quinn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊ ‘04 <3

[quinnhypen]

QUINNHYPEN MASTERLIST!

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Thank you @noniesgummysmile for the idea to make a masterlist! I'll keep editing this as I post more stories :D

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Most Recent :D until the world remembers - jeon wonwoo

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phone a friend - k. mg

photophile - jeon wonwoo

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[quinnhypen]

i need more hwang seongbin x reader content on this platform pleaseeeeee!!!!!! any 82DE authors on here please let me know what ur working on :)))))

[horahae]

Drop Dead - Jeon Wonwoo - Part 3

Pairing: video game developer!jeon wonwoo x animator f!reader

Summary: jeon wonwoo has been insufferable since the day you started at Carat Entertainment. between petty arguments and snide remarks to each other, he quickly became public enemy number one in your eyes. when you’re thrown together on a high-priority project for a new video game, late work nights turn into long conversations and you begin to forget why you even hated him in the first place. 

WC: 6.2k

CW: CHAPTER SPECIFIC - some instagram dm's, kissing/making out, very brief mention of sex if you squint, swearing, verkwan as besties, ummm and the angst begins in this chapter. sorry in advance:) i think that should be everything…also s/o to my best friend @aelin-tiny for proof reading and helping me edit this one cause i was STRUGGLING

Series Masterlist - Next Part

to join the taglist for this series, please fill out the form here xx

dividers by @uzmacchiato

Shortly after waking up, you receive word that Carat is closed due to a blizzard. There’s a power outage on that side of town, and you’re so relieved to have the day off. However, as if he could sense you were at peace, you get an Instagram DM from Wonwoo approximately an hour later. You’re in the middle of settling on your couch with Dubu and a cup of hot chocolate when your phone buzzes, with the notification flashing across the lock screen:

“Ugh,” you groan, tossing your phone onto the coffee table. Despite the annoyance of having to work today, something about his last message simmers and boils inside of you. 

Drive carefully.

Obviously, he’s just being polite. You’re not even sure why it affects you as much as it does. Dragging a hand down your face, you decide that dwelling on it will only drive you crazy. Probably as crazy as Wonwoo drives you, which is exactly what you need to remind yourself. It’s Jeon Wonwoo. The past week has probably just been him being cordial for the project. Walking you to your car, taking you to dinner, opening up to you about his personal life…

Yeah. Cordial. Right?

Okay, maybe you aren’t sure anymore. 

“Dubu.” You suddenly announce, which causes your cat to jump slightly at the noise. She looks up at you, eyes wide. “If someone who has always been mean to you seems to change overnight, would that be suspicious?”

She blinks once. 

“I mean,” you shift your weight, and she crawls onto your lap, “we used to argue every day. Well, you know that. I told you. Anyway, now he’s like…vulnerable. And he took me to dinner last night. And paid. Should I be weirded out?”

You take a sip of your hot cocoa, then glance out of your living room window. It’s a winter wonderland outside–like someone picked up the Earth and shook it as if it were a snow globe. The wind is crazy, with flakes flurrying everywhere. Your porch is covered in at least a few inches, and you’re surprised by how much has accumulated since you got home last night.

The nerves inside begin to slowly unravel as the reality hits you that you’re going to Wonwoo’s house later. Close proximity with public enemy number one. What if he tries to kill you? Or, even worse, what if he…touches you again? Your face flushes immediately, and you feel like a high schooler all over again. There’s absolutely no way you’re letting someone like Jeon Wonwoo rile you up like this, and you quickly decide you need someone to talk some sense into you. 

Grabbing your phone again, you dial the two people you know you can always rely on. Seungkwan picks up almost immediately, with Hansol following suit a few seconds after. 

“Why on God’s good earth are you awake so early on your day off?” Seungkwan groans. “I was sleeping.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Hansol deadpans. “He was sending me TikToks.”

“I need both of you to lock in for ten minutes.” You state a little too loudly. Seungkwan scoffs. “I am going insane, I think, and I need to debrief some recent Wonwoo Moments with you both.”

Hansol hesitates before saying, “What happened?”

So, you unload everything. You tell them about staying late in the breakroom, Wonwoo taking you out to dinner instead of working, and now him inviting you over for dinner and work. They listen quietly and intently, like they’re absorbing all the information before speaking. Per usual, Seungkwan is the first to chime in. 

“Okay, so,” you can hear him sit up in bed as he talks, “I think your theory that him being nice was a one-off is now null and void.”

“But I don’t think there’s any deeper meaning, right?” You counter. “Like, this has to just be because of the project. Someone’s seven years of hatred isn’t just erased in a week. Right?”

Hansol has been oddly quiet. You almost forget he’s on the call until he comments, “Would it be the worst thing in the world if that did happen, though?”

“Yes.” You reply. “Hansol, do you forget the fact that he made me cry the other day?”

He sighs. “I didn’t forget.” He clarifies. “I’m just saying that Wonwoo is kind of odd. I mean, he’s never been able to process or handle his feelings effectively. He’s kind of an ecological disturbance because of it.”

“Kind of?” You snort. “He’s always a disturbance, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Look, I’m not diminishing the fact that he’s made you cry.” Hansol continues. “Or any of the times he’s been rude to you. But I do know Wonwoo. And I do know that sometimes he doesn’t even recognize his own feelings until much later.”

The three of you fall silent as Hansol’s words settle between you. Your mouth feels dry as it begins to process, and you’re almost scared to hear what his response is to your next question. 

“What are you insinuating?” You ask quietly.

When he doesn’t reply right away, you ask again, “Hansol, what do you mean by that?”

“I’m just saying that maybe this project made him realize he doesn’t fully hate you.” He finally answers. “I’m not saying it’s anything beyond tolerating, but I just don’t think there’s any hate there anymore. You know?”

“But, buying her dinner?” Seungkwan cuts in. “That feels like more than just tolerating.”

Hansol groans. “Look, I know Wonwoo well, but I’m not an expert on him.”

That makes you snicker as you take another sip of your hot cocoa. When you lower the cup again, you comment, “You mean your degree isn’t in Wonwoo-ology?”

“No, I only minored in it.” Hansol fires back. The three of you laugh, and things feel a little lighter. 

Still, in the back of your mind, all you can think about is Hansol’s question: Would it be the worst thing in the world if Wonwoo’s feelings towards you changed? Alternatively, would it be the worst thing in the world if your feelings towards Wonwoo have changed?

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

You haven’t been able to bring your hand up to ring Wonwoo’s doorbell yet. Instead, you’ve been standing in the horrendous storm outside, staring at his front door like this is all some crazy dream. It’s so unbelievably cold outside, but you’re too scared to go inside. From where you are, however, you can smell something cooking through the window. Something that smells warm and perfect for today’s weather. 

Finally, as you muster the courage to knock, the door flies open. Wonwoo stands across from you, looking like he hasn’t bothered getting ready all day–or, at least changing clothes. His black sweats sit low on his hips. He’s wearing a dark, oversized hoodie with them, and his hair is a bit damp like he maybe showered before you arrived. His glasses are in their usual spot, low on the bridge of his nose. Your heart does a weird flip at the sight of him looking so…normal? Comfortable?

“Are you planning on freezing to death, Picasso?” He asks flatly. “I know you’ve been standing here for a while. I can see you from my kitchen window.” He gestures to the right, where sure enough, there’s a window with the perfect view of the front porch. 

You feel your cheeks warm in embarrassment. “Freezing to death would be better than working on my day off.”

“Good thing it’s Friday,” Wonwoo responds. “You’ve got the whole weekend to slack off.” He steps to the side, and you can feel the warm air from where you stand. He gestures behind him. “Now, are you coming in?”

“Yeah.” You mutter before trudging through the door. Wonwoo closes it again, and you take a moment to look around his house. 

It’s got a lot more personality than you were expecting from him. Most of the furniture is monochrome, but he’s got a few action figures on display, as well as a few framed posters for different anime or video games. In his living room, he’s got some music playing on the TV. In the kitchen to your right, you see something cooking, which you can only assume is the source of the smell outside. 

“Can I take your jacket for you?”

Your attention snaps back to Wonwoo, who is holding out his hand. You blink a few times before dropping your bag by your feet and shrugging off your bulky winter coat. You watch as he hangs it up, then cards a hand through his hair. 

“Uh, how were the roads?” He asks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Roads were pretty shitty.” You reply. “And no, not yet. I kind of lost track of time.”

Wonwoo nods, then walks past you into the kitchen. He grabs a few bowls, then glances over to you. “I made kimchi jjigae. Do you want some?”

He made food for you both? “Oh,” you manage. “That’s really nice of you. Thank you–”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He interjects. “I made extra. I don’t need it, so I figured I’d give it to you.”

Yup. There’s the Wonwoo you know and (don’t) love.

“Right.” You roll your eyes before sliding off your boots and making your way over to him. He dishes up the stew, then passes you your serving. “Thanks.”

He just shrugs as he begins eating his. Things are awkwardly quiet for a moment until he clears his throat. “We can sit in the living room, too. I have my laptop and work pulled up already.”

“I mean, it’s your house.” You lightly tease. “You’re the host. I’ll go wherever you want me to go.”

Wonwoo scoffs, but doesn’t seem annoyed in any capacity. You actually wonder for a moment if he’s smiling, but he turns away too quickly for you to confirm. When he starts walking, you hurry to follow behind him. 

The two of you sit on opposite ends of his couch when you realize you left your bag by the door. You gently set your stew down, then walk back over to where you dropped it when you arrived. When you turn around to go back to the couch, Wonwoo is staring at you. 

“Yes?” You frown, feeling your heart flutter again. 

“Nothing.” He pauses. “It’s just weird that you’re over.”

“Hm,” you hum as you sit down beside him. “Well, this was your idea.”

“I know,” Wonwoo states. “Doesn’t make it any less weird, I guess. I haven’t had anyone over in a few months, now. And the fact that it’s you of all people…” He trails off, but glances at you to gauge your reaction. There’s no bite to his tone, so you don’t take the comment to heart.

You wonder if he’s referring to his ex, but you decide not to push or be too nosy–despite how much you really want to be. So, you resort to your usual banter with him instead. 

“Yeah, I can tell.” You smirk as you grab your tablet. “Not the best host, in my opinion.”

Wonwoo presses his brows together. “You can’t critique my hosting; you wanted to be here instead of your place.”

“I’m just giving you shit.” You laugh as you turn the tablet on. 

While it boots up, you grab your bowl again and begin eating. You’re surprised at how good of a cook Wonwoo is, and you have to bite back any sort of compliment that you consider giving him. But, much against your will, this kimichi jjigae is delicious. Like, ridiculously and unfairly good. It kind of makes you mad that it’s good, mostly because you don’t really like the idea of Wonwoo being good at anything besides coding. 

“Does it taste okay?” Wonwoo asks as you practically inhale the stew. Your eyes flick over to him for a moment, where it looks like he’s trying to not laugh.

You lower the bowl, then set it back on the table. Clearing your throat, you mutter, “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” A small laugh escapes his mouth as he gestures to your (almost) empty bowl. “Picasso, the whole thing is pretty much gone.”

You press your tongue to your cheek. “I’m not going to give you a compliment.” You state, picking up your tablet. “It’s only going to feed your ego. Remember our talk about being more humble? Besides, you never compliment me.”

“So, what, you want a compliment for a compliment, now?” He scoffs. 

“Maybe I do.”

“Fine.” He groans. “I guess you–” He quickly stops, like he was trying to prevent himself from saying his initial train of thought. Drawing in a deep breath, he finishes with, “You’re a very good artist.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow, I’m very good?” 

“Now can you admit that I’m a good cook?” He asks, clearly trying to steer your attention away from his compliment. 

You click your tongue, flicking your gaze back to your tablet. You boot up your project, then try to suppress your own smile as you reply, “You’re a great cook. The jjigae was really good.”

The silence that follows is bordering on embarrassing, as it washes over you both that you’re getting along. And it’s getting easier to get along. 

Maybe Hansol was right: maybe Wonwoo’s feelings did change over the course of a week. Maybe yours did, too.

A couple of hours passed working in silence, but the music Wonwoo had on was nice. It was soft jazz of some kind. You didn’t recognize any of the artists, but it weirdly helped you maintain focus fairly well. When the clock hits eight, you stretch your arms over your head as a yawn escapes from your mouth. Wonwoo glances over at you and leans back against his couch. 

“Should we call it a night?” He asks. 

“Probably.” You sigh. “But I think we got some decent work done, yeah?”

He nods. “I think so.” He agrees. “What do you think the storm looks like?”

God, you’d truthfully forgotten all about the blizzard. You were praying that things cleared up, but when you walk over to the door to peek outside, your hopes are very quickly diminished. Because it did, in fact, get a lot worse. Your car is completely iced over, with a few inches of snow piled on top. Your shoulders drop, and you can hear Wonwoo walking up behind you. 

“Shit.” He mutters. “Are you going to be able to drive home?”

“I have to.” You glance over your shoulder at him, where he stands a little too close for comfort. You can feel his body heat against your back, and your stomach flips. Shaking your head, you quickly add, “I have to get home somehow, Wonwoo. I mean, I can’t just stay here.”

His hair falls in his eyes a little, and you really hate how he’s looking at you. His expression is soft, and you hate it. You hate how he’s making you feel, and you wish there was a way to turn it off in your brain. You can feel yourself spiraling like you did earlier that morning to Seungkwan and Vernon, so you quickly begin to remind yourself, ‘This is Jeon Wonwoo. The same man who makes your life a living hell. The same man who made you cry. The same man who has done nothing but treat you like shit for the past seven years.’

“Who says you can’t?” He asks. “I mean, obviously it’s not ideal, but you shouldn’t drive in this. My couch can pull out into a bed–”

“Wonwoo.” You close the door as you cut him off, feeling your heart rate quicken. “I can’t stay here. That’s crazy. I mean, staying here? With you? At your house?”

He blinks a few times, then frowns. “I’m failing to see what is so crazy about that concept.” He admits. “It’s bad weather. It’s unsafe to drive. I think it makes sense to stay put until the roads clear in the morning.”

He’s right, and you hate that he is. You hate everything about how this evening is playing out, and you think you might be sick. 

“Look, ah,” he rubs the back of his neck. “How can I make this more comfortable for you?” 

“Um.” You press your lips into a thin line as you look at your surroundings. 

If you have to stay here, you suppose some blankets would be nice. You chew on your bottom lip, not really wanting to look towards Wonwoo right now. There have been too many unwanted emotions bubbling up tonight, and having to stay at his house, now, just seems to unravel you even more. 

“Just,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “I guess just blankets and pillows are fine.”

“Well, obviously,” Wonwoo remarks. “I’m not going to make you sleep without those. Do you want, like, some sweats? Or something more comfortable than what you’re already wearing?”

Looking down, you begin to regret wearing jeans. Though, in your defense, you didn’t think you’d have to end up staying overnight here. 

“Yeah.” You glance over to him. His arms are folded across his chest as he watches you. His expression is deadpan, but his eyes are softer. Like he feels bad for the current situation. “Yeah, some sweats would be great, actually. Thank you.”

Wonwoo just nods, short and curtly, before wandering down the hallway behind him. After a few seconds, he reappears with some folded-up sweats and a t-shirt. He passes them to you, and you hesitate to accept them. Because in your mind, accepting them means this nightmare is real, and you’re not sure you want that.

“The bathroom is down that hall.” He explains. “It’s the second door to the left. If you want to shower, there are extra towels under the sink. I’m going to get some blankets and a pillow for you.”

You nod, then solemnly pad down the hallway. When you reach the bathroom door, you stop and glance back at where Wonwoo is. He’s pushing his coffee table out of the way to pull the couch out into a bed. 

“Hey Wonwoo?” You call down to him. He looks over his shoulder towards you, and you give him a reluctant smile. “Thanks.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, and he turns his attention back to the couch. “Don’t mention it.”

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever. Wonwoo went to sleep around thirty minutes ago. He left the music playing, at your request. You thought the noise would help calm your nerves, but it does very little to settle the swarm of emotions that are going through your head right now. Ever since Hansol put the idea out there that it’s entirely possible Wonwoo’s feelings towards you changed, you’ve been so…worked up, for lack of better terms. 

Like, Wonwoo tolerating you upsets the workplace ecosystem. You’ve joked with Seungkwan about things being peaceful if Wonwoo wasn’t there, and, sure, it’d be nice to not argue every day. But going from screaming at each other a week ago to wearing his clothes and staying at his house and getting dinner with him and…

You roll onto your side and pull your legs up to your chest. Maybe Hansol was right–maybe tolerating Wonwoo isn’t the worst thing in the world. There’s definitely a lot worse that’s out there. For example: murder. Or armed robbery. Wonwoo is absolutely not as bad as those things. And, if anything, you’ve learned in the last week that his cold-blooded psychopathic heart has feelings. Which, in your book, is a redeeming factor. So there: automatically not nearly as bad as murder or armed robbery.

You hear the door handle to Wonwoo’s bedroom turn, and your breath catches in your throat. You lift your head to see him wander out, looking as awake as you felt. His gaze meets yours, and he stops in his tracks. His hair is messy like he tried to sleep, but failed miserably. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?” He asks, leaning against the entryway of the living room. 

You shake your head. “No. I think I miss my cat.”

“Well,” Wonwoo laughs lightly, “I can’t help with that. Sorry.”

“Damn.” You click your tongue, then push yourself to sit up. “I guess it’s fine, then. Do you, um, want to sit?” You gesture to the other side of the futon for him. He draws in a deep breath, and, much to your surprise, accepts the invitation. 

You watch as he trudges over, then collapses on the other side. He removes his glasses for a moment to rub his eyes, then places them back on his face. Bringing his arms behind his head, he sighs. 

“You know,” he starts, “Hansol has a lot of great things to say about you.”

You snort, then lie back with him. The two of you stare at the ceiling together, now, as the sound of his jazz music fills the space between you. 

“I hope he would.” You comment. “He is my best friend.”

“I just mean, like,” Wonwoo rolls his head so he’s looking at you, “he’s always had great things to say. I really didn’t want to believe any of them for a while.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze. “Mm,” you hum, “like what?”

“Well,” he says, “that you’re understanding. He’s mentioned that you’re nice, too, but the verdict is still out on that one.”

You roll your eyes. “Can the verdict hurry up?” You joke. “My verdict is already back on you.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, yeah?” He taunts. “What’s that, then?”

You grin, then look up at the ceiling again. “You’re not as bad as murder. Or armed robbery.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He scoffs. “Can you pass that on to my ex? She seems to think otherwise.”

The silence that follows his sentence is uncomfortable, and you can tell that it slipped out before he could even process the thought. You prop yourself up on your elbow, then look down at him. 

“You don’t have to answer this,” you begin slowly, “but what happened? With your ex, I mean. If it’s bad enough that you considered running off to the States, then that seems…concerning.”

Wonwoo stares up at you, and you can tell from his expression alone that he’s conflicted about whether he wants to share that much with you or not. His eyebrows are furrowed, and there’s a slight frown that teases his lips. 

“Her name is Haeun.” He explains. “We met in college. She just, ah, is a really degrading person. Incredibly narcissistic. She thinks I somehow owe her thanks for my entire life because she was the one who encouraged me to pursue computer engineering and who helped me get the job at Carat. I guess I just woke up one day and decided that after eleven years I had enough of it.”

Your eyes widen. “Eleven years? Shit, Wonwoo.”

“That’s not taking into consideration that we’ve been off and on for a long time.” He quickly clarifies. “It was just constant breaking up and getting back together because she’d make me feel guilty. I still have her shit here because she won’t come pick it up. She thinks I’ll come back to her.” 

He gestures behind you. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, there are a few boxes and bags that are all labeled: HAEUN

“Well,” you look back down at him. “Do you think you’ll go back?”

“No.” He answers, and you believe him. His tone is firm and sure. 

You hum. “Do you want me to dump it at her place for you?” You offer lightly, slightly teasing him. “She doesn’t know me, so she can’t–”

“I’m flattered, Picasso, but I’m not subjecting you to her behavior,” Wonwoo interjects sternly. “I can take it, but I don’t want her to berate you in the same way she does to me.”

You falter for a moment, surprised at how…protective that sounded. When you feel your cheeks warm, you feel ridiculous for blushing at something so meaningless. His living room suddenly feels quite warm, and your head feels a bit light. 

“Well,” you force a nervous laugh, “that’s very chivalrous.”

“I’d hardly call that chivalry,” Wonwoo mutters. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

“I’d be careful if I were you,” you scold, but there’s no bite to it. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll begin to think you don’t hate me anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

The smile on your face disappears instantly. Holy shit. Wonwoo just admitted to not hating you anymore. That was an admission, right? He said maybe. So it’s not a full confession, but–

“Picasso.” Wonwoo sits up, waving a hand in front of your face. “Don’t get lost on me, now. And don’t let that get to your head either. Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mean I like you.” 

He smirks, so you know it’s a joke. It doesn’t fully register or land with you, though, because what are you even supposed to do with this information?

You quickly push Wonwoo’s hand away. “Please,” you scoff, “I’d never let that get to my head. Just because you tolerate me doesn’t mean I’m going to forget our roots.”

“Our roots?” He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah.” You lie back down and look up at him. “You know, you ignoring me or making me cry.”

Wonwoo frowns. “When did I make you cry?”

His voice is so soft now that part of you feels guilty for bringing it up. You pull your blanket up to your face in a poor attempt to shy away from the question, but then Wonwoo’s hand stops yours. 

“Tell me, please.” He says, then repeats, “When did I make you cry?”

“It’s not even a big deal,” you lie, pushing his hand off of yours. “It was earlier this week. When your ex kept calling you. You apologized, anyway.”

“But clearly it’s still bothering you,” Wonwoo gently argues. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s just–” you groan. “It’s confusing, you know? Like, you’re mean to me ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, but then when it’s like this,” you gesture between the two of you, “it’s nice. I don’t want to hate you, Wonwoo, but I can’t look past those moments, either.”

Wonwoo swallows, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs briefly as he does so. “Well, can I do anything to remedy it?”

“You’re that keen on making things better?” You tease. Wonwoo’s jaw tightens while he stares down at you. You continue, “If you’re that serious about it, then you can start by treating me the same way at work that you do when we’re alone.”

“Okay.” He replies quickly. 

You blink. “That’s all it’s going to take?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Do you want me to argue?” He smirks. “That might go against what you just told me not to do.”

“Okay, smartass.” You roll your eyes. “I’m just surprised you’re so willing to, I don’t know, actually get along.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just stares at you. The prolonged eye contact makes you squirm as you try to turn your attention to anything and everything else but him. The butterflies in your stomach haven’t stopped since lying down to sleep, and now they’re on a rampage. When he draws in a deep breath, you allow yourself to look back up at him. 

“I guess–” he pauses. “I don’t know. You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

The corners of your mouth twitch. “Yeah.” You offer a timid smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, geeksquad.”

The air suddenly shifts, and it’s clear that Wonwoo feels it this time, too. His breathing turns a bit shallow when he presses his palm into the futon beside your head. You begin to get deja vu from the night he brushed away the eyelash from your face, only this time, a tiny part of you hopes he’s going to kiss you. You’ll never let Seungkwan know you thought that, though. At least not until the kiss actually happens. If it happens. Which you’re sure it is, because the next thing you know, Wonwoo begins to lower his body over yours. 

“Hey, Picasso?” He suddenly whispers, his voice low. “You still drive me crazy.”

You swallow. “I know.” You reply softly. “You drive me crazy, too.”

Wonwoo laughs a little breathlessly before finally closing the distance and pressing his lips to yours. At first, neither of you really moves. The initial kiss is quick, and Wonwoo pulls away just barely to look down at you as if to make sure that was okay. You meet his gaze and barely give him a nod before he chases your lips again and kisses you with much more intent. 

You gasp a little at his sudden surge of confidence, and grab hold of the collar on his hoodie. He kisses slowly, like he’s trying to move cautiously. Like he’s giving you the space to stop it at any time. His lips are soft, and you really hate how much you enjoy the feeling of them against yours. Wonwoo fully lowers his body onto you, wrapping his free arm around your waist. His glasses bump against your face a little, prompting you to giggle.

“Are you laughing?” Wonwoo mutters against your lips. He pulls away, and you reach up to brush the hair out of his face. 

“Your glasses.” You explain. “They just keep hitting my forehead and cheeks.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo’s face flushes slightly. 

“Can you even see without them?” You ask as he peels them off his face and tosses them aside. 

“Not really.” He admits with a laugh. “My vision is really bad.”

You hum, tugging on his hoodie to pull him closer. “Let me help, then.”

You kiss him first this time, which prompts a moan from him. You feel his body relax against yours as his hand moves from your waist to the back of your head. He tilts it slightly to deepen the kiss, and you very quickly decide that you no longer hate the fact that he’s a good kisser. Actually, you really like it and would really like to do this all night. You’re addicted to how soft but full of passion each kiss is, like he’s driving but willing to give over the control at any second. 

Wonwoo’s tongue slides across your bottom lip before pressing gently against yours. A soft sound bubbles from you. You’re not really sure what it is, seeing as you’re so drunk on the taste of him right now. You feel a little delirious and overwhelmed, but most importantly, perfectly content. 

When he pulls away, your heart breaks a little bit. You open your eyes to find him putting his glasses back on. 

“As much as I would love to continue that,” he whispers, “I think we should try to get some sleep.”

“What if I’m not tired?” You quip. Your plan doesn’t work, though, as Wonwoo rolls his eyes. 

“Even if you’re not,” he gives you another quick kiss, “I don’t have protection. I wasn’t exactly planning on, well, that tonight.”

You dramatically groan. “Well, can you at least stay out here, then?” You ask. “You can’t just kiss someone and leave them alone like that.”

Wonwoo’s expression twists. “Don’t people kind of do that all the time?”

“That’s not the point.” You frown. 

Wonwoo sits up and gently pulls you with him. “I won’t stay here,” he says. “This futon kind of sucks. But you can come sleep in my room with me.”

Your heart flutters. When reality comes crashing down, your eyes widen. “Wonwoo.” You gasp. “We kissed. Like, us. World’s biggest enemies.”

“Okay, well,” Wonwoo stands and continues to pull you along, “I don’t think that term is exactly applicable anymore, Picasso. I don’t make out with my enemies.”

“Okay,” you say as you trail behind him to his room, “so what are we now, then?”

Wonwoo closes the door behind you, then thinks. After a brief pause, he replies, “I don’t really know. But can we figure it out?”

Taking a step closer to him, you grin. “I think I can work with that.” 

When you wake up the next day, Wonwoo isn’t beside you. Blinking a few times, you allow your eyes to adjust to the sunlight that floods through his curtains, when the sudden smell of bacon fills the air around you. 

When you finally roll out of bed, you trudge back towards the kitchen. Wonwoo is hunched over the stove, still in his hoodie and sweats from last night. His hair is messy from sleep, however, and the sight alone makes you grin. It’s still weird coming to terms with the fact that Wonwoo is making you smile. All you’ve ever done is be angry with him, and now you’ve spent the night at his house, you kissed him, and…

Oh Jesus Christ you kissed him. 

You swallow, feeling the blush creep up on your face, as you replay last night over again in your head. God, the way his lips felt–you’d give anything to feel them again. But is that territory you’re officially in? Can you just…kiss him whenever now? It’s not like you’ve never been in a relationship before or, hell, even just slept around with some people. But this thing that developed last night is so unclear. 

“Are you just going to stand and stare at me, or would you like to eat?” Wonwoo suddenly announces, pulling you from your thoughts. He glances over his shoulder at you. “I made bacon and eggs. I didn’t have anything else, considering I wasn’t expecting a sleepover of any kind.”

“That’s fine.” You quickly reply, making your way over to him. “Thank you for breakfast. You were up early.”

Wonwoo shrugs, then turns his attention back to the food. “Didn’t sleep well,” he explains. “I guess I got used to not having someone sleeping next to me.”

“Oh, I’m–”

“Don’t apologize, Picasso.” He cuts in. “I don’t need sympathy.”

His tone is short today, seemingly back to what it was before–to the Wonwoo you knew before. You clear your throat, trying to scramble your thoughts into something cohesive. Maybe he’s just grumpy from the lack of sleep?

“Um, are you okay?” You ask a bit pathetically. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just–” you pause “--I don’t know. I mean, last night you weren’t like this. I thought maybe we were kind of past this.”

You watch as he takes the pan off the stove, and moves through the kitchen to plate the food for both of you. He doesn’t bother looking your way, or even smiling in the slightest. He’s just…Wonwoo. Deadpan. Emotionless. It makes you sick to your stomach. 

Did he just play you?

“It was late last night.” He answers simply. “I think we both got carried away, don’t you?”

Then, he finally looks over to you. His eyes are red behind the lens of his glasses, and you can’t tell if it’s from crying or lack of sleep. But your heart hurts to see the exhaustion on his face. You dare a step closer, but he pulls back, so you stop.

“Wonwoo,” you start softly, “why are you doing this?”

“Listen,” he sighs, setting the now empty pan into his sink, “I think maybe for the remainder of this project we should just keep contact at a minimum. I-I’ll trust that you’ll do your work. I won’t make you work on your days off anymore, and–”

“Hey,” you interject, “that’s not fair. You don’t just get to kiss me, let me sleep in your bed, and then push me away like that. Why are you doing that?”

“I just think it’s for the best.” He replies. 

“For who?”

That, he doesn’t have an answer for. Your gaze flicks between the food on the plates and his face. But you aren’t hungry anymore. You feel your jaw tighten, as a lump begins to form in your throat. After a few moments pass with neither of you speaking, you force yourself to draw in a shaky breath. 

“You know, I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” You offer a weak smile. “Yeah, I should go home to my cat. Dubu is probably hungry, and I need to clean her litter box–”

“Wait–”

“No.” You turn, and walk over to the couch where your things are still piled. You quickly pack everything into your bag again, not being able to look back over at him. “It’s fine, Wonwoo. I should’ve figured that it didn’t mean anything. I mean, that would go against everything we’ve built on for the last seven years.” You sling your bag over your shoulder, and turn to face him. “Why bother trying to change?”

You don’t give him the chance to say anything as you brush past him, and begin to put your shoes on. When you grab your jacket off the hanger by the door, you hear him call your name. Your hand hesitates on the door before you pull it open, and walk out to your car.

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Wonwoo Taglist: @0325straywithme 

[bononbonon]

✦Library Record #006 :: Future nostalgia

📖 Professor!Jeon Wonwoo x Professor!Fem Reader

Title :: Future nostalgia Classification :: Time Travel AU • Domestic Fluff Summary :: A little boy arrives at Hogwarts claiming you and Professor Jeon Wonwoo are his parents, turning your lives upside down. Word Count :: 11k words

series masterlist ✦ svt masterlist

Genre: Hogwarts AU • Domestic Fluff • Time Travel • Parenthood

Trigger Warnings: Child in distress (temporary separation from parents) •Memory alteration/partial memory loss • Mention of pregnancy

A/N: Fic's a little cliche, but I wholeheartedly believe in Soft!Dad Jeon Wonwoo. Give me your kids wonu ;p what who said that huh I actually have no idea how kids are...

The rain had been falling since the afternoon, turning the castle windows into rivers and made the corridors smell of wet stone. You had stayed later than usual in the greenhouses, repotting a stubborn batch of mandrakes for the second-years who would be arriving in a few weeks, and by the time you climbed back up to the staff quarters your boots were soaked through and your cardigan smelled like fertilizer.

You almost didn't hear it, a small sound, like a hiccup, half swallowed by the storm.

You stopped in the corridor outside the professors' wing, wand raised, and found a child tucked against the cold stone wall. He couldn't have been older than five or six, curled into himself with his knees drawn to his chest, dark unruly hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes damp at the shoulders and his cheeks pink from the cold. He was fast asleep despite all of it.

"Oh, dear."

You crouched beside him, carefully brushing the wet fringe away from his forehead. When he didn't stir, your first instinct was to get him warm.

Slipping your cardigan from your shoulders, you wrapped it around the tiny frame before gently lifting him into your arms. He was surprisingly light, his small pruned hands clutching at the fabric as he slept.

You hurried straight to Professor McGonagall's office.

She opened the door before you had even knocked twice. Her eyebrows lifted at the sight of the sleeping child bundled against you.

"I found him outside the professors' quarters," you explained. "He was freezing."

McGonagall's expression immediately hardened into business.

"Bring him inside."

A fire crackled in the grate as you settled the boy onto the sofa, rubbing gentle circles over his back in an attempt to warm him. McGonagall cast several warming charms over the room before turning to Filch, who had appeared in response to the commotion.

"Mr. Filch," she said briskly. "Gather available staff. Immediately."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

It didn't take long. Within a few minutes, half the staff room had gathered, which was really only about nine people. McGonagall stood at the head of the room in her tartan dressing gown, looking like she would very much like to be back in bed. Flitwick hovered by the fireplace. Hagrid took up an entire corner simply by existing.

You looked down at the boy again, and something about him nagged at you. The straight dark hair, the soft feline shape of his eyes, even the slight downturn of his mouth in sleep, all of it reminding you vaguely of someone you passed in the corridors without really seeing. Before you could chase the thought further, he stirred. His nose scrunched, his fists rubbed sleepily at his eyes, and he blinked up at the unfamiliar room.

"Sweetheart, are you o—"

You never finished the question. He launched himself at you, small arms winding around your neck with startling strength, nearly knocking you backward as he buried his face against your shoulder. You went rigid with shock, hands hovering uselessly over his back, before instinct took over and you held him.

A broken sob escaped him. "Mama..." he hiccupped, the word breaking beneath another sob. "I looked everywhere for you."

Within seconds he was crying in earnest, hot snotty tears soaking into your cardigan, his fingers clutching at the fabric as though letting go would make you disappear. You looked up helplessly at McGonagall, at Flitwick, at anyone who might explain this. Nobody could, and the words you meant to say, that 'there had been some mistake', died in your throat against the completeness of his devastation. You gathered him closer instead, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.

"Shh... it's alright," you murmured softly. "You're alright now."

When you pulled back to look at him, his cheeks were wet, his nose pink from crying and cold, and he couldn't have been older than five.

"What happened, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"

He only shook his head against your shoulder, one last shuddering sob escaping before his breathing evened into sniffles.

McGonagall stepped forward, her voice gentler than you had ever heard it. "Dear boy. What is your name?"

He loosened his grip enough to look at her, wiping his eyes on your cardigan sleeve. "I'm Woojin."

The room visibly relaxed. At least he was coherent.

"Woojin. That's a lovely name," you said.

"You named me, Mama," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then added, generously, in case you needed the rest, "Appa told me that."

"Do you know where your parents are, Woojin?" McGonagall asked. She was the only one composed enough to keep making sense of things.

Woojin looked around, found you first, and pointed. "Mama." Then his gaze slid past everyone else to the office door, just as another professor hurried in, wand still lit from the dark corridors, and his face lit up entirely.

Professor Jeon Wonwoo had barely crossed the threshold before the boy collided with his legs. "Appa!"

His eyes widened behind his glasses, genuine shock flashing across his usually unreadable face as he instinctively looked up at the people in the room, then back down at the child attached to him.

"Mama found me," Woojin said into his trousers, voice thick with tears, "but I was so scared," his hands tightening in the fabric as if to reassure himself Wonwoo was really there.

"I—" Wonwoo started, and had nothing to follow it with. His hand hovered a moment before settling gently on the boy's back. "I've got you."

McGonagall's eyes moved from the child, to Wonwoo, to you, and back again. The only sound left in the room was Woojin's sniffling. She removed her spectacles, pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled slowly.

"My office. Now. We have quite a bit to discuss."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

"Home," Flitwick pressed gently, kneeling to Woojin's eye level, though they were nearly the same height already. "Can you tell us where home is, dear?"

The boy gave him a look that suggested this was a very silly question. "Hogwarts," he said. "Obviously."

"And your parents teach here? At Hogwarts?"

The little boy nodded as an answer.

McGonagall let the silence settle for a moment, studying the little boy who had long since abandoned any attempt at sitting properly. Woojin had curled into your side, one cheek resting against your shoulder while his small fingers remained stubbornly hooked around Wonwoo's sleeve, as though he needed to reassure himself that the two of you were still there. Whatever fear had reduced him to tears earlier seemed to have eased now that he was between the people he believed were his parents.

"Woojin," she said at last, her voice gentler than ever, "can you tell us a little about your parents?"

The effect was immediate. His face brightened so completely that it chased away the last traces of tears, and he twisted around to beam at Wonwoo with open admiration. "My appa's the best wizard ever," he said, stretching his arms wide. "Appa teaches defence and all the big kids like him." He giggled to himself before adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "Some people think he's scary, but they're just being silly. Appa's not scary."

A ripple of restrained amusement passed through the room, though Wonwoo looked as though he wished the stone floor might kindly open beneath him.

"Appa used to be a Auror" Woojin's hands flew up to illustrate every word. "He caught lots of bad people and fought bad monsters." He glanced proudly at Wonwoo again. "Mama says he's the bravest." He nodded, satisfied he remembered it right, and declared, "I'm gonna be bravest like him when I'm big."

You felt the weight of every professor's gaze drift toward Wonwoo, whose composure faltered just enough that his eyes lifted, almost involuntarily, to meet yours.

McGonagall let the silence pass before turning her attention back to the child. "And your mother?"

Woojin smiled just as brightly. Without hesitation, he leaned back against you until his head rested comfortably beneath your chin, as though he had occupied that spot a hundred times before. "Mama teaches Herbology," he said happily. "I go to the greenhouses with her sometimes and I help" He puffed out his chest with quiet pride. "I can water the plants all by myself now." Then he sighed dramatically. "But I'm still not allowed near the bitey ones. Mama says I'm too little."

Hagrid let out a booming laugh.

"Yer mum's got the right idea. Best keep away from the chompy ones till yeh're bigger."

A few quiet chuckles escaped around the office despite the increasingly impossible nature of the conversation.

Professor Flitwick smiled warmly, "Do you like living at Hogwarts, Woojin?"

"Mhm!" Woojin nodded enthusiastically, his feet swinging beneath the sofa. "I see Mama every day. And Appa." He began counting on his fingers. “Sometimes Appa takes me to the library, and..." His eyes suddenly found McGonagall again. "You always give me biscuits."

For the first time that evening, McGonagall looked genuinely surprised. "I do?"

He nodded so enthusiastically his fringe bounced. "The round buttery ones. You keep them in a tin," His voice dropped into another confidential whisper. "You say not to tell anyone, 'cause then everyone will want your biscuits."

The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched despite herself. "I see."

Her gaze lingered on the three of you before she rose, smoothing her dressing gown. "I believe it would be prudent to contact the Ministry."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

By the time the initial shock had settled, it was well past midnight. The Ministry had been contacted, preliminary statements had been taken, and despite an office full of brilliant witches and wizards, no one seemed any closer to understanding how a little boy claiming to be your son had appeared outside the professors' quarters.

Woojin, meanwhile, had reached the end of a very long day. His head kept drooping against your side before jerking upright again, only to repeat itself moments later.

McGonagall noticed it too. "I believe that is enough for one evening," she said, closing the folder before her with quiet finality. "The rest can wait until morning." Her gaze softened as it settled on Woojin.

"The poor boy needs sleep."

The question that remained was where, exactly, he was meant to sleep. He couldn't spend the night in an empty classroom, and neither of you thought he should be alone. Instinctively, both of you looked down the corridor beyond McGonagall's office.

Two doors.

Professor Jeon's quarters.

Professor Lee's quarters.

McGonagall rose from behind her desk and crossed the room, crouching carefully until she was level with the boy.

"Come along, dear," she said kindly. "Why don't you spend the night in my quarters? I've a spare room, and we'll have a proper breakfast in the morning, along with the biscuits you like."

Woojin only shuffled closer, wedging himself between you and Wonwoo, refusing to let go of your sleeve. "No," he said, quiet and almost frightened. "I wanna stay with Mama and Appa."

McGonagall didn't seem offended in the least. If anything, her expression only softened further. "I see," she said, and looked between the three of you. "Well. That does complicate matters somewhat."

For the first time that evening the reality of it settled over you differently. You barely knew Professor Jeon. Outside departmental meetings and the occasional polite exchange in the Great Hall, the two of you had scarcely spoken in the two years you had both worked at Hogwarts. He kept to himself, and you had long since accepted that as simply the way he was. And now the two of you were discussing sleeping arrangements for a child who believed he was your son.

"Professor Jeon," you started, awkward. "You've still got to deal with the Ministry tonight, don't you?"

"I'll need to make a few reports and statements," he agreed.

"I'll take him tonight," you said, glancing down at Woojin, who was fighting to keep his eyes open. "I've looked after children before. My younger brother practically lived in my room until he was eight."

“Are you certain?” Wonwoo studied you a moment, that thoughtful, unreadable look of his, carrying the peculiar feeling of being carefully weighed. "You have had a long evening as well”

"I'll manage."

His gaze dropped to Woojin, whose fingers had found their way around both your sleeve and his own. After a long moment he inclined his head. "Thank you." It sounded almost strange coming from him. "Professor Lee, if anything comes up..."

"I'll come and find you."

He nodded once. "I'll be awake."

The exchange lasted barely a minute, and yet, as you left McGonagall's office, you realized it was the longest conversation the two of you had ever had. Behind you, his door closed with a quiet click.

You didn't expect the night to be particularly difficult. You had practically helped raise Chris. Children, you thought, weren't entirely unfamiliar territory.

You did not, it turned out, know how this child worked, not yet

The cot took only a flick of your wand to assemble. It was small, comfortable, tucked beside your own bed.

"There we are," you said softly.

Woojin looked at it, then looked at you. Before you could persuade him otherwise, he padded straight past it, climbed into your bed, disappeared beneath your blankets and patted the mattress beside him with sleepy certainty.

"Mama."

With a quiet sigh, you extinguished the bedside lamp and slipped beneath the blankets yourself. You let him sleep beside you today. Tomorrow, surely, things would be less strange.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

He was asleep almost before you settled beside him.

One small hand remained stubbornly fisted in the fabric of your nightshirt, refusing to let go even in sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night he shifted closer, inch by sleepy inch, until his cheek rested against your shoulder as though he'd been searching for it all along.. Then came the tiny sniffle

His brows pinched together and a soft, heartbreaking sound escaped him. A quiet, muffled sob of a child caught in the middle of a bad dream, crying without ever fully waking.

Something inside your chest gave way and you brushed your fingers gently through his dark hair, careful not to wake him.

"Hey," you whispered into the darkness. "It's alright sweetheart, you don't have to be scared."

You drew the blankets a little higher around his shoulders.

"I've got you."

Gradually, the little frown disappeared. His breathing evened out once more, warm against your shoulder.

Sleep never came quite so easily for you.

Instead, you lay awake listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, unable to stop thinking about the woman somewhere, who had tucked this little boy into bed every night before somehow losing him.

Whoever she was...

She had to be terrified.

You hoped someone was telling her he would be alright.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Morning came too early. For one disoriented moment you couldn't remember why your shoulder ached, or why someone else's breathing filled the quiet of your room. Then you looked down and remembered everything at once.

Getting yourself ready was one thing. Getting Woojin ready was another entirely. You had barely managed your own cardigan before he darted away from the chair you'd been coaxing him toward for five minutes, hairbrush still useless in your hand.

"Come here, sweetheart. It'll only take a minute."

"No." He stopped just out of reach, arms folding with all the seriousness a five year old could summon. "It hurts."

"I'll be gentle."

"Appa does it better." He patted his own unruly hair. "He makes it look like his."

"I'm afraid I don't know how your Appa does it," you admitted, smiling despite yourself, which only earned an offended huff and a turned away face. With a sigh you reached instead for the toothbrush you transfigured the night before. He accepted it obediently enough, until he looked down and his expression crumbled into disbelief. "This isn't my dinosaur one. Uncle got it for me. I can't brush my teeth without it."

"You absolutely can."

By the time someone knocked, you had given up on your own appearance entirely and opened the door mid argument about whether teeth brushing was optional. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, and whatever he had meant to say caught somewhere behind his teeth. His gaze swept over you, barefoot, hair damp and half brushed, cardigan buttoned askew, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the polished colleague he knew with the woman standing in front of him, harried by an impossible five year old before eight in the morning.

"Sorry," he said after a beat. "McGonagall says the Ministry's arrived. I thought," his gaze slid past you to where Woojin was attempting to hide the toothbrush under a cushion, "..do you want some help?"

"Please," you said, with real feeling, and stepped back to let him in.

He turned out to be considerably better at negotiating with a five year old than you expected, crouching to listen with total seriousness as Woojin explained the importance of the dinosaur toothbrush. Whatever quiet bargain passed between them, worked. Within minutes Woojin had surrendered the hairbrush without complaint, sat patiently while Wonwoo worked through the tangles of his hair, and agreed the substitute toothbrush could be ‘just for today.’

"I've been trying to do that for twenty minutes," you said, watching them in mild disbelief.

"He was very reasonable," Wonwoo said.

Woojin, delighted to have both of you in one room, skipped over. "Mama slept in again," he informed Wonwoo happily, without a trace of malice. "She's always late. But I didn't wake her up. I was good." He recited it like a familiar house rule. "'Let Mama sleep. She needs it more than we do.' Appa you always say that."

"Very good," Wonwoo agreed, straight faced, and caught your eye over the boy's head. Heat crept up your neck.

"I don't always sleep in," you muttered, reaching for your bag. "At least, I don't think I do."

You thought you caught the corner of his mouth twitch and you cleared your throat before the little boy could say something even more embarrassing.

"...We should probably head down for the meeting."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The Ministry officials arrived right away, after reading Professor McGonagall’s letter.

They introduced themselves as members of the Department of Mysteries, though none of them elaborated on what that actually meant. Dressed in unassuming grey robes and carrying curious brass instruments that hummed softly in their hands, they transformed an unused classroom into a temporary examination room and spent the better part of the morning trying to determine exactly who—or what—Woojin was.

Woojin, for his part, found the entire experience fascinating.

Outside the classroom, you waited with your arms folded tightly across your chest, listening to the occasional burst of childish chatter through the half-open door. Professor Jeon stood beside you in companionable silence, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.

"They keep looking at him like he's a puzzle to solve," you murmured.

"They're trying to understand him," Wonwoo replied quietly. After a pause, he added, “If any of them are unkind to him, I intend to say something about it, regardless of rank."

You looked at him, surprised by the protectiveness in his voice.

One by one, the possibilities were eliminated.

Memory charms.

Polyjuice Potion.

Transfiguration.

Illusions.

Every test reached the same conclusion.

Finally, the lead official requested a private meeting with you, Professor Jeon, and Professor McGonagall.

"There is no indication," the witch began carefully, "that this child has been altered or fabricated through magic."

She placed two sheets of parchment on McGonagall's desk.

"We also performed a magical signature analysis, and the child's magical signature naturally carries traces of both parents."

She looked between you and Wonwoo. "Woojin's magical signature matches both of yours."

"...No," you said quietly, staring at the parchment for another long moment before shaking your head.

"There has to be some mistake." Your eyes flicked helplessly between Professor McGonagall and the woman seated across the desk. "We've never..."

The words lodged stubbornly in your throat.

Beside you, Wonwoo spoke before you could force yourself to finish.

"...We're just acquaintances."

You looked at him gratefully, and nodded.

"We work together," he said, almost absently, as though saying it aloud would somehow make the conclusion change. "We've never been anything beyond colleagues."

Silence settled over the office.

The official folded her hands neatly atop the desk.

"There is no known spell capable of forging that result," the lead official said carefully, in the privacy of McGonagall's office "As far as the Ministry can determine... this child is biologically yours."

You found yourself reading the report again, despite already knowing exactly what it said, as though the letters might have changed in the last few seconds.

Beside you, Wonwoo removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before putting them back on again.

"Time," McGonagall said eventually, "is the only variable I can think of that would explain a child appearing who is, biologically, already yours, when neither of you has so much as had dinner together."

You, sitting very straight in your chair with hands folded tightly in your lap, felt something in her chest go strange and light and frightened all at once. Beside your, Wonwoo hadn't moved, but anyone could see, in the careful, controlled stillness of him, that he was thinking exactly as fast and exactly as far ahead as you were.

"We'll investigate the how," McGonagall said, not unkindly. "In the meantime, the boy has made his preferences extremely clear, and I see little value in fighting a five-year-old’s instincts when they've so far been correct about everything else. Professors Jeon and Lee, until we know otherwise, I'm placing him in your joint care."

The meeting dissolved not long after.

Outside, Woojin was exactly where you left him, on the stone bench with Hagrid, legs swinging as the gamekeeper showed him something cupped in his enormous hands. The moment he spotted you both, a wide smile appeared on his face. "Mama! Appa!" He slid down and trotted over, slipping one hand into each of yours as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hagrid chuckled as he rose to his feet.

"Kept 'im company while yeh lot were busy," he said. "Good little lad, this one."

"Thank you, Hagrid," Wonwoo said sincerely.

Hagrid waved it off with a smile before lumbering away, leaving the three of you standing together in the quiet corridor.

“Finished?”, Woojin asked curiously, looking up at both of you. "I'm hungry."

You exchanged a brief, helpless glance over the top of his head with Wonwoo. Neither of you had the heart to tell him that nothing was finished at all.

"Come on," you said eventually, squeezing his little hand. "Let's get some breakfast."

After everything the Ministry had just told you, trying to make sense of the impossible on empty stomachs seemed like a particularly poor idea.

Woojin started happily swinging your joined hands as the three of you started down the corridor. You'd barely made it a few steps before he stopped so abruptly that you almost walked straight into him.

"...Mama?"

You looked down. "Hm?"

He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, glancing briefly at Wonwoo before leaning closer to you"...I need the toilet."

There was a beat of silence.

Then, despite everything that had happened that morning, you let out a chuckle.

You caught yourself just in time, smoothing your expression before he could mistake it for teasing.

"Right," you said with all the seriousness you could manage. "That does seem rather urgent."

Beside you, Wonwoo cleared his throat, though you caught the faintest hint of amusement softening his otherwise impassive expression. It was such an ordinary problem, contrasting everything the two of you had been dealing with since the night before.

"I'll meet you in the Great Hall," he said.

"We'll be there shortly." You smiled gently at him.

The moment you took a step, Woojin immediately began tugging you along with considerably more urgency than before.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The Great Hall was mostly empty this early in the term, the students not due back for another week. It was, you thought, the only mercy available to you that morning.

A handful of professors had already gathered at the staff table, breakfast spread lazily before them.

At one end, Quidditch coach, Kim Mingyu was halfway through his toast, chatting idly with Wonwoo. "So," he said around a mouthful, "I heard something interesting happened last night. They say you've got a kid now." He grinned. "Shame I missed it. Would've loved to witness the birth."

"Shut up and eat your breakfast," Wonwoo said flatly, not looking up from his coffee.

At that moment you stepped in with Woojin marching several paces ahead, waving at each professor as though he'd done it every morning of his life. Then his eyes landed on Mingyu and lit up entirely. "Uncle Gyu!" He barreled straight into him.

Mingyu froze with his toast halfway to his mouth. "Uncle?" He looked from the boy clinging to his side, to you, to Wonwoo. "Jeon. Care to explain why your alleged son thinks I'm his uncle?" But Woojin was already climbing onto him, fists in his robes, and whatever surprise Mingyu felt lasted about two seconds before dissolving into delight.

"You promised you'd take me flying," Woojin reminded him, very seriously. "Yesterday. You said."

"I did?" Mingyu blinked.

"Yesterday," Woojin reminded him very seriously. "You said."

Mingyu looked helplessly towards Wonwoo. "...Did I?" , his attention back to Woojin, who was waiting with unwavering confidence.

"Well... Clearly I'm a man of my word " He grinned. "how about after breakfast?"

Woojin gasped happily before scrambling down again. He hurried straight over to Wonwoo, climbing onto his lap without invitation and cupping his face between both tiny hands.

"Appa," he asked earnestly, "can I go?"

Then he twisted around to look at you.

"Mama?"

For a split second, you froze. Your instinct was to say yes. Then another thought occurred to you.

You had absolutely no idea whether you and Wonwoo had rules about things like this.

"Eat first," you said instead.

Woojin's smile faltered.

"But—"

"You've hardly eaten," you said gently. "Finish your breakfast, and then you can go."

You looked across him, at Wonwoo. "Do you think that's alright, Professor Jeon?" The title felt strange after "Appa" only moments earlier.

Woojin's shoulders slumped, appealing wordlessly to the other parent, but Wonwoo only said, "Mama's right," and the boy sighed and hopped down, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich.

Mingyu laughed. "He's definitely your son."

You chose not to ask which one of you he meant.

The moment he was done eating, Woojin was on his feet before anyone else had even pushed back their chair.

"I'm done!"

Before either of you could say another word, Mingyu had already scooped him effortlessly onto one shoulder.

"Come on then, Mini-Jeon."

Their laughter echoed across the Great Hall as the pair disappeared towards the doors together.

Which left the two of you alone at the staff table, breakfast half eaten, with a conversation neither of you had quite prepared for.

"We should talk about how this is going to work," you said.

"Yes," Wonwoo agreed.

You looked at each other, two colleagues who three days ago had rarely exchanged more than polite greetings. "Whatever happens, however he got here, however the Ministry sends him back, he's still five," you said. "He doesn't understand any of this. He's frightened. The least we can do is make sure he feels safe until it's over."

"I agree," Wonwoo said, without hesitation, resting his forearms on the table, already thinking ahead. "The students return next week. Until then, one of us can always be with him."

You nodded. "If I have no lessons, he can stay with me in the greenhouses."

"And during my free periods..." His gaze drifted towards the doors Woojin had disappeared through. "...I'll take him."

You let out a breath, some of the panic that had lived in your chest since the boy first wrapped his arms around your neck finally easing. "So we'll just figure it out."

"We will."

For now, at least, neither of you had to figure it out alone.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The week that followed should have been simple. But, it wasn't.

You settled into the arrangement, Woojin's mornings in the greenhouses, coloring at a little workbench while you repotted seedlings, his afternoons in the Defence classroom with Wonwoo, parchment and crayons spread while lesson plans got written around him. The handovers were brief and polite. Professor Lee. Professor Jeon. A quick word about whether he'd eaten or napped, and then one of you would return to work while the other walked away with his small hand in theirs.

It was practical and organized. Exactly what two colleagues might come up with facing an impossible situation.

It should have worked. Instead, almost without either of you noticing, Woojin began to change.

The chatter went first, the little stories that used to tumble out of him without pause, about Fang, about Uncle Gyu and flying, about Flitwick's levitating feathers, grew fewer and fewer until most meals passed in near silence. Then the smaller things. He stopped reminding you that you supposedly gave him a flower from the greenhouse every day. He stopped correcting Wonwoo when he forgot some detail his Appa should have known. By the end of the week he barely touched his food. There was no tantrum, nothing dramatic to point to, just a boy shrinking a little further into himself each day, his smiles rarer, his laughter quieter, the brightness that had burst into your life outside the professors' quarters slowly dimming.

You noticed it and so did Wonwoo. However, neither of you could figure out why.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The greenhouses had long since emptied one evening, the last gold light fading from the grounds, when you noticed the silence first. Usually Woojin waited on the bench outside, legs swinging, ready to show off whatever he had drawn. Tonight, he wasn't there. A tiny sniffle carried through the quiet instead. You found him curled against the doorframe, knees to his chest, small shaky sobs escaping into his sleeves.

"Woojin?"

His head lifted just as hurried footsteps rounded the corner, Wonwoo, who had come to collect him for dinner, stopping short at the sight. The two of you exchanged one panicked look before crouching together. Your hand found his shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong?"

That was all it took. He threw himself into your arms, shaking, and you wrapped him up while Wonwoo lowered onto one knee, palm circling slow between his shoulder blades. "What's wrong, buddy? Tell us."

It took a long moment before he could speak. "How long," he hiccupped, "are you gonna stay mad at each other?"

You blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Mama and Appa..." Another sob broke through before he could finish. "...You're mad."

"We’re not angry," you said immediately, looking helplessly towards Wonwoo before turning back to the little boy. "Sweetheart, I promise I'm not—"

"Mama liar." The words landed like a slap. He'd never called you that before.

He shook his head, tears spilling fresh. "You call Appa 'Professor.' Mama never calls Appa 'Professor.' You don't eat breakfast together. And Appa doesn't come get you after the greenhouses. You don't read me stories together. You don't say goodnight together." His voice kept dropping. "You don't even sleep in the same house."

His breath hitched high and miserable. "Did I do something? I'm sorry..."

Your heart broke clean in half. Beside you Wonwoo had gone rigid. "You didn't do anything," he said, low and fierce. "Nothing about this is your fault. You didn't make us angry."

"We're not angry with each other," you said, brushing the damp hair from his face. "Do you want to go home? Hm?"

The words hung heavily in the evening air.

Woojin's shoulders trembled as he looked desperately from one face to the other. He sniffled, slipped one small hand into yours, then reached for Wonwoo's with the other and he began walking.

You and Wonwoo exchanged one confused glance before following, letting the little boy lead you through the quiet corridors of the castle, never once hesitating, until he stopped outside a familiar door. Professor Jeon's quarters.

Only then did he look up at the two of you, still holding both your hands.

"...Home."

You went in. There didn't seem to be any other option.

Wonwoo's quarters were, nearly identical in size and shape to yours, and almost entirely bare of anything personal. There was a neat stack of books, a single armchair, a room that looked like it belonged to a man who spent as little time as possible actually living in it. Woojin stood in the middle of it, small and confused, turning in a slow circle.

"Where's my room?" he asked. "Where's my toys?"

There was nothing to show him, no room, no toys, no trace of the boy he was, only two adults trying to comfort a child for the absence of a life that hadn't been built yet.

You knelt and wiped his face with your sleeve. "Sleep for tonight. Tomorrow, I promise, we'll get you new toys. A whole room full, if you want."

He considered this gravely and nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise," Wonwoo said, and meant it in the particular, unshakeable way you were coming to learn was simply how he meant everything.

Satisfied, Woojin rubbed his eyes, yawned, and padded toward the bedroom as if he knew every step by heart, climbing beneath the blankets before either of you reached the doorway. He scooted to the center and patted the empty space on either side. "Can I sleep in the middle tonight?"

The room fell silent. You looked at Wonwoo. He looked at you.

"...The middle?" you echoed weakly.

Woojin nodded, it was the most ordinary request in the world for him.

You hesitated until Woojin had disappeared almost entirely beneath the blankets, only his sleepy little face peeking out.

Leaning towards Wonwoo, you lowered your voice to little more than a whisper.

"...What do we do?"

"He's already distressed," he murmured finally. "If we tell him no now..." He didn't need to finish it. "Stay here until he falls asleep."

You nodded. "Just until he falls asleep."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Morning came slowly. You woke first, it taking a long moment to place the unfamiliar mattress, before you felt something warm and heavy draped across your waist. Woojin had migrated in the night until he was sprawled almost entirely over you, one leg thrown across your middle. You smiled, then glanced past him and froze. You didn’t realise that you had accidentally fallen asleep last night beside the two boys.

Wonwoo was asleep on the other side of the bed. Without his glasses, without the polished look he carried through every staff meeting, he looked... younger somehow. One arm was thrown over his head, the other resting loosely near Woojin.

And beside him, Woojin slept exactly the same way, the same arm flung above the head, the same slight parting of the lips, even the same faint crease settled between their brows. It was almost unsettling, how alike they looked.

A strand of dark hair had fallen across Wonwoo's forehead, obscuring part of his face. Before you could think better of it, your hand lifted almost on instinct, fingers moving carefully toward the loose strand.

The moment your fingertips grazed his hair, brown eyes blinked open.

You stilled, like a deer caught in headlights. ”Oh”

“I was just..observing” Then, quietly, you murmured, "...He sleeps like you."

His eyes flicked to Woojin's arm still flung over, then back. "Does he?" His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than you had ever heard it.

"The same expression and the same way he throws his arm over his head."

He looked at the boy a long moment. "I never would've noticed," he said, in his raspy voice. Neither of you spoke after that. Between you, Woojin sighed contentedly in his sleep and burrowed closer, anchoring himself to both of you at once.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

You went to Hogsmaede the very next morning, all three of you, to fulfil previous night’s promise of getting toys and clothes for Woojin.

The first stop was a children's clothing shop, and within minutes you'd disappeared into the racks. "Woojin, come here." You held a tiny knitted jumper against his front. "Oh, look at you. You're adorable."

"I look handsome," he corrected.

"You look very handsome."

Before you could admire him any longer, the jumper disappeared from your hands. Wonwoo had taken it without a word, turning it over to inspect the label before feeling the fabric between his fingers. Satisfied, he placed it into the trolley while you wandered off again.

"Oh! Woojin, come look at these."

The pattern repeated itself half a dozen times, socks embroidered with broomsticks, robes so impossibly small they made you coo, a knitted hat with bear ears, you and Woojin gasping over each discovery as though it outdid the last, while Wonwoo quietly sorted excitement from practicality behind you, checking sizes and seams before either dropping an item in the trolley or returning it to the shelf.

At one point you and Woojin reached for the same pants at the same moment, looked at each other, and said "in the trolley" in perfect unison. Woojin dissolved into giggles. So did you. Wonwoo paused with another mini sweater halfway to the trolley, watching the two of you laugh over something so inconsequential, and thought, though he didn't say it, that even if Woojin didn’t look like you, he had definitely inherited your joyful personality.

Without a word, he set the pants into the trolley and followed after the pair of you once more.

By the time you finished buying clothes, toys, bedding, books, and enough school supplies, the afternoon had slipped quietly into evening.

Dinner was at a little restaurant tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary, warm with the smell of fresh bread. Until your meals arrived, Woojin had already begun drooping where he sat beside Wonwoo.

He lasted about halfway through his dinner before his cheek settled onto the tabletop with a tiny sigh, the glass of pumpkin juice still clutched loosely in one hand.

You smiled fondly. "I think someone's reached his limit."

Wonwoo glanced over and without disturbing him, he quietly slid the abandoned food onto a plate before pulling the glass of pumpkin juice safely out of the boy's reach.

Only then did he look back at you.

"So," he said, the first time he'd ever started a conversation without prompting. "Did you always want to teach?"

You blinked, pleasantly surprised.

"I think so," You traced absent-minded circles around the rim of your mug. "Professor Sprout was my favourite when I was here. She made everyone feel like they belonged in her classroom. I wasn't particularly talented at first. I nearly killed a Venomous Tentacula in second year."

"...Impressive."

"It wasn't on purpose." You laughed. "I just remember thinking, if I could make one student love Herbology the way she made me love it, I'd have done something worthwhile."

"I imagine you already have." He said it so plainly it took you a second to realize he meant it. "And you?" you asked. "Woojin mentioned you being an Auror."

"I joined the Ministry after graduation." He leaned back slightly.

"It felt like the right thing to do. I was good at it." There was no arrogance in his words, just facts.

"But..." His gaze drifted briefly to the little boy asleep beside him, “eventually I realized I couldn't protect everyone. Perhaps I could teach someone else how to protect themselves instead. So I came here."

