your boyfriend has never given you a reason to doubt him. but, lately, things have just been a little bit... off? (commissioned!!!)
this was commissioned as part of donations made to philippine typhoon relief efforts!!! › scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao
the familiar weverse live countdown faded away almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a slightly crooked view of a cream-colored sofa and the edge of a coffee table. the phone had clearly been balanced in a hurry.
for a few seconds, nobody was in frame. muted voices drifted in from somewhere nearby.
“…is it already on?”
“i don’t know.”
“you don’t know?”
“i pressed the button it should be on.”
“…han.”
“what?”
“you were supposed to check.”
“i thought you were checking.”
a second later, jeonghan leaned into view first. his face filled almost the entire screen as he squinted at the phone, brows pinched together in concentration. he looked unusually casual, dressed in a loose charcoal hoodie with his hair falling naturally over his forehead. there wasn’t a trace of styling left from whatever schedules he had finished earlier that day. his expression remained serious for exactly three seconds before he noticed the comments already flooding the screen.
“oh.” a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “i think we’re live.”
behind him, luna let out an incredulous laugh. “you think?”
she walked into frame carrying a large mug with both hands, still wearing fuzzy cream-colored slippers that shuffled softly across the wooden floor. her oversized beige knit cardigan hung loosely over a white tank top and gray lounge shorts, her hair gathered into a messy bun that looked like it had been tied up without much thought. a few loose strands framed her face, making her look more like she’d just gotten comfortable for the evening than someone about to appear in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers.
“you really started it without checking.”
“i wanted it to start authentically.”
she stared at him. “…authentically confusing?”
“i think it’s charming.”
she couldn’t help smiling. “you always say that after doing something questionable.”
jeonghan laughed quietly. “it works every time.”
by now, the viewer count was climbing so quickly that neither of them bothered trying to read the number anymore. the comments were moving too fast.
“oh my god they’re live?!!?!!?” “mom and dad are live together again!!” “everyone wake up.” “hello! my loves, i miss you two so much” “they look like my parents.”
luna finally sat down beside him, carefully setting her mug onto the coffee table before pulling one leg underneath herself. she glanced at the screen and immediately laughed. “there’s already so many of you.” she gave the camera a little wave. “hi.”
jeonghan mirrored the gesture. “hello.”
luna looked between the comments and the camera, smiling wider with every passing second.“it’s been a while.”
“it has,” jeonghan agreed softly.
“we honestly weren’t planning to go live tonight,” luna admitted. “we were just… we were just having some tea and thought it might be nice to say hello.”
luna leaned back, her shoulder pressing against jeonghan’s. “actually, he insisted,” she added, glancing at him. “he said the fans were probably wondering if i’d finally gotten tired of him after he came back from service.”
jeonghan tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i didn’t say that. i said they were wondering if you’d managed to keep the house in one piece without me.”
“you’re the one who breaks things, hannie.”
“i don’t break things. i explore the limits of their durability.”
luna rolled her eyes, but her hand found his, their fingers interlocking naturally on the sofa. she turned back to the screen, squinting at the rapid-fire text.
“someone is asking where we’ve been,” luna read. “‘where did you guys go? you disappeared for a few weeks!’”
jeonghan hummed, a small, secretive smile playing on his lips. he squeezed her hand. “we just needed some quiet. you know how it is. a little bit of something... refreshing.”
“refreshing?” luna laughed, the sound light and airy. “is that what we’re calling it?”
“it was very refreshing,” he murmured, leaning closer until his temple rested against hers.
“hope you guys are well rested and refreshed!” “they have the same smile help” “look at the way he’s holding her hand i’m actually sobbing” “stop being cute i have a heart condition” “where were you, besties spill the tea”
“we were just... around,” jeonghan said, his voice smooth and maddeningly vague. “visiting family. taking walks. sleeping in.”
“he slept a lot,” luna told the camera. “i think he tried to make up for all the sleep he missed in his service in one single month.”
“it’s called recovery, nana-ya. my body needed to recalibrate.”
“you’re a drama queen. you didn’t even do the regular service.”
“but i’m your drama queen, right?”
luna let out a soft huff and shifted, leaning her head on his shoulder. “anyway, we really missed you all. how have you been? are you eating well? please tell me you’re not staying up until 4 am scrolling through tiktok.”
“someone said they’re eating ramen for the third night in a row,” jeonghan noted, pointing at a comment. “see? this is why we have to do these lives. to monitor your health.”
“you’re the last person who should be giving health advice,” luna countered. “i remember a certain someone who lived on iced americanos and sheer willpower for three years.”
“it’s a lifestyle choice. you wouldn’t understand. you don’t have style.”
“i had to take a break from coffee for almost a year. it gave me heart palpitations.”
jeonghan chuckled, the vibration echoing through luna’s shoulder. he shifted his gaze back to the screen, his expression softening as he read a few more messages. “‘jeonghan-ah, i still cannot believe you’re back! we missed your chaos!’” he beamed. “i missed you too. did you think it would be too quiet without me? i bet you all were bored.”
“‘we were actually peaceful until you came back’,” luna read aloud, laughing.
“ouch,” jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest. “right here in front of my carats. do you see this, guys? the lack of loyalty.”
luna giggled, her eyes curving into crescents. “they have a point.”
“i can’t believe this. i’m being bullied in my own home.”
“it’s not your home, it’s our home,” she corrected gently.
jeonghan paused, his gaze drifting from the phone to luna. the playfulness didn't vanish, but it deepened into something more intense, more grounded. he leaned in and pressed a quick, lingering kiss to her temple.
“true. my mistake.”
“i used to pray for times like this” “i am actually screaming into my pillow” “the chemistry is literally radiating through the screen” “luna’s face 🥺🥺🥺” “are they even aware we are here or are we just third wheeling a date?”
“you guys are so loud,” luna said, though she was smiling. “we can feel the energy from here.”
“let’s see... ‘jeonghan-ah, what’s the most random thing you’ve done since you’ve been back?’” jeonghan read. he looked at luna. “tell them about the toaster.”
luna froze, her eyes widening. “no. we are not talking about the toaster.”
“why not? it was a very educational experience.”
“you tried to toast a marshmallow in a toaster, yoon jeonghan!”
“i wanted to see if it would work faster.”
“you almost burned the kitchen down!”
“but did it?” jeonghan asked innocently. “the marshmallow was perfectly caramelized. a bit of smoke is a small price to pay for culinary innovation.”
“he’s a menace,” luna told the fans, shaking her head. “a complete and utter menace. i spent two hours scrubbing my marble countertop.”
“and you loved every second of it because it gave you an excuse to yell at me.” jeonghan said smirking at her.
“i don’t need an excuse to yell at you.”
“you love it when i let you.”
luna rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull away when he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.
“someone is asking,” luna said, trying to steer the conversation back, “‘who is the better cook?’”
jeonghan didn't even hesitate. “me. definitely me.”
luna burst out laughing. “in what universe? you can barely boil water without a manual.”
“i make an excellent omelet.”
“you make a burnt omelet.”
“it’s a rustic style. very trendy in europe.”
“since when did you become an expert on european trends?”
“since i spent a lot of time... appreciating it more recently,” he replied, his voice dropping an octave. he glanced at her, a secret shared between them.
luna cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. “anyway! let’s move on. ‘what’s your favorite thing about traveling together?’”
jeonghan’s expression shifted instantly. the mischief vanished, replaced by a quiet, raw sincerity. he didn't look at the camera; he looked at luna.
“this,” he whispered. “just... this. not having to count down days on a calendar. not having to rely on video calls with bad connections. just being able to reach over and touch her whenever i want.”
luna stared at him, her breath hitching. she reached up, her fingers brushing the hair away from his forehead. “you’re being too sweet. you’re going to make them think you’ve changed.”
“i have changed,” he murmured, leaning into her touch. “i’m much more clingy now.”
“you were always clingy.”
“i’m professionally clingy now. it’s in my résumé.”
meanwhile, the fans were in shambles.
“i can’t birth 😭” “stop it right now” “this is too much wholesome content for one day” “the way he looks at her... he’s so gone” “slay, clingy king!”
“okay, okay,” luna said, blinking back a few tears of laughter. “let’s read more. ‘do you have any new hobbies?’”
“i’ve taken up the art of annoying our jiyeonie here,” jeonghan answered immediately.
“he’s very talented at it. a true virtuoso.” luna nodded her head.
“see? she recognizes my genius.”
“‘do you guys still argue about the laundry?’” luna sighed. “yes. he thinks 'sorting' is a suggestion, not a rule.”
“colors and whites are just social constructs, my baby.”
“they are not social constructs! you turned my favorite white sweater pink!”
“it looked better in pink. it matched your blush… and now my pants.”
luna hit his arm lightly, and he caught her hand, kissing her knuckles.
“someone is asking something... oh.” luna paused, her eyes scanning a recurring question. “‘are the wedding bells ringing soon? any updates on the date?’”
the atmosphere shifted. it wasn't a tense shift, but a playful one. jeonghan and luna looked at each other. a slow, synchronized smile spread across both their faces. they didn't speak for a few seconds, just staring into each other's eyes, giggling softly as if they were sharing a joke that the rest of the world wasn't privy to.
“wedding bells,” jeonghan repeated, his voice teasing. “that’s a very specific sound.”
“very melodic,” luna added, her voice airy.
“‘tell us!’” luna read a comment. “‘the rumors say you’re already married!’”
jeonghan leaned back, humming thoughtfully. he tapped his chin. “married, huh? that sounds like a lot of work.”
“a lot of commitment,” luna agreed, her eyes twinkling.
“do we look married? isn’t being just engaged better?” jeonghan asked the camera, leaning in close. “do i have the vibe of a married man?”
“yes” “you look like a husband who would do the dishes only if asked three times” “luna looks like a wife who is tired of his nonsense” “they’re messing with us” “the way they’re reacting… i think the rumors are true”
“i think i look like a bachelor in his prime,” jeonghan joked, winking at the camera.
“in your dreams,” luna muttered.
“wait, here’s another one,” luna read. “‘is the italy rumor true?’”
jeonghan’s eyes flickered to luna. he didn't answer. instead, he reached over and pinched her cheek.
“italy has great pasta,” he said simply.
“and great wine,” luna added.
“and beautiful architecture.”
“and very romantic sunsets,” jeonghan whispered, his voice trailing off as he looked at her.
“what’s the italy rumor anyway?” luna said with a chuckle before reading another comment. “‘stop teasing us! give us a yes or a no!’”
“life is more exciting with a little mystery, don’t you think?” jeonghan asked. “if we told you everything, you’d have nothing to speculate about on the internet. we’re doing this for your entertainment.”
“he’s literally a troll,” luna said, though she was leaning into him, her hand resting on his chest.
“a handsome troll,” he corrected.
“unfortunately, yes.”
“‘what’s the most romantic thing jeonghan has done since coming back?’” jeonghan read for luna to answer which caught her off guard.
luna paused, her expression softening. “um... he actually remembered that i wanted a specific kind of tea from a small shop in a city he visited during his leave. he traveled two hours out of his way just to get a box of it for me.”
jeonghan shrugged, looking slightly bashful. “it was on the way.”
“it was absolutely not on the way. it was in the opposite direction.”
“i took a detour. i wanted to see the scenery.”
“the scenery of a tea shop.”
“it was a very scenic tea shop.”
luna smiled, her heart clearly visible in her eyes. “it was really sweet. he’s actually very thoughtful when he’s not trying to start a fire in the kitchen.”
“i only try to start fires when i’m inspired.”
“‘what about luna? what’s the most romantic thing she’s done?’”
jeonghan looked at the camera, his expression turning smug. “she let me sleep on her lap for four hours straight without complaining that my head was too heavy.”
“that’s so dumb,” luna complained. “my legs were asleep for an hour after you moved.”
“true love requires sacrifice, nana-ya.” Jeonghan winked at her.
“i gave such a thoughtful answer for you and that was your answer for me! you make it seem like i don’t do anything romantic for you.” luna continued complaining with a pout and a frown on her face.
“your existence is romantic enough for me.”
“fucking sweet talker,” she whispered, so softly it was almost lost to the microphone, but the fans caught it.
“i’m crying” “they are so in love it hurts” “i can’t deal with this level of love” “screaming, crying, throwing up, ripping my hair out” “they’re literally the blueprint”
“let’s see... ‘did one of you ever forget an anniversary?’”
“hannie,” luna said instantly.
“ya!”
“you forgot our three-year anniversary because you were too focused on a video game.”
“i didn't forget it! i was just... building up the anticipation for a delayed celebration.”
“you forgot it.”
“i was strategically delaying it.”
“he’s lucky he’s cute,” luna told the fans.
“i’m not just cute. i’m charming, talented, and an excellent conversationalist.”
“and a liar,” she added.
jeonghan laughed, a rich, genuine sound, and suddenly pulled her into a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck. luna gasped, laughing and trying to push him away, but she didn't really try.
“get off! we’re on live!” luna struggled to push him off her.
“i’m still at 40%. i need more.” he nuzzled her neck, and luna’s laughter turned into a soft, breathless giggle. she reached back, rubbing his shoulder.
“someone is asking,” luna managed to say, her voice a bit shaky, “‘oppa, what’s the first thing you ate to celebrate finishing your service?’”
jeonghan didn't move from her neck for a second before speaking. “jiyeonie made me tteokbokki. she makes amazing tteokbokki. hers is the only one that doesn't taste like cardboard.”
“i’m offended that you think other people’s tteokbokki tastes like cardboard.” luna tilted her head back chuckling.
“i’m a connoisseur of your cooking. my standards have been raised too high for the rest of the world.”
“stop flirting with me,” luna whispered, though she was beaming.
“i’m not flirting. i’m stating facts.”
“you’re always flirting.”
“that’s because you’re always flirt-able.” jeonghan lifted his head only to playfully wink at her.
luna groaned and pushed his face away, but she was smiling so wide her cheeks were flushed.
suddenly, a small, grey blur leaped onto the sofa. a tiny, fluffy bunny with long ears and a twitching nose landed right in the middle of them, hopping frantically before settling on luna’s lap.
“oh! bugs!” luna exclaimed, her voice turning high and sweet. she immediately began petting the bunny, her fingers sinking into the soft fur. “where did you come from, my baby?”
jeonghan looked at the bunny and then at the camera. “look at him. he’s trying to steal the spotlight. he’s just like me.”
“he’s nothing like you,” luna said, kissing the top of the bunny’s head. “he’s well-behaved and quiet.”
“i’m quiet!”
“you are the loudest person i know, even when you’re not speaking.”
“it’s called having a presence,” jeonghan defended.
“bugs the goat 🤩” “oh my god he’s so tiny” “bugs is the main character now” “the most wholesome family photo ever” “i want to be that bunny”
jeonghan watched luna pet the bunny, his gaze softening. he reached out, not for the bunny, but for luna’s cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin with an intimacy that felt almost too private for a public broadcast.
“you look happy,” he murmured.
luna paused, looking up at him. the noise of the comments, the glow of the screen, the presence of hundreds of thousands of people, it all seemed to fade away. for a moment, it was just them.
“i am,” she whispered. “very happy.”
jeonghan leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. the chemistry was thick, heavy, and undeniable. he lingered there, his breath warm against her lips. he didn't kiss her, but he was so close that the tension was electric.
“they forgot we are here” “i am literally screaming!! wtahfackkmkkk!!” “the tension is tensioning” “they are going to kiss they are going to kiss” “someone call the police because this is too hot for me”
jeonghan eventually pulled back, just an inch, a smirk returning to his face as he noticed the comments. “oh, look at that. we’ve broken the internet again.”
luna blinked, suddenly remembering the camera. she sat up straight, her face turning bright red. “we... we were just... bugs was being cute!”
“sure, bugs was the reason you were looking at my lips like that,” jeonghan teased.
“i was not!”
“you totally were. you were practically begging for it.”
“jeonghan!”
“what? it’s the truth. you’ve been deprived of my charms for too long.”
luna hid her face in her hands, laughing. “i can’t believe i’m doing this live. i can’t believe you’re like this.”
“it’s part of the package,” he said, wrapping his arm around her again and pulling her close. “now, let’s see what else they want to know.”
“there’s a lot of questions,” luna said, trying to regain her composure. “‘what’s one thing you’ve learned about each other since living together?’”
jeonghan hummed. “i’ve learned that jiyeonie if i try to talk to her first thing in the morning, she looks at me like she’s contemplating where to hide my body.”
“it’s a very dangerous time of day,” luna admitted. “and i’ve learned that hannie has a very specific way of organizing the fridge. if i move the milk two inches to the left, he notices immediately.”
“‘do you guys plan on getting a dog eventually?’”
luna looked at bugs, who was now chewing on the edge of her cardigan. “i think bugs might be jealous if we got a dog.”
“bugs is a king,” jeonghan agreed. “he doesn't share his kingdom.”
“but a husky would be so cute,” luna mused.
“as long as the dog doesn't try to steal my spot on the bed,” jeonghan added.
“you already steal all the space!”
“i’m a tall man, jiyeonie. i require a certain amount of space.”
“you’re not even that tall!” luna pointed out which earned her an offended gasp from her fiancé.
“i am tall enough to reach the things you can’t!”
“and you use that power for evil, like putting the cereal on the top shelf so i have to ask you for help.”
“it’s called 'encouraging communication' in the relationship.”
luna laughed and leaned her head back, looking at him with an expression of pure adoration. “i can’t believe i’m in love with this man.”
“i can. i’m a delight.”
“a delight. right. stop that.”
the comments were moving so fast they were almost a blur of white text.
“they are literally married in spirit” “look at her looking at him” “i’m literally screaming into my pillow right now” “they are the definition of soulmates” “why are they so cute i hate it here (i love it here)”
“stop what? being honest?” he nipped lightly at her earlobe, causing her to jump and giggle.
“han!” luna scolded him before bugs thumped his legs on her lap, earning her attention.
“see? bugs is the real boss of the house,” jeonghan said. “he decided he needed attention. he decides eveeything! he decides where we sit, what we eat, and probably when we’re allowed to go to sleep.”
“he really does,” luna agreed. “he tried to eat my charger yesterday. i had to chase him around the living room for ten minutes.”
“you’re not very fast, you know?” jeonghan joked.
“i am fast! you’re just... unnaturally athletic.”
“i’m perfection. i know,” he bragged, puffing out his chest slightly.
luna let out a soft, melodic laugh. “i have my doubts, but sure.”
jeonghan gasped, looking offended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“lmao the bickering” “speak on it” “they crack me up 😂
jeonghan’s eyes caught the last end of a comment ‘…they’re officially married.’ he stopped scrolling. he didn’t say anything, but he looked at luna. a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. he didn't confirm or deny; he simply raised an eyebrow and looked back at the camera, his expression a perfect blend of innocence and mischief.
luna felt the heat rise in her cheeks. she quickly looked away from the camera, focusing on a different set of comments.
“someone is asking if we’ve traveled anywhere recently,” she said, her voice slightly higher than usual.
“hmm,” jeonghan hummed, his voice vibrating against her shoulder. “i don’t know. do we travel? do we go places?”
luna elbowed him in the ribs. “behave.”
“i am behaving! i’m being a perfect angel,” he said, pouting.
“he is literally teasing us” “they know the rumors”
“okay…? next question,” luna said, trying to steer the conversation away from the wedding frenzy. “here’s one: ‘what’s the first thing you did when jeonghan came home from service?’"
jeonghan’s expression softened. the mischief faded, replaced by something raw and tender. he tightened his grip on her waist. “i didn’t say a word,” he whispered. “i just walked through the door, saw her standing there, and i hugged her for about ten minutes. i think i actually squeezed the air out of her.”
“you did,” luna said, her voice softening. “i remember thinking, ‘i love him, but i really need to breathe.’”
“you smelled like vanilla,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a second. “it was the first time i felt like i was actually home. i know that i go home every night after my shift, but at that moment i felt relief because it’s actually over.”
the comments slowed for a moment, the fans collectively swooning.
“my heart 🥹” “this is too wholesome” “i’m not crying you are” “they are the standard!”
“okay, enough of the sap!” luna said, though her eyes were shimmering.
jeonghan hummed as he scrolled further, his eyes lighting up. “oh, look at this one. ‘do you guys have any secrets you’re keeping from each other?’”
jeonghan looked at luna with a smug expression.
“no,” luna said firmly. “none.”
“really?” jeonghan asked, his voice dripping with playfulness. “are you sure? because i have a secret.”
luna narrowed her eyes. “han, don’t.”
“i’m just saying... some people might be interested to know that our jiyeonie wrote a song for me. again.”
luna froze. her jaw dropped, and she immediately turned to smack his chest. “you jerk! i was keeping that a secret!”
jeonghan burst into laughter, dodging her hand and pulling her back into his chest. he looked at the camera, sticking his tongue out triumphantly.
“a song?!” “what song?!! ” “drop the track now” “jeonghan you lucky man”
jeonghan beamed, looking incredibly proud of himself. “it’s beautiful. truly. i’m the only person in the world who gets to hear it. it’s my private treasure.”
luna groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “i can’t believe you. i spent weeks on that, and i specifically told you not to mention it.”
“i couldn't help it,” he said, his voice softening as he kissed the side of her head. “i wanted them to know how talented my girl is. and how much she loves me.”
“i do love you, but i hate you right now,” she mumbled through her fingers.
“you love me more,” he countered.
“maybe. a little.”
“a lot.”
“fine. a lot.”
“they are literally going to kill me with cuteness” “the way he brags about her 🩷” “i am literally vibrating” “luna please release the song i will pay
“no release!” luna shouted, looking at the camera. “there are no plans to release it! it’s for his ears only. he’s the only one who gets to be this spoiled.”
“i like being spoiled,” jeonghan said, leaning back and pulling her with him so they were both lounging across the sofa. “it suits me.”
“it really does,” luna sighed, finally relaxing.
they spent the next hour drifting through topics. they talked about their favorite movies—luna’s love for psychological thrillers that left jeonghan stressed for days, while jeonghan preferred old romantic comedies that luna claimed to hate but secretly watched when he wasn't looking only because it reminded her of him.
then jeonghan shifted his gaze to the screen again, and his expression shifted. he slowed down his scrolling. he stopped on a comment.
“there are articles and insiders saying that ya’ll already married.”
the air in the room seemed to shift. jeonghan didn't look away. he didn't skip the comment. instead, he turned to luna. he didn't say a word, but his eyes were searching hers. he reached down and took her hand, interlacing their fingers.
luna looked at their joined hands, then back at the camera. she didn't smile, but she didn't look away either. she just squeezed his hand.
“insiders, huh?” jeonghan said, his voice dropping an octave. “they say a lot of things.”
“they do,” luna agreed, her voice a whisper.
“some things are true,” he continued, his thumb rubbing circles over her knuckles. “and some things are just... well-kept secrets.”
he leaned in and kissed her, not a quick peck, but a slow, lingering kiss on the lips that lasted just a few seconds too long.
“oh my god” “i am screaming” “we’ve reached the point where they just be making out on live 😫”
“you’re so bad,” luna whispered, though she was beaming.
“i’m the best actually,” he replied.
“whatever…. someone is asking if we’ve picked out a cake,” luna read, her voice trembling with a suppressed giggle.
jeonghan looked at the ceiling, thinking. “hmm. cake. i like chocolate. luna likes something... lighter. maybe something with lemon?”
“i don't like lemon for the wedding cake. remember our last cake?” she corrected.
“what last cake?!!”
jeonghan froze. he blinked. then he burst into a fit of laughter, burying his face in luna’s neck.
“got caught…” he muffled into her skin.
“you idiot. no i didn’t.” luna laughed, trying to push him off, though she was hugging him back. “shut up. we can’t say anything,” luna said, looking at the camera with a playful, mysterious expression. “a lady must keep some secrets.”
“and a gentleman must protect those secrets,” jeonghan added, regaining his composure. he looked smug again. “but let’s just say... we’re very happy.”
“very happy,” luna echoed.
the conversation drifted back to safer waters. they talked about jeonghan and joshua’s upcoming unit comeback, the grueling hours of dance practice, and how they managed to keep their relationship a secret for five years before they got outed.
