rockstar * Coming Sept* Objection! Please dont go... *Coming Dec/Jan* Stories in Progress

Stories in Progress

Title to be announced when I remember it *Coming Dec* Stories in Progress

Name to be announced *Coming Fall* Stories in Progress

[junkissed]

lessons in fine dining

★ | member — jeonghan x waitress!fem reader ★ | genre — romance, smut with plot ★ | word count — 10.2k

★ | synopsis — working as a waitress in a high-end restaurant, you've grown used to catering to rich people's needs. but there's one customer who's made it his mission to serve you instead.

★ | warnings — a hint of miscommunication, denial of feelings, excessive champagne consumption, nicknames (reader: angel, darling, baby), gross happy ending because i am who i am. not beta read. ★ | smut warnings — switch!jeonghan, service top jeonghan, competitive sex (is that a thing? yk how he is…), cunnilingus (#hanniemunchagenda), cowgirl style, hair pulling & slapping (jh receiving/very briefly), Lots of praise + body worship, unprotected sex ★ | notes — it's been a while but i'm officially back to writing - brand new junkissed content in 2026 wow!! of course i had to write something in honor of hannie's return :) also tried smth new with the banner pls lmk what you think >.< everybody who reblogs this gets a sticker that says "i survived jeonghan enlistment" so do your duty guys

“Psst. Hey.”

You don’t hear her the first time. Hissing your name under her breath a second time, Jennie grabs your arm as you walk past with a fresh bucket of ice, pulling you towards the nearest side station.

“Hey! That guy's in your section again.”

You freeze and set the bucket down behind the counter, watching her tilt her head towards the back corner of the restaurant. It’s hard to resist the urge to turn around and stare, but you manage to look nonchalant as you glance over your shoulder, pretending to scan the room. Sure enough, there he is: menu sitting untouched beside his plate, hands folded atop the table, and staring right at you.

Feeling your cheeks begin to burn, you quickly turn back around and busy yourself fidgeting with a stack of rolled-up napkins. You haven’t even talked to him yet, and somehow he still manages to fluster you. Suddenly you’re grateful that your coworker intercepted you, relieved to have at least a few more seconds to pretend to be focused while you have a chance to collect yourself.

“Have you gotten his number yet, girl? Or at least his name? Because I don't think he's gonna stop coming until you do.”

“No,” you tell her sheepishly, risking a discreet glance over your shoulder at him. Still staring. “I could’ve looked at his card when he signed the check, I guess. But that feels kinda invasive. He didn’t offer, so I didn’t ask.” 

She narrows her eyes playfully at you in disapproval. “Oh, come on, he’s been making ‘fuck-me’ eyes at you for weeks. That counts as him offering!” She shifts her weight, her lips pursed into a thin line like she’s thinking hard. “If you don’t wanna ask, then just… write your phone number on the back of his receipt or something. That would be—”

“—Unprofessional,” you finish for her. With a rag you wipe the condensation from the ice bucket, throwing out a glare at her when she huffs at your refusal. “He probably just likes the booth seats. Some people are weird like that, I don't know. I don’t even know if he’s available, either. That’s the more important question here.”

She gives you a doubtful look. “He shows up alone, every Wednesday night, and asks to be seated at the same table. You’re telling me you seriously think it’s because he likes the furniture? Why do you really think that is?”

“Then it’s the privacy, probably.” You shrug and move past her, dumping out the bucket and refilling it with fresh ice. “It’s the farthest away from the bar. Maybe he doesn’t like the noise.”

“Noise?” She scoffs and puts her free hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised as she goes silent for a few seconds. Even at the peak hours of the night there’s little more than a light chatter in the air, mixing with quiet jazz music playing from the building’s speakers. It’s a bullshit reason and you know it. But you aren’t going to give in to her pestering, and she must be able to sense that because she finally sighs and wipes her hand on her waist apron. “Fine. Whatever. But you can’t avoid him forever. Clearly he’s gonna keep showing up to see you.”

You give her a scowl, but she’s right. You totally are avoiding him, but realistically, what does she expect you to do? Ask him to fuck you on the table in the middle of your shift?

She hands you a chilled bottle of champagne, wiping the neck before draping the hand towel over the side of your bucket. Even she’s started to recognize his routine, ready with the bottle of Dom Perignon that he always asks for ahead of his meal, before anyone’s even taken his order yet. “Quit stalling and go over there, before he leaves us a bad review. He could be an undercover food critic or something, and then Joshua would really kill us.”

The threat of your boss throwing a fit over negative publicity is too real, so you glare at her one last time before inhaling a deep breath. You smooth down your apron and grab a folding stand for his drink. When you turn to start toward his table he’s still staring, but he perks up ever so slightly when he recognizes you starting to head in his direction.

As usual, you greet him with a smile and begin setting up the bottle, slicing open the foil and twisting the cage at the top of the champagne bottle to loosen it. And as usual, he sits back and watches, quiet and observant to your every move in a way that makes you more anxious than any other customer you’ve served.

“Hi— er, good evening. I apologize for the wait. We’ve been a little… slammed tonight.”

It would be impossible for him not to notice the fact that half the tables are empty, but to your relief he doesn’t mention it. There’s only one other party in your section right now, and they’ve been chatting over post-dinner coffee for nearly an hour. Compared to the nights when Rêverie is fully booked, your shift has been practically dead.

“That’s alright.” His voice is smooth, a hint of a low drawl to it that always makes you think of syrup for some reason: sweet and thick, with just the right amount of warmth. This man has the kind of voice that people fall asleep to. “I’m a patient guy.”

You try your best to ignore the tension between you, but it continues to build as he orders: a Steak au Poivre with the salad of the day. Something about the way the French names roll easily from his lips just does it for you, apparently. It takes all your energy to focus on keeping a straight face and not doing something to embarrass yourself.

Just as you start to walk away to relay his order to the kitchen, you hear your name in that familiar voice and you freeze, whipping around to face him. He’s sitting up straighter, leaned over the table to get a better view. He gestures to the nametag on your apron, repeating it once more as you look down at it in confusion. “Am I saying that right?”

Warmth burns in the tips of your ears. Why are you suddenly so shy? But deep down you know exactly why, and it’s no use trying to pretend you don’t. It’s because your name sounds so good on his tongue, long and leisurely and sexy. It’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him say again, and again and again and—

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Great. I’ve been here so many times, I figured I should at least know your name by now.” He smiles and gives a small nod, relaxing back into his seat. There’s a mischievous look in his eye, a mix of coy and confident. “I’m Jeonghan.”

For a moment you let his name roll around in your head, attaching itself to your memory. As much as you hate to admit that Jennie was right, it feels good to finally have a name to go with the face that’s been haunting your workplace for weeks.

For the rest of the evening, something in the air feels different. Your glances across the room at his table are met with self-satisfied grins from him, always catching your eye and holding contact for a few seconds longer than he should. You find any excuse to linger at his table, refilling his water glass or bringing him another basket of bread so you can talk with him a little more. You can almost hear your manager Joshua’s voice in your head, scolding you for spending so much time with a customer instead of leaving them alone to enjoy their meal, but Jeonghan clearly doesn’t seem to mind.

“Why don’t you sit and have some champagne? There’s still half a bottle left,” he asks you at one point, patting the booth next to him with a smirk. “Plenty of room here for two.”

You sigh, putting your hand on your hip with a teasing smile, though the idea doesn’t sound as terrible to you as it probably should. “I’m working, Jeonghan. They’d fire me.”

“Fine,” he pouts, though he doesn’t press any further. You’ve begun to notice that while he loves to joke around, there’s a fine line he won’t cross when it comes to being serious. He pushes your buttons, but never to do any actual harm. Still, he winks at you as you grab an empty plate from his table to make yourself look busy. “Next week, then? I might need your opinion on the menu.”

“I’ll still be working next week, too,” you say with a roll of your eyes, but even that doesn’t dissuade him.

“Perfect. Then I’ll see you next week, same time, same place.”

Jeonghan stays far later than he usually does, picking at his food so he has more excuses to talk to you whenever you make your rounds to check on your tables. After a while the late crowd begins to filter in, and reluctantly he takes the hint, signing the check and leaving a much larger tip than he should, nearly equal to the cost of his meal. 

As much as you’d like him to stay and chat all night, there’s other reservations and Joshua would definitely throw a fit if any customers were kept waiting. There are only a few upscale restaurants in town besides Rêverie, and its reputation makes it difficult to get in. Reservations are so sought-after that they have to be booked at least a month in advance. Which means that either Jeonghan has connections that are important enough to pull some strings and get him a table every week, or he’s been booking them himself all this time. Either way, you have to give him a little bit of credit; his dedication is impressive.

When he walks out the door, coat slung over one arm as he waves goodbye, there’s a little nagging feeling in your chest that starts to build. You push it away and try your best to refocus on work, but before you know it, once the emptiness has settled over the night as you finish out your shift, you realize what that feeling is. You miss him. And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

The following Wednesday passes with another fairly quiet shift, so tonight you’re standing at the side station watching as Jeonghan walks through the doors, sneaking glances at him as he follows the hostess to his regular seat. This time you don’t procrastinate, moving away from your spot to take out a chilled bottle of his usual champagne and a fresh bucket of ice.

You try not to stare as you work, quickly setting up everything you need for his evening, but it’s hard not to let your eyes wander in his direction. He’s in a different suit tonight, a three-piece with a sleek vest underneath that makes his dark colored tie stand out.

As soon as he sits down he pulls out his phone, typing quickly before setting it face-down on top of the table. Taking it as your cue, you grab everything and head over to the booth, surprising yourself with how eager you are. It’s been nice, having something at work to look forward to, now that you aren’t denying how fond you’ve grown of Jeonghan.

You unfold the stand and place the bucket on it, positioning a towel as you prepare to uncork it, but he quickly waves his hand in the air to stop you.

“Oh, not tonight. Sorry,” he says. You frown a little from being surprised, but it’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes people want to switch up their routines. But he goes on, shifting in his seat. “I’m expecting company. But you can put everything on my card like usual.”

You freeze, trying not to show how taken aback you are. Company? It’s been nearly two months of this, of him showing up like clockwork every week, but you can’t expect him to not have friends to go out with. Or maybe a business dinner for work. Your ego is a little wounded from not being able to anticipate the change in his habits, but there’s definitely an explanation. Don’t jump to conclusions, you tell yourself.

“Right. My apologies. I shouldn’t have…” You trail off, but quickly cover it with a cough and bring back the friendly smile on your face. “Would you like me to come back when you’re ready to order, then, or should I grab drinks for the table while you wait?”

“We’ll wait to order together,” Jeonghan says assuredly. His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up and types something out quickly, not looking up at you again.

You stand there awkwardly for another few seconds before you finally nod and fold the ice bucket stand back up. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll go grab another place setting for you.”

Feeling more reluctant than before, you take the bottle back to the counter, fumbling to quickly collect an extra set of napkins and silverware along with a second menu. You know you shouldn’t have assumed, even if the customer is a regular like Jeonghan, but you still can’t help feeling blindsided. He isn’t acting any different, but something about tonight still feels strangely off.

You’re even more sure of that when you turn around again to start making your way back to his table. A few steps ahead of you, there’s a woman striding towards him: tall, elegant, her hair pulled up into a loose bun with small black strands framing her face like waves. You can’t help but stare; it feels like everything’s happening in slow motion, shell-shocked as you watch her duck down close to him to say something in his ear before she takes her seat across from him. You stand still for a moment, unable to move as he flashes her a wide grin and leans back in his seat. His body language is much more open now, one arm laid over the back of the booth with his legs splayed beneath the table, wide and casual.

It shouldn’t hurt so much—it shouldn’t hurt you at all—but it does. Weeks of shameless flirting, and for what? Was he just staking out restaurants for good date night spots all this time, waiting to find the right place to take his partner? Does that count as cheating, and should you let her know the way he’s been eyeing you up and down for the past couple months has been anything but professional?

You hesitate for just a moment longer as they talk animatedly, and eventually you have to swallow your pride and go interrupt them with the list of tonight’s specials. “Good evening. We’re happy to have you at Rêverie tonight. Can I get you both started with some drinks?”

Your usual monologue comes out stilted and cold, the same way you’ve rehearsed for what feels like hundreds of times every shift. In your peripheral you almost think you see Jeonghan narrow his eyes in a frown, but you keep your gaze directed at his guest so it’s hard to tell for sure. It’s easier to focus on her than to try to meet his eyes, still feeling embarrassed.

If he does notice it, though, then his partner does not, because she replies quickly and easily, ordering plain sparkling water with a friendly smile. Jeonghan does the same, but unlike every other night he’s been here, his voice similarly comes out flatter than normal, using as few words as possible.

After taking their orders and sulking back to your station, you resolve to avoid that end of the restaurant for the rest of the night. You don’t want to risk overhearing their conversation and whatever romantic bullshit they’re probably talking about. You’ve served enough couples in your time working in fine dining to know that they’re the worst type of customers. People think no one notices what they’re getting up to, but the staff are always aware. Whether it’s a first date, an anniversary, a birthday, or some other stupid occasion, no one is ever discreet about what they’re doing.

To make it even worse, your favorite coworkers aren’t here tonight. God, you really wish Jennie was working. She wouldn’t mind running interference for you. She’d understand better than anyone, now that you have a real reason to pretend Jeonghan doesn’t exist.

By the time he and his “date” leave for the night, you’ve made up your mind. No matter how flirty he is, no matter how much chemistry you have with him, from now on you’re going to act like he means nothing to you. It’s for the best, honestly. You should have known better than to get involved with a customer, and this was the warning you needed to get your priorities straight. As nice as he was, whatever was going on between you and Jeonghan is over, starting now.

Most days you look forward to the weekend and the well-needed time off that it offers, but this time you spend most of it anxiously awaiting the coming days. It’s not like you’ve ever particularly loved coming to work, but there’s a newfound sense of dread now that you know you might have to talk to Jeonghan again. At one point in time, the idea of seeing him almost would have excited you, but not anymore. Not after last week’s embarrassment.

When you get to Rêverie on Wednesday for your shift, you try to get lost in your work, making way more trips back to the kitchen than necessary. You know you’re lingering too much and probably getting in the way of the chef team, but it’s all you can do to stop yourself from watching the clock, counting down the hours.

Still, nothing you do stops Jeonghan from arriving at his usual time and requesting to be seated at his usual table. Across the room you can see him arguing with the maître d', a new hire that’s barely finished her training, who timidly tries to explain that she isn’t allowed to do that. You haven’t had very many conversations with Mina yet, but you’ve gotta hand it to her, she’s been dedicated to the house rules. It’s just too bad that there isn’t any rule against customers making requests, no matter how annoying they are.

Before you can do anything to help her out Jennie appears at her side, empty tray in hand, and whispers something in her ear before pointing to the booth in your section. She nods, bowing slightly to Jeonghan and reluctantly leading him to the back corner of the restaurant.

Damn. And you’d almost thought that you might get out of this unscathed after all.

He’s alone again, but it’s hard to tell just from a first glance whether he’s expecting company again or not. You’re tempted to feign sick and beg Jennie to take over your section for the rest of the night, but you couldn’t do that to her. She’s busy enough with the tables in her own section. And besides, she’d just end up convincing you to go talk to him anyway, and you’re not in the mood for another pep-talk.