You looked at Woojin, asleep between you, utterly convinced this thoughtful, reserved man was his father. "I get it why he looks at you the way he does. Like you can fix anything."

"...I hope," he said quietly, "...I never give him a reason to think otherwise."

By the time you started back toward the castle, Woojin had gone entirely boneless with exhaustion, walking between you with a hand in each of yours, until somewhere along the path his feet simply stopped moving altogether and Wonwoo swept him up without breaking stride, settling him against his shoulder and he was asleep before you'd cleared the gates.

"I'll take him tonight," Wonwoo said quietly, adjusting his hold on the boy. "You should rest. You both used up too much energy while shopping.”

You didn't argue. You walked back to the castle beside him in comfortable, unhurried silence, watching and admiring the way Wonwoo had stepped up into his role so effortlessly.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Students returned the following week, and it took less than a day for the entire castle to discover that Professor Jeon had, apparently, acquired a child.

Woojin looked so unmistakably like Wonwoo, same eyes, same careful, watchful stillness, the same particular way of tilting his head when he was thinking. The resemblance alone silenced most speculation. It took a little longer for anyone to connect the boy to you, mostly because you and Wonwoo had been so studiously careful in public, but it happened anyway, and by the second afternoon the whole school seemed to know that the small boy trailing Professor Jeon between classes called Professor Lee "Mama."

Your brother heard it from three people before lunch and arrived at your Herbology classroom at a dead run.

He burst through the door mid-lesson, loud and dramatic as ever, and you rounded on him without missing a beat. "I am teaching, Chan, go back to your dormitory or I will hex you where you stand."

But Woojin had already spotted him from his corner table, where he'd been colouring quietly through the lesson exactly as he always did. "Uncle Dino!"

Chan blinked. "Huh—?" But the boy had already crossed the room and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him down into the corner with the urgent, conspiratorial whisper of a child sharing a secret.

"Why are you at Hogwarts?" Woojin whispered. "You're supposed to be at work."

"What work?" Chan asked, faintly dazed, crouching properly now, studying the boy's face with growing, dawning confusion. The resemblance to Wonwoo really was uncanny. "How old are you kid?"

Woojin held up five fingers. "Five. I'm a big boy."

The class had, by now, entirely abandoned any pretence of working. You dismissed them five minutes early out of pure self-preservation, and the moment the door shut behind the last student, Chan rounded on you with the full, righteous fury of a man who has just done extremely questionable maths.

"Five years?" he demanded. "You hid a child from me for five years? I'm telling Mum and Dad."

You smacked the back of his head without much force and dragged him toward the door, explaining low and fast everything that had happened. His expression cycled through disbelief, alarm, and fascination. "So he just appeared? In a corridor? And nobody's told Mum and Dad?"

"McGonagall wanted to keep it contained until the Ministry understood what they were dealing with," You said, moving down the row of Mandrake pots with the automatic efficiency. "There's nothing to tell them yet. There's nothing certain to tell anyone yet."

"There's a child, noona. That feels fairly certain." He lowered his voice, glancing at Woojin, who was very obviously listening despite pretending otherwise. "Does he — does Professor Jeon know? Properly know? Has he said anything? Because if he's making you handle this on your own while he just stands there being broody and unreadable like he always—"

"He's been extremely present, actually," you said, sharper than you meant to, faintly surprised by your own defensiveness. "He is good with both of us."

"So you and Professor Jeon..." He said the name like it tasted strange. "He barely talks. Is he good to you? Because I don't care if it's the future or the past or whatever timeline nonsense this is, if he ever—"

"Chan."

"I'm just SAYING—"

"Uncle Dino and Appa are best friends," Woojin announced, from where he'd resettled himself contentedly on the crate beside him, "Appa says you're the little brother he never had."

You couldn't help smiling. Somehow, it was comforting to know that somewhere in some timeline, your brother had found a best friend in Wonwoo. You hadn't expected that of all things, but it felt right.

"That's not—" Chan opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "That doesn't sound like Jeon Wonwoo at all—"

"Was I not supposed to say that?" Woojin asked, blinking up at him, entirely innocent, already sensing from the sudden stillness in the room that he had said something he wasn't meant to.

You closed your eyes briefly and reached for patience.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Woojin settled, in the weeks that followed, into the rhythm of the castle so completely it became hard to remember what Hogwarts had looked like without him.

One evening the greenhouses had gone quiet, students long gone, the castle settling into its nighttime hush beyond the glass, when the door creaked and Wonwoo stepped inside.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You aren't." You glanced up from the moonlily buds you were coaxing open.

"I came to see if you were still here," he said. "Woojin was asking where you were."

Your expression softened. "Is he alright?"

Wonwoo sat on a stool, pulling it closer to your set. "He waited up." said, the corner of his mouth lifting,"..but ended up falling asleep."

You smiled to yourself. "I'll apologise in the morning for making him wait up."

"He won't remember."

His gaze drifted to the flowers. "What are these?"

"Moonlilies. They only bloom after sunset, rather boring during the day." Your fingers brushed a pale blossom as another unfurled beside it, silver petals catching the moonlight through the glass roof.

"They're beautiful," he said.

"They're my favourite." You gestured at the rows stretching deeper into the greenhouse. "They'll keep blooming another hour or so. If you ever can't sleep, you can come see them."

Something unreadable crossed his face. "I'd like that."

The quiet settled again, comfortable, until he spoke. "Hold still." You blinked, and he leaned closer, reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek. "There. You had mud." Your heartbeat became unexpectedly hard to ignore. He seemed entirely unaffected, or simply very good at pretending otherwise.

After a moment, as though the question had only just occurred to him, “Do you have a partner?"

The question caught you so off guard you laughed. "No."

"No one waiting for you?"

"No."

He nodded once. "I've been thinking," he said. "About Woojin. He still wakes some nights expecting both of us, and we keep sending him between two rooms." He paused. "I was wondering whether we should ask Professor McGonagall if our quarters could be connected. So he has one home."

The thought lingered longer than you expected. It wasn't technically moving in together, just one home, for a little boy who couldn't understand why his parents lived apart. "I think he'd like that," you said.

"I do too."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

McGonagall agreed the next morning with the look of a woman who'd been waiting rather a while to be asked, and the magic took most of an afternoon, walls softening, a doorway blooming where there had been solid stone, two sets of rooms folding into one home neither of you had entirely built on purpose.

You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you, and the moment he crossed the threshold he simply lit up, spinning in a delighted circle.

You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you and lit up completely, spinning in a circle. "My house is back!" He threw his arms around the couch. "I missed you, home!" then, abruptly, "Where's Seol?" already forgotten in the next breath as he sprinted for the bedroom that had once been yours.

"Mama, Mama, this is my room!" he announced, bouncing on the bed with total confidence, and you didn't have the heart to correct him, didn't particularly want to.

He herded you both through the rest of it with the brisk, self-appointed authority of a very small landlord, and finished by planting himself in front of what had been Wonwoo's door alone,until that afternoon, pointing inside. "Go to your room. Goodnight, Mama." He rose on his toes, pulling you lower and pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then did the same to Wonwoo, who accepted it with startled, helpless tenderness. Then Woojin stepped back, arms crossed, and looked between the two of you expectantly.

"Now your turn," he said, like this was simply the next obvious step in the routine.

You and Wonwoo looked at each other. A warm flush crept across your cheeks, his ears turning red in similar fashion.

"...Oh," you managed intelligently.

Beside you, Wonwoo looked equally flustered, clearing his throat as though searching for words.

Before either of you could decide who was supposed to move first—

"Fast," Woojin giggled, looking at the pair of you like you were being terribly silly. He pointed at his own cheeks with both hands. "Goodnight kisses!"

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment. Wonwoo quietly looked at the ceiling.

"...Right," you mumbled.

Woojin waited patiently while the two of you recovered enough dignity to lean down and kiss one of his cheeks each

Woojin dissolved into delighted laughter. "Silly Mama and Dada," he announced, thoroughly unbothered by the fact that you'd both gone crimson and speechless, and skipped off to his own room without a backward glance, leaving the two of you standing in the doorway in the sudden, charged quiet he had left behind.

Neither of you said very much, after that. There wasn't, really, anything sensible to say.

You ended up in the same room. It seemed the simplest arrangement now that the quarters had become one home instead of two, and neither of you had the energy to overthink what that might mean.

He was careful with you. Quiet, steady, bringing the same attentiveness he brought to everything, and you found you trusted it completely, the way you had found yourself trusting nearly everything about him these past weeks without quite noticing when it started. His hand found yours in the dark. Sleep came slowly, not from discomfort, but from being suddenly, acutely aware of each other in a way you hadn't been before. Eventually, exhaustion won and you both drifted to a quiet sleep.

Woojin woke sometime after midnight.

He padded sleepily into the hallway, rubbing one eye with the back of his fist. The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar.

He peeked in. Moonlight spilled across the room, and his parents were asleep, your back against Wonwoo’s chest, his arm loose around your waist, both of you breathing with the heavy rhythm of people too tired to notice how close you had ended up. His sleepy face broke into the biggest grin. "You’re back," he whispered, and climbed carefully onto the bed, curling up in front of you instead of between you, pulling your arm over himself with practiced familiarity, asleep again within seconds.

Wonwoo woke first in the morning. Woojin lay between you now, not separating you, but tucked safely in front of you, your arm around him, his own arm still loose around your waist. Three people. One tangled shape on the bed.

He watched you both breathe a moment, then reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before settling back against the pillow. For once, he felt no urgency to get up. Morning could wait.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

With Woojin increasingly absorbed into afternoons with Uncle Dino or Uncle Gyu, you and Wonwoo found yourselves with actual unclaimed hours, and neither of you was quite willing to waste them.

It was Wonwoo who moved first.

He started appearing at the greenhouse door with two steaming cups of tea, lingering awkwardly in the doorway until you looked up from your work.

"Thought you might want company," he'd say, as though that alone explained why he crossed half the castle during his free period.

More often than not, Woojin would toddle over the moment he spotted him, abandoning whatever stick or flower had captured his attention. Wonwoo would wordlessly scoop him with one before handing you your tea. Within a week the gesture had become second nature.

A few days later you found him asleep over a stack of essays, quill still loose in his hand. You slipped his glasses off his face and set them beside the parchment before nudging his shoulder.

He blinked awake, disoriented, and you told him plainly that he needed to go to bed.

"I still have—"

"You've been raising an energetic five year old all day," you said, folding your arms. "The essays can wait."

He looked at you for a long moment, and something in his expression softened before he admitted, voice still thick with sleep "I don't mind either of your energies," he stifled a yawn, stretching his arms "..makes me happy."

You had absolutely no idea what to do with that so you said nothing at all.

He still insisted on staying up most nights to finish grading, so eventually you started bringing your own work into his office instead of arguing about it. Neither of you said much once you were both settled. He would shift his chair a little closer, you would spread your parchment across the corner of his desk, and the two of you worked in companionable silence until the candles burned low.

He began walking you to your classroom afterward too, even though the route took him the opposite way from his own. He never explained it beyond insisting he would get to his class eventually, and eventually, it seemed, always meant after he'd seen you safely to your door.

On the colder mornings you were the one who stopped him and Woojin halfway across the courtyard, pointing sternly at the hat dangling forgotten from Woojin's hand until he groaned and put it on. Then you turned the same look on Wonwoo.

"You too."

He blinked in suprise."...Me?"

"You'll both catch cold," you said, and without another word pulled his scarf a little tighter around him.

He noticed things before you did. A quill running low on ink would be quietly replaced on your desk overnight. If you skipped lunch, a neatly wrapped sandwich would turn up in the staff room by early afternoon, and you'd know without asking where it came from.

You noticed things too. Whenever he buried himself in paperwork through mealtimes, you started simply setting a plate down beside him in the Great Hall and waiting until he ate it, ignoring whatever protest he tried to offer. Woojin, already halfway through his own shepherd's pie, took to backing you up without being asked, informing his father solemnly that Mama had said to eat, so he should eat.

Wonwoo accepted defeat every time.

Across the table, Mingyu had taken to watching these exchanges with an unbearably smug grin, and one evening he finally said aloud what he'd clearly been thinking for weeks, “I love your little family

You and Wonwoo looked up in perfect unison.

"We're not—"

"...a family?" Mingyu finished for you, smiling into his drink. "Right."

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Slowly, the conversations that had once ended after a polite greeting stretched into long ones. Silence stopped feeling awkward between you. You learned that Wonwoo didn't speak often, not because he had nothing to say, but because he waited until something was worth saying. He learned, in turn, that you talked enough for the both of you, wandering easily from Herbology to your brother's latest letter to a book you read years ago that had suddenly reminded you of a student.

Most people interrupted you eventually. Wonwoo never did. He listened with his attention fixed solely on you. Over time you began to notice the small things about him that anyone else might have missed: the faint lift at the corner of his mouth, the thoughtful hum whenever he disagreed, the way he would bring up something you had mentioned days earlier as though it had never once left his mind.

Somehow, without either of you deciding it, spending time together stopped feeling like an obligation born from impossible circumstances. You began to look forward to it instead.

One evening, while Woojin sat between you at the table stubbornly sounding out a picture book, you found yourself watching Wonwoo rather than the page. He guided the boy through each difficult word with endless patience, never frustrated, never rushing him, and the thought left you before you could stop it.

"I think I understand now," you said, "why I'd marry you."

You looked at him, a little embarrassed after the words left you, and Wonwoo looked completely caught off guard.

"I think I do too." He held your gaze for a long, quiet moment.

Then, almost shyly, he looked back down at the book beside him, where Woojin was still waiting, for his appa to help him with the next word.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The best afternoons belonged entirely to Woojin.

They usually started with a game of tag across the grounds, Wonwoo pretending badly not to be fast enough to catch him, until somehow you were running too, laughing while Woojin shrieked with delight between the two of you.

Someone always tripped eventually, usually you, and Wonwoo would stumble trying to catch you before all three of you went down together in the grass, Woojin throwing himself on top of the pile with a triumphant declaration that your pile was now a hamburger.

You and Wonwoo dissolved into helpless laughter beneath the weight of a giggling five year old.

It was in moments like these that you had to remind yourself, gently and every time, that none of it was permanent.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The Ministry officials returned in early October with answers at last.

An illegal Time-Turner experiment had torn open a fracture between two points in time. Woojin had wandered too close, slipping through before anyone could stop him. He had never belonged in this timeline—not because he came from another world, but because he came from several years ahead.

Somewhere in that future, two frantic parents had spent weeks searching for the little boy who had vanished without a trace.

"There is a window," the lead investigator explained quietly. "We can safely return him."

The witch hesitated before continuing.

"The timeline will... protect itself afterwards."

You asked her what that meant.

"Everyone’s memories won't disappear all at once," she said. "But as the fracture closes, they'll begin to blur. Faces first, then conversations. Eventually it will feel more like something you dreamed than something you lived." Woojin would forget these months too. He would remember growing up exactly as he was meant to. As far as he would ever know, he had never been here at all.

It was supposed to be a kindness, yet it felt unimaginably cruel.

The walk back to the castle was silent.

That night, neither of you slept much. Woojin, blissfully unconcerned, lay between you talking about things that happened that morning-- Uncle Gyu teaching him Quidditch fouls, Uncle Dino taking him along with his friends to Hogsmeade. Every ordinary little story landed somewhere deep inside you, each one another reminder that there was an entire life waiting for him beyond your reach.

Eventually his words grew slower, each sentence interrupted by a yawn, until they dissolved into sleepy murmurs. Within minutes he was asleep between you, one small hand fisted loosely in the fabric of Wonwoo's sleeve.

You watched him for a long time. Then, unable to stop yourself, you gathered him carefully into your arms and pressed your face into his soft hair. The first tear fell before you realized you were crying, and you tried to stay quiet so you wouldn't wake him.

Beside you, Wonwoo didn't say a word. He simply moved closer until your shoulders touched, then wrapped one arm around both of you, drawing you and the sleeping boy against his chest. You felt his chin come to rest lightly atop your head. For a while there was only warmth, and the quiet understanding that for one more night, the three of you were still here. You leaned into him, having a final night with the family you had briefly been allowed to borrow.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

The Astronomy Tower was quiet at dawn.

Woojin stood between you, one hand tucked into yours and the other in Wonwoo's, looking more curious than frightened.

"Will you be okay?" you asked softly.

He looked up at you with complete certainty. "I'll see you for dinner."

The words caught somewhere behind your ribs. Wonwoo crouched down in front of him and smoothed a wrinkle from his little jumper, telling him gently that his mum and dad had been looking for him. Woojin frowned, as though the sentence didn't make any sense at all

"You are my mum and dad."

You dropped to your knees beside Wonwoo, your shoulder brushing his.

"We are," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just... a little earlier."

Still not able to grasp the meaning, he wrapped both tiny arms around the two of you together, deciding it probably wasn’t that important anyway.

"I'll see Mama and Appa for dinner,” he mumbled into the hug.

The Ministry kept its promise. The memories faded carefully over the following days, lifted away one by one until neither of you could remember the name of the child you loved, only the shape he had left behind.

Some things, however, refused to disappear. Whatever the timeline had taken, it hadn't touched what you and Wonwoo now shared. Somehow, without either of you noticing, Wonwoo had become the first person you looked for at the start of every day, and you had become the place he returned to at the end of it. Neither of you questioned when the castle had stopped feeling like home, and each other had quietly become one instead.

❈ ── 🍃 ── ❈

Several years later, you stood in the kitchen of the house you shared with Wonwoo and eventually made your own. Morning sunlight spilled across the wooden table, where a list of baby names lay abandoned between two half-finished mugs of tea.

Absentmindedly, your hand rested over the gentle curve of your stomach.

Wonwoo looked up from the list and asked if you had any favourites. You tapped the parchment with the end of your quill, thinking, and the name left your lips before you could even reconsider it.

"...Woojin."

You frowned slightly, almost amused by yourself. "I don't know why," you admitted. "It just... feels right."

He looked at the name for a long moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I like it too. It somehow feels perfect."

Neither of you questioned it. Some things had long since stopped needing explanations.

Outside, Seol tore happily through the garden after a fluttering butterfly, barking with the same boundless enthusiasm she had since she was a puppy. You watched her through the window until you felt familiar hands settle gently around your waist from behind.

"You've been standing too long, baby," Wonwoo murmured against your ear, pressing a small kiss to your jaw.

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

"I know," he said, guiding you back toward your chair anyway, one hand settling over yours where it rested against your stomach.

"You fuss too much, honey," you said, though there was no real complaint in it.

"So I've been told."

You laughed softly and turned in your seat to face him. He knelt without a word, the way he always did lately, resting his cheek on your stomach a moment, like he was listening for something.

You laughed softly and turned in your seat to look at him properly. He caught your gaze almost immediately.

"Baby," he said, kissing over the curve of your stomach, "can you tell your mama to stop staring at me?"

You let out an indignant laugh. "I think I’m allowed to stare at my handsome husband."

The faintest blush made his ears turn red. You smiled, softer now, and settled your hand over his where it rested against your stomach.

"You're going to be such a wonderful father, Won." You said it so simply, like you already knew, and subconsciously you did. "I just know it."

For a moment he only looked at you, like he couldn't quite find the words for what that did to him. Then he straightened, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, before leaning down to meet your lips.

The kiss was slow and careful. One hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, the other gripping the armrest of the chair to avoid hurting you. When he finally pulled back he only went as far as your forehead, staying close, breathing you in like he wanted to keep this exact moment a little longer.

"I love you," he murmured against your skin, quiet and certain, like it was the easiest true thing he had ever said.

"I know," you smiled, your hand finding his jaw. "I love you too."

His hand found your stomach again unconsciously, just as something shifted beneath it. Both of you went still.

"Did you feel that?"

A small kick answered for him. Wonwoo huffed out a soft and a little disbelieving laugh, and bent down to press yet another kiss to your stomach, murmuring something against it too quiet for you to catch. You covered his hand with yours anyway, content to let him have the moment.

Outside, Seol barked triumphantly at nothing at all. Inside, your home was warm with morning light and love, that the two of you had spent years quietly building.

And somewhere in that warmth, already loved before he had taken his first breath, a little boy was about to come home to the family that had always been his.

End.

📖 Before you leave Owl's Library, consider returning this record to the shelves with a reblog so other readers may find it.

tags: @kyeomiis @star-dust17 @user260515

[etherealyoungk]

─ ♡ crash course in romance | kwon soonyoung

SUMMARY: meet kwon soonyoung, he’s the ultimate goofball—sweet and chaotic but clueless when it comes to romance. so when you ask him to be your fake boyfriend even though you barely know him, he says yes, even though he's never dated before and has no idea what to do. as you show him the ropes and coach him on how to be the perfect boyfriend and slowly get to know him, soonyoung finds himself slowly falling for you. and maybe, just maybe, you're falling for him too.

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fake dating, best friend’s brother, first love, light slow burn, humour, rom com.

WARNINGS: kissing, fluff, light angst, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, use of curse words, little suggestive (towards the end), cameo of roommate!seungkwan and other svt members, hoshi being a clueless idiot

WORDCOUNT: 40.8k

A/N: FINALLY A LONG FIC FOR MY HUSBAND AAAA . this fic is part of the lonely hearts cafe collab by @camandemstudios! i had so much fun writing this fic. yapped to much and ended up with 40k but i'm so proud of this fic. thank you to @wheeboo for hearing me crash out over this fic. it is also set in the same universe as her chan fic! and thank you to cam and em for hosting this lovely collab! please support the other writers in this collab and check out their amazing fics too! i would love to know what you think so feedback is always appreciated <3 thank you to @diamonddaze01 and sar @cheolhub for beta-ing the fic!

you’re about to pull up at your best friend, jihyo’s place. you dial her number, calling her up and she picks up after four rings, her voice filling the space in your car.

“hey”, she says as she picks up. “hey jihyo, i’m about to reach your place to collect my mail and other packages”, you say. “oh, i’m actually not at home right now, but i’ll tell soonyoung to hand them over to you, i think he’s dropped by”, jihyo informs and you can hear the bustle of people talking through the phone as she speaks, assuming she must be at work. “sure, okay”, you say and jihyo mumbles something about calling you back later before cutting the call. you pull up at her driveway a few minutes later.

you step out of the car and walk up to the house, ringing the doorbell. usually you’d ring the doorbell and walk right in, but considering she wasn’t there, you didn’t want to suddenly intrude, it felt odd. you wait a few moments and you can hear the shuffle of feet from the inside, along with a soft thud of something falling, probably a box. the door finally opens and you’re greeted by kwon soonyoung—jihyo’s younger brother.  

“hey, yn right?”, he says when he sees you. “jihyo told me you’re here to collect your mail and stuff”, he tells with a slightly frazzled face, like he was put to this task last at the minute and had no idea what to do, like a deer in headlights. you nod and he gestures for you to enter. you walk inside as he disappears back into the other room, probably to fetch your mail. you’d asked jihyo to drop by your place if she could to collect your mail since you’d been out of town for two weeks on a business trip and you didn’t want anyone stealing your packages or snooping around.

you’d known jihyo ever since you joined university. she was your roommate and now bestfriend. she was kind, sweet, funny and a little chaotic, but you loved everything about her. so naturally, you’d been to her house countless times, and met her brother too— soonyoung. he was two years younger than jihyo and you, and he was always so sweet. when you’d come over during the break or to hang out, you’d see soonyoung occasionally or bump into him when you were entering or leaving, as he’d always be doing his own thing. but now, you were probably seeing him for the first time since you graduated university and started a job, having moved a little further away into the city. so it’s been almost three years since you saw soonyoung again, because whenever you’d meet jihyo now, it was always in the city or somewhere out, not at her family home.

soonyoung had changed a lot. he’d grown tall and his hair that had been virgin black was now dyed a silver blonde. it had grown too, his hair falling over his forehead in a cute shaggy mess and growing a little long at the ends, almost at the beginning stages of a mullet and somehow, he pulled it off—t looked good on him. his face was framed by soft rounded features and he somehow raidated a youthful, approachable glow about him. his almond shaped eyes are soft, but also sharp, holding warmth in them, and lastly he had definitely been hitting the gym because he looked different—he looked good.

two minutes later, soonyoung walks into the room holding a big box with a smaller box stacked on top of it along with a few small parcels and envelopes. “this is all the stuff”, he announces, like he’d just accomplished a huge task by collecting all of this for you. 

“thanks!”, you say, taking a step forward to take the box but he speaks again. “let me load it up in your car, it’s a bit heavy”, he says as he looks at you, blinking. “okay, sure”, you say and you open the door, walking outside towards your car with soonyoung following beside you. you unlock the car and pop open the trunk and soonyoung sets down the pile of boxes with a soft thud before taking a step back. 

“thanks again soonyoung”, you say, looking up at him. now that he was right next to you, you realise how tall he’d actually grown. he gives you a polite smile as he runs a hand through his silver blonde hair, the strands of hair getting messed up, falling over his forehead in a cutely disheveled manner. “it’s no problem”, he says and with that you give him another small wave and head out, heading back home.

when you get home, you find your apartment spick and span—quite the contrast to which you had left it, considering you had left on the business trip in a rather short notice. but now as you walk inside, your shoes are all neatly lined up by the side, the bunch of laundry that had been rotting on your bed for two weeks was neatly folded and kept aside in your wardrobe. your mugs, which had piled up were all neatly rinsed and washed and your fridge was stocked with new food—no doubt all the doings of your mother. 

you immediately reach for your phone and dial your mother’s number and she picks up almost immediately, like she had been waiting for you to call. you drag your suitcase to your room and leave it there, taking off your coat and throwing it on your bed.

“mom, did you drop by?”, you ask, already knowing the answer, but you liked to tease her. you visibly hear her sigh and you hold back your laugh.

“no darling, a ghost dropped by your apartment”, she deadpans, making you let out the laugh that you were holding. “i don’t even think a ghost would want to live in your apartment in that state”, she adds. 

“i was busy and i had to leave on short notice”, you counter. “that’s what you always say”, she says and you scowl. “it was really short notice this time”, you say and she only hums in response.

“thank you mom, i love and appreciate you for that”, you say after a moment. “i made your favourite, it’s in the fridge”, she adds and you smile. your mom really knew the way to your heart. you walk towards the kitchen and fill the kettle with some water.

“so, did you meet any cute guys on your trip”, she asks and you let out a small groan at her question. of course that’s what she’d ask you first, not how the trip was or how work had been.

“no mom, it was a work trip”, you say, letting out a sigh. “still! you should keep an eye out”, she says. “after you broke up with that jaehyun, you’ve been sulking around. it’s time to find a guy and settle down”, she adds and just then the kettle lets out a whistle, signaling that the hot water is ready. you take a mug from the shelf and pour the boiling hot water into in, watching as the steam curls at the top before you drop in a tea bag, watching the tea leaves slowly seep into the water, turning it into green tea.

“for the millionth time, he broke up with me mom, and i just need some space right now, i’m not in the mood for a relationship, nor do i have the time”, you tell as you take the mug of tea and walk over to the couch, plopping down on it and putting the mug on the table beside you.

“nonsense, if you start dating again you’ll feel better. do you want me to find someone for you? i found this guy, i’ll send you his picture, i can set you up with him on a blind date and—”, you cut her off.

“mom, i’m serious about the no dating thing right now”, you say and she clicks her tongue in disapproval. “i’ll still send you his picture if you change your mind”, she says as you take a sip of the hot tea.

fast forward two weeks later, you’re at the bar of a restaurant, downing your fourth drink of the night. the music playing is loud and the lights are dim. you put the empty glass down on the marble counter with a soft clink and shake your head a little to get your mind straight. you can already feel the effects of the alcohol in your system, your head feeling light—you were definitely tipsy. you glance over your shoulder and see your coworkers all talking to each other, laughing about something, all nursing drinks of their own and you turn your head again, looking down at the empty glass in front of you before asking for another drink. this was a company treat for finishing a project with a high value client. that’s why you’d been out of town for those last two weeks, securing the deal and finishing the project. it had all been riding on you and you’d done it. though if you were being honest, you really didn’t want to be here right now. you’d rather have been at home, lying in your bed, under the blankets and watching some nonsense on television. but who were you to say no to free food and drinks since the company was paying for it—so here you were.

your phone pings with a message from your mom and you open it to see another picture of a guy she’d found you, saying he came from a good background and that you’d be a good match. she really was not taking no for an answer. you sigh and put your phone down with a light thud and groan, burying your hands in your face. 

“are you okay?”, you hear someone ask and you peek through your hands to see whoever it was, only to recognise the face—kwon soonyoung. you look at him and a hint of recognition seems to flit over his features as well as he looks at you.

“soonyoung? hey”, you say, sitting a little straighter. “yn hey”, he says, his tone casual.

somehow, hearing your name from soonyoung’s mouth feels oddly sweet. “are you okay? it looks like you were having a bit of an existential crisis”, he says, making you sigh even more. you look at him and his silver blonde hair seems to catch the light he’s sitting under and it highlighst his features. his jawline is sharp and his eyes are just as sharp. he’s wearing jeans, a shirt and a ring adorns his pinky finger. you notice the helix piercing in his ear, which you never noticed before and you glance away for a second before looking back at him.

“yeah, that’s exactly what is happening right now”, you say as soonyoung takes a seat beside you.

“what are you doing here by the way, is jihyo here too?”, you ask and he shakes his head. 

“nope, i’m here alone”, he informs and you nod. “you?”, he asks, curious in his tone.

“work dinner”, you say, gesturing to the table over to the side where all your colleagues sat, talking and drinking and his eyes follow your gaze before returning back to yours.

you glance over at soonyoung, realising you don’t actually know much about him. all you knew is that he graduated last year because jihyo told you about it, but besides that, nothing much.

“so, what have you been up to?”, you ask, curiosity getting the better of you and soonyoung seems to sit up straighter at your question.

“i’m actually working! i’m the manager and one of the instructors at a dance studio downtown”, he says and you widen your eyes in surprise. 

“wow, that’s very cool”, you say. you remember jihyo mentioning something about soonyoung liking dance, and having even majored in a dance related program in college. “i think it’s been almost three years since i saw you, so you’ve changed quite a lot, grown up i can say”, you tell and he gives you an almost shy smile.

“yeah, my mom always mentions you, asking jihyo to invite you over to dinner”, soonyoung fills in and you smile, remembering how warm and welcoming jihyo’s mom and entire family has always been with you. you really should drop by sometime.

“what have you been doing?”, he asks a moment later.

“nothing much, same old corporate job that i say i’ll quit everyday but don’t because i need the money”, you tell, feeling deadbeat. 

the drink you had ordered finally arrives and you take a big sip, emptying it almost immediately. soonyoung looks a little alarmed at that but he doesn’t say anything. you feel the rush and buzz in your head, feeling tipsy and slightly intoxicated before you decide to speak again, which was a bad decision because you were always a yapper when you got tipsy. so right now, soonyoung was going to face the wrath of whatever nonsense you were going to tell him, poor thing.

“this sounds really stupid, but my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates and i keep telling her i don’t want to date right now and she can’t seem to take no for an answer”, you tell in one breath.

“that’s exactly like my mom, she keeps trying to set me up too”, he says, a small lopsided pout forming on his face as he speaks.

“damn, i think all moms are just universally coded like that”, you joke and he lets out a small laugh.

there’s a moment of silence between you both after that and you gulp down the rest of whatever drink is remaining in your glass.

“the thing is, i’ve never dated before so she thinks something is wrong with me”, soonyoung fills in. 

“wait, what? really?”, you ask, a little surprised because looking at soonyoung now, he was pretty good looking and pretty handsome, so hearing him say he’s never dated before takes you by surprise. 

he nods. “yeah, i just…haven’t found the one you know”, he says, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“my mom thinks i’ve dated too much and something is wrong with me”, you tell, letting out a small laugh at your situation. “she wants me to settle down and stuff but i’m not ready for that, at least not now”, you add. “it’s kind of ironic considering i have four exes, so you’d think i’d have found the one by now, but nope”, you say defeated. 

“it’d be funny if we fake date just to get them off our backs”, you blurt out a second later without thinking, the words already out before you can take it back and you watch as soonyoung blinks at you, the words slowly sinking into him.

“that’s actually a genius idea”, he says, a hint of enthusiasm in his tone. “wait, really?”, you ask, not expecting that answer from him. “i could use a break from my mom trying to set me up on blind dates, i wouldn’t mind”, he says.

“okay, done deal”, you say almost immediately. why? because you were stupid and tipsy and not thinking straight. just then one of your coworkers comes over, saying you were wanted back at the table and she grabs your arm, taking you over there.

“i’ll text you”, you mouth to soonyoung who watches you leave. but who were you kidding, you weren’t going to text soonyoung because you didn’t have his number. 

a week later you seem to have completely forgotten about the deal you had made with soonyoung when your head was in the clouds. sure, you remember meeting him and talking to him, but the bit about fake dating seemed to have been erased from your memory. so when you go to see jihyo later that evening, you're surprised to see soonyoung there too. you all sit down at a cafe nearby, jihyo saying that soonyoung was in the area so she called him over too since he had the car.

the conversations are normal, nothing ordinary, just you filling in jihyo on your work drama and life while she does the same, while soonyoung leans back in his chair, listening intently. you didn’t think soonyoung had a thing for gossip, but the concentration on his face and the way his brows were furrowed said otherwise.

jihyo’s phone rings and she excuses herself, saying it was a work call and walks outside the cafe to speak, leaving you and soonyoung alone. soonyoung picks up his eyes and looks at you before speaking.

“are we still doing the fake dating thing?”, soonyoung asks softly and you almost choke on your tea upon hearing his words. he’s quick to hand you a tissue and lean forward and push the glass of water towards you.

“the what now?”, you ask and he gives you that lopsided pout again. why did that look so cute on him.

“fake dating? you know, the one we talked about last week at the bar?”, he fills in and you wrack your brain trying to think when you both even talked about this before the memory seems to slowly make its way back into your mind. 

“oh”, you say once you seem to recall everything and you glance outside, seeing jihyo still talking on the phone. 

“you were serious about it?”, you question, which only seems to make him more confused.

“were you not serious about it?”, he asks, blinking at you. you open your mouth to speak but close it, unsure what to say. 

“but won’t it be awkward since i’m jihyo’s friend?”, you ask and he only shrugs, like that didn’t seem to matter to him.

“nah, i’m sure she’d be chill with it, we could let her know too, it could just be a something between the three of us”, he explains and you nod because he did have a point. 

“i’ll think about it okay, give me a day?”, you ask and he nods. “sure, you can text me”, he adds and you internally wince. “i actually don’t have your number so”, you say softly, unlocking your phone and handing it over to him. he dials in his number and hands it back to you.

jihyo’s walks back in, taking a seat, looking between you and soonyoung, giving you both a look. “what happened here?”, she asks and you both seem to shake your heads at the same time.

“nothing, i was just asking soonyoung what he’s been up to”, you say instead and she seems to smile, sitting back down. “he’s been up to a lot, haven’t you soonie”, jihyo says, nudging him with her elbow and soonyoung gives her a look at the mention of his nickname.

you don’t text soonyoung after a day, nor the day after and it’s been a week now. you’ve sat and thought about it, overanalyzed it, overthought it and made up every possible worst case scenario that could happen if you fake date your best friend's brother and the light at the end of the tunnel does not seem bright with that idea. so, you decide to tell him no, that you don’t want to fake date, that it was a stupid idea and would never work in the first place. but when your mom calls you up again, trying to set you up on yet another blind date, you’ve hit your limit. you open your phone, click on soonyoung’s contact and text him.

you [7:37 PM]: hey, it’s yn! i’ve decided that yes, we can go ahead with the fake dating plan.

when soonyoung gets your text, he nearly drops his phone. after you failed to text him, twice, he was bummed, thinking that you didn’t want to talk with him, and that you just said that you’d text him just to be nice since you were jihyo’s friend. but now as he sees your text on the screen, he doesn’t know how to respond. 

“close your mouth man, a fly is going to go in there”, seungkwan says, snapping soonyoung back to reality.

soonyoung whips his head up and clears his throat, setting his phone down on the table. he glances at seungkwan, his roommate and friend, and that one look from soonyoung is all it takes for seungkwan to understand that soonyoung was up to no good.

seungkwan visibly sighs before he speaks. “what did you do now?”, he asks, massaging his temples.

“first of all, i didn’t even do anything”, soonyoung counters. “right, now spill”, seungkwan says and soonyoung takes a second before he speaks again.

“what do you know about fake dating?”, soonyoung asks, almost too innocently, making seungkwan’s eyes widen. “fake dating? what ghost has possessed you”, he asks, making soonyoung roll his eyes.

“just tell me if you know anything about it or not”, soonyoung says, crossing his arms over his chest in defense, frowning slightly. “i don’t know man, i guess it’s just like normal dating expect it's fake. you’re pretending and putting on an act and of course the most important thing is that you don’t catch feelings”, seungkwan says.

“is it hard?”, soonyoung asks, genuinely curious and seungkwan only blinks at his roommate. “i don’t know? i’ve never fake dated”, seungkwan says, exasperated all of a sudden. “why do you want to know all this anyway?”, he asks. soonyoung only blinks back at seungkwan and shrugs his shoulders. “just curious”, he says, trying to act casual but seungkwan can see right through it.

“did something happen at the dance studio? is this why you’re asking about this?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung shakes his head.

“no! nothing like that, i was just asking jeez”, soonyoung says, pushing his chair back and getting up, grabbing his phone from the table as he trudges back into his room. seungkwan doesn’t ask anything more as he watches soonyoung go. soonyoung sighs softly, falling on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how to respond to you. he feels like a fool now. he’s the one that brought it up, suggesting the fake dating plan when you’d clearly just been joking about it. but now that you said yes, he had no idea what to do. a moment later he reaches for his phone, opens your contact and texts you back.

soonyoung [7:55 PM]: hey! okay let’s do it.

you [7:56 PM]: sounds good! let’s meet up tomorrow afternoon? i’ll text you when i’m free and we can go from there!

you’re sitting in a cafe downtown, waiting for soonyoung. you were nervous for some reason and it makes you laugh, because you’d never get this nervous about meeting someone. you deal with clients on a daily basis and they never made you feel like this. you take a deep breath and that’s when soonyoung walks in. you see him enter the cafe, his eyes scanning the area before they land on you. you give him a small wave and he makes his way towards you, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 

“hey”, you say. “hi, sorry if i’m late, the class ran a bit late”, he informs but you didn't mind.

“no worries, can i get you anything?”, you ask, standing up to order. “oh, no it’s fine”, he says but you wave your hand. “it’s fine soonyoung, my treat, what will you have?”, you ask and he says he’ll just have an iced americano.

his coffee and your hot tea arrives and you set it down on the table, taking a seat. soonyoung’s hair is styled differently today, exposing his forehead, with just a few loose strands falling over his forehead and he’s wearing jeans and a loose button up shirt.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat a little too loudly. “um, how’s your… coffee?”, you ask, wincing internally, realizing how dumb you sounded. but soonyoung only seemed to smile softly and nod. “it’s good,” he says, his almond shaped eyes sparkling with warmth. ”how’s your tea?”, he asks.

“it’s good too,” you say, taking a sip, swallowing it down and there was another beat of silence.

“so”, you start again, looking at soonyoung. “about the fake dating thing…i guess we should set some ground rules right?”, you say and he nods, like he understood what you meant, but he didn’t. he takes a sip of his coffee, gulping down 1/4th of the drink in all the nervousness before he looks back at you.

“i don’t really know how fake dating works”, he finally says. “i mean i’ve never dated before, so i don’t know how this entire thing works really”, he admits, looking sheepish.

“that’s fine soonyoung, i’ll teach you. i have plenty of experience, so i can definitely show you the ropes and stuff about dating, it isn’t that big of a deal”, you add on and relief seems to wash over his features. “okay”, he says, “so what do we do?”.

“first the ground rules: make a convincing story, set some boundaries and an end date”, you say and he nods along, waiting for you to continue.

“so, for the story, if anyone asks how we met, we gotta have the same story so it’s convincing”, you explain. “so we could just say we met through jihyo, right?”, he suggests and you nod. “yeah, sure, that could work”, you say. “we’re going to tell jihyo about this right, otherwise it’s going to be really awkward”, you add and he nods again.

“okay then, now for the boundaries. we can decide what is okay and not, PDA wise and stuff”, you say and soonyoung only seems to blink at you, a little clueless.

“PDA?”, he asks. “public display of affection? you know, like holding hands and stuff”, you tell.

“right, yes”, he says. “so, are you okay with that? i mean holding hands and stuff if we need to? that’s all we’ll basically do, drawing the line there, no kissing or anything else, just holding hands”, you say.

“okay, only holding hands, that’s easy”, he says, like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

“and the end date, how long do you think we should do this for?”, you ask and he leans back in his chair, thinking, that small frown forming on his face again as he’s thinking.

“how long do people usually do this for?”, he asks, like you’re some sort of expert in fake dating. “uh— maybe three months to begin with? we can decide what to do after that”, you tell, unsure how long to set this for either. “so basically if we both need plus ones to an event, we can call each other or if your mom bothers you again, just say you’re dating me”, you tell.

another sense of relief seems to wash over soonyoung at your words and he lets out a  small goofy smile. “okay”.

“okay”, you say and silence seems to engulf you both again. “cool”, he repeats, getting nervous again. “cool”, you repeat again, an awkward tension now filling the air between the both of you. you take a sip of your tea, but the silence only seems to grow louder before you decide to speak again.

“i should head back to work, but just text me if you need anything”, you say, gathering your bag and standing up. soonyoung stands up too and says a small ‘see you’ before watching you walk out the cafe door. 

that night as you lay in bed, you just can’t bring yourself to call jihyo and tell her this rather ridiculous plan about fake dating her younger brother. you were somehow convinced that and sure that she’d disown you, block you and ask you what the hell was wrong with you. so after contemplating about it for nearly an hour, your finger that was hovering over her contact finally taps the call button and the phone rings. you throw your phone on the side, burying your face into the pillow, regretting every life decision you’ve ever made when she picks up, her voice filling the room since it was on speakerphone.

“yn hi babe”, she says, sounding upbeat. “hi babe”, you say and pause, trying to gather your thoughts and think of how to drop this bomb of information on her.

“i need to tell you something”, you start off. “but promise me that you won’t kill me”, you say and jihyo laughs. “what yn, you know i would never do that, what’s wrong?”, she asks but you hesitate. “you did say that the one time i texted my ex”, you say and she scoffs. “okay that was for a valid reason though, we don’t support texting exes over here”, she says and you roll your eyes.

“okay back to the topic”, you say as you gather the courage to spill the beans to her. “you know how my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates right?”, you ask.

“yeah, oh my god, is she still doing that?”, jihyo asks and you groan out a yes.

“so what about it?”, she asks, trying to get back to whatever you were trying to tell her. “i might have made a really stupid decision”, you say, biting your lip.

“what did you do?”, she asks. “i may have decided to fake date this guy to get her off my back”, you say and you hear jihyo exclaim on the other side. 

“OHMYGOD WHO”, she asks, almost yelling at you and you wince, clearing your throat before breaking the news to her.

“your brother, soonyoung”, you say softly, hoping she didn’t hear it but she does. 

“wait WHAT”, she asks and you can hear the confusion in her voice. “what do you mean you’re going to fake date soonyoung? my brother?”, she asks again, like she was trying to make sure she didn’t hear you wrong.

“yes, soonyoung, your younger brother”, you repeat and the line is silent for a few seconds.

“are you insane? what is wrong with you”, she says. “i’m not insane! it’s a perfectly good solution for two people to fake date to get their pestering mother’s off their backs!”, you tell, trying to sound convincing but it seems to lack conviction even to you.

“i met soonyoung at the bar two weeks ago and we talked a bit. he told me about how your mom kept trying to set him up on blind dates and stuff, so i jokingly suggested we fake date since my mom was doing the same thing, and well, here we are”, you explain.

“but soonyoung out of all people? he’s clueless yn, he’s a walking disaster when it comes to dating, no wonder he’s still single”, jihyo says and suddenly you feel bad for him.

“hey! don’t say that, i’m sure he’ll make a great boyfriend”, you say, recalling how cool he looked when you saw him earlier. he just needed a little push, somewhere to start. “he’s cute”, you say and jihyo scoffs softly. “well, don’t say i didn’t warn you about what you’re getting into”, she says. “yes ma’am”, you say and she laughs.

“also this is top secret, you can’t let anyone know we’re fake dating. i’m only telling you because you're my best friend and his sister, so i don’t want things getting awkward between us”, you say and jihyo hums at your words.

when soonyoung gets home that night there’s a shift in energy in him, he’s nervous, but also excited for some reason. seungkwan is quick to notice and soonyoung decides to be the first to break the news to him—that he has a girlfriend now, but he was going to leave the fake part out of it.

“i—um— seem to have gotten myself a girlfriend”, soonyoung says once he’s closer and seungkwan spits out the water in his mouth, the water sputtering out and landing right on soonyoung shirt.

“seungkwan what the hell?”, soonyoung shouts looking down at his clothes, as seungkwan wipes his mouth with his hand.

“what? you got yourself a girlfriend? the mr. i won’t date till i find the right one has finally found himself a girlfriend?”, he asks, shocked.

“yeah, why is that so hard to believe?”, soonyoung asks with a frown and seungkwan nods. “yeah that’s really hard to believe, but who’s the girl?”, he asks and soonyoung shrugs lightly.

“just someone, you don’t know them”, soonyoung says, trying to avoid the topic but he melts under seungkwan’s gaze and gives in, “she’s my sister’s best friend”, soonyoung finally admits and seungkwan’s sharp inhale of air can he heard.

“i didn’t know you had a thing for your sister’s best friend dude, holy shit”, seungkwan says, but soonyoung only rubs the back of his neck, trying to ease his nerves and play it cool.

“yeah, haha, i mean my sister is cool with it so”, soonyoung says, hoping he sounded convincing enough.

“so you think she’s the one then?”, seungkwan asks. “you’re always telling me that you didn’t want to date just for the sake of dating, but wanted to only date when you found the right person”, he asks and soonyoung feels his ears turn red at seungkwan’s words. fuck, he was going to have to lie again to keep this up or else he was screwed. 

“yeah, she’s the one”, soonyoung says quickly before turning around and making a beeline to his room, nearly slamming the door shut. shit, this was going to be harder than he thought.

“what do people do on dates?”, soonyoung asks the next morning, the question sounding so innocent that seungkwan wants to strangle him. 

“people just do couple things, they talk about stuff, support each other, do things together, hold hands, kiss”, seungkwan says, listing out stuff.

“do i have to be like cool?”, he asks. “no man, you don’t have to be cool, just be you”, seungkwan replies. 

“do you know what she likes?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung only blinks back at him. “then go ask her, find out what she likes, dislikes, get to know her. i thought you’d know all this by now”, seungkwan says in an almost scolding tone.

“of course i know what she likes!”, soonyoung replies before he says something about having two classes scheduled today so he’ll be home only in the evening and he walks out the door, thinking he’s such an idiot, that he was doomed—because he really didn’t know much about you. he had half a mind to call jihyo and ask, she’d know plenty of things about you. he was even sure jihyo would know your astrological chart by heart if he asked but he didn’t. 

work is busy today and you had two client meetings, plus you had to manage three projects simultaneously so you were running around pretty much the entire day today. you barely have the time to eat lunch or dinner, just nibbling on some snack bars through the afternoon and by the time you clock out, it’s late, later than usual. you walk to the bus stop, hoping you haven’t missed the last bus and sit down and wait, hoping it’ll still come otherwise you are going to have to take a cab.

on the other side of the road, soonyoung walks, evidently a little tired but still energised, a slight little bounce in his step. it isn’t until soonyoung turns around to cross the road that he spots you sitting at the bus stop across the road. it’s an odd thing really, how you’d always taken a bus at that bus stop, and how soonyoung always walked down that path everyday for the last two years, but today is the only time he sees you there, notices you.

he straightens up and blinks, looking at you to make sure it was indeed you and crosses the road when the light turns green. you haven’t seen him yet, busy typing away on your phone. he stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and walks towards you, his shoes crunching on the leaves fallen on the roadside.

“yn hey”, he says and you snap your head up at the mention of your name, your gaze softening when it lands on soonyoung. 

“oh, hey”, you say, surprised to see him here. “heading home?”, he asks and you nod. “yeah, you too?”, you ask and he nods.

“do you always work this late?”, he asks, taking a seat next to you. “no, usually i leave earlier, but today was a busy day, i had things to take care off”, you say and he nods.

the bus finally comes and you get up. you turn around, giving soonyoung a small wave before you climb onto the bus and find a window seat. soonyoung watches as the bus leaves before he turns on his heel and continues walking in the other direction, kicking a stone as he takes a step, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. soonyoung reaches home and unlocks the door to the apartment, stepping inside and spots seungkwan on the couch.

“someone is late”, he says but soonyoung shrugs. 

“i was with my girlfriend, i saw her at the bus stop so i stopped to talk”, soonyoung tells proudly. “did you drop her home too?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung furrows his brows in confusion.

“drop her home? was i supposed to?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan runs a hand across his face, clearly done with his clueless friends behaviour.

“dude, it’s so late and you let her take the bus alone and didn’t even offer to drop her home? are you stupid? that’s the basic thing to do when you’re in a relationship”, seungkwan explains, shaking his head in disapproval. 

“i think instead of dance classes, you need to start taking some romance classes”, seungkwan adds. “wait, is that actually a thing? do you think i should sign up for that?”, soonyoung asks, oblivious, which only makes seungkwan groan even louder.

“oh my god, you, my friend, are hopeless, i can’t believe this”, seungkwan exclaims. 

if soonyoung was going to get this fake dating thing right, he had a lot to learn. 

“did you look at the picture i sent, he’s a decent guy yn, give him a chance”, your mom says as you wait for the leftover takeaway food to heat up in the microwave. you take a breath, because you had to break the news, and you weren’t sure how she was going to react to it.

“mom, i found a guy and we’re in a relationship”, you say and you mom goes silent for a moment before her voice crackles through the phone again. “who?”, she asks, her tone a little scary. well, here goes nothing.

“soonyoung”, you say. “who?” your mom asks again and the microwave beeps, your hand reaching out to open it.

“soonyoung, you know, jihyo’s younger brother”, you say, hoping she wasn’t going to freak out about this.

“how long has this been going for”, you mom asks, her tone taking a sort of serious edge. “last week”, you say, biting your lip as you take the plate and walk over to the small table. 

“why?”, she asks and you furrow your brows. “what do you mean why, mom, i like him”, you say, trying to sound convincing. 

“what does he do?”, she asks. “he works at a dance studio”, you say. “does jihyo’s mom know about this?”, she questions and your silence is all she needs to get an answer. 

“of course mom”, you say a beat too late, hoping you didn’t screw things up already, but soonyoung’s family were bound to find out about this some way or another. you just didn’t know how quick the news was going to spread like wildfire. your mom had immediately called up soonyoung’s mom, who then asked jihyo if this was true before calling up her son for more answers. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings, his mom’s caller ID on display, he smiles and picks up the phone, but he doesn’t expect his mom to ask him bluntly, “you’re dating your sister’s best friend?”. soonyoung nearly trips on the steps but catches his balance before it’s too late and stops in his tracks.

“what—how did you find out?”, he asks. “you think i’m not keeping tabs on you boy? i have eyes everywhere”, his mom tells and soonyoung scratches his head.

“how long has this been going on for?”, she asks and soonyoung stutters out an answer, wracking his brain on what to say. “last two weeks”, he says and his mom clicks her tongue.

“yn’s mom said it’s been going on since last week”, she questions him and soonyoung nearly breaks into a cold sweat with the way his mom was interrogating him. “um-yeah-no last week-it’s been official since last week”, soonyoung sputters out, hoping he didn’t already bust his cover. “i see”, is all his mom says after that, the line going silent for a few seconds before she speaks again.

“take good care of her”, is all his mom says finally, before saying she had to get back to making some kimchi and hangs up the phone.soonyoung stands there stunned and a little nervous about how he’s going to tell you about this. he decides to text you when he gets home.

soonyoung [6:33 PM]: hey! hope all is well.

you [6:35 PM]: yeah, what’s up?

soonyoung[ 6:37 PM]: so my mom found out we’re dating…

you [6:38 PM]: omfg i’m sorry this is my mom’s doing i told her and she must’ve immediately called your mom 😭

soonyoung [6:39 PM]: oh…so we’re cool right?

you [6:39 PM]: yeah, don’t worry, they were bound to find out anyway.

soonyoung [6:40 PM]: okay 👍🏽

you call jihyo when you reach home. “i told my mom and she immediately told your mom like we committed a crime or something”, you tell. “yeah, my mom sort of chewed my head about it too, i’m glad soonyoung isn’t here or he'd put me in hell right now”, jihyo laughs.”i wouldn’t be surprised if half the neighbourhood knows about this by tomorrow”, you add and jihyo laughs even more.

“are you enjoying my sorrow right now?”, you ask. “well, you’re the genius who wanted to fake date my brother out of all people, so this is on you, don’t say i didn’t warn you”, jihyo says and you scoff. 

“whatever”, you tell. “but your family is chill with this right?”, you ask, unsure.

“yes, what do you mean? my mom is literally in love with you, she’s doting over you all the time, so i know she’s secretly happy about this, even though it’s fake”, jihyo says and you let out a small breath of relief. “okay good, because i was starting to think i would never be welcome in your house again”, you joke. 

“you know, soonyoung works really close to your office, he moved into that part of town too for work and stuff”, jihyo says and your ears perk up at this piece of information.

“oh yeah, no wonder i bumped into him at the bus stop yesterday”, you say, the information clicking in your brain. “if you get the time, you should drop by the dance studio, it’s actually pretty cool and he’s actually really good at teaching and dancing”, jihyo praises. 

“how come he’s never dated before?”, you ask, curious to know the reason. you remember him telling you something about not finding the one, but you were sure jihyo had more inside information on why exactly. 

“i don’t know, he’s always been sweet, but when it came to dating, he wasn’t really interested. he said he didn’t like anyone, and wanted to devote his time to dancing rather than dating. he’d always say he’d date someone when the time was right, when he really liked someone”, jihyo explains and you hum in response. “yeah, he’s silly like that. good luck dealing with him”, she says, making you chuckle.

“come on, he’s not that bad, he’s sweet”, you say.

“did you break up with your girlfriend or something? i haven't seen you talk to her or go meet her once this entire week”, seungkwan asks as soonyoung is eating dinner, who nearly chokes on the spoonful of soup.

“she’s just busy!”, soonyoung counters and seungkwan only narrows his eyes at soonyoung, not taking his word for it. “she’s busy”, soonyoung mutters again, averting his gaze, looking at the meal in front of him, but he can still feel seungkwan’s piercing gaze on him.

“something isn’t adding up”, seungkwan declares, crossing his arms over his chest and soonyoung tries not to panic, he couldn't blow his cover. “is she not taking you seriously because you’re her best friend’s brother?”, he asks and soonyoung blinks in relief.

“no dude, she really likes me, she’s just really busy at her super important corporate job”, soonyoung says and seungkwan raises a brow. “corporate job? what does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung freezes, because fuck, he had no idea what you did.

“um, she’s like super duper important and has a really high position”, soonyoung says and seungkwan furrows his brows more. “but what exactly does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung lets out a fake cough, standing up to go grab some water and he turns around, only to see seungkwan still waiting for an answer. 

“she deals with people you know, she’s a people person”, soonyoung says, sounding like a fool. “right, and i’m supposed to understand what that means”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh.

“i mean, even if i told you, you wouldn’t understand, it’s complicated”, soonyoung says, trying to act cool and just then seungkwan’s phone rings, prompting him to get up to fetch it and soonyoung thanks the gods because he was this close to revealing the truth.

“my mom wants you to come over for dinner”. jihyo says over the phone.

“oh…oh… is this bad? oh my god”, you say, panicking a little. it was funny how you’d always loved her family, her mom loving and welcoming you, but now that you were dating, well fake dating her son, suddenly the thought of going over for dinner felt daunting.

“yn chill out, you’re acting like my mom is going to kidnap you and chop you up into pieces! she’s chill with you guys dating trust me”, jihyo says, trying to soothe you. “i don’t know why you’re freaking out so much when the whole arrangement is fake anyway”, she adds.

“i just don’t want your mom to think i broke her son’s heart when we end the thing”, you say and jihyo hums. “i’m sure she’ll understand”, she says, trying to soothe you. “so you’ll drop by this weekend for dinner then?”, jihyo asks again and you bite your lip, contemplating a response before you say yes, because if you were going to fake date, you had to do it right.

on the day of the dinner with jihyo’s family, you’re a mess. your entire wardrobe is dumped out on your bed and you’ve tried on at least eight articles of clothes, discarding them all because they didn’t look good. you finally settle for something simple, a pair of high waisted jeans paired with a flowy baby blue top that was tucked in, and ankle length boots. it was simple and comfortable. you decide to drive to her place instead of taking the bus. you usually only took the bus to the office and back since it was cheaper than driving there everyday.

when you pull up at jihyo’s place, you have to sit in the car for a minute and breathe. why were you so nervous? you knew her parents and they were so sweet to you, but tonight the thought of sitting and having dinner with them felt nerve wracking. you open the door and step out, making your way to the door and ringing the doorbell. soonyoung opens the door and he lets out a small smile when he sees you, beckoning you to come inside. just then his mother comes into sight. she lights up when she sees you and immediately pulls you in for a hug. jihyo’s dad waves at you from the back as jihyo tackles you in a hug too and you give him a small wave.

“yn! look at you, it’s been so long since i saw you, you’re all grown up now”, she says and you laugh softly and smile. she ushers you inside and asks soonyoung to fetch you something to drink. so far the conversation seems to be going well, but if you only knew how awkward it was going to get when you all sat down for dinner. 

soonyoung sits next to you. “so, how did you guys end up dating?”, soonyoung’s mom asks and you glance at soonyoung before you clear your throat and answer. “it just sort of ended up happening”, you say, giving his mom a small smile in an attempt to distract her from your half baked answers.

“how long have you liked each other then? has this been going on for long?”, soonyong’s mom asks, looking between you and soonyoung, who is close to breaking into a sweat because he had no idea what to say, so he just blabbers something at the same time you open your mouth to speak.

“one month”, he says in a rush. “two weeks”, you say and you both look at each other and you tilt your head to the side, giving him a look and soonyoung scrambles to save face.

“i mean to say that i liked yn for a while, so it was one sided until two weeks ago”, he says and jihyo lets out a small snort at his answer. soonyoung looks at you with that lopsided pout on his face and rubs the back of his neck, nervous, his eyes asking if he did okay. you only laugh softly and lightly nudge him with your elbow. “he’s funny, but yeah that’s the story”, you tell, playing along. “then what made you say yes to dating him?”, his mom asks and you panic again. “um—he was cute and eventually grew on me”, you say, sounding ridiculous and jihyo stifles a laugh and you give her a look. jihyo’s mom doesn’t say anything more, and the conversation diverts to what you have been doing and catching up and you couldn’t be more grateful. when dinner is done, you’re helping clear the table. that’s when soonyoung notices you and rushes over, saying he’s got it and takes the plates from you. 

jihyo whisks you away to her room and you crash on her bed, the various memories of when you’d come over and the countless sleepovers you’d had during your college days come flooding back. “this room hasn’t changed a bit”, you say, sitting up and looking around. you both probably end up talking for a good 30 minutes when a realisation hits—the realisation that you were here for soonyoung and you’d been completely ignoring him. jihyo gets called downstairs and she says she’ll be back, leaving you alone. you sit on the bed, contemplating if you should head out too and find soonyoung when you notice a head peeking into jihyo’s room—soonyoung. when he sees that you’ve caught him, he straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, coming into view.

“soonyoung hey”, you say, realising you’d barely greeted him or talked to him this entire evening. “hi”, he says looking at you before speaking. “my mom was asking if you wanted some ice cream?”, he asks. “sure”, you say and soonyoung leads you downstairs. jihyo’s arguing about something with her mom and when her mom sees you, she ignores jihyo and hands soonyoung a tray with two bowls of ice cream.

“here, eat it in your room with yn”, his mom says and soonyoung blinks, glancing at you.

“i’m coming too!”, jihyo yells but her mom stops her. “stop it, leave soonyoung and yn be”, her mom says, ushering you both back up the stairs. jihyo mouths an ‘all the best’ to you and you give her a look. you both walk up the stairs and you’re standing in front of soonyoung’s room when he looks at you. “just…give me a minute, it’s a bit of a mess”, he says, stepping into the room quickly and you hear the shuffle of feet as he tries his best to tidy up the room quickly while you’re standing outside. he dumps whatever clothes were on his bed into the wardrobe and shuts it, straightening his bedsheet and fluffing up the pillows as much as he could. his eyes scan the room once more and once he deems it tidy enough he opens the door rather hurriedly, like he was scared that he’d made you wait for too long.

“you can come in now”, he says and you step inside. soonyoung’s room is so much like his personality. there are a bunch of old textbooks stacked up in a corner of his table. there’s a bluetooth speaker by the side and bunch of charging cables strewn next to it. there's a photo frame that has a small collage of pictures—soonyoung, jihyo and their parents and you smile softly at the sight of soonyoung grinning wide in the picture. your eyes glance down and there is a whole corner on the floor that is stacked with shoe boxes all stacked on top of each other, holding his sneaker collection. on the wall on the other side, there are a bunch of medals and certificates decorating his wall. you walk forward to take a closer look at them—they were all medals and certificates he’d won through participating in various dance competitions or events. you turn around and soonyoung’s holding out the bowl of ice cream for you and you take it. the ice cream’s already half melted but you don’t mind and soonyoung gestures for you to sit down on his bed. you take a seat on the edge of the bed while soonyoung pulls out the chair from the study table, taking a seat there. you eat a spoonful of the already melted ice cream and there’s an awkward silence that engulfs the both of you. 

“that’s quite an impressive collection of medals and certificates”, you say finally, earning a look from soonyoung, who bursts into an almost shy smile. “thanks”, he says. “how’s it working at the studio?”, you ask and soonyoung’s face seems to light up at your question.

“it’s really good! it’s really fun to see people from all different walks of life come together because of their passion for dancing. we get so many different people, ones who just dance as a hobby, some who are passionate about it and do it on the side, some who join to rediscover their passion for dancing and other beginners who just want to take a dance class for the fun of it. i think dance is a wonderful thing and me being able to teach and do what i love for a living is so worth it to me”, he explains and you smile at the way he explains it with so much enthusiasm, with so much passion.

“that’s wonderful to hear”, you say and he smiles more. “you should drop by sometime”, he asks. “i’d love too”, you say.

“sorry my room’s kind of a mess”, he says, looking around and getting a little self conscious about it. “it’s fine, it’s not bad…it’s just you”, you say. “you think so?”, he asks and you nod again, earning another shy look from him.

and just then jihyo bursts into the room, opening the door and startling you both. “guys, stop making out, mom wants to know if you want more ice cream”, she says rather loudly and you get up, smacking her arm.