“the hardest part was the bathrooms,” jeonghan admitted. “we used to meet in the dressing room bathrooms for like, two minutes, just to hold hands and make sure the other person was okay. most times it’s the only place without cameras.”
“i remember once we almost got caught because you forgot to lock the door,” luna recalled.
“i didn't forget! the lock was broken!” jeonghan retorted, defending himself.
“you forgot.”
“okay, okay,” luna said, rolling her for the umpteenth time. she glanced at the time in the corner of the screen before letting out a surprised laugh. “oh… we’ve been talking for a lot longer than we thought.” she looked over at jeonghan, who nodded in agreement with an amused smile. “i think we should probably go now,” she continued, looking back at the camera.
“nooooooo!” “see you guys again soon 🥹” “congratulations in advance”
“thank you for spending your evening with us. we honestly didn’t plan anything for this live, we just wanted to hang out for a little while.” jeonghan gave the phone a small wave. “thank you for always supporting us,” he said warmly.
“please eat well, sleep well, stay healthy, and take care of yourselves.” luna smiled, gently resting her hand over his before adding, “and thank you for being excited for this new chapter with us. we’ll share everything when the time is right.”
together, they lifted their hands and waved at the camera as the comments flooded with goodbyes and heart emojis.
“we’ll go live again soon,” luna promised with a bright smile.
“hopefully sooner this time.” jeonghan laughed quietly beside her. “we’ll see you again before you know it.”
luna nodded enthusiastically. “goodnight, everyone. we love you. bye!”
“bye, carats,” jeonghan echoed, giving one last salute before reaching toward the phone.
they exchanged one final smile with each other, waved once more, and with a tap of the screen, the live came to an end.
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( 애인 ) when you get dating rumors with seungmin because you both love pochacco. thank twitter. or don't.
💭 :: 28ss fluff illit member!rea changbin being a freak no one thinks seungy/n can pull one (1) tadc reference
𑣲⋆ note ⸝⸝ @kloversung & @yawwni cameo in there #girlfriends
EVERYONE KNOWS WONWOO as the most nonchalant member of the notable e-sports team — "GAM3BO1", however, they also know that Wonwoo only loses his cool with a particular hotshot member of the e-sports team, 'ST4RL1GHT'. You. When a variety game show brings the two teams together and expects you two to work together, there may be more to this rivalry that meets the normal viewer's eye.
PAIRING: rival e-sports player!wonwoo x rival e-sports player! fem! reader
GENRE: Rivals to ???, Angst, Rivalry, Fluff
AU: E-Sports AU
TOTAL WC: 5.7K
WARNINGS: swearing, some mean comments thrown here and there, their teams are lowkey (read: highkey) done with their shit
PLAYLIST: for icy, you're good i guess ~ wonwoo
LIV'S NOTES...
hi! this is my first fic for the love letter collab that @orbitondgtl and i are doing for 200 followers! thank you to my wifey kay for beta-reading this and doing this fun collab with me! i hope you all enjoy this fic hehe and also a happy late birthday to wonwoo <3 i miss him so much and i know a lot of others do too so i hope this helps to ease the longing a little bit! he will be back soon <3
for my izzy...
honestly a fic for you has been long overdue! i love you so much and i'm so thankful that we got to meet through the blockbuster collab in march! these last couple of months of just getting to know you and be your friend have been amazing! to many more years of writing and fangirling about our boys as well as freaking out over them together <3 i love you loads and i hope you love this fic that is undoubtedly, dedicated to you and our love for horror games <3
LOVE LETTER EVENT M.LIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI
THE INSTANT LOVE AND HATE
Wonwoo likes and dislikes things at a gradual pace.
Like the first video game that made an impact on his life.
Spyro, the game about the little dragon who goes on many different adventures. He didn't know what it was about it but he only liked it when he first played it. However, by the end of the game series, he loved it. It was a gradual change. He found himself talking about it more and more with his family whenever his mother had asked him what he was up to, then he talked about it more with his friends at school and then to anyone that he had met in his IT club.
His first dislike was also gradual. There were some guys in his class that were into some games that required a lot of hours and a lot of grinding. He found it annoying at first but the more he tried to play them — in a fear of not fitting in with his classmates — the more annoyed he felt by it. Hence, he stopped after three weeks and never sought out grindy games again.
However, there are two instances in Wonwoo's life where he distinctively remembers loving or hating something.
The instant love? When he was introduced to League of Legends through a friends birthday at a gaming cafe. The minute Wonwoo's fingers touched that keyboard, he knew this game would be one that he would be playing forever. He instantly loved it. He loved how fast-paced it was, how much strategy it required and what he loved most of all? He was fucking incredible at it.
It was as if he had been playing this game for years, even the friend that had introduced it to him, commended him on it and jokingly told Wonwoo that if there was a way to make a career out of this, Wonwoo should instantly go for it.
Wonwoo had laughed it off that day and shoved his friend but when he went home that day, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Could he really make a career out of this?
He tossed and turned in bed, unable to shake that feeling in his chest before he gave in and searched it up. After an immense amount of research, he found himself staring at the entryway to GOSE HQ, a company that not only developed fast paced strategy games, but also had open auditions for an e-sports team that they were trying to put together.
Wonwoo's parents thought he was crazy. Hell, even Wonwoo thought he was crazy but the second his fingers that keyboard, all his doubts instantly cleared from his mind. It was as if he had blacked out because the next moment, 'VICTORY' had shown up on his screen in giant letters.
He blinked at the screen for a few moments before he clicked next and saw his username there, top of the leaderboard.
Safe to say, life was never the same for Wonwoo after that. He joined the GAM3BOIs with seven others who had made it through the audition and had instantly clicked with all of them upon the first meeting.
It was a fun filled decade after that, they went on to win competition after competition and Wonwoo swore that his life couldn't get better than that.
Well, there is one thing that could make it better.
"You gotta be fucking kidding."
Jeonghan, the vice captain, gives a tight smile at Wonwoo's dry outburst before the latter turns to Seungcheol, his nonchalant look cracking when he meets Seungcheol's serious face. "He's kidding right, Cheol?"
Seungcheol heaves out a heavy sigh at Wonwoo's words, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head, feeling a migraine coming on.
"Does it look like he's kidding, Wonwoo?" He asks, a tired edge to his words as he leans against the console behind him.
Wonwoo resists the urge to say an instant 'yes' when he sees his teammates looking at him with a knowing look on their faces.
"We can't be going onto the same program show as the ST4RL1GHTs." Wonwoo repeats, in slight disbelief. "Aren't they on some promotional tour for their new game that's coming out?"
The two captains share a look. "They are." Jeonghan starts, a small smile on his face as he crosses his arms. "But this promotional program is in two weeks. It was a request from the host of the program so both our management and their management thought it was a good idea and good publicity for the top two teams to be seen together. Hence," Jeonghan casts a quick glance towards Seungcheol as he gnaws on his bottom lip before continuing. "They rearranged our schedule with the ST4RL1GHTs so that we can all make the program on the same day."
Wonwoo feels dread crawling through his veins. "Is there any way for us to skip the program?" He finds himself asking.
Jeonghan tongues his cheek before sending Seungcheol a look. Seungcheol, however, fixes Wonwoo with an unreadable look as he scans him, as if calculating what to say next.
"And why." Seungcheol asks, his eyebrows raising. "Would you need to know that, Jeon?"
A little fear surges through Wonwoo's veins at Seungcheol's use of his last name.
Wonwoo should have taken that as a cue to say, 'just wondering' and let the rest of the promotional content meeting continue but his mind is plagued by the amount of dread in his veins.
"I refuse to be on the same program as her." Wonwoo says bluntly, crossing his arms as he stares at the team captain. The room becomes eerily quiet as the tension rises slightly. Wonwoo feels his teammates eyes burning at the back of his head but he didn't care. There is no way that he can be civil with you in the same room.
Soonyoung — codename: Hoshi, lets out an awkward laugh as he senses the tension in the room. He reaches over to sling an arm around Wonwoo's shoulders making the man grunt as he pats him, a little too happily.
"Wonwoo~" Soonyoung coos, trying to ease the tension. "It's just a few hours, besides they might not make the two of you interact! You can be on the other side of the room and—"
Wonwoo lets out a stubborn scoff before shaking his head. "No." He interrupts. "I can't and won't be in the same room as Icy. I refuse."
"Wonwoo—" Soonyoung tries again before Seungcheol cuts him off by clearing his throat and waving the younger man off. Soonyoung looks between the two before he sighs and removes his arm away from Wonwoo. He purses his lips and rolls his chair back.
Seungcheol lets out a slow exhale before pushing himself off of the console behind him in favour of leaning against the table.
"I think that's more of a 'you' issue, Jeon." The team captain says sternly, his eyes filled with a stubborn fire. "I know the two of you can't get along but this program means something to all of us." Seungcheol gestures to the rest of the team members. "So, I need you to put this stupid rivalry with Icy away for just three to four hours while we record the program and the two of you can go back to hating each other's guts right after. If not," Seungcheol stares Wonwoo down as his voice lowers by two octaves. "I will make sure that you're benched for the season."
Wonwoo's eyes widen upon hearing Seungcheol's words. "You can't—"
Seungcheol cuts him off. "I can and I will if you screw up this opportunity for the team, Jeon. This is one of the biggest programs that we've been invited— requested to be on. It will bring a lot of publicity for the team and frankly, I think this rivalry between you and Icy has gone a little too far behind just the screen."
Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek before he looks down, feeling a slight bit of rage in his veins. Seungcheol lets out a sigh before massaging his temple, unsure if he took it too far. He lowers his leader persona, running a hand through his hair before levelling Wonwoo wth another gaze that's softer than before.
"I know you can be better than this, Wonwoo." The older man softly says, watching Wonwoo's unreadable expression. "You've also been wanting to go onto this program so please. It's just for three hours."
Silence envelops the room after Seungcheol breathes out the last few words. The team members exchange looks with each other.
Wonwoo lets his eyes move from Seungcheol's genuine expression to Jeonghan's cautious one before he takes a quick glance at his team members.
He lets out a ragged sigh. "Fine." He softly says, the disdain in his voice a little evident. He sees Seungcheol's shoulders slump a little in relief before standing up.
"I need some air." He says, not bothering to look up from the floor. "I'll find out the rest of the promotional calendar after this."
Wonwoo speeds out of the room without so much as another word as the glass door violently swings close behind him. The rest of the team collectively heave out a breath as they relax more into their chairs, the tension easing.
Jihoon — codename: Woozi — scoffs at the blonde's statement. "It could've also gone a lot better." He says without an ounce of remorse. "It was like we were killing him slowly."
"We might as well have been." Minghao — codename: The8 — mutters, swaying in his chair.
Seungcheol lets out a sigh as he pushes himself off of the table. "He'll get over it."
"You sure?" Jeonghan asks, raising an eyebrow as he crosses his arms. "We basically just told him that if he doesn't 'behave', we're benching him for the first half of the season." He tilts his head to the side. "Are you going to actually follow through with that if he screws up the program?"
Seungcheol internally curses himself, he knows he needs to set an example for his teammates. They may be a close knit group but they also had a job to do and Seungcheol's the team leader. The responsibility of leading this group to be the best they can be, depends on him.
"He won't." Seungcheol answers easily, his voice wavering a little that lets the rest of his team members know that he isn't quite sure of the answer himself. "Let's just get back to the rest of the promotional calendar."
The rest of the team share a look with each other as Seungcheol spares a quick glance towards where Wonwoo had exited from before he sighs, he really hopes his words will be true.
Because the one thing that Wonwoo had instantly hated, was you.
TABOO WORDS
You shuffle uncomfortably in your makeup chair as your stylist fixes a few strands of your hair. You know you shouldn't be nervous. You've done promotional reality content shows with the rest of your team before and being the witty and sarcastic person you were, you're the perfect guest for these kind of shows.
Not to mention that you've actually been dreaming on appearing on this particular reality show for the longest time. However, all you can think about is the annoyingly handsome guy that you need to be civil with for the next few hours.
You didn't know what sparked this rivalry between the two of you, but the hate was instant. It was probably the way he always had this cocky aura around him and he was not as nonchalant as he wanted to be. It was just a little insufferable.
You probably wouldn't have been so pressed about it if he was just a good sport. It was one of the first few matches of the season, a friendly tournament that didn't affect your placing for the overall season, just something to get the players warmed up.
You were bright-eyed and new and ecstatic to be playing against some of the players you watched during your free time. You've always been good at League, multiple of your friends trying to encourage you to get into the e-sports world but you were always scared to do so and it irked your friends till the end of time.
Hence, they made you attend an open audition without your knowledge and the next thing you knew, you were one of the newest recruits for ST4RL1GHT.
So, during that first friendly competition, you were actually excited to meet the stellar players, especially said handsome guy in glasses. However, you were also really good at League and when you had beat that star-studded player, you had heard him mutter 'beginners luck' under his breath and that made your heart instantly drop into your throat.
I guess it was true that you should never meet your heroes.
"Ready?" Jihyo, your team captain asks which jolts you out of your thoughts. You sit up straighter and send her a smile through the mirror as she stands behind you.
"Yeah." You mutter out, dusting off your leather outfit that the stylist has put you in. "I think so at least."
Jihyo sends you an empathetic smile as she helps you off the high chair. "Well, just remember what we all told you in the hotel room the other day. Just don't make eye contact with him, only interact with him when you need to and smile as if seeing him doesn't make you want to jump out of the building."
You let out a snort at her words. "I'll do my best." You reply dryly, your eyebrows furrowing at the thought of having to be nice to the guy who basically said your win was luck based.
You think you would rather go into a League game blindfolded.
Jihyo sends you one last smile before she rounds up the rest of the girls on the team. You smile as they all assemble in a line, Yunjin immediately taking the spot next to you as she hooks her arm through yours. Chaewon, Kazuha, Eun Chae and Sakura all stand facing Jihyo as well as the vice captain, Tzuyu, awaiting the quick briefing before the eight of you get called for standby.
"Alright, we aren't sure what the program is for today but knowing the history of this show, they will most likely make us play a few games with the GAM3BOIs, it will be a competitive time but," Jihyo sends you all a look of unwavering confidence. "I'm sure we will be able to beat them."
A few murmurs of agreements rise from the rest of you.
"And the whole line-up is here today?" Yunjin asks, flashing you a quick glance. Jihyo's eyes flit to you for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah." Jihyo easily answers. "Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Jihoon, Vernon, Minghao, Jun and…" Her tongue wets her lips. "Wonwoo."
His name immediately makes your expression sour and everyone's gaze falls onto you, as if his name was some taboo word that sets you off immediately. Instead, you shrug, silently willing for this day to be over.
"I'm fine." You mutter, trying your best to assure them as you give them a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "What's the worse that could happen?"
THE CONFESSION
You want to curse whatever possessed you to say those words an hour ago.
It started off civil, you managed to avoid him till you had to force a smile onto your face as you greeted him and the rest of his members, the handshake that the two of you exchanged as stiff as it could've been. But it was fine.
The hosts asked the two of you questions, there was a little bit of teasing here and there but it was fine.
Until they announced the games that you and the rest would be playing.
"Next up!" The male host announces, making you sit up straighter. "After the break, we're moving onto our game section for the day which is the 'Horror Lineup'!"
At his words, you feel your heart drop in your stomach and your face pale.
Yunjin also freezes beside you after she hears the words and shoots you a small glance. You try to keep your expression neutral, an easy smile on your face but internally, you think you regret your words a little bit.
The hosts turn to you and the rest with a tantalizing smile on their faces. "However, this event comes with a twist!" The male host looks towards your team, eyeing you specifically. "We will be pairing you up with members on the other team so!" He looks back towards the cameras with a shifty expression and a big smirk, "Let's see the pairings!"
You feel your blood run cold at his words as the female host starts exaggeratedly clapping at his words. You feel Yunjin's eyes on you but you couldn't bring yourself to look at her as your eyes lock with the man across the room.
Yeah, you seriously regret uttering those words.
"This can't be happening." You think aloud as you collapse onto the couch in the dressing room. "A horror game and he's my fucking partner?!" You want to run a hand down your face in distress. "The world has got to be against me."
Your teammates stare at you, unsure of how to comfort you when Eun Chae speaks up.
"Maybe he will be civil this time!" She supplies, a little nervously.
"Maybe over my dead body." You bluntly mutter, sinking in deeper into the couch.
"How about one of us request to switch partners?" Tzuyu offers. Jihyo, however, shakes her head as she silently paces while Yunjin takes a seat beside you.
"I don't think they'd agree to it." Jihyo says softly. "They know all about the famous rivalry between Jeon and Icy. They might just want to do it more if we protest it or suggest the member switch." She shakes her head. "It's probably been their goal from the start when they wanted all of us to be on this show."
"Those assholes." Yunjin mutters, her fists clenching a little. If it was any other scenario, you would've barked out a laugh at her swearing, however all you can do is stare upwards at the ceiling and let your thoughts run wild.
The room falls suffocatingly silent as you feel your nerves spike, your heart hammering fast in the confinements of your chest as you feel your member's eyes on you. Your restlessness gets the better of you making you shoot out of your seat which makes a few of your members jump in surprise.
You shoot them an apologetic look before excusing yourself. "I need some air."
With that, you take off. You push the dressing room door, speedwalking down the hallway. You aren't sure where you're going but you just knew you needed to get out of there before the walls completely swallow you whole.
Your prayers are answered as you push open a firm white door which leads you to the roof of the building. You take a deep inhale, filling your lungs with fresh air as you feel the weight on your shoulders start to lift. You eye the skyline as you watch the sun start to dip below the horizon, feeling your worries start to dissipate from inside your veins as you walk closer to the railing. You lean against it as a gust of wind washes over you, increasing the serenity of the scenery.
"Enjoying the scenery?"
You jolt, jumping a little before you whip your head to see Wonwoo stood behind you, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.
"Are you the fucking devil, Jeon?!" You ask, your hand on your chest as you will your heart to calm down. "You're going to give someone a heart attack if you make yourself known like that."
You see a ghost of a smirk tug at the corners of Wonwoo's mouth. "Didn't answer my question, Icy."
You roll your eyes as you cross your own arms. "I enjoyed it a lot more before you made yourself known to me."
Wonwoo barks out a bitter laugh as he pushes himself off of the wall. He takes a few steps towards you, "Have a problem with horror games, Icy?"
You blink in surprise at his question before quickly schooling your expression. "What's it to you?"
He shrugs. "You just looked like you were going to pass out when they mentioned it." A snarky smirk appears on his face as he fixes you with a mocking pout and a condescending head tilt. "Do you need me to hold your hand later so that the scary monsters don't get you?"
Your jaw clenches as you resist the urge to slap the annoying expression off of his face. "You're such an asshole." You bite out, your tone laced with venom as you glare at the taller man. "What is your problem with me?"
Wonwoo's eyebrows furrow as his expression does a 180 and he's glaring at you. "I should be asking you that." He mutters lowly, taking another step towards you. "You're the one walking into every room glaring at me with the power of a thousand suns. I was willing to let it go the first few times but when you suddenly started making it your personal mission to get me out first in all the League games, that's where I draw the line."
You feel your blood boil more. "Are you saying that this fucking rivalry is my fault?"
"If the shoe fits!"
A sarcastic laugh escapes you as you shake your head. "You're such an asshole, Jeon." You mutter out, trying to push past the man.
"No." Wonwoo sternly says, blocking your path. "You started this. Tell me what your fucking problem with me is."
Your jaw clenches more. "Jeon—"
"No, we're settling this here and now because if I have to play nice later in-front of everyone. I have to at least know what I did for you to act as if I took a shit in your goddamn cheerios."
If you weren't so pissed off with the man standing in-front of you, you would have found that joke funny but all you see is red as you jab a finger into Wonwoo's chest.
"You wanna know what my goddamn problem with you is?!" You hiss, nudging him hard with your finger. "Fine! It's the fact that you always think you're the fucking smartest in the room and God forbid a rookie tries to beat you at your own stupid game because you're such a sore ass loser — and the rookie actually fucking looked up to you by the way. And don't even get me started on—"
"What?" Wonwoo says, interrupting you before you can continue your ramble, his eyebrows scrunching. "What the fuck was that?"
"What the fuck was what?"
"That rookie example that you used."
You feel your heart stop as you realize what you had just told this godforsaken man.
"Was that you?" He asks, his voice dropping a few decibels, barely above the breath of a whisper.
"No." You quickly reply as you refuse the meet the man's gaze.
"Oh my god. It was you." Wonwoo says softly, taking a step backwards to fully see your expression.
"No—"
"Icy."
You feel a little vulnerable in-front of the man, knowing that you just exposed something that you should've taken to your grave.
"Drop it, Jeon." You mutter out, unsure of what to do now that your adrenaline of your ramble had died. "You called me lucky during my debut match when all I did was look up to you." You chuckle lowly. "Maybe that was a petty ass reason to kinda hate your guts but that match meant everything to me and I worked hard to get to where I was. And for you to just say that it was fucking luck…" You cut yourself off with a soft scoff as you fix your eyes on his shoes. "That fucking sucked."
Wonwoo is silent for the first time, your words rendering him absolutely speechless which makes you shift uncomfortably.
"I'll see you later, Jeon." You mutter, pushing past the man. You stop in-front of the door that leads back inside. "I promise I won't be too much of a bother later. So just…" You hesitate, chewing nervously on the inside of your cheek. "Just fucking forget whatever I said."
With that, you pull the door open and leave Wonwoo standing there with his thoughts.
DO YOU HATE THE PLAYER?
"Wow!" The host announces, wiping a stray tear from his eye from how much he was laughing. "That was a fantastic combination of wit and whimsy from our two team captains!" Seungcheol helps Jihyo step off the platform before giving her a smile which she returns with ease as they walk back to their seats. "They really show their stellar leadership skills in switching between being team players and leaders through this game show."
The female host flashes a smile as she nods at the male host's words. "You said it!" She turns back to the cameras, her eyes glinting. "Now, for our final pair. The feistiest set of rivals in all of E-Sport history. Wonwoo and Icy!"
You slide out of your chair, a fake smile plastered on your lips as you 'confidently' walk up to the steps of the platform. You refuse to look at Wonwoo as he settles beside you, even though you can feel his eyes on you.
"Now," The male host says, turning to the two of you. "As said before, one of you would need to put on the VR headset and go through one of the two rooms of your choice. The other will be guiding you through the maze that is set in that room but beware of the dangers lurking in between the turns." He eyes the two of you with a mischievous grin. "Got it?"
You nod as Wonwoo grunts in acknowledgement.
The host turns to you, a glint in his eyes that makes your skin crawl as he holds out the headset to you. "Seeing as you're known as the most confident member in ST4RL1GHT, I assume you would be taking the headset and doing the maze!"
The action stuns you, rendering you a little dumbfounded as you stare at the white headset in his hands. For the rest of the pairs, they just left the headset on the pedestal in-front and let the pair discuss who would be taking the challenge.
You open your mouth, about to accept your fate and take the headset when Wonwoo stops you.
"I'll do it." He answers, making you blink in surprise as he glances at you. "I've seen Icy's comms and I think she would do a better job of guiding me through the maze than I would. I also know that my navigational skills are pretty good so I will be able to follow her instructions."
The male host falters slightly as he stares at Wonwoo's outstretched hand. "Really?" The guy hesitantly says. "I feel that Icy might be better at going through the maze because—"
"Because you planned this around the fact that you heard that she hated horror games and wanted to personally humiliate her on the show?" Wonwoo finishes, raising an eyebrow.
At those words, the host pales as his jaw drops open. "H-how—"
Wonwoo shrugs. "The hallways are pretty echoey, don't you think." He bluntly states. "I just so happened to be in the hallway where you were laughing at what a misfortune it would be when the Ice Queen of ST4RL1GHT falters and screams at this pathetic horror game."
You jolt a little feeling a hand linking with yours making you peer to your side to see Jihyo standing there with her leader face on. "I think it's time for us to take our leave." She says, plastering on a fake but serious smile. "I don't think we will be coming back to this show but we thank you for inviting us."
You feel a few other people line up beside you making you look to your left and right to see the rest of the girls stepping into line with you and Jihyo. Their faces are filled with unamused expressions as Yunjin takes a glance at you, giving you a warm smile before squeezing your shoulder in a firm reassurance that says 'We got you.'