Mentally preparing yourself, you leave the bottle behind this time as you make your best attempt to walk over to his table with your head held high. The rejection from last week still stings a little, and you’re not eager to repeat the encounter by bringing along something unwanted for a second time.

As usual he greets you with a smile, and as usual your stomach fills with butterflies, despite your best efforts to push them down. This little crush on him you’ve developed clearly isn’t going to lead anywhere, you remind yourself. After so many weeks of seeing each other it’s hard to ignore the instinct to crack jokes, flirting at every opportunity, but the air feels different now. You just need to accept that you read the situation wrong, you made a mistake, and it’s time to move on. It’s better to be professional, anyway. Flirting too much with a customer is dangerous in the long run. It’s not worth losing your job over him.

Before you can even think about starting your customer service script, Jeonghan speaks right away, leaving you no room to skirt around the issue. “Why are you ignoring me?”

His voice is smooth like you’re used to, that low sound from deep in his throat that always makes you feel special for some reason, like he’s talking to you and only you. Chewing on your lip, you have to remind yourself that that’s not true. It never was.

In a split second, you have to decide whether to play along with your faux-friendly waiter voice or confront him, but the importance of keeping your job prevents you from doing the latter. Making a scene in public is the last thing you need, on top of everything else. Instead, you internally give yourself permission to be as passive aggressive as you want to him. You’re fairly good at letting it roll right off your back, but working in this industry sometimes you need more than a friendly smile and a good attitude. No, this is the attitude you usually save for rude, entitled, spoiled, rich, bratty assho— well, er, difficult customers. Either way, right now Jeonghan is being one of those “difficult customers”.

So you plaster on an even brighter, even faker smile and stand up straight, your hands folded formally behind your back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Shall we start with drinks, or are we still waiting for the rest of our party to arrive?” That last line is spiteful and comes out more snarky than you mean it to, but you can’t lie that it doesn’t feel good to say, not after the roller coaster of emotions he’s put you through.

“Right.” Jeonghan sighs and nods once, as if he finally understands. At least he has the decency to look a little wounded at your words, but you know by now that it’s an act. “I guess I deserved that.”

He pauses for a second like he’s debating his next words. “No,” he answers finally, tilting his head back to look up at you. God, those eyes. Your stomach flips at the sight of his bashful face, faintly hidden behind his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’m here alone. Last week…” he lets out another long sigh as he pauses. Does he think it’s amusing to have to explain this to you? You want to slap him right across his gorgeous, perfect face.

“That was my boss. She’s retiring. Last week—Wednesday—was her last day, and I’m taking over her position at the company. So we had dinner to celebrate.” He glances down at the table, and if you didn’t know any better you might almost think he was being sheepish. “And she’s happily married, by the way. To her wife. Not me.”

“Oh.”

After a few seconds of silence you realize how dumb you sound, standing there taking in this news. Come on! All you have to say for yourself is ‘oh’? But his explanation actually makes sense, and his honesty catches you so off guard that you can’t think of any other reply.

If he’s humored by your reaction, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the next words out of his mouth are the last thing you’re expecting to hear. “Look, I get how it probably seemed, and that’s my fault. I wasn’t planning on taking her here, but she’d never been and she’d heard me rave about the food so many times before, so…” Jeonghan exhales, nostrils flaring a little bit as he trails off. “I’m sorry. I mean it. I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong impression.”

“And what impression is that?” FInally getting control of your tongue again, you fold your arms over your chest as you stare down at him. A small part of you is proud of yourself, for managing to recover and string together a coherent reply. But deep down, his apology is appreciated. It’s not every day that a man in your life accepts blame, especially when he’s the one who’s been leading you on.

“The impression that I’m not single. And not wondering if you are, too.”

You nearly choke, struggling to process what he’s just said. The worst part is the sincerity in his gaze as he looks at you, how he meets your eyes and doesn’t back down, as if challenging you to keep denying your feelings for him. It’s the most forward he’s ever been in all the times he’s come here, a buildup of weeks of flirtation and shy back-and-forth. The confidence with which he finally acknowledges it, out loud and explicit, gives you a rush you’ve never felt before.

He just continues to sit there staring up at you, waiting expectantly, and suddenly you realize you’ve been silent for way too long. What do you even say to follow up to that? 

Afraid of getting too far ahead of yourself, you shift your weight, arms still crossed defensively. “So then what’s the reason you keep coming here so often? The food, or me?”

“Both.” He smirks, pleased with his answer when you pretend to frown at him. “But mostly you. There’s any number of fancy places I could throw money away at in this city, but there’s only one that has you.”

And just like that, you feel yourself melting. It’s a cheesy, overused line, but somehow coming from his mouth it works. It should be studied, the way his voice makes you feel like the most important person in the room.

“Fine. I’ll bite. What is it you want? Besides annoying me every Wednesday night.”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to order my dinner. Still a paying customer, after all.” There’s that grin again, the one that makes you want to strangle him to death and then kiss him afterward. “But I wanna see you after your shift tonight, if you’d let me. Maybe go somewhere. Dessert’s on me.”

You sigh, checking your wristwatch. “I don’t get off for another… three and a half hours. You aren’t really gonna wait here that long, are you?”

“I’d wait forever for you, beautiful. Told you I was a patient guy.”

You pretend to make a gagging sound, but he only grins at your reaction. You have to admit, he’s kind of endearing. “We have other customers, you know. You’re taking up space.”

“I’ll leave a nice tip, don’t worry,” he chuckles, not a bit offended. “Maybe I’ll demand to see the manager so I can tell them how good the service was. Do you think that’d win me some points?”

“Alright, alright! I’ll decide whether I’m feeling up to it or not once I get off. I’ve been here all day already. That’s all I’m gonna promise.”

Jeonghan flashes a smug smile as he crosses his arms, a casual gesture, but it emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll take what I can get.” He gestures with his head, nodding towards another party a few tables away who are making it extremely obvious that they’re looking for somebody to give them a drink refill. “Hey, go finish your shift. Just don’t forget about me.” 

You roll your eyes, but he shoots you a wink as you walk away. As you turn towards the next table, you prepare your customer-service voice once more, but inside you couldn’t be happier with the way things played out. Well, maybe if he had tried to make a move sooner then it would’ve saved you a weekend of heartbreak, but you have to admit that you’re partially at fault for not saying something earlier too.

As promised, three hours later Jeonghan remains glued to his seat, nursing a cup of coffee.

The rest of the evening seemed to fly by, without any problems — except for the strange looks from your coworkers, and the new maître d' who’d asked a couple times if you wanted her to find Joshua for help getting rid of the guy, thinking he was harassing you. It was a fair assumption, especially considering how many times he’d waved you over to his table to chat with him it might as well be harassment, but you assured her you didn’t need help.

Finally you finish checking out the last party in your section, and you’ve never been more grateful not to be closing tonight. If you had to do all your regular work on top of cleaning and sweeping and helping prep for tomorrow then there’d be no chance of you having enough energy to meet Jeonghan afterwards, but whoever had created the schedule this week must’ve been on your side. Jennie’s the one working the closing shift for tonight, so you make a mental note to text her later to fill her in.

Making eye contact with him from across the room, you look at your watch and then tip your head towards the exit, and he scrambles to stand up, shrugging on his coat. You disappear through the doors marked ‘employees only’ for a moment to grab your belongings, balling up your apron and throwing your purse over your shoulder. When you re-emerge you find him waiting at the entryway of the restaurant, resting his arm on the counter as he chats with Mina. You wave and give her a brief good night, and her eyes dart to Jeonghan for a second before returning the goodbye, a subtle pink creeping into her cheeks.

Though the restaurant is still open for a few more hours, the parking lot is sparse at this hour and it doesn’t take long to find your car. Jeonghan walks with you, standing beside your parking spot with his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.

“So were you thinking your place, or mine?”

You turn and scoff at him, raising an eyebrow as you begin to fish around in your purse for your keys. “I never agreed to that. I don’t sleep around on the first date.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Who says this is our first date? In fact, this is our…” He counts on his fingers one by one, tallying them off as he speaks. “… ninth. The first date I had pork belly, the second one I had the seafood platter, then the third one—”

You smack his arm. “You call that a date? I don’t think it counts as taking me out to dinner if I’m the one serving it to you.”

“Then let me serve you this time.” He grins mischievously, his eyes darkened with lust. “Is that fair enough?” His hands settle on your waist, and the weight of his touch makes you shiver.

“Only if you promise to take me on a real date next time.”

“I’ll take that deal.” He grins. “Actually, I was going to wait to ask you out until I’d tried the whole menu. Just to make sure I took you somewhere that was up to your standards. Since you’re the food expert here.”

You snort. “Well then, no wonder it took you three months to do something. We do have a pretty big menu.”

He runs his tongue along his teeth, making a thoughtful little sound. “You know, there’s still something I haven’t tried yet…”

His eyes remain fixed on you, but there’s something darker in his gaze as he stares deep into your eyes and slips his hand behind the base of your neck, intentionally slow to give you a chance to push him away. When you don’t move, the corner of his mouth quirks up in a satisfied smirk, and he finally closes the distance and presses his lips against yours. Reciprocating comes naturally to you, and you easily adapt to welcome his kiss, lips moving together in tandem with his.

You feel the pressure from his fingertips increase as he grips your head a little harder, guiding you against him and pulling you in closer. With a little gasp you finally wrap your arms around his body, and you feel him smile into the kiss at your touch. You can tell from the way he devours you how experienced he is and how cocky that makes him, and although the last thing you want to do is stroke his ego, he’s admittedly really good at it. The way he takes control is effortless, dominating the kiss and moving you in exactly the way that makes you feel good without even having to think about it yourself.

His hand on the back of your neck adjusts to explore your head, and you kiss him deeper as his fingers start to trail upwards to tangle in your hair. When his nails dig into your scalp and you let out a whimper into his mouth, he reluctantly pulls back to let you breathe for a second, but you quickly shake your head and try to chase his lips. “More—”

“More?” He quirks up an eyebrow tauntingly, and it’s so attractive it makes you want to smack him again. If this were anyone else you wouldn’t change your mind so quickly, but you’ve been holding back from him for so long that you don’t care even if it breaks your made-up dating rules. “Mm… I see. Well then, if that’s the case, are you really gonna make me ask again?” He pauses, watching the confusion register on your face as he looks on with raw, burning pleasure. “Don’t deny yourself. Answer me this time, darling. Your place or mine?”

“Whatever you want, it doesn’t make a difference to me.” You swallow thickly as you wipe at your bottom lip with your thumb, a futile attempt to fix your lipstick that you’re certain is now smudged beyond repair. Slowly your senses return to you, and you remember where you are: pressed against the side door of your car under a streetlamp. “Wait, but— my car…”

He points to the only other car nearby, a little black Corvette parked sitting quietly across the lot. You’d never thought to wonder what kind of car he drives, but somehow you aren’t surprised. The model seems to fit him. “We could take mine tonight. I’ll drive you back here to pick yours up tomorrow.”

You scoff, but it doesn’t have as much bite in it as it did before. “Tomorrow? You seem pretty confident that you’re getting laid.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky little smile. “I don’t like to be indirect with what I want. Waste of time, in my opinion. You know what I’m asking. If you want to dance around it, I’m not going to force you.” Jeonghan takes a step back from your car, but there’s a hint of smugness in his expression that says he already knows exactly what you’re thinking. “You know what? I’m sure you’ve had a busy evening, working on your feet all night. You should go home. I won’t keep you.”

He takes another half step backwards, and before you can stop yourself a pathetic little whimper tears from your throat as you move to follow him. It instantly makes you cringe how needy you sound, but he seems to only take satisfaction from your reaction as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist. “No. Hold on. I…” 

You sigh, finally admitting defeat. Teasing and dropping subtle hints has always been your style, but he’s managed to break you down and have you begging for him in the span of a few hours. It frustrates you to no end, but it’s also kind of turning you on. This clingy, desperate feeling in your chest is new to you, almost queasy from how badly you want more of his attention. 

You’ve never felt this way with your past relationships, always coming to an end too soon because of how quickly your attachment faded. The red-flag alarm in your head should probably be screaming at you right now, but the nonchalant way he brushes you off and the simultaneous determination in his gaze only makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t hide that he wants you — the look in his eyes alone is enough to tell you that — but at the same time he acts like he couldn’t care less whether you reciprocate or not. And something about that works for you.

Something deep inside, something primal in you, wants him to care. You need him to crave you; you want to make him beg, too. You want to fluster him so bad that he caves, like you did, and just gives in and takes what he so clearly desires. The embarrassment from your own reaction has faded into something more passionate, a competitive yearning to make him feel this pathetic, depraved desperation the way you do. He may think he’s winning, but you’re not going to be satisfied until you’re not the only loser in this game.

His expression is still as smug as ever, but he stands there patient as promised, waiting with your fingers wrapped around his wrist. It’s a strange feeling to swallow your pride and go along with his games, but you’re sure that if you play your cards right this night will go the way you want.

You clear your throat and ease your hand away from his arm, though it pains you a little to let go of him. His skin is soft under your fingertips, with subtle hints of firm muscle hidden by his lanky frame, and you want to keep touching him. You need to keep touching him, to explore every inch of his body and find all of his pressure points, to discover every spot that makes him weak and—

“Did you want to say something?” Jeonghan coaxes, cutting off your rapidly derailing train of thought, and even though he pisses you off you’re grateful for the snap back to reality.

“Yeah,” you finally manage, and force your gaze upward to meet his eyes—those piercing brown eyes that you’ve found staring at you from across the restaurant, week after week. In public he was always subdued, a little flirtatious but always respectful, lingering only just long enough to make sure you noticed but never anything more. But the look in his eyes now is completely different, like he wants you to start tearing his clothes off right here in the parking lot. Pursing your lips, you give him a smirk of your own, and you relish in the way his gaze darkens in response.

“How close is your place?”

Before the door of his penthouse is even fully shut, you’re shoving Jeonghan backwards against his kitchen counter as your lips connect again, your moans mixing together and echoing off the walls throughout the wide open room.

“Oh, I like this.” He flashes a toothy grin before diving back in, equally as passionate. That smirk again; you swear, if he gives you that stupid cocky look one more time, you might slap him. But then his slender fingers cup your chin to draw you closer to his mouth, and the light pressure of his fingertips on your cheeks makes your head spin, making you forget all about how easily he manages to get under your skin. For a split second the thought occurs that those hands would probably look gorgeous wrapped around your throat, but your brain is moving about a million miles per minute and it isn’t long before another, hornier thought replaces it.

You barely even notice him leading you out of the kitchen, step by step pulling you with him into the living room, until you feel your calves hit the back of something firm. You break away just for a moment to look down at his couch, and he gently presses down on your shoulders to guide you to sit.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, and you take the hint and quickly begin stripping off your own top as well. Once you’re seated on the couch he sinks to the carpet in front of you, nudging your legs apart to kneel between them and unbutton your pants. Again you’re transfixed by his fingers as he works: the bulging veins that trail across the back of his hand down toward his wrist, his neatly trimmed fingernails. You get so lost in watching the way his knuckles flex that you only belatedly realize what he’s doing once he shimmies your pants down your legs and adjusts his position to press his face between your legs.

“What are you…?”