“shut up jihyo, oh my god”, you grumble out, getting embarrassed while she only laughs at your misery. “i hate you so much”, you repeat and you glance over at soonyoung who looks like he’s just seen a ghost, his face turing pale.

“jihyo why would you say that!”, soonyoung says standing up and crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to look tough, but his sulking tone shines through. “you guys need to have a little fun, come on!”, jihyo says laughing.

“also babe, it’s getting late so i thought i’d come ask you if you wanted to stay back or head home”, she says, looking at you. you glance at the time on your watch, realising that it was indeed late and you should probably leave to reach home since you also had work tomorrow.

“i’ll leave, i have my car anyway so don’t worry”, you assure and you nod. you walk down with jihyo, soonyoung following behind you with the ice cream bowls in hand and he drops them off at the sink when you’re putting on your shoes by the door.

“aren’t you going to walk her out?”, soonyoung’s mom says from the kitchen and you hear her. you can see the mental picture of his mom shooing him towards the door to walk you to the car. soonyoung comes up into sight again and jihyo pushes him forward, telling him to drop you to the car. 

“you don’t have to walk me, i’m fine”, you say but jihyo isn’t taking no for an answer. “come on yn, just let him”, she insists and that’s how you find soonyoung walking you towards your car, which was parked a little down from jihyo’s house. you glance at soonyoung, who’s walking with his hands stuffed into his pockets. the night breeze blows and catches in his hair, tousling it but he doesn’t seem to mind. his blonde silver hair seems to catch the moonlight and streetlight around, and under it, you notice how handsome it makes him look.

“sorry if this whole thing was weird for you”, you say after a moment, realising it must've not been easy for him to pretend, let alone know what to do since you recall him telling you that he's never dated before. “it wasn’t all that bad”, he says, looking at you and you stop walking, having reached your car.

“well, if anything comes up, i’ll text you”, you say and he nods. you get in your car, bid soonyoung goodbye and start your car, driving back home.

after the family dinner with you, soonyoung is determined to up his game and be a better fake boyfriend for you. so his search history looks a little like this:

how to be a good boyfriend

what does a boyfriend do

what do people do on dates

top ten date ideas

how to impress your girlfriend

how to hold your fake girlfriend’s hand

top ten pick up lines 

soonyoung spends the entire night staying up and searching all of this, reading through various blogs, articles and people’s comments to determine which approach was the best and what really worked. he had no idea dating included so many things, let alone having it pretend on top of all of that. but he was going to tackle it, because he wanted to impress you and be a good fake boyfriend for you. it’s only two weeks later when soonyoung bumps into you again.

you’re at a cafe, your favorite one and since it's friday, you decide to drop by and grab a quick bite there, you had always loved the food here. soonyoung is walking down the road when he happens to look into the cafe and that’s when he spots you sitting inside. he stops in his tracks and looks at you, squinting his eyes and making sure that it was indeed really you before his legs seem to have a mind of their own and take him inside the cafe. he pushes the door open, stepping inside, and the aroma of coffee and baked goods welcome him. he looks at you from the corner, watching you type away something on your laptop that’s open on the table, a mug of hot green tea on the table. he hesitates for a moment, not sure if he should come and say hi or leave. but then you look up and your eyes land on him. he looks away immediately before looking back in your direction and makes his way towards you.

“hey”, he says once he’s close enough. “soonyoung hi”, you say, looking at him. just then the waiter comes by and drops off your sandwich and soonyoung stands awkwardly by the side. 

“i’ll head out”, he says softly, like he was unsure if he was welcome to stay but you look at him. “you’re leaving already?”, you ask, to which he only blinks at you. you gesture for him to sit down and he takes a seat opposite you. “do you want anything, i’ll get it for you”, you ask and he shakes his head in refusal.

“oh no, i’m good”, he says. “coffee? tea? anything at all? it’s really no big deal”, you say but he says he’s fine again. you offer him the other half of your sandwich too, but in the end he only ends up munching on a few of the chips that were on the side. 

“you’re cute when you’re shy”, you say after a moment and he lets out a shy smile.

“what do you do?”, he asks after a moment, leaving you confused for a second before it clicks that he’s asking you what you do for a living. “oh, i’m currently working as a project manager for an advertising agency”, you say and he nods, like he’s impressed. “that must be really hard”, he asks. “yeah, it can get pretty hectic”, you say before silence settles between the both of you again and you take a bite of your sandwich. 

“so you teach everyday then? or does it work on shifts?”, you ask and again his eyes seem to light up at the mention of dance or you taking an interest in what he does. 

“yeah mostly it’s five days a week but the timings can vary. it mostly depends on the crowd, and what i’m going to be teaching, but sometimes i get days off in between since we have other dance teachers on rotation”, he explains. 

“that’s sounds really nice, god i wish i could get a day off in the middle of the week like that”, you say, already thinking of the workload that was waiting for you back home.

“you majored in dance right?”, you ask a second later and he nods. “yeah, a performance and choreography major”, he says and you nod your head, impressed. you finish eating the rest of your sandwich and you both walk out, hoshi offering to walk you to the bus stop. 

when the new week rolls in and it’s monday, soonyoung finds himself thinking about you. he finds himself waiting for you near the bus stop, hoping he’d spot you so he  walks by the cafe again. it’s silly really, how badly he wants to bump into you, to have an excuse to talk to you again. he could just text you, but it doesn’t feel the same. and on wednesday, he does manage to spot you, but this time he quite literally bumps into you. you both are turning around the corner and you’re in a rush when you bump right into him, your phone falling out of your hand and clattering to the floor.

“oh shit, i’m so sorry”, you say, a little frazzled, bending down to pick up your phone but he’s already got it. it’s only when he stands back up that you realise it’s soonyoung.

“soonyoung oh, hi”, you say and he seems to look relieved almost to see you, like he’d been waiting for this moment, his eyes lighting up when he realises it’s really you in front of him. “yn”, he says, saying your name so sweetly, like he’d been waiting for you for far too long as he blinks at you. he hands you your phone but not before glancing at it, making sure it wasn’t cracked or anything.

“sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going”, you tell, apologizing. “heading somewhere?”, he asks, noticing how rushed you looked. “yeah, i have to meet a client so i’ll get going, see you around”, you say, giving him a tiny wave before walking ahead, leaving soonyoung behind. you hadn’t given him time to reply or say bye back to you and he just watches you walk away, whatever words he wanted to say dying on his lips. soonyoung stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes his way to the dance studio, a little bummed about not evening getting so say anything else to you besides the hi. he pushes the door open to the dance studio, waving at the receptionist and walking inside towards the staff rooms. he grabs his dance outfit from the locker and changes into it before walking into one of the dance practice rooms.

soonyoung turns on some music and does some light stretches, warming up his body for the dance session that was going to take place. soon, the room starts filling up with students and he greets them all one by one as they enter. soonyoung’s passion for dancing was immense, it was something like breathing to him, it came naturally. soonyoung was also great teacher, he was firm when needed but also patient and he was good at helping the students understand the movements easily, how to move their bodies and he always advocated about how taking care of yourself, a balanced diet and stretching was always required and a must. he’d often take a few extra minutes after class to help students who were particularly struggling or wanted extra help. the best part was the group dance showcases every week, showcasing everyone’s progress and dances, and he always found that exciting—to see his student’s progress and improvements always made him swell with pride. today’s dance session goes well and soonyoung is satisfied. it’s only when the class ends that three girls come up to soonyoung.

“do you have plans for dinner? you could join us”, one of the girls says. “yes! you always say no, you have to come tonight”, the other girl says, laughing softly, trying to convince him as they flirted with him.

“sorry, i have to get going”, he says, trying to sound nice as he smiles a little even though they try to convince him more and ask him out, but he declines and turns on his heel, making his way out the door, hoping he could catch you at the bus stop. but when he walks to the bus stop, soonyoung doesn’t spot you there, and he glances at the time, coming to the conclusion that he was a little late and had missed seeing you. 

soonyoung doesn’t bump into you again until friday. he’s walking by, minding his own business, making his way to the bakery downtown. this place was known for their freshly baked goods, the ovens churning out fresh bread and other delectable goods almost every four hours, so he knew he’d always get his hands on something freshly made. this place was particularly famous for their salt bread and doughnuts. seungkwan had asked soonyoung to get some salt bread on the way back home to stock up for the week so that’s where soonyoung was heading. soonyoung can smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread down the road. when soonyoung walks in, there’s a crowd no doubt. his eyes flicker around, looking at what was on display and that’s when he spots you. you’re standing in line, waiting to order and soonyoung slowly but carefully makes his way towards you. when’s he’s close enough, he ends up nudging you slightly because of the crowd and you turn around, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever bumped into you, when your gaze softens at the sight of soonyoung. he gives you a small smile when he sees you, his eyes forming little crescent moons as the smile reaches his eyes.

“yn hi!”, he says, like he’s so happy to see you and you smile back.

“hey hi again”, you say, realising you’d started to bump into him quite often. 

“this place has the best salt bread, i’ve come to stock up on that”, he says and your face lights up. “they really do! and the doughnuts too, i need to indulge in some so i came to get some as an end of the week treat”, you explain.

it’s your turn to order and you go up to the counter, placing your order. “please give me two salted caramel doughnuts, two chocolate glazed ones and”, you stop, glancing at soonyoung.

“what are you getting?”, you ask. “oh, just some salt bread, two loaves”, he says.

“and two loaves of salt bread”, you say to the cashier who rings up your bill. you’re about to hand your card to the cashier when soonyoung stops you, saying he’ll pay, but you’re not having it. “soonyoung it’s really fine, consider it my treat”, you say, giving him an easy smile and handing over your card, but soonyoung thrusts his hand forward as well and the cashier stands blinking between the both of you.

“so who’s paying”, the guy asks, looking at the both of you. “mine, take mine joshua”, you say. having been a regular at the bakery, you’d gotten to know joshua who works there, so he listens and he takes your card. soonyoung stutters out a “no let me pay”, but it’s too late and joshua taps your card. you receive the goods from the counter two minutes later and soonyoung carries his bag with the two loaves of salt bread and the two chocolate doughnuts you bought for him and sneaked inside his bag. (he didn’t know).

“you really didn’t have to pay for my stuff yn”, he mutters out as you both walk to the side of the store. you’re about to respond to him when you hear someone call out your name

“yn! oh my god hi”, you hear someone call out and you turn around, watching your co-worker, mina, walk towards you. your eyes widen in surprise and you glance at soonyoung, who seems oblivious to the panic in your eyes.

“oh hi! didn’t think i’d run into you here”, you say, trying to sound calm. your co-worker, mina, seems to notice you glancing over at soonyoung and looks at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“this is my friend,”, you say in a rush, panicking when you say it. soonyoung’s smile falters for a second, his eyebrows raised slightly, a flash of surprise in his expression, having gotten caught off guard by the ‘just a friend’ part. but he’s quick to mask his expression with a easy grin, but the way his lips were turned down, forming a little pout told a different story

“yep, just a friend,” soonyoung repeats, his tone light but with a hint of forced cheerfulness. he politely says hi to your friend and stands there while the two of you make conversation.

“great, i’ll catch up with you later yn, see you later”, mina says to soonyoung too before she waves and leaves.

soonyoung glances over at you.”just a friend? i thought we’re supposed to be pretending to be a couple”, he says, looking at you with that lopsided pout on his lips. 

“i’m sorry, i panicked”, you tell, feeling a little bad but in hindsight, you really don’t know why you said that. soonyoung doesn’t say anything else as you both walk out of the store. “i’ll see you around then”, you say, when you both are outside.

“let me walk you to the bus stop”, he offers. “oh, it’s fine, it’s just a five minute walk”, you say. “but i want to”, he says lightly, so you let him.

“what else do you like from that bakery?”, soonyoung asks, glancing over at you, in a small attempt to get to know you better. “hm, i do love their red velvet cake and their dark chocolate chunk cookies”, you say and soonyoung makes a mental note to get those for you next time. after five minutes, you’ve reached the bus stop and he watches you get onto the bus and waves as it leaves.

it’s only when soonyoung gets home that he realises you’d sneaked in the chocolate doughnuts with the salt bread. “why did you get doughnuts? but i’m not complaining they’re always so good”, seungkwan says when he opens the bag that soonyoung had left on the counter.

“doughnuts? what do you mean? i didn’t buy doughnuts”, soonyoung says and seungkwan opens a box to reveal two chocolate glazed donuts inside them. “oh”, he says softly. soonyoung thinks it’s a mistake, that the cashier accidentally packed your doughnuts with his bread, so he snatches the box from seungkwan, telling him not to eat it and places it back in the bag before rushing to his room to grab his phone.

soonyoung [9:10 PM]: hey! 

you [9:12 PM]: hi, all okay?

soonyoung [9:13 PM]: you left your chocolate doughnuts with me, it was in my bag.

you [9:13 PM]: oh! no they’re for you, enjoy!

soonyoung [9:14 PM]: oh

you [9:14 PM]: yes :)

soonyoung stares at his screen, trying to formulate a response but doesn't know what to say. so he just settles for saying a thank you and shouts out to seungkwan that he can have the doughnuts. “are the doughnuts good?”, soonyoung asks, when he walks out to see seungkwan stuffing his face with it.

“oh my god, it’s so good, i can’t believe i’ve never tried this one before! i’m glad you got it”, seungkwan says and soonyoung only seems to sigh in defeat before walking over to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.

“why are you sulking?”, seungkwan asks, being able to read soonyoung’s emotions. “i’m not sulking”, he says but who was he kidding, he was. “it’s stupid”, soonyoung says but seungkwan only looks at him, waiting for him to explain.

“it’s just that, when me and yn were at the bakery earlier, she introduced me as her friend”, soonyoung says softly and seungkwan sucks in a dramatic breath. “WHAT?”, he says, his voice muffled through the big bite of the doughnut he had taken.

“that’s foul”, seungkwan says after a moment, which only seems to make soonyoung pout more. “i’m sure she didn’t mean it in a bad way”, soonyoung says, which only seems to fuel seungkwan’s thoughts.

“are you crazy? she introduced you as her friend and not boyfriend? that's so foul, you know what, give me her number, let me talk to her”, seungkwan says, all riled up for no reason. “woah that’s not needed man”, soonyoung says, walking over and grabbing the other doughnut, taking a bite out of it. “hm these are actually really good”, soonyoung says as he walks back to his room, the doughnut in his hand.

it’s a week later and soonyoung has been busy with dance lessons at the studio, and you have new projects on hand at work. finally, he has a day off and decides that it’s the right time to buy you back some chocolate doughnuts. he walks to the bakery with a stride and on a mission. along with the two chocolate glazed doughnuts, he gets you four dark chocolate chunk cookies and a slice of red velvet cake, remembering you mentioning that you liked those too. he pays at the counter and walks out of the store, excited to give these to you, only to realise he doesn’t know where you work, or exactly where your office is located. 

he thinks that he should text you and ask, but then that’ll ruin the surprise. so he asks jihyo instead, who is a menace and it takes three pleases before jihyo laughs and says she’ll text him the location to your office. he nearly jumps when his phone pings with a text and he’s quick to put the location in maps. it shows that it’s a fifteen minute walk from the bakery, which wasn’t too bad, so he starts walking in the direction of your office, hoping you’d like the little surprise.

when soonyoung finally reaches your office, it’s a huge building and he looks up, counting eight floors, wondering which floor you work on. he walks inside before turning to the reception desk on the left side. 

“hi, i’m looking for yn, she works here”, he says and the receptionist looks at soonyoung. “and you are?”, the lady asks, looking soonyoung up and down.

“oh! i’m her…boyfriend”, he says with a small smile. “i just got her some stuff to eat”, he adds and the receptionist nods, scribbling down something in a book.

“it’s lunch break now so she’ll probably be at the cafeteria, 4th floor”, the lady says and soonyoung thanks the lady and walks towards the elevator. he hums to himself as he walks into the elevator and when it opens, he’s greeted by your co-worker whom he saw the other day—mina. soonyoung walks into the elevator and presses the button to the fourth floor.

“hi, you’re yn’s friend right?”, mina says after a moment, seeming to recognise soonyoung. “yeah, her boyfriend actually”, he corrects and your friend lets out a small gasp in surprise. and just then the elevator pings, signaling that it has reached the fourth floor and the door slides open. 

“i got her some things from the bakery”, he says, holding up the bag as he steps out of the elevator, mina following beside him. “that’s so sweet, oh my god”, she says.  "you're really spoiling her, huh?", she adds with a more teasing tone as you both step out. just then two more of yn’s colleagues appear around the corner, all of them stopping short when they notice soonyoung standing there, looking a little lost and a lot out of place.

"what’s going on here?" one of them asks, raising an eyebrow at the scene before them. the way soonyoung was standing, clearly unsure of where to go makes him even more endearing. soonyoung looks around at the people that seemed to have gathered around him. “yn’s boyfriend is here”, mina sings songs and the rest of the girls all exclaim. “no way”, one of them says and the whole group goes silent for a split second, before they erupt into small gasps. "oh my god really?!" one of them asks with a small grin. "yn has a boyfriend?"

soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh, his face turning a little pink at the sudden attention he was getting and he scratches the back of his neck and asks, “uh, do you know where i can find yn?”.

“she’s probably in the break room getting coffee, let me call her”, mina says and just then yn seems to step out and mina calls out her name. “yn! over here!”, mina calls out to you and you turn your head around when you hear your name, your eyes spotting your coworkers all gathered in the corner near the elevator, and that’s when your eyes land on soonyoung. your eyes widen in surprise and you make your way towards them. it’s only when you’re close enough does mina speak.

“yn you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend?”, they all tease. “you’ve been hiding him? i thought you were just casually hanging out with him? you said he was just a friend when i bumped into you guys last week”, mina asks as she looks at you.

you panic and scramble for an answer. “oh, we just started dating three days ago”, you blurt out. “uh, we just, you know, kept it low, i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it”, you add, trying to salvage the situation.

"he’s literally perfect for you!", they chimed in, making your cheeks flush. you shoot a quick glance at soonyoung, who looks just a flustered, but seems to mask it better than you. “he’s so cute, much better than all your exes if you ask me”, one of them adds and you just give them a small laugh.

“oh my god, babe you have to bring him to my wedding as your plus one at the end of the month!”, mina says and all the other girls all chime in with a big yes and you know you really can’t pull yourself out of this situation now. “yeah, okay sure, i’ll get him along”, you say, giving mina a small smile. 

“we’ll give you two some alone time, there’s ten more minutes left for lunch break anyway”, mina says, giving you a mischievous look and you glare at her before all your co-workers walk to the break room and you grab soonyoung's arm, dragging him to the balcony on the other end of the room.

“soonyoung what are you doing here?”, you ask, confused, and a little frazzled at his sudden appearance at your workplace.

“i wanted to give you something back for paying for those breads last time, so i went to the bakery and got you all your favorite things from there”, he explains sweetly, holding out the bag. “i got you those dark chocolate chunk cookies, red velvet cake and those chocolate glazed doughnuts too”, he finishes, still waiting for you to take the bag from him. you reach your hand out and take the bag from him, opening it to take a peek inside, the smell of sugary goodness wafting in the air. “you didn’t have to”, you say, your tone softening at his gesture. 

“but i wanted to”, he tells and you smile at his warmth in his tone and the sweetness of his gesture. “that’s sweet of you”, you tell softly and he grins proudly. “no worries”, he says, looking at you, content. “i thought you’d enjoy it during a hectic work week”, he chimes in and you nod. “i definitely will, thank you”, you say and your eyes dart around, looking to see if anyone was around, which soonyoung picks up on.

“i’m sorry if i showed up unannounced, i didn’t think i’d bump into your co-workers”, he says, thinking he’d done something wrong. “no, you’re all fine soonyoung, it just took me by surprise”, you say. “cool, um, i guess i’ll see you around then?”, he says, sounding a little unsure as he says it. “yeah, see you around”, you say and he smiles. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings and he sees jihyo’s caller id, he has half a mind to ignore the call, but he doesn’t, knowing she’d just continue to call and pester him until he did pick up. 

“what?”, soonyoung asks, only to be met with a scolding. “that’s how you talk to your sister?”, jihyo asks and soonyoung sighs. “i’m busy”, he mumbles out in a whine.

“i have two tickets for this movie that was released last week, but i can’t go anymore, so i’m giving it to you”, jihyo says and for a second, soonyoung thinks that this is some kind of trap. “you’re joking”, he says. “i’m serious! take them, i really can’t go”, jihyo says.

“okay, but what will i do with the other one?”, he asks. “then take yn with you idiot, she’s been wanting to see that movie anyway”, jihyo says and soonyoung seems to stand up straighter at the mention of your name. 

“yn?”, he asks. “yes, yn, take her along”, jihyo says again like she’s already tired of talking to soonyoung. “i’ll send you the tickets, so go, i have to go now”, jihyo says and ends the call, hanging up before soonyoung can say anything more.

the thought of you seems to make soonyoung unintentionally smile and his phone pings with a text from jihyo with details about the movie and tickets. soonyoung opens the text and finds out that the movie was booked for saturday evening, which was in three days. soonyoung isn’t sure about it, isn’t sure if you would even want to watch the movie with him. so he sleeps on it, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he actually does want to go watch that movie with you. but the question is how he was going to ask you.

it’s already friday and soonyoung is starting to get restless. he can barely focus on anything, his thoughts racing in endless circles about one thing—you. his mind won’t stop replaying the thought of you and if he should ask you out to go to that movie with him, and it’s driving him crazy. the nervous energy bubbles up inside him until he can’t take it anymore, so in a desperate attempt to clear his head and figure out what the heck he was doing, he decides to hit the gym.

he pushes through the door, ready to work off some of his restless anxiety, but as soon as he steps inside, his eyes landed on a familiar face—lee chan, who was his school friend. chan smiles and waves at him when he spots soonyoung, but soonyoung only gives him a half-hearted wave of the hand. 

confused, chan trudges forward to soonyoung. “everything okay?”, he asks and soonyoung sighs dramatically, his shoulder slumping. “i don’t think you’d be much of a help with this man”, he says, looking like a lost puppy. but chan’s face is full of determination as he steps closer, crossing his arms. “what’s going on?”, he asks.

soonyoung’s eyes dart around as he tries to get the words out without sounding like an idiot, but it’s no use. “how do you ask a girl out to the movies?” he blurts out, his voice full of uncertainty that it was almost painful.

chan blinks at him for a second, not expecting soonyoung to ask him something like that. chan scratches the back of his head, looking just as clueless as soonyoung. “um, i guess you just…ask her?”, he says, unsure.

soonyoung groans again, pulling a hand down his face. “ask her how?”

chan blinks again, looking around for some kind of answer. “I don’t know man, maybe text her? call her? i don’t know, just… ask?”

“it’s not that easy, chan,” soonyoung says, practically sinking into the bench that he had sat on. “why? does she not like watching movies or something?”, chan asks.

soonyoung buries his face in his hands, exasperated. “no! not like that—it’s just—ugh!” he lets out another sigh, quieter this time, and looks up at chan with eyes full of uncertainty. “i don’t know if she’d actually want to watch the movie with me”.

chan tilts his head, giving soonyoung a confused look. “you guys don’t do movie dates?”

soonyoung’s response is a helpless gesture of both his hands, as if he was trying to wrangle some logic from the air around him. “i… i don’t know! we haven’t really done anything like that before, and i—” he cuts himself off with a dramatic sigh. “this is so stupid, isn’t it?”

chan blinks at him, then his face softens with a quiet chuckle. “it’s not stupid man, you just gotta be honest with her and just ask her”, he encourages. chan gives him a small smile, patting him on the shoulder. “you’ll figure it out man, don’t stress, girls like that honesty thing trust me”, chan says.

chan then leaves since his workout is over and soonyoung is left alone with his thoughts. soonyoung contemplates how exactly he is going to ask you out to the movie without making a total fool of himself. he should just ask you right? it was such a simple thing really, but the thought of it felt too daunting for soonyoung. 

after the gym session, soonyoung heads back home. he takes a hot water shower but he still can’t stop thinking about the movie, about you. maybe he should ask seungkwan? when he comes out of the shower, he throws on sweatpants and a loose shirt, walking into the living room to see seungkwan sprawled on the couch. he walks up to seungkwan and takes a seat on the other end of the couch.

“what is it this time?”, seungkwan asks, without even looking at soonyoung, making him scoff. “why do you always assume i did something”, soonyoung complains. “because you have that look”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung mumbles something under his breath and finally seungkwan looks up at him,

and all of a sudden, soonyoung feels like an idiot all over again. “how do you…you know…like…how to ask a girl out…to the movies”, soonyoung asks slowly, the words coming out unsure. 

“man not this shit again”, seungkwan mutters, giving soonyoung a look “i’m starting to wonder how you even got a girlfriend at this point when you’re so clueless”, seungkwan says, bruising soonyoung’s ego.

“hey! i’m not that bad, this is just all…new”, he says, trying to salvage the situation but seungkwan was right, he was totally and utterly clueless.

“just tell me how to ask her to the movie”, soonyoung repeats, bringing the focus back on the situation. “and quick because the movie is tomorrow and i already have the tickets”, he adds. seungkwan gives him another serious look, asking soonyoung to come closer with a gesture of his hand.

“if you want to properly ask her out, you need to get a dove, write a message and send it to her house as a messenger”, seungkwan says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but soonyoung doesn’t catch it. “but then wouldn’t that take too long?”, he asks.

“exactly you idiot, so you need to call or text her”, he nearly yells at soonyoung, exasperated. 

“but should i say?”, he asks, that lopsided frown forming on his face. “ssk her if she wants to watch a movie with you, what else are you going to say?”, seungkwan asks, scoffing with annoyance.

“okay man, calm down”, soonyoung says, unlocking his phone and opening your contact. his fingers hover over the keyboard as he wracks his brain on what to ask. he gives seungkwan a glace, who looks like he’s ready to snatch soonyoung’s phone and ask you instead.

soonyoung [10:35 PM]: hey! i know this is last minute but do you wanna go watch a movie with me tomorrow evening? i have an extra ticket.

soonyoung hits send and throws his phone on the couch with a yelp, covering a hand over his mouth. 

“i asked her," he says, his phone in the middle of the couch now. two minutes later his phone pings and soonyoung jumps. “is it her? what if she said no?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan reaches for the phone to see who texted.

“it’s her”, seungkwan says. “really? what did she say?”, soonyoung asks, leaning closer.

“she said she doesn’t want to see the movie”, seungkwan lies and soonyoung looks like he’s about to burst into tears at any second. he snatches the phone from seungkwan and reads the reply you sent.

you [10:37 PM]: soonyoung hi! sure i don’t mind.

“SEUNGKWAN”, he yells, getting up in a huff and hurling one of the pillows at him. “i’m never asking you for help again”, soonyoung mutters out, walking back to his room. he closes the door and crashes onto his bed before he reads your text again, a small smile creeping up on his face.

so you did want to go to the movie with him. 

he turns over and buries his face into the pillow and smiles wider before gathering his thoughts, typing out a quick response.

soonyoung [10:38PM]: okay! the movie is at 8pm so i’ll pick you by 7:15

you [10:38 PM]: cool okay!

when saturday evening rolls around, soonyoung is freaking out. it’s like a tornado hit his room with the way all the clothes are splayed out on his bed and floor. he barges into seungkwan’s room for the fourth time, asking him if his outfit was okay.

“is this okay?”, soonyoung asks, adjusting his top. “yeah it’s fine”, seungkwan says, not bothering to look, which only makes soonyoung groan out in annoyance. “chill out man, it’s just a movie, you look fine”, he says, finally looking at soonyoung. “okay okay”, soonyoung says, glancing at the time on his watch and realizing he had to leave now if he wanted to reach your place on time.

you on the other hand are a mess too and you're starting to wonder why you agreed to this, except you had a good reason why—you wanted to test soonyoung’s and your chemistry. if he was going to come to the wedding with you, it needed to look like you were both really dating, and not pretending. plus this seemed like a good opportunity to teach a few things to him about being a boyfriend since he didn’t have any prior experience. 

you glance at the mirror, smoothing out the cream colored sweater that was tucked into the waistband of your high waisted jeans. it’s cozy and warm, perfect for the evening ahead. the look is casual yet sweet, just the right balance for a movie date. you slide on a pear of black ankle boot and you grab a small shoulder bag and sling it over your arm. you brush a hand through your hair, leaving your hair loose and letting it fall and frame your face naturally. 

just then you hear the honk of a car outside–it must be soonyoung. in a rush grab your lip tint, stuffing it in your bag and walking out. you open the door just as soonyoung is about to knock on the door and he’s a little surprised with the way you open the door so quickly, nearly bumping into him.

“soonyoung, hi!”, you say in a rush of nerves for some reason. soonyoung’s wearing a loose, dark brown jacket over a simple black tee and jeans. his ash blonde silver hair is slightly tousled as it falls over his forehead, just enough to make it look like he’s run his hands through it a few times, giving him a messy, carefree look—it’s cute. his hair catches the light under your front door, softening his sharp features, but still making him look striking in a way. 

soonyoung almost forgets to respond to you, distracted by how pretty you look. his eyes roam over you, lingering on you, taking in the way your hair falls loosely and frames your face just right, or the way you’d put on some makeup, something different than your usual office makeup, something bolder, but still pretty. his eyes flicker back up to yours, a hint of surprise in them, before he finally gives you a soft, almost distracted smile.

“h-hi”, he stutters out, clearing his throat, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool and wasn’t caught staring at you in awe. “are you ready?”, he asks after a second, and you nod. “yup, i’ll just grab the keys and lock up”, you say and walk back inside, grabbing the keys from the bowl and walking back out. you lock the door behind you and drop the keys in your bag. 

soonyoung runs over to the car and you’re confused for a moment before you realise he’s opening the door for you. you give him a small smile and say a small thank you before you sit inside, and he closes the door.  but how did soonyoung know all this? he had stayed up the entire night, googling silly things. every search felt like another step into the unknown. “what to do on a movie date,” he typed in, squinting as the search results loaded. his fingers hovered over the screen, unsure if it was a good idea to click on it before and if he overthinking this entire thing. in a panic, he clicks on the —“10 things you should NEVER do on a first date” article.

the more he googled, the more overwhelmed he became. “date ideas for people who have no idea what they’re doing,” he types instead, praying for something that might make him seem like less of a disaster. he didn’t want to screw this entire thing up. he had even watched a youtube tutorial titled “how to not be awkward on dates (for dummies), and read through countless articles like “how to be a good boyfriend,”. “how to impress your girlfriend”, “how to hold hands”. he was trying his best, but this was all just new, uncharted territory for him.

the drive to the theater is quiet and when he pulls up at a red light signal, soonyoung turns around to glance at you. you dig into your bag for the lip tint you had thrown in there and open it, hoping it still had some product left in it because it was on the verge of getting over. you open the cap and try to scrape out whatever product you could get on the wand and apply it on your lips, dabbing it with your finger to spread it out evenly. you hadn’t bought a new one because this one was out of stock and you hadn’t had the time to go to a store and look for similar shades. soonyoung watches you, wondering why you hadn’t just bought a new one. it’s only when the cars honk from behind that he snaps out of his daze from staring at you and drives ahead. once you reach the theater, you get out and you both walk inside. you stop just short of the entrance, prompting soonyoung to stop and turn around, looking at you a little confused.

"hey, soonyoung?," you say, your voice soft but purposeful. he walks over to you immediately, eyes wide with anticipation, clearly ready for whatever you’re about to say. “yeah?”, he asks.

you hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath. “do you maybe want to try... holding hands?", you ask softly.

for a split second, soonyoung’s face freezes when he hears your words and his brows furrow slightly, like he didn’t quite catch what you said. he repeats it, a little too quickly, as though he’s making sure he heard you right. “hold hands?”

you smile, trying to ease the awkwardness. "yeah, like... we could practice doing some stuff today, you know? since you're coming with me to that wedding and all."

soonyoung blinks a couple times, still processing your words and his gaze flicks down to the ground, then back up at you, like he's trying to figure out if you're joking. "wait, you really meant it? you're really taking me to the wedding?"

you can’t help but laugh a little, amused by how surprised he sounds. "of course, i wouldn't leave you behind. plus, if i showed up without you, my friends would probably kill me”, you explain.

soonyoung relaxes a little, but there's still this wide-eyed, nervous energy around him. he clears his throat, trying to act cool, but it’s clear he’s a bit flustered. “i—uh—okay, so hold hands?”, he prompts again and you nod. “yeah, just for a bit, we can practice, it’s not a big deal”, you say, trying to sound reassuring.

soonyoung scratches the back of his neck nervously. "okay... we can try, i mean, we’re just practicing, right?", he asks as he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and hesitation. you extend your hand slowly, watching as soonyoung does the same. his fingers tremble just a little, and he hesitates for a fraction of a second before his hand brushes against yours. he pulls his hand back almost immediately, like he was suddenly unsure. he looks at you again and you give him a small encouraging smile.

this time, when you offer your hand again, soonyoung hesitates just a little, his fingers hovering over yours as if he’s psyching himself up to reach out and take your hand. when he finally takes your hand, it’s tentative—like he's afraid he might break something. but then, after a deep breath, he laces his fingers with yours, and his hand feels warm, a little sweaty, but he’s holding your hand now.

you feel a soft chuckle bubble up from soonyoung. "whoa, this is actually kind of nice," he admits, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, a clear sign that he’s nervous but trying to hide it. you smile, "i think it’s nice too”, you say, smiling up at him.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, just standing there with your hands clasped together and soonyoung fidgets slightly, glancing down at your joined hands as if he was checking that it's real, and then back up at you. his face is flushed, a mix of shyness and excitement and something a little more earnest in his expression. he notices how small your hand looks in his, how his hand practically could engulf yours entirely, and he thinks that’s cute.

"so," he starts again, his voice soft, but holding a tone of determination. "we’re really doing this, huh? holding hands like a couple?", he asks as he looks at you. 

you chuckle, the tension easing as he gets more comfortable. "yep, just a little practice before the wedding”, you confirm. 

after that first tentative moment of holding hands, the two of you make your way into the theater and soonyoung seems to have shaken off his initial nerves. but every now and then his fingers give yours an almost unnoticeable squeeze, as if he’s checking to make sure it’s still real, that he is in fact holding your hand. you buy a bucket of popcorn and you both head inside the theater, finding your seats. soonyoung is nervous as he sits down and he wipes his slightly sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, before glancing over at you. 

the smell of buttery popcorn fills the air as you reach into the bucket, grabbing a handful before turning your attention back to the screen. you glance at soonyoung, who is sitting beside you, his hand hovering hesitantly over the popcorn. he had barely eaten any since the movie started, and you could tell he was holding back.

"i'm not going to eat this entire bucket myself soonyoung," you say softly, nudging the popcorn towards him with a smile. "you can have some more”, you say and he nods, mumbling a quiet, "yeah, sure," before finally taking some more.

the movie starts, the screen illuminating both of your faces in the dim theater. at first, soonyoung is focused on the movie ahead, his gaze locked onto the action unfolding before him. but at some point, his attention wavers, and instead of the film, he finds himself watching you—the way your eyes light up whenever something funny happens, the way your brows furrowed in concentration during an intense scene. the soft glow of the screen made your features even more captivating, and he couldn't help but admire the way you reacted so naturally to every moment.

his fingers absentmindedly reach for more of the popcorn, just at the same time yours does, and the brief touch of your fingers against his sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he immediately retracts his hand, swallowing nervously. you turn your head slightly, glancing at him with a knowing smile, before pushing the bucket a little closer to him in silent reassurance.

when the movie is over and the credits roll out, you stretch lightly in your seat before looking over at him. "that was good," you say with a satisfied smile and soonyoung nods, though he had hardly paid attention to the second half of the film. you both step out into the cool night air. your stomach grumbles quietly because the popcorn you had eaten had been more of a snack than a meal, and now the real hunger was creeping in. you glance over at soonyoung. "i'm still kind of hungry, do you want to grab something to eat?", you ask.

"yeah, sure," he replies, perking up slightly. "there's this really good burger place not too far from here, i can drive us there”, he says.

when you arrive at the burger place, the scent of grilled patties and crispy fries fill the air as you both step inside. the restaurant has a casual, welcoming atmosphere, and you quickly place your orders before finding a booth to sit in. soonyoung sits across from you, his fingers fiddling with the napkins on the table, carefully arranging and then rearranging them as if it was the most important task in the world. there was a nervous energy about him, and you watched him for a moment before leaning forward slightly.

"you okay?" you ask, tilting your head lightly and his hands still for a second before he lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “yeah, just, uh…" he hesitates before looking up to meet your gaze, and then glancing away again. you smile softly, resting your chin on your hand. "you sure?”, you ask again and he finally lets go of the tissue in his hand. “i guess i'm just kind of nervous”, he admits.

"nervous?" you repeat, eyebrows raising slightly. "why?"

soonyoung hesitates, then meets your eyes again, this time holding your gaze a little longer. "i just don't want to mess this up”, he admits softly.

your heart does a small, unexpected flip at his words and a warmth spreads through you as you smile at him, a little softer this time. "soonyoung," you say, your voice gentle, "you don’t have to be nervous, you’re doing great!”, you assure and his lips part slightly in surprise before he breaks into a small grin, a mix of relief and happiness flashing across his face. and just like that, the nervous energy between you both shifts into something lighter—something warm.

the food arrives and the scent of freshly grilled burgers and crispy fries and buttery toasted buns fill the air as you and soonyoung sit across from each other in the booth. you are hungry, so without hesitation you pick up your burger and take a big bite. the flavors hit instantly and you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

soonyoung laughs softly at your reaction, taking a bite of his own burger. "good, right?" he asks, his words slightly muffled as he chews and you nod.

"amazing," you reply after swallowing, already reaching for a fry. "you were right, this place is really good”.

the two of you eat comfortably, occasionally exchanging small talk. the late night atmosphere in the diner feels warm, with the soft hum of conversation from other customers and the occasional clang of plates from the kitchen, the smell of fries and salt lingering in the air.

at one point, soonyoung glances up and notices something—just the tiniest smudge of sauce at the corner of your mouth. his lips part slightly, his fingers tightening around his burger as he thinks and hesitates, wondering what to do. he was hoping you’d notice it and take action yourself, but you were too busy licking salt off your fingers from the fries, completely unaware of it.

soonyoung could’ve told you, he could’ve pointed it out and let you wipe it away yourself because that would’ve been the normal thing to do. but instead, before he can stop himself, he is already moving and he reaches across the table, lifting his hand. his thumb grazes over the corner of your lips in the most soft motion. his touch is warm, almost featherlight and it catches you completely off guard. your breath hitches and your eyes flicker up to meet his, widening slightly, 

soonyoung freezes midway, his brain catching up on what he had just done. his thumb still lingers on your skin, before he pulls his hand back quickly, looking down before he looks back up at you.

"uh—" he starts, clearing his throat, his ears burning red. "you, uh... had some sauce right there." he says as he points awkwardly to the same spot on his own mouth.

you blink quietly, still processing what he had done, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he had pulled away.  "oh, thanks," you murmur and soonyoung lets out a nervous chuckle, looking down at his own food like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing right now. “yeah, uh, no problem”, he says, taking a fry and shoving it in his mouth in an attempt to recover from what he had just done.

you don’t say anything more, but it was like there was a shift in the air between the both of you—a quiet sort of electricity buzzing beneath the surface. soonyoung finally looks up, stealing another glance at you before he picks up his drink and chugs it down, hoping it’d ease his racing heart. 

when soonyoung goes home, he looks defeated. he sighs as he plops down onto the couch and keeps recalling the moment where he wiped the sauce off your lips, feeling like such an idiot. he hadn’t screwed up things between you both, right?

you decide to meet soonyoung once more next week for a little more practice, and today’s meeting point was by the lake near the park. the reason you loved going there was to feed the ducks. you had made it a habit to go there at least once a week or twice a month if you were too busy, and today seemed like a good excuse to go there—with soonyoung too.

you decide to walk there from your place, since it was relatively close and decide to meet soonyoung at the park itself, texting him the location. you wear something simple, some blue jeans, a white crop top, a baby blue cardigan and a pair of sneakers—it was simple, yet comfortable. the sunlight filters through the trees, casting soft patterns of light and shadows onto the wooden walkway to the lake, the air smells faintly of greenery and a quiet breeze rustles the leaves of the trees.

soonyoung stands there, casually leaning against the black railing, waiting for you. his blonde hair gleams under the sunlight, slightly ruffled by the wind, falling over his forehead and eyes. he’s wearing a light gray denim jacket that’s oversized over a simple crisp and clean white t-shirt that peeks out. he’s also wearing grey denim shorts to match and it hangs jus right, stopping just below his knees. his look is complete with a pair of cream colored slip on shoes. he shifts slightly, one hand resting against the railing, the other hand loosely hanging by his side. his gaze is steady and soft, yet thoughtful, as though he’s lost in the moment. he can hear the rustle of the leaves, feel the warmth of the sun and the quiet hum of the world around him. it’s only when he glances to his left that he finally sees you and his eyes light up. he gives you a wave as you walk up to him and you give him a small smile. 

“hey, you made it”, you say, the paper bag you bought along with some bread rustling in your hand. soonyoung’s looks curiously at the bag in your hand then looks at you. 

“do you want to hold hands again? you know, for practice”, you ask, and soonyoung nods, before squeaking out a small yes. you hold your hand out and this time he takes it without much hesitation, intertwining his fingers in yours and he gives you a small grin.

“come on, they’re waiting, let’s go”, you say, not giving him much information and you start walking, leading soonyoung, who’s following beside you as you both walk together hand in hand.

“who’s waiting?”, he asks. “the ducks!”, you reply and he glances at you. “ducks?”, he repeats. “have you never fed the ducks here?”, you ask and he shakes his head, “i didn’t know you could feed them”, he says. “well, i’ll introduce you to them”, you say turning the corner and the lake is visible now, the ducks too.

you smile softly when you near the ducks, letting go of soonyoung’s hand as you crouch down near the lake shore. the ducks seem to recognize you immediately, their quacks echoing across the water as they paddle toward you, their little feet slap against the wet grass as they waddle up to the edge, and your smile widens at the sight.

“well, someone’s popular,” soonyoung teases, crouching down beside you as you pull out some bread crumbs from the paper bag you had brought along.

“hi, guys,” you say softly, tossing a piece of bread toward the closest duck. the rest of the flock scrambles forward, quacking in protest, and you can’t help but laugh. you hand soonyoung a handful of crumbs. “here, you can help me feed them”, you say. soonyoung he throws a piece of bread to a particularly round duck and you point at it. “that’s sprinkles,” you say, grinning.

soonyoung freezes mid toss and turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “wait, you’ve named them?”

“of course,” you reply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you gesture to another duck, slightly smaller but just as eager. “that’s biscuit”, you say and then you then point to three more ducks that have joined the crowd. “and over there are noodle, muffin, and bubbles”.

he stares at you, visibly baffled. “you’ve named all of them?”

“well, not all of them,” you admit with a shrug. “just the regulars”, you say.

soonyoung narrows his eyes, looking between the ducks. “how can you even tell them apart? they all look the same to me”, he says and you gasp softly in mock offense. “excuse me? they each have their own unique personalities!”, you say and he snorts, clearly unconvinced, but he plays along, tossing a crumb toward the closest duck. “okay, that’s… biscuit, right?”, he asks and you shake your head. “no, that’s sprinkles”, you correct.

“right, sprinkles,” he says, nodding like he’s taking this very seriously. he tosses another crumb, pointing to a different duck. “and that one is muffin?”.

“nope, that’s bubbles,” you say, giggling now. he lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing another small piece of bread. “this is impossible! they’re all the same color”, he says, looking defeated.

“you just need to pay attention,” you say. “like noodle—he’s the one with the slightly crooked feather on his tail, and muffin is always the one at the back, kind of shy”, you explain. soonyoung squints at the flock, clearly trying to identify the subtle differences you’ve pointed out. “okay, but how am i supposed to tell biscuit from sprinkles?”, he asks.

“well, sprinkles has more attitude,” you say with a grin, gesturing to the duck in question, who is currently quacking loudly and shoving the others out of the way to get to the crumbs. soonyoung laughs, tossing another piece of bread to it. “oh yeah, i see it now”, he says.

soonyoung tosses a crumb directly in front of sprinkles and the duck snatches it up with a quick peck and waddles closer. "hey, sprinkles has really got an appetite," soonyoung remarks, tossing another crumb and the duck waddles even closer. then, for reasons only soonyoung would understand, he suddenly cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a loud, dramatic "QUACK!".

you freeze, turning to him as you try not to laugh. you’re about to open your mouth but then all the ducks on the pond swivel their heads in unison, their beady eyes locking onto soonyoung like he just declared a fight on the ducks.

"uh-oh," he says, standing up slowly.

"soonyoung, what did you do?" you whisper, trying not to laugh as sprinkles seems to waddle closer to him.

"i was trying to communicate!" he hisses back, taking a step backward as more ducks emerge from the water, their webbed feet slapping on the grass.

"well, they’re communicating now" you say, barely holding back laughter.

one duck quacks loudly, as if rallying the troops, and suddenly the entire flock is waddling toward soonyoung, their little heads bobbing with determination as they flock towards soonyoung.

"oh no," he stammers, backing away faster and all you can do is double over with laughter as the ducks seem to crowd around soonyoung. you stand up and try to shoo away the ducks, trying to distract them with breadcrumbs, but they aren’t deterred. so soonyoung does the only thing he can think off—he grabs your hand and runs. 

“soonyoung!”, you yelp out as he takes off, pulling you along with him and you run behind him, his hand interlocked with yours. you’re running, dodging stones and twigs, but then your leg gets caught on a stone and you lose your footing, and before you can process what’s happening, your balance topples and you’re falling.

“soonyoung!” you cry out, as you fall forward.

he reacts in an instant when he hears your voice and he whips around just in time to see you stumbling forward. without a second thought, he lunges toward you, arms outstretched, holding onto you and instead of hitting the ground, you land on him, the momentum knocking the both of you over. the world spins for a second, and when it steadies, you realize you’re sprawled on top of soonyoung, your hands pressed against his chest. his arms are wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to shield you and his face is so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice full of concern. his wide, worried eyes searching yours, making your heart stutter.

you nod, suddenly hyper aware of how close you are. “yeah, i’m fine,” you mumble out, quickly pushing yourself up and sitting back. but the moment you put weight on your foot, a sharp pain shoots up your ankle and you let out a small gasp.

“what’s wrong?” soonyoung asks as he gets up immediately. “i think i sprained my ankle”, you say softly and his eyes dart to your ankle and back to your face, guilt etched into his expression. “i’m so sorry,” he says, his voice filled with regret. “this is my fault. i should’ve been more careful. i shouldn’t have—”

“soonyoung,” you interrupt, your voice soft despite the light pain. “it’s okay. it’s not your fault.”

“but it is,” he insists, shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess. i didn’t think—” “hey,” you say, placing your hand lightly on his arm. “it’s just a sprain. i’ll be fine”, you assure, but the lopsided pout on his face remains and he doesn’t look convinced. instead, he shifts closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “you could’ve really gotten hurt, shit, i don’t know what i’d do if something worse happened”, he says, but you give him another reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine, really”, you say. soonyoung helps you get up and guides you to a nearby bench, his arms steady around you as he holds you, but the guilt never leaves his face. he sets you down on the bench and looks at you like you’re made of glass, like if he just blinks, you might shatter.

“you can’t go home like this”, he says with a frown. “i’ll carry you home”, he declares after a moment and you blink at him. “wait what?”, you say but he’s already crouching down in front of you, patting his back.

“get on”, he says and you stare at him because he couldn't really be serious about this.

“soonyoung, no, that’s ridiculous,” you protest. “you can’t possibly carry me all the way home”, you say looking at him.

he turns his head to give you a look over his shoulder. “you’re not walking on that ankle, not even for a second”, he declares.

“but—” “no buts, now come on. you’re not going home like this and i refuse to let you limp the whole way”, he says with a pout. you sigh, knowing there’s no winning against him when he’s this determined. “fine, but don’t you dare drop me”, you finally say, giving in.

“pfft. please”, he scoffs. “i’ve been training for this moment my whole life”, he says and you roll your eyes because that was such a jihyo thing to say. they really were a pair of siblings. you carefully move forward, draping your arms over his shoulders and the second you do, he reaches back, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you up effortlessly.

“whoa—okay,” you gasp as he stands up straight, securing his grip, adjusting his hold slightly so you’re comfortable. “okay now hold on tight”, he says and you do, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his shoulders as he starts walking. despite everything—the pain, the ridiculousness of the situation—you can’t help but smile lightly.

“you’re really that worried about me, huh?” you ask softly, resting your chin against his shoulder. soonyoung doesn’t answer right away, but when he does his voice is quieter than before. “of course i am. it’s you”, he says and your heart stumbles a little at his words.

“i just hate that you got hurt because of me” he continues. “if i had been paying more attention, then maybe i could’ve—”

“stop that,” you interrupt. “this isn’t your fault, soonyoung. you already did more than enough to make sure i didn’t hit the ground face first”, you say and he exhales slowly, his grip on your legs tightening just a bit. “still. i’d rather be the one getting hurt than you”.

the two of you continue down the sidewalk and his steps are careful and steady. despite your protests earlier, you find that being carried by soonyoung like this is… nice. it doesn’t feel weird or odd, but it feels right for some reason, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. soonyoung's grip on your legs is secure and his warmth seeps through his shirt into you. every so often you can feel the slight shift of his muscles as he adjusts his hold, making sure you’re comfortable. the steady rhythm of his breathing mixes with the distant hum of the evening air, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget about the dull throbbing in your ankle. you glance up and realize your house is just a few minutes away and guilt creeps in at the thought of him carrying you all this way. “are you sure you don’t need a break?” you ask hesitantly. “i think i can walk from here”, you add.

he doesn’t even slow down as he replies. “i’m good,” he says, as if carrying you for the past several blocks was nothing. but you don’t miss the way his shoulders subtly flex or  the way he exhales just a little harder than before. you frown, guilt pressing harder against your chest.

“soonyoung,” you say softly. “i’ll just walk. it’s really fine. i don’t want to burden you”.

he scoffs, adjusting his grip on your legs as if to prove his point. “burden? are you serious?” he asks, glancing back at you with a look. “well yeah, aren’t you tired?”, you ask and he stops walking. then,with zero warning, he spins you around on his back, making you yelp and you tighten your hold around his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his sides out of instinct, your arms tightening around his neck.

“soonyoung!” you screech, your voice caught between shock and laughter. his grip is secure despite the sudden movement. “if i was tired, do you think i could i do that?” he challenges playfully and you huff, smacking his shoulder as he starts to walk again.

“what the hell? i’m telling jihyo about this”, you say and soonyoung freezes mid step. 

“wait, what?”, he asks, his tone faltering and your smirk widens. got him. “oh, you heard me”, you say as he slowly starts walking again, but there’s a slight panic in his voice now. “you wouldn’t”, he tells.

“oh, you know,” you say innocently, tilting your head. “how would she feel knowing her little brother just threw me around like a sack of rice? or what would she say about how you almost dropped me in the middle of the street?”, you tell with a dramatic sigh.

“i did not throw you!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched. “and i definitely didn’t drop you!”, he defends as he starts walking again faster this time like he was on a mission to prove something. “you wouldn’t”, he says and you smirk, having fun teasing him.

“oh, i definitely would”, you say. “yn, you can’t be serious”, he asks.

“i am dead serious”, you say and he groans like his soul is physically leaving his body. “do you want me to die? because that’s what’s gonna happen if she finds out”, he says with a small whine. you can’t take it anymore and you burst out laughing, shaking slightly as you cling onto him. “oh my god, you’re so dramatic”, you say as you giggle and you lift your hand to ruffle his hair, your fingers slipping easily through the soft strands. “you’re such an idiot,” you say, your voice fond despite your words. he stiffens for half a second—so brief you almost don’t catch it—before he exhales sharply. he mumbles something, ducking his head slightly, but making no move to stop you.

“I’m just pulling your leg,” you say finally, your voice light and teasing. you’re still smiling as you drop your hand back to your side, and he hums in response, low and soft. he doesn’t say anything else, but the faint smile on his face remains. your house finally comes into view, and you’re suddenly hit with the realization that in just a few minutes, he’ll set you down and this whole thing—this stupid, sweet, ridiculous moment will just be a memory—and somehow you almost don’t want it to end.

soonyoung carries you up to the front steps, pausing in front of the building. “home sweet home,” he says and you blink, snapping back to reality. soonyoung carefully kneels so you can slide off his back, his hands lingering on your arm to make sure you’re steady. but the moment your foot touches the ground, a sharp sting shoots up your leg, and you wince.

soonyoung’s hand tightens on your arm as he turns around. “don’t put weight on it yet,” he says, his brows knitting together in concern. “are you okay?” , he asks and you sigh, shifting your weight to your other leg. “yeah, i guess it’s just sore”, you say and his frown deepens. “make sure to put some ice on it”, he says and you nod.

“i’ll be fine after some rest”, you say and soonyoung still looks worried. he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “again i’m so sorry”, he says.

“i swear if you apologize one more time, i’m really going to tell jihyo”, you threaten and he gives you a look. “okay okay”, he grumbles, looking at you before he takes a step back. “just remember to ice it”, he says again as he walks backwards and you nod, waving at him before you unlock your door and hobble inside. soonyoung texts you later that evening. 

soonyoung [9:37 PM]: did you ice your leg???

you  [9:38 PM]: oops, i will do that now.

soonyoung [9:40 PM]: yn 🤨 please ice it and rest your leg! (p.s please don’t tell jihyo)

the office is abuzz with talk and energy, since it was your co-worker’s wedding this weekend. “yn you’re bringing your boyfriend to the wedding right”, mina asks, nudging you lightly and you give her a knowing look.

“yes yes, i will”, you say and they all seem to cheer. “he’s so cute, what does he do by the way?”, one of them asks, and all of them seem to turn their attention to you, interested in your boyfriend, well fake boyfriend. 

“he’s a dancer”, you say and they all gasp collectively, not expecting that answer. “that’s so cool!”, one of them says. “he works at a dance studio downtown”, you add, feeling a little proud. 

“he’s so much better than jaehyun”, mina says and at the mention of jaehyun, the atmosphere shifts. it’s subtle—just a slight pause in conversation, a flicker of exchanged glances—but you can feel it. mina presses her lips together, like she’s debating whether to say more, before finally sighing.

“speaking of jaehyun…my fiancé invited him,” she says carefully. “apparently, they’re close business friends so…” mina trails off, watching you closely for your reaction. the thought of seeing jaehyun again makes your stomach flip and you gulp. 

“it’s fine, i’m over him anyway”, you say, shrugging, trying to act like this piece of information didn’t really bother you. mina doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it and one of the girls quickly changes the subject, plucking the invitation from mina’s hand.

“okay, but can we talk about the most important part of the wedding?” she asks dramatically and mina’s eyes light up. “the slow dance?”, she asks and the group bursts into exciting chatter and mina nods with a smile on her face. “it’s going to be a huge part of the reception! after the first dance, everyone joins in, so no one is getting out of it,” she says.

“that sounds so romantic,” one of the girls says, sighing dreamily. “it is,” mina agrees. “but you know what i’m most excited for?” she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “seeing yn’s boyfriend on the dance floor”, mina says and you look at her, eyes widening.

“oh my god yes, he’s literally a dancer so he’s gonna make everyone else look so amateur”, one of them says, and they all laugh. “wait, wait,” another friend chimes in, grinning at you. “you’re gonna slow dance with him, right?”

you open your mouth, ready to argue, but the group seems to gasp at the same time. “oh my god,” mina gasps. “what if he dips you? or does one of those fancy spins? yn you guys have to dance together, you have no choice”, mina declares and you internally groan, covering you face in embarrassment. “yes you guys have to dance!”, the others echo in and you can only hide your face even more. you had zero dancing skills so you were very likely to make an embarrassment out of yourself on the dance floor, and knowing mina, she was going to make you dance no matter what. 

on your way home, you decide to take a detour and drop by the dance studio soonyoung works at. you were hoping he’d be there because you weren’t sure if he was working today or not. you manage to find it pretty easily and walk inside. you look around like you’re lost and you glance around at the place. 

“can i help you?”, someone asks, walking towards you. “oh, i’m looking for soonyoung”, you say. “oh, did you have a class scheduled with him? i think he’s done for today”, they say, but you shake your head.

“oh no, i’m just here to see him, i’m his girlfriend”, you say, the words coming out naturally before you can catch yourself and they nod, telling you to follow them. you nod in thanks, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest as you walk down the quiet corridor. your footsteps echo slightly against the polished floor, and with each step, a new thought rushes through your mind. should i have said that? does it even matter? why am i nervous?

when you finally reach the last door, they let you know that he’s inside and you could go in before they turn around and walk back to the front. you hesitate as you stand in front of the door, your fingers hovering over the handle. but then you notice that it’s slightly ajar, and without thinking, you push it open just a fraction more. your eyes immediately land on soonyoung. he’s in the center of the room, his reflection mirrored back at you from all angles. he’s practicing something intricate, his footwork light and sharp and you pause, watching him for a moment. he’s completely focused and you take a slow, deep breath, steadying yourself before gently knocking on the door. the sound breaks through the room and soonyoung hears it immediately, his movements slowing but never fully stopping. "come in," he says, but he doesn’t glance up yet.

you step forward cautiously and close the door behind you. when soonyoung finally looks up, his eyes widen slightly in surprise as he looks at you from the reflection in the mirror. “yn?”, he says, his voice carrying a note of surprise as he turns to get a better look at you as you walk closer to him.

you shift awkwardly under his gaze, suddenly hyper aware of everything in the room. you clear your throat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "uh, hey," you say, voice coming out a little breathy. “what are you doing here?”, he asks, a little confused but happy to see you. “i mean not that you can’t come here, i just didn’t expect to see you here”, he says, his fingers starting to fidget with the hem of his shirt nervously before he crosses his arms across his chest.

“i just i’d drop by, you’re always asking me to come visit”, you say softly, looking around the huge room, taking in the mirrored walls, the polished wooden floor, and the faint hum of music still lingering in the air. soonyoung stands near the wall, his posture relaxed yet impossibly striking. he’s wearing a white sleeveless tank top, the fabric clinging just enough to highlight his toned shoulders and chest. and with the way his arms are crossed against his chest, it only seems to highlight and show off the defined curve of his biceps and toned arms, which are on full display. a simple silver chain rests against his collarbone, catching the light and you gulp before you tear your gaze away.

“i wasn’t sure if you’d actually be here,” you add after a moment, trying to sound cool. “well, here i am”, soonyoung says, his voice smooth and teasing. when you glance back at him, he’s watching you with a raised brow, “ i didn’t expect you to catch me mid practice though”, he continues, pushing off the wall and taking a few slow steps toward you. “but i’m glad you came”, he says, his tone sweet.

his words are light, but there’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, warm, almost appreciative, that makes your stomach flutter. you clear your throat, willing yourself to focus on literally anything else, but your eyes betray you again, trailing down to his arms and the way his shoulders shift as he moves closer. the tank top he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to help your situation, and you silently curse him for looking this good.

“i guess i thought i’d surprise you,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now. “plus the wedding is this weekend, so i thought i’d just drop by”, you say as you fish into your bag for the invitation, handing it to soonyoung. 

“can i ask you something?”, you ask after you give him a moment to go over the invitation and he looks up at you. “sure”, he says but you hesitate, the words dying on your tongue. “never mind, it’s stupid”, you say, brushing it off, but soonyoung doesn’t let you brush it off.

“what is it?”, he asks again and you stare at him for a second, your eyes darting to the side of the room before you speak.

"um...do you know…how to slow dance?", you ask softly and soonyoung tilts his head slightly before he nods. "yeah i do, why?" he asks curiously.

you cross your arm over your chest. "you know mina’s wedding? the one we’re going to, apparently slow dancing is part of it, and since we’re fake dating, people are gonna expect us to dance together. i just don’t wanna make a fool of myself if we actually end up dancing”, you try to explain and you watch as soonyoung puts down the invitation on the floor near his bottle before he stands back up. 

“so you want me to teach you?", he asks and you nod shyly as heat rises to your cheeks. "only if you actually know how," you shoot back, looking at him. soonyoung lets out a mock offended gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "excuse me? i’m a dancer, so of course i know how to slow dance”, he says and his eyes hold a little amusement in them as he takes a small step closer.

“i can teach you”, he offers and you feel so shy all of a sudden. you shrug, “if you’re willing to then i guess fine”, you say and he laughs softly, his voice dipping lower as he extends a hand toward you. he pauses just a fraction of a second before speaking again. “can i?”, he asks, holding his hand out, as if giving you space to make a decision. this was the same boy who was nervous about holding your hand for the first time and now he is asking you if he could hold yours.

“i promise i won’t step on your toes”, he says, to lighten the mood, but there’s something almost vulnerable about the question, the way he’s careful, like he’s waiting for your permission to do more than just teach you how to move. you shrug your bag off your shoulder and put it to the side. then you reach out for soonyoung’s hand, your fingers curling around his fingers. the air around you feels charged with something subtle and his smile deepens slightly. there’s a glint of reassurance in his eyes, in the look he gives you that makes your heart stir. 

your breath stutters as soonyoung pulls you in, his fingers warm and steady around yours. he doesn’t hesitate, like this is the most natural thing in the world. "okay," he murmurs, his voice softer now, melting into something calmer, something almost intimate. "let’s start with the basics”, soonyoung says again, his voice turning quieter. he gently tugs you forward, positioning your feet. “for a basic slow dance, you want to keep close, but not too close, because you don’t want to crowd your partner’s space,” he explains. 

you swallow, suddenly hyper aware of everything—his hand in yours, the slight distance between your bodies, the way his gaze flickers down to meet yours. and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re more nervous about the dance, or the fact that soonyoung is so close to you. you try to take a small step back, in an attempt to create some distance between you both but he gently tugs you back in. “i’m not going to bite”, he jokes, looking at you, probably sensing your nervous energy and you let out a small nervous laugh. “okay okay”, you say and watch as soonyoung shifts his other hand, reaching out but stopping mid air. 

“can i?”, he asks again and you nod before soonyoung shifts his hold, guiding your hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder while his other hand settles just above your waist. “first we’ll start with the basic steps”, he says, his voice quiet but firm. “left foot forward, like this”, he says and demonstrates, stepping forward with his left foot. you mimic the motion, lifting your left foot and bringing it forward just as he did and soonyoung watches you intently, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, but there’s no judgment, only quiet encouragement. he takes a small step backward, gently pulling you along with him. 

“perfect,” he says, his voice smooth and soft, a proud smile curling on his lips. “now, bring your right foot to meet it, just like that and step together. but take it nice and easy, there’s no rush”, he guides. his touch is light, hovering near your waist to ensure you’re in position. “feel the weight shift between your feet as you move” he continues, his voice gentle. “it’s about connecting with the rhythm, letting your body move as one”, he instructs. 

you try to focus on matching his steps, but your mind is a little too occupied with the fact that his hand is resting on your waist and you can feel the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric of your blouse. you fumble on the next step, accidentally stepping on his toes. "shit i’m sorry”, you say, glancing up at him but he doesn't seem to mind. "relax," he says, giving you a small smile, like he expected this.