"I think it's the same for us as well." You hear Seungcheol say as you see the GAM3BOIs stand up as well, moving towards the front. "Thank you for having us as well but," he locks eyes with you, sending you a small reassuring smile before it disappears as he turns back to the hosts. "We can't be on a show where the hosts have a secret vendetta against their guests and want to humiliate them."
With that, the sixteen of you leave the room, leaving the hosts blinking owlishly at all of you, unsure of what to do. You giggle at their reaction as you hear the producers start to chastise the two of them, wondering how their ratings were going to do. In any other situation, you probably would've felt bad for how badly they were getting told off but you can't bring yourself to care after they tried to use one of your biggest weaknesses against you.
You hear a soft breath of your name being called making you stop in your tracks and turn to face the individual. There stands a nervous Wonwoo who looks almost as if he was silently cursing himself for calling your name.
Jihyo looks between you and the man before detaching herself from you. "We'll see you inside." She whispers to you, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before pushing the rest of the girls towards the dressing room.
"You think he's going to confess to her—"
"Shut up Eun Chae!" Chaewon hisses. "He's right there!"
"But—"
You shake your head as their voice trail off down the hallway, leaving you with a very awkward Wonwoo.
"What can I do for you, Jeon?" You ask, an attempt to break the ice when it becomes clear that the man was not going to do it himself.
The man shuffles uncomfortably in place before he opens his mouth. "I wanted to apologize for being an asshole when we first met." He softly says, fiddling with his hands. "I'm also sorry that it took you telling me to realize what I had done wrong and I have no excuse for saying that it was luck based." He clicks his tongue before he continues his ramble. "I actually remember that first friendly match. I was upset with something one of my teammates did and I took it out on you by calling you lucky because I wasn't thinking clearly that day. I know it's not a good excuse but for what it's worth, I thought you were one of the best players I saw that day. You made quite the impression."
His apology and words make a warmth spread through your chest. You clear your throat as you cross your arms in-front of your chest.
"Thank you." You softly say. "For the apology and also for doing what you did just now."
Wonwoo shakes his head. "Small matter." He mutters. "Someone needed to put those assholes in their place."
His words make a small smile tug at the corner of your mouth.
"They really were assholes, huh." You say as you watch a ghost of a grin appear on Wonwoo's face. He lets out a low chuckle as he scratches the back of his nape.
"Yeah, they were." He assures you, his voice rumbles making a shiver run down your spine. "Kinda upsetting to be honest." He admits, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I'm actually a really big fan of their content."
Your eyes widen at his confession. "So am I."
Wonwoo looks at you with a surprised look before a devastating smile appears on his face. "Looks like we might have more in common than we thought."
You feel your heart start to race as a flush erupts up your neck. "Yeah." You honestly say. "We might."
You feel a comfortable silence envelope the two of you before you hear loud noises down the hallway, recognizing them as Wonwoo's teammates. You see him realize it as well as his eyes flit from you to the hallway behind you.
"You should go." You say, taking a step to the side. "I probably need to get going too."
Wonwoo hesitates for a second, glancing between you and the hallway before nodding. He starts to take a few steps towards the hallway behind you before he turns and faces you.
"Does this mean we're friends now?" He asks making you blink at him.
You raise an eyebrow at the man before feigning a ponder when you realize how nervous he's being. "I don't know." You softly tease. "Might need a rematch of that friendly so that I can make you eat those words."
Wonwoo blinks before he lets out a soft breath of a laugh, shaking his head before he looks back up at you. "Deal." He says, holding out his hand for you to shake. "Till the rematch then."
You bite back a smile as you shake his hand. "Till the rematch." You repeat. You feel him tilt both your hands so that his is on top before he slips something into your hand. You quizzically look at him as he pulls his hand out of your grasps before closing your knuckles around the object in your hand.
All he does is give you another devastating smile before he takes off down the hallway without another word.
You glance at your hand, unclenching it slowly to see a folded piece of paper. Your eyebrows furrow as you open it before a small smile appears on your face as you read the words on it.
xxx-xxx-xxxx, hope I can continue to make it up to you.
Thank you guys so much for reading the fic!! I do hope you guys truly enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 More fics to come!!
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thinking about idol!jeongin falling in love at first sight meeting fan!reader. . .
first time he saw you wasn't when it was your turn to sit in front of him. the airtime before the fan sign had started, everyone was already seated, the staff just double checking if everything was good to go.
jeongin's eyes wandered through the crowd in front of the him, not looking for anyone in particular, merely just looking at their groups' fans to have something to do.
he was simply just browsing through the blur of faces, a few signs here and there, until he saw you.
jeongin didn't know what was different. only that he could feel some kind of aura around you that the other fans couldn't see or sense near you, a luminous ambience that only he could see.
you weren't looking at him. you seemed busy in your own world, trying to breath in properly 'cause you were nervous. he smiled when you turned and saw him staring back at you.
your face loaded for a second, before smiling back, waving calmly. he waved back. your grin was a little bit wider when he did it.
the fan sign continued, none of the fans here not knowing—not even his hyungs—that their maknae had a secret agenda now when he saw you, which was to get connected with you.
no matter how risky it was.
when you were finally sat on the table, he was itching to meet you.
he had been reviewing all the ways he could possibly flirt. that wouldn't be too obvious, right? it would just be him doing his duty as an idol to entertain their fans with fanservice.
except when it came to you, the fanservice was teetering a little bit to crossing over to real flirting.
"h-hi, jeongin." you bowed before sitting down.
"hi, there." his gaze followed your every move, smirking. "what's your name?"
you told him your name as you hand out your album to sign, jeongin making sure to graze your fingers a little, the sight of you visually short-circuiting when it happened forever ingrained in his memory for when he wants to smile.
"you have a really pretty face," he signed your album with practiced ease, opening the photobook to sign his photo in there as well, "pretty name too. you're lucky."
"i- hah. . .!" you chuckled awkwardly, flattered as you blinked and thanked him.
"what made you like our group, hm?" he asked, leaning in elbows on the table as he splayed his hands out for you. you stared at them a little confused, before you answer his question.
"i really liked your guys' music. it's pretty alternative to modern pop, so— oh."
feeling a sense of boldness run through him (and slight impatience that you didn't get the hint), he took both your hands in his. jeongin hummed, like this was normal.
jeongin had a sneaking suspicion that his hyung, seungmin, next to him was quite taken aback at his sudden love for skin ship, but he didn't pay him no mind.
not for the remainder of the fan sign, at least.
you held eye contact with him, but only for short periods of time. his smile and sharp gaze making it almost impossible for you to focus when it just made your brain all mushy.
he hummed at your unfinished reply, before asking another question. "you must have a bias then, right?"
"ah, yeah i do!" you say happily, unaware that you were waving your intertwined hands from the positive question.
"is it me?" his fingers squeezed yours a little, anticipating a 'yes'.
"ah, no. . ." you say sheepishly, jeongin letting out a dramatic sigh.
"it's actually bangchan, haha," you say, "sorry, innie-ah."
"too bad. . ." he pouted.
"it's 'cause i have a thing for older guys, yknow?" you try joking, but then he answers you with something you didn't know how to reply to.
"so you wouldn't date a younger guy?"
jeongin's thumbs started to caress the sides of your hands, the action turning your head all fuzzy. if you were calm enough (which you weren't until the end of the fan sign), you would have noticed his sly smirk, obviously flirting with you now.
"i— ha. . . i didn't say that," you smile, tilting your head down as he tries to catch you sight.
"would you not mind long distance relationships too?"
"uhm," you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze for a little while, more confused than shy, "n-not really, why?"
'you look really pretty flustered like this, y'know?', is jeongin really wants to say, but with seungmin (who you were talking to before him) starting to look really suspicious, he settles for:
"that's good, then we'd be perfect together."
the timer goes off, and with jeongin being the last member on the end of the table, you're forced to bow your goodbye and walk off, with jeongin's eyes following you until he's forced to interact with the fan in front of him, his smugness from the interaction still lingering.
you, who just exited the venue, had let out a sigh of relief? exhilaration? you aren't sure, but you know damn well your hearts beating really fast.
the hours pass after that, and once you make it home, you wind down and get ready for bed, the signed album and photobook still splayed out on your duvet.
you smile at the event, remembering all of the happenings with the other members, before recalling the last one. your fingers trace jeongin's signature.
looking at the photobook, you open it up and flip through it, looking at the messages that the members left you, you grin at each one, some telling you to eat while the others saying they'd love to see you again.
then, you see jeongins message for you, and your grin drops.
' you don't mind younger guys if it was me, right? call me soon, okay? ~ XXXX - XXX - XXX
— y.j ❤︎ '
it was messily written, giving you the impression that he did it quickly, so that no one could see in the photobook that fast. you scoffed in disbelief.
your heart jumped a few beats faster. there it was again. that feeling in your stomach. the odd pull.
you caress your thumb on the ink of the page, lost in thought.
the big question is; will you message, or will you ghost?
ugh skz not having mnl in their tour destinations is making my heart break 💔🥀anyways have some delusional jeongin imagine because i dont see enough about him being written ;D
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
≔ ⋆⟢ pairing : (boyfriend) yang jeongin x (girlfriend) female reader
◟ genre : fluff
◟ word count : 258
⬩➤「 warning 」 ᝰ. not proofread
“Okay, will the next fan please come over?” The staff member kindly asked as you then moved on to meet the next member, also your loving boyfriend who you haven’t seen in a long week.
“Hello there?” You chimed out with a smile only to be met with a wide eyed grin from Jeongin who’s utterly speechless.
“How are you here?!”
“Wow! I came all the way here and that’s all you have to say to your fan?” You teased. “Now tell me, Jeongin, what have you been up to?”
“I’ve been doing well. I’ve been missing a certain someone though.” He sighs out, almost wanting to sulk on the spot.
“Really? And who would that be?”
“You.” He boldly announced causing the fans behind you to scream in disbelief, just thought to be average fan service when it had so much meaning under those words.
“Are you happy to see me?”
“More than happy. I sure hope you come to every fan sign from now on.”
“Wanna hold hands?” You playfully remarked.
“Yes!” He answered a little too quickly.
You held hands. His grip on yours was very firm but gentle. He never took his eyes off of you, unwilling to pay attention to the fan’s recording him.
“I’m afraid your time is up, please move on so the other fans can have their turn.”
“I see. Hope to see you again, Jeongin.”
Before you left, he whispered something only you could hear.
“Please call me.”
And you nodded, making a silent promise to do exactly that.
Summary: you can’t stay too mad at your boyfriend, especially when he orders flowers that fill up every surface of your kitchen.
Wc: 1,808
Warnings: not proofread 🥲
MASTERLIST
-
The disagreement itself had been stupid.
Not serious enough to become a real argument, but just annoying enough to leave you in a bad mood.
You'd been sitting at the kitchen island that morning wrapped in one of Mingyu's oversized button-down shirts, absently stirring your coffee while watching him get ready for work.
The penthouse was already buzzing with activity around him. Assistants were sending messages, his phone kept lighting up with emails, and somewhere in the background his schedule for the day was being finalised.
Meanwhile, you were focused on one thing. The fact that he had promised to take you shopping.
"You promised you'd come with me today." Your voice broke through the silence as you watched him adjust the cuff of his watch.
Mingyu didn't even look up at first. "I know."
The dry response only irritated you further. Your eyes narrowed as you set your mug down onto the marble countertop with a quiet clink.
"You literally told me you'd clear your afternoon."
"I did."
"And?"
Finally, Mingyu glanced over his shoulder. "And a board meeting got moved."
You stared at him in disbelief before letting out a long sigh. "Oh, a board meeting." The sarcasm dripping from your voice was impossible to miss. "Of course."
A smile threatened to pull at the corner of his mouth. "You knew I wasn't going to cancel a meeting worth millions of dollars."
You folded your arms across your chest. "Maybe I wanted you to."
That finally earned a proper reaction. A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're a liar."
The fact that he laughed again only made your annoyance worse. Because he wasn't taking you seriously, at all.
By the time Mingyu was ready to leave, briefcase in hand and suit jacket perfectly pressed, you were still determined to maintain your grudge.
Which was exactly why you were now leaning dramatically over the upstairs railing overlooking the foyer instead of walking him to the door like you usually did.
Your chin rested in the palm of your hand as you watched him from above. Mingyu slipped his phone into his pocket before glancing up. The second he spotted you, his expression softened.
It always did. No matter how busy he was. No matter how many meetings he had. No matter how irritated you were pretending to be. For a moment he simply looked at you.
Then he tilted his head. "That's it?"
You blinked down at him innocently. "What?"
His eyebrows lifted. "You're really going to let me leave like this?"
You shrugged one shoulder. "Looks like it."
Mingyu stared at you for a second before shoving both hands into his pockets. The action was familiar enough that you immediately knew he was about to start negotiating.
"Where's my goodbye kiss?"
The audacity. You nearly laughed. Instead, you simply looked down at him while he looked right back up at you. Waiting.
Like it was the most reasonable question in the world. Like he wasn't the reason you were annoyed in the first place.
Slowly, you tapped a finger against your cheek as though genuinely considering it. "Hmm."
His eyes narrowed immediately. "Hmm?"
You pretended to think harder. "I don't know." A pause. "I don't know if you deserve one."
Mingyu's eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared beneath his fringe. For a second, he simply stared up at you as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard.
Then a disbelieving laugh escaped him. "You don't know if I deserve one?"
You smiled sweetly. The same smile that usually meant you were about to become a problem. "You made me mad."
"Oh, did I?"
"Mhm."
The hum was accompanied by a small nod, as though there was absolutely no room for debate on the matter. Mingyu let out a slow breath through his nose, clearly trying not to smile.
The worst part was that he looked completely amused by the situation.
As if your attitude was somehow entertaining. As if watching you sulk was one of his favourite hobbies. Which, knowing him, it probably was.
"Baby."
"No."
"Come here."
You immediately shook your head. "No."
His grin widened. The sight alone should have annoyed you. Instead, it made your stomach do that stupid little flip it always did.
"Come kiss me goodbye."
You pretended to think about it. Again.
Your finger tapped thoughtfully against your cheek while Mingyu watched from below with the patience of a man who already knew exactly how this was going to end.
"Hmm..."
The sound of his laughter filled the foyer. Rich and warm and entirely too pleased with itself. "You're acting like a child."
You gasped. "I'm acting like a woman who was abandoned."
Mingyu barked out another laugh. "Abandoned."
"Yes."
"I'll be gone for eight hours."
"Exactly."
His smile only grew. God. You wanted to be annoyed. You really did.
Unfortunately Mingyu looked unfairly handsome standing there in his charcoal suit, one hand resting on the handle of his briefcase while he looked up at you like you were the most entertaining part of his morning.
"You know," he said casually, glancing at his watch, "I have exactly thirty seconds before I need to leave."
You rested your chin deeper into your palm. "Sounds like a you problem, Gyu."
"Twenty-nine."
"Twenty-eight."
You pressed your lips together. Because he was smiling now. It made staying mad significantly harder than it should have been. Which was incredibly irritating.
With a dramatic sigh, you finally pushed yourself away from the railing. "Fine."
His grin became immediate. Victorious. "Thought so."
"Don't be smug."
"I'm always smug."
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Mingyu's laughter followed you as you made your way downstairs. The entire time you could feel his eyes on you.
By the time you reached the bottom step, he was already standing there.
Like he assumed you'd walk straight into them. His arms opened automatically. Which was exactly why you didn't.
Instead, you ignored the invitation entirely and walked right up to him. Mingyu watched suspiciously. You rose onto your toes. Pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. Then immediately stepped back.
"There." You dusted your hands together dramatically. "Goodbye kiss."
Problem solved. At least in your opinion. Apparently not in Mingyu's.
Because the second you tried to walk away, warm fingers wrapped around your wrist. You barely managed two steps before being pulled back.
"What now?"
The look on Mingyu's face was almost offensive. Like he had personally been wronged.
"That's what I get?"
You blinked innocently. "You asked for a goodbye kiss."
"That was not a goodbye kiss."
"It absolutely was."
You laughed. "Mingyu—"
The protest died instantly when his free hand slid to your jaw. Not rough. Just enough to stop you talking. Just enough to tilt your face up towards him.
Your breath caught. Because the teasing expression slowly disappeared from his face. And suddenly the atmosphere felt very different. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
The look there made your stomach flip. "You think you're funny." You tried to maintain your composure. Failed. A little.
"I am funny."
"Mhm." His thumb brushed slowly across your cheek. "You've been giving me attitude all morning."
"You deserved it."
"Did I?"
"Yes."
The answer came so quickly that it made him smile. His head dipped slightly as he shook it. Then, before you could say anything else, he stepped closer.
One arm slid around your waist, pulling you flush against the front of his suit. Immediately surrounding you with his familiar scent.
"Still mad at me?"
His voice was quieter now. You looked away for a second.
"A little."
"That's unfortunate."
Your eyes lifted back to his. "Why?"
"Because I hate leaving when you're mad at me."
And just like that, your annoyance cracked. The stupid thing was that he knew it would. He knew exactly what those words would do to you. You opened your mouth to respond.
But Mingyu kissed you before you got the chance. The moment his lips touched yours, every argument you'd been determined to continue immediately lost its momentum.
Not because he was trying to distract you. Well, maybe a little. But mostly because there was something unfairly effective about the way Mingyu looked at you when he was trying to make things right.
Like you were the only thing on his mind. Like the board meeting, the investors, the endless calls waiting for him the second he stepped into the office didn't matter nearly as much as making sure you weren't upset with him.
His hand remained against your cheek while his other arm stayed securely around your waist, holding you close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
When he eventually pulled back, it wasn't very far. Just enough to look at you. His forehead almost brushed yours.
Your hands smoothed down the front of his suit jacket absentmindedly. Immediately his eyes dropped to the movement.
Then softened. That expression again. The one that always made your chest squeeze. The one reserved entirely for you.
"You know," he murmured, "most people would be impressed by how hard I work."
You scoffed. "Most people aren't dating you."
"Good."
The answer came far too quickly. You laughed. "Babe."
"I'm serious." His arm tightened slightly around your waist. "I don't want most people."
The warmth that spread through your chest was immediate. This was exactly how he won. Every single time. You'd start the day determined to hold onto a grudge and somehow end up staring at him like he'd hung the moon.
It was deeply annoying. And completely his fault. "You're laying it on thick."
"I'm being honest."
"You're manipulating me."
"I'm apologising."
"You bought your way out of trouble."
His mouth twitched. "Maybe a little."
You pointed a finger at his chest. "See? That's not apologising."
"No?"
Mingyu caught your hand before you could pull it away, lacing his fingers through yours. "Then let me try again."
The playfulness in his expression softened. "I know I cancelled our plans."
You stayed quiet.
"And I know you're disappointed."
"I am."
"I know."
He lifted your joined hands and pressed a brief kiss against your knuckles. "And I still hate leaving when you're upset with me."
Before you could think of a comeback, Mingyu leaned down and kissed you again.
Slow. Unhurried. Like he was deliberately taking a moment for just the two of you before the rest of his day pulled him away. One hand settled against your jaw while the other remained secure around your waist.
Your fingers curled into the front of his suit jacket. Immediately he looked pleased with himself. Which made you want to roll your eyes. When he finally pulled back, your cheeks felt warm. Mingyu looked entirely too satisfied.
"There." His thumb brushed across your cheek. "That's a proper goodbye kiss."
You narrowed your eyes. "You're still in trouble."
"I know."
His grin widened. "But you love me."
Unfortunately, you did. And judging by the way Mingyu looked at you, as though you were already the best part of his day before he'd even left the house, he knew it too.
"Go to work."
Mingyu laughed before finally grabbing his briefcase.
"You better be home early."
"Yes, princess."
"You said that yesterday."
He backed towards the door, still smiling. "I mean it this time."
You pointed at him. "Said every liar ever."
Mingyu's laughter followed him out the door. And just before it closed, he shot you one final grin.
"Love you."
Then he was gone. Leaving you standing in the foyer trying very hard not to smile. And failing completely.
~
A couple of hours had passed since Mingyu had left. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
You'd spent most of the afternoon sprawled across the living room couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, still pretending you were annoyed with him.
Pretending. Because the truth was that your little argument this morning had barely lasted five minutes before he'd kissed the attitude right out of you.
Still. You weren't about to let him off that easily. Your shopping trip had been cancelled. You had standards.
A soft chime suddenly echoed through the penthouse. The doorbell. You frowned. Turning off your phone. Sitting upright.
You weren't expecting anyone. No deliveries. No friends. Nothing. You heard footsteps from the foyer before one of the house staff answered the door.
Muffled voices drifted through the space. Then more footsteps. More voices. The sound of something being carried inside.
Your confusion deepened. You pushed yourself off the couch and began walking towards the foyer.
Halfway there, you stopped. Because you saw colour. A lot of colour. Your eyes widened.
Flowers. Everywhere. The kitchen island had disappeared beneath enormous bouquets. The marble countertops were covered. The dining table was covered.
There were flowers being carried through the front door by multiple delivery people while your staff attempted to find places to put them all.
Pink. White. Cream. Soft peach. Every single arrangement was filled with your favourite flowers.
Your mouth actually fell open. "What's going on?"
One of the servants laughed. "All from Mr. Kim, Miss Y/N."
You stared. Then another bouquet came through the door. Then another. Then another. "How many did he send?"
The servant looked down at a clipboard. Then back at you. "A lot."
"A lot isn't a number."
"I stopped counting after twenty-seven."
Your jaw dropped. "TWENTY-SEVEN?"
A second servant walked in carrying another arrangement almost as big as she was. "Twenty-eight."
You couldn't stop smiling. Your cheeks already hurt. The entire penthouse smelled like fresh flowers. It looked like a florist had exploded. You knew exactly who was responsible.
A small cream envelope poking out from the biggest bouquet caught your attention. Immediately you reached for it. The elegant black handwriting was unmistakable.
Your smile somehow widened even further. You opened it. Inside was a simple handwritten card.
I'm sorry for making your pretty head annoyed this morning.
Love, Mingyu.
You stared at it. Then laughed. Actually laughed. Because of course he wrote that. Of course he couldn't just apologise like a normal person.
No. He had apparently decided to purchase half of Seoul's flower supply instead. Your phone suddenly buzzed.
You didn't even need to check who it was.
Mingyu ❤️
"Flowers delivered?"
You rolled your eyes. Immediately typing back.
"You're crazy."
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
"Did you like them?"
"There's enough flowers here to start my own business."
"That's not an answer."
You looked around your kitchen. At the ridiculous number of bouquets. At your favourite flowers. At the handwritten note still sitting in your hand. Your heart softened despite yourself.
"Maybe."
A response arrived immediately.
"Liar."
You laughed.
"Maybe I liked them a little."
"Only a little?"
"Mhm."
"Interesting."
"Why?"
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then appeared again.
"Look out the window."
Your eyebrows furrowed.
You walked towards the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
"What now..."
Then you saw it. Far below. Parked outside the building. A familiar black luxury sedan. Your eyes widened. No way. Absolutely not.
Your phone rang before you could even think. You answered immediately. "What did you do?"
His laughter filled your ear. God. You could practically hear the grin.
"Go downstairs."
"Mingyu."
"Go downstairs."
"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
"I was."
"Was?"
"Then I started thinking about how cute you looked pouting this morning."
You covered your face.
"And?"
"And I missed you."
Your heart melted instantly. Traitor.
"So." You could hear him smiling. "Come downstairs."
You looked back at the mountains of flowers filling the penthouse. Then at the note still clutched in your hand. Then at the black car waiting below. A grin spread across your face.
"Mingyu."
"Yeah, baby?"
"You are so sweet." His laugh echoed through the phone.
genre: fluff, est. relationship. vernon is a mechanic because fuck yes.
wc: 1.6k
a/n: muhehehehheh. i hope the hansol nation enjoys this one 🫡 💋gonna tag eia @noniesgummysmile because she listened to me yap about this idea two days ago and enabling me. ily <333
It's a little past noon when you arrive at the downtown garage owned by your boyfriend. Sunlight spills through the trees shades, casting long shadows on the concrete pathway. Vernon is hunched over a car hood, his sleeves are folded upwards, highlighting the strain on his muscles as his veins bulge over while he puts pressure into tightening some screws. Sweat glistens on his forehead as he seems totally engrossed in work.