“I said I was gonna serve you, didn’t I, darling?” Jeonghan finally shrugs his shirt all the way off, revealing an expanse of soft pale skin. But you don’t have time to focus on admiring his body before he leans in close to your inner thigh, his eyes taking in everything in sight with obvious delight.

He leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your clit through the fabric, and you feel a new wave of slick pooling in response. You don’t even need to see for yourself to know that you’re absolutely soaked. He trails his fingers up your slit, pressing against the fabric to feel your warmth. You’re positive that he can feel your cunt pulsing, leaving two fingers tauntingly between your legs to keep you on edge. When he finally pulls his hand away after teasing you for what feels like hours, the pads of his fingertips are already damp just from touching you through your panties.

Jeonghan hooks a finger around the waistband of your panties on each side of your hips and tugs them away. He moves unbearably slowly to the point where you’re nearly about to start crying and begging him to do something, anything, to you. 

But thankfully, he doesn’t make you wait much longer. Once your lower half is completely naked, he groans at the sight of you and leans in even closer. The tip of his nose brushes against your inner thigh, and his breath is burning hot against your skin as he whispers into you. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? Dreaming about eating this perfect fucking pussy? How hungry I’ve been for you?”

You moan and let out a hiss, arching your back off the couch as he pushes your legs apart even more forcefully. He still hasn’t done anything yet, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

“Jeonghan!” you whine, scrunching your nose as you concentrate. “Please…”

That smirk returns once again, but it doesn’t linger like it usually does, quickly replaced with a look of desperate lust. “You sound so sexy when you say my name. So much better than I imagined.” He presses his face into your pussy with a pleased sigh, mumbling into your lips. “Wonder if you taste better than I imagined, too.”

And without another second of hesitation, he pulls your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. Instinctively your legs tense and try to close around his head, but his hands are surprisingly strong as he keeps you held open for him to feast on. Jeonghan flattens his tongue against your pussy, curling it to scoop through your folds and collect as much of your slick as he can, then begins to flick it up and down across your clit. If you thought he was good at kissing, then holy fuck, he’s even better at this. Within mere seconds his tongue has you seeing stars, and it’s impossible to keep your mouth shut to stop the endless stream of pathetic noises leaving you.

His hair tickles the top of your stomach as he moves back and forth, and you reach down with one shaking hand to brush it back from his forehead, but it just flops right back down again. He dislodges his mouth from your pussy for long enough to croak out, “Please, baby. Pull my hair. Make me do whatever you want. Wanna make you feel good.”

It takes a minute for his words to register, because he says them in such a whiny, pleading voice that you don’t immediately recognize it as coming from him. You’re so used to the confident, suave voice he uses in public that the man currently devouring your pussy seems like a completely different person. 

You scramble to comply, threading your fingers through his hair and giving his scalp a gentle tug. Instantly his jaw goes slack against your core, letting out a frustrated but very pleased sounding groan. “Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he says, and it’s the last thing you hear before he goes back in for more.

You know you’re done for once he introduces his fingers into the mix. Keeping his lips pursed around your clit, he prods gently at your entrance with his middle and ring finger, shallowly thrusting up to his first knuckle. It takes a few seconds to adjust, but when he feels you relax and loosen up he pushes deeper, until both fingers are fully engulfed inside you. He continues slowly thrusting until he’s satisfied with the lack of resistance, then adds a curling motion each time he pulls his fingers out. If you were a religious woman, you’d swear you were about to meet God.

The stimulation is both too much and not enough at the same time, no matter how desperately you try to rock your hips in rhythm with his tongue. But you can feel it building, getting closer and closer to reaching a peak you can’t come back from, and you know it won’t take much more before you make a mess on his face. As if he knows your orgasms like a sixth sense, his motions become a tiny bit more intense, his tongue pointed more purposefully at your clit and his fingers thrusting just a tiny bit faster. And finally, like a dam breaking loose after a storm, you’re gone.

Your release is loud. Shaking, panting, sweating, and swearing, your hips move on their own to frantically grind against his face in a reckless haze, chasing the high that seems to stretch on and on and on. Jeonghan just sits there and takes it all, sopping up the flood of your slick with his tongue like a starved man as you yank on his hair even harder than before, desperate to keep his mouth in contact with your pussy through the duration of your orgasm. 

After what feels like a full minute of cumming, your clit is still throbbing like crazy, your thighs feel like Jell-O, and your toes are cramping a little, but you would be lying if you said that wasn’t the best head you’ve ever received in your entire life. Man, he wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to serve, that’s for sure. It’s way too early to be catching feelings, but all of a sudden there’s a fervent, burning desire in your chest to not let him go. You’ve never admitted to being a jealous person, but the tiny inkling of possessiveness that you feel now mirrors how you’d felt when he showed up to the restaurant last week with someone else.

With legs still trembling you manage to stand up, pulling him up by his shirt collar and shoving him down onto the couch in the same spot you’d just been sitting. Your lower half feels like pure TV static, but you eventually get your knees onto the edge of the cushion and clamber onto the couch, sinking down to straddle your aching pussy over his lap. You slip your hand down between your bodies to palm his bulge, and he rewards you with a loud, choked moan.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you? You want my cock that badly, angel?” 

Jeonghan smirks, and you’re so wound up from the lingering effects of your orgasm that this time you actually do slap him, your hand darting out across his cheek out of instinct. Not hard or meant to hurt him, just a light playful smack, but it’s still enough to make a sound. Immediately your face falls in shock, and you open your mouth to start profusely apologizing for crossing a line. How could you get so caught up in the moment like that? But before you even have a chance to be embarrassed, he just smiles even wider.

He grabs your wrist, which still hovers awkwardly in the air between your bodies, and brings it to his lips to kiss your palm, moaning against your hand. “God, that was hot. Do that again once I’m inside you.” 

His gentle lips tickle your skin, and a shudder runs through your body as he bites playfully. He glances up at you through his lashes, an almost taunting look on his face, and it might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Keeping eye contact you slip your other hand back down to his crotch, fumbling with the button on his pants, and he lets go of your hand to let it join the other so you can undo it faster. All the while he just sits comfortably in his seat, letting you do all the work as he watches, enamored. His head rests against the back of the couch, his neck on full display, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat when he lets out a little chuckle of satisfaction. He doesn’t even say anything, but his reaction is enough praise to make your cunt pulse, a warm and pleased feeling erupting in your chest from the positive attention.

You finally manage to undo his pants, and wordlessly he lifts his hips to help you push them down past his knees, freeing his hard cock to rest lazily against his stomach. He spreads his legs wider beneath you, sinking deeper into the couch cushions as he slouches down to give you a better angle. The faint grooves of his abs make your mouth water, but as much as you’d like to spend hours running your tongue along every miniscule crevice of his body, there’s more important matters on your agenda right now. Pressing your hands against his chest instead, you rake your nails gently across his skin, and he shivers a little at the feeling as he begins to stroke his cock.

After a few seconds he lets out a shuddering sigh and releases his hand, and his cock stands at attention between your bodies, flushed and strained with need. He moves his hands to your waist, tapping his fingers against you to signal you to sit up. You lift up onto your knees above him and reach beneath you to wrap your hand around him, and he lets out an involuntary little whimper at the contact that makes you smirk. Giving him a couple strokes of your own, you guide the head of his cock between your folds before pushing him inside, both of you groaning in pleasure as you sink down onto his length.

Jeonghan allows you a few seconds to adjust, breathing heavily as that wonderful feeling of fullness washes over you. Without thinking you begin to rock your hips, not moving up and down but simply rolling them forward and backward, grinding against him with his cock buried firmly inside of you. You can feel the tip pressing a little bit deeper with each movement as you start to relax, your walls throbbing and fluttering around him.

For now he’s content to sit back and let you play with him however you want while he lies beneath you, enjoying the view. Each rotation of your hips pushes your chest closer to him, your hard nipples sitting tauntingly at his eye level. You lean forward to hold onto the couch behind him for leverage, pressing your breasts even further into his face, and he smirks up at you in response.

After a minute he lifts his hips a few inches off the couch, experimentally thrusting into you. It’s not much, but it’s still more than enough to take your breath away when you realize how deep he can hit. Your whimper makes him grin as he feels your walls clench around him like a vise, as if trying to pull him in even more.

“Sensitive, hmm?” he coos, though it comes off as more teasing than sincere. You purse your lips into a pout, nodding, but you don’t change your movement. “Still feels good though?”

Instead of replying you lean down and crash your mouth against his once more, starting to lift your hips in a shallow up-and-down motion to test the waters. His cock is still almost all the way buried inside you, only letting an inch slip out before pushing back in, just a hint of extra stimulation.

Your nose is pressed awkwardly into his cheek as you kiss him furiously, but it’s the last thing on your mind as his hands grip your waist more firmly, helping give you a little bit more leverage to continue the slow, rolling movements. His tongue nudges against yours, your lips opening to welcome him.

One thrust hits particularly deep in a particularly sensitive spot deep in your cunt, and you have to pull away quickly for a second to exhale a drawn-out moan before filling your lungs with fresh air. But in that moment, without warning Jeonghan pushes his hips up into the air, bouncing you on his lap, and the force of his thrust cuts off your sound, trailing off into a broken whimper mid-way through. His fingers squeeze your waist harder, digging into your muscles before sliding down to grip your ass for a better angle. It knocks the breath out of you, your core tightening around him.

The rhythm he sets is difficult to keep up with, but luckily for you it doesn’t seem like he expects much effort on your part. All you have to do is sit there on his lap, pliant and relaxed, and let him fuck into you as hard as he wants. His hands supporting your ass are firm, and you can see the strain flexing in his lean biceps as he holds you up. The angle still puts your tits directly in front of his face but he’s staring up into your eyes, his eye contact unflinching as he pants for breath with parted lips.

“Look at you,” he huffs, his voice thick and rough, just loud enough to be heard over the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin. “So tight. God, you’re so beautiful, riding me just like that. Wanna stay buried in this pussy forever.”

Despite the unfiltered praise he’s giving that makes your stomach twist with butterflies, there’s still that hint of teasing in his words: too genuine to be sarcastic, but at the same time too smug to be completely heartfelt and without ulterior motive. Either way, you can’t deny how good it feels to be worshipped so openly like this, especially by him.

The change in Jeonghan’s attitude doesn’t escape your notice; the way he’s gotten more and more dominant as the night goes on, but somehow at the same time less dominant too. It’s a refreshing change of pace, how naturally your dynamic shifts back and forth at will. His lack of expectations soothes something deep inside you that you weren’t aware needed to be soothed; his easy disposition that lets you take control when you want it and give it back when you don’t. Maybe it’s because he can read you so well, or maybe it’s because he can’t. Either way, his effortless ability to switch between roles is something you didn’t know you were missing in your life, and it makes his actions all the more intense and exciting and unpredictable.

Your throat tightens as you feel the early waves of another orgasm beginning to crash into you, but you can’t get the words out to warn him before one more well-timed thrust sends you hurtling over the edge. You fall forward, catching yourself on his shoulders and gripping him so hard it’s got to hurt, but he says nothing but praises as you cum with your thumbs digging into his collarbone.

“That’s a good girl, keep going. You feel so fucking good, angel. Let me have it, all of it. C’mon— yeah, right there, there you go.”

When the initial shock fades, the high from your second orgasm subsides even more slowly than the first time. You’re still struggling to deal with the effects yourself when Jeonghan frantically pulls you off of his lap, his cock haphazardly recoiling against your stomach as milky white spurts leak from his tip. His eyes are wrenched shut in bliss, his mouth hanging open and his hands squeezing your ass even harder.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of your memory, you make a note that Jeonghan whimpers when he cums. It’s such a beautiful, passionate, strangled sound, and you never want to forget it.

A few moments of silence pass, the room quiet except for the sound of you both heavily panting for breath. Jeonghan finally opens his eyes again, his gaze unfocused for a second before it lands on you, and he breaks out into a smile. A real one this time, not his usual arrogant smirk or teasing grin. He lets out a long, slow, pleased hum and releases his grip on you, sliding to rest on top of your thighs instead.

“Wanna take a shower with me?”

After an hour (maybe a lot longer than an hour…) you’re clean and comfortable and content, both of you lying naked in his bed together. It hadn’t been difficult for him to convince you to stay over for the night and let him spoil you a little more. You’d pretended to be on the fence about whether or not to stay, just to tease him, but his promise to make you breakfast is what had finally won you over.

A half-empty bottle of Dom Perignon rests on the bed between you both, wedged against a couple of pillows. With the sheets messily tossed over your lower half, you balance your glass on your lap as you sit leaned up against the headboard of his bed.

When you’d confessed earlier that you’d never actually tried his favorite brand yourself, despite how often you have to serve it at work, he’d immediately hopped out of the shower to bring you a bottle. His effort was admirable, making a whole show out of uncorking it and pretending to be your waiter, before subsequently spilling most of it on his bathroom floor.

Now, Jeonghan sits propped up on one elbow, holding his own glass of champagne in one hand while resting the other across your hip. You didn’t initially label him as being a touchy-feely kind of guy, but the way he hasn’t let you out of his sight all night has been kind of endearing. Maybe you’re both clingier than you thought.

You sigh, exhausted but relaxed, and take another sip from your flute. “I guess you’re right. This is totally better than the cheap stuff.”

He lets out a tipsy little giggle, grabbing the bottle and pouring the rest of it into your glass to top it off. “I told you, I know my wines. Only the best for you. That’s why I always ordered it.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue with him. By now, you believe he really does mean all the cheesy crap he says. He did promise to actually take you on a real date next weekend, not a “stalking you at your workplace” kind of date. Maybe it’s just the champagne talking, but after tonight, his sincerity about has put a warm, fizzy feeling in your stomach. (But then again, that might be the champagne.)

Either way, you’re not denying your feelings anymore, and neither is he.

“Cheers,” he says after a minute of content silence, holding up his glass in front of him. The look in his eyes mirrors your own, something bright and soft and happy that makes your heart flutter.

“What are we cheers-ing to?” you laugh.

“Hm. Well…” He pauses and bites his lip.

It’s been too long since you last kissed him, you think to yourself as you wait for his answer, watching him absently pull his bottom lip between his teeth. You need to change that. 

“To good food and good sex. Both of which you can provide.”

You grin back at him and raise your glass to clink against his. “Sure. To the finer things in life.”

bonus:

© junkissed 2026. do not repost or translate. ── ⊹ ˙ . 𖥻 want to be notified when i post new fics? join my taglist!

this is the first fic i've been able to finish after a long hiatus and i'm genuinely so proud of how it turned out, so i truly hope you enjoyed reading!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! reblogs are legit what makes tumblr work: it shows me that people are interested in this content, and knowing people liked it makes me more inspired to write more! i put a TON of time, love, and effort into my fics, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!

taglist — located in the reblogs of this post!

p.s. bonus banner in my usual style !! ^^

[supi-wupi]

Kiss Me, It’s for Soulmates — Wonwoo

pairing: wonwoo x reader synopsis: He doesn’t believe in fate. You do. So when you get paired together in a sociology class to prove or disprove soulmates, you’re determined to change his mind—or die academically trying. wc: 9.6k (im shook) genre: Slow burn, University AU, Academic Rivals-to-Lovers, Friends-to-Lovers, Light Angst, Comedy, Slice of Life warnings: SOOOOO MUCH DIALOG IM SORRY, I had to compress the text a lil bc there were too many blocks so it might sound weird in some places, Brief Misunderstandings, Social Anxiety (in 1 part), Mild existential discussions about relationships and compatibility a/n: Happy (late) birthday to wonwoo!! Sorry this took so long, i miscalculated how long this would get. This is apart of the Kiss Me, It’s for Academia Series!! All other parts of the series will come out on each respective members birthdays!!