"you’re thinking too much”, he adds and you scowl at him. “easy for you to say since you’re the expert here”, you counter and his smile only seems to deepen at your words.

you restart the movements and you step out with your right foot this time. soonyoung mirrors you, guiding you slowly through the motion. his hand rests lightly against your lower back, adjusting your posture, his touch both firm and reassuring. “good, now we’ll step back. first left foot and then the right foot to meet it”, he says and soonyoung’s hand never leaves your back, always guiding you with gentle pressure as you step and move together.  

“you want to move your body with your feet, don’t just focus on your feet—your body needs to follow too. it’s about fluidity, like we’re moving together as one”, he says, instructing you throughout. you think it’s kind of hot how much knowledge he has about this, especially with the way he was teaching you. you move through the sequence again, a little more fluid this time, the steps coming more naturally. soonyong notices the shift, his eyes lighting up. “there you go, you’re getting it”, he says with a smile.

for the next few minutes, you both move in sync, each step a little smoother, a little more confident. soonyoung’s hands are always gentle on your body, but they’re never hesitant as he guides you through each movement with a patience that makes you feel like nothing else matters in this moment. as you both continue to move, the music in the background fades into a soft hum, and the only sound is the rhythm of your movements, the gentle pull of his hands, and the careful way in which he holds you.

"okay, now just follow my lead, do you trust me?”, he asks, breaking the silence and you hesitate for half a second before you nod, not sure what he meant. 

"good," he says, and then without warning, he starts moving again, this time but slightly faster. you gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet, but his hold tightens just enough to steady you.

"soonyoung!”, you say and he laughs. "you said you trusted me," he says, his tone way too smug. "well i take it back," you grumble out, but you follow his steps anyway, trying your best to match his pace. and to your surprise, after a few beats, it actually starts to feel easier, almost natural. the push and pull of movement, the way his steps guide yours without hesitation. he’s a natural at this and eventually your body starts to just follow.

soonyoung’s smile widens as he pulls you in a little closer, his fingers gently curling around yours, guiding you into another step. the moment is easy, light, almost playful, but there’s still that underlying warmth between you both. “see?” he murmurs again, his voice lower now, closer to your ear. “you’re doing fine. i knew you had it in you”, he says, his hand lightly resting on your waist as his thumb traces small circles on your back and you can’t help but feel a small shiver run through your spine at the action. his gaze is so soft, so assured as you glance up at him and he tilts his head, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“do you want me to dip you?”, he asks and your eyes widen in horror. “no, thank you”, you say quickly, giving him a look and he feigns mock offense. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “what? you don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice teasing and you shoot him a look. “i don’t want you to drop me”, you say and he chuckles, his hand still firm on your waist, but the sound of his laughter is deep and warm. 

“you really don’t have faith in me huh?”, he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but there’s a softness in them too. “yup, zero faith in you, considering you almost dropped me on the road when you carried me on your back that day”, you tease and he rolls his eyes. “i mean, i’m not exactly the most graceful person”, you add after a moment and he hums in response. he doesn’t push you or he doesn’t try to convince you, but his gaze holds a quiet promise.

“but i’ve got you, alright?”, he says after a moment. “i promise that if i dip you, i won’t drop you, so you’re in safe hands”, he says with an encouraging smile and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest at his words, the way he says it with such confidence, with such certainty.

“i appreciate the offer, but i think i’ll stick to just the basics for now”, you say and he nods. “alright, alright, we’ll stick to the basics,” he says, still grinning, but there’s a softness to his smile now. “but just so you know, i could dip you and make it look effortless”, he adds and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. there’s an undeniable warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being so sure of himself, of you. 

you shrug, pretending to be unimpressed, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “i’m sure you could,” you say, still a little unsure, but more than willing to believe in him now. “maybe one day”, you say and soonyoung’s smile softens at your words. he nods with a kind of understanding that makes you feel like he’s not just teaching you to dance, but he’s teaching you how to trust him. “whenever you’re ready,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “there’s no rush, we’ll get there when we get there”, he says quietly. 

you don’t even realize how close the two of you have gotten. his hand is still warm against your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against your lower back, like he’s making sure you don’t pull away too soon. his breath fans against your cheek, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you. your heart starts to race, but it’s not from nerves anymore —it's from something else entirely, something unfamiliar and new. your breath hitches in your throat. the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip. his gaze is soft, but there’s also something deeper in his look, like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t seen you before and your eyes glance down at his lips for a split second before you look away.

and then the moment comes crashing down on you all at once—he warmth of his hand, the pressure of his hold on your waist, the slow rise and fall of his breath against your cheek, the way his fingers press into your lower back, grounding you, holding you there close, too close, it’s suddenly all too much. your heart is racing and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every single point of contact between you both, of the way his grip is steady, sure, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. you stop moving and soonyoung does too, his body stilling the moment he feels you freeze. his grip on you lingers for a second, his fingers squeezing softly against your waist like he’s waiting for you to say something.

“i should go,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips faster than you can process them. your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be, unsteady in a way that makes your own chest tighten. “it’s…it’s late”, you say. soonyoung doesn’t respond right away and his grip on you doesn’t tighten, but it doesn’t loosen either, he just holds you there for a beat longer, like he’s hesitating, like he’s not quite ready to break the moment. his fingers flex slightly, almost like he’s trying to memorize the feeling before he has to let it go. then, slowly—finally—his hands slip away, falling to his sides.

“oh.” his voice comes out, softer now, quieter than before and you nod too quickly, taking a step back, then another. “thanks for, um, for teaching me”, you say, swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry.

soonyoung watches you, his eyes unreadable for a moment. there’s something in his expression—something hesitant, like he wants to say something else, do something, but instead, he just offers you a small, lopsided smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“anytime,” he murmurs out, but there’s something else under his tone, something you can’t quite name. “i can drop you home”, he offers but you shake your head. “it’s fine, i got my car today”, you say and you give him one last wave before you turn around and walk out the door. you don’t turn around.

when soonyoung get’s home, it’s late and the apartment is quiet. he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs off his jacket, and kicks off his shoes and he walks into his room. he has a quick shower and crashes into bed. normally, this is the part of the night where he falls asleep, exhausted from the day, but tonight sleep feels impossible, because all he can think about is you.

soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he lays on bed. his body is heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refuses to slow down. his fingers still remember the warmth of your waist, the way you fit so perfectly against him, and how natural it felt to hold you close. he groans, dragging a hand down his face. 

this isn’t normal, he’s not normal right now. every time he closes his eyes, he sees you—sees the way your brows furrowed when you were concentrating on getting the steps right, or the way you bit your lip when you got nervous, or the way you fit so perfectly against him like you were meant to be there.

soonyoung turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling, frustration bubbling up in his chest. he’s never been good at reading between the lines, but this felt like something. he tries to close his eyes, willing himself to sleep before groaning into the air. it’s ridiculous really, how much this is getting to him. he’s never had trouble sleeping before. and maybe, just maybe, he’s overthinking it. maybe you really did just want to go home because it was late and maybe he’s reading too much into the way your eyes flickered to his lips for that split second before you looked away. but the ache in his chest tells him otherwise.

soonyoung sighs again, flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. this is so stupid. soonyoung doesn’t do this. he doesn’t lie awake at night thinking about slow dances and fleeting touches and what if’s, and yet, here he is. soonyoung’s chest feels tight, but not in a way that hurts. it’s just a feeling that’s… there. a strange, persistent weight that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how many times he tries to convince himself that he’s overthinking it. he’s never felt this way before, never been this restless, this frustrated over something so simple. 

but soonyoung does know this— the moment he held you in his arms, something shifted. he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t even know how to describe it, but he felt it. something about you makes everything feel different and it makes his heart race for no reason, makes his stomach twist with something unfamiliar.

sleep doesn’t come easy for soonyoung that night because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

that entire week is like a blur to you. you don’t contact soonyoung again, trying to occupy yourself in your work so that you don’t have to think about him. but you do, and  everytime you think about him you think about the way his hand felt against you, the warmth in his touch and gaze and your heart does a little flip and you’re convinced that something is wrong with you. it’s saturday evening now and the wedding is tomorrow evening, so you couldn't really avoid soonyoung any longer. you decide to text him, just to remind him that the wedding is happening tomorrow in case he had forgotten.

you [8:37 PM]: hey! just reminding you that the wedding is tomorrow evening.

soonyoung nearly jumps from his seat when he sees your notification, before he regains his composure and clears his throat. he’s quick to type out a response. 

soonyoung [8:40 PM]: yup 🫡

you [8:42 PM]: we’ll take my car so come to my place.

soonyoung [8:42 PM]: okay!

the next evening, your room is a mess, again. you finally decide on an outfit for the evening—a satin floor length dress in a soft, baby blue color. the dress is strapless, with a perfectly fitted bodice that cinches at the waist, hugging you perfectly in all the right places. the top of the dress has a subtle sweetheart neckline, offering a soft, feminine touch while maintaining an air of refinement, making it a perfect dress to wear to a wedding. there’s a small slit that runs along the side of the dress and it stops just above your knee. the hem of the dress trails just slightly on the floor. you turned toward the mirror, studying your reflection once more, running a hand through your hair. the soft waves cascade down your back and your fingers gently comb through it, giving them a little more volume and a little more definition. that’s when your doorbell rings. you freeze for a moment, a flutter of excitement rising in your chest. he’s here—soonyoung’s here.

you step toward the door, your heels clicking lightly against the floor with each step and you pause just before the door, taking another breath to steady yourself. you open it and soonyong stands in front of you, looking like he just stepped out of a dream himself. but you don’t give him time to talk, ushering him inside, saying you were almost ready and you walk back inside. he follows you and closes the door behind him before he calls out for you.

you turn around and look at him and he looks nervous for some reason. he digs into his jacket pocket and removes something—a brand new bottle of lip tint and another bottle of liquid lipstick. “i remembered how yours was over so i thought these might suit you”, he says shyly as he hands it to you. you smile at his gesture and take them both. the shades he had picked were really gorgeous and you immediately open the lipstick. soonyoung is quick to open his phone and turn on the front camera, letting you use it as a mirror, and you give him a small grateful smile as you apply the lipstick. you open the tube and apply the lipstick, using his phone a a mirror. soonyoung’s gaze lingers on your, and on your lips as he watches you apply the lipstick and his breath catches for a moment as his eyes wander over your body, taking in the sight of you, the way your lips pucker ever so lightly as you apply the lipstick and he bites his lip softly. he shakes away any irrational thoughts and clears his throat. 

“what do you think?”, you ask and he nods, like he’s happy with how it looks on you. “it looks great, it suits you really well”, he says, proud of his shade picking skills and you nod. “you’re right, i really love this shade”, you say and then you say something about getting your phone from the other room and go fetch it. it’s only when you step out of the room and glance at soonyoung that you take him in fully.

he is standing by your photo frames that are on the wall, looking at them with an inquisitive expression. he is wearing a sleek black suit that fits him perfectly. it clings perfectly to his frame and you can tell it’s been tailored with precision as it highlights the broad line of his shoulders and tapers down in clean, crisp angles. his black shirt is sleek and is a perfect match for the suit, its matte fabric contrasting the rich, glossy finish of his jacket. the silver chain he always wears is draped around his neck. his blonde hair, which is a striking shade of silver, falls in soft, tousled layers over his forehead and eyes, framing his face with a touch of wildness that contrasts his otherwise immaculate appearance. the longer strands at the back brush the collar of his jacket and his hair seems to be like a halo against the blackness of his attire.

you realise you’ve been staring too long and you shake your head, walking ahead, your heels clacking against the floor as you make your way towards soonyoung. and it’s only when you’re close by that you see the subtle makeup he’s done too. his eyes are lined softly and the faint smudge of kohl only adds to the depth to his gaze, making his already piercing stare seem impossibly intense. there’s a soft dusting of highlighter kissing the high points of his face—his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, giving his skin an ethereal glow. his lips are faintly tinted, carrying a natural flush that softens the sharpness of his features. you find yourself again lost in him until he clears his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“um, we should leave right”, you say, grabbing your handbag and stuffing your phone inside. you grab the car keys from the bowl and walk towards the door, signalling for soonyoung to head out so you could lock up. you lock the door and you both walk down towards your car when soonyoung walks over to the driver’s side. “let me drive tonight”, he says, holding out his hand for the keys.

“it’s okay, i can drive”, you say but he insists. “please, i want to, i don’t want your feet to hurt by driving in heels”, he says and you look down at your feet before glancing back up because he did have a point. 

“okay then”, you say, handing him the keys, your fingers lightly brushing against his as you drop the keys in his hand. you walk over to the passenger side, opening it and sitting down. soonyoung gets into the driver's side and he glances over at you, waiting for a moment as he looks at you, but you’re too busy digging for something in your bag to realise. so soonyong takes action and he leans forward, leaning towards you. you turn your head, confused, before you see his hand reaching out for the seatbelt and for a moment everything seems to slow down.before you can react, he's slowly pulling it across you, his arm brushing against your side as he secures the strap. the sudden closeness is unexpected, and your breath catches in your throat. he’s close and his eyes flicker up to yours as he buckles the seatbelt, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. "gotta be safe," he says, his voice warm but light, as if the moment was as ordinary as any other.

you blink, the sudden closeness making your cheeks flush. "right," you mutter out and the air between you both seems to crackle with something unspoken, something that wasn’t there before. soonyoung leans back into the seat, his eyes briefly meeting yours again before he turns the key in the ignition. the soft hum of the car engine fills the silence. the car pulls out of the driveway and soonyoung drives smoothly. there’s a subtle tension in the air between you both, but neither of you address it. soonyoung’s hands are steady on the wheel, his posture casual, but every so often, you catch him glancing at you, as if he’s trying to gauge your reaction, trying to decipher what you might be thinking.

as the car rolls up to the wedding venue, you’re pulled away from your thoughts by the sight of the grand building in front of you. the lights are bright, illuminating the entrance where guests are already gathering. soonyoung parks the car with a smooth turn, his hands steady on the wheel and you both glance at each other at the same time. 

“so...” soonyoung begins, glancing over at you, but his words trail off as he looks back at the venue. his hands stay on the wheel and he shifts in his seat. the reality of the night is here. you’re about to pretend to be a couple in front of all these people. a feeling of unease stirs in your stomach, but before you can overthink it, soonyoung speaks.

“ready?” he asks, his voice light. you nod, though there’s a small flutter of nerves that you can’t seem to quite shake off. “let’s do this”, you say and you both step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you approach the entrance. he glances over at you again and for a moment and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. you both walk toward the entrance, but soonyoung’s not sure what to do. his movements are slow, and he glances at you, his eyes searching for a sign—some kind of cue. should he offer his arm? should you take the lead? he almost seems out of place and you can’t help but smile at how genuine his confusion is. you both stop a few steps from the entrance, and he looks at you again, his hands shifting nervously at his sides.

“you know we’re supposed to look like a couple, right?”, you say, giving him a light teasing look. soonyoung blinks at you. “right, of course,” he says, but his voice still carries that light tone of uncertainty and suddenly, he’s nervous. there’s a moment of silence before you take a small step closer to him. you look at his hand and then back up at him. “maybe we could link arms?”, you ask and soonyoung pauses for just a moment, the question lingering in the air. his eyes flicker toward your hand, and without thinking, he offers it to you, his palm open and waiting.

there’s something so endearing about how awkward he seems, how genuinely unsure he is, despite being so confident in other areas. with a reassuring smile, you reach out and take his hand, your fingers brushing over his in a soft touch before you link your arm with his. “perfect,” you say. “now let’s go in”.

as you and soonyoung step into the venue, the soft murmur of voices fills the air, the clinking of glasses and gentle laughter of people bouncing off the walls. you walk side by side with soonyoung and the natural warmth of his hand in yours is comforting in a way. the two of you navigate through the crowd, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances you knew while soonyoung stands beside you, offering them friendly smiles. after a while the whole charade is a little more seamless now, the act of being a couple not feeling so foreign anymore. as you reach the main area where the newlyweds are standing, a few of your friends spot you from across the room.

“yn! over here”, one of them calls out and mina spots you too, smiling when she sees you. you walk towards them with a smile and you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you envelope mina in a hug, congratulating her. all your friends seem to coo over soonyoung, who offers them friendly smiles, and he congratulates mina and the groom too. 

you decide to go grab a drink and ask soonyoung if he wants one too, but he declines. you walk over to the bar counter and reach out for a glass of champagne when you hear someone call out your name. you turn around and your stomach drops at the sight of jaehyun—your ex.

“yn, hey”, he says, walking up to you and all you want to do is run away, but you don’t. “jaehyun, hi”, you say with a neutral tone. “it’s nice to see you”, he says after a moment and you only nod, because you clearly don’t reciprocate the same feeling. 

“are you here alone?”, jaehyun asks. “no, i’m here with my boyfriend”, you say as you glance over at soonyoung, who’s watching the both of you intently. you give him a small wave and soonyoung makes his way towards you. your hand instinctively wraps around his, and jaehyun glances down at where your hand is linked around soonyoung’s before he looks back up at you.

“this is my boyfriend, soonyoung”, you say. “this is jaehyun…a friend”, you say, leaving out the ex part because soonyoung didn’t need to know that right now.

you head back to the hall and the first dance commences between the bride and groom. you sit and watch with the others. mina and her husband take the center stage and dance and it’s so sweet. you smile as you look at mina and take a picture of them too, one for the books. then it ends and you can see mina calling everyone else to join. the soft melody of a love song drifts through the reception hall, wrapping around the slow moving couples already on the dance floor. you’re sitting at the edge of your seat, your fingers toying with the stem of your champagne glass, unsure if you wanted to join. your mind is busy thinking about jaehyun, and somehow, the sight of him seems to irritate you more than you thought. just at that moment, soonyoung’s shadow falls over you. “dance with me?”, he asks and you look up to see him standing in front of you. his one hand is outstretched, the other tucked casually in his pocket. his expression is easy and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes with the way he looks at you. 

“i’m not sure”, you say, trailing off, but then you glance up and see mina calling you over with a hopeful expression. she mouths a ‘please’ and you can’t seem to say no to that. “okay fine, just five minutes though”, you say standing up, puting down the glass of champagne and taking soonyoung’s hand. he holds your hand, his fingers curling around yours—warm, steady and reassuring. he gently leads you onto the dance floor and then his other hand comes up to rest on your waist, while the other holds your hand in his. you move your hands to rest on his shoulders as soonyoung slowly moves. but then you spot jaehyun at the side, looking at you and there’s something in the way he looks at you that sends your stomach twisting. you glance away, stiffening and you don’t even realise that you’ve stopped moving.

your muscles tense, and suddenly, you’re not really dancing anymore. and then you’re moving, but too fast, too rigid, completely out of rhythm with soonyoung. you step out with the wrong foot when you’re supposed to sway, rush when you’re supposed to follow and all your movements are erratic and clumsy, a stark contrast to the easy flow of the song.

soonyoung notices this instantly and his hold on your waist tightens a bit, just enough to anchor you back to him. his head tilts to the side slightly, concern flickering across his face as he watches you, his fingers brushing against your skin in a silent attempt to steady you. “hey,” he murmurs, his voice low. “what’s wrong?”, he asks and you blink up at him. you shake your head quickly. “nothing, i just—”, you trail off, the words falling flat.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but instead he shifts slightly, adjusting his movements as he gently guides you along with him this time. “be in the moment, breathe, listen to the music”, he says and you nod, but your body is still rigid, and soonyoung can feel it. you don’t want to admit that your mind is elsewhere, that your thoughts are tangled up in things you wish you could ignore. he can tell you’re distracted, that there’s something on your mind. but soonyoung is patient and he doesn’t press or doesn’t demand an explanation. he just watches you silently, his eyes searching yours before he speaks again.

“i’m going to dip you if you keep doing that”, he says and that makes you snap your head up to look at him. you narrow your eyes at him as you speak. “don’t you dare dip me kwon soonyoung”, you say and he chuckles at the mention of his full name.

“still don’t trust me huh”, he asks. “no”, you deadpan and he smiles softly. 

then leans in slightly, lowering his voice as he speaks. “well that’s too bad because if you keep dancing like a robot, i’m going to have to dip you, that’s the rules”, he says, making you furrow your brows.

“what rules? that’s not a thing”, you counter. “oh it is actually”, he says. “i wrote it myself and rule number one is if your dance partner is too stiff, you must dip them”, he tells proudly and you scoff. but then you notice the mischief in his eyes and the alarms start ringing in your head. “soonyoung, no, do not dip me”, you say.

“why not?”, he asks. “because!”, you lower your voice, glancing around. “we will become the center of attention at a wedding that is not ours”, you say and soonyoung blinks, and then slowly, that mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“oh, you’re right,” he repeats. “that would be so dramatic”, he says, holding your gaze as you glare at him. “exactly so no dipping”, you repeat.

“but then it would be really iconic you know”, he says, like he’s trying to convince you. “no”, you say, but a soft laugh escapes you at his antics. soonyoung smiles because that’s exactly what he wanted. his smile lingers as he watches you and he notices the way the tension in your shoulders slowly eases, the way your body starts to relax under his hold. he wanted you to relax and let go and now you’re moving much better now, there’s no rush anymore. soonyoung watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath evens out, the way your fingers rest more comfortably against his shoulders. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets the dance continue, letting you find your own pace. 

“we still could, though”, he says and you blink up at him. “could what?”, you ask. “steal the show”, he says, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “one big dramatic dip and the crowd would lose their minds”, he says and you groan softly, rolling your eyes at him, and then you laugh again when you picture it in your head and that’s enough for soonyoung. he grins. mission accomplished.

“no soonyoung, we are not going to steal the show, it’s not even our wedding”, you say, the words slipping out of your mouth casually, but soonyoung’s ears perk up for some reason. 

“so…you’re saying if this was our wedding you’d let me dip you?”, he asks, looking at you intently. his tone is playful but there's an underlying hint of curiosity in it. you shrug lightly. “i mean, hypothetically, if it was our wedding, then maybe”, you say and his heart seems to almost skip a beat at your words. his usual easy grin falters for just a heartbeat, just enough for you to notice the way his breath hitches and the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. you hold soonyoung’s gaze as they draw you in. you could kiss him you think and you gulp at the thought. 

the realization comes crashing down on you all over again, the weight of the moment making everything seem too much, too fast. you clear your throat, taking a step back, pulling yourself away from him and the intensity of his gaze. “i-i need to use the restroom,” you say quickly, suddenly needing to escape the unexpected tension. “okay,” he says softly, his hands dropping from your sides, but you can still feel the warmth of his touch. “i’ll be here when you get back”, he says and you nod before you step away from him and turn around, walking to the washroom, your heart still racing.

you stand in front of the washroom mirror and look at yourself. what was wrong with you? you could not be going around, thinking these kinds of thoughts about soonyoung. you shake your head, getting your thoughts back together before you exit the washroom. you are about to take a turn to head back to the dance floor where soonyoung is, when jaehyun comes walking through the corridor. you freeze for a second when you see him, but then continue walking, deciding to ignore him, but he stops you.

“yn”, he says and you hate it, hate the way he says your name, but you still turn around. he looks at you for a second before he speaks. “you look good tonight”, he says and you want to scoff, you want to roll your eyes but you don’t, keeping your face neutral. “thanks”, you mumble out.

“i’ve been thinking about you recently, so i’m sort of glad we bumped into each other here”, he says and you clench your jaw. you did not need to be hearing this right now. you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s talking to you like nothing happened between you both, or the fact that he’s so damn casual about it, and his words feel like a punch to the gut.

“listen jaehyun, i’m not—”, you start but he cuts you off. “can we talk perhaps? would you be willing to give me another chance, i just miss you so bad”, he says and you scoff at the audacity he had to be saying that.

“you miss me?”, you repeat, and you can’t hide the disbelief in your tone. “after everything you did you think you can just waltz back into my life, tell me that you miss me, and i’ll forget all the shit you put me through?”, you ask, trying not to get upset.

outside, soonyoung waits for you like a puppy in the wedding hall, sitting on the chair looking around, hoping to see you soon. but it’s been fifteen minutes now, almost twenty and you haven’t come back yet, and he’s starting to get worried. so he gets up and makes his way to the building on the other side, hoping to find you. 

jaehyun’s expression falters for a second, but he tries to close the distance between you, stepping forward. “yn please just—”, he starts off, but before he can reach you, you take a sharp step back.

“no, i’m not doing this,” you say firmly. you turn to walk away, your body tense, but jaehyun grabs your wrist, stopping you. his grip is firm, and for a second, you freeze, caught off guard.

“yn please,” he says again, almost pleading. “jaehyun let me go”, you say, but he doesn’t. “let go”, you repeat, trying to pull your hand away. “let’s just talk yn”, he says but you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

“she said to let her go”, you hear a third voice— soonyoung’s as he stalks forward, grabbing jaehyun’s hand and yanking his hand off you. he looks directly at jaehyun, his gaze steady and unwavering. jaehyun huffs and walks away, leaving you and soonyoung alone in the corridor.

soonyoung’s eyes flicker briefly to you, his eyes softening with concern and he immediately notices the way your hands are trembling, how your breathing is shallow. you look up at him, and that’s when you realize your eyes are wet with tears you're trying to hold back. soonyoung’s brows furrow in worry. “hey, are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm. you blink rapidly, trying to clear your head, trying to blink back the tears.

“i'm—i'm fine,” you whisper, though the words aren’t true and soonyoung knows it, but he doesn’t press you for details. soonyoung doesn't know what comes over him, but he reaches out for your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, as if he was trying to ground you back to reality. his touch is warm and you don’t want to let go.

“come on,” he says gently. “let’s go outside for a bit and get some fresh air yeah?”, he asks. you hesitate for a moment and you look at him, only to see nothing but quiet understanding in his gaze. there’s no judgment, it’s just him, waiting patiently, holding space for you. you nod slowly and soonyoung slowly leads you outside. his thumb moves in slow circles against your hand, in an unconscious attempt to soothe you as he walks with you outside to the quiet garden area behind the venue. you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you cross your arms over your chest and watch from a distance—watching everyone dancing, having fun, drinking and talking. you can hear the faint echo of the music and the faint chatter of people and the cool night air wraps around you as the sound of laughter and music fade into the background. a shiver runs through you and you rub your arms for warmth, though it does little to nothing against the cold night air. a moment later you feel something warm and soft being draped over your shoulders.

you glance down in surprise, fingers brushing over the fabric—soonyoung’s jacket. it’s oversized on you, the sleeves falling past your hands, but there’s the lingering warmth of his body heat still clinging to it. you blink up at him, and he shrugs, a small, lopsided smile playing at his lips. “this will keep you warm”, he says and you mumble out a small thanks before you look back ahead.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything right away and instead he watches you for a moment, taking in the way your shoulders are still tense, the way your jaw clenches ever so slightly, the way your breathes are just a little too controlled—like you’re trying to hold something in. soonyoung can tell that whatever happened back there was something more and you clearly didn’t want to talk about it. 

instead, he steps beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head up, looking at the sky. the stars are scattered across the dark sky, shimmering faintly. “you know,” he murmurs after a moment, “this is kinda nice”, he says. you blink, glancing at him. “what is?”, you ask and he nods towards the sky. “the stars, the quiet, just being here with you”.

something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. just being here with you. for some reason that makes your throat feel tight and you swallow, turning your gaze back to the stars. “yeah,” you murmur. “it is kinda nice”, you say before you feel the weight settle on your shoulders again. your fingers clutch onto his jacket as if you’re trying to ground yourself, but it’s not working and soonyoung notices it instantly. 

you take a step forward, not really thinking—just needing to move, but the soft grass catches onto your heel, tilting you off balance. you barely get a gasp out before you trip. but before you can even register what’s happening, a pair of strong hands grab your waist and soonyoung catches you, pulling you up against him with ease. your hands clutch onto his arms instinctively, “whoa—”, he huffs out. his voice is low, close to your ear. his grip on you doesn’t loosen, his hands staying on your waist, hot and unmoving, holding you close—closer than before—closer than you should be and your breath stutters. you’re pressed up against him, chest to chest, your noses barely a breath apart. it’s like he doesn’t even realize how close he’s holding you, how there’s barely any space left between the both of you. you can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air between you.

your gaze flickers up to meet his and the world seems to slow down at that moment, and neither of you move. soonyoung watches you carefully, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but the words never come. his gaze drops, just for a second to your lips and your heart skips a beat. soonyoung’s eye’s flicker back up and he holds your gaze, his fingers instinctively pressing into your sides before he finally loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go completely. he stills holds onto you, staying right where he is, holding you close. and then he speaks, his voice soft, careful, gentle. 

“do you wanna go home?”, he asks lowly and his breath is soft against your skin as he speaks. his nose brushes against yours ever so slightly as he speaks, just the faintest touch, but it’s enough to send sparks flying. you blink, surprised, because you weren’t expecting him to ask that. whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. he’s so so close and you gulp. you can barely form any words with how close he is, with the way he’s looking at you, with the way he’s holding you. you open your mouth to speak, but soonyoung beats you to it.

“it’s okay if you do,” he adds. “we don’t have to stay if you’re not comfortable”, he whispers and you swallow hard. “maybe going home would be good”, you manage to muster out softly, feeling like you were melting under his gaze with the intensity that he was looking at you with.

he slowly loosens his grip on your waist and eases his hands, his touch lingering just for a second longer before finally pulling back completely. you exhale, stepping back slightly, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment before they fall down by your sides. the cool night air rushes between you both and you look away. you don’t know why, but maybe it’s because this all feels too much—too raw, too intimate and too real. you try to distract yourself, so you smooth your hands over your dress, clearing your throat. soonyoung watches you carefully. “come on,” he finally says, his voice softer than before. “let’s get you home”.

when you reach home, you bid soonyoung goodbye, and you offer to drive him home, but he declines, saying he’d take a cab. you’re quick to peel off your heels when you enter and sigh in relief as you walk barefoot to your room. you toss your small hand bag on the bed and plop down, letting out another heavy sigh. you fall back down on the bed and you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about soonyoung. 

you can feel your heart pick up its pace at the thought of him and you groan. you think about how close he was, how his nose brushed against yours ever so slightly, and how if you had just leaned in slightly, you could have kissed him. you shake your head at the thought again and you seriously think there’s something terribly wrong with you. you could not be thinking about kissing your best friend's younger brother because that was just wrong. there’s no way you could be falling in love with soonyoung, right? somewhere along the line, you had started seeing him as a man, not just as your best friend's younger brother and the realization hits you hard, making you curse under your breath. this was just supposed to be casual, not real.

when soonyoung goes home later that night, he’s confused. he finds himself laying wide awake in bed again. his heart is racing, still, hours later, and he has no idea why. there’s a strange unfamiliar tug at his heart at the thought of you. he presses his palm flat against his chest, like that would help steady his beating heart, help him stop whatever this feeling was, but it doesn’t work. soonyoung frowns at the ceiling instead, frustrated. what the hell is wrong with him?

soonyoung doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling and it’s driving him crazy. he stirs and grabs his phone, opening the browser, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a second before he types the first thing that comes to mind.

“how do you know if you’re falling in love?”

the search results load instantly and soonyoung squints at the screen as he scrolls though them. his heart thuds uncomfortably as he skims through the first few answers in the article clicked on.

you think about them all the time.

you want to be around them constantly.

your heart races when you see them.

you feel nervous and excited around them at the same time.

you find yourself drawn to small details about them 

you miss them when they’re not around.

soonyoung’s stomach flips as he reads and he swallows hard. he scrolls faster, clicking on another link, his fingers trembling slightly as he types in a new searches, hoping to find some more answers within them.

what does love feel like?

why does my chest feel weird when i think about someone?

can you fall in love by accident?

what to do when you fall for your fake date?

he exhales sharply as he reads the through the articles and all the answers and he drops his phone onto his chest, rubbing a hand over his face. soonyoung’s heart is racing and his head is spinning. his emotions are tangled into a mess he can’t begin to unravel and he’s now he’s even more confused.

and the worst part is he knows, he now knows what this is, what this feeling is. soonyoung is falling for you, hard, and that was never part of the plan.

it’s been a week since the wedding, since soonyoung held you so close, since you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt in a while. you think you’re going crazy, that there’s some sort of bug that’s bitten you that’s making you think all these stupid thoughts. in all this, the one person who seems to be on your mind is jaehyun. fuck, ever since you saw him, the past, all the memories, the way he left you feeling all comes flooding back and you hate it. since it’s friday, the weekend, you decide to indulge yourself and decide to drown your sorrows down with alcohol. maybe if you drink enough, the ache in your chest will dull and all the thoughts will quiet down and you can forget—at least for a little while.

which is how you find yourself slumped at the bar, staring at the rim of your third bottle of soju. your fingers trace circles against the cool glass as you sit. the bar is dimly lit, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses buzzing around you, but you barely register any of it. the warmth of the alcohol spreads through your veins, making everything feel just a little slower, just a little heavier. your vision blurs slightly as you fumble for your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers and you squint at the screen, scrolling through your contacts.

you were meaning to call jihyo, you swear you were. but in your tipsy state, your finger presses on the contact just below hers instead—soonyoung's.

soonyoung is no doubt surprised when you call him, but he picks up nonetheless. “hello?”, he says, his voice filling you ear and you don’t even register that it’s not jihyo’s voice. you sit up, blinking lazily. “hi babe”, you say and there’s a beat of silence as soonyoung furrows his brows, wondering if he had actually heard you right. did you just call him babe?

“i’m at the bar we usually go to downtown,” you continue, your words slurred but carrying a familiar warmth, as if this were any normal conversation with jihyo. “and i’m so wasted right now, but i can’t stop thinking about stupid jaehyun”, you say and soonyoung sits up straighter, his fingers tightening around his phone. but you don’t even give him a chance to interrupt as you go on, the words tumbling out of you in your tipsy state.

“jihyo, wait…did i tell you what happened at the wedding?”, you ask and that’s when it clicks for him. you had meant to call jihyo, but you had called him instead. he thinks that he should probably interrupt and tell you that it’s not jihyo that you called, but he doesn’t, something stops him. maybe it’s the slight wobble in your voice, or the way you sounded so tired, but he keeps the phone to his ear, listening to you.

“it’s so stupid really, i don’t know why i’m–i’m wasting my time over him”, you slur out, the words coming out in a rush, softer, more vulnerable, and that’s when soonyoung realizes how drunk you actually are and his heart tugs with worry.

soonyoung knew which bar you were talking about because he’s gone there with jihyo and his friends before. he’s already getting up without hesitation, worried and you continue to speak. “he came up to me and—”, your voice cuts off, the call hanging up and soonyoung is confused. he pulls his phone down from his ear and calls you again, but you don’t pick up and it goes straight to voicemail. he calls again but the same thing happens and he realises your phone must have died.

“shit,” he mutters under his breath and now soonyoung is really worried. he doesn’t waste another second as he opens the door to his room, throwing on his jacket as he practically runs out the door, ignoring seungkwan yelling at him as to where he was running off to so late. his mind is racing, heart hammering in his chest as he speed runs toward the bar you mentioned. he just runs, trying to make his way to you as fast as possible. thankfully the bar was closeby, and if he ran, he could reach you in ten minutes. by the time he pulls up to the bar, his hands are trembling and his breathing is heavy from all the running. his chest is rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. the neon sign of the bar flickers above the entrance, casting a dull glow around him and his legs move on their own as he pushes the door open and steps inside. 

his eyes scan the dimly lit room, and the dull music that plays in the background fills his ears. he moves past tables and clusters of people, his heart pounding as his eyes try to find you—and then there you are. you’re sitting at the corner by the window, slumped forward, resting your chin on your hand, your elbow resting on the table as you stare into space. your fingers lazily trace circles on the table and three empty bottles of soju sit in front of you.

soonyoung lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees you and his legs automatically move on their own, making his way towards you. “yn” he says, his voice urgent and worried. “are you okay?”, he asks, looking at you. you blink slowly, lifting your head to look at him, your eyes hazy and unfocused, and for a second you just stare, like your brain is trying to process the fact that he’s here—that he’s in front of you.

“soonyoung?” you murmur, blinking again. your lips curve into a lazy, tipsy smile. “oh, hey! did jihyo send you?”, you ask and he only blinks at you. he sighs again. “you’re okay,” he breathes, more to himself than anything.

his eyes sweep over you and take in the way you’re swaying slightly in your seat, the way your fingers fumble clumsily with your empty glass, the way your shoulders slump like the weight of the world is pressing down on them.

“what happened?” he asks, his voice softer now. “why didn’t you charge your phone? you scared the shit out of me”, he says and you pout slightly, looking at him, confused. “my phone died?”, you ask and soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, sighing again. “yeah, it did”, he answers.

you giggle lightly—like it’s funny—but soonyoung doesn’t laugh, because underneath the drunken haze, there’s something off about you. you’re not just tipsy, you’re sad.

soonyoung takes a seat beside you, because you were sitting at a table with two seats beside each other. he’s close but not too close, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours and he’s quiet, watching you carefully. and before you can stop yourself, the words start tumbling out. 

“it’s so stupid soonyoung”, you say, frowning.“i saw jaehyun at the wedding and it was like everything came rushing back to me, you know?”, you say, your tone carrying a hint of sadness in it. “i thought i was over him, i should be over him, but seeing him again, hearing him say he misses me like it meant something—”, your voice cracks and you let out a sharp humorless laugh. “like he didn’t leave me when i needed him the most”, you finish and exhale shakily, dropping your gaze. soonyoung doesn’t interrupt, he just listens to you.

“we dated for four years, and he just broke it off like it was nothing”, you say drily. “he broke up with me, dumped me actually, because he said i was boring, that i was no longer the same person he had fallen in love with. and it hurt, it hurt so bad. i spent so long thinking something was wrong with me, that i wasn’t enough for him. that maybe if i was more fun, if i could just change something about me, then maybe he would have still loved me, that he would have stayed”, you say, your voice shaking as you speak. 

the words hang in the air, heavy and soonyoung shifts beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for yours but isn’t sure if he should. “i just—i don’t know why i let it get to me,” you mumble, your voice quieter now. “it’s pathetic.”

“soonyoung,” you whisper his name after a moment, your voice small as you look at him, your eyes wet. “do you think i’m boring?”, you ask and his eyes widen slightly at your question, caught off guard. “what?”, he asks.

you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly, but it’s useless—the tears are already welling up and a shaky laugh escapes you. “maybe he was right, maybe i am boring”, you say and you sniff, willing yourself not to cry but it doesn’t work. your vision blurs and your shoulder shakes as a quiet sob slips out.

soonyoung’s chest tightens at the sight of you breaking down. “hey, no—” he says softly, shifting closer, his hand hesitating before he reaches for your face. he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear, but another one follows immediately after and his heart clenches.

“you’re not boring,” he says, his voice firm but still gentle. “not even close”.

his hand lingers on your cheek, warm and grounding, and when you finally look at him again, his gaze is so soft, it makes your breath catch because it’s so achingly tender. soonyoung watches as more tears slip down your cheeks and he wipes them away with his thumb. “don’t cry over him, he’s not worth it”, he murmurs, his voice low.

you sniffle, swallowing down another sob and his hand tilts your face up just a little more, his thumb tracing along the curve of your cheekbone. “you are enough, more than enough,” he says, like he needs you to believe them. “and if he couldn’t see that, then that’s his problem”, he finishes. you let out a shaky breath at his words, your lip trembling as another tear slips down and soonyoung catches it before it can fall too far, this thumb caressing your cheek gently. 

you take another shaky breath as you look at soonyoung, your voice barely a whisper as you speak. "i—i think i want to go home", you say and his face softens and without another word he nods in understanding “alright,” he says gently. “let’s get you home”. 

soonyoung helps you gather your belongings and holds onto your handbag before he stands up. he offers you his hand. you take and rise to your feet, your legs are still a little shaky. soonyoung notices this and immediately moves to support you. you don’t know what it is, but being close to him feels like the most natural thing in the world right now. he leads you out, supporting you as you walk. his hand on your lower back, his steps matching yours, making sure you’re steady as you reach the bus stop.

he bus ride is quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft flicker of streetlights outside the windows the only sounds. you sit beside him, a comfortable silence stretching between you. without thinking, you shift closer to him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort he offers. his arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders as you lean into him, his presence grounding you like nothing else. the slight bump of the bus makes you instinctively grip his shirt, your fingers curling onto the fabric as if it’s the only thing holding you together. soonyoung’s body stiffens at first, but then he relaxes, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he holds you. he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to. 

you’ve fallen asleep and soonyoung gently wakes you up when your stop is near. you stir awake and blink in confusion before you realise where you are. the bus slows to a stop, and as the doors open, soonyoung's hand instinctively intertwines into yours, guiding you off the bus. you feel a little unsteady, and the alcohol making your legs feel like jelly, still tipsy, and soonyoung immediately notices, his arm going around your waist to steady you.

“i’ve got you”, he murmurs, his voice soft as he helps you step down onto the sidewalk. he’s watching you closely, his gaze gentle but full of concern. “you okay?” he asks and you nod, though you’re still a little out of it. slowly, you take a step forward, and soonyoung stays right there, just close enough that you can lean onto him if you need to. you try to keep your balance, but with each step, you feel the world spinning just a little bit more, the alcohol still clouding your senses. soonyoung is quick to catch onto this and immediately shifts, now holding onto your waist with more purpose, his grip tightening just enough to make sure you don’t lose your footing. “it’s okay, i’m right here” he says softly again, his voice close to your ear. without realizing it, you find yourself leaning into him, your body instinctively trusting the comfort he provides. soonyoung walks beside you in quiet understanding as he leads you to your house, his steady pace matching yours and you can feel him subtly adjusting his steps to ensure you’re not struggling, walking with you slowly.

as you reach the door of your building, soonyoung helps you up the stairs, his hand never leaving your side. he’s so in tune with you, watching you closely for any sign that you might stumble. with each step, he remains right there, supporting you, not letting go. when you finally reach your door, soonyoung gives you a soft smile, one that’s full of care and warmth. "you’re home," he says quietly, still holding onto you.

“thank you soonyoung”, you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back. “call me if you need anything,” he says softly, his tone filled with unspoken understanding and you can tell that he genuinely cares. you nod again and he watches as you unlock the door and walk inside, making sure you get in safe before he leaves.

when soonyoung wakes up the next morning, he’s a mess and perhaps a little lovesick.  he can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop thinking about the way you clung onto him, the way you seemed to so naturally fit in his life. he gulps as he sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and thinking about how fucked he is. he was never supposed to fall for you, he was never supposed to catch feelings. he didn’t even know how it happened. this was all new to him and he was falling in love for the first time—with you.

he heads out of the room and walks to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy. he grabs a bowl and pours in some cereal and milk before he pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the dining table. soonyoung shovels the cereal in his mouth like a robot, his mind wandering, his thoughts a mess, his feelings in chaos. “did you break up or something, you look like you’re about to cry”, seungkwan cuts in, looking at the soonyoung who looked like there was a grey cloud looming over his head.

soonyoung only sighs as he shovels another spoonful of the already soggy cereal in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he speaks. “i screwed things up”, soonyoung says. In defeat. “did you guys fight or something? you know flowers are always the answer, rose specifically”, seungkwan adds.

“no we didn’t fight….i just…fuck….this whole thing is so confusing”, soonyoung says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “i think i’m in love”, soonyoung finally says and seungkwan looks at him like there’s something wrong with him. “you’re making a fuss because you think you’re in love with your girlfriend? are you drunk?”, he asks, giving soonyoung a look.

“but that wasn’t part of the plan!”, soonyoung almost yells, frustrated at seungkwan, and frustrated at himself mostly. he never in his wildest dreams thought that he would find himself in this situation, and yet here he is.

“what do you mean that was never part of the plan? were you guys not exclusive or something? was this a situationship kind of thing?”, seungkwan asks, confused, having no idea that soonyoung was only fake dating.

“ugh it’s complicated man”, soonyoung says before muttering something about how he needed to get ready for work and gets up, leaving the table, leaving seungkwan even more confused. soonyoung doesn’t know what to feel, doesn’t know what to think. so he does what he thinks is the easiest thing to do—he avoids you.

you wake up that morning and last night’s events come crashing down on you. you curse under your breath but your heart also flutters at the thought of soonyoung. you shake your head, hoping to get your thoughts back in order. no, you can’t be falling for soonyoung, you just can’t. so you decide to avoid him. the week goes by fairly easily, with you managing to not bump into him anywhere thankfully. but every once in a while, you find yourself thinking about him, thinking about the warmth of his touch, the softness in his gaze, the way his eyes would turn into little crescent moons when he laughed or smiled and your heart aches—because you miss him. 

when jihyo calls you to meet up with her at a cafe to catch up, you jump at the opportunity. you push the door open to the cafe, the scent of coffee and buttery pastries welcoming you. your eyes scan the room and you spot jihyo. you walk a few more steps inside, making your way to the table and that’s when you spot soonyoung there too, and you freeze. what the fuck. why was soonyoung here too? jihyo spots you and waves over to you and you break your trance and walk ahead. soonyoung seems to finally notice you too and his eyes widen in surprise before he looks away in a hurry.

“there’s my baby girl”, jihyo says as he pulls you into a hug and you smile, hugging her back. you pull away and glance at soonyoung, giving him a small wave to acknowledge his presence and he gives you a small “hi” before looking down at his hands in his lap. you sit down opposite them. “i brought soonie along since he said he was in the area, so i invited him too, i hope you don’t mind”, jihyo asks. “it’s fine”, you say, giving her a small smile, but you were dying on the inside. 

you glance at soonyoung and you catch him already staring at you and the both of you look away at the same time. soonyoung seems too busy arranging the tissues on the table. then jihyo tells soonyoung to go fetch the order and he glady gets up. he comes back a moment later with a tray of drinks— a iced latte for jihyo, an americano for himself and a hot green tea for you. you had also ordered two pastries, a strawberry cream cake and an almond croissant for soonyoung. 

“how was the wedding by the way?” jihyo asks casually, taking a sip of her iced latte and soonyoung nearly chokes on his drink. you freeze mid bite, your grip on the spoon faltering for a second and across the table jihyo raises an eyebrow at the both of you. soonyoung desperately coughs into his sleeve, trying to regain his composure.

jihyo frowns and reaches out, thumping soonyoung firmly on the back. “jeez, slow down man, the coffee isn’t going anywhere”,  jihyo says when he stops coughing and he clears his throat. 

you quickly look down, pretending to focus on your cake, your heart hammering in your chest. you and soonyoung haven’t really talked since the wedding, or since he dropped your drunk self home—not about that moment, not about how close you were, not about the feelings that were bubbling up and slowly simmering inside. instead, you both did what mature adults do—you both ignored it, completely.

“it was fine,” you say too quickly, shoving a piece of the cake in your mouth so you don’t have to talk anymore.

“yeah, it was totally fine, just normal wedding things”, soonyoung says and you glance at him, noticing how he looks equally uncomfortable and frazzled. jihyo’s eyes the both of you suspiciously. “just fine?”, she asks as she turns to soonyoung, nudging him. “you always go on about the food at weddings, and you didn’t dance? that’s like your entire personality, you live for wedding dance floors”, jihyo says to him. soonyoung, who had just reached for his fork, panics at the question and moves too fast, knocking the fork right off the table with a loud clang. 

soonyoung looks like his entire life is flashing before his eyes and he scrambles to pick up the fork. “nothing! that was nothing! i’m just clumsy”, he says and jihyo gives him a look, as she narrows her eyes at him. “uh-huh”, she says and then she turns to you. “you’re being suspiciously quiet”, she says as she looks at you and you try to stay calm.

“i’m just eating my cake,” you say, voice a little too high pitched. “nothing weird about eating cake”, you say, shoving another spoonful of the cake in your mouth. jihyo looks between the both of you, the gears turning in her brain. “you guys are being weird”, she declares. “we’re not being weird”, you say, taking a big sip of your tea. jihyo looks at you both again before she suddenly gasps, smacking the table so hard that soonyoung flinches. 

“oh my god”, she says. “you guys hooked up at the wedding, didn’t you?”, she completes and you mid sip, nearly spit out and choke on the hot tea and soonyoung makes an unintelligible sound of horror. “WHAT?!” you yelp at the same time soonyoung practically shouts, “NO”. 

“what the fuck jihyo, we did NOT hook up oh my god”, you groan out, covering you face in embarrassment. soonyoung just looks baffled, at a loss for words. “we didn’t do anything, stop being gross”, soonyoung whines, nudging jihyo, who looks between the both of you, clearly enjoying this.

“right”, she says and decides to leave it. she’d grill out about this later. you gulp down your tea and soonyoung chugs down his americano while jihyo sits back and watches this unfold, eyeing you both, while you try to act normal. 

later that week, soonyoung is a mess—a pathetic, sulking mess. he drags his feet wherever he goes, sighing dramatically at least twenty times a day. all his friends and colleagues at the dance studio notice this of course, because how could they not? he barely reacts to any teasing and barely fights back when seungkwan steals his food, so it’s bad. in an attempt to not feel like a heartbroken puppy, soonyoung does the only thing he knows how to do—he dances. he spends more time at the dance studio, dancing it out, trying to get his mind off things, his mind off you. but he can’t because you seem to have taken over his mind and heart. he groans and collapses onto the floor, breathing hard as he tries to catch his breath from exerting himself a little too much. no matter what he does, he just can’t get you off his mind.

after that week, you end up ghosting jihyo too, only because you didn’t know how to face her. how could you admit that you were falling for her younger brother? that would just be crazy and you’d sound insane, you couldn't do that. so, like a completely mature adult, you ghost her for almost two weeks before she puts two and two together and decides to turn up at your apartment. you don’t expect to see her, so when you open the door to her, your eyes widen in surprise. 

“jihyo, hey, what are you doing here?”, you ask, stepping aside and she gives you a knowing look. “do i need a reason to see my best friend?”, she says, stepping inside and you let her, because it’s not like you can shove her out. you turn around and walk inside, asking if she wants anything to drink or eat, but she just raids your fridge and pantry like she always did, and finds a pack of chips, opening it. you pray to the gods that she doesn’t bring up soonyoung, or the fact that you’ve been ignoring her, but you know she will— because she’s jihyo.

“so, care to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”, she asks finally and you take a big gulp of water instead, hoping to buy some time while she bores her eyes into you. you let out a nervous laugh. “what do you mean? i’m not avoiding you”, you say and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“right, so you haven’t been ignoring my calls or leaving all my texts on read on purpose?”, she asks and you nod. “i’ve just been really really really busy, work picked up, we got new clients and it’s just been really hectic”, you say. but you knew jihyo and you knew that she wasn’t buying this bullshit excuse you were giving her. 

“so you hooked up with soonyoung then”, she says and your eyes widen in horror again. “JIHYO NO, oh my god”, you groan. “why do you keep thinking that”, you ask, looking at her. “because if you don’t start spilling the beans and tell me what’s going on, i’m just going to believe that you and soonyoung hooked up”, she says as she chomps down on a chip. you scoff at her and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. one thing about jihyo was that she didn’t take bullshit from anyone—not even you. so you knew you had to come clean, otherwise she would quite literally haunt you about this.

“fuck”, you say under your breath looking down at the floor before you look back up. how were you even going to say this? 

“just don’t kill me”, you start off as jihyo looks at you, chomping down on another chip, waiting for you to continue. “i—i think i’m falling for soonyoung”, you finally say, the words finally out, hanging in the air between you both. you expect jihyo to gasp, to throw the bag of chips at you, to say that she wasn’t going to be your friend anymore, but she doesn’t. she only shrugs and nods. “yeah, that makes sense”, she says.

you blink at her, confused. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say about what i just confessed”, you ask and she shrugs her shoulders again.

“if you want my permission, then i approve, you guys are cute together anyway”, she says and you give her another confused look. you stare at her, utterly bewildered. “i—what—excuse me?””, you stutter out because whatever reaction you were hoping for, this wasn’t it at all.

“honestly, i already knew something was up between you guys.  the way soonyoung looks at you? the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching? soonyoung’s been acting so different lately, so anyone who knows him could tell. sso babe, this has been so obvious for weeks”, jihyo says and you jaw drops.

“and then you guys were acting so weird after i asked about the wedding”. “we were not,” you argue, but the heat creeping up your neck says otherwise and jihyo gives you another flat look. “you both nearly choked to death when i brought it up that day”, she says and you scowl. “that doesn’t mean anything”, you say and she scoffs. “oh please, anyone could tell that there’s something going on between you both”, she says and you feel heat creep up your cheeks at her words. there’s no way you both had been that obvious. 

“sooo… are you gonna do something about it?”, she asks a beat later and you look at her. “so you’d be okay if i date your brother?”, you ask and she nods. “yeah, like i said you guys are hella cute together, and soonie is like head over heels in love with you”, she casually says and your blush more. “stop it, he’s not head over heels in love with me, i don’t even know if he likes me back”, you counter but she just gives you a look.

“girl, trust me, that boy is in love”, she says, popping another chip in her mouth. “so i think you should tell him how you feel, because he’s been moping around like an idiot”, she adds and you perk up at the mention of that.

“what do you mean?”, you ask. “that stupid idiot is walking around sulking all day, acting heartbroken and it’s pissing me off. but it’s also his first time falling in love so i’m cutting him some slack, otherwise i would have knocked some sense into him long back”, she tells.

jihyo glances at the clock on the wall. “okay, i’ll take this as my cue to leave, i have to get to a meeting, but please go tell that boy how you feel before he evaporates off the face of the earth with the way he’s sulking”, she instructs, popping one last chip in her mouth and dusting her hands. she walks towards the door, slipping on her shoes. “and if you guys do hook up, please use protection”, she says and you gasp in horror, your soul nearly leaving your body.

“JIHYO!” you screech and she just cackles. “get out, get out”, you say, playfully shoving her out and she laughs. “what? i’m being serious, i’m not ready to be an aunt yet”, she adds, her eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“oh my god, shut the fuck up”, you say exasperated, but your face is burning and she laughs as she waves at you. “mhm, sure, sure, i’ll call you later”, she says before turning around and giving you a serious look. “just don’t break each other's hearts”, she says, giving you one last look before heading off.

hours later, you lay in bed thinking about what jihyo said and thinking about soonyoung. was he really moping around? there’s no way he actually liked you back that much…right? so you get up, throw on a jacket, grab your phone from the nightstand and make your way to him. the receptionist doesn’t even blink when you walk right in, seeming to recognise you and she only yells out which room number soonyoung is at. you stride forward like you’re on a mission, but as soon as you reach the door, you freeze for a moment. 

you reach for the door handle, just at the same time soonyoung pulls open the door from inside and it takes you by surprise. before you even have the time to react, a startled gasp leaves your lips and you find yourself stumbling forward—right into a solid, warm chest—right into soonyoung. you crash into him, your hands instinctively gripping his arms as you try to steady yourself, but the force of your fall sends him stumbling back a step. his hands fly to your waist, catching you before you can completely lose your balance, fingers pressing against your sides in a firm yet gentle grip.

“whoa—what the—”, soonyoung breathes out, his voice a little strained as his back hits the edge of the doorframe, but his arms stay wrapped around you, keeping you from toppling over entirely. you blink up at him and your face is just inches from his, close enough to see the way his lips part in surprise, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as his hands still hold onto you. “s-soonyoung,” you stammer out, trying to pull back, but his grip lingers for just a moment longer, as if his body reacts before his mind does. then, as if snapping out of a daze, he lets go quickly, clearing his throat. you take a step back, creating some distance between you both and your gaze flickers to the sides of the room before landing back on him, nervous.

“what are you doing here?”, he asks, thinking something might have happened with the way you practically fell on him moments ago. you blink up at him. “i—uh—came to talk to you”, you say and soonyoung blinks back at you. “you did?”, he asks, his voice soft, almost uncertain and you nod.

you take a step inside the room and soonyoung closes the door behind you. “yeah”, you say. the dance practice is room lit, the glow from the overhead lights brightening the room and polished wooden floors and mirrors. there are no chairs, just a wide open space.

“uh—sorry, there aren’t any chairs,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “but the floor’s not too bad, i sit here all the time”, he says and you can’t help but smile a little at that. “yeah, i figured”, you say. soonyoung smiles nervously and then gestures toward the corner of the room where his bag and water bottle are. “let’s sit?”, he asks and you follow him to the corner of the room. you both sit down and he sits beside you—not too close, but not too far either. the silence between you both stretches, thick with unsaid things. soonyoung fidgets with his fingers, tapping it restlessly against his knee. 

“hi”, he finally says softly, breaking the silence and looking at you, his eyes holding a tender gaze. you smile lighty. “hi”, you say, looking at him. “what did you want to talk about?”, he asks slowly after a moment, although he thinks he knows why you came. soonyoung is looking at you—uncertain, nervous, but hopeful. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating. you take a deep breath. “i…”,you start but pause and swallow, before speaking again.”i’ve been thinking about you…a lot”, you say and soonyoung stills. his fingers stop their nervous tapping on his knee and his posture straightens.

“me too”, he admits after a moment. “i… i don’t really know how to say this,” he says, letting out a small, breathy laugh. “i mean—i do know. i’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but now that you’re here, i just—i’m sorry if i messed things up between us and ruined the whole fake dating plan”, he says in a rush as he exhales sharply, shaking his head. his fingers fidget in his lap again, his knee bouncing slightly with the nervous energy around him. you open your mouth to say something but he speaks up again.

“but i think—”, he says, inhaling sharply. “i think i’m falling in love with you”, he confesses softly, the words coming out of his chest and now hanging delicately in the air between you both. he looks nervous and his eyes are filled with vulnerability and hope. the moment the words are out, he immediately looks away, his eyes flitting across the room like he’s searching for some sort of escape, his fingers tightening in his lap. he waits for you to say something, anything.

you swallow hard, feeling your heart hammering against your chest at his confession, the one he beat you to. “soonyoung” you whisper and his jaw clenches slightly with tension. “i know this probably isn’t what you expected and i understand if you don’t feel the same way. i just—” he lets out a breath, clenching his palms into fists on his lap. “i just couldn’t keep pretending, couldn't keep it in anymore”, he says and his voice is so genuine that it tugs at your heartstrings. 

“you didn’t mess anything up”, you say, and he furrows his brows slightly, like he’s not sure, like he’s not convinced. “i didn’t?”, he asks and you shake your head. 

“because i think i’m falling in love with you too”, you finally confess and his eyes widen in surprise as silence engulfs the both of you. soonyoung stares at you, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right. “wait,” he breathes out. “you— you do?”, he asks and a small, shy laugh escapes you as you nod. “yeah, i do”, you confirm and he blinks at you again. you can see the way a slow smile starts to spread across his face before he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. he turns his head away for a second, blushing fiercely, trying to collect himself. 

“i thought i was going crazy when i thinking about you all the time, wondering if you maybe felt the same way”, he says. you smile, a hint of warmth blooming in your chest. “you weren’t going crazy”, you assure and he shakes his head. “i mean, i actually was  kind of going crazy”, he admits with a small laugh and you laugh too.

the walk home feels surreal almost, as if neither of you can quite believe what just happened. the cool night air brushes against your skin and there’s a comfortable silence in the air, peaceful almost. you both can’t seem to stop smiling—especially soonyoung. he walks beside you with hands stuffed into his pockets at first, but every few moments, he glances over at you, his face flushing whenever your eyes meet. you can’t help but notice how much more nervous he seems now that things are real. it’s sweet and endearing, and it makes your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

his plucks his hands out of his pockets and they brush against yours as you walk together. you glance at him and he’s trying to keep his composure, his fingers brushing against yours again. so when you reach out and gently close your fingers around his, soonyoung’s eyes widen. he stops walking for a beat, like he’s processing the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his. he looks over at you and gives you a shy smile. it feels so natural, holding his hand, and there’s something about they way they fit together so perfectly that makes your heart swell. you give him a small smile and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, like he’s trying to make sure this is actually real.

when you reach your building, neither of you immediately lets go. you stand there for a moment, the quiet hanging between you both as you just enjoying the warmth of each other’s touch, of each other’s presence. you look up at him. “thanks for walking me home,” you say softly. soonyoung’s smile is sweet. “anytime,” he says, his voice just a little hushed, like he’s holding onto this moment just as tightly as you are.

you finally pull your hand away from his and look down at the ground before you look back up at him. “i guess i’ll see you later then”, you say and he nods. “yeah, okay”, he says, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. you take a few steps backwards and lift up your hand to give him a wave. “bye”, you say and he gives you a small wave too. you walk inside your building but after a few steps you halt. you think for a moment before you turn around and jog back outside and see soonyoung walking away, his back turned to you. 

“soonyoung wait!”, you call out and he turns around immediately, confused for a second as you run up to him. you stand in front of him, and with a sudden rush of courage you lean in, going on your tip-toes and you press a soft lingering kiss to his cheek. soonyoung freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. you pull back and glance at him. “goodnight”, you whisper and take a step back, seeing the tips of his ears turning red, caught completely off guard by your action and it’s like the world seems to pause.

after what feels like an eternity, he swallows and he stammers out a response. “g-goodnight”, he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with surprise. you give him one last shy smile before you turn, walking back to your building and before you step inside, you glance back at him one last time to find soonyong still standing there, dazed, watching you and he rubs the back of his neck nervously, like he was trying to ground himself, make sure what happened was real and you smile at how cute he is before finally slipping inside.

1 month later

the room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm, golden hue over everything in your apartment. you sit on the couch and notice soonyoung and how nervous he seemed to have suddenly gotten. he was restless for some reason and you were quick to notice it.

“you okay?”, you ask, your voice soft as you look at him. “yeah, just nervous i guess”, he says, his voice small. 

“nervous? why?”, you ask as you lean in closer to him, putting down the lego blocks with the half built flower on the table. soonyoung had gotten you one of those lego flowers to build, so you called him over to do it together. but soonyoung only shrugs at you, tearing his gaze away from you. you tilt your head, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “come on, what’s up?”, you ask as you look at him. this time, he doesn’t answer right away. his lips part as if he wants to say something, but he hesitates, his throat bobbing with an anxious swallow. when he finally looks at you, there’s something unspoken in his gaze.

“it’s stupid”, he says as you look at him, “i’m sure it’s not”, you assure.

“i…i really want to…”, he trails off, feeling the tips of his ears heat up and he looks away. “soonyoung”, you say, laughing softly at the way he was acting. 