Vernon looks up as he notices footsteps approaching, a grin forms on his face, smiling as he sees you coming close, "hey baby" Vernon says as you walk in. You beam up at him, dangling a bag of snacks in the air.
"Look who's here." You smile walking over, leaning in as Vernon gives you a half hug.
"Sorry, got some mess over here." He says sheepishly as you look around the garage. There are tools and papers scattered all over. Not that you mind, the garage has always been like this whenever you come over.
"How long till you're done?" You ask your boyfriend leaning your weight against a pillar.
"Around 20 more minutes and I'm done?" Vernon shrugs as he spins the ranch in his hands, sending a wink your way.
You make a goofy face in return, flipping your hair off. Vernon laughs in response, the same familiar grin forming on his face.
"I'll be waiting for you over there then." You say as you walk to sit on a sofa at the corner. The fan is turned on and you sprawl yourself on the sofa deciding to wait for Vernon to complete his work before he can join you.
You've been scrolling through your phone, looking at your boyfriend working from time to time, the way his brows furrow as he fixes the broken car engine. Occasionally you talk to him, telling him about your day, and he's listening, humming as you go on. Today, it's taking him slightly longer to finish his work.
"And then…I was just petting the stray kitten but she decided to jump on my lap!!" You tell him excitedly about the little cat that comes visit you sometimes.
"Nonnie? Are you even listening? You ask when he doesn't respond.
"Oh uh yeah, what were you saying? He asks as he pops up from the other side of the car, where he was probably crouching down. Putting away his tools, vernon dusts off his clothes and stretches his arms, the movement accentuating his muscles. He looks over to you with questioning eyes, waiting for you to respond.
The words however die in your throat. You visibly gulp as you look over at him. Why is he looking so attractive when his hair is a mess and grease covers the front of his shirt. Even after dating him for so long, you still can't get over how handsome vernon actually is.
"Baby, why did you get quite suddenly?" Vernon says as he walks over to you. He takes his dirty t-shirt off and stands under the fan. His muscles and abs on direct display.
You look away when vernon notices you staring, the familiar smirk places on his lips.
"Nothing." You voice out, a little too quickly. "I was just saying you hate me because you kept me waiting for so long." You grumble folding your arms over your chest as you get comfortable lying on the sofa, suddenly very interested in noticing the scraping paint on the roof of the garage.
Your view however is obstructed rather quickly, and you find yourself caged between the sofa and your very handsome, very cocky boyfriend.
"Hmm." He murmurs. "Is that so?" Vernon asks you, his voice low and teasing as he tilts his head a little. He is too close to you. You can feel his breath, mingling with yours. You can feel him lowering himself on top of you. His lips brush lightly against your neck, as he places a feather light kiss over there. Feeling fluster by the sudden contact, you push him to the side. Standing up.
"Yeah. Totally. You were ignoring me right now. You definitely hate me." You say as you look back at him. You know you're just pulling his leg. Or trying to save face from how flustered you feel. By the looks of it, Vernon knows it too. He leans against the sofa head, legs stretched wide as he looks at your cheeks taking a slightly pink hue. Cute. He thinks to himself.
You walk over to one of the cars parked in the garage, standing there as you push a pebble to the side. "See that? oh how it feels to be ignored by my own beloved boyfriend" you all but pout up at him.
You're really cute like this, Vernon thinks to himself. Trying to act normal after seeing him shirtless as if it's not something you've been waking up to for ages.
"Okay." Vernon says humming to himself as he pretends to ponder. He discards his shirt to the side and walks over to you. Before you can even think, he is caging you between his body and the car.
"So I hate you huh?" He asks, looking directly at you. Hair strands cover his eyes, you can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Once again you're rendered speechless as you stare at him, not being able to take looking at his eyes anymore, you look to the side. You can feel your ears running hot.
"Eyes on me babygirl." Vernon grabbing your chin and tilting your head so you look at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle despite the fact that his hands are calloused from working in the garage for hours. You look up at him, your eyes meeting each other, and Vernon can see the way your mind tries to hide your fluster behind that fake little frown.
"What" you grumble, though there is no fight in it.
"My girl just told me she thinks I hate her." Vernon says leaning impossibly close to you. His hand sneaks from your side to your back, moving under your tee shirt as he pulls you forward.
"Well," he drawls. "I can't have you going around thinking like that now, can I?" He asks with the familiar tease in his tone.
"Yeah, maybe you should kiss me to prove you actually care about me." You frown, lips down turned as you look at him.
"Maybe you're right. I should actually do that." Vernon hums, nipping at the skin your neck. He bites the skin as he leaves soft kisses to smooth the area. You're sure he's going to leave hickeys on you. Vernon's nose brushes against yours. He leans in, catching your lower lips between his own. He sucks on them softly. Your hands move from holding his back to grabbing his hair as you pull him down. A whine escapes your lips when you feel his hands trail lower and lower on your back, as you're pressed between his body and the car.
"Wait. What if someone sees us?" You asks breaking the kiss.
"Then let's give them a show baby." Vernon says catching you in another heated kiss.
Vernon kisses you like he is possessed. Like a man starved. Like you are the first meal he's had in days. Your lips move in rhythm, your lips part and his tongue finds it's way in, playing with yours in the same familiar rhythm. He continues to kiss you as his mouth swallows the little whines that escape you.
Your lips detach from his as you suck in a breath, but he's over you again, lips taking your own in another kiss, it's like he's conveying all of his love to you in the kiss. He leaves wet trails down your neck, pecking your cheeks. Rubbing circles around your back. He holds you close, his bare torso flush against your body. You pull him into another kiss, and he lest you take control. You kiss each other until that's all you can taste.
Vernon has his eyes closed as he holds you to him. His breath fans against your neck.
"Whoa. Ummm." You step back, looking at your boyfriend, his already tousled hair are somehow even more messy. His dark eyes look at you with the same emotion of love that he always carries for you.
"What is it, babygirl?" Vernon asks tilting his head. There is a teasing edge to his tone that tells that he has been enjoying your suffering.
"Can you not stare at me like that." You look at him with the best frown you can muster but your ears and cheeks are flushed. He's making you flustered. Damn him.
"Stare like what hmm?" Vernon asks but you're already just whining as you bury your face in his bare chest, holding your arms against his waist. "Ughhhhh. You're the worst."
Vernon has a cocky grin as he ruffles your hair, pressing his face against your head. "Keep saying that love. But we both know who's the flustered one here, he teases back." You try to stub your toe over his but he's fast, moving his feet to the side laughing at your attempt to hide how flustered you really are.
"Lest get you back home yeah?" He asks, as you lookup at him, still flushed, still pouting at him.
Vernon can't help but place his lips over yours, giving you another kiss. He loves you. He loves the way you act like you hate his touch, when it's the one thing you seem to crave. He loves kissing the shyness away from your lips. He's a man in love. And he won't have it any other way.
Everyone knows Seungcheol flirts his way through life. You’ve brushed him off so many times it's practically routine. He never pushes, so you've always taken it as harmless fun -- until something shifts, and you realise he's not as simple as you've convinced yourself he is.
⇢ pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader
⇢ genre: fluff, angst, idiots to lovers
⇢ wc: approx. 10k
⇢ warnings: daycare worker reader, firefighter!cheol, alcohol consumption, mentions of fire, miscommunication, reader is a little mean 😭
⇢ a/n: this is well WELL overdue because of. many reasons. so thank you so so soo much to the hosts of this collab for being so kind and understanding w extensions. it’s been a loooong time since ive been able to write but im so glad this is finally going out into the world 💗
⇢ as part of the carat’s ridge collab hosted by @imnotshua @starlightkyeom @100vern
YOU’VE WORKED AT Little Pines for just under three years now, long enough that you don't flinch anymore when a four-year-old screams directly into your ear for reasons that will never be explained to you, long enough that you've got a favourite chair in the break room and a mug that says WORLD'S OKAYEST TEACHER that your coworker Jiwon got you as a joke two Christmases ago and that you now use every single day out of spite.
“You're doing the thing again,” Jiwon says, not looking up from where she's cutting a stack of construction paper into slightly uneven ovals that will eventually become, God willing, eggs.
“What thing?”
“You've been staring at the door since 7:40. It's currently 8:05. Taehyun's mom's going to walk through it any minute now and you're going to jump like she caught you doing something illegal.”
“I wasn't staring at the door.” You absolutely were staring at the door.
“Okay.“ Jiwon holds up an oval that's more of a rhombus. “Do these look like chicken eggs to you?”
“They look like abstract art.”
She sticks her tongue out at you. “Okay, well, they're chicken eggs.”
Across the room, Soyeon — who technically works the front desk and has no real business in the classroom during the day, but wanders in anyway whenever she's got a free ten minutes — is refereeing a dispute over a single yellow crayon that has somehow become the most coveted object in the building. Two kids stand on either side of her, red-faced and furious, both absolutely certain of their claim.
“I had it first.”
“I had it first first.”
“There's no such thing as first first,” Soyeon says, with the weary patience of someone who's negotiated with cranky four year olds before breakfast and will again after lunch. “There are, however, eleven other yellow crayons in that bin. I checked.”
Neither kid finds this persuasive. You've learned, over three years, that most classroom diplomacy comes down to waiting people out rather than winning any actual argument, and sure enough, within ninety seconds both of them have abandoned the crayon entirely in favor of a much more interesting pile of dolls in the corner. Soyeon catches your eye over their heads and mouths good luck, and you give her a thumbs up you don't entirely feel yet as she disappears back to the office.
The door opens. It's Taehyun's mother, harried and talking rapidly about a meeting she's clearly already late for, depositing her son and his bag and a granola bar all in one motion before disappearing again in a cloud of strong perfume. Taehyun toddles toward the block corner without acknowledging either of you, which is, frankly, the daycare equivalent of a warm greeting.
You've got four kids in by 8:15, seven by 8:30, and by nine the whole room has that low hum of chaos that means the day's properly begun — someone building a tower, someone destroying a tower, someone crying about the tower's destruction with a passion. Chaewon, three going on forty, sits very seriously at the reading corner turning the pages of a picture book upside down and narrating it with complete confidence.
“That's not what it says,” you tell her, crouching down.
“I know,“ Chaewon says. “I made it better.”
You don't have a response to that, so you let her keep going.
By ten you've got the whole room moving through the usual currents — circle time, then centres, then the slow inevitable descent into midday crankiness over minor grievances that means it's almost snack time. You hand out orange slices and listen to a passionate, incoherent argument between two five-year-olds about whether dogs could, in principle, become doctors, a debate that resolves itself only when someone knocks over the entire bin of blocks and both parties get called away to help clean it up, already having forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place.
This is the shape of your days, mostly. Small disasters, smaller triumphs, a lot of glitter you'll find in your hair for a week afterward. You do like it — the specific way you like something you didn't expect to love. You'd taken the job out of necessity two summers after a psychology degree that hadn't led anywhere near where you'd planned it would; you'd pictured a clinic, or a research post, or at the very least something with your name on a door, not a room full of glue sticks and orange peels. But somewhere in the middle of your first year you'd looked up from tying somebody's shoe and realised you weren't counting down to anything anymore. You like the kids, you like listening to their absolutely nonsensical debates, and okay, maybe the tantrums aren’t exactly a plus, but when they hand you a badly coloured apple or give the sweetest compliments about your outfit on any given day, your whole heart melts. You think about it sometimes — grad school, or moving away, but never with any real intensity. It could happen, someday, but for now, you’re happy exactly where you are.
Sunday dinner at your mom's is a fixed institution, always at the same table, same mismatched chairs, same argument, most weeks, about whether the good tablecloth is really necessary for a meal that will inevitably involve your younger sister spilling something on it. Agreeing to dinner once a week was one of your mother’s few stipulations when you decided to move out. And now Yuna's twenty-two and home for the summer between the end of her graphic design degree in another city and the beginning of whatever comes next, and she's currently interrogating you about your love life with the particular shamelessness only a younger sibling can manage.
“So nothing's happening with anyone,” she says, not a question.
You roll your eyes. “Correct.”
“Nothing at all. Zero activity.”
“I have a very rich inner life, Yuna, it doesn't all have to be romantic. Hobbies. Friends.”
“I didn't ask about your inner life, I asked if you're seeing anyone.“ Yuna reaches across the table for the rice without asking, which your mother allows only from her, a fact that has been a point of argument for roughly twenty years. “You have like, two friends anyway.”
Unfortunately, your younger sister is entirely correct.
“I saw that lovely Choi boy last week, actually,” your mom says, entirely too casual about it, spooning more food onto your plate — which is her way of forcing you to stay in your seat. “He asked how you were doing. Very polite about it. He's always been polite, hasn’t he?”
You scoff. “He's flirting with the whole town, Mom, that's just what he does.”
“Mm,“ your mother says, which is not agreement, and also not disagreement, and is in fact the single most infuriating sound a mother can make. “He's been doing it a long time, though, hasn't he? Since you two were teenagers.”
“He asked her to proooom,” Yuna chips in, sing-song, and you promptly kick her under the table. “Ow! Mom!”
“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, over Yuna’s complaint.
“I didn't say it meant anything.” Your mother says it lightly, the way she says most things she actually means incredibly pointedly, a skill you're fairly sure you inherited directly from her and have spent years turning against her at this exact table. “I just think it's interesting that a man can ask about a woman for ten years and it doesn't mean anything, and a woman can turn him down for ten years and that doesn't mean anything either. Sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time.”
“Can we talk about literally anything else,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “In fact! We can talk about how Yuna still hasn't found a job,” you offer, and Yuna kicks you back under the table hard enough that you yelp, and your mother laughs, and the conversation moves on, mercifully, to safer ground — Yuna's job search, the neighbour's renovation, whether it's finally time to replace the good tablecloth — but you catch your mom looking at you once more over the course of the meal with an expression you don't examine too closely.
Here's the truth of it, if you're being honest, which you try not to be too often on this particular subject: Seungcheol's been flirting with you since roughly the ninth grade, in the low-grade, no-stakes way he’s never grown out of. But he also flirts with the guy at the post office. He flirts with Ms. Oh, who's sixty-one and unmarried and thinks he's a delight. He flirts with the bartender at the one good bar in town, who's engaged and finds it hilarious. It's not a thing you take personally, mostly, because it so clearly isn't personal — it's just the way it is with him, constant.
Except it's always felt a little more personal directed at you, and you've spent a lot of energy over the years making sure it never gets anywhere near landing.
You remember the prom thing specifically, with a clarity that time hasn't done much to soften — him leaning against your locker two weeks before, hands in his pockets, asking with a shrug that was trying so hard to look like it didn't matter, and you turning him down before he'd even finished the sentence, because Kim Daeun had told you the week before that he'd asked three other girls the exact same way, and you weren't about to be a fourth. You'd found out later that wasn't true, that you'd actually been the only one he'd asked, but by then the pattern was already set, the reflex already built, and reflexes, you've learned, are a lot harder to unlearn than they are to learn in the first place. He hadn't argued, hadn't sulked, had just said “your loss” and grinned and gone off to ask someone else's opinion on which tie to wear instead, and you remember watching him walk away and feeling, underneath the relief, something that took you another decade to correctly identify as disappointment.
There was something else, too, that came later, and you think about it more than you'd like to admit, because by then you weren't the same girl who'd turned him down at a locker. You were two years into a psychology degree, home for a fortnight over the winter break, feeling like a slightly different person in your own hometown, the way you always did those first few days back, still half in seminar-mode, still analysing everything, including, apparently, yourself. You'd been walking back from your mum's when the sky opened properly, no warning, the kind of rain that soaks through in under a minute, and a car had pulled up alongside you with its window already rolling down before you'd even registered whose it was. Seungcheol in his brother's beat-up sedan, hair already damp from getting out to jog around and open the passenger door for you before you could say anything.
“Get in,” he'd said, entirely reasonable, entirely obvious, and you'd stood there on the curb, drenched, freezing, genuinely unable to think of a single sensible reason to say no, and said no anyway. You'd told him you didn't mind the walk, which was a lie so transparent you'd half expected him to call it, and he hadn't, had just looked at you for a second too long, rain running down from his long fringe onto his cheeks, before he'd said, “Alright,” and driven off slowly.
You'd spent the rest of that walk soaked through and furious with yourself in a way you didn't have language for yet, turning it over with the same detached, clinical curiosity you were being trained to turn on everything else that year — why did you say no, what did you think accepting would cost you — and never quite landing on an answer you liked. You remember thinking, absurdly, that you'd learned more about avoidant attachment that semester than you'd ever wanted to know, and that none of it had stopped you doing exactly what the textbook said you would.
You remember the coffee, more recently, and the movie, and the wedding — Soonyoung's cousin's wedding, the one he'd asked you to as a plus-one with an actual paper invitation he'd apparently gone to the trouble of getting an extra copy of, which you'd found both sweet and alarming in equal measure and you had turned down within about four seconds of seeing it, before you could think too hard about why your hands had gone a little unsteady holding it.
You expect it now. Seungcheol borderline flirts every time he sees you; occasionally he pushes his luck and asks you out, with enough time in between that you can’t call him insistent.
Each time, you refuse it with the specific lightness of someone slamming a door gently enough that it doesn't look like she's slamming it. And each time he's taken it exactly the way he takes everything — with a grin, a shrug, a “your loss” tossed over his shoulder as he walks away completely unbothered, already on to the next joke, the next call, the next whatever.
So you do the same — you don't examine it. You put it in the same drawer where you keep most things you don't want to look at directly, close it, and go back to your life.
The same week you have that pointed dinner with your mom, you see him at the grocery store — or rather, he sees you. It's a Wednesday, nothing special about it, and you're standing in the cereal aisle trying to decide whether you actually need a box of the good granola or whether that's just a symptom of grocery shopping hungry, when a voice behind you says, “You're gonna want the other kind.”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. “I didn’t ask you, Seungcheol.”
“You didn't have to. You've been standing there for a full minute looking at that box.” Seungcheol's got a basket hooked over one arm, and the basket, when you glance at it, contains a box of protein bars, a carton of orange juice (with pulp, which, ew), and a single lime, which tells you absolutely nothing about what he's planning to cook tonight. “The one with the honey clusters. Trust me.”
“I don't take grocery advice from a man whose entire cart is a lime and protein bars.”
“It's a basket, not a cart, and I resent the implication that I don’t know how to grocery shop.” He leans against the shelf, unbothered, like he's got nowhere else to be — which, this being a Wednesday evening and him apparently off shift, he probably doesn't. “You still owe me an answer on Seokmin’s barbecue thing, by the way.”
“That was two years ago, Seungcheol.”
“I have a long memory.”
“You have a selective memory. You don't remember owing Soonyoung forty dollars, but you remember a barbecue invitation from two summers ago.”
“Different category of memory. One's debt. The other's an open wound.” He says it with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, grinning, and you roll your eyes and put the honey clusters in your cart anyway, which he looks entirely too pleased about.
“Don't,” you say.
“Didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say I'm always right about cereal, but sure, put words in my mouth.“ He falls into step beside you as you push toward the dairy section, not because he needs anything there, you're fairly sure, but because this is also just how it goes, has gone, for as long as you can remember: running into each other in the produce aisle or outside the post office or at the one gas station, falling into the same easy rhythm you've had since you were teenagers — like the conversation never really stops, just pauses between sightings. “How's the daycare? Still winning?”
“Every day's a battle, but yes.”
“You could come to Seokmin’s barbecue this year. Renewing my invitation.”
“I'll think about it,” you say, which is what you always say, and he laughs like he already knows what that means, because he does, because you've been having some version of this exact exchange for the better part of a decade — him asking, lightly, for something, you deflecting, lightly, in return. Neither of you ever quite landing anywhere, both of you apparently fine with that. You part ways at the register, him with his lime and his orange juice and his protein bars, you with a cart full of things that will mostly go uneaten, and you don't think about it again until you're halfway through unpacking your groceries at home and realise you're smiling for no reason you can name.
It isn't all banter, though, and it would be doing the whole thing a disservice to pretend it is. There's a version of you two that has nothing to do with the game at all, that surfaces every so often, and you think about one particular evening more than you'd probably admit to anyone, including yourself.
You'd run into him at the diner on the edge of town, the one that's open too late and serves coffee that's either too strong or too watery. He'd been alone in a booth looking like a man who'd had a longer day than usual, sleeves shoved up, staring at a mug he wasn't drinking from. You'd almost kept walking.
“You look like you got hit by that truck of yours,”you'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without being invited, and his look of surprise when he saw you mirrored exactly how you’d felt at your own actions.
“Feels about right.” He hadn't tried to make a joke of it, which was how you knew it was serious. Seungcheol without a joke ready was rare. “There was a house fire. We got everyone out,” he adds quickly, “It’s just — the house. It’s fucked up. Like, it was a couple and their kids, and their dog, and they were — you know. Gutted. Crying and shit. The kids, especially.”
You hadn't said anything clever, because there wasn't anything clever to say, and you'd known enough not to try, from years of watching adults fumble around children in crisis and from a psychology degree that had, in fact, occasionally been useful.
“You did everything you could,” you'd said eventually, quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I know that's going to sound like nothing to you right now, but it’s true.”
He'd looked up at you properly then, something unguarded in his face that had nothing to do with flirting, nothing to do with the bit — just a kind of tired gratitude that made you want to reach across the table and grab his hand. “They teach you that in your psych degree or what?” he'd asked, attempting for a smile.
You mirror the smile, with a small shrug of your own. “Turns out it's good for something besides making me insufferable at dinner parties.”
That had got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised, and the two of you had sat there for another hour talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did — his brother, your sister,the particular dread of watching a four-year-old take a deep breath right before they’re about to scream the place down. He'd asked you, at one point, about college and your degree — he’d never been to college, of course, and he’d listened to the whole thing like it was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him all week.
You remember thinking, driving home that night, that you liked him best like this, unshowy, unarmoured, asking real questions and actually waiting for the answers — and you remember being immediately furious with yourself for thinking it, and filing the whole evening away in the same drawer as everything else.
Minji's been your friend since third grade, and she's the one person you still talk to who's known you both — you and Seungcheol — long enough to have a real opinion on the whole situation, which she airs freely and often. Today it's as she’s doing her nails, a shade of red she's had you hold the bottle for while she does the other hand, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's back porch with two iced coffees sweating rings onto the railing between you.
“I saw Seungcheol at the gas station Tuesday,” Minji says without preamble, not looking up from her hand. “He asked if I'd talked to you lately. Very smooth about it. Very casual.“
“He's like that with—”
“If you say 'he's like that with everyone' I'm going to put this nail polish in your hair.“ She caps the bottle, finally looks at you, and there's none of your mother's careful lightness in it, just Minji's usual bluntness, worn soft by nearly twenty years of friendship. “I've watched this specific bit for ten years. I watched it in high school, I watched it through your entire early twenties,and at some point, as your best friend, I have to ask: what exactly are you so afraid of?”
You don’t answer straight away, dropping your gaze to the coffee. You take a sip, fiddle with the straw between your teeth before you sigh, tilt your head back towards the clouds. “He’s not serious. It’s like a game to him.”
“Did someone tell you that or are you just making up your own conclusions?” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “It’s been years, ___.”
“Yeah, years of playful flirting. There’s literally nothing serious behind it — I turn him down and he laughs, Minji. It’s a joke. We both know it’s a joke.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s been stuck on you since high school, and you’re too scared of yourself to even give him a chance.”
She always knows how to hit where it hurts, exactly when you need to be hit. Your mouth opens for a second, and then closes as you flounder for something to say. “He’s not stuck on me,” you say finally. “Seriously. We’ve both dated other people, in high school and after.”
“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know what I mean. He likes you.”
“Well, he’s never actually said that!”
“Purposefully. Obtuse.” She pokes your forehead after each word. “What are you protecting yourself from here?”
You close your mouth, silenced and sulking about it.
“Because it's not him,” she continues. “He'd catch you. He's been standing there with his arms out for a decade.”
“It's not that simple.”
“It's exactly that simple, you've just made it complicated on purpose because complicated is easier to dismiss than simple.“ She blows on her nails. “He likes you. You like him. It’s the simplest fucking thing ever.”