There was something strangely comforting about the first week of a new semester.

Maybe it was because everything still felt temporary enough to reinvent yourself if you wanted to. Lecture theatres filled with unfamiliar faces who smiled politely without expecting names, tutors who still believed everyone had completed the readings, and fresh notebooks whose untouched pages hadn't yet become victims of rushed handwriting and coffee stains. Every semester began with the same promise that this one would somehow be different, that assignments would be started early, lectures would be attended diligently, and perhaps this time your sleep schedule would survive beyond Week Three.

You believed it every single semester.

Whether that made you optimistic or hopelessly naïve was still up for debate.

The Sociology of Human Relationships was one of the electives you'd chosen almost impulsively, although you preferred calling it intuition whenever your friends questioned your decisions. The course outline had sounded interesting enough—attachment theory, interpersonal communication, social expectations—but what had caught your attention was a single sentence tucked away beneath the assessment schedule.

Major Research Project (40%) — Investigating the Concept of Soulmates.

You had smiled at the screen for far longer than necessary.

It wasn't because you expected university to confirm the existence of some invisible red string connecting strangers across cities or oceans, nor because you thought there was one singular person waiting somewhere with your name written into the universe. Your belief had never been that simplistic. Soulmates, at least to you, were never about destiny removing the need for choice.

If anything, they were about choice itself.

People met thousands throughout their lives. Friends came and went, lovers arrived and left, families grew complicated, and yet somehow, every now and then, two people chose one another so completely that the rest of the world became background noise. Whether that was destiny or simply extraordinary luck hardly mattered.

The feeling was real either way.

"Y/N!"

Your attention lifted from the printed course guide as someone dropped into the seat beside you with enough force to make the fold-out desk wobble. Mina grinned without a hint of apology, balancing an iced coffee in one hand while already scrolling through her timetable on her phone with the other.

"I swear," she whispered dramatically, "if this professor starts with an icebreaker, I'm transferring."

"You say that every semester."

"And one day I'll mean it."

The lecture theatre continued filling around you in waves of conversation, backpacks thumping onto the floor, chairs scraping against concrete, students greeting friends they hadn't seen over the break with exaggerated enthusiasm. Somewhere near the front, someone was already arguing about textbook prices, while further back a group was debating whether attendance was actually compulsory.

The room buzzed with that peculiar kind of organised chaos unique to universities, where everyone seemed simultaneously exhausted and hopeful.

At precisely nine o'clock, the chatter softened. The professor walked in carrying nothing except a tablet and a stack of manila folders.

No introductory slideshow. No welcoming speech. Just a quiet smile.

"I'll save everyone's time," she began. "Yes, attendance is recorded."

A collective groan echoed through the theatre. She nodded knowingly.

"I appreciate the honesty."

Even Mina laughed. The first twenty minutes passed exactly as expected. Assessment breakdowns, consultation hours, textbook recommendations no one intended to purchase until absolutely necessary. Pens moved lazily across notebooks while laptops clicked open around the room.

Then the professor reached for the folders.

"This," she said, holding one up between her fingers, "is the assignment students remember long after they've forgotten everything else from this course."

The room immediately became quieter.

"For the remainder of the semester, each of you will work with one randomly assigned partner."

Another groan, she ignored it.

"Your task is deceptively simple."

The projector behind her flickered to life.

DO SOULMATES EXIST?

Silence. Then scattered laughter.

"No," someone near the back called.

"I haven't even had breakfast," another complained.

The professor continued as though neither interruption had happened.

"You'll investigate the claim from a sociological perspective. You are expected to collect qualitative and quantitative evidence, conduct interviews, examine existing literature, perform behavioural observations, and construct an argument either supporting or rejecting the concept."

Your hand was already writing before she'd finished speaking. Interview couples. Different age groups. Longitudinal relationships? Cultural perspectives. You underlined the last one twice.

"This assignment is not about proving your own beliefs," the professor continued. "It's about learning whether your beliefs withstand scrutiny."

You liked that. Beside you, Mina looked significantly less enthusiastic.

"I wanted multiple choice."

"You chose sociology."

"I made mistakes."

The professor began distributing the folders down each row.

"Each folder contains your assigned partner."

Someone sighed dramatically enough to earn a laugh from the surrounding students.

"You don't get to choose," the professor added before anyone could ask. "Yes, they're random. No, I won't swap anyone. Half the purpose of this assignment is learning to work with perspectives different from your own."

The folders travelled slowly across the lecture theatre. One by one. Closer. Closer. Eventually one landed in front of you with a soft papery thud. Your name had already been printed neatly across the cover.

Below it—Research Pair: Group 14

You opened it. Your assigned partner's name sat beneath yours.

JEON WONWOO

You frowned thoughtfully. The name sounded familiar. Not personally, academically. Someone who answered questions during lectures with suspicious confidence. Someone tutors seemed to recognise. Someone you'd seen around campus more than once without ever speaking to. Mina leaned across immediately.

"Who'd you get?"

You turned the page towards her.

"Oh."

"What?"

She gave you a look that somehow managed to communicate both sympathy and amusement.

"Good luck."

"...That helpful?"

"I've got a friend in psychology who had a class with him last semester."

"And?"

"He argued with the lecturer."

"That's not necessarily bad."

"He won."

Before you could ask another question, the lecture theatre door opened. Five minutes late. A tall figure stepped quietly inside, carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder as though arriving after the lecture had begun didn't concern him in the slightest. There was no frantic apology, no awkward attempt to avoid drawing attention. He simply offered the professor a brief nod, received one in return, and scanned the room for an empty seat. You recognised him immediately from the photograph attached to the research folder.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He settled into one of the remaining seats a few rows ahead without speaking to anyone, pushing his glasses back into place before opening the folder that had been left on the desk for him.  You watched his eyes skim the first page. Pause. Then continue. Nothing about his expression changed. Not surprise. Not annoyance. Nothing. He simply closed the folder again.

The professor clapped her hands together gently.

"Now that everyone knows their partner, I'd like each pair to spend the remaining class introducing yourselves and discussing your preliminary position."

Chairs scraped backwards across the room almost instantly. Students stood, searching for unfamiliar names and uncertain faces.

"Group Four?"

"Twenty-one?"

"Who's Olivia?"

Mina squeezed your arm.

"Good luck."

"You've said that twice."

"Because I think you'll need it."

She disappeared into the growing crowd before you could respond. You stood, folder tucked beneath one arm, scanning the room until your eyes found him again. He had already found you. Not because he waved, not because he smiled, simply because he was looking directly at you with the quiet recognition of someone matching names to faces. He approached first. Up close, he seemed somehow taller than expected, though perhaps it was only because he carried himself with an unhurried confidence that made everyone else seem louder by comparison.

"Y/N?"

His voice was calm. Lower than you'd imagined.

"That's me."

He nodded once.

"Wonwoo."

"I figured."

A brief silence settled between you, not necessarily uncomfortable, merely unfamiliar. You offered a small smile anyway.

"I guess we're partners."

"It seems that way."

There was something almost amusing about how matter-of-fact he sounded, as though being assigned to work together ranked somewhere between receiving a library receipt and checking tomorrow's weather forecast. You gestured towards two empty seats near the side of the lecture theatre.

"We should probably start?"

He followed without objection. The assignment brief sat open between you, covered in highlighted sections and handwritten annotations that already looked wildly different. Your notes wandered into margins with arrows connecting ideas that hadn't yet fully formed. His remained perfectly organised, concise, almost clinical. You noticed he had already circled one sentence.

Construct an evidence-based conclusion.

"You've started already?"

"I was reading."

"You've highlighted one sentence."

"It seemed important." You couldn't help smiling.

"You seem like the type to colour-code your lecture notes."

"I do."

"I knew it." He looked almost confused by your satisfaction.

"You say that like it's unusual."

"It isn't. I just enjoy being right." Something very close to amusement crossed his face before disappearing again.

"So," you began, tapping the title page, "what's your opinion?" He didn't need time to think.

"Soulmates don't exist." The sentence landed with complete certainty. Not dismissively, not mockingly, simply factually. You blinked.

"...That's it?"

"That's it."

"No hesitation?"

"No." You leaned back in your chair.

"Interesting." He tilted his head slightly.

"You disagree."

"I do."

"I guessed."

"Was it the fact I highlighted interview ideas before the assignment had even been explained?"

"Partly."

"And the other part?"

"You smiled when the professor introduced the topic." Your eyebrows lifted before you could stop them.

"You noticed that?"

"You were sitting in front of me."

"So?"

"So I noticed." The simplicity of the answer somehow made it more convincing. You folded your arms loosely across the desk.

"I think soulmates exist."

"In what sense?"

"That depends." He waited. Not impatiently, just quietly.

"I don't think there's one perfect person pre-selected by the universe," you explained. "I think there are connections that feel statistically impossible. People who arrive in your life and alter its direction so completely that calling it coincidence almost feels inadequate." He considered your words for a moment before responding.

"People are good at assigning meaning to random events."

"And people are equally good at dismissing meaningful ones because they can't quantify them."

"Our brains search for patterns."

"Sometimes because patterns are there." He looked at you for another second.Then, unexpectedly, a small smile. Barely noticeable.

"Professor was right."

"About what?"

"This is going to take the entire semester." You laughed before you could help yourself. It wasn't a loud laugh, nor a particularly graceful one, but it escaped all the same, drawing a brief glance from the pair sitting nearby. Wonwoo looked almost surprised that he'd been the cause of it. Perhaps you were equally surprised.

Maybe this assignment wouldn't be quite as straightforward as you'd imagined. Or perhaps that was exactly what made it worth doing.

—

[CASE FILE 001 — Department of Sociology, Research Pair Registration]

Pair Number: 14

Student A: Jeon Wonwoo Preliminary Position: The concept of soulmates is a cultural construct that cannot be empirically supported.

Student B: Y/N Preliminary Position: Soulmates exist as meaningful interpersonal connections, regardless of whether they can be objectively measured.

Professor's Observation: Significant ideological contrast.Encourage both students to challenge assumptions rather than defend them.Productive disagreement often produces the strongest research.

—

"You've highlighted the entire article."

"I highlighted the important parts." Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop just long enough to give you a look somewhere between disbelief and quiet resignation before returning to his own notes.

"You've highlighted eighty percent of the paper."

"The remaining twenty percent wasn't relevant."

"Then you didn't need the highlighter."

"It helped me read."

"I don't think that's what highlighting is for."

"It is for me." He paused, fingers hovering above his keyboard as though debating whether correcting your study habits was worth the effort. Eventually, he decided it wasn't, and the faint shake of his head was so subtle that you almost missed it.

It had been just over a week since the first lecture. Long enough to settle into a routine. Every Tuesday after class, the two of you met in the same corner of the university library, occupying a table tucked beside floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the campus courtyard. The location had never been discussed. After the first meeting, you'd simply wandered towards the empty table, and Wonwoo had followed without comment. Now, without either of you acknowledging it, the space had somehow become yours. The first ten minutes were always quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet.

You unpacked your bag in exactly the same order every time—laptop first, notebook second, pencil case last—while Wonwoo plugged in his charger, aligned three different coloured sticky tabs along the edge of his notebook, and opened whichever academic journal he had downloaded that morning.

Somewhere nearby, the library printer whirred to life. Pages shuffled. Chairs scraped softly against carpet, and the occasional muffled laugh drifted from the collaborative study rooms before being silenced by a passing librarian.

It was strangely peaceful.

"So," you said eventually, breaking the silence. "How many papers have you read?"

"Twenty-three." You blinked.

"...Twenty-three?"

"They were relatively short."

"You read twenty-three sociology papers in a week?"

"I skimmed seven."

"Oh, well that makes it normal." He ignored the sarcasm.

"There isn't substantial empirical evidence supporting the soulmate hypothesis."

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm stating a finding."

"You sound disappointed."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You wanted one to prove wrong." He looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

"I wanted evidence."

"You wanted a challenge."

"I have one." He gestured vaguely towards you. You tried very hard not to smile. Instead, you opened your own notebook, where the page labelled Possible Interview Subjects had become increasingly crowded over the past few days.

"We're supposed to start collecting qualitative data this week."

"I know."

"The professor wants a minimum of ten interviews."

"I know."

"You keep saying you know."

"Because I do." You leaned your chin into your palm.

"You're no fun."

"I've been told."

"Really?"

"No."

"...That was almost a joke."

"I don't joke."

"Liar."

"I don't."

"You literally just did."

"I didn't intend to."

"Still counts." He sighed so quietly it almost sounded like a laugh. Almost.

—

The sociology department had prepared interview consent forms, questionnaires, and recording equipment for every research pair, though the professor had insisted that the interviews themselves be arranged independently.

That was how the two of you found yourselves standing outside the weekend farmers' market early Saturday morning, clipboards tucked beneath your arms while people wandered past carrying reusable shopping bags and bouquets of flowers.

Wonwoo adjusted the strap of his satchel.

"This seems inefficient."

"It's perfect."

"There are too many variables."

"There are too many people."

"Exactly."

"That's the point." He looked unconvinced.

"You picked this location because..."

"There are families." He waited.

"Couples." Still waiting.

"Grandparents."

"...Continue."

"And everyone walks slower because they're buying vegetables." He stared at you.

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting the vegetables."

"They're essential."

"To sociology?"

"To catching interview participants."

"...Right." You smiled innocently.

"Trust me." He didn't. That much was obvious. Still, he followed you towards the first elderly couple browsing homemade honey.

"Excuse me," you asked politely, "would you mind answering a few questions for a university sociology project?"

The couple exchanged a look before smiling warmly.

"We've got nowhere to be." You glanced sideways at Wonwoo.

"See?" He simply uncapped his pen.

—

The first interview lasted nearly twenty minutes. The couple had been married for forty-eight years. When you asked whether they believed they were soulmates, the husband laughed before his wife answered first.

"Oh, goodness, no." You blinked.

"No?" She smiled.

"I couldn't stand him when we first met."

"I still don't know why she married me," her husband admitted.

"You proposed six times."

"You counted?"

"I rejected five." Wonwoo wrote something down. You tried not to laugh.

"So..." you asked carefully, "when did you know?" The woman looked at her husband for a long moment before answering.

"I don't think there was a single moment." Her fingers reached absentmindedly for his hand.

"I think one day we realised we'd spent years choosing each other." Her husband nodded.

"Love isn't fate."

A pause.

"Staying is."

Silence settled over the table. The market continued bustling around you. Someone called out prices for strawberries. A child laughed somewhere behind you. Nearby wind chimes clinked softly against one another. You scribbled the quote into your notebook almost immediately. Beside you, Wonwoo didn't speak. You waited. Normally, he would've already pointed out retrospective bias or emotional reconstruction. Instead, he quietly underlined something in his notes. Only after thanking the couple and watching them disappear into the crowd did either of you speak again.

"...Well?" He closed the notebook.

"It was interesting."

"That's all?"

"It was."

"You don't have an argument?"

"Not immediately." You looked at him in surprise.