“i just really want to kiss you but i don’t know how”, he says, almost too quickly that if you weren’t listening you wouldn't have caught it, but you hear every syllable.

for a moment, there’s silence between you both and the world narrows down to just you and him. you can see his nervous energy with the way his hands curl into his lap, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. you watch as his gaze flickers down to your lips before quickly darting away. a small smile tugs at your lips. “soonyoung,” you say softly, amused but undeniably endeared by him. you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “then how about i teach you?”, you say and he blinks at you.

you slide closer to him and your legs brush against his. you slowly shift so you’re straddling him, knees on either side of his waist as you settle on his lap. he freezes, caught off guard by the closeness. you place your hands on his shoulders, your touch light and delicate. "is this okay?" you ask, softly. he swallows, his throat tight and heart racing as he nods slowly, though his voice barely comes out. "yeah, it’s okay”.

you had dated before, so you knew what this moment was supposed to feel like—gentle, unhurried. but for him, this was all new. it was his first kiss, his first real kiss, with you.

you move your hands to cup his cheek, your thumb gently brushing along his jawline, tender and light. you don’t rush, you take your time. you lean in slowly, teasingly almost, your face just inches away from his and he waits patiently. you lean in more and his eyes flutter close, waiting in anticipation. your lips brush against and his breath catches.

you press your lips to his gently, as if you were testing the waters. his body goes still, the touch of your lips so soft and warm, but different. it was new, so new. there was so much happening in his chest, an overwhelming mix of excitement and nerves and something tender. you pull away slightly, just to make sure he was okay and his eyes flutter open. “relax baby”, you mutter softly, looking at him and he nods ever so slightly.

you lean in and kiss him again, pressing your lips to his, cupping his cheeks and you can feel him relax into you a bit this time. when he doesn’t pull away, you whisper against his lips, “now part your lips just a little”, and he does, his breath shaky as he follows your instructions. you tilt your head a little, deepening the kiss ever so slightly and his hand moves instinctively to your waist, pulling you in a little closer and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. your lips move slowly against his, but just as gentle. all that mattered in this moment was him and his first kiss with you. he kisses you back and you go slow, giving him time to adjust, letting him slowly take the lead as you let him find his own rhythm, letting him figure out what feels right. his hands rest on your waist, holding onto you and your hands move to rest on his shoulders. 

he kisses you back, clumsily at first like he was unsure, but slowly as if he was learning the movements of a dance, he becomes a little more confident. his lips follow yours and his one hand comes up to cup your cheek, pulling you into the kiss even more. your hands slide up into his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss even more. the kiss grows more intense, slower now, as if neither of you wants to pull away, and his lips move with more of a certainty now, matching the rhythm of yours.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, both of your breaths coming out in soft, uneven gasps and you watch the way his chest rises and falls as he catches his breath. his lips are plump and pink and slightly swollen from the kiss, his cheeks flushed, and there’s an unmistakable glow in his eyes.

“you’re a quick learner,” you say, your voice breathless from the intensity of the kiss and he gives you a shy, almost bashful smile, biting his lip as he looks at you. 

“i didn’t expect it to be like that” he trails off, his voice a little low and rough from the kiss, but there’s an undeniable softness in the way he says it.

“you mean good?” you tease, tilting your head slightly, a playful grin forming on your lips as you look at him, your arms resting on his shoulders, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

“i think i want to learn more,” he murmurs and you blink at him, the words sinking in, and once they do, you can’t help but laugh softly. soonyoung’s smile grows, his eyes twinkling with both a hint of mischief and something much deeper—something warm. he leans in, kissing you again but you giggle into the kiss and he can’t help but smile against your lips, the warmth of the moment sending a flutter through you.

“kwon soonyoung”, you say his name, your lips brushing against his and he hums in response, capturing your lips in another kiss before you pull away again. you look at him, your fingertips trailing up to his jaw, your thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. he watches you with that soft, adoring gaze, but there’s something playful lurking just beneath it. you catch it and you’re about to say something, but before you can get any words out, he moves.

with a quick, almost effortless motion, he flips you over on the couch. a surprised squeal escapes you, which is quickly replaced by laughter as you land on your back with a soft bounce against the couch. soonyoung grins down at you, his hands on either side of you, his body hovering just above yours. you huff, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “soons”, you start, looking up at him.

“yes?”, he says, his voice is teasing, his nose brushing against yours, his grin widening when you roll your eyes. his smile is so full of sunshine, of laughter, so infectious and so sincere, so full of everything bright and dizzying.

you sigh dramatically, letting your fingers trail up the back of his neck. “you have a lot learn”, you murmur and he hums, pressing another kiss to your jaw. “then teach me”, he whispers. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close and he lets out a quiet laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck. the two of you stay like that, tangled together, his body pressed against yours. his fingers absentmindedly trace little circles on your waist as he holds you. when he lifts his head and looks at you again, there’s something softer in his gaze, something deeper.

“what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper and a smile blooms on his face. “just thinking”, he says. 

“about what?”, you ask and his grin widens. “that i really really like you”, he says, and warmth blooms in your chest at his words. your smile softens. “good,” you whisper out. “because i really really like you too”.

and as he holds you there, you realize that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be—wrapped up in his warmth, his laugher. you think that maybe this, right here, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

END

EXTRA SCENE because i went a little insane over him

soonyoung is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits in the arrivals area to pick you up from the airport. his leg is bouncing with restless energy. three weeks. almost three whole weeks since he had last held you, kissed you and seen you. it was only supposed to be a one week trip. and that one week he would have survived. but there were delays and complications in the project you said—and one week turned into three.

he spots you walking out of the terminal, dragging your suitcase behind you, exhaustion evident in the way your shoulders are slumped, your eyes tired. he’s on his feet in an instant and he comes up to you. you don’t even get a chance to get a word out before his arms are wrapping around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. "you’re finally back," he murmurs into your neck. you let out a soft laugh against his shoulder. "i’m back”, you say as you hug him back.

soonyoung pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes scanning every inch of you as if making sure you were real. "three weeks baby, you almost killed me”, he says dramatically.

"sorry," you tease, smiling softly as your fingers brushed through his hair. "i barely survived without you," he mutters before grabbing your suitcase with one hand and lacing his fingers through yours with the other, pulling you toward the exit. the ride home is filled with him sneaking glances at you every five seconds, his hand still intertwined in yours, a soft grin playing on his lips whenever he catches you watching him back.

when he finally pulls into the driveway, he barely lets you step inside before his hands are on you again, like he couldn't bear to stay apart from you any longer. you enter your apartment and soonyoung trails behind you as he carries you suitcase, placing it to the side and you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, incredibly thirsty from the flight. 

“god, it’s good to be back”, you say as you chug down a glass of water and put it down on the counter. soonyoung stalks forward, his gaze sharp. “i got you something by the way, it’s in the suitcase and—”, you’re cut off by the way soonyoung walks forward, cupping your cheeks before his lips are on yours. your back hits the wall as he walks you backwards and pins you there, kissing you urgently, hungrily. his hands grip your waist, pressing you into the wall as if he is trying to make up for every second you’d been apart. you gasp softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer and his lips move against yours with desperation.

"soonyoung—" you try to speak between kisses, but he only hums in response, lips trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck.

"missed you so fucking much," he whispers against your skin, his voice low with need. "i’m never letting you leave for that long again," he murmurs against your lips. his hands tighten around your waist and your bag slips from your shoulder, forgotten on the floor as he captures your lips in another dizzying kiss. his hands slide under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare skin, warm and possessive. he grabs your waist, lifting you up effortlessly as your legs wrap around his torso. his lips move down to your jaw, finding that sensitive spot beneath your ear and you let out a soft gasp.

“fuck”, you whimper out softly as he moves, his grip firm as he walks the two of you toward the couch. the world tilts slightly as he sits down, settling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him now, your knees resting on the soft cushion. his hands find your waist again, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin, and when he looks at you, his gaze is dark. 

you smirk, tilting your head as your fingers comb through his hair. "what happened to the boy who was absolutely clueless about dating?", you tease, letting your hands slip under his hoodie. your fingers skim over his abs and torso, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. soonyoung groans softly, his grip on your waist tightening as his body melts into your touch, his head tilting back slightly as he recovers from the sensation. 

“i’m a quick learner”, he says after a moment, a small smirk playing on his lips and you chuckle before you lean in. “oh? is that so?" you murmur, your lips brushing against his but not kissing him yet. his lips chase yours, closing the distance as he kisses you again, slower this time—deeper. the way he kisses you is intoxicating—slow but full of purpose, like he’s savoring every second. your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands roam over your body, sliding up your back, down to your hips, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer until there isn’t any space between the both of you and the warmth of his body seeps into you. 

he pulls away, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls, his gaze locked onto you as he tilts his head back on the couch. soonyoung looks absolutely wrecked. his lips are pink, swollen, kiss bruised and slightly parted as he catches his breath. his usually sharp features are slightly softened by the dazed expression he wears, his pupils blown wide, his hair messy from where your fingers had tugged at it. his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if he’s debating if he can survive another kiss or if it might just be the end of him. 

then a slowly, a lazy, lopsided grin tugs at his lips—the kind of smirk that’s cocky, but still soft. "besides”, he says, voice low, "you’re the one who taught me everything”.

you chuckle at his words and your fingers ghost over his jaw before you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “i guess i’m a pretty good teacher then”, you say softly, tilting your head as you watch him and soonyoung huffs out a soft laugh, but his eyes never leave yours.

his hands tightens around your waist, like he’s deciding something, and he leans in again slowly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “the best”, he whispers against your lips, before kissing you breathless again.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852 @weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @gyubakeries @wheeboo @fxstpace @ylangelegy @lvlystars @kyeomyun @icyminghao @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq @imujings @alsktudy @d-i-y-a-n-a @binnielovie @fancypeacepersona @karynnonna @alyssa19123456 @diamonddaze01 @minhui896 @yoozuku @hyunyin @blue-jisungs @lockburn-castle

[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks. WC: 6,244 AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU GENRE: Smut RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper. A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!

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ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.

The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.

You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.

A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.

You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.

You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.

The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.

Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.

A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-

No. 

You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.

For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.

Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"

"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."

"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.

The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.

Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.

You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.

Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.

"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."

You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.

Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger. 

"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”

Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.

When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.

"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."

"I'm not afraid," you snap.

"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"

You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.

"Do your trick, jester," you growl.

Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."

Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.

"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."

You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.

"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."

You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.

"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.

"Hardly."

"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."

A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.

"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.

"You know nothing about me."

"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."

Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.

"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."

“Stop calling me that.”

"Nervous?"

You glare. "No."

His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."

The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.

The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus. 

"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."

You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.

As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.

"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"

"You see nothing, jester."

"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”

You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.

Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze. 

"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"

You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.

"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."

Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.

"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.

"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."

Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.

When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?

"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."

When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.

You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.

Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.

The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.

You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.

Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.

Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-

"Running away, Your Highness?"

You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.

"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."

You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.

"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."

"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”

His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."

The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.

"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.

"It's not?"

He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."

"You don't know anything about me."

He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

"I already proved that isn't true, love."

Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."

"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"

"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."

Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."

Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."

The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.

"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."

"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."

You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.

"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"

You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.

It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.

He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.

"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"

His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.

"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."

“I can’t.”

"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.

His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.

"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."

His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.

"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"

You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand. 

"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."

His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.

"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.

He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.

It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.

"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."

He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.

"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"

The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree. 

"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."

His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.

"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."

His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.

"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."

"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."

"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."

His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.

Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.

Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.

"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."

Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.

You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.

When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.

"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.

You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.

"No," you admit. "No regrets."

Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.

"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.

Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"

"The card trick. In the ballroom."

His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."

You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."

"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."

The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.

He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.

"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."

[sailorsoons]

Dark Gospel (c.hs)

PAIRING: Vernon x afab reader SUMMARY: After experiencing what you’re sure is a possession, you try to help Vernon get his old self back. Except - Vernon doesn’t want his old self back and you’re not sure you hate the new Vernon either.  WC: 12,779 AU: Supernatural, Thriller, It’s Complicated to Lovers GENRE: Smut, A Little Angst RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Under the cut A/N: This is the second half of Hello, Darling, despite me swearing I would not write a part II. It is Vernon and the new SVT teaser’s fault. I highly recommend reading the first part of this - I wouldn’t say it can’t be read as a standalone, but it makes more sense with the context of the first fic.  A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta-reading and calling Vernon Spooky Puppy approximately 15 times.

MASTERLIST | ASK | ▷NOW PLAYING: ASCENSIONISM BY SLEEP TOKEN | READ PREQUEL

WARNINGS: Light discussions of morality - Vernon has killed people and reader struggles with the fact that she doesn’t care more than she struggles with him having done that, a handful of silly rituals, lots of talk about spiritual possession, mentions of death, brief but nondescript mentions of violence, some philosophizing, me making a Protestant minister an asshole - sorry, this is not a read on Protestants, it just made sense for the plot, Vernon being a lil scary at times and pretty unsettling, Vernon is a little obsessive but specifically in a I Will Do Whatever You Want I’m A Scary Puppy way, explicit language, sexually explicit content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, a lot of spit and biting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, cum eating, multiple orgasms, light breath play/choking. Tbh these two are just… kind of obsessed with one another probably in what would eventually be co-dependant but is not represented here. Also, parts of this are definitely blasphemous like - during the smut scene there’s a lot of religious terms used for description etc. etc so if that bothers you, that’s there. I would classify both of these characters as morally grey, in the grand scheme of things.

WHO MADE YOU LIKE THIS?  WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? SYNAPSES SNAP BACK IN BLISSFUL ANGUISH TELL ME YOU MET ME IN PAST LIVES, PAST LIE PAST WHAT MIGHT BE EATING ME FROM THE INSIDE, DARLING

SALT BURNS YOUR NOSE. You grimace, realizing you’ve knocked over a candle, the grains of salt charring as the flame nearly goes out. You fix the candle, thankful that salt isn’t flammable. Had it been, the entire circle of salt would have gone up in flames, taking the dilapidated building and everyone inside.

Thankfully, there are only two people inside the building. The term people is a bit generous. You’re certainly human, all flesh and bone, mortal to the very soul. The man occupying the center of the circle, on the other hand, you’re not really sure about. 

You glance at Vernon. He’s staring at you the same way he always does, dark eyes like twin flames. He does that a lot now, watching you more intensely than you can ever recall in your years of friendship. You quickly avert your eyes, fighting the shiver that threatens to slither through you.

From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth twitch. Of course he notices the way he affects you. He notices everything about you - swears that he always has, but isn’t afraid to be more obvious now. You’re not sure the validity of that statement, but Vernon seems to enjoy the effect he has on you, and he’s not shy to tell you so.

For now, he keeps it to himself. You’re grateful, standing and walking the circle of salt to make sure it’s intact while you try not to think about all the other times you’ve salted around him. This is your fourth attempt this month, and though you know Vernon can’t cross the salt, it doesn’t seem to do anything else but serve as a messy - and expensive - sort of cage. 

Prior to that, your experience with salt and Vernon had been at his apartment that night a few weeks ago when the strange murders in your town had all started to make sense - it had been Vernon eliminating the town of its adulterers. Vernon has agreed to stop that for now, and though most people might not believe the recent college student turned serial killer, you do believe him.

The only thing Vernon seems unequivocally dedicated to these days is you and fulfilling your every demand. 

Which is how he ended up in a salt circle now for what must be the eighth ritual you have put him through in a matter of weeks.

Dusting your hands off, you observe your work. You’ve tried salt circles and candles a few times - it had been what you used the night of Vernon’s possession after all - but you’ve tweaked the ritual each time.

Each time is unsuccessful. 

Vernon watches you with hungry eyes, leaning back on his palms. His legs are crossed casually, entirely at ease. The only part of him that appears dialed in is his eyes, tracking your every movement, a predator tuned in to its prey. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning to your backpack on the floor. 

“Like what?”

“You know like what.”

“Like I want to taste you again?” Your stomach flips and your grip tightens on the notebook you pull from your bag. “Fine, I will try not to look at you like that. Proceed with your little ritual.”

“You agreed to it, you know?”

“Like I said.” He sighs, rolling his head back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “Your wish is my command. And it’s not going to work - I’m just me. Nothing to get rid of.”

“Well ‘just you’ can’t cross a line of salt, the lights flicker when you get mad, and you make dogs and cats go berzerk. So that can’t be true.”

“It’s my new salt allergy. Maybe it’s you the animals don’t like, hmm?” 

“Vernon.”

He’s grinning at you when you look at him, that ravenous gaze just as present on his face. “It’s a joke, Love. Feel free to laugh at your convenience.” 

Love. Not Lovecraft, like he used to call you, but something new and with weight to it, something intimate, said with a velvet purr that makes your hands sweat. Not darling like the spirit that had - and still might be - possessing him.

You think he is still possessing him, anway. Vernon insists that it’s just him with a new edge, forever changed by that night on Halloween. You cannot imagine it’s just Vernon and not the spirit of the murderer Thomas inside of him. Why else would Vernon have killed those people? Why else would he not be able to cross salt? Why else would strange things happen around him, like flickering lights and eerie feelings? 

The way he looks at you makes you want to implode. He watches you with a new sharpness now, desire written all over his face at all times. He’s looking at you like that now, gaze half-lidded and heady. You ignore him in favor of scanning your scrawled script on the paper, memorizing the words you’re supposed to chant. You nod and toss the journal back onto your bag, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before standing in front of the circle. 

Vernon cocks his head up to gaze at you. He looks beautiful like this, his long, silky lashes framing his dark eyes. His face is flickering in shadow from the candles, equal parts demon and angel. Again, you fight the urge to shiver. Instead, you begin walking clockwise, careful not to break the line of salt.

Voice wavering, you whisper, “By salt of earth and flame of will, I break your hold, I bind, I still.” 

A chill seeps into the room. You do shiver this time, not from Vernon watching you, but because of the drop in temperature. The kind that feels like breath on the back of your neck. Goosebumps break out on your arms as you go. Upon a complete rotation, you continue the chant but lean down to extinguish a candle each time you reach it, not daring to look at Vernon each time you bend down to blow on it gently. You swear the shadows stretch just a little longer every time the flame dies, curling like fingers at the edge of your vision.

When you reach the final candle, you risk a glance upward. You’re right in front of him, the orange light reflected in his glassy eyes. He gives you a small smirk, and looks at the candle, as though he’s daring you to blow it out. With a deep breath, you do, bathing the two of you in darkness. For a moment, it’s too quiet.

Moonlight filters through a dirty window on the other side of the room. It turns Vernon into an eerie shadow, nearly blue in the pale light. You hold your breath, watching him as he remains in the center of the salt, unmoving. His outline flickers faintly, like an old film reel catching on something sharp. You can sense he’s still watching you, unnaturally still but just as severe as always. Somewhere behind his eyes, something ancient stares back.

“Well?” You whisper, too afraid to raise your voice. “Are you feeling different?”

“I feel the same as I did early, which means I still want to eat you out. So not really.”

You deflate, sitting down abruptly on the ground. 

“Tough crowd. I thought that would excite you.” 

“Shut up, Vernon!” 

He obeys. As sharp-tongued and wicked of mind this new version of Vernon is, he listens to you. 

Usually.

Silence falls on you as you sit with your elbows propped on your knees, heels of your palms pressed into your eyes. The force of it makes colors explode behind squeezed shut lids. It feels like nothing is going to work, despite making your entire academic career into occult studies with the intention of applying it to understanding modern culture and shaping psychological theories and studies on human behavior. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve spent it going back through all your lessons thus far to take theory and make it applicable. To pilfer through all of your countless books, exams and papers on rituals, culture, and occult through the ages to find something that would work. To find something to explain why Vernon is both Vernon and Not Vernon - anything to convince you that you can reverse whatever this is. 

Do you want to? 

The voice comes to you unbidden, a tiny part of you doubting exactly what you’re doing here. 

Vernon’s voice is soft when he murmurs, “You’ll find something else to try.”

Your hands drop from your face and you stare at him. He looks like an ancient thing, sitting in the dark, but his face is so soft that you fight the urge to crawl over to him and into his lap. You know he would let you - would love if you gave in and did it. His every moment, every look, every word is borderline begging you to touch him, to close the distance between you, to have him again.

“Do you even want me to keep trying?” You ask, exasperated. 

He shrugs. “You want to keep trying.”

“What do you want, though?”

“You.”

Your fists close. Open. Close again. “Vernon.”

“You asked me what I wanted. The answer is the same, no matter how much it annoys you.” 

“Don’t you want me to solve this? Don’t you want me to find out what happened to you?”

His voice is low when he says, “I already told you, there’s nothing to solve. But if you want to keep trying, then I will. I don’t really care about the rest.” Silence falls between you once more. He sighs, shifting to stand. “Will you let me out of my cage?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to hurt anyone?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. Have I broken my promise?” 

He hasn’t. You know it, he knows it. The memory of his promise comes back to you as easily as if it were yesterday: you in his kitchen, chest heaving when you realized he couldn’t cross the salt line. Vernon, trying to lure you back toward him, voice soft. You, screaming that he had killed people, that he was a murderer and not your Vernon. 

Since then, he’s assured you if it bothers you that much, he won’t do it. That had, of course, been after he’d lectured you and vehemently assured you that they deserved it, the vitriol coming out of his mouth and the violence he used in his words enough to make you cower against his living room couch, knees tucked into your chest. 

That had made him shut up. He’d approached you carefully, hands out like you were going to run. And maybe you should have, but it was Vernon, and you love him, and you weren’t totally convinced any of it was real. So you let him coax you back to calm levels, his voice soft and sweet as he promised you he wouldn’t do anything without asking you. That he’d do whatever you wanted. 

He had promised, and he’s lived up to that so far, even if you can tell it chafes him to do so.

Standing, you kick the line of salt, breaking it. He gives you an appreciative hum, stepping through the gap and stretching his limbs. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt, the hem riding up to reveal a small flash of smooth stomach. You avert your eyes, shifting from foot-to-foot. 

“Hungry?” He asks. 

“I guess.” 

“Sal’s?”

You nod and follow him out of the room. You’d picked an abandoned house to do this in, hoping that if anything went wrong or you unleashed something worse, that at least it was just you and no one else for miles. 

Gravel crunches beneath your boots. Crickets chirp while a pale moon rises in the sky. Removed from the main town where your college lies, you can see the thousands of stars. You crane your neck upward to look at them, slowing your steps as your eyes trace all the familiar constellations: Orion the Hunter, Canis Major, Draco, Scorpius. 

Looking back down, you notice Vernon leaning against his car, watching you over the roof. He’s got that same burning gaze but a hint of a smile, refusing to look away until you’re sliding in the passenger seat and shutting the door. When he gets in, he pauses to look at you again.

“What?” You ask into the silence, staring straight ahead.

“You’re beautiful when you’re not afraid of me.”

You frown. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He hums and starts the car. “I wish that were true, Love.”

-

Music pulses loud enough to vibrate your ribs. You hate coming to clubs - especially shitty ones in college towns that don’t really have a bottle section but sort of do, with bottle girls who are all in your English classes and who pretend not to know you when they bring another bottle of champagne to your section.

Chan does not need another bottle of champagne. No one does, really. Vernon’s fraternity brothers are falling over themselves, coaxing girls into their laps to secure one to go home with for the night or sinking heavily into the booth, becoming one with the leather. 

One of the boys you don’t know crashes down into the seat next to you. You flinch and he flashes you an apologetic smile, his pupils blown and his goofy grin all you need to know that he’s fucked up. You scoot away from him a little, offering a cautious smile that you hope says I’m awkward don’t talk to me.

Even if he could read, he can’t read body language. He leans over and yells, “You know Chan?”

“Yes. Sort of friends.”

“Nice! We go waaaaaaay back.”

“Cool.”

“So, Sort Of friend. Are you sort of single?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to answer. It feels like the temperature plummets. One second, it’s just you and the nameless friend of Chan’s. The next, Vernon is crouching down on his knees in front of the dude, his eyes fathomless as he levels a stare at him. 

“She’s not available.”

“Woah dude. Chill.”

The air shifts. Vernon needs to say nothing more. Lights flash behind Vernon, painting him in violent colors of red and blue and pink. The shadows under his eyes are darker than ever and you feel a tingle go up your spine, though you’re not sure it’s explicitly fear.

When Vernon smiles, you’re reminded of something uncanny, like you’re looking into a void you shouldn’t be. That does scare you, but it scares the guy next to you more, who jumps to his feet and tries to bolt from the booth. He trips as he does, toppling over and slamming into the table in the middle, sending buckets of ice and bottles exploding in several directions.

Everyone jumps up, trying to avoid the carnage, screaming at the guy as he flails in his own destruction. Vernon slides into the seat next to you, back to normal. Nothing in his face indicates the malice that was there seconds ago, easing back into his quiet demeanor within seconds.

“What was that?” You hiss, though you don’t exactly mind. 

“That,” he emphasizes, giving you a meaningful look, “was me showing restraint like you’ve asked.”

“What, you were going to murder him?”

Vernon blinks and without missing a beat says, “Wanted to and was going to are different. I told you I would do whatever you wanted me to.” His face hardens. “I meant what I said.”

You lean back, entirely unsure what kind of creature you had dedicated to your every whim. 

-

Vernon is pounding on the door. He’s screaming, earth-shattering, heart-stopping screaming. His fists slam against the door with such force that it groans against its frame, hinges shrieking. You scream his name back, bloody fingers scraping against the splintered wood of the door, clawing at it, trying to tear it open, trying to get him out. 

The door doesn’t budge. There’s no doorknob. No keyhole. Just a dead piece of wood, locked and unmoving like it was never made to be opened. 

Vernon has never screamed like this, never sounded so afraid never- 

The door opens with a soft, sickening creak.

Vernon stands there, framed in the dark, unmoving. The shadows cling to him like they’ve grown fond of his shape. You can’t see his face clearly, only the light of his eyes, too still, too glossy. Your chest tightens as you watch him and he watches you, something ancient staring back.

“Vernon?” Your voice shakes. 

When he smiles, it’s slow. Too wide. Too many teeth. Rows and rows of them, glistening sharp, stretching too far. 

When he leaps, you scream-

You wake up screaming, thrashing your arms as your sheets tangle in your limbs. You finally get them off, falling out of your bed to your hands and knees as you gulp down fresh air. You scramble away from your bed, eager to get away from the claws of your dream, shivering and sweaty and terrified. 

In the middle of your room, you sit. You try to catch your breath, staring at the bed where your sheets and pillows have been thrown around during your nightmare. The only source of light in the room is through your window. The moon paints your room silver, the glass open to let in the almost-winter breeze.

On your nightstand, your phone begins to buzz. You stare at it, watching it flash on. You can’t see who's calling, but you don’t move, still frozen in fear. The call goes to voicemail and the phone turns off, dark once more. It’s only a second before it lights up again, a new call coming through.

Gulping, you crawl toward your nightstand, hesitant to come near your bed. Getting up on your knees, you see that it’s Vernon’s name flashing across your screen. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of the rows and rows of teeth from your dream. 

He starts calling a third time and you answer it, hand shaking when you bring it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I had a weird feeling.” 

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Are you okay?” You hesitate and you hear him moving on the other side of the phone. “Love?”

“I had a bad dream.” 

“I’ll come over.”

“No!” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You feel his trepidation on the other side of the phone. Your hands squeeze your device, knuckles popping. “I mean - can I come there?”

His surprise is just as palpable as yours. “I mean, yeah. Can I come get you?”

“Okay.” 

“Do you want to stay on the phone while I drive?”

“No, it’s okay.” 

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The line goes dead and you stare at your empty bed. You don’t know why you asked to go there. Don’t know why it was the first thing you thought of. Don’t know why or how Vernon knew anything was wrong. What you do know is that you’ve been having nightmares almost every night in your bed, and trying to coax yourself back into the fluffy sheets feels insurmountable.

Instead, you slowly get up and grab a few things for Vernon’s. You don’t know what you need. You don’t know if you’re staying. All you know is that you don’t want to be in your bed, where the nightmares come, and that the last time you were in his bed, you felt safe. 

And then shortly discovered that he was harboring - or had harbored, if you ask him - an entity somewhere inside him.

Still, Vernon’s apartment is where he’d touched you for the first time, where he had pulled you apart and pried his name from your lips like no one ever had. Where he had pressed his mouth on every part of you, promising that you were his, that you were only his, that he would do anything you asked of him, that he was devoted to you. 

Light splashes across your face when he texts you that he’s downstairs. You grab your phone and keys, and a single charger as you do.

Downstairs, Vernon is out of the car and around the hood, hands reaching out to you. You slow your steps but you let him take you by the shoulders, ducking his head so his dark eyes can scan your face. You hold your breath as he does, eyes darting from his intense examination to his lips, where you imagine rows and rows of teeth.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. 

“I’ve been having a lot of nightmares.”

He hesitates. “Of me?” It sounds like he already knows the answer, but you nod anyway. He tongues the inside of his cheek and for a second, you think he’s annoyed. You start to bristle, but he softens and nods, dropping his hands to your wrist where he gives you a squeeze. “Come on.”

Despite everything, you follow him. You let him open the door to his car and put you inside, closing the door gently behind you. You let him put the car in gear, his hand reaching across the center console, hovering above your thigh. You stare at his hand for a few long moments, watching it waver. 

You want him to touch you. You don’t want to acknowledge what it means that you want him to touch you, despite everything. 

You give him a tiny, barely-there nod. His hand drops down softly on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Goosebumps break out across your skin and your eyelashes flutter, immediately at ease. He starts to drive, the sound of the tires against the road and the engine lulling you into a sense of calm. 

Settling against the headrest, you let your eyes close. You don’t want to think about anything but the heat of his fingers on your skin, his thumb brushing back and forth, featherlight and loving. Later, you can think about what it means that you’re here with him. Later you can regret what you’re doing. 

Vernon’s apartment appears against a black sky. It looks no different than the last time you were here. He stops in the parking lot and holds a hand out to you. His face is soft, but his eyes are sharp as always. Carefully, you slip your hand into his. It’s warm and firm, wrapping around yours and tugging you gently toward the stairs, keeping you moving even when your trepidation grows and your steps get heavier. 

His neighbor's doormat catches your eye. Come in, it says. You stare at it long enough that he notices, turning over his shoulder to glance at it and ask, “What? No joke about vampires this time?”

“Last time I didn’t think they were real.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know what’s real.” 

He hums noncommittal as he works the lock with his keys. 

Inside of Vernon’s apartment smells like him. You feel a sense of relief, breathing in the smell of bergamot and vetiver, unsure if you had expected sulfur and something rotting. It looks normal as ever inside. Vernon’s home looks lived in, tidy but with pairs of shoes by the door, a blanket thrown across the arm of the couch and a few video game controllers on the coffee table.

Vernon toes off his shoes before drifting toward his bedroom. The doorway is a gaping hole of darkness and you feel yourself hesitate before calming yourself and following him, too nervous to linger alone. 

He switches on a salt lamp and soft, orange light fills the room. It helps put you at ease. You drop your stuff on his dresser, phone, charger and keys. You don’t know what else to do, turning to look at Vernon as he pulls the blankets back and sits on the bed, swinging his feet in.

“Gonna stand there?” He asks, grabbing pillows and shoving them against the headboard. He leans back on them, draping his arm across the tops. “Come here.” 

“I didn’t come here to sleep with you.” He narrows his eyes. “I meant like sex. I didn’t come here to have sex with you.”

“I know. You came here for comfort.” 

Well, yes. You feel hot all over, flushed head to toe with embarrassment. For once, he doesn’t prod you about it, watching you patiently as you scramble over to the other side of the bed and climb in. His sheets are soft and warm as ever, mattress sinking as you slide over next to him. 

Before you can get too close, you freeze up. You don’t know where you stand, suddenly. A few weeks ago, he was just Vernon, your best friend. Sure you’d been in love with him and he hadn’t known, but now he does know. And circumstances have changed since the admission of feelings. You haven’t been this close in weeks and-

Vernon wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you to him. You make a small sound of surprise and he laughs, low and deep in his throat. The sound scratches something inside of you, making your toes curl as you stiffen for a split second while he melds you to his side.

Then you melt. He’s warm and smells like he always has, his arm tethering you to him. Tentatively, you rest your head on his shoulder. He shuffles a little so that your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, comfortable. You’re pressed close to his side, your hands pulling nervously at the strings of your hoodie. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” His question rumbles through you where you’re leaning against him. His voice is deep and soft, a lullaby. Your eyes flutter and you shake your head. “I would never hurt you. Ever. I know you’re afraid of me but… you don’t have to be.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

You chew your bottom lip. “I’m afraid of me.”

“Explain.” 

Vernon is patient. Even this new version of him lets you find your words without pushing you to go faster. You think of how to explain, starting with halting sentences. “You’ve killed people.”

“Three, specifically.”

“Does that bother you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second. “They weren’t very good people.”

“Cheating is bad, but killing them?”

“Ah,” Vernon chuckles without humor. “I think I understand now. Would it make you feel better if I told you all of the bad things they did? Would it change anything to know they weren’t just guilty of adultery?” You don’t answer. “You don’t like that I killed people but what you’re having trouble with is the fact that you want to overlook it and you don’t like how that feels.”

As always, Vernon is on the nose with his guess. He’s always been able to pin down how you feel quickly, and it both relieves you and terrifies you to know that hasn’t changed. Killing people is wrong. You know that. But it’s how unbothered you are that sticks with you, this inability to figure out why there’s a desire to rationalize it, to let Vernon convince you his actions were justified. 

“You have an excuse,” you mumble. “You’re possessed by some sort of murderer.”

“I am not.

“I’m just… me.”

“People are complex. Wrestling with your own morality is natural. But I advise you not to let it drive you crazy.”

You snort. 

“What?”

“Getting advice from someone who is possessed-”

“-Again, it’s just me-”

“Is kind of silly.” 

“Then stop listening to my advice and go to bed, Love.” 

It’s the final piece you let him give you for the night, nodding and letting your eyes fall closed. The steady rhythm of Vernon’s heart lulls you into a trance until you’re drifting to sleep with the smell of bergamot and vetiver and no nightmares to plague you.

-

“Why don’t you add salt to your fries, hmmm?”

Veron looks up at you, deadpan. You give him a plasticky grin, grabbing the red pepper to shake over your pizza slices. As he has for the last few weeks, Vernon avoids the salt on his fries. Still likes them just as much as before, but can’t seem to tolerate more than the standard level of seasoned they come. 

Cool breeze slithers down your back when someone walks in behind you. Your booth is right by the door, giving you an icy blast everytime a new patron comes in. Vernon already made you give him the side closest to the door, but you’d managed to keep him from demanding the hostess move you somewhere else. 

A group of men sit down behind you in the booth. They sit down hard, making the back of your seat lurch forward.  You swear, turning to look at them over the shoulder as they spread out like they’re lounging at home all over the table and seat. 

Above you, the lights flicker. A low hum rides the air, barely audible, like static through bone. You whip your head around to look at Vernon. His gaze has turned to steel, unblinking and far too still. His fist tightens around his fork until the metal groans, knuckles leached of color. The air feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. You whisper his name but the flickering lights continue, drawing the attention of several patrons, all of them craning their neck upwards. 

A bulb pops at the table behind you. The men yell in surprise, causing the booth to rock. Your hand shoots out across the table, grabbing Vernon’s hand and squeezing. Immediately, the electrical anomaly stops and his gaze shifts to you, going soft at the edges. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, soft.

“Are you?”

“Yes, Vernon. You can’t go all Paranormal Activity every time someone annoys me.”

He frowns at that. “Says who?”

“Says me. Please.”

He sighs and lets his head thunk against the back of the booth. “Fine. I will add it to the list of don’ts, right alongside murder.”

“Ugh.” You let go of his hand and steal a fry. “Enough complaining about the murder rule, Vernon.”

-

Cracking your neck, you look down at the notes scribbled in front of you. Your writing is scrawled and going off the lines in your notebook, getting messier the further down the page you get. You drop the pen, flexing your fingers to try and get some feeling back into them. You’ve been taking notes for hours, your note-taking starting off neat and with organization before devolving into a messy script you can barely read. 

Stacks of books sit in front of you. Most are from your own collection, but there are a handful that come from the basement level of the library in plastic covers to protect the integrity of the book, yellowed at the edges and a little more than grimey. 

Leaning back in your seat, your spine cracks. You sigh in relief, stiff from spending hours leaned over the table. You’d commandeered a table bigger than you need, spreading yourself out - much to the annoyance and heavy side-eye of everyone else in the library - taking up as much room as possible so no one else would sit next to you.

Several of the boys behind you have already tried to smooth talk their way into the seat. Normally you might let them, but the last thing you need is for them to look over your shoulder and see you’re researching the history of possession and demonology. 

Also, you don’t want to give them your phone number, no matter how many times they ask. 

A backpack lands on the table in front of you, making you flinch. You tear off your headphones, ready to bitch out whoever it is when you realize it’s Vernon. You stare at him in surprise, watching him pullout the chair and throw himself into the seat. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “You cut off your hair.”

“Mhmm.” He runs a hand over his hair. It’s barely longer than a buzz cut, dark and fuzzy and soft. “Like it?”

At first, you don’t say anything. You drag your eyes over him, assessing. Today he’s in a leather jacket over a worn baseball t-shirt, ripped jeans and a beat up pair of converse. It’s a quintessential Vernon outfit, but it looks different now - better, even, with the short hair. 

“I do.” 

“Good.” He winks at you, making your stomach flip. His eyes drift over your shoulder, spotting something in the library that’s caught his interest. “What did you want to meet about?” 

“So, I’ve been doing some research.”

His eyes briefly scan the table, a single brow arching. “You don’t say?”

“Shut up.” You throw a pen at him but there’s no real heat to your words. “I’m wondering if I’m coming at this from the wrong angle.”

His dark eyes are looking over you again, but he says, “Yes. You’re looking at it from the point of view of someone who thinks I’m still possessed. I’m not.”

“No. I’m looking at it like you were possessed by a spirit, but I’m wondering if maybe it was a demon.” He snorts and says nothing. “There are some essays and source materials that believe disgruntled spirits eventually become demonic entities. I’ve been looking up rituals on spiritual banishment and purification, but not demonic - are you listening?”

Vernon’s gaze is burning on something behind you. He doesn’t answer, his eyes narrowed and flickering. You lean forward, throwing the cap of your pen at him. It bounces on the table and joins its body, rolling uselessly to the side. 

“Vernon.” His eyes snap back to you. “What is so interesting behind me?”

“Have they been bothering you?” He nods to something behind you. 

You twist in your seat, turning to look at the table of boys who had sent over one at a time to try and join you. Only one of them looks in your direction, lifting his head and grinning when he sees you’re looking. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to tell Vernon it’s nothing, but he’s already out of his seat and walking around the table.

Eyes like daggers, he gives them a single annoyed glance before he pulls out the seat next to you and drops into it. He kicks out his foot and hooks the toe of his Converse around the leg, pulling you toward him until your seats clack together and you’re thigh to thigh.

Vetiver and bergamot flood your senses, heavenly and heady. 

“What are you-”

“Demonic possession?” He purrs, voice turning to smoke. He leans toward you, laying his arm across the back of your chair. “You were telling me I’m a demon.”

“That’s not - why are you sitting so close?” 

“We’ve been closer.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I just like sitting next to you.” He taps the page with his free hand, mouth twitching. “Focus, baby. Tell me what you learned.” 

You turn molten at the name of endearment. Baby is new. Catches you off guard. You sputter as you try to reach for  your notes, suddenly not remembering what books are where, all of the things you just absorbed from them flowing right out of your head.

Vernon makes it even worse. His fingers start to play with the edge of your t-shirt sleeve, fingers occasionally brushing your arm and sending a pool of warmth blooming across your skin. His nearness is intoxicating, thoughts a little foggy. 

“Problem?” 

“You’re being a little shit,” you shoot back, huffing. He laughs - loudly - making other people flinch. “Stop flustering me. I know you’re doing it on purpose.”

“But you are flustered?” 

“Yes, Vernon. Do you want me to tell you what I found or not?” 

His voice is warm when he teases, “I’d rather keep making you squirm.” 

“Ugh. I am out of pens to throw at you.”

“Sorry. Proceed. You have my undivided attention, I promise.” 

Somehow, you manage to get through your messily written notes and your research. It was hard to compile the research, but you feel like maybe you’re on track with your new theory that Thomas, the spirit who had - in Vernon’s opinion briefly possessed him and in your opinion is still there - hadn’t been a spirit at the time of possession, but rather perhaps a demon.

It’s a working theory that because Thomas was bound to his place of death through violent and unresolved emotion, he not only became a disturbed entity, but was warped by his anger and grief, shifting into something darker. Most research on demons was clear cut that they were creatures from another dimension, but spirits aren’t of this dimension either.

Because everything you’ve tried so far for a spiritual dispelling hasn’t worked, you think perhaps Thomas’s spirit had morphed into something more proto-demonic in nature. There isn’t much to go off of, but the structure for your theory is there, even if made from toothpick-weak data and suppositions. 

Vernon listens the entire time. His fingers still trace your arm absently, tracing aimless patterns. When you finish and look at him, he seems thoughtful, dark eyes unfocused. When he looks up at you, his smile is small.

“So what do you want to try this time?”

“Maybe a priest-” 

He groans and drops his head back. 

You quickly continue, “Just to start, okay? I want to test my theory.” 

“I’m not a demon.”

“Well, we don’t really know, do we?”

“We already went to a church.” 

You pout and he sighs. “When do you want to go?” 

-

White paint peels off the church. It’s an old building with crooked, dry rotted steps outside. It’s a small church with a single steeple. You can see the bells just beyond the window, currently silent as the crickets take up chorus around you. 

The sign out front is worn and sunbleached. Trinity Cross Chapel is carved across the front, whatever phrase from the Bible written under it long faded. You’d chosen an old Protestant church to test your hypothesis, partially because it was far on the edge of town where the risk was lower if Vernon turned into a demon, and partially because according to the town registry, it was the oldest church in town.

And well - because Protestants were pretty serious about absolving themselves from sin and that salvation alone could only be reached through Jesus Christ himself. Perhaps if anyone could tell you what was wrong with Vernon, it was Jesus. 

“This place is a shithole,” Vernon observes, hands in his pockets.

Alright, perhaps Jesus wouldn’t want to help Vernon. You shoot him a glare and plunge ahead, rocks and dirt crackling beneath your shoes. Vernon follows you at a leisurely place, giving the building a critical eye.

“It’s worse for wear,” you admit, heading to the steps. “But it’s old and largely underfunded because when the college was built, the town moved to be centered around the college and not the church.” 

When your foot lands on the first step, it cracks and your foot falls through. You yelp but Vernon’s hands are on your waist immediately, his chest pressed against your back as he steadies you. He’s so close that your heart goes from hammering at the fear of falling to thundering over his proximity.

“Are you okay?” His breath fans your ear where he asks, almost a whisper. You nod, a little out of breath. “Be careful. Let me help.” 

Gently, Vernon guides you up the rest of the steps. None of the other ones cave in, though they do creak ominously. You scurry inside of the building, eager to get on more even ground before you plunge through the entryway. 

Inside smells like mold and wet carpets. You scrunch up your nose, looking at the faded and stained red shag beneath your shoes. Rows and rows of wooden pews line the church, book-ended with walls of stained glass windows. You peer at the imagery as you walk down the aisle, hands hovering above the pews as you go.

The stained glass is lovely. You imagine during the day it’s stunning, the sun hitting each piece to refract into thousands of colors. You recognize each piece of artwork from your study on Christian religions: The Baptism of Jesus, The Lamb of God, Saint Paul with his sword and book, The Resurrection. Each one is meticulously crafted, dark without the sun to bring them to life. 

Each piece makes you think of Vernon. There is a haunted beauty about them that has you looking at him sideways as you walk. He seems unaware, craning his head to look up at the old, cracked rafters of the ceiling. 

At the front of the church is the chancel with a lectern front and center. Behind the lectern is a communion table, banners with scriptures fastened to the wall, and some seasonal decor. Vernon walks closely behind you, uncharacteristically silent as you head for a man sitting in the front row, head bowed. 

“Minister?” 

Your voice brings the man out of his reverie. He’s somewhere in his late forties, hair greying at the edges. He has sharp blue eyes and heavy frown lines, his eyes looking you up and down before drifting to Vernon. His mouth turns down as he stands, adjusting the simple robes he has on.

“This him?” 

“Him has a name,” Vernon mutters at the same time you say yes. 

“Come with me.” 

The minister turns on his heel and marches toward one of the side doors behind the pulpit. You hurry after him, Vernon hot on your heels muttering, “You called ahead?” 

“Well yeah… what else was I going to do? Walk in and be like ‘yo is this guy possessed?’” 

“Might be possessed.”

“So you admit you might-”

Vernon swears. “Love, that is not what I meant. I can’t give you an inch, huh?” 

The back offices of the church are stuffy, full of tepid air and dust. You sneeze and Vernon mutters bless you, his tone sharp. You give him a look and he grins, wicked and sharp. “See?” He whispers. “Bless you.”

“Well don’t stand in the hall,” the minister quips. 

“Sorry.”

You rush after him where he holds the door to his office open, Vernon still muttering obscenities under his breath - you’re pretty sure he has called the minister five types of cunt by now. The minister leans away from him when Vernon walks by, partially to be safe and partially because Vernon leers at him. You whisper at him to cut it out, hand shooting out to grab his hand and pull him to sit in the seat next to you. 

Rounding the heavy desk, the minister sits down. His desk is full of ledges and books, religious imagery covering the walls. It smells damp and stale, making you scrunch your nose. It distinctly reminds you of your grandma's closet with moth-eaten coats and water stains on the carpet. 

“Tell me his ailments.” The minister folds his hands under this chin, watching you with sharp eyes. “Be thorough.” 

“I have a name,” Vernon growls.

The look the minister gives him tells you he’s taking mental notes. You clear your throat, leaning forward. You reach your hand over to Vernon, resting it on his knee and squeezing comfortingly. The minister’s eyes don’t miss the motion, narrowing when you leave your hand on Vernon’s leg. 

“It started on Halloween,” you explain, recounting the ritual and some of the side effects Vernon has experienced since then. Vernon sits in steely silence, his eyes boring into the minister’s head as you talk. You skip over the murders but imply that Vernon has more violent urges. “I was researching and-”

“Leave the research to the professionals, girl.”

That pulls you up short. “I am a professional, sir. Or - well - I will be. I’m an occult studies major, so this is sort of my expertise but-”

“Occult studies major,” he scoffs. “Nonsense. The only study you need is the word of God. Perhaps you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place and reeking of sin.” When he says the word sin, he looks at where you’re touching Vernon. “The ritual is nothing. You could not have summoned anything that wasn’t already there. You are possessed by the sin that poisons-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “The ritual wasn’t exactly formal, but it had all the right materials to summon an entity.” 

“You know nothing. You come into a house of God with this nonsense talking about rituals and bells because you read them in a book, as though they’re on par with the Word?”

You open and close your mouth, confused at the turn of events. The minister presses on, “Your paganism is just as much as a sin as drinking in an abandoned house and giving into lust and gluttonous pride and other salacious acts. If you are looking for demons, it is the ones you already carry inside of you and must purge through confession and devotion to Jesus Christ.”

“Wow.” You lean back in the chair. Vernon’s muscles have gone taught in his thigh, his shoulders ridgid and his nails digging into the wooden arms of the chair. “This is not at all what we’re here for. By the way - there is nothing wrong with paganism. I would argue that historically most religions, including branches of Christianity, are full of paganism. You have rituals and-”

The minster sits up straight, slamming a hand on his desk. “The truth of God stands apart from the lies of paganism. What I see here is not a victim of a pagan ritual, but two young adults brimming with sin who should confess their sins to Jesus Christ to absolve-”

“Lies of paganism? You can’t erase where things come from, you know? Religions all borrow from one another- symbols, holidays, whatever. One is not less valid than-”

“Only the Word is valid.” 

You bring up a hand, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Look, minister, I came here to help if you could identify demonic energies or symptoms in Vernon. This has turned into a religious lecture, and I’m not arguing with you on the semantics of scripture.” 

“I sense deep darkness in both of you. You can’t even speak to me without touching him, full of gluttonous-”

Vernon gets up, interrupting the minister. “We’re going.” 

“You should beg for guidance and confess-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Vernon growls, leveling the minister with a stare. He bends down to pull you to your feet, his glare softening slightly when he looks at you. “He’s an idiot. You’re having an academic argument, he’s pissed off because he’s popped a boner under his robe and can’t do anything about it because I’m here.”

“I beg your pardon!” 

Vernon crowds you against the side of the chair. He presses in close, ducking his head to press his forehead against yours, nose nudging against you. When he speaks, his voice is velvet-soft and barely a whisper. “And he probably hates that he could never fuck you the way that I do and I know all the little sounds you make.” 

It feels like the air has evaporated from the room. Vernon’s eyes are only for you, his pupils dilated, completely trained on your eyes. His breath fans your face, his hands pressing against the small of your back as though he can press you any closer to him. 

Dizzy, you try to say his name, acutely aware of the minister yelling at the two of you to get out. Vernon gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before turning to look at the minster, a sneer on his face. He looks more terrifying than you’ve ever seen him, but his grip on you is firm. Warm. Strangely enough, safe. 

“She’s ten times the brain that you are. Cunt.” 

Vernon’s lip twitches like he’s going to snarl. Instead, he turns and heads toward the door, hand shooting down to yours to tug you along. You stumble after him, unable to find words but wanting to stay close. Your heart hammers, mind spinning from how quickly the situation had spiralled out of control. You’d just wanted the minister to do some sort of demon test and-

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Vernon admonishes, escorting you out of the church. He’s careful with you down the steps, lifting  you by the waist to let you skip the last step entirely. He plants you firmly on the ground. “He was a fanatical dick. Maybe next time we do a new wave church or something.”

“You’re going to let me do a next time?”

His mouth kicks up at the side. “I know you’re not done, Love.” 

-

Vernon swings his legs back and forth, watching you rub cleanser into your face. You’ve given up on asking him why he likes to sit in the bathroom while you do your skincare. ‘Cause I like you was always the response, or some similar variation. You don’t mind. It’s endearing, and you’ve wanted to have Vernon like this… well, since forever. 

Usually, you use this time to talk your way through things you want to try to help free him from possession - lack thereof, he asserts - but tonight you’re quiet. The water is warm as you splash it onto your face, melting the cleanser away and leaving nothing but blotchy, irritated skin. 

You pat dry your face, avoiding looking in the mirror. 

“What’s wrong?” Vernon’s question is soft. You look up at him, eyes round. “You’re extra quiet tonight.” 

“Oh. Thinking, I guess.”

“About what?” 

About everything. Somehow, this has become your new normal. You’re not entirely sure what to make of it, or the fact that it’s been weeks and Vernon genuinely shows no other signs of having an entity inside him. It’s more like he is the entity now.  

Before, Vernon had always been a little on the sardonic side. But it had been quiet, his sharp words muttered, not spoken, his irritation silent, not voiced. In a way, it was the same way with his feelings for you. He’d revealed that he’d liked you as more than a friend for years, angry at how much of a coward he’d been and how it had taken motivation to make him say anything.

The Vernon who chose hiding and restraint was now replaced with a Vernon who asserted himself and could barely hold back. It was different. Not bad, different, just different. You liked the old Vernon but… you don’t dislike this Vernon, either. He still has the makings of his normal self, still interested in all the same books and video games, content to lose to Mingyu in Fortnite over and over, the same Vernon who likes movies and music and Sal’s Pizzeria. 

Vernon gently taps a knuckle underneath your chin, getting your attention. “Tell me.” 

“I was sort of wondering if the minister was right.”

He scoffs. “What?”

“Okay maybe not about the sin and everything but more like… I don’t know.”

Vernon senses your train of thought. “You still don’t like that you don’t care I killed people.” 

You wince at his words. They are sharp and real and more honest than you can voice. Unable to find the courage to agree out loud, you nod your head. 

Gently, Vernon reaches for you. You let him grab you by the biceps and navigate you so that you’re standing between his knees. He squeezes his legs shut, pining you to the spot, albeit gently. His gaze is soft when he looks down at you, his hands playing with your fingers. 

“I can’t tell you how to feel,” he starts. “I can tell you… look, let me tell you what those first three nights were like. And why I don’t think I’m possessed, alright? This is just… me. A little different, but me, okay?” 

Chewing your lip, you nod. His gaze falls down to where he plays with your fingers. “I definitely was possessed, that first night on Halloween. I have no idea how Soonyoung managed a ritual that was done right.” You pinch him and he laughs. “Yeah, right. You were sort of the linchpin. In that closet, I… felt taken over, like I was suddenly shoved in a box and flooded with emotions and rage and hate but more than that? Fear.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Then it got sort of quiet and I felt really disconnected. You left so fast and I didn’t even go after you because it felt like I was grappling with myself and I felt a little lost. When I went home is when the real mess started. I had all these thoughts and memories that weren’t mine, all these feelings and images and knowledge. It was overwhelming.”

“Is that why you avoided me?”

“Yes, but I was also just full of anger. Not just at things that didn’t belong to me, but things that did. A lot of it was at myself for wandering through life never voicing what I wanted or never taking action or just sort of… riding in the backseat, I guess.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. And having the presence of someone else there was like - fuck it was like being in the backseat again. It made me pissed and I just sort of grappled with the spirit for what felt like days until I woke up and I was just… me. But there are random pieces that belong to him, I think. Like sort of an impression?”

“Is the… murder, one?”

“I don’t really know, Love.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I remember seeing him kill that woman he loved and then himself and my first thought was that I could never do that. I could never kill you. Regardless of what you ever did to me, I vowed that I would do anything for you. But on the other hand, it made me so angry to think anyone could do that to someone they cherished. I would set the world on fucking fire for you - how could others not feel that way when they love someone?” 

Love someone. Vernon has never explicitly said that he loved you or was in love with you. He’s implied it - talked about you like he loves you or alluded to it. But now it’s out in the open as he speaks, a full admission that you are someone he loves that he would do anything for you. 

“And then I saw those people who weren’t only cheating on people who loved them,” he murmurs. “But they were also terrible people. Like full of such shitty things they’ve done and I just… What if those people ever came across your path? Would they fuck you over? Would they cheat on you?” 

Panic grips you. Vernon feels you go rigid in his grip and he looks up at you, realizing what he’s said. He shakes his head quickly, tightening his hands on  you. “No - sorry. I didn’t do it because of you, that came out wrong. Please don’t - that isn’t what I meant. It isn’t your fault. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how the world would be better without them so I just… did it.” 

“Vernon…”

“I swear to you, it wasn’t for you. It was… for everyone? I don’t know. I cannot stand the thought of fucking scum walking the earth like that, so I did something about it.”

“And then you stopped.”

He looks up at you, a bit sulky. “What you want is more important to me. But my point is… I don’t really know what to do with the fact that I don’t care about what I did either. And even if you don’t care, it doesn’t mean you’re a monster or anything. It just makes you the person I want most in the world, still.” 

It’s terrifying, this profession from him. To realize that you have this much power over him, this much sway is overwhelming. Pinned between his knees, your thoughts race with no direction, pulled in so many different ways. This kind of love is everything - and  yet it scares you. But if you step away from him now, if you pull away in the slightest, you know it’ll do irreparable damage. That it’ll hurt. 

“Can we go to bed?” You whisper, daring a glance at him. 

Vernon nods, sliding off the counter. As he does, you shuffle backward, but not far enough to be out of reach. He lifts his hands to your face, cradling it gently and angling you to look at him. “I’m me. A little weirder. A little less refined. But I’m me.” 

He’s right. You hear the truth in his words and you realize perhaps that’s why you don’t care about the blood on his hands. Because it is Vernon, and he’s yours. You don’t care because you love him, and you’d do anything for him too. Which is why you’ve spent weeks researching a way to free him - from nothing, you’re starting to suspect - and why you’ve not taken a single opportunity to turn him in. 

“You’re you,” you agree softly. He smiles and you stand on the tips of your toes, pressing your mouth to his. He makes a surprised sound but you feel his grin grow wider for a split second before he kisses you back in earnest, soft and slow. “Remember what you said to the minister?”

The question catches him off guard, his lips ghost against yours when you break the kiss. “What?”

“That he can’t fuck me like you do.”

Vernon’s grip on your face turns firm. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes flashing. “I meant it.”

“Do it.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Show me.” 

“Fucking say less,” Vernon growls, pulling your lips to his again.

This kiss is all-consuming, needy. Vernon’s fingers slide to the sides of your neck, angling you to deepen the kiss. Your pulse hammers against his fingers, mouth sliding along his. His tongue presses against yours, hungry. You meet him with equal fervor, weeks of holding yourself breaking though.

Somehow, Vernon manages to walk you backward. You cling to his arms, careful not to trip over your own feet until you’re falling backward onto his mattress. It smells like him - safe. He reaches behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt and yanking it up and over. Propped on your elbow, you watch him. He throws the shirt and then he’s on you again, pushing you back gently so he can climb on top of you, a knee on either side of your waist.

Vernon’s skin is burning hot. Your fingers trace his lines, making him moan into your mouth as he kisses you furiously again. Your heart hammers so hard in your chest you can feel it, a racing rhythm that backtracks the sound of your heavy breathing when he breaks the kiss to pepper your jaw and neck in warm, wet kisses. 

Your lids flutter, stomach flipping when he bites down on your neck harshly, soothing the sting with a rough swipe of his tongue. It feels so good, a slow but steady ache spreading between your thighs as he busies himself with sucking fervently at your collarbone. 

Slipping your hands around his tapered waist, you scratch your nails up his back, not hard enough to leave marks but firm enough to make him groan and shiver. You grin, arching up into him as your hands explore the muscled planes of his back.

Your hips squirm, canting up against him seeking friction. He laughs, dragging his mouth from your neck to your lips, mumbling, “Need help?”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not, baby. It’s cute.” 

Baby. You whine, hips thrashing and he grins before silencing you with a sweet kiss before reaching down to slide a leg open, replacing the open space between your knees with his thigh. A thrill shoots through you when he brings it up to your core, one of his hands dropping to your ass to help grind you against him. 

“Come on,” he urges, licking your jawline. “You know you want to.”

You do. You roll your hips, dragging your clothed cunt along his sweats. It’s not nearly enough friction to do anything significant but it still feels good, turning your body static.

Vernon slides his hands under your shirt, bunching up the material as he slides upward to rid you of it. The room is cool, your skin pebbling and nipples tightening at the temperature. Vernon immediately sends a lick of heat through your, dropping down to capture a nipple in his greedy mouth.

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes closing. It feels so good, his tongue swirling lazily around the bud as you grind against his thigh. “Feels good.” 

Teeth scrape against your sensitive skin. You let out a breathy sound, eyes rolling back. You give Vernon control easily, letting him work you up. It’s sweltering between your bodies, his skin warm against yours, the air charged. You can barely breathe, head falling to the side as he lavishes attention to your chest, your little rolls against his thigh desperate. 

One of Vernon’s hands slips to your waist, firm and sure. He lifts himself off you and you protest but he hushes you with a quick, hungry kiss. His breath is warm against your cheek when he pulls back, shifting to kneel between your legs on the bed. 

His fingers find the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and deliberate. The fabric scrapes against your skin soft-slow, like Vernon is unwrapping something sacred. The cool air hits your skin with equal intensity as his stare, dark and focused. There’s no teasing smirk anymore, replaced with a desire so powerful you start to squirm. 

Then he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, deep and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He kisses you like he’s trying to become one with you, like he needs to taste every sound and whimper and noise you make. You can hardly keep up before his hand presses between your legs, fingers sliding over the front of your panties, pressing into the heat and slick of your cunt through the fabric. 

And fuck it feels good. 

One of his hands stays there, circling your clit with firm, steady pressure, rubbing the soaked fabric against you. The other creeps upward, fingertips brushing your chest, your collarbone, until it finds home at your neck. His palm settles there, warm and weighty, and you feel him shift his grip just enough to pin you gently to the mattress. It’s not tight, not rough, just present. Possessive. Perfect.

You thrum beneath him, the room tilting on its axis, slow and dreamline. You feel lightheaded, not just from the stimulation building in your core, but from the soft restraint of his hand around your neck. He’s not squeezing just yet, but the pressure is enough to remind you that it’s Venron in control, a promise of more that sends a thrill through you. If you want it. 

You do want it. Your hand stretches up without thinking, shaking fingers curling around his where he grips your throat. You give him a gentle squeeze, a plea. His glaze flicks down to yours, searching. He seems mystified by what he sees there for a moment, swearing before he nods once, barely perceptible, before tightening his grip just enough to send a tingle down your spine. Not too much. Not too tight. Just enough to make your body sing. 

Vernon presses his forehead against yours, mouth barely brushing your lips. Your breathing is coming harder now, trying to keep up with the way your body is vibrating at his touch. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and reverent. He slips a hand under the waistband of your underwear, fingers hooking the edge to pull the damp fabric aside, revealing the slick warmth underneath. He groans softly at the feel of you against his fingers, sticky. You moan and he curses again. “There it is. You sound so pretty, baby.” 

That spurs you on. You make more sounds for him, gasping when his fingers circle your clit properly. Your thighs twitch in response, nearly closing around his hand. He tuts, pressing his mouth against your jaw. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” you whine. His grip tightens a bit more. “Yeah. Yeah like that.”

He pecks your cheek and does as you ask, squeezing the barest hint more. 

You start to fray at the edges. You feel yourself coming apart, incapable of doing anything but shaking under his ministrations. Having him touch you like this again is good. You don’t want anything else, happy that you’re here again. You don’t care about the cost, don’t care what it means anymore. It’s just you and Vernon and his hand between your legs, pulling a long, drawn out orgasm that has you trembling quietly in his hold.

When you let out your breath, orgasm subsiding, Vernon moves. He lets go of your throat, the sudden loss bringing the blood back, rushing. The room turns on its axis, your eyes fluttering as he shuffles down the bed, his hands pressing your thighs open. 

“Vernon.” His name leaves your mouth, hand shooting to grab him by his short locks when he presses his tongue to you. You can barely breathe, shaking when he slowly licks up your cum, not wasting a drop. “Fuuuuck.”

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles against your cunt, tongue lazily licking you in circles. “Missed this so fucking much.”

Vernon’s tongue is addicting. He’s messy with it, closing his lips around your clit to give greedy sucks before dragging his mouth down to prod at your entrance. You shake under the attention of his mouth, barely able to do a thing. 

His tongue drags slowly, warm and wet as he licks you at his own lazy pace. You realize this is for him. He savors the way you melt in his mouth, the little sounds you make when his tongue flicks back and forth on your clit, the way you cry when he fucks his tongue into your entrance, nose bumping your clit. 

It’s maddening. His tongue traces along your entrance, collecting arousal before curling back up to lap at your clit. It feels like your blood has turned into electricity, your veins the conductors, Vernon’s mouth the source. He hums against you, enjoying this as he gives your cunt sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. 

“Shit,” you hiss. He’s going to make you come again. You’re not even sure that’s his goal. He seems more focused on tasting you, on drinking you in, on running his tongue around and around on your sensitive flesh. 

He hums, looking up at you with a mouth full of pussy. You see the gleam in his eye, see how much he wants this, watch as he grins and puts on a show for you, opening up his mouth and holding his tongue flat to your pussy, letting you roll your hips to fuck his tongue. 

Vernon nods, little mumbles of mhmmm as you near your high. He lets you take control, riding his tongue until you’re spasming, thighs squeezing his head. He doesn’t care, tongue moving back and forth, keeping you shaking as long as he can until you’re twitching, pushing at his head. 