You don’t say anything, just scowl and sip your coffee. Your best friend is harsh on the best of days, and usually you like it — today, she’s said everything you don’t want to hear.
“Anyway. How's Chaewon? Is she still doing her pirate princess story?”
“She's added a supervillain.”
“Of course she has.” Minji grins, and the conversation slides, mercifully, sideways — into Minji's own things, a promotion she's up for, a guy she's seeing who she's not sure about — and you're grateful for it, for the reminder that your life has edges that don't touch Seungcheol at all, whole rooms of it that are just yours, just Minji's, just the ordinary unremarkable texture of having a friend since you were eight years old. But underneath the rest of the afternoon, everything Minji said keeps surfacing, quiet and insistently plaguing your thoughts.
It's a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, when Ms. Oh — who owns and runs Little Pines — gathers the staff in the break room after the kids have gone home to go over the calendar for the next month.
“Also,“ she says, near the end, flipping a laminated sheet, “Fire Safety Day's the fourteenth. The station's sending a few of the firemen out to do the usual — stop, drop, roll, let the kids sit in the truck, the whole bit.”
“Cute,“ Soyeon says, refilling her coffee. “The kids’ll love it.”
“Who's coming?” Jiwon asks, because Jiwon asks things you'd rather she didn't, and you’re pretty sure she has a crush on one of Seungcheol’s coworkers, Wonwoo.
“Didn't say. Whoever's on rotation, I'd assume.” Ms. Oh moves on to the field trip permission slips, and you let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, and tell yourself, very firmly, that it doesn't matter who's coming. It's a fire station. There are, by your count, eleven firefighters in this town. The odds are fine. The odds are completely fine.
You avoid thinking about Choi Seungcheol for the rest of the day. Which is to say, you think about him constantly for the rest of the day.
The morning of the fourteenth arrives, and the kids are beyond excited. They’ve talking about it for a week — Chaewon's drawn what she insists is a fire truck and what everyone else agrees looks more like a very angry snail, and Taehyun's informed you three separate times, with the grave authority of a man delivering breaking news, that firemen have “actual axes.” You've got the kids lined up in the yard by ten, sunscreen reapplied, hats on, when the truck rolls up the gravel drive with the low satisfying rumble that makes every single child under the age of six lose their entire mind at once.
You see him before the truck's even fully stopped. Of course you do. He's hanging half out of the passenger side before it brakes, waving at the kids (who are adorably excited), and something in your chest does the thing it always does — a small, private, entirely inconvenient drop, like missing a stair in the dark.
Choi Seungcheol climbs down in his full gear, helmet under one arm, and crouches immediately to be at eye level with a cluster of four- and five-year-olds who are looking at him like he's personally invented fire trucks. “Who wants to sit in the driver's seat?” he sings, and the resulting scream from twelve small children could probably be heard three towns over.
He's good at this. You'll give him that, freely, the way you give him most things freely except the one thing he actually asks for. He crouches and jokes and lets Chaewon try on his helmet, which swallows her entire head, and gets down on the ground to show a rapt little semicircle of children how the hose attaches, and doesn't once break character even when Taehyun asks him, with total sincerity, whether he's ever fought a dragon. (“Couple times,” Seungcheol says. “Rough guys, dragons. Mostly it's the smoke.”)
The other two firefighters who've come with him, an older woman named Yerin and Soonyoung, who you’d also gone to high school with, do their parts fine, competent and pleasant and funny, but the kids gravitate to Seungcheol easily and instinctively.
You've managed, for a solid twenty minutes, to stay on the opposite side of the gaggle of kids, ostensibly ensuring Beomgyu keeps his hat on. It doesn't last. Around the time the kids are being herded toward the truck to take turns sitting behind the wheel, he peels off from the group and ambles over, helmet tucked under his arm, looking entirely too good for someone who's just spent twenty minutes being climbed on by preschoolers.
“You've got glitter on your face,” he says, by way of hello.
“I always have glitter on my face. It's basically work uniform at this point.”
“It's a good look on you.” He says it easily, the same way he says everything, but his eyes do a quick pass over you before landing back on your face with that brief dimpled smile, and you hate — hate — the small flicker of warmth that swells in your stomach.
“You didn't have to come,” you say, which isn't true, since he clearly did have to come, it's his job, but it's the fastest thing you can think to say that isn't I hoped you wouldn't and also knew you would.
“Somebody's gotta protect this town's youth from the dangers of unattended candles,“ he says solemnly. “It's a calling.“
“Right. Noble.” You pause. “They’re four, by the way.”
“Extremely noble. You should be nicer to me. I'm basically a public servant.”
“I'm always nice to you.”
“You're the meanest person I know,“ he says, delighted, “and I mean that as a compliment to your commitment.”
“Anyway,” he says, looking over to the truck. “The kids are gonna want to come to the station. We usually do that — let them see where the trucks live and everything. I can set it up with your boss if that's alright with you.”
“Sure,” you say, half-listening, half-watching the kids. You’re pretty sure Beomgyu and Yeonjun are going to trip, chasing each other like that. “Whatever's easiest.”
“You'll come too, right? Chaperone duty?”
“That's generally how field trips work, yes.”
“Good.” He says it satisfied, like it matters, and for just a second something honest surfaces under the joking — you catch it before he tucks it away again, the way you sometimes do, a flash of something steadier than the bit usually allows.
And then, before you can examine that, Chaewon comes sprinting over demanding to know if the truck can go faster than a police car, and he's gone again, crouched down explaining horsepower to a three-year-old with the same total sincerity he used on the dragon question, and you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, watching him, before you make yourself go help Yerin with the hose demonstration instead.
By the time the truck pulls away an hour later, every single kid in the yard is talking about the fire station visit like it's the moon landing. You've got a feeling you won't hear the end of it for a while.
You don't hear the end of it for a while.
For the better part of two weeks, the fire station visit's the single principle of every conversation the four-year-olds have. Taehyun draws the truck again, several times, with increasing and alarming detail about the axes. Chaewon stages an elaborate reenactment during free play in which she plays “the fireman” and assigns you the role of “the person who has to be saved,” which you accept with as much dignity as you can muster while lying on the carpet pretending to be unconscious as a group of kids tug at your legs. Jiwon, of course, finds the whole thing extremely funny.
The days have a way of absorbing whatever's going on with you and continuing regardless, which is, most of the time, a mercy. Circle time happens. Snack time happens. A minor crisis occurs when it's discovered that the class hamster, Mr. Biscuit, has gotten loose sometime overnight, and he's eventually located, after forty tense minutes and one very dramatic search party. Chaewon had refused to take part in said search party, and had instead spent the entire time in the reading corner, insisting Mr. Biscuit would “come back when he was ready,” which, infuriatingly, turns out to be correct.
You also go back to your evenings, which have nothing to do with any of it — a phone call with Yuna where she vents about her job search, an afternoon spent helping Minji repaint her spare room, a Sunday at your mom's where the subject of Seungcheol does not come up even once, a small mercy you're grateful for and slightly suspicious of. Life, in other words, keeps being a whole life, most of which has nothing to do with him at all, which is the thing you keep having to remind yourself of whenever it starts to feel otherwise.
Friday nights, when you're not too wrecked from the week, you go to the bar with Minji and Jimin and a few other friends, because it's the only bar in town worth it. It's not a big fancy place, with its low light, jukebox, and pool table with a wobble in one of the left legs, but it’s the only place to go, really, unless you want to make the drive into the city.
Minji drags you along after a week of promotion nerves and you go willingly enough. The place is familiar enough to be comfortable even after the tiring week you’ve had, but you’re not really looking to drink too much tonight.
You've had a few sips of a cocktail by the time the door opens and a loud group of off-duty firefighters spills in, mid-laugh, and naturally, Seungcheol's in the middle of it. He’s saying something that's got Soonyoung doubled over, and you feel the familiar lurch of oh, here we go before you've even fully processed that he's clocked you across the room.
“Oh, this'll be good,” Minji murmurs into her drink, and you kick her under the table, which only makes her grin wider.
You run into him often, at this bar, so seeing him isn’t really a surprise in itself. He grins at you as he and his friends make their way first to the pool table, and you return the gesture with an awkward nod, and somehow almost drop your drink in the process.
It’s maybe forty five minutes later that he actually comes over to you. He always does, at least once when you run into each other like this, always comes to say hi, which usually leads into some kind of line.
He waves Dohyun, the bartender, over and orders a whiskey on the rocks, and for a while you just talk, as the ice in his drink melts. Easy, unimportant things, the kind of conversation that happens naturally between two people who've known each other long enough that silence isn't awkward, just comfortable. He tells you about a call they had that week, a cat stuck in a drainpipe that took forty-five minutes and drew a crowd. You tell him about Chaewon's ongoing crusade against the concept of naptime, which makes him laugh so hard he has to put his drink down, not that he’s drank much of it. Somewhere in there Minji peels off to go play pool with Jiwon and Soonyoung, throwing you one loaded look over her shoulder on the way that you very deliberately ignore.
Somehow, the two of you have drifted from the bar itself to a booth in the back corner, and Jiwon's gone home with a wave you barely registered, and Minji's deep in a game of pool she's losing badly and loudly to Soonyoung, and you're sitting closer to him than you were an hour ago without being able to say exactly when that happened. He's telling you something about his brother’s wedding, some story about a groomsman and a dropped ring you're only half following because you've gotten distracted by the way he laughs at his own joke before he even finishes it, the way his hand's landed, at some point, loosely on the back of the booth behind your shoulders, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it without him actually touching you.
“You're not listening,” he says, not offended, just observing.
“I'm listening.”
“What'd I just say?”
“Something about a ring.“
“Close enough.“ He's looking at you in a way that feels different from the usual — like he's forgotten, for a second, to be charming about it. “You've got that look.“
“What look?”
“You’re totally zoning out. That look.”
You snort, aiming for humour. “I'm always zoning out around you.“
“I know,” he says, and there's something in his voice, something almost fond and almost sad at once, so much that it makes your levity fall flat and for a moment neither of you says anything at all. Then he smiles, “You always zone out anyway, though. I remember from school.”
“Please.”
“It’s true! I remember it happening in history class and Miss Lee had to snap her fingers in front of your face!”
Heat crawls up your face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that! That was in my first week, too, I nearly cried.”
“I remember,” he smiles. “Everyone was talking about the new girl who just moved to town and that was the first time I saw you.”
It's strange, the way ten years can gather themselves into a single quiet second like that — all of it sitting there in the space between his face and yours, close enough now that you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you don't let yourself do, except you do anyway. You think, distantly, of Minji on the porch — he's been standing there with his arms out for a decade — and your mother at the dinner table — sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time — and something in you that's held itself very carefully closed for a very long time simply, without your permission, stops holding.
He leans in, slow enough that you have every opportunity to move. You don't take it.
The kiss, when it happens, isn't clumsy at all, not at first — it's slow, almost unbearably so, like he's been waiting so long for it he's decided to actually take his time now that he's got it, one hand coming up to your jaw so lightly it's almost a question, and you answer it by leaning further in, by letting your hand find the front of his shirt and hold on, and you kiss him back like you mean it, because you do. Then his other hand finds your waist and yours finds the back of his neck and the two of you shift closer in the booth and it turns into something hungrier, less careful.
Somewhere in the bar, distantly, you hear Minji whoop, and you don't even have it in you to be embarrassed.
Then your brain catches up with the rest of you, the way it always eventually does, and you pull back, breathing hard like you've run somewhere. Seungcheol looks a little wrecked, the same way you feel, his hair mussed and his lips a little swollen, and you guess you must look something similar.
“I—” you start, and don't finish, because you don't actually know what comes next.
“Hey,” he says, low, steady, not moving away, his thumb still resting at your jaw like he’s catching up to the fact that you're pulling out of it. “It's okay, just — ”
“I shouldn't have — ” You're already reaching for your bag, your keys, anything to hold onto that isn't him. “I think I had too much to drink.“
“You didn’t even finish your cocktail,” he says, and he's not smiling now, which is somehow worse than if he had been. “Can we just — talk for a second? I've been wanting to say something for a while, and I know the timing's not— ”
“Cheol, I’m sorry — I — I really think I should go,” you’re fumbling with your bag and your words at the same time.
“I'm not trying to freak you out.” He says it gently, both hands visible now, like he's talking someone down off a ledge, which, you suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate. And his voice speeds up a little, because you’re still gathering your things and avoiding his gaze and it’s his turn to trip over his words: “I just — I like you. Like, actually. I know it's always been the bit, with us, and that's fine, that's — I get why. But I'm not messing around right now. I want you to know that. Can we just talk for a se—?” And he cuts himself off, because you’re standing up.
It's the most honest he's ever been with you, stripped clean of the performance, and it terrifies you in a way you don't have language for at eleven-thirty on a Friday with your pulse still loud in your ears. “Please,” he says, softly, so softly, and his hand brushes against yours, feather-soft. You make the mistake of looking, and he’s gazing up at you from the booth, his eyes pleading and brown and warm and serious.
“I have work in the morning,“ you say, which is a lie, and you both know it's a lie, it’s a fuckin Saturday, but he lets you have it anyway, some tired resignation moving through his face.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Get home safe.”
Minji catches you by the door, pool cue still in hand, all the teasing gone out of her face the second she sees yours. “Hey,” she says, softer than you've heard her all night. “You good?”
“I don't know,” you say honestly, and she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm once and tells you she'll call a cab for both of you, and you let her, grateful, not for the first time, that she's known you long enough to know exactly when not to push.
You don't remember much of the ride home. Your hands are shaking slightly as you find your keys at your own front door, and you don't look back toward the bar even once, and you lie awake for a long time afterward turning the whole thing over and over in your head like a stone you can't put down, unable to decide which part scares you more — that he said it, or that some traitorous, long-buried part of you wanted to say something back.
You don't see him again for eleven days, which you know because you count, which you're furious with yourself for doing.
Life continues in the meantime, because it does that, indifferent to the small personal catastrophes you're nursing. There are snacks to portion out and scraped knees to bandage and an entire day on the letter Q that takes far longer than it has any right to. Chaewon's fireman reenactments continue unabated, blessedly innocent of the fact that you now flinch slightly every time she mentions the word. Jiwon notices you're off but, for once, has the mercy not to push, which you appreciate more than you tell her.
Sunday dinner happens in the middle of the eleven days, and you spend most of it pushing rice around your plate while your mother and Yuna talk around you, until your mother, halfway through clearing the table, pauses behind your chair and rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. Not asking anything, just letting you know she's noticed, which somehow makes it harder to hold together than if she'd asked directly. Minji calls twice and you let both calls go to voicemail, not because you don't want to talk to her but because you know exactly what she'll say, and you're not ready yet to hear it out loud, even though some louder part of you already knows she'd be right.
The field trip to the fire station is scheduled for the Thursday of that second week, and you've spent a genuinely humiliating amount of effort trying to get out of it. You ask Jiwon, with what you hope is believable casualness, if there’s any possible way Ms Oh would let you skip it and take a parent chaperone instead. She looks at you like you've suggested trading a kidney.
“Absolutely not. Do you know Ms Oh? No. You're going.”
You haven't been able to think of a version of the truth small enough to hand her, so you let it drop, and here you are on Thursday morning, herding twelve overexcited kids onto a rented minibus with the specific dread of someone walking toward a conversation she's been dodging for a week and a half.
The station's a squat brick building on the edge of downtown, garage doors up, two trucks gleaming in the shade, and the kids lose their minds the second the bus door opens. You busy yourself with headcounts and hand-holding, buying yourself as much time as you reasonably can before you have to actually look at him.
When you do, it isn't what you expect, and somehow that's worse.
Seungcheol is polite. That's the word for it, the only word, and it lands like a slap precisely because it's so foreign coming from him. He greets the kids with the same warmth as before — you'll give him that, he never once lets it touch them — crouching down, letting them climb the truck, patiently explaining the same things he explained a month ago in the daycare yard.
There's one second, early on, when he glances up and catches your eye across the garage and something almost warm flickers there on instinct, old habit, ten years of muscle memory — before he seems to remember, visibly, and shuts it down, his face resetting into something careful before he looks away again. You watch it happen and wish, immediately, that you hadn't seen it. But mostly, for the rest of the hour, there's none of the usual spark in his eyes when they pass over you, none of the teasing, none of the warmth that's always, always been there even when you were actively trying to shut it down. He nods at you once, says “morning,“ in a tone you've never heard him use on you before and then turns his attention fully to the kids and doesn't look at you again for the better part of an hour.
It should be a relief. Instead, it fucking stings.
Yerin gives the group tour of the trucks. Soonyoung lets three kids at a time try on a real helmet. Seungcheol does his part competently, kindly, and entirely at arm's length from you, and when the visit wraps up and the kids are being herded back toward the bus in a loose, sunscreen-smelling parade, you find yourself hanging back at the garage door while Jiwon does the headcount, because you can't make yourself walk away without saying something, even though you have no idea what the something is.
“Hey,” you say, inadequately.
He's coiling a length of hose that doesn't especially need coiling. “Hey,” he says, not looking up. “Kids have a good time?”
“They loved it. You're good with them.”
“Yeah, well.” He sets the hose down, finally looks at you, and his face is doing the thing it's been doing all morning — pleasant and closed-off.
“Seungcheol—”
“You should get back to the bus,” he says, not unkindly, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been sharp about it. “Don't want to lose a kid on my watch.”
It's a joke, technically, the shape of one, but it comes out flat, missing the thing that always makes his jokes land — that easy, unbothered warmth. You realise, standing there in the wide mouth of the garage with the smell of diesel and rubber hose around you, that you've finally managed it.
“Okay,” you say, because you can't think of anything else, and you turn and walk back to the bus, and don't let yourself look back at the garage until you're sure the kids can't see your face. You spend the entire drive back with a thick lump in your throat and something burning behind your eyes.
You don't sleep well that night, or the two after it. Your brain keeps circling back to the same three minutes in a garage no matter what you try to distract it with. You go through the motions of your days competently enough — nobody at Little Pines seems to notice anything beyond your slightly quieter mood, which you blame on being tired — but underneath the surface you're doing the thing you've always been careful never to do where he's concerned: you're actually thinking about it.
You skip Friday at the bar that week, and the one after, telling Jiwon and Soyeon you're just tired, which is half true. Minji shows up at your apartment uninvited the same night with a bag of takeout and an expression that says she's done waiting for you to call her back, and you let her in because you don't have it in you to pretend anymore, not to her.
“Okay,” Minji says, setting the containers out on your coffee table like she's settling in for a long negotiation, which, you suspect, she is. “Talk. All of it. I already know something happened at the bar, I was there for the whoop-worthy part, I just don't know the rest.”
So you tell her. All of it — the kiss, what he said after, the eleven days, the garage, the way his face had gone so carefully closed you almost hadn't recognised him. Minji listens without interrupting, which for Minji is its own kind of remarkable, and when you finally run out of words she doesn't say I told you so, which you'd braced for, and which you almost wish she had, because instead she just looks at you, steady and a little sad on your behalf, and says, “You know what you have to do.”
“I know what I have to do.”
“So why haven't you done it yet.”
“Because I've never actually done this before,” you admit, and it's the truest thing you've said out loud in two weeks. “Turning him down, that I know how to do. That's years of practice. I don't know how to do the other thing.“
“Nobody knows how to do the other thing,” Minji says, not unkindly. “You just do it anyway.”
You think about the ten years of it, after she leaves, sitting alone with the takeout containers cooling on your table — the prom, the rain, the coffee you never got, the wedding you didn't go to as anyone's plus-one, every single time you took the easy warm shape of his affection and handed it back to him like something you couldn't use.
You think about how none of it ever once made him flinch, how you told yourself that meant it didn't matter to him, when really (you can see it now, uncomfortably clearly) it probably meant the opposite. It meant he’d turned the flirting into a joke on purpose, so a no from you never actually cost him anything. But then — keeping it up, over and over, for years, because some idiotic, hopeful part of him had apparently decided you were worth that particular patience.
And you'd spent that same decade telling yourself it was nothing more than a bit, because the alternative — that it wasn't nothing, that it never had been, and that you might actually want it back — was a door you weren't ready to open.
By Sunday you’ve waded into your thoughts deep enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You sit on your kitchen counter with a cup of tea you're not drinking and you make yourself actually look at the thing you've kept in the drawer for ten years, and what you find, when you finally look, isn't complicated at all. It never was. You'd just been very good at making it look that way.
It occurs to you, sitting there with your tea going cold, that obviously, you’ve dated other people since the ninth grade, even been serious with one or two, and none of them ever tied you up in knots the way this has.
It’s not that they mattered less. It’s that none of them were Choi Seungcheol, who’d been the easiest person in your entire year to like, who’d had half the school a little bit in love with him since he was fifteen, and you’d been so sure back then that a boy like that leaning against your locker was a joke because the alternative — that he meant it, about you, specifically — just didn’t make sense.
It had been simpler, safer, to decide it was just Seungcheol being Seungcheol, the same warmth he handed out to the woman at the post office and the bartender at and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing in front of him, and to file yourself in with all of them instead of letting yourself be the one exception.
You call Jiwon, because you've run out of ways to have the conversation only with yourself, and because Minji's already said her piece and you want, this once, a second voice saying the same thing back to you before you trust it.
“Okay,” Jiwon says, once you've gotten through the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor with your phone on speaker and a second cup of tea gone cold beside you. “So let me get this straight. You've liked him since — what, ninth grade?”
“I didn't say I liked him since ninth grade.”
“You basically said that.”
“I said I'd been turning him down since ninth grade, that's a different thing. I think it started as something silly. I haven’t been, you know, pining around for him for a decade straight, and neither has he.”
You can hear her moving around her own kitchen, a cupboard opening and closing. “Yeah, well. It seems like he’s been waiting for a chance for a decade, though.”
You don’t have anything to say to that. Jiwon continues anyway, so you don’t have a chance. “I genuinely thought you two just had a bit going. A little routine. I didn't realise that it was unresolved feelings the entire time, and I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, so, congratulations, you've out-repressed even me.”
“That's not a compliment.”
“It's not not a compliment.” A pause. “You're going to go find him, right? Not just think about it for another week.”
Your nose scrunches. “I might.”
“Don't. Go tonight. Or tomorrow. Just — don't let this be a thing you circle for another decade, you've circled it long enough.”
You laugh, the first real laugh you've managed in days, and it loosens something in your chest that's been sitting there, tight and small, since the fire station garage. “Tomorrow,” you say. “I'll go tomorrow.”
“Good. And tell me everything after. I mean everything.”
“I'm not going to tell you everything.“
“You're going to tell me everything,” Jiwon says, with total confidence, and hangs up before you can argue, which, you have to admit, is probably the correct read of the situation.
You find him on Tuesday evening, off shift, at the little park two streets from the station where you know — because everyone in a town this size knows everyone's habits eventually, whether they mean to or not — he sometimes goes to shoot free throws alone on the cracked half-court when he's got something on his mind.
Your hands are unsteady the whole drive over, and twice you nearly turn around, and both times you think of Minji on your couch, of your mother's hand on your shoulder, of Jiwon's voice on the phone, and you keep driving.
He sees you before you reach the fence, ball tucked under one arm, and for a second his face does something complicated — surprise, then that same careful, contained politeness from the fire station, sliding down over it like a shade.
“Hey,“ he says. “Everything okay? Kids alright?”
“The kids are fine. I'm not here about the kids.” Your voice sounds horribly strained. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just waits, bouncing the ball once against the cracked asphalt like he needs something to do with his hands.
“I've been an idiot,“ you say, which isn't how you'd planned to start, but it's true, at least. “For, honestly, a really long time. I don't know how to say the rest of it in a way that doesn't sound like I practised it in my car on the way here, so I'm just going to tell you I practised it in my car on the way here and say it anyway.“
That gets the smallest flicker of something across his face — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.
“I think I started off thinking you were teasing me, back in school. I thought it was a joke when you asked me to prom. And then after that I just needed you to be joking, because to me it didn’t make sense for you to be serious. And because the alternative meant I had to admit I wanted it too, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I kept handing it back to you instead.”
He sets the ball down against his hip, quiet, still watching you with an expression you can't fully read.
“And at the bar,” you say, “I panicked because I think I realised you meant it, and I realised I did too, and then, I don’t know, I just totally freaked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously and I kept brushing you off and I was mean when you didn’t deserve it, and I’m really, really sorry.”