"I'll need to think about it." For some reason, that felt like a victory. Not because he'd agreed with you.  Because he hadn't dismissed the interview outright.

—

The afternoon passed in much the same way. An engaged couple who had met online through a video game. A divorced woman who insisted soulmates existed but timing mattered more. A university student who believed compatibility could be calculated using personality tests.  Each interview challenged one assumption only to reinforce another.

By the time the market began packing away stalls, your voice had become slightly hoarse. You dropped onto a nearby bench with a sigh.

"My social battery is gone." Wonwoo handed you a bottle of water.

"You forgot this." You frowned.

"When?"

"You've carried it since this morning."

"...I completely forgot."

"I noticed."

"You notice everything." He considered that.

"I notice patterns."

"You noticed I hadn't had water."

"You'd spoken continuously for nearly three hours."

"And?"

"You usually drink after about forty minutes." You stared.

"...You know that's a little creepy."

"It wasn't intentional."

"I know."

A breeze stirred the trees lining the footpath. People continued filtering towards the train station, conversations fading into the distance. Without thinking, you reached into your backpack and pulled out two convenience store sandwiches you'd bought earlier that morning.

"I completely forgot these too."

"You forget a lot."

"I remember important things."

"You forgot lunch."

"I remembered eventually." You held one sandwich towards him.

"Here." He hesitated.

"You only bought two."

"I know."

"You'll be hungry."

"I'll survive." Another pause. Eventually, he accepted it.

"...Thank you."

"You said that like you weren't expecting me to share."

"I wasn't."

"Why not?"

"You've known me for eight days."

"So?"

"So..." He looked faintly puzzled by the question. "People don't usually do that." You shrugged.

"I had two." The explanation seemed almost too simple. Maybe it was. Wonwoo looked down at the unopened sandwich in his hands before quietly peeling back the wrapper.

"You know," you said after a while, "I thought you'd be colder." He glanced sideways.

"I've barely spoken."

"Exactly."

"And yet?"

"And yet you keep noticing little things." He frowned slightly.

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"It has nothing to do with being nice."

"I didn't say nice."

"You implied it."

"I implied observant." Silence.

"...You think I'm observant?"

"I think you pretend not to care." He looked away first.

"You've reached that conclusion after eight days?"

"Maybe."

"...Your sample size is too small."

"There you go again."

"What?"

"Turning everything into research."

"It is research."

"I know." You smiled despite yourself.

"But you're still doing it." He didn't deny it.

—

Later that evening, after the interviews had been transcribed and uploaded to the shared folder, your phone buzzed with a new notification. Wonwoo uploaded a file. Curious, you opened it. 

Instead of another journal article, it was the transcript from the elderly couple. One sentence had been highlighted.

Love isn't fate. Staying is.

Beneath it, in the comments section, was a single line.

Potential distinction between destiny and commitment. Worth exploring further.

You smiled at the screen. Without thinking too much about it, you replied beneath his comment.

Maybe soulmates aren't found. Maybe they're built.

Three minutes later, a new notification appeared. Wonwoo replied. 

Interesting hypothesis.

It was only two words. But somehow, for the first time since meeting him, it felt less like the beginning of an argument and more like the beginning of a conversation.

—

[Interview Transcript — Couple #01]

Question: Do you believe you were soulmates?

Response (Wife): No. Not when we met.

Response (Husband): We became them.

Handwritten annotation (Y/N): Maybe soulmates aren't discovered. Maybe they're something people create together over time.

Comment added later (J. Wonwoo): Interesting hypothesis. Investigate whether this idea appears in attachment theory literature.

—

By the third week of the semester, the library had become less of a meeting place and more of a habit.

Neither of you remembered making the decision to continue studying there after every lecture. It simply happened. Tuesdays were reserved for sorting interview transcripts, Thursdays for reading journal articles, and Saturdays, more often than not, ended with another round of field interviews somewhere around the city. Somewhere between colour-coded folders, shared Google Drive documents, and arguments over citation formatting, the line separating obligation from routine had quietly disappeared. You were beginning to suspect Wonwoo noticed it too.

He was already sitting at your usual table when you arrived that Thursday afternoon, though he hadn't messaged to say he'd gotten there early. His laptop was open, half a dozen journal articles tiled neatly across the screen, while an untouched cup of coffee rested beside his elbow. Judging by the faint curl of steam that still rose from the lid, he'd only been there a few minutes.

"You ordered coffee before I got here?" you asked, setting your backpack down with a muffled thud.

"I ordered mine." You looked around the table.

"There are two." Without looking up from the paragraph he was annotating, he reached across and nudged the second cup towards your side.

"You usually buy one before we start." You blinked.

"I... do."

"You were running late."

"So you just..."

"I was already there."

"...Bought mine too?" He finally looked up, expression unreadable behind the thin frames of his glasses.

"It saves time." You stared at the cup for a second longer than necessary. It was the same order you'd been buying since the first week. Medium vanilla latte. One sugar. No whipped cream.

"You remembered."

"You've ordered it six times."

"You counted?"

"I noticed." There it was again.

That quiet way he answered every observation as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He never seemed aware that most people didn't remember how someone took their coffee after a handful of meetings, or which hand they wrote with, or that they always tucked loose strands of hair behind the same ear whenever they were concentrating. He simply noticed.

"You know," you said, peeling back the lid carefully, "if sociology doesn't work out, you'd make a terrifying detective."

"I've considered it." You laughed.

"I'm not joking."

"I know."

"...Wait." He returned his attention to the article without another word. You narrowed your eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"I considered forensic psychology once."

"You can't just casually mention that and keep reading."

"I didn't think it was particularly interesting."

"It is to me."

"Hm."

"You really don't understand what people find interesting about you, do you?" His fingers stopped moving across the keyboard. For a brief moment, silence settled between you.

"I've never thought about it." The answer came so honestly that you didn't know how to respond.

—

The professor arrived ten minutes late to the afternoon tutorial carrying a stack of printed worksheets that looked considerably thicker than anyone appreciated. An audible sigh rippled through the classroom.

"Good afternoon." No one returned the enthusiasm. She smiled anyway.

"I've read through your interview transcripts." You exchanged a glance with Wonwoo.

"They're promising." There were a few relieved exhalations around the room.

"However..." Collective dread.

"...interviews only tell us what people believe happened." She placed the worksheets on the front desk.

"Human memory is remarkably unreliable." Wonwoo’s pen immediately clicked. You recognised that look. He agreed.

"So," the professor continued, "we're moving on to behavioural observation." Several students frowned.

"You'll spend the next two weeks observing your assigned partner." Someone near the back groaned dramatically. The professor ignored them.

"You are not trying to prove they're your soulmate." A few laughs broke out.

"You are observing unconscious patterns." She began writing on the whiteboard.

Walking pace. Eye contact. Speech rhythm. Personal space. Gesture mirroring. Listening behaviour.

"You may record anything you find relevant," she explained. "The important rule is this."

She underlined the next sentence.

Do not tell your partner what you're recording.

The room erupted into confused chatter.

"What?"

"That's so weird."

"They're going to overthink everything."

"Exactly," the professor replied. "Which is why I don't want you discussing your observations until the fortnight is over." She looked around the classroom.

"People reveal the most about themselves when they believe nothing important is being noticed."

—

The walk back to the library felt strangely different. Not because anything had changed. Because now you couldn't stop wondering whether it had.

Were you walking normally? Did you always swing your backpack from your right shoulder? Did you speak with your hands this much?

You caught yourself fixing your posture halfway across campus before realising exactly what you were doing. Beside you, Wonwoo seemed completely unaffected. Or perhaps he was simply better at hiding it.

"This assignment is cruel," you muttered.

"It'll produce better data."

"I knew you'd say that."

"It probably will."

"You aren't even a little curious about what I'm writing down?"

"I'll find out eventually."

"...That's it?" He shrugged lightly.

"If I change my behaviour because I'm thinking about it, the observations become less useful."

"You've accepted this frighteningly quickly."

"It's interesting."

"You called interviewing strangers inefficient."

"It was."

"And spying on each other is interesting?"

"We're not spying."

"It feels like spying."

"It's structured observation."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself."

"I'm defining the methodology." You laughed under your breath.

"See?"

"What?"

"You've already started."

"I haven't."

"You've become more formal."

"I always speak like this."

"When you're trying to win an argument. I noticed."

He looked at you for a long second before the corners of his mouth lifted—just slightly.

"So did I." You frowned.

"So did you what?"

"I noticed."

"...You smiled before disagreeing."

You hadn't even realised.

—

That evening, your shared project folder gained two new files.

Behaviour Observation Log — Y/N

Behaviour Observation Log — Wonwoo

Password protected. You opened your own template first. At the top of the page sat a single instruction.

Record observations objectively. Avoid interpretation until analysis is complete.

You snorted softly.

"That's going to be impossible."

You had barely spent ten days working with Wonwoo, yet already every observation seemed to carry two versions. The objective one. And the one you couldn't quite explain.

Objective: He waits for elderly people to exit the lift before entering.

Subjective: He never seems aware he's doing it.

You sighed, deleting the second sentence before replacing it with something more academic. At least... you tried.

—

[CASE FILE 003 — Behavioural Observation Study]

Subjects: Pair 14

Observation Period: Weeks 3–5

Research Objective: To identify unconscious behavioural patterns that influence perceived interpersonal compatibility.

Reminder: Observation is not interpretation. Record what occurs. Explain why only after sufficient evidence has been collected.

—

The observation period began on a Monday. You hated it almost immediately. Not because it was difficult to write observations—if anything, there were too many things to write—but because the assignment had transformed every ordinary interaction into something strangely self-conscious. Every time you caught Wonwoo glancing in your direction, your immediate thought was no longer Is something wrong? but Did he just write that down? By Wednesday, you were convinced you had forgotten how to exist naturally.

"You've looked at me three times in the last minute."

"I wasn't counting."

"You definitely were."

"I wasn't."

"You paused before answering."

"I was thinking."

"Exactly." You narrowed your eyes.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that before."

"...From who?"

"You."

"I don't think I've actually said it."

"You implied it."

"You keep doing that."

"What?"

"Turning everything I say into evidence."

"It is evidence."

"It isn't."

"It could be." You let out an exaggerated sigh before dramatically opening your notebook.

"Observation number twenty-seven." He looked up.

"'Subject is deeply irritating.'"

"...That's not objective."

"I'm making an exception."

"It'll affect the validity of your findings."

"It'll improve my emotional wellbeing." Something that looked suspiciously like amusement crossed his face.

"You smiled."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I disagree."

"You can't disagree with your own facial expression."

"I'm questioning your interpretation."

"You absolutely smiled."

"I don't have sufficient evidence." You stared at him for a long moment before laughing.

"You know, for someone who doesn't believe in soulmates, you're weirdly committed to making sure I never win an argument."

"I've accepted that I won't."

"...What?"

"I've accepted that you won't stop arguing."

"...That's not what you said."

"I know."

—

The campus café became another unspoken routine. Originally, it had simply been somewhere convenient between lectures. Now the barista greeted both of you before either of you reached the counter.

"The usual?" You nodded automatically, Wonwoo answered at almost exactly the same time.

"Yes." The barista smiled.

"I'll have them ready in a minute." You didn't notice anything unusual until you sat down.

"You ordered for me."

"You were looking for your student card."

"...I was."

"You usually spend about thirty seconds searching your bag." You blinked.

"You've timed that too?"

"No."

"You know that's somehow worse."

"I've noticed it happens."

"You make it sound completely normal."

"It is."

"No, normal people don't know how long someone spends looking for their wallet."

"They might."

"They absolutely don't." He took a slow sip of coffee before answering.

"I think people notice more than they realise."

"You definitely notice more than average."

"You've said that."

"And I keep being proven right." He didn't argue this time. Instead, his gaze drifted briefly towards the window overlooking the courtyard below, where students hurried between buildings carrying umbrellas against the light drizzle that had started sometime during your lecture. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I think most people notice."

You looked at him.

"They just don't remember." There was something unexpectedly thoughtful about the way he said it. Not detached. Not analytical. Almost personal.

"What makes you remember?" His fingers paused around the paper cup.

"I don't know." He considered the question carefully before continuing.

"I think... once I've noticed something, it feels wrong to forget it." The sentence lingered in your mind long after the conversation had moved elsewhere.

—

Thursday's tutorial required each research pair to spend forty-five minutes silently observing one another while completing a collaborative puzzle. No discussion. No planning. No speaking. Only observation.

"This feels unethical," someone complained.

"It's educational," the professor replied.

"It's creepy."

"It's sociology."

"I'm changing majors." The professor laughed.

"No, you're not."

Sheets of coloured wooden blocks were distributed around the room, each pair receiving an identical puzzle that required recreating a geometric pattern using only non-verbal communication. You and Wonwoo exchanged a look.

"No talking?" you mouthed.

He nodded once. The timer began. Almost immediately, you reached for the wrong piece. Before your hand even touched it, Wonwoo gently slid the correct block towards you without looking up from the diagram.

You frowned. How had he—

You placed it into position. He rotated another piece exactly ninety degrees before setting it beside your hand. Again, correct. By the ten-minute mark, neither of you had spoken a single word. You barely needed to.

He seemed to understand what piece you were reaching for before you reached for it, quietly moving obstacles out of the way without interrupting your train of thought. When you hesitated over where a triangular block belonged, he tapped the corner of the diagram once before continuing with his own section. It wasn't planned. It wasn't rehearsed. It simply worked.

Across the room, other pairs whispered apologies after instinctively speaking, argued silently through exaggerated gestures, or accidentally reached for the same pieces at the same time. Your table remained almost entirely still. When the professor called time, she'd barely finished the sentence before stopping beside your desk.

"You finished?" You both nodded. She examined the completed puzzle. Perfect.

"Hm." She made a note on her clipboard.

"Interesting." As she walked away, you finally looked at Wonwoo.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"We didn't even talk."

"The puzzle didn't require talking."

"It definitely did."

"I don't think so."

"Everyone else talked."

"We didn't."

"You handed me the exact pieces every single time."

"You usually solve left to right."

"...I what?"

"You start from the outside corners."

"I've never noticed that."

"I have." You stared.

"When?"

"You've organised every interview transcript the same way."

"..."

"You also unpack your stationery in the same order."

"..."

"You always finish reading the introduction before looking at the headings."

"..." He stopped.

"...Was I not supposed to notice those?" For a second, all you could do was blink.

"No."

"I thought they were obvious."

"They are to you." Another pause settled between you before you laughed quietly, shaking your head.

"I don't think you realise how different your brain works."

"I've never had another one to compare it to." The answer was so genuine that it caught you completely off guard.

—

That evening, after returning home, you opened your observation log again. The cursor blinked expectantly. You read back through the objective notes you'd managed to record over the past four days.

Day Four Subject remembers every source cited during discussion without checking notes.

Day Five Subject notices environmental changes before verbal acknowledgement by others.

Day Five Subject consistently positions themselves on the outer side of the footpath when walking together.

You frowned. You hadn't noticed writing that last one.  When had that happened? You thought back. 

Leaving the library. Crossing the road after interviews. Walking between lecture buildings. Every single time, without ever mentioning it, Wonwoo had quietly shifted to whichever side was closest to passing bicycles, traffic or crowds, leaving you on the inside of the path. It wasn't dramatic enough to draw attention. If anything, it was the kind of habit you only recognised once you'd seen it repeated enough times.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard. You typed another line.