He comes away, mouth and chin slick, lips swollen. You don’t care, grabbing him and dragging him up to you, surging forward to lick across his lips, tasting yourself. He grins and pins you down to the mattress by your shoulders, content to let you taste as much as you want. 

“Please,” you gasp against his mouth. “Want you.”

He curses. “Say it again.” He leans down to your ear, lips pressed against it when he says, “Say you want me.”

“Want you. Only you.”

“Mhmm.” He licks down your neck, biting down when he reaches the juncture of your shoulder.

Leaning up, Vernon kicks out of his sweats. His hands are reverant when he pulls your underwear down your thighs, fabric scraping against your hypersensitive skin. He dives back in, kissing you as he presses his waist against yours, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh.

You reach down, palming him in your hand. He moans, desperate and breathy, breaking the kiss to drop his head against your shoulder. He’s warm and smooth in your hand. He lets you swipe your thumb across the sensitive head of his cock, hips jerking. You spread his precum down his shaft, hand firm. He fists the sheets, hips twitching forward as you stroke him leisurely. 

“Please,” he murmurs, breath fanning your neck. “Please.”

Hearing him ask for it nearly makes you pass out. You drag the crown of his cock through your messy folds, slicking him up. He growls when you do it, pressing his cock down down down until the tip catches your entrance. You moan in tandem, you at the pressure of him pushing in slightly, him at how bad he wants it.

Vernon sinks in slowly. You suck in a sharp breath, overwhelmed from the feeling of his cock pressing you open until there’s nowhere left to go. It feels good as he stills, hip-to-hip with you as you adjust. Your mouths tangle again and you slide your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, tugging what you can.

He gives an appreciative sound and pulls back slightly just to give a sharp fuck forward. You jostle and break the kiss, gasping, spit linking your mouth. His grin is wicked and he licks into your mouth again, starting to fuck into you slowly. 

You start to synapse. You feel on firel, burning up from the inside out as Vernon sets a slow but deep pace, pulling all the way out before he drives all the way back in. He grabs one of your thighs, nails scraping as he pulls it up and fastens it around his waist. It changes the angle, makes everything feel deeper.

Everywhere Vernon touches you leaves a mark. He stains your soul, every press of his mouth a promise of ruination, every brush of his hands speaking prophecy into your skin. You feel him write himself into your scripture with each thrust, every pass of his tongue against yours a prayer. 

The minister was wrong. You and Vernon have something holier than he could ever understand, a dark gospel unfolding between your moving bodies that only the two of you know the hymns to. How could it be anything but when you feel closer to God as Vernon grips your leg tight, pulling you down to meet each thrust. What is religion, if not the feeling of his moans buzzing through your lips, bringing you closer to revelation? 

“Mine,” Vernon promises against your lips. “Mine.”

“Yours.” Your hand slides from the back of his neck around to his chest, pressing your palm flat against his chest. His heart is hammering, lungs heaving. “Mine.” 

“Only yours.” 

“You love me?” 

You nod frantically against him. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

“I love you.”

And you do. You realize that nothing else matters. You don’t care how fucked up the last few weeks have been. You don’t care that Vernon is something a little more than human, maybe something a little less. You don’t care about anything other than the fact that now he’s here, vulnerable with you - only for you. 

He picks up his pace. You feel another orgasm coming, all of your nerves pulsing, near overloaded. “I would rip heaven from the sky if you asked.”

“I know.” 

And you do know. You see it - feel it in the desperate way he grabs you, the way he fucks into you, frenzied. You feel yourself light up, an imploding star as you come around him, squeezing. He growls out your name, coming undone with you, thrusts messy and wet as you soak his cock. 

Vernon’s mouth finds yours, uncoordinated and messy but greedy, gluttonous, needy. You kiss him with equal fervor, uncaring that your mouth feels bruised and swollen, willing to let him tear you apart just to have some fraction of him with you. 

He starts to slow, spent and shaking until he’s hovering over you, trembling. Your hands rub up and down his sides gently, calming him down. He breathes heavily, the only sound trapped between you. You tilt your head to the side, pressing soft kisses against his inner forearm. 

Eventually, he pulls out, leaving a wet mess and dull ache between your legs. He doesn’t go far, content to tangle himself up in you, pressed as close as he can. His mouth goes to your shoulder, pressing butterfly-light kisses there. 

“If I’m a demon,” Vernon mumbles, voice scratchy from use, “you must be my angel.” 

“Yeah?” You roll toward him, lifting your hand to cradle his face. His eyes are soft as ever, watching you. Your thumb brushes back and forth over his cheekbone until his eyes flutter shut and he nods. “So are you saying you’re a demon now?”

His mouth twitches but he shakes your head. “Don’t know what I am. I’m just yours.”

“Yes,” you agree softly, gazing at him with stars in your eyes. “Mine.” 

-

All the candles are nearly burned to the wick when Vernon enters the church. The flamelight stutters, reacting to him like prey sensing a predator. His boots fall heavy against the threadbare carpet, each step a low, deliberate thud that echoes too long in the still air. His hands are buried in his pockets, but there’s a lazy, cruel confidence in his gait now, a swagger that would have been foreign on the boy who used to flinch at raised voices.

He thinks of that version of himself as dead now. 

Old Vernon. Soft-spoken, uncertain, dying under the weight of all the words left unspoken.

This Vernon doesn’t tremble. This Vernon doesn’t hesitate to say what he wants - which is only ever you. This Vernon isn’t afraid to make the world bow at your feet, to crush anyone who would stand in your way. 

He’s not possessed. He knows that. He hasn’t been possessed for a while. It doesn’t feel like Thomas left so much as Vernon devoured him. Bit by bit, until there was nothing left of Thomas’s spirit. Now, Vernon is more than he was. Maybe a little less human, he isn’t sure. Something with blood under his nails and your name forever on his tongue. 

All his rage, all his violence, all his power? It's yours. It's what makes the constant simmering need to do damage bearable. 

Vernon doesn’t knock when he reaches the minister’s office. The door opens with a warning creak, and the man looks up in confusion, wondering who would dare enter his office this late at night without knocking. He realizes who it is and his face twists into a tapestry of anger.

It dies just as fast. 

Vernon doesn’t give him a moment to speak. He drives his boot into the desk, splintering the wood with a sickening crunch, sending it skidding into the minister’s chest. The man crumples with a wheeze and a painful shout, papers floating down around him like ash.

Circling the wreckage with deliberate calm, Vernon grins as he watches the man flail, trying to get up, a beetle stuck on its back. 

“My girlfriend told me not to kill anyone,” Vernon explains. His voice is casual. Conversational.  “Didn’t say I couldn’t ruin you for opening your fucking mouth, though.”

The minister gapes, trying to push away from Vernon. “What are you doing?” 

Vernon’s fingers unlace from his pockets. He flexes them, tendons twitching like coiled wire. “Paying you back,” he growls, leaning down, breath hot and too close. “For every time you insulted her while we were here the other night. For calling her study a delusion and making her question herself and her work.”

He seizes the minister by the collar of his robe and hauls him upright like a limp doll. “This time,” Vernon murmurs, voice suddenly soft. Sensual. “I won’t stop at words.” 

This time, Vernon’s hands draw blood. 

[seokminfilm]

everyone's a star ✿ vernon chwe

✿ in which you test how long your brooding guitarist—and secret boyfriend—is willing to let you ignore him. you find out it's not long.

STARRING ✿ vernon chwe x fem!reader

WARNINGS & TROPES ✿ fluff, band au, secret relationship, guitarist vernon, jealous vernon, kissing, skinship, a little cursing, reader is being a tease (and she knows it), pet names: vern (vernon's)

LYR SPEAKS ✿ ummm let's not talk about how i've been gone for what feels like years. graduation is next thursday so we're almost there! also just blame my brain for procrastinating updating seokminfilm :/ sigh enjoy jealous bandmate vernon!!! ily guys

LYR PLAYS ✿ everyone's a star ; 5sos

WORD COUNT & WRITING FOR ✿ 656 ; @k-records

no one would think you and vernon chwe dating, let alone on good terms.

the two of you kept up the "bandmates who can't stand each other but get along because they have to" facade up perfectly to the public—he ignored you as much as he could, and you made hidden jabs at his career that critics could obviously see. even your band members had to check up on you two to make sure all was tolerable between you.

the whole world thought the two of you couldn't stand each other.

and it was true...partially.

you couldn't stand how good vernon looked as he focused in on his guitar, producing stunning riffs that sent the crowd into a frenzy. how good he looked with his ring covered hand tightened around the mic stand and how easy the lyrics flowed from his lips. how good he was at making everyone go crazy over the little things he does.

he couldn't stand how your fingers lingered on his hands when you two bumped into each other before a show. how you sing like you don't have a chance to ever sing again. how you dance on stage like no ones watching, drawing all the attention to you in the best way possible.

and so, before either of you two knew it, you started dating.

and nights like this one reminded you just how much you were into vernon chwe.

he had you pressed up against the door of his dressing room, lips on yours the moment the two of you started a fake fight to distance yourself from the rest of the band. his hands were hot against you, fingertips rough from the guitar strings as he grumbles against you.

"damn you." he mumbles, and you feign innocence, looking up at him confused. "why?"

"why do you do that?" he asks, and when you don't reply, he continues. "do things that make me want you in front of everyone knowing good and damn well i can't have you there."

you laugh, sighing when it gets swallowed up by vernon's lips against yours once more. they taste like that strawberry chapstick you see him buy at gas station stops, and you can't get enough of it.

"i just like seeing that fire in your eyes," you answer simply, wrapping an arm around vernon's neck as you pull him towards you. his dark hair is soft against your hand as your run your hand through his hair, and he's swinging his arms around your waist in return.

"vern, why are you so angry?" you ask, and vernon looks away from you for the first time during this whole encounter. jealousy rolls off of his body in waves, broad shoulders tense and arms stiff around your waist.

"you were flirting with that reporter, giving him those eyes i know are only reserved for me. laughing at every stupid joke he made. that damn hug that you know lasted too long." vernon's voice has a growl to it now, and he kisses you again, this time bringing his hand to hold your head and pull you closer to him.

"i wanted to get out of there so bad. i wanted to get him away from you." vernon's voice is harsh against your ear, but you don't mind, too busy being proud of vernon's reaction towards your ministrations tonight.

"i'm sorry, vern. i just wanted to see how long you would let me ignore you and do what i want." the apology sounds light hearted, but you truly mean it, and vernon sees it your eyes, watching them with such a hunger it makes your face heat.

"don't you ever pull that shit again. i'm not going to let you ignore me next time. i'll make it impossible for you," his voice lowers to a whisper on the last part, and the next kiss he gives you assures you of his promise.

[straylightdream]

sleepless in the studio

˙⋆✮ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: radio host! vernon chwe x night nurse!f.reader

you two share a lot in common. you’re next door neighbors, you’re both night owls, you both have nonexistent romantic lives, and you both also have a crush on each other without the other knowing. you spend your nights in the emergency room, and he spends his nights hosting a radio show. you find comfort in the chaos of your job by listening to your neighbors radio show. things between you start to change after another long night at work.

˙⋆✮ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, neighbors to lover, smut

˙⋆✮ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non-idol

˙⋆✮ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k

˙⋆✮ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, smut, lover boy vernon, they’re both a little awkward

˙⋆✮ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: protected p in v, big dick vernon, couch sex, riding, fingering, oral (fem rec), face riding, they’re both kinda desperate, lots of making out, nipple play, hair pulling (him rec) Nicknames: baby (hers)

˙⋆✮ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

˙⋆✮ 𝐚𝐧: this was written for First Time Caller ☎️ collab, hosted by @studiosvt. thank you @haologram for helping me with so many things from naming this, to figuring out the plot and giving me tips on working on my banner. Thank you @thestraybunny and @supi-wupi for beta reading.

🎧: 12:34 - the band camino | headlights - in color | DOA - armors | see you later - the band camino | fronting - seventeen

FROM AN EARLY BIRD TO A NIGHT OWL

There used to be a time when you weren't a night owl. You used to love waking up early and enjoying a cup of coffee while the morning air was still fresh. You probably would still be an early bird if the hospital didn't switch you to the night shift in the emergency room.

Your once peaceful nights have turned into chaos filled nights in the ER. There is one thing you've found that helps relax you. Anytime you’re in the nurses station, you listen quietly to 171.3 SVT fm. The middle of the night DJ is your fave. There is something about his voice you've grown fond of.

LATE NIGHT NEIGHBORS

Sitting in the nurse's station taking a break, there is finally a lull. It's four in the morning and you only have two hours left. You're munching on some chips. You have your headphones in one ear. You're listening to your favorite radio station.

Luckily it's a segment where the DJ is talking. You could listen to Vernon ramble on about anything. His voice is so smooth, anything he talks about sounds interesting.

"Tonight on 171.3 the after midnight hours were playing some of my favorite songs." Closing your eyes you listen to his voice. You're well aware your favorite dj lives next door to you. Many of your friends know about your unrequited crush on your neighbor. "This song is called Fronting."

Someone grabs your shoulder, startling you. Whipping your head to the side you see Minghao standing next to you, trying not to laugh.

"Are you that distracted by radio boy, that you didn't hear me?"

Putting your headphones away quickly, you stand up and smooth out your scrubs. "I was just zoning out. It's calm at the moment so I decided to take a break."

Minghao lets out a little laugh, leaning against the wall. "You can just admit you have a crush. I promise I won't tell your neighbor."

Minghao is one of your closest friends. You met back in nursing school, and immediately became friends. He knows all about your infatuation with your neighbor. Since becoming a nurse, your dating life has been basically nonexistent. Hell you don't ever really mention having interest in anyone. The second you showed signs of having a crush on the Vernon, the boy Minghao lovingly calls "Radio Boy", he immediately started teasing you.

"We have two hours left and we're home free." Minghao says before taking a sip of his coffee.

"You two are needed in room twenty two." The charge nurse says.

"Aye aye capitan." Minghao salutes.

-

As soon as your shift ends you're sitting at your locker. Minghao is searching through his bag. You've put in your headphone in one ear so you can listen to the last few minutes of Vernon's radio show.

Heading out of the hospital Minghao heads with you to the train station. You both live near the same station. You keep your air bud firmly in your ear listening to Vernon talk about the last artist he played for the final song.

Luckily the train arrives as soon as you get to the platform. Your train ride is maybe thirty minutes. The hospital is only a handful of stops from the station near you.

Vernon's show is over and you're now just listening to a playlist that you like. You and Minghao are sitting next to each other. He's busy scrolling through his phone. It looks like he's reading messages from a girl he's been casually seeing.

"Did you hear about Dr. Choi?" He asks.

You take your air bud out and put it back in the container. "Is this about him and the new front desk girl?" Dr. Choi is extremely good looking and lots of the nurses always talk about him.

"Yes. Mingyu was telling me that Dr. Choi asked her out." Minghao somehow always knows all the latest gossip going on in the. hospital.

"Of course Mingyu was gossiping with you."

The train is about to arrive at your stop. You both stand up, and move towards the door. Walking out of the station, you're greeted to the sun starting to rise. It's six in the morning and the sky is a shades of orange and pink.

"I can't wait to nap." Minghao stretches his arms above his head a little.

"I just want to eat something before I even think about sleeping."

"I'll see you at six." Minghao waves and then heads in the other direction.

The walk to your apartment is only a couple minutes. Walking into your building you head for the elevator. You press the button and wait.

You hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over you see your crush (and favorite radio host) walk up. Vernon is standing there looking good. He's wearing in a pair of jeans, and a baggy shirt. Glancing down you see his red converse.

"Morning neighbor." He says.

"Morning."

"I see you're a fellow night owl." The doors open, and you both set inside he elevator. Vernon quickly hits the thirteenth floor. Vernon leans against the railing. You notice he's holding a take out bag from breakfast spot that's below your apartment building.

"The night shift at the hospital is the reason I'm a night owl."

"Your job is more thrilling than mine." He tilts his head looking at you.

"I think being a radio host sounds fun."

"I don't know, being an er nurse is way cooler." You lean back against the wall next to him. "I think it's pretty funny that two next door neighbors both work the night shifts." Maybe it's because you haven't dated in forever, but you can't tell if he's flirting with you.

"It's nice that the man that shares a bedroom wall with me also sleeps the day away."

He bits his bottom lip, holding back a smile. "You won't find me complaining."

The bell rings and the elevator doors slide open. You follow Vernon as he heads down the hallway towards your apartments.

"So are you going straight to bed?" He asks.

"No, I'm going to eat something. After these shifts, I'm always hungry."

He raises up the take out bag. "Well I have an extra breakfast burrito, if you don't mind having breakfast with me." This is a first. You and Vernon haven't ever hung out. Your normal interactions are elevator rides you share a handful of times a week.

"That would be amazing."

"Did you want to come over to my place?" You've never hung out with Vernon before. You've just shared elevator rides with him.

"Yeah."

You follow him to his apartment that’s next to yours. He pulls his keys from his pocket. He pushes open the door, and you follow him inside.

His apartment feels very him. There is a tv sitting on top of a shelf that is clearly made to hold vinyls. There is a table in the corner with a record player.

Vernon slips off his shoes, and drops his bag by the door. You follow his lead and slip off your own shoes. You continue to look around the room. You notice his grey couch, that looks like something a lot of men have in their homes. In front of the couch is a glass top table. On top there is a book on famous bands, and another about the guitars. His rug has a nice pop of color, its subtle pattern with different shades of blue.

"The kitchen is this way." He says catching your attention.

Following him towards the side of the house that doesn't share a wall with your place. His kitchen looks exactly like yours, just with less decorations. He places the bag of food on the table. You take this as your sign to sit down. Taking a seat you watch as he looks around the fridge.

"What would you like to drink?" He asks.

"Water is fine."

Grabbing two bottles, he joins you at the table.

You both sit there silently eating for a few minutes. "How long have you been a nurse?" Vernon asks between bites.

"This is my third year."

He takes another bite of his burrito.

"How long have you been working at the radio station?" You found his station a year and half ago. You're curious if he's worked there for longer.

"A little under two years."

"Your radio show is something I listen to every night at work." The moment you say it, you instantly feel embarrassed.

"You listen to my show?" He raises his brow and gives you a smile.

"Yeah." Your cheeks flush bright red.

You take another bite of your burrito. Vernon can't help but watch you. He's always thought you were cute, and now as you sit across from him blushing he's reminded of just how strong his crush is.

"I like that you listen to my show ."

"Your voice is soothing." Now it's his turn to blush. Who knew the cute nurse that lived next door likes his late night radio show.

"Do you have any songs that you recommend I play?"

"I could give you a few."

You both finish your breakfast and you give Vernon a list of your favorite songs. He gives you his own list, suggesting that they make a good playlist.

Standing at Vernon's door he's standing in front of you. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he watches you carefully.

"This was really nice. Maybe we could hang out more and get to know each other." Suddenly butterflies are fluttering in your stomach. It sounds like Vernon is asking you out. That's maybe because he is, he's trying his hardest to be nonchalant, and not be awkward.

"I would like that." You're trying to play it coy.

"Maybe I'll see you again soon Ms. night owl."

"Maybe you will, Mr. radio host."

Walking out the door, you can't help but smile. The butterflies are still fluttering, and your cheeks feel as warm as the sun. Walking into your apartment, you lean against the door.

You let out a sigh and close your eyes. You feel like a giddy school girl, whose crush finally noticed them.

LATE NIGHTS THINKING ABOUT YOU.

Sitting in the break room your headphone is snuggly placed in one ear. You're scrolling through your phone while listening to Vernon's radio show. You're finally getting a proper lunch. Your last few patients have left you absolutely exhausted.

Vernon hasn't spoken in a few songs, he's been playing some songs he's mentioned being his favorite. You can't help but smile, realizing that almost all of them have been songs that you mentioned to him that you love. It feels as if he's dedicated his show tonight to you.

Minghao sits down across from you. Raising his eyebrow he slides you a cup of coffee. You take out headphone.

"Do you mind taking your break with me, or do you prefer listening to your radio boyfriend?" There isn't a single day Minghao doesn't tease you about your crush on Vernon.

"Feel free to join me." You take your other earphones out.

He opens a cup of fruit. He carefully takes a piece of pineapple before taking a bite. You silently watch him, knowing that he's definitely going to have something to say to you.

"Were you listening to your radio boy?" And there it is. He's not going to miss an opportunity to bring up Vernon.

"Yes. He was playing songs I told him about." You try not to blush thinking about this.

Minghao raises his brows. "Oh, radio boy took song recommendations from you?"

"Yea." You reach across the table and steal a slice of strawberry from his fruit cup.

"That's interesting." He knits his brows at you. He stabs another piece of pineapple.

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds like radio boy is flirting with you." Minghao says smoothly as he pushes the cup of fruit towards you.

"It kinda felt like he was when we hung out yesterday after work."

Minghao's eyes immediately go wide. "You hung out with him?"

"Yeah after our last shift. We bumped into each other in the elevator and he asked if I wanted to come over to his place for breakfast."

"My sweet beloved oblivious friend, Vernon is flirting with you."

You hope he's right and that Vernon is actually flirting with you. It felt like he was last night, but you weren't sure if you're reading too much into it.

-

Being at the radio station feels like home to Vernon. Since he’s started working here. He absolutely loves hosting his own radio show. Vernon had one idea for his show tonight, and that was he was going to play the bands you mentioned to him. This is his not so subtle way of dedicating his show to you. It's been so long since Vernon has been interested in someone. Most of his relationships in the last couple of years have just been sexual, but there is something about you that makes him want more. In his eyes you're the perfect girl.

You're sweet, beautiful and funny. He loves the fact that you’re a nurse, and you clearly care about people. He likes the fact that you seem to be a little awkward, he thinks it's charming.

He started playing a song he remembers you mentioning. He takes off his headphones and looks across the studio to see Seungkwan watching him.

"These aren't the usual bands you play." Seungkwan says walking closer to desk.

Vernon shrugs, and leans back. "I had a friend recommend these bands." He can't help but smile.

Seungkwan sits down at the guest host chair across from Vernon. "A friend?" He raises his brow.

"Yeah a friend."

"Is this supposed friend your neighbor, the one you have a crush on?" Seungkwan knows all about you. After hearing Vernon talk about his cute night nurse neighbor for months, he's well aware his coworker/best friend is down bad.

"Possibly." Vernon doesn't even bother denying he's got a crush. He has no problem with anyone knowing that he likes you. He's just oddly nervous you'll find out.

"Is she listening?"

Vernon takes a slow deep breath. He knows you listen while you're at work on your break, and when you get a few moments to yourself, but he doesn't know when you're actually able to listen.

"I hope so."

Seungkwan grabs a set of headphones and puts them on. He gives Vernon a cheesy smile. "Your song is ending, maybe mention when you talk that a special someone recommended this band."

Vernon puts his headphone back over his ear. The song wraps up and he turns his mic back on.

"That was 12:34 by The Band Camino. A special someone recommended this band, and it's safe to say they are officially on my playlist. Night owls were in the final half out of our late night hang out. To end the night, here are some other songs recommended by that special someone."

Seungkwan is trying his hardest not to smile. Vernon rolls his eyes and lifts his headphone off his ear again. He clicks his mic off quickly.

"You can tease me all you want. I'm aware I'm down bad for my neighbor."

EARLY MORNING CONVERSATIONS

Walking into the lobby you see the man you were hoping to see. Vernon is standing in front of the elevator. You immediately notice he pressed the button. You walk towards and nudge him the moment you stand next to him.

"Hi there, neighbor."

"Howdy, miss night nurse." He reaches out pressing the button on the elevator.

"Fancy meeting you here."

The doors open and Vernon holds out his hand. You walk in first and he follows right behind you. He quickly press your floor.

"How was your night?" He leans up against the railing.

"Long, how about yours?"

"It was pretty good. Did you listen to my show?"

You take a step towards him, leaning against the railing next to him. You want to play it cool. You don't need him to know that you were practically giddy at work, about the fact he basically only played songs and bands you mentioned.

You shrug your shoulders and smile. "I listened to it."

"Did you hear the songs played, were just for you?" He gives you a grin.

"I did. I heard you say a special someone recommended those bands."

He lets out a soft laugh. "You have good taste in music."

Looking down your cheeks burn. This once again feels like you're both flirting. It's time to be confident and just fully flirt back.

"That's a massive compliment coming from you." You look back up at him, and smile.

"Is that because I'm a radio host?"

"No, it's because you have good taste."

"I have good taste?"

"I think so. So you think I'm a special someone?"

The elevator doors slide open. You step away from him, as he follows right behind you.

"I like to think so."

Suddenly the hallway feels so small. Part of you wishes it was smaller so you could be closer to him.

Silently you both walk down the hallway together. Vernon is walking close by you. Every couple of steps, your hands brush against each other. You don't want to just go into your apartment and go to bed. You want to spend time with him.

You stop in front of both of your apartments. "You know I just worked a full shift, and I'm not tired."

He leans against his door. He gives you a crooked smile. "Me neither. I don't know, did you maybe want to hang out?"

"Sure."

Vernon pushes himself off the door. Reaching into his pocket he fishes out his key. Opening the door he steps inside, and holds it open. You both kick off your shoes.

Heading over to the couch you sit down, and he sits down right next to you. Your thighs are touching. Vernon turns on the tv, that's sitting on a stand under the window. He has the curtains open, so you can see the sun starting to rise. The sky is painted beautiful cotton candy shades of orange and pink.

Picking up the remote he turns on a random drama that's playing. "Do you mind if we watch this?" He's crazy if he thinks you can actually focus on anything playing.

"Sure."

You get about twenty minutes in before he rests his hand on your thigh. Trying to play it cool you glance down at his hand.

"I like spending time with you." He says glancing over at you.

"I like you." For some reason your brain decides not to use its filter and you just blurt out you like him.

He moves on the couch so he's facing you. Reaching out he pushes some stray hair away from your face. Everything moves in slow motion as he rests his hand on your cheek. Slowly he drags his thumb across your cheek.

"I like you too." He says softly. Slowly he starts moving in closer to you. The idea of kissing Vernon would make you weak in the knees if you weren't already sitting. "I think I have had a crush on you since the first time I saw you struggling to carry in your groceries." He drags his thumb across your bottom lip.

"I had a crush on your voice and then I realized you're my neighbor." You lean in closer. You rest your nose against his. "Vernon?"

"Yes?" His lips are so close to yours.

"Please kiss me." You don't care if you sound desperate, you need to kiss him.

The moment your lips touch for the first time you feel those sparks everyone has always mention in the romance novels. Your lips move together in perfect sync. He's like fresh air in your oxygen deprived lungs.

Pulling away slightly he grabs your hips, helping guide you on to his lap. Neither of you can seem to keep your hands to yourself. His hands are anywhere they can touch. He moved from kissing your lips, to leaving a wet trail of kisses across your jaw, and down your neck. Occasionally he nips at your skin, definitely leaving marks across your delicate skin. Minghao is going to have a heyday when he sees you sporting hickies from your neighbor.

Closing your eyes, you lean your head back. Biting your lip can't stop the moans passing your lips. Instinctually you roll your hips against his crotch. One of his hands focuses on squeezing your breast. The other is plastered to your side. You're dressed in a pair of leggings and with each roll of your hips, you feel his jean cover erection giving you the perfect amount of friction.

Tangling your finger in his hair, you tilt his head back slightly. "Vernon—" his name is nothing more than a broken moan.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Please—"

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me." You're desperate and you just want to feel him inside you.

"God, you're incredible."

Pulling away you scramble off of him. You make quick work of stumbling out of your clothes. The quicker you get naked the better. Vernon stands up and strips down to his boxers. You're standing in front of him completely naked, while he's standing there in just boxers, and erection straining against them.

"Are you going to get naked?"

"After I eat you out." He tilts his head at you. That's definitely not what you thought he was going to say. Most men you've been with have never openly offered to go down on you.

"Oh."

"Lay down on the couch, baby and spread your legs."

You don't need to be told twice. You make quick work of laying down and spreading your legs. Vernon sits on his knees between your spread legs. He starts kissing the top of your breast, taking his time toying with each nipple. He starts his descent down, leaving a trial of wet kisses from the valley of your breast, down to your mound. He leaves one last kiss there before looking at you with almost pleading eyes.

"Can I?" That might be the stupidest question he could ask right now. You push yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him.

"God, yes." He moves so he's laying on his stomach with his face pressed up against your needy core. You're already drenched and you know he's going to make you cum easily.

With two fingers he parts your folds. He starts off by licking your sensitive clit a few times. Pulling back, he runs his index finger through your folds. He looks at his finger that's already wet.

"Is this all, just from us making out and dry humping?"

"Yea." Your cheeks burn bright. God it's hard not to be embarrassed at how easily turned on he makes you.

"Baby don't be embarrassed, I think that's so hot." He slips his finger into his mouth, licking it clean. "God, you taste incredible."

He leans back in and starts sucking on your sensitive clit. He slides one finger into you, and starts thrusting it in and out of you testing the waters. He can tell by your whimpers and moans that you're enjoying this. He adds another finger, slowly stretching you out. He's a little bigger than average, and he knows that he needs to make you cum at least once.

Without thinking you tangle your fingers in his hair. You rut your hips against his face. He's focused on making you cum. He loves how desperate you are as you chase your high. He moves his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

"Vernon—" you moan his name like a sinful prayer.

Your sweet sinful moans egg him on. He keeps up his good work, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Without thinking he ruts his hips against the couch, for some sort of friction.

"Right there." You release his hair. Dropping back on the couch, you squeeze your eyes shut. Your orgasm hits you hard and fast. The air feels like it's been knocked out of your lungs. Your gummy walls flutter against his fingers. He slowly pumps them in and out of you, helping you ride out your high. He pulls his face away from your needy pussy. He lost in a haze of lust watching you unfold.

"That was the hottest thing I have ever seen."

Your eyes slowly flutter open. Staring up at the ceiling you're trying to calm down. "I need you to fuck me."

He pushes himself up on his knees. "You're so cute when you're needy."

"Do you need me to beg?" You push yourself back up on your elbows.

"Absolutely not. How do you feel about riding me?" He hops off the couch. He kicks off his boxers leaving him just as naked as you. He looks absolutely beautiful, and you normally don't think guys have pretty cocks, but that might be because you've never seen his. It's a little longer than average, but thick and a pretty rosey pink.

"Sounds perfect."

"Let me grab a condom." He sprints off naked to his bedroom to fetch a condom.

He gives you just enough time to stand up. Walking back into the living room he tears the foil package open with his teeth. He wastes no time rolling the rubber down his straining length.

Sitting back down on the couch he taps his thighs. Crawling onto his lap you waste no time grabbing his cock. You pump your hand up and down a few times.

"I need to be inside of you, so fucking bad."

Lifting your hips you guide his length to your needy entrance. Ever so slowly you sink down his thick cock, giving yourself time to adjust. It's been quite a long time since you last had sex.

The moment he's fully inside, you let out a sigh. Your butt is flush against his thighs. You don't bother trying to move. For a long moment you just want to enjoy the feeling of him stretching you out.

Leaning towards he starts kissing your collar bone. He starts kissing the side of your neck before he moans against your skin. "You feel so good."

"I just need a minute." You moan.

"I could stay like this forever."

"You're big, my body just needs a second."

He helps to distract you by playing with your breast. He suddenly has a fondness for playing with your tender nipples.

Slowly you lift yourself up, until everything but his mushroom tip is out. Dropping back down he brushes that special place inside of you.

"Fuck—" he moans.

You keep a steady pace, sliding up and down his length over and over. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to you. With each brush of his rosey tip against your g spot, he's pushing you closer to the edge.

His hand moves to your hips, helping to guide you up and down. Your pace changes when you stop bouncing and start grinding against him. This angle feels completely different for both of you. With each rut of your hips your clit brushes against the well trimmed pubic hair at the base of his cock.

Smashing your lips into his, you desperately try to muffle your whiney moans. Reaching between you he starts rubbing your clit.

"Fuck—" Your body feels like a live wire on the brink of exploding. "Please. Harder."

He focuses on making quick hard circles against your clit. Breathless gasps pass your lips, and you rut your hips at a quick, desperate pace.

"Cum for me, baby."

The ice cold wave that hits your body is like nothing of this world. Your gummy walls flutter like a rapid beating heart. You still for a moment, your head tossed back and you moan. Vernon's hands grip your sides a little tighter, helping to guide you against him. His own release is so close.

With each thrust of his cock against your fluttering walls you moan. Your fingers tangle in his hair again, desperate for something to hold on to.

He lifts his hips up over and over again, helping you both. His own orgasm breaks hard and fast. He slams you down against his thighs, grinding himself against your slowly. He lets out a mix of low moans and groans.

The aftermath of both your orgasms, leave you both exhausted.

Slowly you crawl off of him. He takes a moment to dispose of the condom before dragging you off to the bathroom. You both step into his shower, tub combo for a quick shower to clean yourself up. He takes this time to gently clean you up, before dragging you off to his bed.

His bedroom looks just how you thought it would. He's got a bookshelf near the window with more vinyls and some fun figurines, and a few vintage looking video game consoles. His bed is one of those lower to ground bed frames, with led lights built into the headboard. His comforter is a light blue and grey plaid one. His room feels very like him.

Laying in the bed you stare at him, not sure what to say. He rolls over so he's facing you. Reaching out he laces his fingers with hours.

"What's on your mind?" He asks.

"What happens now?" You aren't sure you could handle this becoming an awkward one nightstand.

"Well I was thinking, I'm off today and if you're off maybe we could spend the day together."

You knit your brows together. "Like a date?"

He lets out a little laugh and smiles. "Yes, I'm asking you out on a proper date. I maybe should have asked you out before we had sex on my living room couch. I just couldn't help myself."

"I would really love to go on a date with you."

He leans in and presses his lips to your for another kiss. "Are you still going to listen to my radio show all the time, even though we're dating?"

"Absolutely."

"That's good. I can't wait to start dedicating all the love songs to you."

Turns out working the night shift and becoming a night owl is one of the best decisions you've ever made.

[goldenhourology]

EGO DEATH AT REVERB RECORDS.

pairing: hansol vernon chwe x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, frenemies to lovers

summary: when vernon is hired as your new manager at one of the most long-standing record stores in nyc, he ruins the perfectly crafted bubble you curated. he's pretentious, doesn't respect that sometimes you need to work on your thesis during shifts, and did I mention he has an earring? he's annoying and your worst nightmare, but when you decide to take him up on his offer to show you new music, you slowly realize that he might just become your favorite person.

warnings: fingering, unprotected sex, reader on top, praise, semi-public sex, sex in a car, power bottom!vernon 🤓 (basically), dry humping, marijuana smoking, alcohol, forced proximity, miscommunication, mutual pining, music sharing used as a love language, pathetic jealous vernon, vernon is also pretentious af, stubborn education-focused reader, also reader that's slightly scared of feelings 😝. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.5k

note: so I became a vernon bias after seeing svt in dc. and if we're being honest I did like him before that and simply kept it hidden bc I'm stubborn 🙂‍↕️☝️ but hey! coming to terms with your bias line changing means that new fic ideas are born, hence what I wrote here that feels like a fever dream. this fic was a lot of fun and I hope you like it! also, the in rotation music below is v important, especially since this is a music-focused fic lol. enjoy!! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

in rotation: in between days, the cure / safer to hate her, you me at six / complicated, avril lavigne / emotional, charli xcx / please, please, please, let me get what I want, the smiths / thinking of you, katy perry / back to the old house, the smiths / discovery channel, hayley williams / night drive, jimmy eat world

For someone that worked at a record store, you knew jack shit about music.

Music was everywhere. The historical foundation of it was right below your feet. Who knew what kind of songs were rooted deep in the soil where Reverb Records was built on? You listened to music, of course – you weren’t a psychopath. You paid some streaming service a monthly subscription so you could listen to the same couple of albums from your teenage years over and over again. You had even dated a few musicians, but that was fairly common in the small town you grew up in. 

You assumed that when you moved to the city, that notion would be like finding a needle in a haystack. New York City was bustling with life. Everyone moved here from all walks of life, looking to find another purpose, a deeper meaning. That’s how everyone became a New Yorker, one way or another. But live music existed in this city around every corner. You couldn’t go into a bar nowadays without seeing some new-age indie singer who looked like he hadn’t trimmed his beard in years and probably wasn’t wearing deodorant at the mic stand. Even on campus, where you were attending you final year of grad school, there was someone practicing their guitar in a dining hall.

Perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate that the only place that would hire you part-time was a record store. But you needed the cash and a job was a job. You were utterly unhelpful to customers who were looking for a certain artist or genre, but you were organized and did what you were told. No one kept the store as spotless as you did. Your boss, Aileen, might’ve even considered bumping you to manager status if you at least tried to learn a thing about the records you were selling. There wasn’t enough time in the day though. Your mind was almost entirely booked up by school work that you couldn’t even begin to think about learning the cultural significance of the Velvet Underground & Nico.

As the saying goes though: if you won’t do it, someone else will.

After a long day of classes, you ran from campus to the record store. It was only about a mile, but the autumn chill was coming fast and of course, the bus wasn’t working today. Which meant you had to sprint just to make your 4 PM to close shift. You busted through the doors, hair disheveled and your face halfway buried in a faux fur coat, only to see your boss handing over a key to some man by the cash register. Actually, not just a key. The key. To a man you didn’t know.

Was Aileen on some kind of new drug she didn’t tell you or the other employees about?

Your cheeks were red from running as you approached the counter, one eyebrow already cocked in confusion. Stuffing your hands inside your pockets to warm them up, you asked, “Um … what’s going on here?”

The man with Aileen turned around and you almost buckled. Almost. There wasn’t anything all that special about him. He was just … handsome. And truthfully, not many handsome people came into this record store, so it threw you off just a little. He didn’t notice though. You had learned to school your expression since undergrad, warding off any frat guy that tried to step within two feet of you.

“Oh, right on time,” Aileen said, gesturing between you two. “Meet Hansol, your new manager.”

You looked to where your coworker, Mingyu, was putting up new posters in the back of the store. He shrugged before going back to work, almost shoving a pin through the corner of his thumb by accident.

When you turned back to your new manager – apparently – his hand was out for you to shake. “You can just call me Vernon,” he said in a voice much deeper than you assumed.

You only had to take one look at him to know everything about him. Vernon thought he was special. Vernon wanted to be interesting. Vernon probably listened to artists that only had less than one thousand monthly listeners. The kind of person that made your teeth grind.

His brown hair was cropped and gelled into a few spikes, mimicking a look one of your ex-boyfriends had in high school. Probably. One hoop earring dangled from his ear and he smiled at you almost cat-like, both sides of his lips curling and looking like an upside down three. A small scar was near his mouth, right where a previous lip ring would be. He was wearing an oversized black tee with a washed-out picture of Green Day and baggy cargo pants.

Not management material. Incredibly pretentious. Even for a record store.

Eventually, you slipped your palm from your jacket pockets and shook his hand, telling him your name. He nodded and turned back to Aileen, who continued to give him the lowdown on everything in the store. You took that moment as your reprieve and hurried to the backroom, throwing your jacket and backpack in a locker. Pinning your name badge to your chest, you walked out and approached Mingyu, still pinning posters to the wall. He swore under his breath when he thought he got a paper cut.

“Hey,” you whispered up at him on the small step ladder. Your eyes never left where Vernon stood with Aileen, until he looked over at you and you felt your stomach curdle. “Mingyu,” you called, tugging on the bottom of his ripped jeans.

“I don’t have time to gossip with you about your Art History professor,” he whispered back, rather loudly. “My shift ends in 20 and I have to finish decorating or Aileen is gonna kill me.”

You ignored him and yanked on his jeans again. “Since when was she hiring a new manager?”

“Oh, him?” Mingyu looked back to the register before shrugging. “Beats me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “He looks pretentious.”

“I don’t know. He’s kinda hot though.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “You think with your dick.”

“Most men do.” He jutted his chin towards the counter again. “I’d head over there before our new manager yells at you.”

Rolling your eyes, you headed to the register where Vernon was bringing a crate of vintage records behind the checkout. A lot of these were purchased for display purposes only, but you guessed that anyone could be bought, given the right price. His arms were kind of skinny, but he was able to lift up the crate without protest. Mingyu was built like a god and he didn’t go a second without complaining.

“Aileen told me you were really good with organizing. It’s half the reason why the store looks as put together as it does,” he said, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. Turning back to you, he referred to the crate with one hand. “I was asked to go over inventory in the back. So as you man the register, I need you to display these records on the wall here in release date order.”

You glanced from the stack of records, and then back to him. You did this about three times until he realized he lost you somewhere. There would a few covers you recognized, a few you didn’t – you had never seen Surrealistic Pillow before – but this couldn’t be that hard.

“Of course,” you replied, surprising him. “I just need to use my phone to Google the release dates.”

“You don’t know them from the top of your head?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, a good handful of them.” He picked up one from the crate. “Bleed American from Jimmy Eat World was released in … 2001, I think.”

You took your phone out, searched the release date, and … holy shit, he was right.

Meeting his eyes again, you replied, “How the hell do you know that? I can’t remember stuff like that.”

“I just like music a lot,” he shrugged, placing the record back in the stack. “You can’t even remember when Dookie was released?”

You narrowed your eyes. Was he trying to make you look stupid? Of course, you didn’t know this off the top of your head. You had a life. This was part-time.

He blinked, not waiting for you to answer. “You work at a record store.”

“I’m in a grad program,” you clarified, crossing your arms again. “I needed a job, and Aileen needed an employee that was type A. It was a match made in heaven.”

“I just don’t understand why you would wanna work somewhere when you’re not passionate about it –”

Your hands clenched. “Not everyone is passionate about their job, Vernon –”

“No one is really passionate about records anymore though,” he added, brushing past you, and your arms lowered to your sides. “I mean, look at this store. Reverb Records was one of a kind in the 70s, a staple in the New York music scene. To work here is like walking through history. And now it’s been reduced to … a fraction of the store dedicated to vintage comics and POP figures.”

“We needed to venture outside of music to stay in business,” you defended, remembering the day Aileen broke the news that they almost lost the property. “If we didn’t, none of us would even be working here.”

Vernon nodded, but you could tell he was struggling to not roll his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Feel free to use your phone for those dates.” 

You watched him as he headed to the backroom, walking past Mingyu, who was finally getting down from the step ladder. He put out his fist, which your coworker gladly bumped his own against. When Vernon disappeared into the backroom, Mingyu turned to you with a thumbs up.

You frowned. He never learned.

It was a particularly dead night at the record store, especially for a Friday. Reverb was located on a pretty popular shopping area in the city, surrounded by thrift stores and a chic coffee shop that a niche Fashion Week model went to once so now it was filled everyday with students. You had your notebook out for Medieval Art History next to the register, your eyes skimming over the barely legible writing. You supposed you could simply print out the slides Professor Lee made, which were far easier to read than your own handwriting, but copying down his notes helped you study better. 

Mingyu’s hand smacked down on the counter, startling you. Your head snapped up and you placed a hand on your chest. He giggled at your expense. “Not funny,” you chastised, looking back down at the page.

“It’s a Friday,” he whined. “Why are you concerning yourself with homework?”

“Maybe because I have a test Monday morning and I’m working every day this weekend.”

He tapped a finger against the counter, but you were steadfast, continuing to ignore him. Did that actually say Lindisfarne Gospels or was your handwriting really that bad?

Suddenly, Mingyu whipped the notebook closed and you viewed up at him with an aggravated expression. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I have a free ticket to the DJ set at the Blitz Club tonight,” he said, picking up his backpack that you didn’t notice had been at his feet. “I’m heading out now, but I could meet you at the club tonight. You know you want to.”

Your nose scrunched up. “Too loud.”

“You had a blast the last time though.”

“I was drunk out of mind,” you recalled, “and I made out with said DJ.”

Mingyu shrugged. “Sounds like a normal Friday to me.”

You shook your head and opened your notebook back up. “I can’t. My shift doesn’t end until 10 PM anyway. The line for the Blitz Club is so long if you don’t get there right at 9:50.”

“Your loss,” he scoffed before heading for the door.

Your head tilted up again, and with a grin plastered on your face, you called out, “Try not to almost kiss your roommate like last time.”

Mingyu’s hand partially pushed open the entrance, making the bell chime as he sneered at you. “You’re hilarious. He’s hanging out with that girl he met at the office anyway.” He lifted his hand in a mock wave. “I’ll find someone to lock lips with. Trust me. See you!”

A sigh escaped your lips as your favorite coworker left. You busied yourself for a moment, finding Chan’s name badge that he’d been looking for near the cup of pens. You put in your reminders app to give it back when you shared a shift with him next week. Picking up your notebook, you said out loud to yourself, “Okay, Insular Art. The Book of Kells. Allegedly created in 800 AD. 340 folios –”

The store’s music volume immediately went up.

Your head shot up, jaw shifting, and you smacked the notebook back down on the counter. The store was deserted and you couldn’t even be left alone to study for a test that you were so terrified of failing. You turned on your heel, striding to the backroom as you wondered why you decided to go to grad school in the first place.

Vernon was sitting in the small office he shared with Aileen when she wasn’t working. The desk was made of metal and was probably as old as the store, with cabinets that creaked when opened. The computer, thankfully, was updated, but their internet went in and out sometimes when Aileen forgot to pay the bill. Currently, Vernon was leaning back in the chair, feet up on the desk, going through their long inventory list and checking off what needed to be restocked. (A project Aileen constantly abandoned.) He drummed his fingers on the tabletop while chewing on the end of a pen.

You leaned against the doorframe, crossing you arms over your chest. “You know, if you keep chewing on those, you’ll get ink in your mouth.”

His gaze lifted, a smirk playing at his lips. “Not the first time I’ve ingested it.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Anyway,” your arms released to your sides, “did you turn up the music? I can’t focus.”

“I figured our customers would enjoy a little bit of Blink this evening.”

You leaned forward to where the monitor with the security camera footage was displayed, showing no one inside the store. Your eyes flickered back to his. “We haven’t had a single customer since 5,” you informed him. “And I’m trying to study.”

“I think you’re just trying to kill my vibe.”

“I think you’re trying to kill my vibe.”

You were both competing in a staring contest that you were desperate to win, until you realized that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, especially this argument. Shoulders sinking, you sulked. “Can you please just turn down the volume a little?”

“Sure,” he replied in a tone much more friendly than anticipated. He sat up straight, leaning towards the computer, and adjusted the store volume. You tried to ignore the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he smiled, how his earring glinted in the shitty lights of the office. Turning around, he gestured to you with the pen. “Please is such a pretty word. You should use it more often.”

Your eyes narrowed. It was your turn to drum your fingers on the doorframe, afraid they would form into fists. “What is your problem? You’ve had a vendetta against me ever since your first day.”

He raised a single brow. “Name three things I’ve done.”

“One,” you lifted a finger, “you chastised me on that first day for not knowing the release dates of vintage LPs. Two …” Another finger. “You’re constantly turning the music up and down. Pretty sure just to annoy me or it’s when you really like a song because I can see you playing air guitar on the security cameras.” Your third finger went up. “And three, you practically pop quizzed me on our new release stock as soon as you entered the store last week.”

He exhaled heavily, finally standing from the chair and at his full height. “Honestly,” he shrugged, “I just think you’re pretentious.”

Your jaw nearly dropped. This man … this Vernon … was seriously calling you pretentious just because you didn’t know release dates off the top of your head. He was insane. Where did he get off?

“Well, I think you’re pretentious,” you snapped back.

“Shocker.”

After a long moment of silence, he let his head fall back and groaned with frustration. For a second, your mind wandered. Just for a second. But you didn’t even let yourself entertain that thought because this was your manager and he just insulted you.

“Listen,” he continued, rounding the desk and holding a hand out. “Let’s call it a truce. Working together is going to be hell if we don’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and studied him. “I’m not agreeing to anything until you admit that you were being a dick to me –”

“I was being a dick.”

Your lips pursed, not expecting that. He looked down at you, almost leaning into your space, and you felt your cheeks warm. Shaking your head, you clicked your tongue before letting your hand meet his. “Fine,” you said evenly, “truce.”

You felt your hands start to get clammy already, so you pulled it away. He tried to wipe his palm on the back of his pants, but you noticed. You always noticed. Bowing your head slightly, you muttered, “I’ll get back to it. Thanks for turning the volume down.” You spun around and walked towards the exit, hoping you didn’t find a teenager behind the register with a wad of cash in their hands. (Happened on a Chan-only shift, which meant he definitely nodded off in the backroom for an hour.)

Vernon called your name as you had one foot out of the backroom, and you turned your head. He was now leaning against the door frame, a smile tugging at his lips, and he stuck a hand in his front pocket. Your breath stilled for a moment. Only a moment. 

Maybe you should’ve agreed to go with Mingyu tonight. Obviously, you needed another drunk make out if you were starting to fawn over your shitbag manager.

“Who’s your favorite artist?” He asked.

You didn’t expect that question. “I … I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’m almost always listening to the same couple of albums for the nostalgia. Maybe Avril Lavigne?”

“Interesting.” He nodded, amused. Why was he smiling at you? “You should let me show you some music sometime.”

You snorted. “What? So you can chastise me again?”

“Nooo,” he quipped, dragging out the word as he stepped closer to you. “We made a truce, remember?”

“R–Right …” Your voice got smaller the closer he was. Even just a foot away from you felt a little suffocating, but maybe that was because he was wearing a heavy cologne.

“I’m not going to chastise you. I promise.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I just want us to chill out, listen to music, and maybe you’ll be able to see why I appreciate working here so much. Why I’m so pretentious in your eyes. And I’m not saying that’s not a fair assessment, but I just want to show you some music and you can decide for yourself. Simple as that.”

You hummed then, almost wanting to laugh that he wanted to prove himself to you. It was … sweet. Somehow. Something about his voice here made you forget why you didn’t like him in the first place. “Sounds like something friends would do,” you muttered.

He smacked a hand on his head, feigning surprise. “I totally didn’t tell you,” he exclaimed before grinning down at you. “In the fine print of our truce, it said we had to become friends.”

In a shocking turn of events, you gave Vernon your number, but maybe that should’ve been a given since he was your manager. Even worse, you were currently spending your single day off this week by taking the subway to his apartment in Bushwick. You buried your face in the collar of your jacket, trying not to inhale the stench of cigarettes from the person next to you. This was an exquisite form of torture. You were being set up. Why else would you be doing this in the first place?

Maybe because your conversation over text went a little like this –

Vernon (Manager): you’re off today, right? want to spend it on your first music lesson, or is your brain too fried from school? You: he has jokes. hilarious. You: I can come over a little after 3.  Vernon (Manager): see you then!

You shook your head when your voice of reason fought against you. This was so dumb. Why were you doing this? So he could prove a point? You might’ve called a truce, but this was stepping out of bounds for work ethics. And he was still pretentious. So were you. Kind of.

Despite your reservations, you still got off at the right stop, walking up the stairs and into the cold autumn air. You pulled out your phone, struggling to bring up walking instructions, even with your screen-friendly gloves on. In the time span it took you to walk to his apartment and wait for him to let you in, you could’ve turned around and immediately took the subway back home, simply see him at work later that week. But you didn’t. And that was something for you to dwell on another day.

“You’re a fast walker.”

You turned, seeing him hold open the door to his building. Your cheeks were red from the chill – not for any other reason – and you squeezed past him just to feel the warmth of the old, rickety brownstone. “Yeah, well,” you said, already beginning to climb the stairs because you assumed he lived on the second floor. “I’m all legs anyway.”

He didn’t agree, just chuckled at your reply and followed behind you. Once you were both on the second story, he took the lead, gesturing for you to come inside apartment 202. Unwrapping the scarf from your neck, you let your gaze flit around the room. His studio looked the same as every other one in Bushwick, right down the peeling white wallpaper in the tiny kitchen. Where he differed, though, was the large record player in front of the couch, in lieu of a flatscreen TV. You walked over to it immediately, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater, and investigated the soft hum of whatever was playing. Oasis. Time Flies… Your dad liked to listen to Oasis when you were a kid.

“You ever heard that one before?” Vernon asked from behind you, crinkling some kind of paper.

“I’m … not sure. But my dad really liked this band,” you explained, not bothering to look back as you studied the large bookcase next to the player. Instead of novels, he filled these shelves to the brim with records. They weren’t organized, and some had more wear than others, but the collection was impressive.

Vernon noticed you admiring the shelves. “I’m not made of money. I get a lot of these as gifts or from yard sales.”

“Oh, I wasn’t assuming –”

You whirled, noticing the silver tray and ground weed on the coffee table before your eyes fixed on the joint he was rolling in his hands. Blinking slow, your gaze flicked up to his as he sealed the end of the joint with his tongue, wrapping his lips around it slightly. You swallowed, and he smiled. 

“Have you not smoked a joint before?” He lifted a brow. “I just thought – I can put it away –”

You tsked. “Oh, my god. Yes, I’ve smoked a joint before. I’m not a prude, Vernon.” You walked forward and opened the window slightly, allowing fresh air when he finally lit the end. “Truthfully, I was just surprised that you could roll one yourself. Bet you used to smoke cigarettes and hand-roll those too, right?”

“Now, that I take offense to. You really think I’m that pretentious?” He shook his head as you took a seat on the carpet beside him. After a moment, he smirked at you. “Yeah, I hand-rolled them in high school. You got me.”

You chuckled, hand over your mouth to hide your snort. When he smiled – really smiled – it was so wide that you could see his gums. His eyes even crinkled at the corners. For a moment, you wondered why you two ever disliked each other in the first place. It felt unfair to hate someone who beamed like that, who laughed with you as if you didn’t just tease him like a child.

He set down the joint to get to his feet, fingers brushing over the spines of his vinyls on the shelf. “I looked through some of the top sellers on Record Store Day this year. Figured that would be a cool place to start because you might recognize some of the album names,” he said, finally pulling out one in particular. “I really liked this one by the Cure. The Head On the Door.”

Your eyes squinted as he showed you the cover. “Oh, yeah, I recognize that one. I thought you might play something by – um … oh, Charli xcx. We sold out of that album of hers with the red cover in less than a few hours this year.”

He lifted the tonearm and looked back at you with a grin. “We can listen to that one next. I managed to snag that record a few years back on eBay.”

After lowering the stylus onto the spinning vinyl, the apartment was suddenly filled with the upbeat sounds of the first songs, slowly introducing a hyper-strummed acoustic guitar. Vernon lowered the volume slightly, and you weren’t sure if it was to cultivate a vibe or he was still cognizant of that time you stormed into the backroom to complain about the music inside the store. Sitting back down beside you on floor, he placed the joint in his mouth and lit the end with a lighter that had seen better days. Smoke wafted into the air before being pulled out the open window with the help of his overhead fan.

He held the joint out to you and you took it instantly. “What kind of strain is this?”

His shoulders sagged as he coughed softly. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” With the joint resting between two fingers, you brought it to your lips and inhaled. It was a little harsh, but not bad. You couldn’t remember the last time you smoked weed; it had to be a while though. Maybe you actually needed this just to chill the fuck out finally. If you kept worrying so much about your thesis, your head would surely explode.

He propped one elbow on the edge of the couch, facing you, as you handed the joint back to him. “Is this what you do when you’re not at the store?” You asked in a slightly hoarse voice.

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t just work at a record store and smoke weed all day. Do you really think I’m a walking stereotype?”

“None of those words just came out of my mouth.”

“Well, you sound a little judgey.”

“I’m not being judgey.”

“You sure?”

“Just answer the question.”

He laughed after taking a drag, and then another. You focused on the way smoked billowed from his nostrils, until he started speaking again. “I also do photography on the side. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live in this city.”

“I get it,” you nodded, playing with the joint between your fingers when he passed it over. “Reverb is for extra cash. Student services for my grad program pays half of my living expenses. Thank god.”

He adjusted his stance, his chin resting on his fist as he studied you. The record transitioned into the third song, but he barely noticed in that moment. He let you smoke the joint for as long as your heart desired. Something told him that you needed it. With one finger tracing his lips, he said, “You never told me what you study.”

He was smiling at you. Again. All cat-like.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“You gotta stop assuming things about me.” He tapped your arm jokingly. “Tell me. I’m interested.”

When you felt your insides start to turn to mush, you couldn’t help but mimic his posture: one elbow propped on the couch, the side of your head pressing into the heel of your palm. Your eyes were hazy now, a dull pink entering the whites. His words were swirling around in your head, haunting you like a ghost.

Tell me.

You breathed in another drag.

I’m interested.

You exhaled.

“I’m studying European History,” you finally replied, handing the joint back to him. Your fingers brushed, but only for a moment. “I want to become a professor.”

“A professor,” he nodded, his brow shooting up as he inhaled. Coughing away from her direction, he added, “That’s … oddly fitting. Are you almost done with the program?”

You nodded, unable stop looking at him as he flicked the end of the joint against an ash tray. “I’m working on my thesis while taking a few concurrent classes in my fall semester only. It makes things a little harder, but the courses are relevant and do help with research. I could do without having to take tests, though.” You shrugged. “I’m managing.”

“That’s a lot on your plate, on top of work,” he mused. One knee curled up to his chest and he rested his arm on top, the joint in his fingers halfway gone already. “You’re kind of a superhero.”

Your gaze flickered up to his again, breath stilling for a moment. The air was so warm, despite the open window, and your body was starting to feel fuzzy. He turned his head to yours, that grin on his lips so dangerous that it sent a shiver through you. Maybe it was the weed, but he looked like he was moving closer to you, invading your space. 

Not that you wanted that. No, you couldn’t want that. Because if you wanted that, it would ruin everything in the carefully crafted plan you made in your head long ago. 

Vernon’s eyes squinted then, and he finally replayed his words over. “Well,” he paused, “a superhero in the sense that you’re taking on a lot with probably no ‘thank you.’”

Blinking, you realized he was making a joke. You snorted and hit his arm, but he captured your hand before it could fall on your lap. For a moment, you wondered if time had stopped – it was the weed; it had to be the weed – because he was slipping the joint back into your palm so smoothly while saying the dorkiest line possible: “For you, my lady.”

He stood, walking over to the record player, leaving you with a half-lit joint in your open palm while your head was far too in the clouds to comprehend anything. You were so high that you didn’t even realize the album ended, and he was now switching it over to something different – Charli xcx, the red album. A melodic symphony hummed through the speakers, followed by a woman’s voice harmonizing, “I’m a dreamer … Step, step out the Beemer …”

When he came back to sit next to you, he noticed you still staring at the joint in your hand. His gaze flickered from your face, to the joint, before he started laughing. “You’re probably done, right?” He tried not to snicker, but it was hard not to when you were giving him this far-off look in your eyes. Plucking the joint from your hand, he put it between his lips and relit it.

It took you a whole minute to realize it wasn’t in your hand anymore, and you viewed up at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry,” you whined. “I got … I think I got too high.”

He couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore. “It’s okay. Think you needed this more than I did.”

“My brain feels like slop. But in a good way.” Gravity got the upper hand as you let your whole head fall onto the cushion now. “How are you comprehending anything right now?”

Vernon smiled, all cocky. “My tolerance is infinitely better than yours.”

“Whatever. Dick.”

You flipped forward, letting your spine press into the edge of the couch as the back of your head rested on the cushion, which was just hard enough to ground you in this state of mind.  Neither of you said a word. The record played another song, and another, as Vernon finally ashed what was left of the joint. He let his head fall too, your gazes pinned to the ceiling. The overhead fan started to swirl in his vision, and he grinned to himself.

“Vernon?”

“Yeah?”

“You know a lot about music.”

He turned his head and dramatically held a hand to his chest. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said. I’m touched.”

You chuckled under your breath, hitting his forearm again. “No, I’m serious. I … This is nice.” You paused, listening to the song playing. All over … Deep under my skin … You got me so emotional … Your lips pursed. “I really like this album.”

He raised a brow. “Not just the weed talking?”

“No. Surprisingly,” you added. “We should keep doing this. Until you tire of me.”

“It’s a plan.”

You were beginning to realize that Vernon was true to his word. Almost every day – even after work, closing shifts and all – the two of you got together to listen to a few of his favorite records while he rambled on about the artist. Sometimes you got high, sometimes you didn’t. You simply liked being there besides a calming presence, listening to another person talk about their favorite subjects. A complete contrast to the hustle of grad school work, but you liked it.

There was a certain comfort that came to being around him, one you hadn’t experienced before. His voice was deep, yet soft, and he spoke about music with confidence. Like it was his favorite thing in the world. He could go on tangents without taking a breath, and you’d notice the way he’d sometimes pause when he talked for far too long. You didn’t stop him though. You only  smiled, let your head fall back against the couch, and listened.

What had you let yourself become?

Perhaps, it all started on the day you both met up in Central Park. Neither of you had a shift that day and you had managed to get done a good chunk of thesis research in the morning. Around 2 PM, you found him lying on a flannel blanket near the edge of Central Park, carrying two Italian subs from the pizza joint near your apartment that you swore had the best in the city. Vernon didn’t hear you approach; his eyes were closed as he listened to the music blasting through his headphones with one arm behind his head. A sliver of his stomach peeked out from underneath his grey hoodie, making you stumble – for what reason, you weren’t sure – and almost drop the tightly-wrapped sandwiches.

Vernon sat up then, finally hearing the rustle of your sneakers on the fallen leaves, and chuckled. “Woah, no need to rush.” He stood and grabbed the subs from your grasp. “You’re holding precious cargo.”

Your laughter was awkward, tense. You were simply not understanding why the mere sight of  his exposed skin had your stomach in knots, even though you knew the truth. Of course, you did. But you were going to sit there and pretend you didn’t because that was easier than confronting what was real. 

After demolishing both your sandwiches – “These actually might be the best in the city,” Vernon had agreed – you sat back on the blanket as he handed you one of his headphones. He hadn’t upgraded to Bluetooth ones yet, said he was going to use these until they died, but you did notice that the sound on right bud he gave you might be softer than the left. He asked if you wanted an edible and after all the schoolwork you did this morning, you took it before even answering him. 

“I’ve always thought that music sounds better on a record,” he said, scrolling through his library to find one artist in particular. “Besides this album. Maybe it’s because this is the first album I ever listened to and it was through headphones. Something about the nostalgia factor of it all.” He turned his head to yours and smiled. “But I want you to hear it this way.”

Intimacy, closeness, was always laced in his tone. Little statements like, “This is for you,” or “I’m interested,” or “I want you to hear it this way,” meant so much more when they came from his lips. Words lost meaning. Just a simple “hello” as he passed you at the register blurred into, “Do you want to hang out later?”

You managed to see the album cover before he turned off his phone. That blue album by the Smiths. You’d seen it before. Every douchebag with a mullet that came into Reverb bought it. But as you laid back and let the edible take over, you began to appreciate the music in a whole new way. Maybe you were becoming one of those douchebags with a mullet, but there was something about the melody of these songs, how some were recorded acoustic while others were with a full band. Everything blended into a kaleidoscope of powerful vocals and lyrics that made your brain melt.

Vernon would cut in at some parts to tell you fun facts about the song, and other times he would just stay quiet. Neither of you were comprehending much anyway, focused solely on the pretty words pouring into your ears. As the album finally hit the last song, you realized Vernon was singing under his breath. Your head slowly turned, watching the way his lips moved to form the words, “So please, please, please … Let me, let me, let me … Let me get what I want …” It helped that your earbud wasn’t as loud, letting you tune into more of his voice.