He's quiet for a moment, turning the ball slowly in his hands, and when he speaks again some of the careful politeness has gone out of his voice, replaced by something rawer, more tired. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it. It was just — in high school, yeah, I had a crush on you. And then after, there would be whole stretches where I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, you went to college and I went to the academy, and — then you’d show up again and, I don’t know. Especially when you moved back.” He pauses — the ball slips out of his hands, and you both watch it bounce to a stop. “You were always worth asking,” he says, finally. “I wanted the chance again, every time, even if you wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“I'm really sorry,” you say, and you mean it.
“Okay,” he says, soft, and something in his shoulders loosens. “Practised in your car,” he repeats, and there — there it is, the corner of his lips turning up, small and a little disbelieving, like he isn't sure yet whether to trust it.
“Don't gloat.”
“I'm not gloating. I'm saving this for later. I'm going to bring it up constantly.”
“There he is,” you say, and your own eyes are stinging in a way you choose to blame on the wind, and he crosses the distance between you, slower than at the bar, giving you every chance to step back, and you don't, and this time when he kisses you, there's nothing careless in it at all.
an: i did not intend for this to be so complicated i rewrote this three times with different plots and editing took way way longer than intended. idk. it’s nearly 4am and i need to sleep.
thinking about bf!seokmin who always doodles on your skin. stars, swirls, flowers, you name it. he always has a pen to your skin when your mind is elsewhere.
and it was no different when you came to him with faded red semicircles dotting your arms and a matching crease in your brow. it wasn't anything serious, you'd said, just gripped yourself a little too hard and your nails had left indents. that didn't explain your reclusive demeanor, though.
seokmin didn't pry. not now, there'd be time for that later. he just picked up a pen again and pulled you closer, rolling up your sleeve to see the whole canvas.
he started placing little dots along the concave sides of the indents. when he didn't seem satisfied with that look, he started drawing two parallel lines and little circles instead. soon each of the angry red crescents had a pair of pen marks to match.
you studied your new ink. "smiley faces...?"
he nodded, his eyes disappearing into crescents themselves as he smiled. "first thing that came to mind, and besides--" He rotated your arm a bit to draw a small heart on an open patch of skin. "--now you've got a little bit of happiness to carry with you wherever."
hellloooo~ its been a while🫣 im going to let you in on a secret... this has been in my drafts since last year😅 it was suppposed to be the bday special last year but i ended up writing another one, then i thought why not post it now. just full of cuteness and fluffs, hope you like it!
to my luckiest charm, my buldak loving, my jeon wonwoo, i hope all good things come to you. be happy always, happy birthday uno🤍
A space filled with glowing monitors, neatly arranged figurines, and the soft hum of his gaming setup. You’ve always loved how focused he looks when he’s streaming, the way his glasses slightly slide down his nose as he leans toward the screen, completely engrossed in the game.
He’s live right now, his calm voice carrying through the slightly ajar door, chatting with his viewers. You tiptoe inside, careful not to disrupt his flow, a small tray of snacks in your hands. His viewers know about you but have never seen you. he’s protective that way. But you love these little interruptions, these secret moments that are yours alone to witness.
You place the tray quietly on his desk, just out of view of the camera. Wonwoo notices immediately, his lips twitching into a subtle smile as he mutes his mic for a moment. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his tone so soft it makes your heart flutter.
Before he can unmute, you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears turn red instantly, but he plays it off like a pro, his fingers never leaving the keyboard
The chat, though, picks up on everything
“Did he just smile?!”
“The girlfriend energy is real.”
“He’s blushing. We saw that.”
You giggle silently, watching as Wonwoo clears his throat and tries to focus. But you’re not done yet. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his lips this time.
He freezes for half a second, his character taking a hit in the game, and you stifle a laugh
“Y/N…” he whispers, a mix of exasperation and affection in his voice
You just grin, slipping out of the room before he can say more.
Curiosity gets the best of you as you cozy up on the couch with your phone. Wonwoo’s stream is still going, but you’ve tuned in now not for the gameplay, but for the aftermath of your little interruption.
The chat is in full-blown chaos
“He’s so soft when he talks about her. We’re all just third-wheeling.”
“SHE BROUGHT HIM SNACKS?? Marriage material. Period.”
“Did anyone else see him freeze for like half a second? That kiss hit DIFFERENT.”
“WONWOO BLUSHING IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.”
You can’t help but laugh softly, biting your lip as you scroll through. Wonwoo’s viewers are sharp—they don’t miss a single detail. Some are spamming heart emojis, while others are typing theories about how you must’ve kissed him again since he looked extra flustered for a few moments.
You spot one comment that makes you snort
“Legend says she’s the reason he can’t aim today.”
Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the stream, his tone steady but tinged with a softness only you can detect. “You guys are imagining things,” he says, adjusting his glasses like it’ll somehow hide the faint blush still dusting his cheeks.
The chat erupts:
“WE SAW IT, WONWOO. DON’T LIE.”
“Man’s trying to act cool, but we all know he’s whipped.”
“Can you blame him? She seems perfect.”
You feel your heart swell at the kindness of his community. They’ve always been so respectful, never prying too much, but it’s clear they adore seeing this softer side of him.
Still smiling, you type a quick comment from your anonymous account:
“He’s lucky to have her, but I bet she feels just as lucky.”
The chat agrees instantly, flooding the stream with affirmations. Wonwoo chuckles, as if he’s seen your comment and knows it’s you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost too quietly for the mic to pick up, “I really am lucky.”
And just like that, you’re blushing too.
=
GAMEBOI EP.18
You didn’t realize Wonwoo was streaming when you wandered into his gaming room. He’d been spending more time at his desk lately, and you missed having him to yourself. So, without much thought, you pushed open the door, spotting him seated comfortably in his chair, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard.
He looked so effortlessly handsome that you couldn’t resist. You padded over quietly, and before he could react, you slid onto his lap, straddling him, your arms draping around his shoulders. His hands faltered on the keyboard for half a second before they steadied again.
“Hey,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, not noticing the faint red light of his camera indicating he was live
Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a small smile, his gaze darting between you and his monitor. He moved his mic slightly to the side, speaking low enough so only you could hear.
“I’m streaming right now.”
Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could scramble off, he rested a hand lightly on your waist, holding you in place
“It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring
The chat, of course, noticed immediately
“Did someone just sit on his lap?!”
“Wonwoo is too calm for this. I’d be losing my mind.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed, as he adjusted his glasses and continued playing
“Just my girlfriend,” he said smoothly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather “She’s comfy, so she’s staying.”
The chat exploded
“Just his girlfriend??? SIR??”
“We’re all just gonna pretend that didn’t happen???”
“HE REALLY SAID SHE’S STAYING. DEAD.”
You peeked over your shoulder at the chat, your back still to the camera, and stifled a laugh. Wonwoo caught the sound and smiled, one hand subtly rubbing soothing circles against your side.
“What? She’s cute,” he added, his voice nonchalant but laced with affection “Can’t exactly say no.”
The chat was a mix of chaos and adoration
“They’re too cute. I’m crying.”
“Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living the dream.”
“He’s too calm for this. WHIPPED.”
You whispered against his neck “You’re gonna regret letting me stay here.”
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly to look at you, his expression soft
“Never,” he murmured, loud enough for only you to hear
And so, you stayed, perfectly content in his lap, while his chat buzzed with endless speculation and envy over how effortlessly lucky the two of you seemed.
As you stay nestled comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap, his calm demeanor makes you almost forget that he’s still live. That is, until his eyes flicker to the chat, and a faint smirk begins to tug at his lips.
“They’re having a field day,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused as he scrolls through the comments
You lean slightly to the side to sneak a glance at the chat, still careful to keep your back to the camera. What you see makes you stifle a laugh.
“He’s literally the calmest man alive. HOW??”
“Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living rent-free in my dreams right now.”
“She’s not even on camera, and they’re this cute. I can’t take it.”
“Sir, please blink twice if you’re okay.”
“Blink twice, huh?” Wonwoo says, reading that one out loud with a small chuckle. He glances at the camera and, for dramatic effect, blinks twice. “There. Satisfied?”
The chat goes wild.
You press your forehead against his shoulder, laughing quietly. “They’re obsessed,” you whisper, teasing him.
“You think?” he replies, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he continues to read “They’ve got good taste.”
You swat at his chest playfully, but he doesn’t miss a beat “Someone said you’re living rent-free in their dreams,” he says, his tone laced with humor. “Should I be jealous?”
“Oh, absolutely,” you quip back, matching his energy
He smirks, glancing down at you briefly “I’ll allow it—for now.”
The chat catches on immediately
“WHY IS HE SO SMUG?!”
“Wonwoo, don’t act like you’re not living the dream too.”
“This is relationship goals to the max.”
Wonwoo leans closer to the mic, his tone teasing as he addresses his audience “You guys really want hints, huh? Well, here’s one: she’s cuter than all of you combined.”
Your jaw drops at his boldness, and you lightly smack his shoulder, your cheeks burning. The chat explodes.
“STOP, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.”
“HE’S SO WHIPPED. I LOVE THIS FOR HIM.”
“Wonwoo, PLEASE teach me your ways.”
You laugh against his shoulder, shaking your head at how effortlessly he handles everything. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, but there’s no real bite to your words
“And you’re stuck with me,” he murmurs back, his voice warm and steady, as the chat continues its collective meltdown.
=
GAMEBOI EP.19
Wonwoo leans back in his chair, adjusting his headset as he addresses the chat. “Alright, we’re doing a short Q&A today,” he announces, his calm voice carrying a faint hint of amusement
“But judging by the chat already, I think I know where this is going.”
The messages flooding in confirm his suspicion
“TELL US ABOUT HER!”
“What’s your favorite thing about your girlfriend?”
“How did you meet her?”
“When is she making her debut?”
Wonwoo chuckles, pushing his glasses up
“You guys are really persistent, huh? Fine, I’ll answer a few questions about her but don’t expect too much. Gotta keep some things private.”
The chat erupts with excitement.
The first question he picks catches him off guard
“How did we meet?” he reads aloud. He smiles softly, clearly fond of the memory
“We met through mutual friends. She wasn’t really into gaming at the time, but somehow, we ended up talking about it anyway. I think I managed to convince her I was interesting.”
You’re watching the stream from the other room, smiling to yourself as you hear his calm and collected tone.
Another question pops up, and Wonwoo reads it with a faint blush. “‘What’s your favorite thing about her?’” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to his desk before he smiles. “That’s hard to answer because there’s too much to choose from. But if I had to pick one… it’s probably how she makes everything feel easy. Like, no matter how stressful the day is, she has this way of making me feel calm.”
The chat immediately floods with heart emojis
“OMG STOP, THAT’S SO SWEET.”
“Wonwoo is too soft for this world.”
“They’re definitely soulmates. I’m crying.”
He clears his throat, clearly a little shy from how emotional he’s getting
“Next question.”
“‘Will she ever show up on stream?’” He smirks at this one
“Probably not. She likes keeping things private, and I respect that. But who knows? Maybe you’ll get another random cameo like last time.”
The final question he picks makes him laugh outright “‘Does she game with you?’”
He shakes his head “Not really. She says I’m too competitive, but she’ll sit next to me and give commentary. It’s entertaining, even if she doesn’t realize it.”
The chat loves it.
“She’s a queen, clearly.”
“The way he talks about her is so soft.”
“We need her commentary one day, please.”
Wonwoo glances at the camera, his expression warm “Alright, that’s enough about her for now. She’ll get a big head if she knows how much I talk about her.”
You roll your eyes, watching as the chat explodes in protests. He ends the Q&A with a knowing smile, saying, “Thanks for indulging me, though. I’m glad you guys like her as much as I do.”
And just like that, the chat turns into a mix of swooning and playful jealousy, but all you can do is grin, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone who loves you so openly, even if it’s mostly behind the scenes.
=
GAMEBOI EP. 20
The idea caught you off guard when Wonwoo asked, “Wanna play with me on stream?” His tone was casual, but you could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.
You hesitated for a moment before agreeing, on one condition: you wouldn’t be on camera
“Deal,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips “But you better carry the team.”
You laughed at that “You know I’m terrible at this game, right?”
Now, sitting beside him in his gaming room, you had a controller in hand, your nerves barely contained as his stream began. Wonwoo was in his usual calm, composed mode, greeting his viewers like he always did.
“Alright, we’re doing something different today,” he announced, his voice steady “I’ve got a special guest playing with me.”
The chat immediately picked up on it
“Wait, is it HER???”
“OMG, SHE’S PLAYING?”
“We’ve been blessed. The queen has arrived.”
You could feel your face heating up, even though no one could see you. “Do they always hype things up this much?” you whispered
Wonwoo chuckled, muting his mic for a second to glance at you. “Get used to it. They’re like this every time I mention you.”
Once the game started, you tried your best to keep up, but your clumsy movements and inability to aim properly became painfully obvious. It didn’t help that the chat was fully invested in your gameplay.
“She’s adorable, I just know it.”
“Is she new to the game? Wonwoo, help her out!”
“THIS IS THE CUTEST STREAM EVER.”
Wonwoo was the perfect balance of supportive and teasing. “You’ve got this,” he said whenever you struggled. And when you accidentally ran straight into an enemy, he couldn’t help but laugh softly “Well, that’s… one strategy, I guess.”
“Hey!” you protested, pouting as you respawned. “I’m trying!”
Eventually, you managed to get a single kill, and Wonwoo clapped softly, genuinely impressed. “Look at you,” he teased. “A natural-born gamer.”
You rolled your eyes. “I think I just got lucky.”
“You mean we got lucky,” he said smoothly, glancing at the chat as it collectively melted
By the end of the stream, you were exhausted but couldn’t stop smiling.
As Wonwoo wrapped up, he leaned into the mic “Thanks for being nice to her, guys. She did great, didn’t she?”
The chat agreed wholeheartedly
“She’s amazing! Bring her back!”
“Stream of the year. We need more.”
“Wonwoo and his girlfriend are goals.”
He muted the mic for a moment, turning to you with a proud smile “Told you they’d love you.”
You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder “I guess I’ll play with you again sometime… but don’t expect miracles.”
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice just for you. “You’re my favorite teammate, no matter what.”
=
GAMEBOI EP. 21
It started as a simple task—helping Wonwoo reorganize his game room. The two of you spent hours sorting through cables, lining up monitors, and adjusting shelves. It was fun in its own way, especially since he’d sneak in a kiss or two every time you passed by him.
While rummaging through a box of his old gear, you pulled out a sleek mechanical keyboard. The pastel-colored keycaps immediately caught your eye, but what hooked you was the sound. As soon as you pressed one of the keys, a soft, melodic “click” echoed, and your face lit up.
“This is so cute!” you exclaimed, pressing a few more keys just to hear the satisfying sound
Wonwoo looked up from where he was sorting controllers, a small smile playing on his lips “You like that one?”
“I love it,” you said, grinning as you continued typing nonsense, the sounds filling the room “It’s so fun to press.”
He chuckled, walking over to take a closer look “That one’s been sitting in storage for a while. I didn’t know you’d like it so much.”
You pouted at him playfully “Why don’t you use it anymore?”
“It doesn’t match my current setup,” he explained, but his expression softened as he watched you happily tapping away “You can use it if you want, though.”
You waved him off “It’s fine! I don’t need a keyboard—I don’t even have a setup to use it with. But this one’s adorable.”
Wonwoo didn’t say much after that, just smiled knowingly and went back to organizing.
A few days later, he called you into the gaming room. You stepped inside to find a brand-new keyboard sitting on the desk, nearly identical to the one you’d fallen in love with, but customized just for you. The keycaps were a mix of soft pastel shades, and the switches made that same delightful click you adored.
Your jaw dropped “Baby, did you…?”
“I figured you should have your own,” he said casually, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed but the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed his nonchalant tone
“You kept talking about how cute it was, so… here.”
You rushed over, wrapping your arms around him tightly “This is the sweetest thing ever. Thank you!”
He laughed, returning your embrace “You’re welcome. Now you can pretend to game with me whenever you want.”
You pulled back, grinning “Who says I’m pretending? This keyboard’s going to make me a pro.”
The chat during his next stream couldn’t stop talking about the faint sound of your keyboard clicks in the background, further solidifying your place as their favorite off-camera addition to Wonwoo’s world.
Wonwoo was in the middle of one of his usual chill streams, chatting with his viewers while casually clicking through his game’s menus.
You were sitting beside him, happily typing away on your new pastel mechanical keyboard. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he heard the familiar clicks.
At some point, you nudged him gently, grinning
“Hey,” you whispered, leaning closer “Can I show them my new keyboard?”
He raised an eyebrow, amused “You want to?”
You nodded enthusiastically, and he chuckled, turning back to his mic “Alright, so… she wants to show you something.”
The chat immediately erupted
“WAIT, SHE’S HERE??”
“SHOW US, QUEEN!”
“WE FINALLY GET TO HEAR HER???”
Wonwoo muted his mic for a second and turned to you, his expression soft “You can stay off camera. Just hold it up in front of mine, okay?”
“Got it,” you said, your voice full of excitement
He unmuted, and you carefully leaned over, holding your new keyboard up so it appeared on his screen, just above his handcam. The pastel colors gleamed under the soft lighting, and your fingers tapped a few keys, letting the viewers hear the satisfying clicks.
“OMG IT’S SO CUTE!!!”
“SHE HAS THE SAME VIBES AS HIM, I SWEAR.”
“THOSE CLICKS. I NEED THAT KEYBOARD.”
Wonwoo smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction “Yeah, I got that for her. She’s been obsessed with it ever since.”
You laughed softly, your voice reaching his mic “How could I not? It’s perfect!”
Your hands lingered in the frame for a moment longer before you pulled the keyboard back to your lap, laughing as the comments kept flooding in. “They’re so dramatic,” you whispered to Wonwoo.
“They always are,” he replied, his tone fond. Turning back to the stream, he added “Alright, that’s all you get. She’s shy.”
You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully, but the warmth in his tone made your heart swell.
As he continued chatting with his viewers, you stayed by his side, quietly typing away, your keyboard’s clicks filling the background. And if he occasionally glanced at you with the softest smile? Well, that was just for you.
=
GAMEBOI EP.22
The moment you walked into the computer parts store with Wonwoo, your eyes lit up at the sheer number of shiny, colorful gadgets around you. It was like stepping into a candy store but for tech you didn’t understand.
Wonwoo had come prepared with a list and a clear purpose, but it was quickly derailed the moment you started wandering off “Ooh, look at this!” you exclaimed, holding up a pastel pink mouse from one of the shelves.
He glanced at you, amused “That’s a gaming mouse. Do you even know what DPI is?”
“Not a clue,” you said proudly, “but it’s cute, right?”
He laughed, shaking his head “Yeah, it’s cute.”
You put the mouse in the cart with zero hesitation, earning another chuckle from him “You know we’re here to buy parts for my setup, not to make yours prettier, right?”
“But what’s the point of a setup if it’s not cute?” you countered, already wandering off to another aisle
Every few minutes, you’d come back to him holding something pastel or RGB-lit “Babe, look at this fan! It lights up!” you said, spinning the blades
“That’s an RGB fan,” he explained patiently, trying not to laugh at how excited you looked
“Do you need it?”
“I already have better ones,” he said, gently taking it from your hands. But you’re adorable for trying.”
Not long after, you found a pastel purple keyboard and rushed over to him “This matches my mouse! Can I—”
“Yes,” he said before you could even finish, grinning “Just put it in the cart.”
You blinked “You’re not even going to argue?”
“Why would I? You’re clearly having the time of your life.”
The rest of the trip continued in the same way, with you picking up random items like cute cable organizers, a pastel monitor stand, and even a mousepad with tiny hearts on it. Wonwoo didn’t complain once, just followed you around with the cart, his smile growing wider every time you lit up at something new.
By the time you reached the checkout, the cart was a mix of his practical parts and your colorful additions
“You’re really letting me get all this?” you asked, slightly guilty but mostly excited
He shrugged, his tone casual but affectionate
“It’s worth it to see you this happy.”
As you leaned up to kiss his cheek, Wonwoo couldn’t help but think how easy it was to spoil you. Sure, his gaming setup wasn’t going to match with all the pastel you’d picked out, but he didn’t care. Seeing you this excited? That was worth more than any high-tech upgrade.
Wonwoo’s next stream started like any otherhis calm voice greeting the chat as he settled into his chair, adjusting his headset. Except this time, you were sitting beside him, just out of the camera’s view, quietly unboxing all the cute, pastel-colored items you’d convinced him to buy during your trip to the computer store.
About fifteen minutes in, the chat picked up on something.
He glanced at you, smirking “They’re already asking about you,” he said softly, leaning closer to his mic “Wanna show them what you bought?”
You hesitated for a second before grinning “Only if you introduce it properly,” you teased, nudging his arm
Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head “Alright, guys. She went on a pastel shopping spree, and she’s way too excited to show it off. But she’s staying off-camera, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Sliding into the frame, you held up the pastel pink mouse first “Ta-da! Isn’t it cute?” you said, your voice light with excitement as you turned it so the camera caught all the angles
Next, you grabbed the pastel purple keyboard and tapped a few keys, letting the soft, satisfying clicks echo through his mic
“This is my favorite,” you said proudly “It matches the mouse!”
The chat was eating it up.
“THE KEYBOARD IS PERFECT.”
“She really went full pastel gamer, huh?”
“Wonwoo, you’re gonna have to build her a whole setup now.”
One by one, you showed off the rest of your haul: the pastel monitor stand, the tiny heart-patterned mousepad, and even the cute cable organizers. Every time you held something up, the chat flooded with compliments and playful comments.
At one point, someone asked: “Wonwoo, how much of this trip was her idea?”
“All of it,” he replied immediately, smiling as he glanced at you “But I didn’t mind. She was like a kid in a candy store. How could I say no?”
You playfully elbowed him, making him laugh even harder “You’re making me sound so dramatic!”
“Because you were,” he teased. “But it was adorable.”
By the time you finished showing off everything, the chat was begging for more appearances from you. You shook your head, laughing
“This is Wonwoo’s stream, not mine!”
He leaned into his mic, his tone soft but playful
“Maybe for now. But if she keeps this up, she’s gonna have a better setup than me.”
The chat exploded with laughter and agreement, and as you sat back beside him, quietly typing on your new keyboard, Wonwoo couldn’t stop smiling. It was a simple, silly moment, but to him—and his viewers—it was perfect.
=
GAMEBOI EP. 23
During one of Wonwoo’s chill streams, he suddenly leaned back in his chair, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “So, I found something funny the other day,” he began, glancing at the chat
“Do you guys want to see a video of my girlfriend struggling to help me set up this chair?”
“YESSS PLEASE!”
“We love her content already.”
“Wonwoo, don’t expose her like this!”
He chuckled, reaching for his mouse “Don’t worry, her face isn’t in it—just her voice. But trust me, it’s worth it.”
As he clicked play, the video popped up on stream. The camera was propped up on a desk, capturing the scene of a partially assembled gaming chair and your hands fumbling with a screwdriver.
In the clip, your voice rang out, frustrated but determined
“Wait, wait—what do I do with this screw? It doesn’t fit! Are you sure this is the right one?”
Wonwoo’s voice came from behind the camera, calm and amused “Yes, it’s the right one. You just need to turn it the other way.”
“I am turning it the other way!” you huffed, the sound of the screwdriver slipping making him laugh behind the camera
“You’re turning it the same way,” he corrected, his tone dripping with laughter
“Wonwoo, I swear, if you’re filming this right now—”
The clip ended with you groaning dramatically while he laughed, and the chat absolutely exploded
“SHE’S SO CUTE OMG.”
“The frustration in her voice is sending me LOL.”
“Wonwoo, you’re a menace for recording this.”
Wonwoo leaned back, grinning as he read the comments
“Yeah, she was so mad when she realized I filmed it,” he admitted, his voice fond “But she eventually got the screw in. She just… needed a little extra guidance.”
You yelled from the other room, loud enough for the mic to pick up: “I got it in all by myself, thank you very much!”
Wonwoo laughed, turning his head slightly toward where you were sitting off-camera “Do you want to defend yourself, or are you going to let me keep telling my version of the story?”