Day Six Subject performs considerate actions automatically, often without appearing aware of them.

You hesitated. Then deleted the word considerate. Too subjective. After another moment's thought, you rewrote it.

Subject changes behaviour in response to environmental conditions affecting others before changing his own.

Technically objective. Technically. You weren't entirely convinced.

— 

[Behaviour Observation Log — Extract]

Observer: Wonwoo

Day 4 Subject unconsciously smiles before disagreeing with someone.

Day 5 Subject says "interesting" when they are actually confused.

Day 5 Subject thanks bus drivers regardless of whether anyone else does.

Day 6 Subject slows walking pace when speaking about something important without appearing aware of it.

A line beneath the final observation has been crossed out, the original sentence is no longer legible. Only three rewritten words remain.

Worth remembering.

— 

The midpoint presentations arrived far sooner than either of you expected. It wasn't that the semester itself had moved particularly quickly. If anything, the weeks had been packed so densely with interviews, observation logs, literature reviews and tutorial discussions that every day felt longer than the last. Somewhere between the seventh transcript and the fifteenth journal article, however, the project had stopped feeling like a university assessment and quietly become part of your routine. You no longer wondered whether Wonwoo would be in the library after class. He always was.

Likewise, he had stopped asking whether you wanted coffee before starting work. At some point, the question had disappeared entirely, replaced by a second paper cup already sitting opposite him whenever you arrived a few minutes late. You weren't entirely sure when that had started. More strangely, neither of you had acknowledged it.

"You know," you said one afternoon, dropping your bag beside the chair opposite him, "normal people would probably think this is weird."

Wonwoo didn't look up from the spreadsheet he was editing.

"What part?"

"You buying my coffee."

"You always pay me back."

"That's not my point." He finished typing the sentence he'd been working on before finally closing the laptop halfway.

"What is your point?"

"My point is..." You paused, realising you hadn't actually thought this through. "Well..."

"You don't have one."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I think..." You tapped absentmindedly against the side of the coffee cup. "I think we've become suspiciously efficient." He considered that.

"We've spent approximately forty-seven hours working together."

"You counted?"

"I estimated."

"...That somehow isn't better."

"No." A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again. You caught it anyway. There had been more of those lately. Not enough that anyone else would probably notice. Enough that you did.

—

The tutorial room buzzed louder than usual as each research pair prepared their midpoint presentations. Laptops opened, extension cords snaked across the floor, and conversations overlapped as students made frantic last-minute edits.

Your professor moved quietly between the rows, occasionally stopping to answer questions before reminding everyone, for what felt like the tenth time that morning, to keep their presentations under ten minutes.

"You look nervous." You glanced sideways. Wonwoo was organising printed handouts into perfectly aligned stacks.

"I'm not nervous."

"You've rearranged your slides three times."

"I was fixing formatting."

"You changed the font."

"It was inconsistent."

"It was one title."

"It was bothering me." You smiled.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The perfectionism."

"I prefer consistency."

"I know." He looked at you for a second before speaking again.

"You've rewritten your opening sentence eleven times. I counted." You folded your arms.

"I hate that you're right."

"I usually am."

"You sounded far too pleased saying that."

"I wasn't."

"Liar." He looked down to hide another almost-smile.

—

The presentations themselves varied wildly. Some groups had already reached confident conclusions. One pair argued that soulmate beliefs were largely reinforced by media representation. Another claimed attachment styles explained every interview they'd conducted. Someone else presented an elaborate statistical model that attempted to predict relationship longevity based on personality inventories.

When your turn came, neither you nor Wonwoo rushed to the front. You walked up together, setting your notes on the lectern without speaking.

"Our research question," you began, "asks whether soulmates exist."

"At this stage," Wonwoo continued, "our findings remain inconclusive."

A few classmates exchanged amused looks. You noticed.

"We've interviewed twelve participants across varying demographics," you said, changing slides. "Our qualitative findings reveal strong personal belief in soulmate concepts, although definitions vary considerably."

"Existing literature," Wonwoo added, "does not currently provide empirical evidence supporting soulmates as an objectively measurable phenomenon." You nodded.

"However..." He glanced towards you.

"...the interviews suggest something different." You continued seamlessly.

"Participants consistently described long-term relationships using language centred around choice rather than inevitability." The presentation flowed more naturally than either of you expected. Neither of you needed prompting. You instinctively knew when the other had finished speaking, quietly continuing each explanation without interrupting or repeating information. By the final slide, you almost forgot everyone else was watching. Until question time. A student near the back raised their hand.

"If you've spent over a month researching together..."

They looked between you and Wonwoo.

"...have either of you actually changed your minds?" Silence. You opened your mouth first.

"I..." Nothing came out. Because the truthful answer wasn't simple anymore. Had you changed your mind? Not really. You still believed soulmates existed. But your understanding of them had shifted. You looked towards Wonwoo. He spoke first.

"Our arguments have become more complicated." The classroom waited.

"We disagree about the conclusion." He adjusted his glasses thoughtfully.

"But we've stopped disagreeing about the evidence." A thoughtful silence settled across the room. The professor smiled.

"That's one of the best answers I've heard all day."

—

After class, while packing away your laptop, you overheard two students speaking just loudly enough that they clearly weren't trying very hard to keep the conversation private.

"I honestly thought they were dating." You froze.

"Nah."

"They've got that weird old married couple thing."

"They literally finish each other's presentations."

"Maybe the soulmate project worked." Someone laughed.

"Imagine." You looked instinctively towards Wonwoo. He had stopped placing papers into his bag. Only for a second. Then, without saying anything, he finished packing his things and slung the strap over his shoulder.

"We should go." His voice sounded perfectly normal. Perhaps too normal.

—

The walk to the library was quieter than usual. Not uncomfortable. Simply lacking. Normally, one of you would comment on the presentation, complain about another journal article, or argue over interview methodology before reaching the main courtyard. Today, neither of you started a conversation. You tried twice.

"So..."

"Hm?"

"...Nothing."

He nodded once. The silence returned. It stayed with you through the rest of the afternoon. Through organising references. Through editing transcripts. Through packing your bags. When you finally left the library, he offered the same polite goodbye he always did.

"See you Tuesday."

"Yeah." He hesitated almost imperceptibly.

"See you." And then he walked away.

—

It wasn't until later that evening that you realised something felt wrong.

Not dramatically wrong. Nothing had happened. No argument. No disagreement. No misunderstanding that you could clearly identify. And yet you found yourself opening the shared document twice before remembering he wasn't editing tonight.

You almost messaged him a journal article before remembering he'd probably already found it himself. You even caught yourself glancing towards the empty chair beside yours during dinner. You frowned. That was unusual.

Across town, Wonwoo was staring at the unfinished observation log on his laptop. The cursor blinked beneath today's date. He typed one sentence. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one too. Eventually, he closed the document without saving. For the first time since the assignment had begun, he wasn't entirely certain how to describe what he'd observed.

—

[INTERNAL MEMORANDUM]

Research Pair 14

Midpoint Progress Review

Completed

✓ Literature Review

✓ Behavioural Observation (Phase I)

✓ Participant Interviews

✓ Preliminary Presentation

Outstanding

□ Emotional Bias Assessment

□ Final Analysis

Professor's Margin Note:

Excellent collaboration. Be mindful that prolonged observation can influence participant objectivity. Consider whether the researcher has begun affecting the research.

Someone—neither you nor Wonwoo—has circled the final sentence twice.

The next chapter is where the misunderstanding quietly deepens, forcing both of you to question whether your growing closeness is helping the research—or making it impossible to stay objective. It's also where the assignment begins to stop feeling like an investigation into soulmates and starts becoming an investigation into each other.

—

There was a peculiar kind of silence that only existed between people who had grown accustomed to one another.

It wasn't uncomfortable. Nor was it empty. It was the sort of silence built over weeks of shared routines, where conversation became optional because neither person felt responsible for filling every quiet moment. You had never thought much about it before meeting Wonwoo. Silence, to you, had always been something to fix—a pause that invited another question, another story, another attempt to keep the conversation moving.

Now, sitting across from him in your usual corner of the library, you realised nearly twenty minutes had passed without either of you speaking.

The only sounds were the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the turning of pages somewhere nearby, and the distant hum of rain against the windows overlooking the courtyard. Strangely, you hadn't noticed the time. Wonwoo was reviewing the coding categories for your interview transcripts, occasionally making neat annotations in the margins of the printed pages spread around him. You were rereading the behavioural observation logs, trying to identify recurring themes before beginning the final report.

Every so often, one of you would slide a document across the table. No explanation. The other would read it, nod once, and continue working. It had become almost effortless. The realisation should have been comforting. Instead, it unsettled you. Because the professor's feedback from the midpoint presentation refused to leave your mind.

Consider whether the researcher has begun affecting the research.

You had laughed when you first read it. Now it seemed less like feedback and more like a warning.

"Can I ask you something?" Wonwoo looked up immediately.

"You already are." You rolled your eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"I do." He closed the notebook in front of him, giving you his full attention.

"What is it?" You hesitated longer than expected.

"Do you think..." The words felt strangely difficult.

"...we've become biased?" He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, considering the question with the same care he gave every research problem.

"In what sense?"

"The assignment."

"Our conclusions?"

"No."

You shook your head.

"I mean..." You searched for the right wording.

"...do you think we've spent so much time observing each other that we've stopped being objective?" His expression remained thoughtful.

"I think..." Another pause.

"...that was probably inevitable." You stared.

"You're admitting that?"

"It would be difficult not to."

"You always argue objectivity."

"I still do."

"But?"

"But objectivity doesn't mean pretending bias doesn't exist." He folded his hands together on the table.

"It means recognising where it exists." You looked down at your own notes.

"So we're biased."

"Yes."

"...That's a problem."

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Whether we're willing to acknowledge it." The answer lingered between you. It wasn't the answer you expected. Nor was it the one you wanted. Because admitting bias meant admitting something else.

That neither of you had remained detached observers. Somewhere along the way, the research had stopped being about strangers.

It had become about the two of you.

—

Your final task before writing the report was deceptively simple. Each research pair had to submit an individual reflective statement answering one question:

How has this project influenced your understanding of human relationships?

No word limit. No references required. Only honesty. You stared at the blank document for almost fifteen minutes.

Eventually, you began typing.

I entered this project believing soulmates were something people found.

You stopped. Deleted the sentence. Started again.

I don't think I believe in coincidence any less than I did twelve weeks ago.

Delete. Again. Nothing sounded right.

Across the table, Wonwoo had already begun writing.

His expression gave nothing away. You resisted every temptation to lean across and read his screen.

"You've already started."

"I have."

"How?"

"I know what I think."

"You always know what you think." He looked at you for a moment before answering quietly.

"Not always." The admission surprised you enough that you forgot your own frustration.

"You don't?" He shook his head.

"I just usually don't say anything until I do."

—

The deadline for the reflective statements was Friday evening. You submitted yours at 11:43 p.m. Wonwoo submitted his at 11:46.

Neither of you mentioned what you'd written. Neither asked. It felt oddly personal. Some thoughts belonged to the report.

Others, perhaps not.

—

Monday arrived with your final consultation before presentation week.

The professor skimmed through your draft silently, making only occasional notes in the margins.

When she finally looked up, she smiled.

"You've both done excellent work."

Relief settled quietly across your shoulders.

"Your analysis is thoughtful."

She tapped one particular paragraph.

"Especially this section."

You glanced down.

It was the conclusion the two of you had rewritten four separate times.

Long-term interpersonal attachment appears to develop through repeated acts of mutual investment rather than a single defining event.

The professor nodded.

"I agree." Then she closed the report.

"There is only one thing I'd like you to think about." You exchanged a glance with Wonwoo.

"What is it?" She smiled knowingly.

"You've spent three months studying why people choose one another." A pause.

"I wonder..." She gathered the papers neatly into a pile.

"...whether either of you has considered that question outside the assignment."

Neither you nor Wonwoo answered. The professor didn't seem to expect one.

She simply handed back the report.

"I'll see you both next week."

—

The walk back across campus was unusually slow.

Neither of you spoke immediately.

The afternoon sun had finally broken through after nearly a week of rain, leaving the pathways crowded with students reclaiming patches of grass between classes. Someone was playing music beneath the science building, while clubs recruited new members with handmade signs and bowls of wrapped lollies.

Life continued around you exactly as it always had.

And yet, you couldn't stop thinking about the professor's question.

Eventually, Wonwoo broke the silence.

"I think she's wrong."

You looked at him.

"About what?"

"She's assuming the assignment changed us."

You frowned slightly.

"You don't think it did?"

He shook his head.

"I think..."

He searched for the words.

"...it only gave us enough time to notice."

For the first time since the semester began, you found yourself without an argument. Not because you disagreed. Because you thought he might be right.

—

[CASE FILE 014]

Research Status: Final Analysis Pending

Research Question: Do soulmates exist?

Current Findings

No empirical evidence conclusively demonstrates the existence of predetermined soulmates.

Participants consistently describe enduring relationships as products of repeated choice, trust, and shared experiences.

Extended observation significantly increases interpersonal understanding between research partners.

Researcher's Note: Variables initially considered external may have become internal. Further separation between observer and subject is no longer possible.

—

The final presentation was scheduled for nine o'clock on a Thursday morning.

Campus looked no different from any other day. Students hurried across the courtyard balancing coffee cups and half-finished assignments, cyclists weaved between lecture buildings, and somewhere outside the student union someone was advertising a bake sale with far more enthusiasm than the audience deserved.

It felt strangely unfair.

For the past three months, this assignment had quietly reshaped your entire semester, and yet the rest of the university continued exactly as it always had, blissfully unaware that a forty-percent assessment somehow carried the weight of something much larger.

You arrived outside the sociology building fifteen minutes early. Wonwoo was already there.

Of course he was.

He stood beneath the awning reading over the printed copy of your presentation one final time, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket while the other absentmindedly turned pages already memorised. He looked up almost immediately when he heard your footsteps.

"You beat me."

"I usually do."

"I was early."

"You were."

"So you've been here a while."

"Seven minutes."

"You timed it?"

"I looked at my watch."

You laughed softly.

"I don't know why I still ask."

"I don't either."

The conversation settled into a familiar quiet. Not because either of you had run out of things to say. Because neither of you felt pressured to fill every second.

Eventually, Wonwoo held out a paper cup.

"I got your coffee."

"You keep doing that."

"You keep forgetting breakfast."

"...I had toast."

"You had half."

You blinked.

"I finished the other half while walking."

"No."

"...How do you know that?"

"You always carry your keys in your left hand when you're eating."

"..."

"You've got jam on your sleeve."

You looked down. Sure enough—

A tiny smear of strawberry jam sat near your wrist.

You sighed dramatically.

"You really would've made a terrifying detective."

"I know."

"You admitted it."

"I've had time to think about it."

The corners of your mouth lifted.

"So have I."

—

The presentations passed one by one. Some groups argued that soulmate beliefs were entirely cultural.

Others concluded that compatibility could be explained through attachment theory, personality traits, or shared values.

One group confidently declared that love was nothing more than neurochemistry and evolutionary advantage.

Another insisted destiny existed because statistical improbability could not adequately explain meaningful coincidence.

You listened carefully. Three months ago, you would have known exactly which side you agreed with.