You were staring at him now. Nothing could tear your eyes away. He was drumming his fingers on his stomach, that small sliver of skin poking out yet again as he bent his arm behind his head. He was in his own world, singing softly, while the autumn leaves started to fall around his head. It was the last week of November. Leaves shouldn’t be falling, especially when it was forecasted to snow next week. But fate had a funny way of doing things, and the red and yellow cascading around his spiked hair looked like a painting. 

Maybe it was the edible hitting the home stretch, but you were noticing things about him that you didn’t before. His nose scrunched when he sang. His fingers tapped to the beat of the drum, the pads calloused and cold. His other ear was pierced once, but he only wore an earring on his right one. His skin was pretty, and yet, you liked that he still had some acne scars littered around his cheekbones. He needed chapstick – bad – but his lips were still pink and nice and –

What if you kissed him?

Jesus. That had to be the edible. Because no way in your right mind would you ever consider kissing Vernon. Just a couple months ago you were fighting the urge to wring his neck. But now you were … staring at his lips again, learning the way he mouthed, Please, remembering when he told you that itwas such a pretty word. It was even prettier when he sang it. 

Kissing him would be so easy. You could kiss him, and then get it all out of your system.  You could lick the smile off his lips, taste whatever made him secretly ache. Every lingering thought that you had about him would vanish. You didn’t have to worry about accidentally holding his hand when he passed you a joint, or hope that you wouldn’t moan his name the next time you touched yourself. You could kiss him right now and everything could go back to normal –

His eyes opened as soon as the song finished and he looked over at you. For a moment, you assumed he was going to ask why you were staring at him. Instead, he moved to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “Do you even know who the Smiths are?”

Moment ruined. His inner douchebag with a mullet made a triumphant return. Thank god, you didn’t kiss him.

You frowned. “I might not know as much as you do about music, but I know who the fucking Smiths are, Vernon.”

His grin widened. “Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”

Time seemed to blur. Autumn faded into the first frost, and snow started to gather on the streets of New York City. The air got even colder, making you revisit memories of stubbed-out joints and sharing headphones in nicer weather. If you tried hard enough, you didn’t think about kissing Vernon ever again, but most days, you found it too difficult to put in the effort. It was wrong, icky, harboring feelings for your friend and manager. But you told yourself that they weren’t deep; they were just a product of your yearning for intimacy, for the quick press of another’s lips against yours.

That’s all that it was. That’s all that it would be. It might take a few months, maybe a year, but feelings falter and you had more important things to worry about.

Was this what ego death felt like?

Mingyu had called out today because of the snow, saying that his “bike was frozen solid to the ground.” Thankfully, Chan had been available for his shift, and you watched him from the register as he helped a customer look through your stock of records from the 90s. He was truly a guru for all things 90s pop. And he could sing too, a mini Timberlake in the flesh.

“I was thinking …” Vernon started.

You stood up straight, looking away from your laptop. The store wasn’t so busy today because of the snow, so your delightful manager had given you permission to work on your thesis while manning the register. He was sitting on the edge of the counter behind the checkout, dangling his feet slightly while he studied one of the new releases they got in stock a few days ago. For a moment, you let your eyes follow his two fingers that skimmed down the track listing.

Finally, you blinked, leaning against the register and crossing your arms. “That isn’t good.”

He lifted his head, glaring at you. “Funny.” Setting the record back in the box, he bent forward and gripped the edge of the table. “Are you opposed to playlists?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Second question: are you opposed to someone making you a playlist?” He asked, and when you simply tilted your head, not understanding what he was getting at, he sighed. “I was attempting to build up suspense. I made you a playlist.”

“Oh.” You released your arms, letting them fall at your sides. “Why?”

He was looking at anything but you now. “Because I …” His back was tense as he pulled out his phone. “I don’t know. I just thought it would be a nice way to share all the music we’ve listened together so far.” He lifted his head again. “Don’t read into it.”

Before you could reply, he slipped off the counter while pulling up your texts. You looked down at your own phone, seeing a new text from him on the lock screen.

Vernon (Manager Friend): [Spotify Link: Your New Favorite Playlist]

“It seemed almost wrong to make it on Spotify.”

You lifted your head up and met his eyes, brow furrowing.

“Burning music onto CDs is a lost art,” he explained, and just that one sentence completely killed every romanticization you had about him. “I’m simply too lazy to do all of that now.”

“Well, that’s good then,” you said, turning back to your laptop when you still felt your cheeks start to heat. Why were you blushing? This was unlike you; this didn’t mean anything. You reminded yourself this as you turned your head, finding him over your shoulder. “I don’t own a CD player. Most people don’t nowadays.”

He thought for a moment, and then flicked your arm. “Right.”

Despite yourself, despite what he told you – you read into it. There was no way to not when he told you it consisted of songs that he always wanted to show someone like you. You kept the playlist on repeat, wondering if it could be burned into your brain like a CD. Most were songs you’d heard before, but there were some that stood out, some that you wanted injected into your veins to be a part of you forever. Was this how he felt? Hearing a song so beautiful that you never wanted to part from it? You listened to the playlist more times than you liked to admit, allowing the last one in particular to replay until you got tired of it: Night Drive by Jimmy Eat World.

Come alive on the driver’s side … So close I taste your breath … Your lips go dry, but there’s sweet inside … Wine must go right to your head …

The lyrics were pouring through your right AirPod when Mingyu started waving a hand in front of your face. You had begun to listen to the playlist during shifts, distracting yourself from whatever album Aileen had plugged into the speakers to repeat throughout the day. Pausing the song, you took out your AirPod and asked, “Do you need me to yell at you again for your shitty organizational skills?”

“No,” he quipped, “and I find it rude that you would assume I would change my ways. I’m leaving now anyway. My bike is still frozen outside, so Wonwoo is picking me up.” He pondered, and then added, “Well, him and his girlfriend are picking me up in her car. But at least I don’t need to take public transit.”

Your brow lifted. “Your nerdy roommate finally bagged that girl from his office?”

“He is not important.” Mingyu tapped his fingers on your screen, noticing the album cover to the song you’re listening to pop up. “What the hell? Since when do you listen to anything other than Avril Lavigne?”

“Excuse you, I listen to more than just her. I just keep my favorites in rotation.” You then shrugged. “I’ve been trying to venture outside of my bubble.”

“You? Outside of your bubble?” He almost wanted to laugh, but that would earn him the kind of look that made him feel like knives were piercing his stomach. Instead, he smirked a little. “That seems like a song Vernon would listen to.”

You didn’t look at him, knowing you’d been caught redhanded. Mingyu could be such a gossip; telling him things meant the entire city knew. Busying yourself with cleaning up around the register, you replied, “Not sure what that could mean.”

“Well, you two have been hanging out after Reverb closes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps still visible even underneath his ripped denim jacket. “Oh, come on. I see your Instagram stories. You would never willingly be in Bushwick, unless …”

You shot him that signature glare. Already, he felt a pain in his gut. “What are you trying to suggest?”

He narrowed his eyes, and then said, “You guys are hooking up.”

“Can you lower your voice?” You whispered back harshly. “We do still have those security cameras, you know.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No!”

“I thought we were lowering our voices.” His grin widened. “Honestly, he was the last person I expected you to go after, but I am kinda into the whole manager and employee thing.”

You frowned. “I am not hooking up with Vernon.”

Mingyu realized you were serious. His expression fell. “Then, what is it?”

“We’re just friends,” you scoffed, opening up your phone to check the time. It was then, as you were staring down at your screen, reading the title of the Spotify playlist, that you realized Mingyu was probably looking at the same thing. He saw it, noticed Vernon’s name as the creator, and you felt every bone in your body freeze as if you were standing outside.

Both of your heads lifted at the same time. Mingyu was the first to say, “He made you a playlist.”

There was no way out of this one, not even as you locked your screen again. “Um –” You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“And you’re not fucking?”

“No, Mingyu, we’re not fucking,” you grumbled. “He told me not to read into it.”

Suddenly, it dawned on him, and Mingyu damn near giggled with how innocent both of you were being. Something about this was so pure, despite the obvious tension between you and Vernon. “So he likes you,” he stated confidently, “and you like him.”

“No,” you replied so quick he almost didn’t finish speaking. “We’ve been just hanging out for a couple months. He’s been showing me music on the off days I’m not at school and after work. That’s all.”

He chuckled under his breath. “A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone.”

“We’re just friends –”

“And you would never willingly go out of your comfort zone unless …” He scrunched up his nose, trying to think. “Well, unless you had a crush. I’ve known you for over a year now. This isn’t that hard to figure out.”

You blinked at him. “I resent that statement. I don’t have a crush.”

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Mingyu put his hands up in surrender, and then immediately lowered them. “But I’m not though.”

Your mouth opened to retort, but the bell above the door was chiming as a tall, lanky man sprinted through it. Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate, stopped short by the entrance, his glasses fogging from the heat inside the store. His voice was slightly muffled by the scarf wrapped around his neck, “Mingyu, come on. She has the car running outside and with our luck, she could get a ticket.”

“A tragedy,” Mingyu muttered, adjusting the strap of his backpack and heading for the door. Wonwoo sighed, stepping back into the cold air, and as Mingyu reached the door frame, he looked back at you. His expression was smug, and you felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “See you tomorrow, lover girl.”

So maybe you did have a crush.

But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything, and you simply didn’t have the balls to approach the conversation otherwise.

Mingyu had to be full of it. A guy would never do all that unless he liked someone, was such bullshit. You had been friends with men before, and you were sick of the assumption that the opposite sex couldn’t be friends. Just because you were defying your own rule with your crush meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. You knew that Vernon saw you as a friend anyway.

You didn’t want to ruin this. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this relaxed in your two years of grad school. The last thing you wanted was this to slip from your fingertips.

You needed a distraction – anything to not think about the stupid feelings growing inside you, the kind that made you want to claw at your stomach to stop the butterflies. For the first time, you were working the closing shift on a Saturday with Mingyu because Vernon had taken the day off. You were trying to focus on writing your thesis behind the register, but the store had been swamped today, leaving you with your racing thoughts and the best customer service smile you could muster. Mingyu was in the backroom doing god knows what, but you did notice that the music throughout the store had changed to club songs when he was in charge.

When you finally had a moment of reprieve, you slouched against the back counter and scrolled through your phone. You stopped when you noticed an ad for a local band Vernon had recommended to you a couple weeks ago called Broken Antenna. They were playing a show in Queens tonight, conveniently right after your shift ended at Reverb. Tapping your fingers on the counter behind you, you wondered if this was crazy, impulsive even. You were never like this, making spur of the moment plans, but something was telling you to live a little.

If not for yourself, just to get these thoughts about Vernon out of your head. At least for one night.

After looking around to make sure no one was in the store, you walked to the back and found Mingyu spinning in the office chair that Aileen or Vernon typically occupied. He stopped the second you knocked a fist on the doorframe, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Having fun?” You said with a brow raise.

“We all need a break every once in a while,” he quipped, standing up and sliding his phone in his back pocket.

“Speaking of breaks,” you replied, and now he was lifting a brow, “you got any plans tonight? There’s a band playing in Queens and I don’t want to go alone.”

Mingyu grinned big.

It didn’t take much convincing. You definitely could’ve texted one of your friends from school to go, but truthfully, you knew Mingyu was dying for another night out with you. Despite how drunk you got the last time you both went to a club, you could admit that it was still fun and he was one of the few people that could get you to let loose for a few hours. 

Once your shift was over, you hid your belongings in the backroom, bringing only your jackets, before locking up the store and heading to the subway. It didn’t take long to get there, and you probably arrived at the bar-turned-venue only forty minutes after the set started. After showing the bouncer both your IDs, hands shaking from the cold, you were let inside the packed bar. Mingyu was tall, so he took the lead with pushing through the crowd. The band was loud and slightly off pitch, but the crowd was lively and made the experience all the more fun. Tugging you towards the bar, Mingyu order four tequila shots and two beers.

It was going to be one of those nights with him.

You both downed your shots immediately, and by the time Mingyu was pulling you into the crowd, you felt your vision start to blur. Maybe it was because you drank almost half of your beer now too. Or maybe you were simply a lightweight. Both could be true. As the band shouted at the crowd, Mingyu hollered back, angling his phone over the throng of people to capture someone crowd surfing on video. How someone could be crowd surfing in this packed bar, you had no idea, but you clutched Mingyu just to get out of the way. 

Looking up at your coworker, you couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t tripping over himself right now. His height allowed him to tower over everyone and his muscle mass was extensive, but it was like the two shots hadn’t effective him in the slightest. This was your sign to start going to the gym more often, build up some muscle, because you couldn’t keep getting this tipsy after just a couple shots. 

He pulled out a nip of whiskey from one of the pockets in his cargo pants, and then offered it to you. “Want some?” He asked, going up to your ear to yell over the music. Your eyes squinted, and even he looked confused why the nip was on him. Everything inside you told you to slow down, but if you didn’t, you’d have to be burdened with the aching realization that you liked fucking Vernon.

So you took the nip and drank half of it.

You were swaying now, hands in the air as the music rang through your eardrums. You couldn’t even hear your own thoughts at this point. Which, honestly, had been your goal. Lacing one of your arms with Mingyu’s, you both began bouncing up and down to the band together, screaming when the singer pointed to you two in the crowd. 

The next time you jumped up, your ankle twisted on the ground, almost making your knees buckle. You clutched onto Mingyu hard, but he didn’t really notice you fall. The alcohol was getting to you, and you had now just spilt the ounce left of your beer all over your favorite work sweater. You hissed at the soreness in your ankle, not realizing as you started to stand that another person was pushing through the crowd. There was a new pair of shoes next to you, and you tilted your head up to meet a familiar face.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asked over the guitar blaring through your ears.

He didn’t look surprised to see you, but you were blinking, trying to get your vision to cooperate. “I – yes,” you shouted back. Your eyes couldn’t focus on anything right now, especially with the alcohol coursing through your body. “What – what are you doing here? I didn’t – didn’t expect …”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your mouth just deciding not to move anymore. Vernon searched your eyes, pupils wide from intoxication, and he plucked the beer glass out of your hands before you could pull away. “Hey!” You snarled, but he held his arm back, even in this packed crowd.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ I showed you this band!” He replied, hostility laced in his tone. “I’m taking you home.”

“But I came here with –” You looked to your left, seeing Mingyu’s arm not intertwined with yours anymore. Confused, you looked over the swarm of people and saw him now bumping shoulders with the small pit that formed in the middle of the floor. Your jaw dropped – when did he leave your side? You hadn’t even felt it.

Before you could register it, Vernon tucked your fingers through his and began pulling you out of the densely packed crowd of drunk adults. Even through the fog of tequila and whiskey, a small flutter rose in your stomach when you realized your hand was locked around his. His palm was warmer than you expected, nothing like your cold skin, constantly pricked with goosebumps.

The December air was so cold that it burned your skin, making your cheeks flush even more than alcohol. Vernon’s hand was still in yours, still tugging you, the wind whipping back your hair and almost taking your feet off the ground. But he guided you, kept you upright. Only about a block later and he was ushering you towards his old Chevy parked on the street, helping you into the passenger seat. You huffed when he reached over you to grab your seatbelt, “I can just –”

“Please, shut up,” he muttered, locking the seatbelt in place.

Your lips sealed immediately.

He rounded the car quickly before jumping inside and starting the engine. He held his hands out, waiting for the heat to crank on. After a minute, he started blowing into his hands and glanced over at you, watching you shiver as you forced your head to stay up. Grabbing your freezing palms, he placed them over his mouth and blew his own hot breath into them. Your eyes were wide now, unsure of what to do. 

Something about sharing his warmth with you felt so intimate. More intimate than kissing, even sex.

Once heat began to sputter out of the vents, he let go of your hands and pulled into the deserted city street. Your looked at your palms, now face up on your lap, and wondered if this was one of those daydreams you had when you were blackout drunk. It had only happened twice, but it was enough to become a pattern. A buzzing sound emerged beside you, and it took you a long moment before you realized Vernon was talking to you.

“H-Huh?” You hiccuped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your jacket.

“I asked what your address is.”

“Oooooh,” you nodded, a line forming between your brows as you concentrated. “I … hmm, I can’t remember right now. I think it’s … jeez.”

Vernon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where’s your wallet?”

“Uhhhhh …” Your words slurred, trailing off as you pulled your wallet from your pocket.

He grabbed it immediately, filtering through the cards with his eyes still on the road. You watched his fingers flip through your wallet, trying to ignore the warmth brewing inside you, until he located your license. Looking down for a quick moment, he found your address and nodded, throwing the wallet back to you. “Ow,” you murmured.

As you leaned your head against the seat rest, you noticed that he was rolling his eyes at you, white knuckling the steering wheel. You were so drunk that you considering prying his fingers off, holding one of his hands to release the tension inside of him. But your brain felt like goo and you couldn’t make sense of a damn thing.

“You’re … you’re b-being m … mean,” you stuttered, and then poked him in the arm. 

He made an annoyed sound under his breath. “I’m not being mean. I’m literally driving you home.”

You studied him for a moment, as much as an intoxicated person could. Your eyes narrowed. “Iffffff you’re not being m-mean, then what … what are you? Jealooooooous?”

The car halted at a stop light and he looked over at you immediately. His stare was blank, serious and critical. “Yeah,” he stated, no hesitation. 

You chuckled for a moment, your breath tainted with the stench of cheap whiskey, until you realized that he wasn’t joking. His gaze was still locked on yours, until the light turned green  and he was pressing on the gas again. Your laughter died instantly as you faced the road with him, playing with your hands on your lap.

Silence echoed throughout the car.

The fog in your head was telling you to close your eyes, but you willed yourself to keep them open. “Is t-this …” Your throat was suddenly dry. “Is this about Mingyu?”

Vernon sighed. “Fuck, it’s – it’s not about Mingyu.”

A dull pain emerged in your forehead. How could this be happening already? Rubbing at your temples, you whined, “Then whaaaaaat could it possibly be about?”

“I’m going to sound like a dick.”

You snickered, “Never stopped you before.”

He didn’t even register your words, because he was shaking his head and rubbing a finger over his top lip, frustration clawing at him. “I thought …” He paused, and somehow, having to look at the road and not into your drunken gaze made this so much harder. “I just thought you would’ve asked me. To go see the band, I mean. I didn’t even know you were interested in going. If I had known, I would’ve asked you or hoped you would ask me.”

“B-But I … I only went because I saw an ad for the c-concert. And I wanted a distraction from …” Your voice got quiet as you wrinkled your nose. “I still don’t understand  … hoooow you’re … y-you’re jealous.”

“I’m jealous that someone else got to spend this time with you when it should’ve been me.”

You were staring at him again, his words almost suffocating you, compressing into your head and matching the throb between your temples. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to hurl yourself right out of this vehicle. Tonight was about freedom and not coming to terms with whatever was happening inside you. Not a confession.

Vernon licked his lips, meeting your eyes for a split second. “I thought listening to music was our thing.”

Your breathing stilled, your lips falling open in shock. Fingers digging into the seems of your pants, you felt the bile rise up in your throat, and you desperately tried to shove it down. This was sick. This was twisted. Why the fuck was he telling you this right now? Why couldn’t he just pretend that he wasn’t mad, drop you off, and be on his merry way?

“That’s it?” He added, turning down the heat slightly. “You’re gonna say nothing –”

God, you actually were going to puke.

“Can you pull over? I think I’m gonna vomit.”

His brow furrowed, startled, but he pulled onto the side of the road without saying a word. He had parked on the bridge, just as small flurries of snow started to fall. You practically punched the door open, stepping out, and not even being able to make it to the edge of the bridge. Vomiting all over the sidewalk, you were surprised when another pair of shoes materialize beside you and a hand began to rest on your back. But you supposed this was his thing: appearing when you needed him most. You coughed and looked up at Vernon, the anger vanishing from his expression. 

You hacked again, phlegm dribbling on your chin. “You’re gonna get puke on your shoes.”

“I know,” he exhaled heavily, before swiping away the drool on your lips.

He let you continue to hurl your guts out as snow gathered in your knotted hair. Vernon refused to move away, kept a firm hand on your back as you extracted all the alcohol left in your body. When you were finally done, you straightened your back and he tucked hair behind your ears. You wiped your mouth, looking up at him all doe-eyed, and his resolve almost crumbled. He ushered you back inside the warm car before you could start shivering, intent on getting you home more than ever.

You weren’t sure how long it took you to fall asleep in his passenger seat. But when you woke up the next morning with no recollection of the conversation from the night before, the single thing you did remembered was someone tucking you in.

At some point in every adult’s life, you learn that you’re just not as young as you used to be. When you went through the entire weekend and realized you had gotten blackout drunk at that concert, you came to the conclusion that you shouldn’t go that hard ever again. The body you had in undergrad could handle things that you simply couldn’t today.

Your memory of that night ended when Vernon appeared beside you in the crowd, after you almost fell on the dirty ground of that bar. Mingyu had been at your side. Or had he gone away around then? Again, you couldn’t remember. But at some point, Mingyu was with you, and then Vernon had helped you to your feet. The rest was a tequila and whiskey-induced blur. When you swallowed, you still got a tinge of it on your breath, no matter how many times you mouthwashed.

Your next shift with him was on Tuesday evening. Running from your last class of the day, you slipped and fell on a patch of ice, not taking a moment to collect yourself before you were sprinting to Reverb again. Your ass was already hurting and there would surely be a bruise, but you couldn’t worry about that right now. The wind bit at your cheeks and you stuffed your frozen hands in your pockets, until you reached the door of the store –

At the same time as Vernon.

You both stopped short, your hands reaching for the handle. His cheeks were red, and something told you it wasn’t from the winter air. Averting his gaze, he held the door open and said, “After you.”

You nodded, “Thanks.” Your tongue darted out as you passed him, licking your lips, and he noticed. (Of course, he noticed.) He entered into the store after you, brushing snowflakes from his cropped hair. You spotted Mingyu talking to Aileen at the front before you turned to Vernon beside you. 

Despite the rush you’d been in, both of you lingered by the doorway, kicking the snow off your shoes. Vernon was looking at his boots, refusing to meet your eyes, and you didn’t want to beat around the bush. Lowering your head slightly, you said, “You haven’t texted me in few days. Is something wrong?”

Finally, his eyes flicked up. Instead of answering your question, he replied, “I didn’t … I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“You don’t remember anything from Saturday?”

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Not exactly,” you muttered, a red flush creeping onto your cheek. “I might’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think Mingyu drove me home. Or we took the subway back. It’s kind of a blur.”

Hurt flashed across his face for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “Oh, yeah, he did,” he nodded, scratching behind his ear. “I’m glad you got home safe.”

You felt the tension between you dissipate, the air suddenly feeling cleaner, relaxed. A smile made it’s way to your lips as you both began to walk towards the backroom. You waved to Aileen and mentioned, “I’m pretty sure I saw you there, right? Everything kind of gets hazy after you appeared next to me. But it was cool to see some of those songs live after listening to them together.”

“Yeah,” Vernon exhaled heavily, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Aileen held you up all day,” you said while still staring at your laptop behind the counter. 

Mingyu paused by register, adjusting the strap of his backpack, and nodded. “We’re trying to figure out what shipment this week got held up at the port. I don’t know. I guess her husband is gonna help her figure it out.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Way out of my pay grade.”

You finally glanced up and shut your computer, making sure to save your thesis document first. There were lines under Mingyu’s eyes that hadn’t always been there. He was always in pristine condition, a partier that never sacrificed his beauty sleep. Rather than talking around the subject, you were blunt: “No sleep this weekend?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Got my first proper night on Monday. On Saturday, I almost stayed up for a full 24 hours.”

“That’s not like you,” you replied, and he agreed with a chuckle under his breath. Leaning your hip against the checkout, you played with the buttons on the computer and added, “Speaking of Saturday, thanks for taking me home after the concert. I know I can be very annoying when I’m drunk. Next shift, I’ll bring you Shake Shack for lunch.”

“You really do know the key to my heart.” He placed a hand on his chest and pouted. He looked so much like a puppy sometimes. And then, his expression fell. “I didn’t take you home though.”

Your eyes darted around, confused. He was probably too tired to remember right now. “I was so sure you did. Even Vernon confirmed it.”

Mingyu’s brow knitted. He was pausing by the register, not caring that Wonwoo was most likely waiting in the freezing cold to pick him up from his shift. Tapping three fingers on the counter, Mingyu huffed out a short laugh. “Well,” he clicked his tongue, “I don’t know why he would say that. Because he drove you home.”

You blinked, making sure you were understanding him. Your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, assessing his answer. No, he was telling the truth. Mingyu was the worst liar on the planet; you could tell by his stance. The last time he tried lying to Aileen, his back hunched so much you thought he had an underlying medical condition.

“Then why would he tell me the opposite?” You asked, agitation laced in your tone.

Mingyu shrugged. “Beats me. Do you think he said something to you while you were drunk that he’s glad you forgot? You guys are basically in love.”

“You are so fucking dramatic,” you scoffed. “He did ask me if I remembered anything from Saturday. Maybe he –”

“You know I’d love to stay and chat about your emo boy struggles,” Mingyu cut in, already walking away from the register and wrapping a scarf around his neck. “But Wonwoo definitely has the car running. Just text me. I’ll answer. Don’t give me that look. I promise.”

The bell above the door rang as it closed behind him, leaving you with the question still on the edge of your tongue. What the fuck did Vernon say to you when you were drunk?

After a long week of classes, thesis writing, and your weird manager-turned-friend kind of icing you out, you were surprised to receive a text from said friend on Sunday evening. You had spent the majority of the weekend reading through a portion of research for your thesis, the words so mind numbing that they began to blend together. You found this study interesting, honesty, but research writing had a way of making just about anything boring sometimes. There was only so many times you could read about the impact of the printing press on the Protestant Reformation. 

When you finally looked down at your phone – twenty minutes after it lit up – you saw the preview of Vernon’s text and straightened up. You had been sitting in the same position on your couch for so long that your back cracked.

Vernon (Manager Friend): are you doing anything tonight? You: thesis Vernon (Manager Friend): let me rephrase: are you doing anything important tonight? You: this is important. rude. Vernon (Manager Friend): I want to see you tonight You: that’s all you had to say, vernon. no need to beat around the bush Vernon (Manager Friend): who am I if not beating the bush? Vernon (Manager Friend): that came out weird Vernon (Manager Friend): meet me at the borough exchange in bushwick around 9. there’s a show I want you to see You: can I bring some friends? promise I hang out with not just mingyu Vernon (Manager Friend): I’ll believe it when I see it

You texted your friends, tried not to get offended when they acted surprised that you wanted to go out on a Sunday night, and then ransacked your closet for something to wear. Nothing was right. It was either too casual or too fancy. The jeans you liked didn’t hug your waist the same just out of the dryer and your favorite going-out top didn’t fit your chest like it used to. Eventually, you decided on your favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit perfectly but were a little ratty at the bottom – and a tight, white thermal long-sleeve that was casual enough but made your boobs look good, even without an open neckline. There was no reason to overthink this. It was a Sunday, and this was just Vernon.

Just. Vernon.

After throwing on your parka, you met up with your friends, Hana and Seungkwan, at the subway. Hana had been one of your classmates since undergrad, while you met Seungkwan a few years ago at an art gallery and you both quickly bonded over medieval art and thrift shopping. The three of you saw each other when you could, during planned dinner reservations made weeks in advance or nights like these when you were going out of your small bubble and needed some company. 

A missed train or so later, your group finally managed to get off at the right stop and headed for the Borough Exchange. It was a dive bar near Vernon’s apartment that you maybe visited once before. (Mingyu was right. You didn’t typically go out of your way to see Bushwick.) You shivered as soon as the warm air hit you when you entered the small pub, music blaring from the back where a live band was playing. You could only guess that was where Vernon wanted to meet.

Pushing through the bodies of tipsy patrons, you vowed to not have a drop of alcohol tonight after last weekend. Even the thought of whiskey made your head throb. As you guys settled near the wall of the dance floor, Hana shouted over the loud guitar solo, “Where’s you friend?”

“Not sure,” you shrugged, and then checked the time on your phone. “It’s past nine. Maybe he’s running late?”

“Uh, based on your description of him,” Seungkwan called out, pointing towards the front, “I think that’s him on the stage.”

Your head whipped around, gaze meeting Vernon's immediately as he sang into the mic. His fingers danced across the strings of the red electric guitar in his hands, calloused and dry, but  he was so talented you almost didn’t believe it. He was backed by a band behind him, who you remembered from a picture he showed you once. His best friend, Minghao, played the base, while Seokmin was on the drums and Jihoon commanded a keyboard. They sounded great. They sounded professional. Vernon’s singing was out of this world, reminding you of all the old bands he spent showing you, but so authentically him. When did he start possessing such raw talent?

Your voice was unrecognizable, almost in awe, as you said, “Wow, he’s so –”

“Hot,” Seungkwan finished, and you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, come on, I knew you were going to say it.”

“Of course, she was,” Hana said, bumping her hip against yours. “He’s the one she’s been spending so much time with. She even came to see him at the drop of a hat.”

Seungkwan’s cheeks were so big as he poke you in the arm. “This is so fun! Almost like high school all over again, just without all the trauma. You liiiiiiike him.”

“Shhhhhhhh!” You scoffed, tugging on both their sleeves, your attention back on the stage. Your lips widened into a huge smile. “There’s a concert in front of us. Pay attention.”

Vernon and his band were only allowed to play for fifteen more minutes, until the bar manager came near the stage during one of their songs and started twirling his finger for them to wrap it up. They finished their covered of Complicated by Avril Lavigne before Vernon grabbed the mic and thanked the small crowd for listening. “Feel free to pick up our EP at the door,” he added, lifting up one hand. “We’re Awkward High-Five.”

Seokmin came up from behind the drums to slap his hand against Vernon’s. Minghao bumped his shoulder as they all jumped off stage, muttering, “We have to change the name. I was busy when you guys voted on it. It’s terrible. Even Woozi agrees with me.”

Jihoon pinched the bridge of his nose, already walking off to the bar for a drink.

“You’ll get over it, Hao,” Vernon replied, his stare completely focused on you. Minghao rolled his eyes before heading outside to have a cigarette, Seokmin quickly following behind. You were so nervous that you weren’t sure how to unclench your fists. It felt like it was only you two in the room as he walked over, your gazes unwavering. Even your friends stepped off to the side to give you privacy, or maybe Hana just wanted to talk to Jihoon. It didn’t matter, because you couldn’t focus on anything but the way Vernon was smiling at you. And now you were grinning even bigger. And the world felt like it was so small, fit for only you and him.

“Hi,” you murmured.

“Hey.” One of his hands reached out to caress your wrist. Just barely, only for a second. But enough to make your cheeks heat. “You came.”

“You called.”

He nodded, “Indeed. I knew it’d be tough to tear you away from your computer though.”

“It was, but …” You tried stopping yourself, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he noticed, eyes flickering just for a moment. They softened for you. And finally, you admitted, “I missed you.”

His mouth formed into that cat-like smile again, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Let me buy you a drink.”

He bought you a Shirley Temple because you expressed that you didn’t want alcohol tonight, and he joined you. The drink was sweet and syrupy, and gave you a quick glimpse of him being able to tie a cherry stem with his tongue. He didn’t let you dwell on it though – that’d be too dangerous – and he tugged on your hand to force you to introduce him to your friends. He spent an hour chatting with all of you, making an effort to tease Seungkwan because he noticed the way your friend laughed when he did. All the while, you felt his free hand skim the small of your back. Hardly there, a ghost of a touch. You felt it though. You always felt him.

When both of your glasses were empty, he turned to your friends instead of you and asked, “Would you guys mind if I drove her home?”

You shook your head. “Do I have a say in this?”

“No,” they said in unison, and then Seungkwan added, “You should drive her home, Vernon.”

“Better than taking the subway,” Hana added. “Not many people have a warm car in this city.”

You rolled your eyes before you gaze locked with his, allowing him to lead you out of the bar with a firm hand on your back this time. Minghao and Seokmin were tossing their instruments back of a van while Jihoon smoked what was left of the joint in his pocket. He offered it to Vernon as he said goodbye to all of them, but he simply waved his hand. “Nah,” he answered, “gotta drive home.”

He never turned down a joint before.

Blasting the heat as soon as you both got inside his car, the memories of Saturday night became a little more clear. You didn’t voice it, but you suddenly remembered the plushness of his passenger seat, the way his glove box didn’t close fully, the stench of weed and cologne that lingered in the fabric walls. You gave him your address, wondering if he’d give himself up, but he simply nodded and pulled out of his spot on the curb. 

He handed you his phone with Spotify open. You looked at him with confusion, pushing the aux cord in when it tried to pop out. “Show me an album you like,” he said with a jut of his chin. 

“Really?” 

He nodded eagerly. “Really.” His eyes flickered over to you quickly, noticing the way you lit up as you scrolled through his phone. Your tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of your mouth when you concentrated, and he hated that he had to tear his eyes away from you to drive. You had no idea, and how could you have know, how much it meant for you to show him music you liked. How you were engaging in a love language he never realized was there.

After much deliberation, you set his phone down and the familiar sound of Katy Perry’s voice filled his old speakers. He recognized this song from somewhere – Hackensack? – but it was acoustic. He’d never heard any of Katy’s softer work. Flicking his phone screen on for a moment, he saw an album cover that said, Katy Perry: MTV Unplugged 2009.

“I realize how random this is,” you began when his eyes met yours before turning back to the stop sign ahead. A smirk played at his lips. “Don’t laugh. I’ve listened to this album at least every week since I was a kid. I just really love it.”

The songs faded into each other – from Lost to Waking Up in Vegas – taking him back to his childhood too. He remembered when his sister used to sing these songs into her hairbrush, screaming in his ear just to piss him off. Did you experience them a different way? Or did you, too, jump around your room with your hairbrush pressed against your mouth as you belted? He wondered how much this album meant to you, if you listened to it in times of distress, if you had your first car make out to a song as silly as I Kissed a Girl. There were a million memories that you probably had with this album and he was now hearing it for the first time, through your eyes.

He slowed down at a red light as the chorus to Thinking of You picked up, and you sunk into the passenger seat, watching the streetlights twinkle outside as you warmed your hands inside your jacket sleeves. Vernon had never heard this song like this before, had never taken the time to hear the lyrics or how the guitar riff slowed: Cause when I’m with him, I am thinking of you … What you would do … If you were the one who was spending the night …

Vernon was looking at you now – really looking at you – and he wondered if the world had stopped because all he could hear was white noise in his ears. The way your lips tugged into a smile made your cheeks dip. The way your eyes lit up at the smallest of things. How proud you got when you did something right. When you got excited to talk about your studies. Everything hit him in that moment and he realized how icing you out this week because he was being an awkward asshole made him miss you. Miss this. Just you and him.

The ringing stopped, and the song filtered through.

Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes …

Vernon pursed his lips. “Do you want to go somewhere else instead of your apartment right now?”

You turned to him, beaming, all warm like the shit heating system in his car. “Sure.”

He nodded, finally looking back as the light turned green. Instead of going straight, he took a right, heading for one of the parks in Brooklyn. Pulling into the parking lot, you were greeted with the sight of Prospect Park Lake at night, something you hadn’t considered seeing before. The lake was man-made, sure, but the stars shined down on it just right, making the water glitter like diamonds.

Vernon parked right in front of the snow piles, but you both could still see the lake from here. He leaned back in his seat, his elbow resting on the edge of the window while his cheek pressed onto his fist. “I used to practice guitar here when I was a teenager,” he mused, watching the water. “I didn’t have the money for lessons, so I had to teach myself. The lake was the only place where I found peace and quiet in the city. Usually, it would just be me here and someone’s dad fishing.”

“How did you afford a guitar back then if you couldn’t get lessons?”

He sneered. “I have always been a yard sale fiend.”

Settling into a comfortable silence, the Katy Perry album ended and transitioned into his liked songs. You could tell because the Cure was now playing, a song he had showed you months ago. Your hands twitched, and you eventually turned on your side in the passenger seat to face him. He was still staring at the water lick against the rocks, running a hand over his spiked hair. “Did you bring me here to kill me?” You asked, brows narrowing.

“What?” His head whipped to yours. “Why would you ask me that?”

You tilted your head. Was he that oblivious, or did he want you to say it? This had to be one of your worst nightmares. “You’ve been acting so strange around me recently,” you answered, now playing with the broken zipper dangling by your waist. “I mean, for instance … why didn’t you tell me about your band before?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Tell me,” you said quickly, your mouth forming in a soft smile “I’m interested.”

You made his words more beautiful, like wind chimes on the first day of spring.

So he told you. Turning in the driver’s seat, he spoke about when he met his friends, how they decided to make music. It had been Jihoon’s idea; he was the mastermind behind everything. When they weren’t practicing covers of songs they all grew up listening to, Jihoon was writing their music or putting together melodies. He would get home from his 9 to 5 accounting job and immediately open his notebook to write, finding joy in this as much as his other friends. They had only been doing this for a year as a hobby, and just recently decided on a name, but he wondered if maybe, just maybe, if they applied themselves … “I don’t want to get my hopes up though,” Vernon waved his hand. "Especially with Hao’s bad attitude about the name.”

“He’ll get used to it. Hopefully,” you snickered. “The name is … well –”

“Not you too,” he sighed. 

He was looking at you again, and suddenly, it felt like you were the Mona Lisa. Like you were an LP being ogled by a customer chasing a deal. His eyes were intimate, almost hungry, and his words were slightly laced with the impulse to be closer: “I missed talking to you this week. I know we didn’t share a lot of shifts, but I didn’t text you. I know I was being weird.”

His palm was open and resting on the center console. You couldn’t help but reach out and coast your fingertip over one of the lines. Without looking at him, you asked, “Why did you lie about driving me home after the concert last weekend?”

“Caught red-handed,” he muttered, closing his fingers around yours, but only for a moment. Your gaze flicked up and met his. “I was embarrassed.”

“Because …?”

“Because I was jealous that you didn’t ask me to go with you,” he admitted, running a hand down his face. “Because I was being possessive over your time when … well, when that’s not for me to dictate.”

“You can be possessive over my time, Vernon. Just ask me first.” You flicked his arm, and he opened two fingers over his eyes to look at you. “And no more lying.”

He let the hand fall from his pretty brown eyes, grinning so big that he was showing his perfect teeth. You were almost jealous of him now, his nice, straight teeth, not one out of place. But he was staring at you like your smile lines didn’t mean a thing, like your front teeth weren’t stained from years of black coffee or that stress zit near your chin didn’t exist. His hand closed around your wrist again, thumb running over your pulse point. It was so intimate and yet so far away and oh, my god – you were finally going to say it –

“Vernon.” Your voice was so quiet you almost didn’t recognize it. “What are we doing?”

He stifled a laugh. “I’m not sure.” 

You didn’t respond, unsure how to take it, but his thumb was still caressing your wrist and sending shivers up your spine that you hadn’t felt in years. When was the last time someone touched you this way? With reverence, with actual desire?

“Pretty certain you can’t go back to being friends after admitting I got jealous over you,” he clicked his tongue, and then tilted his head up. Brow furrowing and his other palm out on the console, he added, “It was never about Mingyu, FYI. But did you really have to go with him? I mean, like, the guy’s a god.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was unfamiliar, but never with him. “I don’t like Mingyu in that way.”

He squinted one of his eyes, a snarky reply on the tip of his tongue. But he wanted for you to continue; too scared to admit more of the truth. Rejection was fleeting, not painless, and he could see that you were fighting the same battle with the way you were biting your lip. God, did that make him want to kiss you more –

“I like you,” you whispered back, resting your palm over his other one. “And I’ve just been … too scared to ruin this. But I know I can’t be anymore. So if you didn’t bring me here to kill me, the least you could do is –”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence, leaning over the center console to crash his lips onto yours. Noses bumped, teeth gnashed, but when his hand came up to cradle your jaw, you let yourself melt into it. His kiss was slow, despite all the pent-up tension that had been riddling inside him. Morrissey’s voice filtered through the speakers – And you never knew … How much I really liked you … Because I never even told you … – as Vernon licked into your mouth in a way that had your thighs pressing together in the cramped passenger seat.

He tugged on your bottom lip, and then let go. He pushed himself back against his seat, realizing he’d gotten a little more excited than planned. But he’d finally got to kiss you, and your lips were so soft, and the way your soft sounds filtered into his mouth made him undoubtedly hard –

He noticed you bring a hand to your bottom lip, swiping a droplet of blood, and that was all it took.

Cranking his seat back, you let him pick you up as if you were nothing but a doll, sliding you over the console until your hips were flush against his. You had to lean forward to prevent your head from bumping against the roof of the car and your legs were even more cramped as you kneeled on his lap, but you were doing this. How could you not when his hands were so slow, precise? They trembled slightly from pure excitement as he unzipped your jacket, letting them glide up the tight thermal you were thankful you chose to wear.

The windows began to fog up from the heat, but he didn’t notice a damn thing except for the way you were sitting so perfectly on his lap. He sat up a little, and you guided his hand to cup the swell of your breast. “Christ,” he muttered, now against your lips, “you have no idea …”

“About what?” Your hot breath fanned his cheek. His touch was barely there as he ran his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden underneath your shirt. It felt like he was ripping you open and putting you back together just from a graze of his finger.

“How much … how much I’ve wanted to touch you,” he confessed, nibbling on your lower lip for a brief second. You pushed yourself more against him, and he almost moaned from the weight of your breasts in his palms. “I held myself back because we were friends and I didn’t want to become one of those guys. But every time we were alone, I couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to kiss you, especially when your eyes got all glassy after we smoked a joint, and sometimes I’d have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom because just being near you got me fucking hard. And it was so pathetic and needy, and so unlike me, but I started thinking about you when I jerked off –”

“I thought about you when I touched myself too.”

“Oh, fuck.”

You kissed each other like it was pure instinct, and it was rough, desperate, but needed. So needed. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, even Animal Planet – two mammals surviving on basic intuition and barbaric bliss. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for centuries, one hand pulling your hips against his while the other squeezed your breast. You pressed down on him, waiting until you heard that – oh, there it was – groan of his enter your mouth and his cock hardened in his jeans. You chased it, feeling it strain against his zipper, grinding down on it as he kissed you without trying to pathetically moan into your mouth. But it was hard – he was fucking hard – and you were so pretty on his lap that he could almost cum without being touched.

He needed to distract himself from his impending doom of cumming too early, so he  took off his jacket – quite haphazardly, enough to make you chuckle – before he peeled off your thermal top, leaving you in just a lace bralette you threw on, not even thinking another soul would see it tonight. But here you were, and now he was swallowing hard, drinking in the sight of your hard nipples pressed against the flimsy fabric. And he simply couldn’t help himself, leaning forward and yanking down the lace, dragging his tongue around one nipple. You shivered in his hold, nails raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “Vernon,” you whined. 

“Hansol,” he corrected, looking up at you as he shifted, tongue flicking against the other nipple.

“Huh?”

“Hansol tonight. Please.”

“Okay,” you whispered, the need in his voice making the hair on your arms stand up. Or maybe it was just his tongue, switching between both breasts as he lathered them with his spit. He wouldn’t stop, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like the goosebumps rising on your sensitive skin was the only thing keeping him alive. Eventually, you cut in, “But, Vern – Hansol –”

He chuckled, low and husky. “Yeah?”

“How the hell am I going to get my pants off?”

“Oh.” He leaned back, seeing the zipper on your jeans just halfway undone, hardly any room for you to move around. “That would be helpful.”

You practically snorted, pecking his lips before sliding off his lap and back into the passenger seat. Having you leave his lap was torture, but he tried to divert his attention away from his aching cock by struggling to take off his long-sleeve tee. Even you were grappling with kicking off your pants in the small vehicle, your panties so soaked just from dry humping that you had to shuck them off.

Vernon didn’t think this moment would ever come: you, sitting in his passenger seat, fully naked. It was something out of one of those wet dreams – and he had many about you – but he knew this was real because you were already climbing over the console and perching yourself right back on his lap, bare pussy pressed against his clothed erection. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up again as he watched your arousal seep into his jeans.

He was never washing these again.

Actually, he didn’t want to be gross. He would wash these.

(Theoretically, he wasn’t washing these jeans again.)

“I’ve never called you Hansol before,” you mused, pushing back his hair. “Why tonight?”

He grinned, all teeth. “I like the way you say it.”

“What if I mistakenly call you Vernon at one point?”

“That’s okay.” His hands skimmed up your sides again. “I just want to touch you.”

“Your pants are still on though.”

“Emphasis on touch,” he quipped. “We can worry about that after this.”

Holding onto your waist, he looked down and let one of his fingers trail over your folds, smearing the wetness. You breathed out a sigh, leaning back against the steering wheel, opening yourself up to him as much as you could in this confined space. It occurred to you then that if you guys had simply gone back to your apartment, he could’ve fucked you into the mattress, but it seemed fate simply wanted you both to have sex in a car at Prospect Park Lake. 

As he watched you leak onto the pads of his fingers, you couldn’t help but blurt out, “It can become like Niagara Falls down there. You’re in the splash zone.”

He immediately let out the loudest laugh, leaning back in the seat as his nose scrunched up. The way he laughed made more butterflies rise in your stomach, igniting a fire in you that not even his fingers could do. You were unable to contain yourself, smiling from ear to ear. “Holy shit,” he breathed out when his amusement subsided, and then subtly tasted you on his fingers when he thought you didn’t notice. He had to fight the urge to groan at the flavor. “Good to know. Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” you joked, lifting up a hand.

He reached down again, but before he went any further, he met your gaze. “You still want to do this?”

“Yeah, Hansol,” you replied, and his eyes fucking lit up when he heard that name come from your lips. “I want to.”

“Okay,” he smiled, straightening his back and lifting his dominant hand up. Before you could ask what he was doing, he said, “Open up.”

Your brow furrowed, but you opened your mouth anyway.

He placed three fingers on your tongue, and you closed your lips around them automatically. No hesitation needed. He watched you, felt your tongue swirl around his digits, transfixed and fantasizing what else you could fit in your mouth. But that was for another time. And if he didn’t get his fingers inside you soon, he just might die.

A trail of salvia connected your mouth to his fingers as he slipped them out, but he made sure to wipe it away with his thumb. Snaking his hand between your bodies, both of you practically folded like pretzels, he tested the waters by dipping a single finger inside your tight channel, looking up to check if you were okay. You arched slightly against the steering wheel,  careful not to hit the car horn and ruin the entire moment. He swirled that finger deeper, and you keened, pushing against him. 

You cracked one eye open. “I can take more than one finger, you know.”

“Well,” he huffed playfully, “now you’re just sounding ungrateful.”

“I’m not –”

He shoved three fingers inside of you and curled. You gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you. “Fucking Christ, Hansol –”

“Not so ungrateful anymore, huh?”

You opened both eyes, seeing him smile at you, and your own expression reflected his. Grabbing the interior handle above your head, you rocked you hips into his hand. He let out a ragged, heartbreaking breath as he began to piston those three fingers inside you. His gaze was laser focused, watching your essence drip onto his palm. The sounds you made only spurred him on, wanting to go deeper, to find that spot that made you see stars. You were still a little tense, and that might have to do with the limited space you were in. So he pressed his thumb down, flicking your clit like it was the only thing he knew how to do, and viewed up when he heard you whine.

“Like that?” He asked, and your response came in the form of another mewl. “Okay, I got you. Come closer.”

Before you could shift, he was wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you forward. He sat up, letting your chest become flushed with his, leaving no room for you to escape his long fingers. He shoved them back inside, crooked them even deeper, and your hips jumped in a way that told him he found it. That place. And now, you were whispering his name just as pathetically as he did with yours when he jerked off. “Hansol, please –”

“I know,” he cooed, tilting his head to graze his lips against yours. “Lemme make you cum. Soak my fingers.”

You nodded weakly, pressing your cheek against his as he fucked those three fingers into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, as your hips began to roll in time with his hand. His praise was like a soothing rhythm in your ear, but you could tell he was desperate. He was so hard underneath you that you felt his precum soak through his jeans. His fingers moved faster, pressing down on your clit while you heaved out his name. And then you were letting go, stars exploding behind your eyes when his fingers curled just right inside of you, his thumb rubbing harshly on your swollen clit at the same time. You gushed around his fingers and he was huffing like it was his first time all over again, and god, if this is how you felt around his fingers, he didn’t want to imagine how you were going to feel wrapped around his cock –

“Hansol?”

He lifted his head up again, meeting your half-lidded eyes. It took everything in him to pull his fingers out of you, to lick your release off his fingers and try not to moan loud enough to scare you off. Your stare was already so fucked out and there was sweat at your hairline and holy shit, your lips – parted with just a tiny bit of drool lingering at the corner. Fuck, he was – “I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he murmured, and then his face twisted. “I’m sorry. I sound like such a loser.”

“No, you don’t,” you chuckled softly. “You’re usually so confident. Where did all that go?”

“I think I turned to mush when you came on my fingers.”

Your brow shot up.

“I just …” He struggled to find the words, eyes darting around the car. “I didn’t really expect this to happen. Like ever. And the last place you’ve probably ever wanted to be is in my car, and –”

“Hansol,” you said, grabbing his face so he would look at you. “This is the only place I want to be. Do you want to have sex?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I kind of need to be inside you.”

You both laughed together, sitting back on his lap as he unzipped his jeans and wrestled with shucking them down enough. Your eyes raked down him then, finally noticing just how toned he was without a shirt. His skin was soft, but almost had a pearly hue in the moonlight streaming through the foggy windows. His chest was wide and his arms were slender, yet toned. His collarbones were pronounced, and you realized there was a silver chain dangling on his neck. You reached out, playing with it, as he eventually pulled his cock out.

He was longer than you assumed – at least, longer than average – with not a lot of girth, but enough to make you gawk a little. A few veins ran up the shaft, and a pretty pink head with precum running down his knuckles now. His erection, once neglected, was now demanding attention, and Vernon held it as if he was scared of being inside you, as if the mere thought of you wrapped around him was too much of a fantasy to bear. He met your eyes and you slid forward, his cologne beckoning you closer.

At one point, it was that very cologne that made you want to move further away. How the tables had turned.

You reached out, hesitated, until he realized what you were doing and allowed you to wrap your nimble fingers around him. You gave an experimental stroke, and then another, and another. His cock was hard and throbbing, but the skin was as soft and delicate. Vernon’s breath hitched, making you whisper, “Hansol …” Your thumb rubbed circles on the tip and more precum drooled out. “I thought … thought about doing this … when I touched myself,” you mewled for him, and his head fell forward.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, his warm breath hitting your nipples in the best way possible.  Your strokes were lazy, but enough to make his balls ache. “If you … if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna fucking last.”

You chuckled. “Okay, I won’t torture you any longer.”

“You can. Some other time,” he promised with a grin. “But don’t expect to get nothing in return. I think I need to spend a few hours with my face between your legs.”

The giggle you released turned into a snort, and you flicked his nose before aligning his cock with your entrance. “I can agree to those terms, if you survive tonight.” You hovered above him, your head bent over the roof of the car in perhaps the most uncomfortable position possible. You made it work though, allowing your lips to just barely graze his tip, the friction making you both keen.

Vernon sighed heavily. “Fuck, I might not.”

Slowly, reverently, you sank down on Vernon’s cock, taking him inch by inch. You let out a deep whimper as he filled you, the angle making you feel the length of him almost in your stomach. The moment he was seated fully inside, he let out a groan that was unrecognizable. A pathetic tilt resounded at the end, his breathing getting heavier and heavier the longer you simply didn’t move. He swallowed hard and demanded, “You need to move.”

“Are you going to cum just from that?” You asked, nearly out of breath.

“I might,” he confessed. “I wasn’t joking that I’ve been thinking about this forever. If you don’t move, I’m going to move you.”

You lifted your head to give him a look. “You’re so –”

His hands seized your hips, kneading hard, as he lifted you slightly off his cock before slamming you back down. You practically choked on your own spit, looking at him underneath you. He was smirking, and your jaw was unhinging. You didn’t have to say it; he could tell from your eyes that they were saying, Do it again. So his grip on you got firmer, and he began fucking you onto his cock.

Your hips ground against his, not wanting to be separated from him, and your arms wound around his neck. His moans turned louder, tongue lapping at one of your nipples again as you writhed on top of him. “Hansol,” dripped from your mouth like honey, causing his fingers  to dig into your hips deeper with each pass. His breathing was so heavy, so pretty, close to a whine and making him sound absolutely ruined even though he was the one wrecking you like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Because you were trembling and drenching his cock in your essence and fuck, you felt like a vice around him. 

“I want –” He hit a spot inside you that made you almost double over. You met his eyes as he tweaked your nipple with his teeth. “I want you to cum inside me.”

He leaned back releasing your nipple that was now red and coated in his spit. “Probably not a good idea.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, oh my god,” he murmured – anguished, desperate. “Why did you tell me that?”

It was like you flipped a switch inside him. He bounced you on his cock with renewed vigor, not even giving you the room to rock against him. There was a finish line now; there was a reason to keep touching you and a reason to have you gripping his hair like this was a ride you wouldn’t survive. He was panting now in your ear, taking a few moments in between to bite on the lobe, and when he felt his balls draw up, he somehow was able to snake a hand in between you without you noticing. His thumb was back on your clit, rubbing hard circles, and you whined and moaned, feeling like melted ice cream on a hot summer day.

Sparks blotted your vision. You saw white, and then realized what was happening. You were clenching around him so taut that you both moaned in unison. You soaked his entire shaft, and he was still fucking you through it, pinching your clit just right to prolong your orgasm. Your body was reeling, tears pricking at your eyes, not sure how much more you could take and wondering if you’d been cumming for hours. His voice sounded gruff and distant in your ear. 

“Oh, my fucking – you’re so tight when you cum. I think I’m gonna die – shit,” he muttered, a whine echoing at the end. “When was the last time you got f–”

“A while,” you huffed, forehead falling into the crook of his neck as his movements slowed a little. He was rocking you into him now, trying not to cum so quick, but you knew he’d been at the edge for a while now, and Christ, you just wanted him to fill you so badly. “So make this worth it, Vernon.”

He snickered, “Yes, ma’am.”

You gasped when you felt him fuck up into you, thrusting his hips somehow in this cramped space. Teeth biting into his shoulder, you cried out his name. You were overstimulated and fucked out, but he needed to cum. So you clenched around him again, making him breathe hard and then – there it was. That groan again. So desperate and loud and whiney as his release spilled into you. Your fingers were in his hair now, tugging, and his head fell back enough so your lips could connect. His moans poured into your mouth and they tasted sweet like grenadine. Warmth filled you, dripping between your legs when he finally stopped bucking up into you. 

Mouths detached then, hot breath fanning both your faces. Your hands now cradled his face as your lips barely ghosted over his. It took all your strength to finally sit up, feeling his softening cock begin to slip out of you, and he laid back in the seat to give you a better angle. When you were finally free, you slid over the center console and fell into the passenger seat. Neither of you bothered to put your clothes back on. The car was warm enough, the windows completely fogged, and you agreed that the only thing you wanted to do right now was just lie back. 

Eventually, you both began to laugh, tickled at the absurdity of what just happened. Vernon flipped open his glove box in front of you and pulled out a small metal tin. He flicked the lid open, revealing two hand rolled joints and a quarter of one left. He took one of the full ones and lit the end with a lighter he conveniently had in one of his cupholders. After taking a heavy drag, he handed it over to you.

Bending your seat back all the way like his, you took the joint and let the smoke fill your lungs. You opened the window a crack, just to flick a few ashes out. The leather of the seat became sticky as some of your combined releases trickled out, but neither of you, not even him, cared enough to do anything but smoke this joint and giggle.

As you relit the end, he turned to you, his lips tugging up. “So,” he began, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “since I survived tonight, mind if I take you home to do as I promised?”

You inhaled and choked at the same time, passing the joint back to him as you coughed. He patted your back, concerned, until you started laughing uncontrollably. “We finally have hook up,” you said in between snorts, “and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Do you not want to then?” He asked with the joint hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“I would be a fool to say no, Hansol.” You made an effort to call him his chosen name even when you weren’t being intimate, and that, above all, was what made his cheeks flush. The thought of his face spending hours between your thighs made your skin prick. Your pinky slowly found his on the console. “I’ll agree to your terms, if … if you promise to take me on a real date. Not some listening party in your apartment, although those are fun. Even if it’s just pizza at Tony’s. I want it to be real.”

With the joint still in between his teeth, he held up your locked pinky fingers and smiled. “You got yourself a deal.”

tag list: @taz-97 @bumbleteas @healingmv @skzbangchanniee @koliki @novawon @cherryhwa-02 @shinysobi @miniseokminnies @fancypeacepersona @novawon @georgeanabanana @chweloove @hongyinujiang @smissaay @woozilovespinkunderwear @star-wingz @vernonnme97 @luvrung @loucelle

[quinnhypen]

such an amazing story i’m obsessed!!!

[quinnhypen]

jeon wonwoo x fem!reader :D

until the world remembers.

You wake up to a city that has completely stopped moving, cars frozen in the middle of the road and streets empty like everyone just disappeared overnight. When you find a newspaper dated yesterday with the headline “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY,” you keep it even though it feels ridiculous, because it’s the only thing that suggests time didn’t break for no reason. You spend weeks living in your own thoughts before you run into a man at the newspaper stand. A real man. As the two of you try to understand what happened, you start to realize the world only holds itself together when you’re together and you both wouldn't want it any other way.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo  x f!Reader  Genre: sci-fi-ish, angst, true love, dystopian-ish world, NO SMUT!, wonwoo is so whipped for her, happy ending!, true love, found lovers, lost souls, right person right time, idiots in love, awwww love love love love Word Count: 11.6k Warnings/Things to make note of!: mention of suicide attempts, mention of abandonment, mention of abuse, heavy topics, use of perscription medication, anxiety, angst, panic attacks, i dont know if im missing anything but let me know LOL A/N: hello!!! This is such a different story for me, i did a lot of unnecssisary scientific research for this story because i wanted to tap into the sci-fi elements in it! This is like loosely kinda sorta based off of the last of us / a quiet place like that kinda vibe. Wonwoo is such a sweetheart in this too like omfg im melting help. Anyway i hope you love it im really proud of it! i also didnt proof read oopsies sorryyyY!

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

Love.

The thing that you gave but never seemed to get back. The thing your mother said she hated you gave too much of, before she left. 

You couldn’t help but blame yourself for her leaving. You were overzealous, ambitious, she wanted no part of the big life you had planned for yourself. 

Abandonment. 

After your mom, your dad cut contact. You never got along with him, he hated you from the start. It was better off this way.

Or at least, that was the story you told yourself.

When there was nothing left to hold you where you were, you packed what little mattered and moved to the city. You told everyone it was for opportunity, for work, for the future. The truth was less inspiring. You left because every street carried a memory, every familiar face knew a version of you that you couldn't stand to look at anymore. The city was loud enough to drown out the echoes. 

Deep down, beneath the ambition and stubborn determination, there was a hatred you never spoke about. Not for your parents. Not for the town. For yourself. You would never admit it out loud, never give it shape with words, because saying it would make it real. So you buried it instead. You carried it quietly through every achievement, every stupid relationship, every sleepless night. It sat inside you like a slow poison burning you inside out, unseen by everyone but you.

There were years when the weight of it nearly won. Years marked by hospital rooms, rehabilitation, concerned voices, and moments you rarely allowed yourself to remember. More than once, you had tried to disappear entirely, convinced the world would keep turning without noticing the absence. Somehow, you survived each attempt, though survival never felt like victory. It felt like being handed another day you weren't sure you wanted.

So you ran.

Not because you believed a new city could heal you, but because distance was the closest thing to mercy you knew. If you couldn't become someone new, maybe you could at least leave the old version behind. The girl who spent her nights wondering why she wasn't enough. The girl who blamed herself for every goodbye. The girl who looked in the mirror and saw someone impossible to love.

You left her there, or at least you tried to.

April 16, 2026. You woke up late.

Sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming the floor beside your bed. Your head throbbed faintly, full of memories from the night you spent alone prior. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Another workday. Another morning spent pretending you were someone who belonged here.

You reached for your phone. Dead. The screen stayed black no matter how many times you pressed the power button.

"Great."

You rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen. Something felt off, quiet.

The neighbors upstairs weren't stomping around. Nobody was arguing in the hallway. No distant sirens drifted through the city air. No music from the apartment next door.

Nothing.

You frowned and walked to the window.

The city beyond the glass stole the breath from your lungs.

Cars sat motionless in the middle of intersections. A city bus was frozen halfway through a turn, blocking multiple lanes at an awkward angle. Near the curb, a discarded coffee cup lay on its side while dark liquid hung suspended in the air beside it, droplets frozen as if time itself had forgotten to let them fall.

The street was empty.

Not early-morning empty.

Not holiday empty.

Empty. No pedestrians. No drivers. No movement anywhere.

And no sound. That was what truly terrified you.

A complete and unnatural silence that pressed against your ears until your own heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.

Within minutes, you were outside. The apartment lobby stood abandoned. The front desk sat unattended. The revolving door groaned beneath your push before releasing you into a city that looked less like reality and more like a photograph.

You started walking. Then jogging. Then running.

"Hello?"

No answer.

You searched block after block. Restaurants stood open with meals left unfinished. Storefronts remained unlocked. Traffic lights cycled endlessly above empty roads. It looked as though the entire world had been interrupted in the middle of a sentence.

Then, finally, you saw someone.

A figure stood at the far end of a crosswalk. Your chest tightened with relief.

A person. An actual person.

"Hey!"

The figure remained still.

You broke into a sprint. "Hey! Wait!"

At the sound of your voice, they turned.

For a moment, you thought you saw their face.

Then reality came apart.

Their features twisted and distorted like a corrupted video file. Their body fragmented into jagged pieces that flickered in and out of existence. The image of them stretched, warped, and collapsed as though something unseen was struggling to render them correctly.

You stumbled to a stop.

The figure glitched once. Twice. Then vanished.

One moment they were standing there.

The next, they simply weren't, as if they had never existed at all.

The crosswalk stood empty, the city remained silent.

And for the first time since waking up, you felt genuine fear.

Because this wasn't an evacuation.

It was something wrong with reality itself.

You ran back to your apartment, panic setting into your chest rapidly.

The empty crosswalk blurred beneath your feet as you sprinted through silent streets. Every reflection in every darkened window made your pulse spike. Every shadow looked wrong. By the time you reached your apartment building, your lungs burned and your hands were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your keys.

"Get it together."

The words came out breathless.

You slammed the apartment door behind you and locked it. Then locked it again.

The panic attack arrived like an old friend. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat accelerated. The room suddenly felt too small.  Too hot. Too loud despite the silence.

"No. No. No."

You knew the routine. You'd learned it years ago. Before the city. Before the new life. Before you'd convinced yourself the past was buried.

You stumbled into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the orange prescription bottle waiting exactly where it always was. The familiar rattle was strangely comforting.