“I don’t need to defend myself,” you called back “The chair’s standing, isn’t it?”
He turned back to the camera, shaking his head but smiling warmly
“She’s not wrong. The chair’s perfect. But man, that setup process was something else.”
The chat kept teasing both of you for the rest of the stream, and Wonwoo couldn’t stop grinning. He didn’t even care if they joked at his expense. it was worth it, just to share a little piece of your chaotic, everyday moments with his viewers.
=
GAMEBOI EP.24
Wonwoo was mid-stream, fully immersed in his game, when the chat suddenly noticed something. His posture stiffened slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a telltale sign that something was happening off-camera.
The viewers were quick to pick up on it.
“SHE’S THERE AGAIN, ISN’T SHE?”
“It’s koala time, guys.”
“Wonwoo looks like he’s bracing for something LOL.”
And sure enough, a moment later, you appeared in the frame, just slightly out of view, your arms looping around his shoulders as you leaned into him
“Baby” you murmured, your voice soft and sleepy
He glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to the screen “You okay?” he asked, though his tone was already filled with fondness
“Mhm. Just wanted cuddles,” you mumbled, wrapping yourself around him like a koala. Your legs dangled over the side of his chair as you clung to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.
Wonwoo smiled slightly, his free arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you. “You’re gonna make me lose this match,” he teased, though there was no real complaint in his voice
“I don’t mind,” you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Chat, this is my life now. I’m trying to carry a team, and she’s over here trying to turn me into a human pillow.”
“Pillow privileges only for her!”
“She’s living the dream.”
“Wonwoo’s so whipped, it’s adorable.”
Eventually, the game ended, and he leaned back slightly, giving you a chance to reposition. “You good now?” he asked, looking at you with a playful smile
You shook your head, clinging tighter “Nope. Still need more cuddles.”
He sighed dramatically, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Guess I’m not going anywhere then,” he said, turning back to the chat
“Sorry, guys, looks like I’m stuck here.”
The chat erupted with laughter and affection, fully entertained by your antics. And as Wonwoo continued his stream, your arms stayed securely around him, your presence as comforting to him as it was chaotic.
=
GAMEBOI EP.25
Wonwoo decided to do something special for his birthday stream—a long, cozy session until midnight. His viewers were thrilled, and the chat was buzzing with excitement, sending him birthday wishes and teasing him about how he was spending his special day with them instead of celebrating offline.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Wonwoo glanced at the time with a subtle smile, clearly anticipating something. "Alright, guys," he said, leaning back in his chair
"I think it's about time to wrap things up soon. But before we go, I have a little surprise for you."
The chat erupted.
“WHAT SURPRISE???”
“Don’t play with us, Wonwoo!”
“You’re really gonna make this stream legendary, aren’t you?”
Just as the clock struck 12, you appeared from behind him, holding a small cupcake with a single candle lit.
"Happy birthday, Wonwoo!" you said softly, your voice warm and full of love.
Wonwoo turned his chair slightly, giving the viewers a brief glimpse of you as you leaned down to give him a quick kiss. The moment was fleeting—your smile, the cupcake, and your kiss—but it was enough to send the chat into a frenzy
“SHE’S REAL OMG.”
“The mystery girlfriend REVEALED!”
“Happy birthday, Wonwoo, but also WE LOVE HER!”
You set the cupcake down on his desk, grinning as you stepped back out of frame. "Alright, I’m out of here—don’t let them roast me too much," you joked, your voice teasing
Wonwoo chuckled, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his headset
"Thanks, love," he said softly, his tone full of affection. Turning back to his stream, he faced the camera with a shy but happy smile
"So… that’s my girlfriend. She wanted to wish me happy birthday."
“We’re simping for both of you now.”
“Wonwoo blushing is everything.”
“That was the CUTEST moment ever.”
He spent the next few minutes reading the flood of comments, thanking everyone for their birthday wishes, and promising not to turn his stream into a full-on romantic comedy.
But the way his smile lingered even after you left the room made it clear just how much that little moment meant to him and to everyone watching.
=
GAMEBOI EP. 26
Wonwoo decided to dedicate a stream to reading fan letters from his email, something he hadn't done in a while. You sat beside him, off-camera as always, but he had asked you to join in. "It’s more fun reading these with you," he had said earlier, convincing you.
As the stream began, he adjusted his mic and addressed his viewers
“So, today’s stream is a little different. I’m going to be reading some of the fan letters you guys sent to my email. And, uh… she’s here to help me.” He motioned toward you off-frame
“SHE’S BACK???”
“COUPLE STREAM PART 2 LET’S GO!”
“Read her the cute ones, Wonwoo!”
You laughed softly “Hi, everyone. Thanks for letting me crash your stream again.”
Wonwoo opened the first email, smiling as he scanned the words
“Okay, this one’s sweet. They said they started watching me during a tough time, and my streams helped them feel less alone.” He paused, his voice warm “That’s… really nice to hear.”
You leaned closer to read over his shoulder. “Aww, that’s so touching. Whoever wrote this, you’re amazing for sharing that,” you said sincerely
As the stream went on, Wonwoo read a mix of funny and heartfelt letters.
One fan shared how they accidentally spilled coffee on their keyboard while watching his gameplay, prompting you to laugh.
“See? That’s why I don’t keep drinks near my setup"
He shot you a playful look “That’s because you spill everything.”
“Hey!” you protested, lightly nudging him, which only made the chat explode
Finally, Wonwoo opened an email that made both of you pause. The fan had written a long message thanking him for being so genuine and mentioning how they admired the love and support they could sense between the two of you.
He glanced at you, a soft smile on his face “That’s… really sweet.”
You nodded, your voice gentle “It’s nice knowing people notice the little things. Whoever wrote this, thank you.”
“THEY’RE SO IN LOVE HELP.”
“This stream is making me believe in love again.”
“We need more streams like this!”
As the stream wrapped up, Wonwoo thanked his viewers, his voice filled with gratitude
“Thanks for all your letters and for always supporting me. And thanks to her for joining me. You make this even better.”
You smiled, nudging him again playfully. “Alright, don’t get too mushy on stream.”
As Wonwoo wrapped up the main part of reading fan letters, you couldn’t help but notice a recurring theme in the chat. Fans were flooding the comments with questions about your relationship. You glanced at him, raising a brow. “You seeing these?”
He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I see them. Do you want to answer a few?”
“YES PLEASE!”
“Tell us the love story!”
“This is what we’ve been waiting for!”
You hesitated for a moment before shrugging
“Okay, just a few. Keep it simple, though.”
Wonwoo smirked, scrolling through the chat “Alright, here’s a classic one: ‘How did you two meet?’”
You chuckled "We met through mutual friends at a small get-together. I didn’t even know who he was at first.just thought he was the quiet guy sitting in the corner with a really nice smile.”
He grinned, glancing at you “And I thought she was the most interesting person in the room. She kept asking me random questions, and I couldn’t stop talking to her.”
Wonwoo picked another question. “Okay, next: ‘Where was your first date?’”
You smiled at the memory
“It was this little bookstore café. He said he wanted somewhere quiet where we could talk, and we ended up staying there for hours. I think the staff thought we were moving in”
Wonwoo chuckled “Yeah, we didn’t even notice the time. I remember she was so excited about the book sections, and she kept showing me things like, ‘Look at this! Isn’t it cool?’”
“I want a bookstore date now…”
“Wonwoo, you’re setting unrealistic standards!”
“Did you buy her a book that day?”
Wonwoo smirked at the last comment “Actually, I did. I still remember the title"
You laughed “And I still have it, thank you very much.”
He scanned the chat again “Last one: ‘What’s your favorite thing to do together?’”
You thought for a moment before answering
“Honestly? Just spending time together doing random things—like this. Whether it’s customizing keyboards, trying out games, or just sitting around talking, it’s always fun.”
Wonwoo nodded in agreement “Yeah, same. I don’t think it matters what we’re doing as long as it’s with her.”
The chat erupted with heart emojis and comments
“Get you a love like this.”
“The way they talk about each other is everything.”
“This is why we stan Wonwoo AND his girlfriend.”
After answering a few more light questions, you decided to let Wonwoo take over again. “Okay, that’s enough about us. Back to your regularly scheduled programming,” you joked, waving off-camera
Wonwoo smiled at the camera. “Thanks for letting her join in, guys. I think she liked it more than she’ll admit.”
You playfully swatted his arm as the chat filled with laughter and love for both of you.
=
GAMEBOI EP.27
The stream starts with a soft, familiar hum of music and the sound of Wonwoo adjusting his mic. The chat immediately lights up with excitement as he finally appears on screen, his signature calm smile gracing his face.
“HE’S BACK!!”
“Wonwoo we missed you so much!!”
“IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!!”
Wonwoo waves at the camera, his voice warm but slightly shy
“Hey, everyone. It’s been a while, huh? I missed you all too.”
He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “First of all, thank you for being so patient. A lot happened over the past couple of months, and I wanted to take some time to just focus on life… and on someone really special”
His smile grows, and his eyes flicker off-camera for a second, as if acknowledging your presence.
“IS SHE THERE?!”
“OMG ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HER??”
“LIFE UPDATE PLEASE.”
Wonwoo chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Okay, okay, so… some of you might’ve guessed, but yes, she’s been a big part of what’s been happening. We went on a little vacation recently,a much-needed one. And, well…” He pauses, then you suddenly popped up from the side, well... your hand did to show the faintest glint of a ring
“WAIT WHAT?!”
“OMG OMG OMG!!!”
“ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING?!”
He laughs, his cheeks slightly pink “Yeah, I proposed. And she said yes.”
Even though you're off-camera, the faint sound of your laugh can be heard, and it makes the chat lose their minds even more
“CONGRATS OMG!!!”
“WE KNEW IT!!”
“This is the best comeback ever.”
Wonwoo looks genuinely touched by the overwhelming support.
“Thank you, really. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before I came back. The past few months have been some of the happiest of my life, and I’m really grateful I got to spend that time with her.”
He glances off-camera again, this time with a small smirk
“She’s here, by the way. But don’t worry, she’s staying off-camera today… unless she wants to say hi?”
You laugh softly before leaning closer to the mic
"Hi, everyone. Thanks for being so sweet to him and to us. And yes, the ring is very pretty.”
“SHE’S HERE!!!”
“WE NEED A RING CAM!”
“Wonwoo you’re one lucky guy.”
Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head
“Alright, enough about me. Let’s get back to what we’re here for: gaming. But seriously, thank you all for your support—it means a lot to both of us.”
As the stream goes on, the mood stays light and happy, with occasional comments from you off-camera and the chat constantly celebrating your engagement. It’s the perfect comeback, full of love, laughter, and warmth.
As Wonwoo continues chatting with his viewers, you can’t resist chiming in from the background. Your voice rings out in a playful, teasing tone
“I finally said yes, guys. Took him long enough.”
Wonwoo lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes
“She’s not gonna let me live this down, huh?”
The chat explodes with laughter
“SHE’S SO FUNNY.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE SAID YES TO HIM AFTER ALL THAT TIME.”
“Honestly, I would’ve made him work harder for it.”
You lean in a little closer to the mic, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he had to earn it. I mean, the ring’s nice, but the real question is...did he pass the ‘How to Survive My Cooking’ test?”
Wonwoo laughs, holding up his hands in mock defense “Alright, I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Her cooking is that bad?”
“The real test of love.”
“Wonwoo deserves an award for surviving that.”
You smirk from off-camera “I’m just saying, if he survived the spicy noodle incident, he deserves a medal.”
Wonwoo shakes his head, smiling fondly at the camera. “Okay, okay, that’s enough teasing for one stream. We’ve got a game to play, but I’m just really happy to be back with you all. And to be with her… even if she makes fun of me all the time.”
You can’t help but laugh softly in the background
“What can I say? I’m the best part of this comeback.”
The chat is in full celebration mode now, with messages of congratulations mixed with requests for more jokes and stories from you
“I love their dynamic so much!”
“They’re a power couple. Period.”
“Please never stop teasing each other.”
Wonwoo glances at you again with a soft smile “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
PAGE 17 . for someone whose career has been built under an endless spotlight, luna wears white with surprising ease.
the singer graces the cover of vogue korea’s annual bridal issue in a story that feels less like a fashion editorial and more like a quiet celebration of the woman she has become. across the spread, luna moves effortlessly through an enviable collection of couture, wearing custom dior, archival chanel haute couture, vivienne westwood bridal, elie saab, giambattista valli haute couture, oscar de la renta, schiaparelli, and miss sohee, each gown capturing a different interpretation of modern romance. one moment she’s wrapped in layers of delicate tulle beneath the afternoon sun, the next she’s standing barefoot inside an old european-style estate, dressed in structured vivienne westwood corsetry with a cathedral-length veil trailing behind her. rather than feeling like she’s trying on dresses, it almost feels as though the dresses were waiting for her.
“it’s funny,” luna laughs during the interview. “i’ve worn wedding dresses for photoshoots, music videos and other projects before, but this one felt… different.”
q. different how?
“i don’t know if it’s because of where i am in life now, but i caught myself smiling between takes without realizing it. everyone kept asking me what i was thinking about.” she pauses. “i guess i was just excited.”
naturally, the conversation turns toward the next chapter of her life.
the timing of the feature has only fueled speculation, especially with her long-awaited wedding to band member seventeen’s jeonghan drawing closer following his military discharge earlier this year. although luna carefully avoids confirming any specific details, she doesn’t exactly deny that the coming months will be busy.
“the next few months are going to be really special,” she admits with a grin. “there are a lot of things we’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”
when asked whether wedding preparations have finally become real after nearly two years of waiting, luna lets out another laugh.
“i think we’ve been preparing in different ways for almost two years already. military service changes your timeline a little. you learn to be patient without really having a choice. so when he came home, it wasn’t like we were starting from zero. it felt like we were finally allowed to continue.”
she quickly catches herself before saying too much.
“i have to stop talking before i spoil something.”
one thing she has no problem discussing, however, is fiancé jeonghan’s involvement.
despite his notoriously relaxed image, luna reveals that her fiancé has been unexpectedly hands-on throughout the planning process.
“he’s very opinionated,” she says, laughing. “people think he just nods and lets me decide everything, but that’s absolutely not true. he notices tiny details i would’ve missed. sometimes he’ll send me pictures of flowers or table settings out of nowhere and ask, ‘what about this?’”
she smiles before adding, “he’s having just as much fun as i am.”
according to luna, the process has never felt stressful.
“i think that’s because we’re doing everything together. whenever one of us gets overwhelmed, the other reminds us why we’re doing it in the first place.”
when asked whether she has a favorite part of planning with her soon-to-be husband, luna thinks quietly before answering.
“i like the small moments the most. the conversations after meetings. driving home together. looking at ideas on the couch until one of us falls asleep. those are probably the memories i’ll treasure the most.”
of course, no bridal interview would be complete without asking about the dress.
or, more accurately…
the dress.
luna immediately shakes her head. “i knew you were going to ask that.”
q. can you tell us anything?
“only that i stopped changing my mind.”
q. so you’ve already chosen?
she smiles without answering. “let’s just say… i’m very happy.”
throughout the interview, luna remains careful not to reveal too much, often catching herself just before giving away another detail. more than once, she laughs and says, “you’ll know soon,” before steering the conversation somewhere safer. it’s enough to satisfy vogue, but just vague enough to leave everyone else guessing.
as the afternoon comes to a close and the final veil is carefully lifted away, luna takes one last look at herself in the mirror.
“i’ve always believed weddings are about more than one day,” she says softly. “they’re about everything that brought you there. every year. every sacrifice. every ordinary moment that quietly became part of your forever.”
she smiles again. “i think we’re finally getting there.”
whether that “there” is weeks away or months away remains anyone’s guess. if luna knows the answer, she’s keeping it to herself.
for now.
PAGE 18 . ever since completing his military service, jeonghan has quietly settled back into public life in the most jeonghan way possible: slowly, casually, and just often enough to keep fans guessing.
from surprise instagram uploads to spontaneous weverse posts and relaxed late-night lives, he’s been noticeably more active online, dropping in whenever he feels like it rather than following any sort of schedule. his most recent weverse live on july 15 was no different. lasting just under an hour, the broadcast felt less like a planned event and more like a conversation between old friends, with jeonghan chatting comfortably about his daily routine, life after enlistment, recent meals, catching up with the members, and adjusting to being back in the spotlight.
naturally, it didn’t take long before the questions everyone wanted answered began flooding the comments.
q. “have you been busy lately?”
jeonghan smiled before nodding. “very busy.” he laughed almost immediately afterward, as if realizing how suspicious that sounded. “i’ve been going out a lot more recently. there are a lot of appointments these days.”
q. “what kind?”
“i don’t think i can say.”
cue the comments moving approximately one hundred miles per hour.
reading them aloud, jeonghan could only laugh. “you guys really connect everything. i mean…” he paused, smiling to himself. “you wouldn’t be wrong to think the next few months are going to be busy.”
although he carefully avoided saying the word “wedding” even once, fans were quick to notice how often his answers naturally drifted toward the future. every time someone asked about travel plans, schedules, or upcoming projects, jeonghan answered in broad strokes, never revealing enough to confirm anything, but never quite shutting the conversation down either.
“we’ve been preparing for a long time,” he admitted at one point. “it feels nice that everything is finally happening.”
when another fan jokingly asked if he was talking about music, jeonghan simply grinned. “maybe.”
the conversation softened when viewers began asking about luna.
jeonghan’s expression immediately changed as he quietly answered, “she’s good.” he could have left it there, but instead added, “she’s been happier lately. i think waiting for two years teaches you to appreciate the little things.”
it was one of the most sincere moments of the evening, and fans immediately connected it to the nearly two years the couple spent waiting through his military service before finally being able to continue planning their future together. almost realizing he’d become a little too sentimental, jeonghan laughed to himself and covered his face for a moment. “i’ve already said too much.”
naturally, the comments only became more relentless. asked whether luna had been just as busy as he was, he nodded without hesitation. “very.” when fans pressed further, asking what exactly she’d been doing, all he would offer was a mischievous smile and a simple, “things.” even after hundreds of comments begged him for a hint, he refused to budge, laughing as he repeated, “i really can’t tell you… you’ll know soon.”
later in the broadcast, another fan pointed out that both he and luna seemed to be disappearing from the public more often lately.
jeonghan chuckled at the observation before clarifying, “we’re not disappearing.” after a small pause, he smiled and corrected himself. “we’re just… occupied.” naturally, the chat immediately demanded to know with what, but he only laughed again and replied, “i knew someone was going to ask that. i’ll let jiyeonie tell you when she’s ready.”
it was a simple sentence, but one that immediately reignited speculation online. coming just days after luna’s vogue korea bridal issue, where she similarly described the coming months as “very special” while carefully avoiding specifics, fans couldn’t help but notice how perfectly the two stories lined up. neither confirmed anything outright, yet somehow both managed to hint at exactly the same thing.
toward the end of the live, one final question caught his attention. someone asked whether he was excited for whatever was coming next in terms with his future with luna.
jeonghan didn’t answer immediately. instead, he smiled the kind of smile fans know all too well, the one that usually means he’s about to dodge the question. after letting the silence linger for just a moment, he quietly admitted, “i’ve waited a long time.” then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “so has she.”
with that, he thanked everyone for spending the evening with him, wished fans a good night, and ended the broadcast before anyone could squeeze another answer out of him.
he said plenty and he confirmed nothing.
naturally, the internet is calling it his most suspicious live yet.
The first few seconds of the broadcast began with several bungling attempts to adjust the camera view before Zhiyu eventually acquiesces to the fact that her phone does not have four limbs to sustain itself unless she holds it.
It took her another five to primp and preen before her lips curl into a gentle smile. She lifts her hand to wave before she inches closer to the camera.
"Hi, hi," she chirps. "Woah, most of you are here already?"
In response to her amusement, several viewers began expressing their disbelief given the rarity of the moment.
Zhiyu averts her gaze to comb through the barrage of comments, her grin noticeably widening.
"Wow, it's been a while since I went live, hasn't it?" she presses her lips together. "I should do more lives like these, then."
She offers a precursory glance at the camera, scrunching her nose once before muttering something about a stubborn strand of hair.
Beside her, someone lets out a breathy whistle.
Zhiyu snorts, eyeing on the wide-eyed, transfixed man beside her before she turns the camera towards his direction. The man, seemingly unruffled at the evident explosion in the terrain of comments, stares spellbound into her eyes.
Zhiyu grimaces, swatting at his face. "What are you looking at?"
Mingyu leaps at the chance to pivot his head and kiss the palm of her hand, to which she quickly retaliates by scoffing at the camera. "Are you guys seeing this?"
"Hello, Carats," Mingyu chimed in with a click of his tongue. "I'm finally in the same car as the love of my life after a while, congratulate me."
OH MY GOD PINCH ME RIGHT NOW
MAMA Y PAPA😭😭😭😭
ZHIYU MINGYU in one live… is this a dream… wake me up right now
Mingyu how does it feel to live my dream
"'Mingyu, how does it feel to live my dream?'" he mutters, moving closer to the screen. "it feels like heaven, I don't want to wake up."
The man spoke so piously about the bewildered girl beside him he bursts in laughter before pinching her cheek in adoration. He then redirects his gaze back to the broadcast.
"Can you guys see us well?" he asks as his eyes narrow. "It's a little dark here, don't you think?"
Zhiyu gnaws her lip in a train of thought. It takes approximately two seconds until she snaps her fingers and beckons Mingyu to hand his phone. He absentmindedly obliges.
"Let's try using the flashlight," she grumbles. "I knew I should've brought the portable light for this."
The live is blanketed in several seconds bereft of noise as the two propositions the camera and angles the light downward. After a promising set-up, Mingyu props his arm against the cushioned armrest, humming a mindless tune reminiscent to the chorus of 'Candy'.
"Carats, we just got back after a shoot and wanted to drop by a restaurant," Zhiyu titters. "but with the renovation in the offing there, what I wanted wasn't available, so we'll just go back."
"It's already late either way, but it's still a shame," she adds. "I've been meaning to eat there for a while."
"But," Mingyu quips, "in lieu of that, we'll order takeout."
Zhiyu's lower lip juts out as she scans another wave of comments. In the brevity of the moment, the red light washes over the screen as the car stops at the traffic light.
"Oh? We actually look pretty good in red lighting" she chuckles.
"You look beautiful in any lighting, though." Mingyu interjects.
Zhiyu busies herself by raking her fingers through the tresses of her raven black hair, though her straightened shoulders were no less noticeable. Amusing, at one point.
"Anyway," she gravels out. "in light of counting the days until you… and the others go to complete their military service…"
Zhiyu purses her lips."They're asking how you've been spending your time."
"Well…" Mingyu begins with a meek smile. "It's the usual; busier schedules, but at the same time I want to devote my leisure hours with myself and my loved ones. I can't go abroad much, as much as I want to. But it's been especially fulfilling to be able to spend more time with my people, especially her, at the very least."
"He's been tagging along often when he gets to," Zhiyu nods. "He's there in the recording studio, then we'll go somewhere, and he's been hanging around in my dorm it's kind of annoying."
"Annoying, you say?" he gers a sour look. "You'll be abroad for a while, don't blame me if you miss me too much."
"I know, silly," she giggles heartily, placing her hand beneath his jaw. "but we'll call, I'll text, and we'll be back before we know it."
With a mushy grin she knows far too well, Mingyu mouths a silent 'I love you' before he looks back at the screen.
SILENCE EVERYONE MY SHOW IS ON
alcohol is good but have you ever heard of having a healthy relationship like these two? me neither, pass thebottle😂😂😂
of course this happens when the love of my life is ghosting me
my steak too juicy my lobster too buttery
oh girl we been knew
REF DO SOMETHING???????????????
"Oh wait!" Zhiyu chips in, patting Mingyu's thigh excitedly. "Have you heard of the photocard fiasco thingamajig?"
Mingyu's brows lift in intrigue.
"There's a photocard fiasco?"
"…Well, not entirely. But it's like, some sort of wild discovery."
With his usual keen, rapt gaze warm in his eyes, he traces tiny little circles on the lines of her palm splayed across his thigh.
"Go on."
With an incredulous shake of her head, she attempts to stifle a laugh, already rattled to even begin her story properly.