Now you weren't so certain. Or perhaps you were certain for entirely different reasons.

"Pair Fourteen."

The professor smiled.

"Whenever you're ready."

You and Wonwoo walked to the front together.

No discussion. No deciding who would speak first. By now, neither of you needed to.

The first slide appeared behind you.

Do Soulmates Exist?

You looked out across the room before beginning.

"When we started this project, we approached the question from opposing viewpoints."

Wonwoo continued naturally.

"One of us believed soulmate relationships could not be empirically demonstrated."

"And one of us believed they existed regardless of whether they could be measured."

He changed slides.

"Our original objective was to determine which perspective was better supported by evidence."

"It didn't happen."

A ripple of quiet laughter travelled through the room. You smiled.

"Instead..."

The next slide appeared.

Findings

"We discovered something neither of us expected."

You looked briefly towards Wonwoo before continuing.

"None of the couples we interviewed described love as something that simply happened."

"Regardless of whether they believed in fate," he added, "their relationships depended upon repeated choices."

"They described commitment."

"Consistency."

"Trust."

"Attention."

"Shared routines."

"Mutual understanding."

Neither of you had rehearsed the alternating rhythm.

It simply happened.

The presentation flowed almost conversationally now, each sentence picked up naturally by the other before the silence had time to settle.

"Our literature review found no empirical evidence proving predetermined soulmates."

"However," Wonwoo said, "absence of evidence is not evidence of absence."

You looked at him, surprised. He noticed.

"I read your notes."

"You quoted me."

"It supported the argument."

You smiled before turning back towards the audience.

"Our conclusion is therefore not that soulmates definitively exist..."

"...nor that they definitively do not."

Another slide appeared.

Final Conclusion

Long-term interpersonal attachment appears to emerge through repeated mutual investment, trust, and deliberate choice rather than a single predetermined moment.

Silence followed. Not awkward. Thoughtful. The professor nodded slowly.

"Questions?"

A hand rose almost immediately.

"So..."

The student grinned.

"Did either of you change your minds?"

You looked instinctively towards Wonwoo.

He looked back.

Neither answered immediately.

Eventually, you spoke.

"I still think people can become irreplaceable."

Wonwoo nodded almost imperceptibly.

"And I still don't think fate explains why."

The room waited.

"But..."

He adjusted his glasses.

"...I don't think that's the important part anymore."

The professor smiled.

"Why not?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Because after interviewing dozens of people, we realised none of them stayed together because destiny did the work."

He glanced sideways.

"They stayed because they kept choosing each other."

No one spoke. The professor thanked you both before dismissing the class for a short break while she finalised grades.

Just like that, the assignment was over.

—

You found yourselves standing outside the building with nowhere particular to go. For the first time in months, there was no interview to schedule. No journal article to discuss. No observation log waiting to be completed.

The routine that had quietly built itself around the two of you had simply ended.

"We're done."

"We are."

"We don't have another meeting."

"No."

"...That's strange."

"It is."

Students drifted around you in small groups, already talking about upcoming exams and weekend plans. Someone from another tutorial waved goodbye.

Life continued. Again. Exactly as it always had.

"I suppose..." you began carefully, "...this is where we stop accidentally seeing each other four times a week."

Wonwoo frowned slightly.

"Why would we?"

You looked at him.

"The assignment's finished."

"I know."

"So..."

"So?"

"You don't have to keep buying me coffee."

"I wasn't buying it because of the assignment."

"...You weren't?"

"No."

You laughed quietly.

"I genuinely can't tell when you're joking."

"I'm not."

The words settled gently between you.

You realised then that they weren't really about coffee.

"Were you serious," you asked softly, "when you said the assignment didn't change us?"

"Yes."

"What did it do, then?"

He thought about it.

"I think..."

He looked out across the courtyard before answering.

"...it forced us to pay attention."

"To sociology?"

He smiled faintly.

"To each other."

Your heart stumbled. Just enough that you noticed it.

"I've spent months trying to prove or disprove soulmates," you admitted.

"And?"

"I don't know if I've reached an answer."

"You don't have to."

"No."

You looked down at the empty coffee cup still warming your hands.

"I suppose I haven't."

A comfortable silence followed.

Then—

"Would you like dinner?"

You looked up.

"What?"

Wonwoo looked almost embarrassed by his own question.

"We usually work after class."

"We do."

"We're not working anymore."

"No."

"So..."

Another pause.

"I'd still like to spend time with you."

You couldn't help smiling.

"You know, that almost sounded like you were asking me on a date."

"I was."

"...Oh."

"I thought I was being reasonably clear."

"You were."

You laughed, shaking your head.

"I just wasn't expecting you to say it like that."

"How else was I supposed to say it?"

"I don't know."

"You've spent three months telling me communication matters."

"I have."

"So."

He met your eyes.

"I'm communicating."

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you nodded.

"I'd like that."

Relief softened something in his expression so subtle that someone else might have missed it.

You didn't.

Not anymore.

Together, you turned towards the path leading away from the sociology building.

There was no assignment waiting at the end of it.

No hypothesis left to test.

Only another choice.

This time, neither of you needed research to make it.

—

[CASE FILE 014 — CLOSED]

Research Question: Do soulmates exist?

Official Conclusion: Inconclusive.

Supplementary Findings: Participants consistently demonstrated that enduring relationships are sustained through repeated acts of trust, attention, and mutual choice. Extended observation unexpectedly altered the perspectives of both researchers.

Professor's Final Comment: You never proved soulmates. You did, however, provide compelling evidence that people can become indispensable to one another.

Status: CASE CLOSED.

—

@junplusone @spookykryptonitegardener @passionfruitenthusiast @imhereonlytoreadxoxo (i lowk forgor to tag u guys in the last 1/2 fics in the series, so theres that...)

[stargirlver]

*˓͏͏ ✤ 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐑 ⎯⎯ 𝐖𝐂 : 𝟓.𝟑𝐊 ㅤ꒰ Sweet husband! Wonwoo, gentle romance, married couple, emotional comfort, fear of motherhood, pregnancy (secret/reveal), soft reassurance, family moments, friends gathering, slight angst. ꒱

POSITIVE : 2 - 3 WEEKS.

You let out a heavy sigh the moment you finish looking at the result on the pregnancy test you’ve been nervously holding between your fingers.Getting pregnant was the last thing you needed or wanted to happen. The idea of a human life depending on you and every decision you made terrified you more than anything else in the world. Not even having a fully established life and financial stability made it appealing.

Becoming a mother simply wasn’t something that genuinely excited you. But this was about a tiny being, one conceived during one of those countless passionate nights with the man you had loved for years. It wasn’t just about your traumas and fears your life partner’s opinion mattered just as much as yours. You could already picture his happiness when he found out. Unlike you, he had always wanted a baby of your own.Just then, you hear the man in question clearing his throat from the other side of the door, in the shared bedroom.

“He’s awake,” you think to yourself.

For a moment, panic takes over and you don’t know what to do. But as soon as you hear his knuckles knocking on the wood, you finally snap into action: you quickly get rid of the pregnancy test and hide it somewhere Wonwoo would never find it, not even by chance.

“Baby, can I come in?” he asks. Even after years of living together, he’s still careful and respectful of your space.

“Um… Yeah! You can come in, honey,” you reply, your nerves completely on edge.Wonwoo opens the door and walks in casually, finding you sitting on the sink brushing your teeth. What he doesn’t know is that you’re trying your best to act normal and calm your racing heartbeat. Still, he finds it a bit odd how you keep avoiding his gaze and refusing to make eye contact. Even so, he doesn’t question you and simply leans in to kiss your forehead before grabbing his own toothbrush to do the same.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks with genuine interest, before bringing the toothbrush with toothpaste to his mouth.You take a moment to finish your oral hygiene routine and then answer his question.

“I’m better. The nausea and dizziness are gone. After I took that pill last night, I felt much calmer. I got up a while ago and didn’t feel anything strange,” you assure him, trying to sound as natural as possible. Of course, you left out the part where you woke up so early because of a sudden, intense urge to vomit. You also skipped mentioning the pregnancy test. He didn’t need to know that at least not yet.

“I’m going to prepare what we’re taking to the picnic. Seungcheol said we didn’t have to, but I know the others are planning to bring something too, because Mingyu told me days ago. So it wouldn’t feel right to show up empty-handed,” you complain, frowning in distaste just imagining the awkward situation. “While I take care of that, you can go shower and get ready,” you tell him as you start to leave the bathroom.

“What if we shower together instead? It’d be faster and I could come down to help you in the kitchen,” he suggests in a teasing tone, watching you through the mirror reflection.His deep voice and the intensity of his dark gaze make you shiver. You’re about to nod in agreement, but the reminder that an unconscious little intruder is now growing inside you fills you with fear, and you decide against it.

“No. We both know that when we shower together, we do anything but try to get out quickly,” you counter, pointing toward the shower cabin. And your words weren’t far from the truth. “Plus, I’d be embarrassed walking funny in front of the guys and having them ask what happened to me,” you add, narrowing your eyes at him while he pretends to be innocent about it.

“Alright, you win, my love,” he says with a defeated smile, raising both hands in surrender. You smile back, satisfied that he fell for your excuse. You don’t say anything else and reach for the door again, intending to finally leave the bathroom, but once more your beloved husband stops you. “Hey, baby, I didn’t mention this last night because you weren’t feeling well and went to bed early, but I was thinking about going to the cemetery after we spend time with the guys. I’d like you to come with me to take flowers to Mom.”

His invitation catches you off guard. Until now, you had only gone with him once, since he usually preferred to go alone or with his dad and younger brother.

“Okay, honey. I’ll go with you, gladly,” you reply, stepping closer to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “Now let me go or we’ll be late.”

With that final warning, you finally manage to escape. You sigh in relief once the door closes behind you, running both hands over your face to clear your mind. You grab your phone from the nightstand, pick it up, and head out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.

A while later…

The good thing about preparing something simple was that you finished quickly. You left your husband packing the containers into a bag while you went to shower.Once you were done, you started looking for something to wear. Everything was fine until you tried to put on a pair of jeans and they wouldn’t close. You were about to let out a string of curses when the possible reason why your clothes were starting to not fit crossed your mind.

“It’s only been a few weeks. You can’t possibly be taking up that much space in there already,” you grumble indignantly at the living being currently residing in your uterus. “Now I’ll have to wear a dress, and it’s all your fault.” You complain, clearly annoyed, and reluctantly head to your closet to find a summer dress.

Just as you finish slipping the light garment over your body, Wonwoo opens the bedroom door and walks in to let you know everything is ready and he’s just waiting for you so you can leave. Even though his words weren’t meant to pressure you, that’s how they felt, and it only heightened your already turbulent emotions.

“If you’re in such a hurry, just go without me,” you snap in the sharpest tone possible, leaving him frozen in place, confused and unable to understand what he had said to make you this angry.

He stands petrified at the doorway. A heavy, awkward silence settles between you as he tries to figure out if his words had really come across as pressuring.

You deliberately ignore him and continue getting ready, feeding the bad mood gnawing at you inside, though guilt quickly settles in your chest. You feel terrible for reacting so defensively when all he was trying to do was say something completely innocent.

After what feels like an eternity, Wonwoo gently clears his throat.

“I’ll wait for you in the car, baby. Take all the time you need, there’s no rush,” he murmurs calmly. Without another word, he leaves, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As soon as you hear his footsteps fade away, you let out a long, heavy sigh. You go to get your sandals, leave them within reach, and put on some light accessories before doing a bit of makeup. While your hands work on autopilot in front of the mirror, your mind is already rehearsing a proper apology. You hated being rude to him, especially when he had always given you nothing but love, respect, and treated you like a true queen.

You place one hand on your abdomen and, in a very soft voice, speak to the small, unknown life inside you : “It’s your fault I just snapped at the person who loves me most in this world… and who I’m sure is going to adore you too once he knows you’re in here,” you murmur with affectionate annoyance, almost pouting at someone who has no idea what’s really happening.

Once you’re finished getting ready, you grab your bag, your sandals in the other hand, and finally leave the room. You head downstairs and confirm that your husband has already taken the things from the kitchen out to the car.You take the opportunity to grab a couple of special items you want to bring to his mother’s grave and pick up the house keys.

You’re just about to walk out when a fleeting but impossible-to-ignore thought suddenly hits you with full force.

From inside the car, Wonwoo watches you through the windshield, completely confused as he sees you stop with the door half open and then suddenly hurry back into the house. You rush upstairs to do something quick and come back down a minute later. He sees you come out again, calmly put on your sandals on the porch, lock the door, and finally walk toward the car. Once you get in, he leans over to buckle your seatbelt with his usual gentleness. But before he can sit back, you wrap both arms around his neck, stopping him from pulling away. His body tenses for a second in surprise, but you quickly speak in a soft, low voice:

“I’m so sorry, honey… I didn’t mean to speak to you like that earlier. I was just a little irritated and took it out on you. I really am sorry.” You offer him a sincere apology. As he listens, the tension in Jeon’s shoulders completely melts away.

He reaches out to caress your leg over the light summer dress, then cups your face with both hands and brings his lips to yours. It’s a deep, slow, lingering kiss, the kind that makes you melt, completely captivated by the man in front of you. He even smiles when he hears the soft sigh that escapes you as you kiss him back. Then pulls away gently and leaves a sweet little kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Don’t worry, my love. It did catch me by surprise, but I wasn’t upset with you. I understand you were probably overwhelmed by everything you did since early this morning and the pressure of going to a social event. These things happen,” he assures you with an understanding look. You smile, touched by his endless patience and maturity.

Tough, your smile tenses a little as you secretly remember the real reason behind your emotional imbalance. You give his cheek a gentle caress followed by a quick peck on the lips, then straighten up. Wonwoo settles into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and pulls away, beginning the drive to where the rest of the guys are already waiting.

The drive passes in a cozy calm. Soft music plays from the stereo, creating a serene atmosphere that matches the steady movement of the car. Jeon drives with his usual quiet ease, keeping one hand intertwined with yours on the gear shift thumb against thumb in a gesture as everyday as it is intimate. Outside the window, the scenery rolls by in shades of green and morning light, simply beautiful.

The road is remarkably flat, with no sharp curves or bumps, so it makes no logical sense for a sudden wave of nausea to settle in your stomach. You choose not to say anything. You shift a little more against the seat, close your eyes for a few seconds, and try to find a comfortable position, convincing yourself it will pass soon… even though deep down you know exactly why it’s happening. By the time you finally arrive and Wonwoo turns off the engine, the silence inside the car feels a bit heavier. He soon turns to look at you.

“Is something wrong? You seem a little off… Do you need anything?” he asks softly, searching your eyes with concern.

“I’m fine, really. Maybe I just need to eat something soon, or the car ride didn’t sit well with me,” you reply, giving him a small smile and trying to sound normal.Wonwoo watches you in silence for a couple of seconds.

You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. He knows you too well to miss that something isn’t quite right. He senses something is on your mind, but he doesn’t want to press you or ruin the moment right before joining everyone. Without pushing further for now, he gets out of the car, walks around the front, and opens your door. He offers his hand to help you out with extreme care.

“Are you sure you don’t want a minute before we go in? Once we’re inside with everyone, it’s going to be chaos,” he murmurs with a slight smirk, checking your face again.