"Okay, okay, so this was a few days ago. I've never actually tried to figure out how Carats make money off our merch, like, through reselling."
The live feed descends into a frenzy of reactions.
"I was in Yoo Byung-Jae's podcast segment where I listened to stories and confessions from people and empathize."
Zhiyu heaves a sigh, chewing on her lip in thought.
"There was this person, I think she went by the alias SoongSoong? She told the broadcast something about how a lucky draw photocard helped her with her rent."
"Naturally, I asked her how much it'd be sold for in the market," she winces. "and she said she sold it for six hundred dollars, which is roughly eight-hundred thousand won."
Beside her, Mingyu nods far too casually.
"Aren't you shocked?" Zhiyu gasps.
"…That's actually lower than I thought."
Her head snaps so fast she'd get whiplash. "Lower? Carats, how much do resellers charge you when they sell photocards?"
I got Mingyu's Spill The Feels Weverse Lucky Draw photocard for $72
holographic photocards can get you two albums here
my jeonghan pc cost me $200 😭
With every comment cascading down, the concern plastered all over Zhiyu's face becomes much more evident. "You're lying."
She reaches over for her other phone to browse through websites, her jaw ajar.
"You guys might actually be crazy for selling printed paper for fifty dollars."
Mingyu leans over, his hand travelling farther until the pad of his thumb lands on her hip.
"Wow, I have that one of yours in my wallet and it's ninety dollars."
"And it's not even something that should be sold for ninety!" she laughs. "it's a selfie. And I give enough selfies, don't I?"
"I don't know," Mingyu shrugs. "I'd want to sell it at that price if I had to let that one go."
Zhiyu looks back down to the blue screen glowering beneath her, scowling faintly at yet another exclusive sold at an absurd price, muttering under her breath asking how limited these photocards are to be sold at such price.
"But thankfully, I won't need to let go of photocards and sell them for another"
"Pfft, you just want free Zhiyu photocards" she flouts at his statement.
"No," Mingyu simpers before leaning in. "I have the real thing right beside me."
"The rarest kind."
He intertwines their fingers together.
"The original, in fact."
"Carats, don't look" Zhiyu contended, using her vacant hand to cover the lens before the man attempts any further mischief.
kim mingyu we are NOT doing this today
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
GODDAMN THAT WAS SMOOTH
WAIT NO DON'T COVER THE LENS
After a brief exchange of undisclosed actions, she lifts her hand away from the lens before clearing her throat, shoulders pulled taut.
"That was cheesy."
With Mingyu's head nestled on the crook of her neck, Zhiyu leans forward to pore over the comments absentmindedly, humming every so often whenever she catches something interesting.
"'What were you shooting today?' Ha! you almost got me there," she huffs. "it's something, that's that."
"'I miss Douzi'" she reads aloud. "I met her yesterday with my brother on call, you'll see her eventually."
"'What's outside the window?' traffic? moving on."
"Can you recommend me a place to go out with my partner?" she reads aloud, glancing sideways to her boyfriend.
"Everland, that's where we last had our date" Mingyu responds.
The comments continue pouring in.
"'What should I have for dinner?' pizza! I'm also getting that for dinner when we get home."
Zhiyu puckers her lips as a brief moment of silence engulfs the car.
"'You got teal nails' yes, aren't they cute?" she lets out a soft laugh.
Her head lifts momentarily at a faint voice from the rearview mirror, then returns to the camera.
"'Mingyu, say something in Chinese,'" Mingyu pipes in, steepling his hands. "wait, I know this."
"tiánxīn" he breathes.
"So suddenly?" she giggles in the same language.
"That's what you call me" Mingyu promptly switches back to Korean. "tiánxīn, look at this, tiánxīn, come home, tiánxīn, let's go there."
we're still here btw
AW WHAT
The endearment term nearly falls off too easily, too sweetly from his tongue, she thinks. It's heavily accented, though the hazard of the phrase, in spite of its rough edges, remains as dangerous.
"Whatever…" Zhiyu's cheeks pale into a shade of pink.
"Carats, this one's going to be between us, 'kay?" this time, Zhiyu opts for Vietnamese. A language Mingyu won't get to understand in a short notice.
"He thinks he's very good at guessing." she chuckles.
"But he won't get it anyway, because I'm speaking in a language only some of you can understand" she continues.
"So I'll say this anyway and leave it to you guys," she scoots closer to the camera. "I have a surprise for him at home."
Mingyu's ears are practically fuming with an itching curiosity.
"Yah, what are you planning?" he looks at her with a conspiratorial smirk, glancing at the flutter of comments almost conspicuously signalling an impending peril.
"Oh, it's none of your concern" Zhiyu switches back to Korean almost immediately.
"Don't tease me, the comments are spoiling it."
"You trust them more than me?"
Mingyu's brows lift in a silent taunt.
"We are not redirecting the conversation"
Zhiyu smiles, a poorly made attempt.
"Zhiyu."
"What?"
"Sweetheart, don't do this to me."
"Hey, that's no—"
"Tiánxīn."
That, was way too abrupt.
"Hey, red card. Weaponizing nicknames is extremely prohibited." she extends an arm, holding an imaginary warning card.
"Keeping secrets from each other is also extremely prohibited" he retorts.
Zhiyu gasps in disbelief. "Oh, we're doing this?"
The two breaks into a fit of laughter, shifting their attention back to thousands of visibly jittery viewers watching. The comments fly by too quickly for them to comprehend. The car momentarily stops at another red light, bathing the cabin in a wash of soft crimson.
"Anyway," Mingyu glances outside. "I think we're almost home."
Beside him, Zhiyu hums with a warm smile.
"We'll end it here, Carats."
"Our food's waiting for us, and we'll see you guys soon" he sing-songs.
"Sleep well, everyone"
In the last few seconds, Zhiyu visibly flounders trying to search for the correct button, with Mingyu beside her attempting to mess the process up.
Context: Just some random text with your boyfriend Chan. ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀
Writers corner ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆
· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·
Hey friends I hope you guys enjoyed boyfriend Chan fan fic Ik I do but guys my birthday is in two days slowly entering adulthood is crazy but life goes on ok baiii💋
ANAMNESIS. (cyborg!choi seungcheol x human!reader)
synopsis: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.
warnings: mentions of death and violence, assassination and murder, corrupt business practices, amnesia, brainwashing and manipulation, mentions of mental health, suicidal ideation, sexually explicit content
smut warnings: 18+, multiple orgasms, choking, praise kink, use of petnames, they almost cry (lol), mentions of body modifications (in case of cyborg!seungcheol).
word count: 17.2k
a/n: this is part of the Cyberpunk: Reload Collab hosted by @studiosvt . Thank you to the organisers and everyone involved in the collab, this has been such a unique and stimulating writing experience for me, especially for a concept I’ve never done before. Seungcheol in this is loosely based off the winter soldier, I hope you all enjoy!
Inside the sleek but small building wedged between two skyscrapers, a single light illuminates a window on the second floor. Around it is nothing but darkness, and the streets are strangely quiet for a Friday night. Inside the office, the golden light falls over a keyboard, the clack, clack, clack of the keys rhythmic and continuous. Fingers move deftly over it, and the artificial glow of the monitor adds to the lamp in an unpleasant way. You don’t seem to mind.
A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.
“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”
You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”
Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.
“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”
He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.
“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”
There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.
You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.
True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.
The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.
You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.
You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.
You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.
The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.
You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.
It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.
The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.
Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.
You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.
It also means that you are better prepared this time around.
You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.
Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.
The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.
You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.
The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.
“911, what is your emergency?”
A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.
You would recognise that eye anywhere.
Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.
“Wait-”
But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.
……………………………
“That’s impossible.”
“It was him.”
“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”
“I know what I saw, Josh.”
“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”
“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”
Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.
When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.
Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.
“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.
“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”
“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”
“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”
You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.
Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.
It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.
The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.
He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.
“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”
His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?
Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”
You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.
“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”
“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.
A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.
“A formation of advanced humans,” Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. “Man and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.”
“Josh…” Your voice trails off.
Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.
“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”
…………………………
The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghan’s desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.
Jeonghan tuts.
“Well, this is definitely a setback.” He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. “After the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?”
The man across from him doesn’t respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesn’t claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.
“You always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs. “Oh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.”
Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (you’re a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circles…
A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.
So he will burn you.
He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It should’ve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasn’t. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.
“You know what you need to do.” He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.
“Make sure you finish the job this time.”
……………………………..
Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.
He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. He’d talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didn’t know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.
Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didn’t even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.
“Engineer.” He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each other’s arms.
The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheol’s hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.
“You run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.” He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.
It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.
“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, mister.” You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you don’t know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.
Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheol’s previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheol’s work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. He’s no Seungcheol, but he’s the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.
“Bionic weaponry isn’t exactly novel.” He murmurs. “We know it exists. Not openly yet, but it’s being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.”
Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and you’re so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.
“So it’s possible? Modifying Seungcheol’s body like that?” Joshua asks.
Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. “Theoretically, yes. Practically, I haven’t seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.”
Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.
“But,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “if anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.”
You return Joshua’s look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.
“What about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?” He asks.
Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, that’s easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. It’s easier to control them that way.”
A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“So he doesn’t know who I am.” You mumble. “I’m just….. what, a target?”
Wonwoo nods. “Likely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, ma’am. It’s very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.”
You can’t argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. You’re catching up, dangerously close, and some would say you’ve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.
You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.
“Can we undo it?” You ask. “The memory change, or whatever?”
Joshua stares at you. “What do you mean?”
Wonwoo answers you, though.
“I think so, yes. It’s not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isn’t the problem, though. He’s basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.”
“Whoa, hold on.” Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.
“What the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!”
“What do you want me to do then?” You grit your teeth. “Nothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?”
“We need to call the police-”
You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.
“I have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?”
Joshua’s mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.
“I know you’re not a biotech expert, but you’re the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe?”
Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. “That’s….. illegal.”
You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. “I’m pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.”
He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. “I will need help…”
You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. You’re tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.
“Call in anyone you need.”
…………………………
You know he will come again. The only question is when.
The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. You’re breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You can’t risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.
That’s what you plan to do. Get him back.
It’s idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You don’t even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?
Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.
“You need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.” He told you. “Arm, leg, doesn’t matter. We can’t hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe, it’s too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once that’s done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.”
It’s easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. He’s always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?
“You managed it once, didn’t you?” Joshua replied to your mind’s worries. “You got out of that alive, somehow. I’m willing to bet you can do it again.”
“He’ll be more careful this time.” Wonwoo mumbled. “For one, he won’t try again until you’re completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.”
So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. He’s watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, you’re not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. You’re good with both options.
It’s Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.
You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.
You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You don’t turn around. And yet, he doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t swing.
“I was expecting you sooner.” You finally say.
When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, what’s left of it.
Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.
The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. It’s him, it’s his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.
You clench your teeth.
“Shoot me.”
He doesn’t reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. It’s a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.
Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.
Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheol’s arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs aren’t cooperating with him anymore.
The human part is still his though.
You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, you’ve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and you’re already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He can’t react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.
With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.
He’s motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.
You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.
Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwoo’s number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.
“The chip just connected to my server! I’m working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Tech’s servers right now.”
“How long is it going to take?” You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. You’re in so much pain.
“I don’t know yet….” Wonwoo’s voice is more subdued. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
You shake your head before you realise he can’t see you.
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Big underreport. “What do I do while you work on this?”
Wonwoo doesn’t immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.
“What I’m doing only changes the physical.” His voice sounds apologetic. “The mental barrier, his lack of memory, I can’t fix that.”
You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.
“Thanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.”
The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You don’t know what was done to him. You don’t even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheol’s genius, where do you stand in this situation?
As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.
You don’t know what to do.
……………………………..
Seungcheol was a very clingy man.
You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.
“You’re too heavy, Cheolie!” You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.
“Five more minutes.” He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.
You’re reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. You’re heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. There’s no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing he’s incapable of escaping anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.
“Do you speak?” You muse out loud, not looking at him. “I haven’t heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.”
No reply.
“Jasmine tea was your favorite, you know?” You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. “You were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. It’s the only one you could stomach, actually.”
A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.
“Seungcheol.” You whisper. He doesn’t react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.
You’re so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You don’t look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.
You don’t notice his eye on you. You don’t notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husband’s warm arms.
You’re wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.
He’s exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.
“Did you sleep?” You ask.
No response.
You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you it’s barely noon.
Fuck this.
Seungcheol doesn’t react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass that’s too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.
“You would not approve of this at all.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didn’t have the tolerance for it. You’re the whiskey guy.”
He doesn’t interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.
“Sometimes I think,” you whisper, “you would really hate the person I’ve become.”
His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.
“I don’t know you.”
His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But it’s his voice, the voice you’ve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.
“I’m your wife.”
“You’re my target.”
You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.
“If I pull this off you right now,” you stare directly into his eye. “Would you kill me?”
A small silence. Then he nods.
You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, you’re sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” You mumble, but he hears you. “You’re the one who created that chip.”
The door closes softly behind you.
……………………………………
There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesn’t know how to begin unraveling it. He can’t even find a single free end to tug on.
In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He can’t make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. It’s the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.
Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he can’t, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.
Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind that’s less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.
His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He can’t turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.
You’re clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.
“I don’t know what to do.” You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
He doesn’t reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he can’t move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.
“Let’s just pretend everything is okay.” You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. “Just for right now. Just one night.”
He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. It’s different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. It’s different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time it’s clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.
He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesn’t feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.
He’s tired, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept.
…………………………..
Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you can’t leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work you’re fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. It’s mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.
Now, he doesn’t respond much. But you’re okay with that. You’re just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.
After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And you’re convinced that if he didn’t remember at all, he wouldn’t have let you sleep on him the way that he did.
(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)
Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.
“He’s not a piece of furniture, Josh.” You mutter. “He’s still my husband.”
“Is he?” He counters, dryly. “Because it’s been weeks and there’s been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we would’ve seen something by-”
“He’s there.” You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. “I’ve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isn’t gone yet-”
The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you won’t continue, he simply nods.
That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheol’s head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.
You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.
Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You don’t look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.
He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and you’re sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwoo’s control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.
The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.
“You can leave if you want.” You mumble. “Or kill me, since that’s your mission.”
Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you can’t stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.
You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You can’t predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and he’s nowhere to be found.
There’s shuffling behind you, but you don’t turn around.
“I don’t know you.” He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.
“But,” he continues. Hesitates, “I did know you. In another time.”
You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like it’s anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?
“I want to know.” He continues. “I want to remember.”
You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you can’t place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.
Your heart aches.
“Okay.” You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.
…………………………
It’s a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.
For one, he doesn’t do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasn’t part of his personality at all before. He’s always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isn’t the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.
You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night can’t really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.
The answer is: everything.
You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheol’s incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.
“They were your one vice.” You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. “You actually designed a few yourself too. This one-”
You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.
“This one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So it’s not really for telling time.” You shrug.
“I made this?” He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. It’s not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. It’s strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.
You nod. “You said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.”
Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything more.
You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isn’t difficult, since you’re mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, you’re due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.
He hesitates.
“No one is going to recognise you.” You reassure him. “For one, it’s an all new staff. And for another, you’re blond now. And short haired.”
He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.
“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.
“I never said it does.” You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. He’s trying to flatten it down on his head.
“No, don’t do that.” You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know he’s watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.
“There.” You withdraw your hands. “It looks so nice now.”
When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.
Wonwoo meets you on site, and he’s a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheol’s presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.
“This is where the problem is.” Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. “There is definitely something wrong, but I can’t tell if it’s because I messed up the configuration or not. I’ve been trying a few different options but they all haven’t worked so far.”
Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.
“Maybe request a consultation.” You respond. “There is a reason we have engineers on call-”
“The configuration isn’t the problem.” A voice speaks from behind you. “Your base algorithm is wrong.”
You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheol’s human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.
“How so?”
You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. You’re reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.
It’s over too quickly. And then he steps back.
Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.
“That was very nice of you.” You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.
“It was an obvious solution.”
You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.
“Don’t be so modest. You were born for this.”
Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.
……………………….
Things get smoother as time goes by.
Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. There’s so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you don’t mind. You’re glad he isn’t confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You don’t understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.
Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that you’re balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.
And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.
It’s a bright day, and you’re out for some groceries because you didn’t anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. You’re actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap you’ve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.
You’re considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.
He’s in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.
“This one is firmer.” He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. “It will rot slower. You should get this.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that it’s empty. It’s just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.
Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that any way to talk to a peer? You’ve become so rude, Y/N.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “I didn’t realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after you’ve tried to kill me. Twice.”
Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. “Yeah, that was my bad.”
You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.
“That’s it?” You scoff. “‘My bad’? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is ‘my bad’?”
“Well, you got him back, no?” He responds. “I would say that’s a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life you’ve been living all this time.”
You scoff, incredulous. “You’re so…. you’re-”
No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.
“How about a truce? I don’t try to kill you again, and I don’t demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.”
You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. “Asset?”
He blinks, like he’s surprised. “Well, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasn’t easy. But it’s fine. I’ve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.”
Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know there’s a reason Jeonghan decided to ‘run into’ you at a public place. You can’t react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.
You know there’s nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheol’s own person, and you don’t want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.
Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.
“Fine.” You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.
“Great. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next year’s New York expo. I’ve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.”
He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.
People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. That’s the reality you live in.
The only saving grace here is that it’s not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.
………………………………….
You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.
There’s a distant look in your eyes, like you’re lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. You’ve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. It’s a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you don’t stop talking, something he’s grown quite fond of.
The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.
Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. There’s no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. You’re there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldn’t dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.
It scares him.
There’s nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He can’t, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he can’t have that burden on him when he already feels like he’s a shell of what he once was.
The only thing solid is you. But today, you’re far away as well.
“Something is bothering you.” He finally says when you’re eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesn’t like this distance.
You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”
But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.
“Maybe I can help.”
You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.
“Thank you, Seungcheol, but really, I’m fine. The situation has resolved itself, I’m just going over it. There’s nothing to do.”
Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. “Is it Yoon Jeonghan?”
Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.
“How did you know?”
Seungcheol shrugs. He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldn’t just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.
“I’ve spent a long time with him.” He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. “He’s- there’s a lot to him. Most of it isn’t good. I assumed he wouldn’t just leave this alone.”
Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “That’s just it, actually. He kind of has.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after you’re done, absorbing the words.
“So, that’s it.” He finally says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.
“I think, in his head, he’s still won because you’re not who you once were.” You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You don’t meet his eye. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, I’m not a threat anymore either. I’m sure that to him, you’re-”
You pause, avoiding his stare. “You’re more like something he’s dumped on me. Because you’re not who you once were.”
You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. “Which is not true. You’re still Seungcheol, even if you don’t remember. And I’m so happy you’re here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, you’re worth ten of him.”
Seungcheol’s heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldn’t care that he remembers just snippets. You’re willing to accept him even as an empty husk.
He makes up his mind.
“You used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.” His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. “When we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.”
“And you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldn’t fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didn’t want them to fray.”
You’re watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.
“You got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.”
“I knew.” You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. “You always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.”
You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.
“It’s only bits and pieces.” He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. “I don’t remember a lot. It’s just the little things that come to me.”
“It’s enough.” Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. It’s familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. “It’s more than enough.”
He doesn’t let go. You don’t pull away.
………………………….
Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you haven’t felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.
Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he shoots it down.
“I’m not sleeping anyway.” He retorts. “Besides, I used to do this before, didn’t I?”
You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when you’re getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and you’re reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.
Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.
It’s hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you aren’t used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isn’t going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.
You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.
A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.
“Are you sure?”
You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. You’re usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.
“Everything you’re doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, he’s been wanting to work with you more.”
You give him a smile, and it’s more teasing this time. “I don’t know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.”
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.”
You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. He’s ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that he’s on the right path.
The next day, he’s getting ready to go into work as well.
He’s nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses aren’t exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know he’s conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.
“We don’t have to tell them you’re my husband. We can tell them you’re an employee.” You offer on the drive there. “From overseas. We’ll make up a story or something.”
His lip quirks up in a half smile.
“You think that's why I'm nervous?” He asks. You shrug.
“That’s the one thing I was never worried about.” He supplies.
Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesn’t mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. He’s the most important person in your life.
Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesn’t show it a lot. That’s always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.
Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. You’re swept up in work, but he’s always on the back of your mind. You’re just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.
“Lunch?”
For a second, you can’t breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. It’s so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshua’s insistence, or you wouldn’t eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But he’s here now, part of his face reconstructed, but he’s here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.
“Hey.” His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.
“Sorry.” He sounds somber. “Did I do something wrong?”
You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. “Not at all.”
Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
Seungcheol’s hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. You’re embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You don’t want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you haven’t processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.
It seems that he understands that as well.
Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheol’s hand loosens its grip, but it doesn’t move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. You’re starved for anything that is Seungcheol, you’ve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.
You don’t stop them this time.
………………………………..
“It doesn’t look right.”
“It looks exactly like it should.”
“No, it doesn’t. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-”
“If you’re not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I don’t need this energy.”
“I’m just saying, if you had just gone to the store-”
“And I told you, she likes it better this way.”
“Right. And we’re supposed to trust your half-fried brain.”
“Man, fuck you.”
You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but it’s hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.
“You’re seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?”
“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”
You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but you’re decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.
But you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didn’t anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that you’re okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that he’s with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.
Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.
Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know it’s all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.
“No offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.”
“That was really offensive, actually.” Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.
The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.
“Well, you’re always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad I’m still a shit baker?”
You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.
“I love it even more.” You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.
“Happy birthday, baby.” He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. He’s watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down and…..
He does.
When his lips meet yours, they’re hesitant. It’s barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.
The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.
“We should-” His voice cracks. Your head spins. “We should slow down.”
He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.
“Yeah.” You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until he’s tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. You’re level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesn’t come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.
“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.
You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.
“Cheol-” You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like he’s on the same page, because he’s reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until it’s gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until it’s bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.
Finally, you see him.
Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, he’s even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.
“Does it hurt?” You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.
“It used to, when it was new. But it’s more numb now than anything.” He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesn’t react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.
“I guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.” He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.
“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”
He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Freak.”
You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. “You used to love it.”
Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like it’s gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. “Oh, I know.”
He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.
“I remember a lot of things.” He rasps. “More and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.”
“I’m- I’m not-” But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. He’s going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all it’s doing is making you even more lightheaded.
He hums. You know he doesn’t believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. You’re not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.
“Cheol, take me inside.” You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesn’t respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know that’s about to change today. You’re never letting him leave again.
He doesn’t separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.
You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.
Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. You’re aware that while you’ve done this countless times with him, it’s different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.
“Are you okay with this?” You whisper. “I know this is a lot-”
“I was going to ask you that.” He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. I didn’t-”
Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.
“I didn’t think I could ever have this again.”
His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.
“I know I’m not all the way there.” He whispers. “I know there’s so much missing. And some days, it’s so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But I’m getting better every day. And I…. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.”
Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. It’s easy to build up the heat again, and there’s an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.
“Easy, princess.” He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. “I’ve got you.”
Princess. You whine. That’s an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. He’s a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.
“Don’t-” Your chest rattles with your inhale. “Don’t tease me. Please, I’ve waited so long, Cheolie. Don’t make me wait even more-”
When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know he’s watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snail’s pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like it’s an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like he’s meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.
“Made for me, aren’t you?” He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. “Taking me like you’re meant for me. Haven’t fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?”
God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.
“Love how tight you are, baby.” He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. “But I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I can’t do that when you’re gripping me like this.”
It’s a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like you’re already on the brink, and he has barely started.
“Fuck.” He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.
You could come just looking at him like this.
He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. He’s watching you now, but you’re too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.
Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheol’s eye widens.
“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.
“Please.”
Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.
Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You can’t speak, can’t warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesn’t slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.
“That was so sexy, baby, fuck.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. He’s grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. Could’ve had you under me every night looking like that.”
You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. “Get your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.”
Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesn’t let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so you’re on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You don’t mind, you’ve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. It’s unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.
His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.
You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.
“I was warm.” You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.
“I’ll warm you up again, baby, don’t worry. Come on.”
Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you haven’t seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesn’t waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You don’t mind, not at all, it’s part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.
You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesn’t feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.
The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. There’s nothing in it for you.
Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he can’t feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.
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