Instead of answering with words, you step closer and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. He immediately wraps you in his arms, pulling you against him. For a moment, the two of you stay like that, gazing into each other’s eyes and silently acknowledging the emotions you’re both carrying though the source and intensity of yours are completely different from his.

“I’m okay, my love. Really… thank you for being so attentive,” you insist sweetly, rubbing his back in an attempt to reassure him. He lets out a resigned but tender sigh and leans down to place a warm, lingering kiss on your forehead.

At that exact moment, the sound of another engine interrupts. A car parks just a few meters away. Junhui steps out with his wife and their two children: the older one and the youngest, a baby girl named Meilin. Smiles appear instantly as they realize how long this reunion has been overdue. Wonwoo walks over to greet Jun and exchanges a few words with the little boy while they start unloading things from both cars. Meanwhile, Jun’s wife comes straight to you for a warm hug, carrying little Meilin nestled in her arms. As her godmother, your eyes light up when you see the girl and you naturally reach out for her, as you always do.

“Come here, beautiful!” you say affectionately. But to your surprise, Meilin suddenly shrinks back against her mother’s shoulder.It doesn’t seem like she doesn’t recognize you. Rather, your mere closeness seems to deeply upset her. The moment you try to get a little closer to hold her, the baby starts whimpering, squirms uncomfortably in her mom’s arms, and desperately reaches her tiny hands toward Junhui. He quickly steps over and takes her to calm her down.

“That’s weird… She always gets along so well with you. I don’t know what got into her,” Jun comments, holding his daughter against his chest and gently patting her back.

“Kids have their days sometimes. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a bit,” his wife replies, looking a little embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior.

You simply smile understandingly and say it’s okay, but inside, your stomach flips. You remember that old myth about babies and animals being able to sense a new life before anyone else. Your gaze discreetly drops for a second to your abdomen, confirming the secret you’re carrying. No one pays much attention to that detail, and so everyone prepares to go inside.

But before you can move toward the entrance, a familiar commotion sounds in the distance. Soonyoung arrives with his little family, making his usual loud and energetic entrance, with his kids running alongside his chaos. Almost at the same time, Joshua arrives with his wife, and Seokmin with his fiancée. It seems you’re the last to join, because by the time you finally walk through the doors of the country club, the rest of the guys and their families are already settled.

The greeting is a beautiful mix of tight hugs, booming laughter, and overlapping conversations. The reason for the gathering is simple and ordinary: a group of longtime friends and colleagues who just want to catch up, reminisce about old times, and share the present with the special people who are now part of their lives.

Seungkwan and Seokmin waste no time starting the first round of jokes and uncontrollable laughter. In the middle of all the festive chaos, Wonwoo doesn’t let go of your hand for a single second. Everyone knows you well and there’s deep trust in the group, but the way he keeps you close feels almost instinctive, subtly making sure you feel comfortable at all times.

Little by little, everyone settles into the grassy area they had reserved. Picnic blankets are spread out, spaces filled with homemade dishes, fresh fruit, desserts, and drinks passed from hand to hand. The atmosphere becomes light and warm, filled with constant jokes, years of camaraderie, and genuine laughter echoing under the open sky.

The two of you were sitting together on the blanket, enjoying the gentle sun. Very close by were Mingyu, his wife who was sporting a very noticeable advanced pregnancy and their first child. While your husband and Mingyu chatted animatedly, catching up on everything, Yerin shared some of her pregnancy stories with you. You asked plenty of questions, genuinely interested in every detail of how she was feeling. No one suspected a thing; after all, you had always been just as curious with the other wives in the group during their previous pregnancies.

At some point later in the conversation, Yerin insisted you try some of the homemade kimchi Mingyu had prepared, swearing it turned out spectacular. You accepted with a polite smile, holding the container while handing her some of the meat you had made before leaving. When the two men noticed the exchange, they turned their attention toward you.

That was exactly when Wonwoo noticed. The moment the tray with kimchi was in your hands, all the color drained from your face. A pale tint washed over your skin, and you had to make a superhuman effort to suppress a treacherous gag that threatened to rise in your throat. Unable to hide it any longer, you quickly handed the tray back to him and stood up in a hurry, slipping your sandals on awkwardly.

“I forgot my phone in the car… I’m going to get it so I can take some pictures,” you excused yourself in a rushed voice. Without waiting for a reply, you practically fled toward the exit of the country club.

Yerin watched the path where you had just disappeared, then turned to your husband, puzzled. “Is everything okay with her? She seemed a bit off… or maybe it’s just my imagination.”

“She’s been a little sick since yesterday. But this morning she woke up feeling better and assured me she was well enough to come,” he answered calmly, trying not to raise any suspicions.

Mingyu, who had been quietly observing the scene while chewing, tilted his head and asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious: “And you’re sure it’s just a sickness? Or could it be something else?”

Wonwoo visibly tensed. His heart lurched violently as Mingyu’s words hit exactly on the suspicion he had been quietly carrying all day. “I’m going to check on her,” he declared without hesitation, excusing himself immediately and standing up.

When he reached the parking lot of the country club, he didn’t find you near the car. He walked a few steps further and spotted you coming out of a more secluded, discreet area. Your face was pale, your forehead covered in a light sweat, and your breathing was heavy. The world dropped from under his feet the moment he saw you in such a vulnerable state. Anguish tightened his chest, and he instinctively closed the distance between you in long strides.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any sign.

“I really needed to throw up. I’ve been holding it in for a while and couldn’t anymore,” you murmured, your voice breaking with exhaustion. Wonwoo didn’t say a single word in response.

Instead, without hesitation, he gently gathered you in his arms, carrying you so you wouldn’t have to walk. He took you straight to the car, opened the back door, and sat you carefully on the edge. Then he leaned in to search for your bag on the floor. He knew exactly what you always carried with you, so he carefully rummaged until he found your usual cloth handkerchief, the small portable fan, and some mints. He returned to you, crouched down to your level, and faced you directly. With incredibly gentle movements, he wiped your face with the handkerchief, slipped a mint into your mouth, and then turned on the portable fan, directing the cool air toward your sweaty skin.

“Would you rather we go home?” he asked, searching your eyes with a look full of devotion and genuine concern. “If you’re not feeling well, we can leave right now. There’s nothing we need to force, and we don’t have to risk your comfort. Or if you want, we can go straight to the doctor so they can check you…” He raised one hand and felt your forehead for fever. When he confirmed your temperature was normal, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he cupped your cheek, cradling your face. You leaned into his touch, letting out a long sigh of relief at the unique comfort that only his contact could bring you in a moment when you were battling not only physical discomfort but also the whirlwind of emotions surrounding your secret.

Wonwoo softly stroked your skin with his thumb. He hesitated for a moment, but finally spoke in a whisper full of tenderness and absolute sincerity.

“My love… Please be honest with me. Tell me what’s really going on. Does this have anything to do with the pregnancy test you hid in the bathroom this morning?” He paused briefly, his eyes flicking down to your bag. “The same one you’re now carrying in here…”

You froze. Surprise, horror, and shame flashed across your face in milliseconds. You felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured down your back at being caught, completely stunned and at a loss for words. He offered you a small, closed-lip smile, looking slightly apologetic about how everything had come to light.

“I admire so much the effort you made today trying to handle something this overwhelming and much bigger than you on your own,” he continued, breaking the silence before panic could take over. “I respect your fear, because I know exactly how terrifying this is for you. But I would have loved to find out because you chose to tell me because you wanted to share what you were feeling with me… not because I found something you clearly didn’t want me to see.” He moved a little closer, still caressing your face.

“I’ve known since this morning. Actually… I suspected it even before you did, a few days ago. I just didn’t want to say anything because I know how difficult this topic is for you and how much the idea of motherhood has always scared you. But you’re not alone in this. You have me. I’m the dad of this baby, and I’m also your husband.”

Hearing his words, the heavy weight on your shoulders finally crumbled. You instinctively leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, seeking refuge.Without a second’s hesitation, he held you firmly. With a smooth, careful movement, he shifted positions: he sat where you had been and gently pulled you onto his lap. He pressed you against his chest and began rubbing your back with slow, soothing strokes.The silence stretched for several seconds, dense but strangely comforting until you finally stopped hiding.

You lifted your head to look at him and, in a whisper laced with slight frustration, asked: “How did you find it? I… was sure I had hidden it well.” Wonwoo let out a soft, deep chuckle. There was no mockery in it, only pure tenderness at the little disappointed pout on your face.

“Hiding it at the bottom of the clean towels drawer wasn’t your brightest plan. I just went to grab a towel to dry my face and saw the edge sticking out. I picked it up and… well, I saw the result,” he revealed with a spark of amusement, giving your hip a light squeeze. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together in pure bewilderment before burying your face in his neck again. He chuckled once more, patting your back lovingly, though his tone grew much softer when he admitted, “I got a little scared at first too, you know? Seeing that clear, real result. But then I thought about how you felt last night, your strange behavior this morning, everything… and all the pieces fell into place. I wanted to wait for you to tell me, to give you your space. But when I saw you feeling so bad out here, I just couldn’t hold back anymore without knowing how you really were.”

You let out a long sigh and pulled back just enough to look him straight in the eyes.

“Wonu… yes, I’m pregnant,” you finally admitted out loud, letting the words take life in the air. And suddenly everything felt more real than ever. “But I really didn’t know how to process it at first. I panicked and thought the easiest thing was to hide it until I could figure out what to do. Though now I know that was really silly of me. Because you’re right it’s your baby too, and you’re my husband… I shouldn’t have hidden something so important from you, like the fact that we’re going to be parents. I’m sorry for reacting like that.”

Wonwoo gently shook his head and cradled your cheek. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Everything is okay between us,” he assured you, a sincere smile lighting up his eyes and making the atmosphere feel much lighter. “I’m really grateful you’re telling me now. Because, to be honest… I’m incredibly excited about this. I was just trying to be patient and discreet because I know what this means to you.”

This time it was you who let out a soft laugh, the first genuine one all day. You shifted to straddle his lap so you could hug him tighter, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his. He returned the hug eagerly, holding you close to his chest as both of you released a sigh of pure relief.

“I love you so much, Jeon Wonwoo. I really do,” you murmured against his skin, kissing his jaw.

“And I love you, with all my soul,” he replied close to your ear, pulling you even closer. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “But this conversation doesn’t end here, okay? When we get home, we’ll sit down and talk calmly about everything: medical check-ups, monthly appointments, and the steps we’re going to take. Together, the way it should be.”

You nodded immediately. For the first time in hours, the idea of motherhood didn’t feel like a terrifying abyss. And then your heart literally melted as you watched him slowly lean down, his gaze dropping to your body. With a reverence that took your breath away, he lifted the fabric of your summer dress just enough to reach your abdomen. There, he placed several gentle kisses, tracing a warm path over your navel while caressing the subtle curve with his fingertips. He looked genuinely adorable like this, loving you and loving this little creation of his. He was happy, truly happy, and you could feel it. It was beautiful. It made you wonder how you could possibly be scared of something so wonderful? especially when this was your husband and his reaction.

After a good while of cuddles, caresses, and comforting words, you both straightened up a little and returned to the country club. The rest of the afternoon went wonderfully; the physical discomfort had eased, and the heaviness in your chest had completely disappeared.

Near the end of the gathering, while everyone was sharing dessert, Wonwoo held your hand firmly and they decided to share the big news. The reaction was a genuine explosion of joy. The guys made a beautiful commotion: there were tight hugs, congratulations mixed with laughter, and a wave of jokes directed at Wonwoo for officially joining the group’s “dad line.”

Later, amid well wishes, recommendations for a healthy pregnancy, and affectionate goodbyes, the lively gathering came to an end. Now you were heading back in the car, the atmosphere inside completely peaceful. You rested your head against the seat and, without anxiety or fear stirring inside you, fell deeply asleep, lulled by the soft hum of the engine and Wonwoo’s free hand gently caressing your abdomen. However, it wasn’t a very long rest. When you opened your eyes, the car was already parked. Looking out the window, you immediately recognized the place: you were at the memorial columbarium where your husband’s mother’s ashes rested.

“We’re here, baby,” he told you in a calm voice as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He got out, walked around the car, and opened your door, warmly offering his hand to help you out.

You walked together, fingers intertwined, through the silent and solemn hallways of the building. The atmosphere was serene, lit by warm lights and surrounded by small urns protected behind glass cases. He guided you effortlessly to his mother’s memorial niche. Once in front of the glass plaque, you opened your bag and took out the special items you had prepared with so much care: a small bouquet of fresh flowers and an artificial candle. He looked at you with infinite tenderness and kissed your forehead before helping you arrange the offerings in the niche. Then he gazed at the photograph of his mother behind the glass.

“Hi, Mom…” he greeted softly, briefly resting his hand on the glass as if caressing her face in the photo. “I hope you’re well, wherever you are. I came to visit you, just like I originally planned. But it turns out I’m also bringing you some very special news.”

He turned slightly toward you, wrapped his arm around your waist, and pulled you to his side. His hand easily covered the subtle curve marked under your dress. He also gave you a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“We’re going to be parents. This wonderful woman beside me is carrying our little baby, and that makes me happier than words can say. I want to ask you to please watch over us from up there… especially this little person who is now joining our family. And who will come to say hello once they’re here with us.”

You also leaned slightly toward the glass case, offering your mother-in-law some sweet and sincere words, promising to take care of her son and the new life on the way. Wonwoo gave her a summary of how his younger brother and dad were doing, and how they still remembered her with the greatest love. The moment was filled with pure, transparent emotion.

Eventually, after a few final minutes of respectful silence, you said your goodbyes and slowly walked back toward the exit.

Once outside, under the afternoon sky beginning to tint with orange hues, Wonwoo stopped and pulled you into a long, deep embrace, breathing in the scent of your hair.

“Thank you, my love…” he murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion. “Thank you for being my partner, for loving me the way you do, for always taking care of me, and for giving me the most beautiful honor in the world, becoming a dad by your side.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling your heart fill with absolute fullness. You rose onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Thank you. For being exactly the incredible person you are.”

He smiled against your lips, sealing the promise of a shared future with a slow, sweet, unhurried kiss as the evening breeze wrapped around you in a perfect moment.

[boowanie]

pairing: joshua x friend!reader

genre: fluff and angst

summary: what happens when you mix alcohol and your undying feelings for joshua hong?

eri’s note: i haven’t written a scenario in awhile but i hope you beans enjoy it nonetheless 🌱

you wished the ground would swallow you whole and save you from the embarrassment that you were feeling but all you could do was tear your eyes away from joshua’s and act as if you didn’t confess your undying love for him. you didn’t mean for those three words to slip from your mouth but with seungkwan’s words ringing in your ears and the extra boost from your alcoholic drink, you may have comepletely fucked up. joshua didn’t utter a reply nor did he look in your direction after your confession which made you spiral down further in your embarrassment.

Keep reading

[fvllingflower]

MASTERLIST!

Wonwoo

Moonlight Sunrise

5 Stars

Birthday

Fuck About It

Blame Me

Pretty Boy

Tell Me

You only call me on the

No Shame

Can You Love Me

CAKE

LOVE FACE

Failed

Yearly Kiss

Joshua

Wife

Je t'aime

In Private

Something Different

Mr.Boss

Miss You

Keep Quiet

After Class

NSFW Links

One Shot

After Midnight

My Boy

At Your Service

No One But Us

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