One pill. A glass of water. A shaking hand.

Routine. The same ritual you'd repeated so many times it no longer felt alarming. Just maintenance.

Eventually your breathing slowed.

Your thoughts followed. You sat on the edge of your bed staring at the wall for nearly an hour before making a decision.

Sleep.

This had to be a dream. A breakdown. Some bizarre neurological event.

You pulled the curtains shut, crawled beneath the blankets, and forced your eyes closed.

When you woke up, the sunlight had shifted. Your phone was still dead. The apartment was still silent. And outside the window, the coffee still hung in the air.

Exactly where you had left it when you closed your eyes. Reality hadn't fixed itself.

Whatever had happened was still happening.

The next time you went outside, you moved carefully. You stopped yelling for help. Stopped expecting answers. Instead, you started looking for information.

What day was it? What time was it? What had happened?

The city offered nothing.

Days passed. Or what you assumed were days.

Without working phones, broadcasts, internet, or people, time became slippery. You tracked it with sunrise and sunset and marks scratched into the wall beside your bed.

On what you estimated was the fourth or fifth day, you found the newspaper stand.

Most of the papers had spilled onto the sidewalk.

At first you almost ignored them.

Then something caught your eye.

The date.

August 16, 2026.

You grabbed another copy. Every paper dated August 16, 2026.

For the first time since waking up in the silent city, you'd found something current. Something recent. Something connected to the last normal day on Earth.

You unfolded the nearest copy. The headline stretched across the front page in absurdly large letters.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY

You stared at it.

Then laughed.

The sound startled you. It was the first time you'd heard yourself laugh in days.

"What kind of stupid headline is that?"

It looked like one of those ridiculous human-interest stories newspapers ran when nothing important was happening. The kind of article people skimmed while drinking coffee before forgetting it existed five minutes later.

But your smile faded as your eyes drifted back to the date.

Carefully, you folded the paper and tucked it beneath your arm.

Not because you believed the headline. Not because you thought it meant anything.

But because it was a piece of the last day. A message in a bottle from a world that no longer existed. That night, back in your apartment, you read the article.

Then you read it again. And again. Not searching for truth, just searching for something human. Something alive.

In the weeks that followed, the newspaper never left your side. You carried it through empty streets. Kept it beside your bed while you slept. Read it whenever the silence became unbearable.

The folds softened. The corners bent. The ink slowly faded beneath your fingers.

Yet somehow, it became the closest thing you had to company.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

A month passed.

Somehow.

The first week was panic.

You called your mother despite knowing she wouldn't answer. You called your father despite not speaking to him in years. You left voicemails. Sent texts. Called again. Then again. When that failed, you started driving. You drove through every district of the city, screaming for people through rolled-down windows. You searched hospitals, police stations, subway tunnels, government buildings, office towers, anywhere an explanation might be hiding. You kicked in locked doors. Pulled open emergency exits. Dug through abandoned desks and filing cabinets.

You found nothing.

No notes. No warnings. No evidence anyone understood what had happened. Just absence.

The second week became survival.

The panic burned itself out and practical concerns took over. Food. Water. Electricity.

You started treating grocery stores like your own pantry. The first time you took supplies, you left cash at the register. It felt wrong not to. The second time you did the same thing. The third time too.

Then one afternoon, while setting a twenty-dollar bill beside an abandoned cash register, you stopped.

You stared at the money.

The money stared back.

"Who's taking it?"

Nobody.

Nobody was counting inventory. Nobody was checking security cameras. Nobody was here.

You left the bill there anyway. The next day you didn't. For some reason, that hurt more than breaking into the store.

The third week became experimentation. If there was a cause, there had to be a solution. You spent days trying to force reality to react.

You shut down sections of the power grid and turned them back on. You moved frozen vehicles from intersections. You smashed clocks. Collected watches. Compared timestamps. Stayed awake for nearly forty-eight hours. Slept through entire days. Read scientific journals. Religious texts. Philosophy books. Cached conspiracy forums on dead computers.

Nothing worked. Nothing changed.

The coffee still floated in the street. The city remained silent.

The fourth week was acceptance.

Not peace. Just acceptance.

You stopped expecting answers. Instead, you built routines.

The apartment building across the street became Marley. The abandoned bank became Kim. The bookstore with the shattered front window became Greg.

Every morning, you greeted them. Talking to buildings should have felt insane. 

Instead, it helped.

The silence felt smaller when someone was speaking, even if that someone was you.

Every morning, you visited the same coffee shop. The machines still worked. You made the same drink. Sat at the same table. Stared through the same window. Not because coffee mattered. Because routine mattered. Routine made you feel human.

The newspaper became part of the routine too. Every night before bed, you unfolded it.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

The headline had become burned into your memory. You reread the article so many times you practically knew every sentence by heart. The smiling faces in the photographs. The ridiculous optimism. 

You didn't believe it, but it was the only thing in the world connected to the last normal day.

So you kept reading.

Some nights you searched for hidden meanings. Other nights you laughed at yourself.

"Maybe the answer really is true love."

The joke never landed.

There was nobody around to hear it.

And during that month, strange things kept happening. Every few days, you would see someone. A figure standing at the end of a street. A silhouette reflected in a storefront window. A person waiting at a bus stop. Always distant. Always alone. Your heart would leap into your throat every single time.

At first you ran after them. Always. The result never changed. The figure would disappear before you arrived. Sometimes they vanished around corners. Sometimes they flickered first. Sometimes their bodies distorted like damaged footage before collapsing into nothing.

Once, you watched a man standing beneath a traffic light fragment into static and disappear so completely it felt like your brain had imagined him.

After enough encounters, you stopped running immediately, because disappointment was exhausting.

But deep down, a part of you wondered if someone else was out there.

Someone who hadn't disappeared. Someone who was seeing the same impossible things. Someone who was still surviving. You just hadn't found them yet.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The worst part wasn't the fear anymore. It was the isolation.

You had spent most of your life convincing yourself you preferred being alone. You told yourself people left eventually, so it was safer not to need them too much.

Now you understood the difference between being alone and being the only person in existence. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was suffocating.

You talked to yourself more than you would like to admit. To the non-existent people in the driver’s seats of cars, the humans in the ads in store windows. 

One afternoon you spent nearly twenty minutes telling a mannequin about your childhood before realizing what you were doing.

You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. The line between the two was becoming difficult to find. The thoughts you'd spent years outrunning started catching up.

Old thoughts, old habits, old wounds. The version of yourself you had tried so hard to leave behind when you moved to the city began resurfacing piece by piece.

You remembered hospital rooms. Therapists. Long nights spent fighting your own mind. You remembered what it felt like to hate yourself. Really hate yourself.

Some days the loneliness became so overwhelming you found yourself slipping back into destructive patterns of thinking you hadn't struggled with in years. It scared you how familiar they felt, as though those parts of you had never truly disappeared.

You'd sit on the floor of your apartment staring at nothing for hours hoping you would regret the things you had done. The newspaper resting in your lap. The headline staring back.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

"What does that even fucking mean?" You laugh lightly to yourself, smile on your face tears streaming from your eyes. 

Manic.

That's what the psychiatrist said to you in middle school. You were manic. Destructive. 

And now you were feeling the exact same way. You were being handed another day you knew you didn’t want. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

May was warmer than April.

The seasons still changed. Somehow, everything natural kept obeying its rules. Trees filled out with leaves. Light lingered longer in the evenings. The air softened in a way the frozen city never could.

But the city itself never moved.

You were exhausted by now. Not in the way sleep could fix.

Something deeper had worn you down—days of searching every possible place, every office, every station, every building that might hold an answer. There were none. Only silence. Only absence.

So you walked again. Same route. Same habit. Same pull toward the newspaper stand you no longer believed would change.

Not hope. Just routine.

The folded paper was still tucked under your arm. The same headline you’d memorized weeks ago. TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. You didn’t even look at it anymore. You just carried it because it was something that still belonged to the world that used to exist.

The stand came into view at the end of the street.

And you stopped.

Someone was there.

A man stood with his back to you, completely unaware of you. He was reading a newspaper from the stand, holding it casually in both hands. He didn’t flicker. Didn’t distort. He was just… there.

Your breath caught painfully in your chest.

Slowly, carefully, you moved forward. Each step felt louder than it should have in the silence. You didn’t call out. You didn’t risk it. You stopped just behind him.

Your hand lifted. 

You hesitated.

Then you placed it gently on his shoulder.

Warm. Solid. Human.

Under your palm, you could feel him immediately—the weight of muscle, the tension of a living body, the undeniable fact of someone occupying space in the same world as you.

Real.

The moment your hand made contact, he whipped around.

“Hey—!”

It was sharp. Instinctive. Startled.

He stumbled back into you without meaning to, and the sudden movement knocked you off balance. Your feet slipped and you fell hard onto the pavement, breath punching out of your lungs as the impact echoed too loudly in the empty street.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you looked up.

He was standing over you, breathing fast. Chest rising and falling sharply like he couldn’t decide whether to run or fight. Shaggy black hair slightly messed from the sudden turn. Perfect glasses still somehow sitting straight on his face. A black shirt clinging slightly from tension, dirty jeans scuffed like he’d been living through the same abandoned world for just as long as you had.

His eyes locked onto yours.

And neither of you disappeared.

That realization hit both of you at once.

His voice came first, cautious, broken with disbelief.

“…You’re real.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, still sitting on the ground. “So are you.”

He stared harder, like he was trying to find the trick. “No, that’s not—” He stopped, shaking his head once. “I’ve been alone. For weeks. Months. I don’t even know anymore.”

Your laugh came out uneven. “Yeah. Same.”

A pause.

The silence between you felt different now. Not empty. Just heavy.

He slowly crouched down a little, still not fully trusting what he was seeing. “You touched me.”

“I had to,” you said quietly. “Everything else… disappears.”

His expression tightened at that. “I know.”

That made you freeze slightly. “You’ve seen them too?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking briefly past you down the empty street. “People. Figures. Whatever they are. They don’t stay. They glitch, or vanish, or… I don’t know. Like the world rejects them.”

Your throat tightened. “Same.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke again.

Finally, he shifted his weight, still crouched slightly in front of you. “I thought I was the last one.”

Your voice came softer than you expected. “I thought I was too.” You felt tears prick at your eyes.

Behind him, the newspaper still lay half-unfolded on the stand, pages rustling slightly in a breeze that felt suddenly too real.

Neither of you were alone in it. You knew that now.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

You brought him to the coffee shop without really thinking about it. It was just where you went. Every morning. Same route, same silence, same routine that had started to feel less like comfort and more like something you were trapped inside of. He followed you through the frozen streets without asking questions.

Inside the café, nothing had changed. It never did. You moved behind the counter automatically, muscle memory taking over as you made two coffees. The machine hissed and clicked in a way that felt almost too loud now that there was someone else here to hear it. When you turned around, he was sitting near the counter, posture a little too straight, hands loosely folded, eyes tracking you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

You noticed it immediately. Every time you glanced away, his gaze flicked toward you, quick and careful, like he was still half-expecting you to glitch out of existence the way everything else in this world eventually did. And you hated that you were doing the same thing. Watching him. Checking. Making sure he was still real.

Eventually, you walked over and sat down across from him. Then, after a second of hesitation, you shifted your chair closer instead of staying across the table. The distance suddenly felt unnecessary.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Just looked.

It wasn’t comfortable silence. It was the kind that came from too much disbelief packed into too little time.

Finally, he let out a breath and leaned back slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “This is… actually insane.”

A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded once, like he’d made a decision. “I’m Wonwoo.”

You hesitated for half a second, like saying your name out loud would make this real in a way you weren’t ready for. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, like he was testing how it sounded in a world that had almost forgotten how to say anything at all.

Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… natural, like this was something he’d been doing for a long time. The notebook looked overused in a way that made you realize he hadn’t just been surviving this alone, he’d been working through it.

He opened it and slid it slightly toward you.

Pages filled with equations, diagrams, timing logs, maps of the city, notes layered over notes. Some pages were carefully structured, almost elegant in their logic. Others were frantic, overwritten, like they belonged to nights where he hadn’t slept in too long.

“I tried to treat it like a system,” he said, tapping a page with the pen, voice calm but tired in a very specific way, like someone who had explained this to himself so many times he could no longer tell where certainty ended and coping began. “At first I thought it was some kind of temporal stasis field or perception lock. Then I tried entropy mapping, then gravitational inconsistency models, then—” he paused briefly, almost embarrassed, “I even tried tracking decay rates of ambient objects to see if anything was still aging normally.”

He glanced up at you quickly, like he was checking if that was too much. Then added, softer, “Nothing worked.”

He flipped a page. More notes. More spirals of logic.

“I kept thinking if I just added one more variable, it would click,” he said. “Like the world was a puzzle I hadn’t assembled correctly yet.” A faint, almost sheepish exhale left him. “At some point I realized I was just… documenting my own breakdown with better handwriting.”

There was a small pause. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair, glasses catching the light as he did. He looked annoyingly put together for someone who was describing the end of the world, like his brain had decided chaos still needed structure.

“I’ve been feeling absolutely fucking insane,” he admitted more honestly now, voice quieter. “Like I was the only person left who didn’t freeze, and maybe I just… wasn’t processing it right.”

His eyes flicked to you again, sharper this time, but not in accusation. More like curiosity mixed with relief he didn’t fully trust yet.

“And then you were just there,” he said. “So I guess either I’m not crazy… or we’re both equally crazy.”

A beat.

Then, almost awkwardly, like he hated how sincere it sounded, he added, “I’m leaning toward the first option.”

You took the notebook more carefully than you meant to, like it might still be tied to the strange rules of the world itself. The paper felt worn in a way that made it obvious he’d been using it constantly—pages softened at the edges, ink layered in different pressures, some sections neat and structured, others messy from long nights of thinking too much.

As you flipped through it, your expression slowly changed. At first it was curiosity, then confusion, then something closer to disbelief. He wasn’t just guessing. He had actually been trying to understand it in a structured way.

You frowned slightly, flipping another page. “This doesn’t make sense,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “How did none of this lead anywhere?”

That was what unsettled you. Not that he was wrong, but that he had been this thorough and still ended up with nothing concrete.

You lowered the notebook and finally looked up.

Wonwoo was already watching you.

His expression had shifted while you were reading. Still cautious, but softer now. Concern threaded through it in a way that felt uncomfortably gentle. His eyes moved over your face like he was trying to figure out whether what you were seeing was helping you or breaking you further.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

It wasn’t intrusive. Just careful.

You closed the notebook a little too quickly and slid it back toward him. “Yeah,” you said too fast, then corrected yourself, forcing it steadier, “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

You shifted slightly, needing something else to focus on. “I’m from North City,” you said.

That got his attention immediately.

“North City?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned back slightly, processing it. “I’m from South City,” he said after a beat, like he was double-checking it in his head. “Grew up there.”

That landed between you in a strange way. Like geography still mattered even when reality didn’t.

“So…” he added quietly, eyes flicking up to you again, “you weren’t that far.”

You gave a small, uncertain shrug. “Doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.”

“It does to me.” He gives a light, charming smile.

You didn’t argue. He looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, and you realized, uncomfortably, that while you had been reading his work, he had been trying to read you too.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The conversation loosened.

At first it was careful—small questions, fragments of back-and-forth about the city, about routines, about what life had been like before everything stopped. Then it drifted into everything and nothing at once. Random thoughts, shared observations, ridiculous theories that didn’t need to be true just to be said out loud. A few light laughs slipped in without either of you really noticing at first. Then more. It felt strange, almost disorienting, how natural it was to talk to someone again.

There was a point where the exhaustion and loneliness seemed to blur at the edges, replaced by something warmer, almost intoxicating in its own way. Like your brains were overcorrecting for weeks of silence, suddenly flooding you both with noise that wasn’t empty. You both started laughing harder at things that probably weren’t that funny, until it spiraled into genuine fits of laughter neither of you could really control.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, still catching his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You are really funny, you know?” he said, smiling in a way that looked unpracticed but real. “How did I never stumble upon you in the city?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shrugging. “I don’t know. Guess we just missed each other.”

He tilted his head slightly, still looking at you like he was trying to make sure you were actually there. Then, a little softer, a little braver, he added, “And you’re really pretty too.”

You blinked at him for a second, caught completely off guard. The fluster came too fast to hide, creeping into your face before you could stop it. “No one’s ever been that forward with me before,” you admitted, half-laughing as you looked away for a moment like it might reset your brain. Then, quieter but still smiling, you added, “You’re… kind of pretty too, actually.”

That did it.

For a second there was silence, and then both of you broke at the same time, laughter spilling out awkward and genuine, building on itself until it turned into something almost uncontrollable. It felt ridiculous and light in a way neither of you had felt in a very long time, like your bodies had forgotten how to do anything except exist in that moment.

Eventually, it settled, the laughter fading into soft breaths.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, still smiling a little. “Where did you grow up?”

The shift was subtle, but you felt it immediately. Something in your expression changed before you even answered. The air didn’t feel as light anymore.

“About five states over,” you said slowly, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I left because I needed a fresh start.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

You hesitated, then kept going anyway, like once the words started they didn’t really belong to you anymore. “My mom left when I was younger. Said I was… too much, I guess. My dad cut contact after that. I don’t really blame him.” You gave a small, humorless breath. “After that it was just… endless nights. Hospitals. Mental rehab stays. More hospital visits. Trying to get through one day at a time without everything falling apart.”

The words hung in the space between you.

Wonwoo went quiet.

Not awkwardly. Just… still. Like he hadn’t expected you to hand him something that heavy so easily.

You looked down at the table, suddenly aware of how much you’d said. “Sorry,” you added quickly, voice softer. “That was a lot. I just— I don’t know. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head slightly, but it took him a second to speak.

“No,” he said quietly. “No, you didn’t.”

A pause stretched out before he leaned back a little, looking at his hands for a moment like he was organizing his thoughts.

“I get it,” he said finally. “Not exactly the same, but… I’ve had my own stuff.”

You looked up.

He exhaled, slower now. “I didn’t really know how to deal with my head most of the time, so I just… went into math. Science. Anything that had answers. If there was a problem, there was a solution. That made it easier to breathe.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the notebook on the table.

“But when the world stopped like this,” he continued, voice quieter, “it didn’t have a solution anymore. And I kept trying anyway. Kept building models, theories, anything that made it feel like I still had control over something.” A faint, almost tired laugh slipped out of him. “And when none of it worked… I started losing myself in it a bit.”

He glanced up at you then, more honest now.

“I think I was just trying not to feel hopeless but… after meeting you, I don’t feel too hopeless anymore.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The rest of the day didn’t feel like time passing so much as time dissolving.

You talked about everything again, then nothing again, then somehow looped back into things that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. The kind of laughter that came easier the longer you forgot to be alone.

At some point, neither of you noticed when afternoon became evening.

The light outside dimmed slowly, painting the empty street in soft gold and then deeper blue. Shadows stretched across the café floor. The world outside didn’t move, but the sky still changed like it was trying to pretend things were normal.

Eventually, the silence between sentences grew longer. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

And then it was dark.

Wonwoo was the first to stand. You followed a moment later. Neither of you said anything as you stepped out into the street together. The frozen city looked different at night, colder somehow, even though nothing had actually changed.

You walked a few steps in silence before both of you slowed.

Then stopped.

You turned to face each other at the same time.

For a second, neither of you spoke, like you were both waiting for the other to break something that felt too delicate to touch.

Finally, Wonwoo exhaled. “I should probably head back to mine.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same. Mine’s… that way.”

Another pause. It didn’t feel like goodbye. But it felt like something close enough to it that it hurt anyway.

Then Wonwoo stepped forward.

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, immediate, like something in him had decided words weren’t enough anymore. For a second, your entire body locked up in surprise—then it melted, because suddenly there was weight. Real weight. Another person. Another heartbeat against yours. Something warm and solid and undeniable.

And it wrecked both of you instantly.

The silence you’d lived in for so long made the contact feel overwhelming, like your nervous systems didn’t know how to process it anymore. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt before you even realized you were moving.

After a moment, his arms tightened slightly, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. Like letting go would mean going back to being alone again. You could feel his chest rising unevenly against you, breath unsteady in a way he couldn’t hide anymore.

And then he started crying.

Quiet at first. Barely there. Like he hadn’t meant to.

That was what broke you.

You tried to hold it together for half a second longer, but it didn’t last. The soundless weight of everything you’d both been carrying just came out all at once.

You were both shaking slightly by the time it settled into something real.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe. He took off his glasses with one hand, wiping his eyes quickly, awkwardly, like he was trying to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Then he put them back on, exhaling shakily as he looked at you again.

He didn’t let go of your hands when he reached for them.

Both of them, gently held in his.

Facing you properly now, still a little unsteady, he said quietly, “Thank you for finding me.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

You squeezed his hands back. “Thank you for finding me too,” you said, voice breaking just slightly. Then, softer, like it mattered more than anything else in the world right now, you added, “You know where to find me tomorrow. Or… when we wake up.”

A small, shaky breath left him. He nodded once. Neither of you wanted to be the one to let go first.

But eventually, you did.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

it became routine without either of you ever deciding it would.

You started meeting at the café every day when you woke up, and somehow—almost unnervingly—you always arrived at the same time. No matter how irregular sleep had become in a frozen world, your rhythms synced. It was like your days had quietly agreed to align around each other without asking permission. The first thing you’d see each morning was him already there, or you arriving just as he pushed the door open, both of you stopping for a second like it still surprised you.

From there, you stopped staying in one place.

You explored the city together, block by block, building by building, still trying—out of habit more than hope—to understand what had happened. You checked abandoned offices again, revisited frozen intersections, studied the same impossible stillness from different angles like perspective might change the answer. But even as the mystery stayed unsolved, something else started filling the space it left behind.

Being around him felt… easy.

Not because the world made sense, but because he made it quieter inside your head.

There were moments that stayed with you in a way nothing else did. The way his eyes scrunched up when he laughed, soft and unguarded, like a cat reacting to something warm. The way he’d look at you sometimes like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, even after days of proving it. The way he started reaching for you without thinking when you ran through the empty city at night, pulling your hand into his so you could both move faster between buildings, breathless and half-laughing as your footsteps echoed through streets that never changed.

It didn’t fix anything.

The world was still frozen.

The mystery was still there.

But it didn’t feel like drowning anymore.

It felt like two lost souls who had found each other at the worst possible time—and somehow decided to stay anyway.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

It had been a month.

A full month of waking up into the same frozen city and still choosing to meet each other anyway. June 16th arrived like all the other days—silent, suspended, unchanged—but it still felt marked in a way neither of you said out loud.

You met at the café like always, arriving at the same time without ever planning it. Wonwoo reached for the door handle out of habit, but before he could open it, you grabbed his hand. “I’m bringing you to my place,” you said.

He paused, then smiled a little, soft and easy. “Okay.” No questions. Just agreement, like he trusted you more than the world made sense.

The walk back felt different this time. Less like surviving and more like existing alongside someone else. When you got to your apartment, you opened the door and led him in, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to show someone your space after so long of it only belonging to you.

Above your bed hung a slightly crooked paper banner.

HAPPY TWO MONTHS GETTING STUCK-AVERSARY!

Wonwoo stared at it for a second before laughing, genuinely surprised. “You made a banner?”

“It felt important,” you said, defensive but smiling anyway.

He shook his head, still laughing as he sat on the edge of your bed, palms pressing into your comforter like he was checking if it was real. The way he relaxed without thinking made something warm settle in your chest. The bed smelled like you, and he noticed, even if he didn’t say it.

You sat beside him after a moment, picking at the blanket. “I kept the newspaper,” you said suddenly.

He looked over.

“The one with the headline,” you added. “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. I thought it was stupid. Like actually stupid.”

He gave a small nod. “It is kind of stupid.”

That made you laugh quietly, but it faded fast. “I’ve never been in a real relationship,” you said after a pause. “And I don’t think I’ve ever really been… loved. My mom used to say I was unlovable. And I guess I just believed it for a long time without even realizing it.”

The air shifted immediately, not dramatically, just enough to feel heavier. Wonwoo’s expression softened in a way that erased any remaining humor. He took your hand gently and started rubbing slow circles on the back of it, steady and grounding like he was trying to undo years of silence through touch alone.

“That’s not true,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond, just swallowed and looked away for a second.

Then you pulled the folded newspaper out and showed it to him.

He looked at it, then after a beat, reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical copy.

You froze.

He noticed immediately. “I kept it too,” he said quietly. “At first I thought it was just noise. Something my brain clung to because I needed meaning somewhere. But it was the only thing from the last normal day that felt real.”

He turned it slightly in his hands. “Before I met you, it was the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.”

His gaze lifted to yours. Softer now.

“And then you showed up,” he added, “and I didn’t need it the same way anymore.”

The newspaper still sat between you for a moment after that, both copies folded loosely now, no longer feeling like proof of anything—just something you both had carried too long alone.

You traced a finger along the edge of yours before looking at him. “Have you ever been in love?”

The question landed softly, but it changed something in his expression immediately. Not defensive. Just thoughtful, like he was actually sorting through memories he didn’t often open.

“There have been… two times,” Wonwoo said slowly. “Where I think I actually felt it. Love.”

You stayed quiet, letting him take his time.

“The first was in high school,” he continued. “My first girlfriend. It was… real, in that way you only realize later. First everything. First person I ever really let myself care about like that.” A faint, almost nostalgic exhale left him. “But we were different in ways we didn’t know how to fix. It didn’t work out. We let it end before it got worse.”

He glanced down at your hands still loosely held in his, then back up.

“The second time…” He paused, a little longer this time. “Is more recent. So recent I don’t really know what to do with it yet.”

You blinked at him, not fully sure how to hold that answer, your chest tightening in a way you didn’t want to name. But you didn’t push it. Instead, you just nodded slightly, like you were giving him room to leave it there if he needed to.

And then, because silence suddenly felt too heavy, you started talking.

“I really love coffee,” you said, a little too quickly at first, then settling into it. “Like, actually love it. Not just because I need it. The smell, the routine, the way it feels like a start to something even when nothing changes.” You glanced around his apartment absentmindedly, then back at him. “And movies. I love movies. And music, especially physical copies. Like CDs, vinyls, anything you can actually hold. Streaming feels… temporary.”

He was watching you closely now, but not in a way that interrupted. In a way that made space.

You kept going.

“I love poetry too. And songwriting is honestly the coolest shit in the world,” you said, a small laugh slipping out as you leaned back a little. “Like how someone can just… turn a feeling into something you can hear. That’s insane to me.”

As you spoke, Wonwoo didn’t look away once.

Not even for a second.

It wasn’t intense in a way that made you nervous. It was quiet. Anchored. Like every word you said was something he was choosing to keep.

His eyes softened the longer you talked, shoulders relaxed, expression shifting into something almost unguarded. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was seeing you.

Not because you were the only person in the world.

But because, in that moment, that was how he was looking at you.

Like if the city was full again, if time started moving properly again, if everything went back to normal, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was where his attention would always land.

On you.

And you didn’t know it yet, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t change even if they weren’t stuck at all.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

A week passed like that.

The city stayed frozen, the routines stayed familiar, but something between you and Wonwoo started to feel… different. Conversations had a lingering edge to them now, like they didn’t fully end when the words stopped. They hung around in the silence afterward, warm and strange, like unfinished thoughts neither of you wanted to close.

You noticed more things about him without meaning to.

The way he talked faster when he got excited, words slipping out like his brain couldn’t keep up with itself when he was explaining something he cared about. The way his handwriting was ridiculously neat, especially when he was writing out equations in that notebook of his—precise lines, careful spacing, like even his thoughts needed to be organized before they were allowed to exist on paper.

Now you were sitting in his room, watching him.

He was at his desk, slightly hunched over a sheet of paper, sketching something absentmindedly while thinking out loud under his breath. You weren’t really listening to the content anymore. At some point, your attention had shifted without permission.

You were just looking at him.

The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward. The quiet focus in his expression. The small pauses he made when he was thinking too hard. The way even his stillness felt… intentional.

It hit you slowly, like something you weren’t supposed to notice.

He was beautiful.

Not in a loud way. Not in a way that demanded attention. In a way that made you realize you’d been paying attention without realizing it. And kind. Genuinely, quietly kind in a way that didn’t ask for anything back.

You weren’t sure when that realization turned into something heavier.

Something warmer.

Something that made your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t explain yet.

You laughed softly to yourself before you could stop it.

Wonwoo paused mid-line, looking up slightly. “What?”

You blinked like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “Nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced.

You reached into your pocket out of instinct and pulled out the folded newspaper again, like it could anchor you back into something simpler. You unfolded it halfway and glanced at the headline you already knew by heart.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

“I was just thinking about this,” you said casually, trying to smooth out whatever had just happened inside your head.

He watched you for a second, then gave a small, soft smile—one of those ones that didn’t feel like it was fully controlled. A “pretty” smile, unguarded in a way that made your stomach drop slightly.

“Oh?” he said lightly, turning back to his paper, pen moving again. “Still trying to figure out if it’s propaganda or destiny?”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Something like that.”

He hummed, clearly amused, not looking up this time. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”

That made you smile before you even realized it.

And as he went back to his drawing, pen scratching softly against paper, you stayed sitting there a little longer than necessary, pretending you were still thinking about the newspaper when really you were just trying to understand why looking at him felt like that now.

The rest of the night settled into a quiet kind of rhythm. You stayed on his bed with a notebook in your lap, writing poetry in scattered lines and half-finished thoughts, while Wonwoo sat at his desk working through equations and diagrams like he could reason the world back into motion if he just didn’t stop trying. The room wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t empty anymore. It felt shared in a way neither of you had experienced since everything stopped.

Every so often you’d glance up at him without meaning to. He was completely focused, glasses slightly slipping down his nose, pen moving carefully across the page, hair falling forward in soft, messy strands that made him look less like the person trying to solve the impossible and more like someone just trying to hold on. And every time you looked away again, your chest felt strangely full in a way you didn’t want to name yet.

At one point he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward you. “What are you writing?” he asked, already half-standing like he was going to come over.

“Nope,” you said quickly, swatting at him before he got too close. “Don’t even try.”

He leaned in anyway, and you instinctively pushed his head back gently, your fingers catching in his hair for a second longer than you intended. It was softer than you expected, slightly messy in a way that made your heart react faster than your brain could explain. You pulled your hand away too quickly, pretending it meant nothing, and went back to your notebook while he cleared his throat and sat down again like nothing had happened, though the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him.

After that, the room fell into silence again. Not uncomfortable, just steady. You writing. Him thinking. The world outside completely still.

Then, after a few minutes, the silence shifted.

You heard him breathe differently.

You looked up.

Wonwoo wasn’t writing anymore. His shoulders were tense, head slightly bowed, and when he finally lifted a hand to his face you saw it—he was crying, quietly, like it had slipped out of him before he could stop it.

You moved immediately. “Wonwoo?” you said softly, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of him. Moonlight from the window spilled across both of you, catching on his face, on the tear tracks he tried to wipe away too late. Your hands came to rest gently on his legs, grounding him. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head at first, like he didn’t want to say it, but then it all came out anyway.

“I can’t do it,” he said, voice breaking. “I keep trying and nothing works. Every model, every equation, every theory—it always ends the same. I can’t fix it. I can’t understand it. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to solve something that doesn’t want to be solved.”

His breath stuttered.

“And I feel like I’m letting you down.”

That hit harder than anything else.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, eyes red and exhausted. “All I want is for you to get out of this,” he said more quietly. “That’s it. If I can’t fix it, then I should at least—”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted softly, shaking your head.

He paused.

You tightened your grip slightly on his legs. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true,” he said anyway, voice unsteady but honest. “You’ve helped me so much. The least I can do is get you out of this.”

You stared at him for a moment, then leaned in a little closer, your voice softer but firm. “You’re not letting me down.”

He blinked at you like he didn’t know how to believe that.

Wonwoo looked at you through glassy, tear-lined eyes, still breathing unevenly like he was trying to steady himself in real time. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stayed there, hands hovering uncertainly before slowly settling over yours where they rested on his legs, like he needed to anchor himself to you to stay present.

His voice came out quiet, almost unsure of itself. “Can I kiss you?”

The question hit you harder than anything else that night. It didn’t feel like impulse—it felt like something careful, something honest, something he’d thought through even in the middle of everything breaking down inside him. And for a second, you didn’t think at all. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, closing the small space between you.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t uncertain. It was real in a way everything else in this frozen world had stopped being. Like all the silence, all the waiting, all the searching finally collapsed into something simple and undeniable.

It just made sense.

You shifted slightly on your knees to meet him properly, and his hands instinctively found your waist, holding you there like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip. Your fingers moved into his hair without hesitation this time, no second-guessing, just instinct and feeling and warmth where there hadn’t been warmth in too long.

And when you finally parted, it wasn’t distance that remained between you.

It was understanding.

Wonwoo pulled you into a tight hug first, like he couldn’t stand the space between you anymore. His arms wrapped around you firmly, pulling you into his chest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said quietly, voice still rough from everything that had just happened.

That cracked something open in you again. You clung to him, tears slipping down before you could stop them. “Then don’t,” you said, voice breaking. “I don’t want you to leave either. You don’t have to let me go. Not ever.”

For a while, neither of you moved.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to breathe. The night had grown later without either of you noticing, and the exhaustion of everything settled in all at once. “I should go,” you said softly, even though you didn’t want to. “It’s a twenty-minute walk.”

Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He walked you to the door, hands lingering like he was memorizing the moment. Neither of you spoke much—there wasn’t anything that needed to be said right then.

You stepped outside alone.

The city was still frozen, still impossibly quiet, but the air had changed. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead sometime while you weren’t looking. A few minutes into your walk, the first drops of rain started falling, slow at first, then all at once.

Within minutes, you were completely soaked. Hair dripping, clothes clinging, shoes heavy against the pavement. The cold didn’t matter as much as it should have. It just blurred into everything else.

You were about ten minutes in when you heard it.

“Y/N!”

You froze.

The voice cut through the rain like it didn’t belong in this world anymore. You turned around quickly, heart snapping in your chest.

Wonwoo was running toward you.

Soaked completely. Hair damp and clinging to his forehead, glasses streaked with rain, shirt darkened by water, breath uneven as he closed the distance like he couldn’t afford to lose you even for a few minutes.

When he reached you, you grabbed him immediately—hands on his shoulders, then his waist, checking him like he might disappear again. “Are you okay?” you asked quickly, breathless, searching his face.

He was smiling.

Wide. Relieved. Almost breathless with it.

“I figured it out,” he said.

You blinked through the rain. “Figured out what?”

He lifted the folded newspaper in his hand. It was soaked too, edges curling from the water, ink blurring slightly. “This,” he said like it was obvious.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Wonwoo, it’s just a stupid headline.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. Listen.”

You stared at him, rain dripping down your face.

“What if it wasn’t just a headline?” he said, voice rising slightly over the storm. “What if we’re the only two people still here because everything else requires connection to persist? Not in a magical way. In a cognitive way. In a relational way. Reality stabilizes through perception, through emotional anchoring—through people being meaningfully recognized by others.”

You frowned slightly. “I don’t—what?”

He stepped closer, excitement and urgency blending together in his expression, but softer too, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. “I know it sounds insane, but think about it. Everything else is frozen, erased, or collapsing. But we’re not. We only became real when we found each other. When we were seen. When we mattered to someone else.”

You shook your head slightly again, confused but listening.

Then his expression softened completely, the intensity giving way to something simpler, something honest.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t hesitate. “I am so in love with you that I can’t think straight anymore. And I think you feel it too. I know you do. I think that’s why this works. That’s why we’re still here. Because we’re connected.”

The rain poured around you, soaking everything, but neither of you moved away.

For a second, you just stared at him.

Then you laughed once, disbelieving, shaking your head—but your eyes were wet for a different reason now.

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

“Probably,” he said immediately, stepping closer again.

He grabs both sides of your face pulling you in tightly like he doesn’t want to let go, crashing your lips together once more. You wrap your hands around his neck playing with the wet strands of hair on the back of his neck. He snakes his arms down from your face to wrap around your back, once again pulling you in closer.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were still smiling like you couldn’t believe any of it was real.

“Come on,” you said breathlessly, grabbing his hand. And together, you ran back toward your apartment through the rain, like the world had finally started moving again just to keep up with you.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

When you got back to your apartment, you both took off your soaking wet shoes, leaving them at your front door. 

You made it back to your apartment soaked through, both of you laughing a little breathlessly as you stumbled inside. The warmth hit immediately, muffled and soft compared to the rain outside. Shoes came off at the door almost in sync, wet footprints left behind on the floor as you kicked them aside.

“Okay,” you said, brushing damp hair out of your face, “you’re gonna be so uncomfortable if you stay in that.”

Wonwoo glanced down at himself like he’d just realized how completely drenched he was. “That’s… fair.”

You gave a small nod toward your bedroom. “I have clothes you can change into. They’ll be big on you, but they’re clean.”

He followed you without hesitation, still a little dazed, like the last half hour hadn’t fully settled into reality yet. You moved to your closet immediately, rifling through it with quick, familiar motions while he stood a few steps back, dripping water onto the floor and trying very hard not to make a mess of anything.

“Found it,” you said, pulling out a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts for yourself, then another set of oversized clothes you didn’t care about as much. You turned and tossed his clothes lightly toward him. “Here.”

He caught them a little awkwardly, nodding. “Thanks.”

You were already halfway out of your wet shirt, switching quickly into the dry hoodie, movements practical and unbothered. Wonwoo immediately turned slightly away out of instinct, giving you space even though the room was already casual and familiar in its own way.

Still, despite looking away, his thoughts betrayed him. He found himself thinking—almost frustratingly simple and clear—that you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Not just right now. Not just in the rain. Just… always. Like it wasn’t something the world had to be frozen for him to notice.

When you finished changing and turned back around, the air between you felt warmer than before.

“Okay,” you said, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “You good?”

Wonwoo nodded, still a little quiet, but softer now. “Yeah. Better.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

When you finally settle under the covers, he follows, and somehow you end up tangled into the same space without really discussing it. You end up resting against his chest, and after a second of hesitation, his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

His fingers move into your hair gently, slow and absent-minded, while the other hand traces steady circles on your back. It grounds you more than you expect.

After a while, you ask quietly, “Do you really think you’re right about all of this?”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “About reality being held together by emotional attachment and us being the center of some cosmic relationship experiment?” He pauses. “I’ve definitely gone insane, so I’m not the most reliable source.”

That makes you smile into his shirt.

But his hand doesn’t stop moving as he continues, softer now. “But I do think something changed when we found each other. Whatever this is… I don’t feel like I’m alone in it anymore.”

You go quiet after that.

You shift slightly so you can look up at him. The dim light from the room softens everything about his face—his eyes, his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re something he still can’t fully believe is real.

“I love you,” you say before you can second-guess it. Your voice doesn’t shake, even though everything inside you does. “I love you in ways I don’t even know how to say properly. More than I’ve ever loved myself. You brought back something in me I thought I lost a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

His hand pauses in your hair like he needs a moment to process it. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead—careful, steady, real.

“I love you too,” he says quietly.

You exhale slowly, letting yourself settle back into him as his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he relaxes too much. His hand resumes its slow rhythm on your back, steadier now, calmer.

At some point, you stop thinking about the frozen world outside.

And at some point after that, you fall asleep without meaning to—still held by him, still real enough to stay.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The next morning doesn’t feel like waking up—it feels like being pulled out of something too deep too fast. You wake to noise. Not silence.

A car horn cuts through the air, sharp and real, followed by another, then overlapping voices rising from outside the window. For a few seconds you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your brain refusing to connect the sound to anything it remembers.

Then you sit up.

You rub your eyes hard, like that might reset the world, but the noise doesn’t go away. It only gets clearer. Louder. More layered.

You move fast.

You run to the window.

And you freeze.

The world outside is moving.

Cars are driving again. People are walking on sidewalks. A couple passes holding hands. A group of friends laughs at a crosswalk. Everything is alive in a way that feels almost overwhelming after so long without it.

Your hands press against the glass.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper.

You stare harder, like it might break if you look at it wrong, but it doesn’t. It stays real.

“Wonwoo,” you say suddenly, spinning around, relief hitting you all at once. “Oh my god—Wonwoo! It worked! You were right it—”

You stop.

The bed is empty.

No movement. No warmth. No trace of him.

Your stomach drops immediately.

“Wonwoo?” you say again, quieter now. Confused.

You rush out of the bedroom, checking the apartment quickly, moving from room to room, your bare feet hitting the floor too loudly in the new world of sound. “Wonwoo?” you call, louder this time. “Hey—are you here?”

Nothing.

The apartment feels wrong without him in it.

You step into the hallway, and suddenly everything is too loud. Neighbors talking. Doors opening. Life spilling back into the building like it had never stopped. It overwhelms you all at once, crashing in after months of silence.

You call his name again, voice breaking as it echoes down the hallway. “Wonwoo!”

Still nothing.

You move faster now, checking stairwells, corridors, every space you can think of, panic rising with every empty second. The world is full again, but he isn’t in it.

“Wonwoo…” you whisper, barely audible now, before it breaks completely.

Your knees weaken as you sink against the wall, sobs finally spilling out while everything around you keeps moving forward.

You stand up too fast.

The second you’re on your feet, you’re already moving, already running out of the building like your body has decided before your mind can catch up. The air outside is full of sound—cars passing, people talking, life everywhere—and you’re yelling his name before you even realize you’re doing it.

“Wonwoo!” you scream, voice cracking as tears blur your vision. “Wonwoo!”

People turn to look at you.

Some slow down. Some stare. A few step out of your path as you push past them, not gently, not carefully—just desperately. Your shoulder bumps into someone, then another, but you don’t stop. You don’t apologize. You don’t care.

“Wonwoo!” you shout again, louder, like volume could force reality to give him back.

But he isn’t there.

He isn’t anywhere.

You keep running anyway, breath tearing in your chest, until your legs carry you back to the only place that ever felt consistent—the newspaper stand.

The stand is still there.

Still absurdly normal.

Still unchanged.

A boy stands behind it now, different from the ones you remember from the frozen time. He looks up immediately when he sees you, startled by how wrecked you look.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asks quickly. “Do you need help? My name’s Chan, I can—”

“What day is it?” you cut him off, breathless, shaking, barely holding yourself up. “Just tell me what day it is.”

Chan hesitates, clearly worried. “Hey, I think you should sit down first, you look—”

“That’s not what I asked,” you say again, voice breaking harder now. “I asked what day it is.”

He pauses, then answers carefully. “June 28th, 2026.”

Something in your chest drops.

You turn without thinking, grabbing a newspaper from the stand. Your hands shake so badly the paper crinkles immediately. The date is clean. New. Real. And the headline stares back at you in bold print:

Researchers Confirm Reality Stabilized Following Reconnection of Isolated Cognitive Nodes.

Your vision blurs instantly.

“No,” you whisper.

Then again, louder, breaking apart completely as tears spill onto the paper. “No—Wonwoo. Wonwoo, no…”

You say his name like it’s something that might still answer you if you repeat it enough times. Like a prayer. Like repetition could rebuild him into the world.

“Wonwoo… Wonwoo…”

Chan watches you helplessly, unsure what to do.

You force yourself to breathe, wiping your face quickly even though it doesn’t help. “Thank you,” you manage, voice barely stable. “I’m sorry.”

He nods slowly, still concerned, but doesn’t stop you as you turn away.

You walk back toward the crosswalk, toward nothing in particular, just trying to figure out where to put yourself now that everything is moving again without him.

And then—

A hand lands on your shoulder.

You freeze so hard it feels like the world stops again.

For a second, you can’t breathe.

You turn.

Slowly.

And the moment you see him, you already know.

Black hair slightly messy. Glasses catching the light. The same quiet expression that looks like he’s just barely holding onto disbelief.

Wonwoo.

Standing there like he never left at all.

And said with that same cat like smile that you thought you had lost,

“It worked.”

[saythenametotheworld]

A Christmas Proposal | c.vn

You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Vernon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Vernon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.

Genre: fake dating, smut Pairing: SEVENTEEN Vernon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the movie The Proposal. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you like this one <3 Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush. 

“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”

You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

You.

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you. 

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

 “So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.

“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic. 

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy. 

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging. 

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him. 

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off. 

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice. 

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.” 

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth.  So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you. 

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.

Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space. 

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word. 

Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat. 

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia  from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch. 

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in. 

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again. 

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” Sofia prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.

“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling. 

Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.” 

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest. 

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe! 

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny. 

Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Mingyu added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that. 

“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”

You snorted. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Vernon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line. 

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you. 

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach. 

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side. 

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over.  “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer. 

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because  you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists  “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently. 

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster. 

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again. 

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot. 

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply. 

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.” 

“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

Vernon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea. 

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee. 

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away. 

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won. 

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you. 

Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.

Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.  

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas. 

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.” 

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

[fin]

[noniesgummysmile]

wasted youth

🤎 vernon x f!reader 🤎 5.4k 🤎 slight angst, fluff, making out 🤎 childhood friends to strangers to lovers, but very abruptly, mention of a struggling relationship (parents), academic stress/burnout, minor angst and hurt/comfort, minghao shows up, and then uh. making out. pretty hotly. kinda rough. use of baby/baby girl. vernon's muscles (they're there i swear). 🤎 .....don't look at me. i have no excuse. this is the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written and it's not very good honestly but uh. here. enjoy or smth. v8 is driving me crazy and i need them. anyway bye- 🤎 dividers from @/saradika-graphics <3 🤎 taglist: @bubbliegubs, @gent1es3xy <3

You haven't seen Vernon since you moved away ten years ago with a broken heart. When you find yourself returning to your old town, he won't let you go so easily again.

The last time you saw Vernon, you were thirteen, watching out the back window as your dad drove you away. You swore you didn’t cry. The stains on the cuffs of your his hoodie said otherwise.

A different job, a different house, a different state. A different life.

You’d moved on, not because you wanted to, but because you had to. Thinking of your best friend hurt too much. Thinking of that last night, lying on the roof of his treehouse and staring at the stars, whispering your deepest secret only to hear nothing, was too painful.

So you moved on. You didn’t forget about him. You thought that might be impossible.

But you moved on, because you had to.

So why did your trembling hands type in Vernon’s address?

Why did you drive nonstop for four hours?

Why did you slow to a stop outside his house and just… stare?

He wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t be. He was in college, probably. His family might have even moved.

But the house looked the same. The same beige curtains, the same wilted flowerbeds, the same circle of mottled glass in the front door. If you squinted, you could see the corner of the treehouse poking through the budding branches of the oak tree in the backyard.

A lump wedged itself into your throat. Tears might have started to well up, if you hadn’t already cried yourself dry.

The porch light flickered on. A hand pulled back the living room curtain. The face that peered through was a stranger.

You tore your eyes away and shoved the car into drive.

Rain started to splatter against the windshield, and you flicked the wipers on and wished that you could wipe away the ugly stains in your heart. As if it was that easy. Nothing was easy anymore.

This was a stupid idea. You never should’ve come back. Even going back to your parents’ house would’ve been a better solution than this. They might’ve taken a break from their arguing to hug you. Maybe. Maybe it would’ve helped. Maybe not.

But that was better than drudging up old memories, wasn’t it? Than searching for a comfort that had long since faded?

Ugh. This was so stupid. All of this was so stupid.

Street lights blurred in the remnants of raindrops. You rolled through a stop sign. No one was around to see, so why bother stopping? You were enough of a failure already. Besides, maybe getting arrested would be good. Exhaustion was dragging at your eyes, and sleeping in a holding cell with a roof and walls wouldn’t be a bad thing, per se. Had the police gotten any better in the last ten years, though? Last you remembered, they’d been kinda incompetent. Vernon and some of his friends liked to leave homemade stickers on stop signs and telephone poles, and while you’d never joined in, he’d told you about a dozen not-so-close calls where aging officers jogged after them for half a block before giving up.

Oh, Vernon.

You swallowed.

Then you slammed on the brakes as something stepped into the road in front of your car.

For a long moment, you thought you were dreaming. Yellow headlights spilled over the figure, who stood just as frozen as you, familiar eyes locked on yours with the same widening disbelief.

Oh, Vernon.

He scrambled around the side of your car, hands hitting the hood like he was making sure your car wouldn’t disappear. You had half a mind to hit the gas. But then he was knocking, and your hands moved on their own to park the car and roll down the window.

The moment his hand could fit through, he reached down and unlocked the door.

Then cold air rushed in and rain splashed against your jeans and Vernon stood there, hand braced on the roof, staring at you.

His eyes were just as big and brown as you remembered.

“Hi,” he whispered, barely audible over the pummeling rain.

You tried to say something, anything, in response. But your numb mouth opened and closed, and instead a sob built up in your throat.

Maybe you hadn’t cried yourself entirely dry.

“Hey, hey, no, what’s wrong?”

His voice was lower than it used to be. He’d grown up. Of course he had. Wet hands cupped your cheeks, rough thumbs brushing at your skin. Calloused. Even worse than when he was younger and falling out of trees. His gaze burned into you, wide and worried, and you screwed your eyes shut as if it’d make him stop.

Did you want him to stop?

“Hey,” he breathed again, and that nearly broke you. “I’m getting in, okay? Wait a sec.”

Then the wet warmth of his hands was gone, and he rounded the hood again. You still hadn’t moved by the time he slid into the passenger’s seat, and the thighs of your jeans were soaked. Your hands lay limp in your lap.

“Sorry I’m soaked,” Vernon grunted. He slammed the door shut. He was soaked. Drenched, actually. Dripping all over your crappy old car. He looked up at you, thick brows knotting together, then leaned over and –

You flinched, dropping your chin.

He reached past you and tugged at your door. It closed with a slam.

And then it was silent. Almost. The pattering of the rain faded to a muffled rhythm, but you clung to it, because after ten years Vernon was staring at you again and everything was stupid.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

You almost sobbed. His voice was tender, careful, mature. So similar but so different from the way you remembered him, the goofy but heartfelt kid who’d sling his arm around your neck and make you laugh your bad days away.

If only you could laugh this away.

“At least let me know if you’re okay?” Vernon pressed gently, and you nodded.

You were okay. You were fine. You were just being stupid.

Stupid enough to drive four hours to your old neighborhood and nearly run over your childhood best friend.

And stupid enough to let him in your car.

“Okay.” Vernon nodded in the corner of your eye. “That’s good, at least. But… something’s still wrong? Or bothering you, at least?”

You nodded again. So did he. You closed your eyes.

“Are you… Do you have a place to stay?”

No. You shook your head.

“…Were you planning on staying?”

Was that hope in his voice?

You shrugged. I don’t know.

“Do you want to stay with me? And Minghao,” he added, too quickly. “You remember Minghao, right?”

Minghao. The quiet boy with the skateboard and the pencil behind his ear. They were still friends? They were still friends, but you and Vernon… weren’t?

You nodded.

“Cool. So, we have, uh, well… not an extra bed. But you can have mine.”

Sleep in his bed? Kick him onto, where, the floor?

But it was… Vernon. His soft breathing filled the empty space, and when you cracked your eyes open, he was leaning on the armrest, eyes locked on you. He was close. Closer than anyone had been in a while.

You found yourself nodding.

Was it your imagination? Or did Vernon’s shoulders just relax?

“Alright. Can you drive? I’ll tell you how to get there.”

Could you drive? For him, once upon a time, you could fly.

Yes, you could drive.

You nodded and shifted the gear.

Vernon’s gentle voice coaxed you through the familiar streets. The lump in your throat went away, gradually, assuaged by the steady patter of rain and the roll of Vernon’s low timbre. You kept your eyes on the road, only catching occasional glances at Vernon, but that was good. You couldn’t handle more than that. Not right now.

Then he told you to park and hurried out to open the door for you. He held his already-sopping jacket up over your head to shield you from the worst of the onslaught, leaning close around you, and you ducked your head and tried not to think about it. It was a short walk, thankfully, and then just… endless stairs.

The exhaustion kicked in after four flights. Vernon glanced back at where you’d stopped, leaning with a hand on the banister, then backtracked and held out his hand.

You stared at it.

“Come on,” he said softly. “We’re almost there.”

“…I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are. You nearly ran me over, you looked like you were about to cry, and you’re swaying.” No you weren’t. Were you? “Either take my hand or I’m going to carry you the rest of the way,” Vernon said firmly, and warmth shot to your cheeks.

You took his hand.

He smiled.

“Good girl. Come on.”

The burn under your skin only grew as he guided you up the last of the stairs, fingers periodically tightening around yours. You stumbled once, but managed to catch yourself. When you looked up, Vernon’s free hand lingered in the air, stretched out as if to steady you.

You looked down again. He dropped his hand.

“I think Minghao’s asleep,” he said as you reached the final floor. Only one door awaited you, run down and marked with spray paint, but that was the door he stopped in front of. “I’ll text him what’s up, so he doesn’t freak out in the morning, but we gotta be quiet.”

You nodded. He patted his pocket, then frowned, then let go of your hand to check his other pockets.

You pretended it didn’t matter.

He found the key. It was dark inside, but the light of his phone guided you to a room with a bed.

“You wanna change?” Vernon whispered. “I can grab some stuff for you to wear.”

But you shook your head. Sleeping in his bed was enough.

“Alright. Feel free to take anything you need, though. Seriously.”

You nodded and let your eyes linger on the dim floor. Vernon, too, lingered.

“Okay. Well. I’ll be just out here, if you need me.”

That’s why I’m here.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He closed the door as a shiver rolled down your spine.

You woke up to a million messages on your dying phone.

You ignored them.

The smell of Vernon’s sheets was more interesting, thick and warm and rustic, but you ignored that too. You had to. Otherwise you would’ve never gotten up.

Your jeans were still damp, just a little, clinging horridly to your legs. But at least your shirt and hoodie were dry, and the sun was streaming through the cracked blinds, so you slipped out into the rest of the apartment.

It was… grungy. The morning light revealed old furniture and peeling wallpaper, once a cute pattern but now aged and decorated with orange and pink and black spray paint. It was messy. But it was also… Vernon. And Minghao, from how you remembered him. Somehow, there was almost something cozy about it.

“Morning.”

You nearly choked on a gasp as you turned to find Vernon leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. Then you nearly choked again.

You’d seen him last night, sure. But it had been dark, and he’d been soaked, and you hadn’t really gotten to look at him.

Vernon had grown. Of course he had. He was still lean, but not as skinny as he’d been as a kid. No, he’d filled out a little, and since he’d shed the jacket and flannel from last night, his tight white tank top made that very apparent.

And his hair. Oh. The fluffy curls of youth were gone. The sides were shaved, his bangs short and his nape long, and little shocks of blond ran through his dark locks. He’d dried off overnight, but his hair was mussed from sleep, and yet he looked… amazing. Oh. Oh, no.

Not to mention his freckles, scattered across his nose and cheeks. Had he always had those? Had they just become more evident since he was little? Regardless, those freckles were beautiful, and you wanted to –

“Sleep well?”

You blinked.

“Oh. Um… yeah. Thank you. Did you?”

Vernon wrinkled his nose with a little grin, pushing off the doorframe and walking over. “As well as I could on the floor, yeah.”

Your jaw dropped, fluster gone for a moment because – “The floor?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. I do it a lot. More comfortable than the futon, shockingly.” Vernon stopped a foot away. “Minghao left already, but he made breakfast. You want some?”

Your stomach growled before you could answer. Vernon grinned.

“Guess that means yes. Come on.”

Minghao’s blueberry protein pancakes were surprisingly good. Vernon watching you eat, however, made it hard to enjoy them like you usually would. Those stupid eyes…

Finally you set down your fork. Vernon shot up from his seat and swept your plate away, dumping it in the sink before dropping back down and leveling those stupid eyes at you.

“So. Wanna talk about it?”

You flinched. “We see each other for the first time in ten years, and… that’s what you wanna talk about?”

“Hey, you showed up almost crying in the middle of the night. I think I’m allowed to worry.”

“Touché.”

Vernon propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists. You stared at your lap.

“So?”

“It’s… really not a big deal.”

“It’s big enough that you went almost nonverbal. I’d say that’s pretty big.”

You sighed. “It’s seriously nothing. I just…” You tugged at the hem of your sleeve. You couldn’t look up. “I bombed one of my finals. And… failed the class.”

“You failed?”

The surprise in Vernon’s tone was enough to bring your shoulders to your ears.

“Sorry,” he said immediately. It didn’t help. “Just… you, Miss Straight A’s?”

You scoffed. Whatever weight had disappeared when you woke up smothered in Vernon’s sheets was back tenfold. “I wish. College is killing me. I haven’t gotten a solid A in three semesters.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. College sucks,” Vernon agreed softly. “That’s why Hao and I dropped out.”

That drew your eyes up. “You what?”

“Dropped out,” Vernon said easily, like it was normal. “Too much money for something we were already teaching ourselves, so why bother?”

“So what are you… doing?”

Vernon shrugged. “We paint murals. Spraypaint a lot.” He grinned. “Cops still can’t catch us. But don’t worry, the mural stuff is legitimate work, and it pays surprisingly well.”

You nodded slowly. “I didn’t… know that was an option.”

“Well, it is, I guess. Cause I’m doing it.” Vernon flashed a grin, but then frowned again. “But are you alright? Seriously. You came all the way out here just because you failed a class?”

The weight grew. “I guess.”

Vernon didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then he leaned in.

“How are your parents?” he asked, so softly and gently that it pried open everything, and you began to cry.

You told him everything. How your parents were fighting. How your roommate seemed to have it out for you. How your classes were getting harder and harder, and you weren’t getting enough sleep, and your friends were all partying and seemed to have forgotten about you.

How, when the email in your inbox said you’d failed, everything came crashing down and you just left.

Vernon listened to all of it. At some point, when you were crying too hard to speak, he rounded the table and gathered you in a hug, which brought a fresh wave of tears.

But at least he was there to wipe them away.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you whispered into his shoulder finally. He shook his head, chin nudging your temple, and rubbed a steady hand down your back.

“Don’t, then. Stay here for a week.”

“But –”

“Email your profs and say you’re sick. Tell your parents that, too, if they ask. Just take a break. You really sound like you need it.”

His voice reverberated through his chest. The bare skin of his shoulder burned your cheek. His steady scent enveloped you, stronger and warmer than his sheets had been.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to agree, but you did.

You ran into Minghao later that day, after a trip to the dollar store and Walmart for the essentials – a toothbrush, conditioner, a spare change of clothes. A few other things. Including, apparently, Lucky Charms. (“It’s still your favorite, right?” Vernon asked, and dropped the box in the cart. You’d had to fight back more tears in the middle of the store.)

You realized you’d forgotten your new deodorant in the car, much to your chagrin and dismay, only after scaling all eight flights of stairs. Vernon insisted on running back down to get it, but didn’t think to give you the key before disappearing.

So you waited, alone, in front of the door. Eventually you leaned against it, shifting your weight and the bag in your arms.

Then the door gave way, and you yelped in surprise, stumbling into strong, thin arms.

“Oh,” Minghao said simply. You blinked up at him. He steadied you, then plucked the bag from your arms. “Long time, no see. Vernon said you’re staying with us for a bit?”

You drifted inside as he set your bag on the kitchen table. “Um, yeah. I hope that’s alright. I know it’s been ages –”

Minghao shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He adjusted the temperature of the small stove. Something savory broiled in a pan. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah.” You slipped into a chair at the table, fingers curled around the edge of the seat. “Um. You too. Sorry it’s so… sudden.”

“I’m just glad you and Vernon finally figured yourselves out.”

“Huh?”

Minghao glanced back, eyes widening a little at what must have been a very confused look on your face. 

“Oh. You mean you didn’t…? Oh,” he said again, turning to the stove.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Minghao –”

The door creaked open, so fast it almost screamed, and you turned to see Vernon stumbling inside with wild eyes and your deodorant in hand.

The moment his gaze found you, his strange desperation dropped away into relief. Relief so strong that it somehow warmed your cheeks. And something else, something deep, something that pierced your stomach and then disappeared.

“There you are,” Vernon exhaled, stepping right up to the back of your chair. Closer than necessary. You craned your neck to look up at him. His eyes really were big.

“Yeah, uh, Minghao let me in.”

“Cool.” His fingers grazed your shoulder. Those brilliant brown eyes burned into yours. His throat bobbed. “I… I thought you’d left.”

Minghao coughed something that sounded suspiciously word-like, but you missed it. Vernon, however, glared at him, taking a full step back from you. Cool air filled the space.

“What?” you asked, but both boys shook their heads.

“Nothing,” Minghao said simply. Vernon reached behind you, his woody scent curling close, and dropped your deodorant into the bag. “Food’s almost ready.”

Vernon flashed you a smile. “Great, I’m starving.”

“I wanna show you something,” Vernon whispered in your ear, suddenly warm against your shoulder. You had to stop yourself from looking up immediately, instead glancing back at him with what was hopefully a controlled speed. He seemed excited, but also… strangely serious? He held a hand out at your side. “Come on.”

You set down the paperback Minghao let you borrow yesterday, and Vernon reached for your hand before you could even start to take his. Minghao glanced up from the other end of the futon that served as a living room couch, but didn’t say anything as you followed Vernon out of the room.

He led you through an art-smothered bedroom that could only belong to Minghao, then pushed open a door on the far side – and sunlight streamed through.

“We call this the Rat’s Nest,” Vernon said proudly, sweeping an arm into the sun.

Your eyes adjusted to reveal a rooftop of spray paint, clutter, and chaos. An old couch, a car door, a pair of garden statues; beach chairs, a pile of speakers, a carousel horse. A strange assortment of what almost looked like junk.

But when you looked into Vernon’s eyes, big and brown and hopeful, you saw what all of it meant. Or at least, you saw that it meant something to him, and that was all it took for it to mean something to you.

“It’s amazing,” you said honestly, and the sweet gummy smile from your childhood days split over his freckled face.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he said with excitement far more controlled than you knew he was feeling. “Hao and I started putting it together once we figured out how to jimmy the lock a few months back.”

Yesterday you might have rolled your eyes. Classic Vernon. But today you just… smiled. Honestly. Classic Vernon.

“Minghao does his morning meditation stuff out here. I like to come out here whenever I need to think,” Vernon said, his hand still in yours as he pulled you over to the couch. “It’s nice out here, above everything, out in the air. Y’know?”

“Yeah. It is.”

He dropped down, then winced, but you were already sitting and soon discovered why.

The couch was wet, still half soaked from the torrential downpour two days prior. Vernon looked at you, his face crumpled in disgust, and you must’ve had a similarly idiotic look on your face because he burst out laughing. So did you, despite the wetness seeping into your newly thrifted jeans.

Finally you both calmed down. He leaned towards the back of the couch, and so did you.

But your head hit flesh, not cushion.

You looked quickly at Vernon, but he was keeping his eyes steadily on the sky. His smile was frozen in place, no longer easy and natural but stiff and anxious. His arm rested along the back of the couch, just low enough to lean on.

…Huh.

You tilted your head back into the crook of his elbow, and the breath he exhaled was audible. And visible. His smile settled into something slightly more relaxed.

“I think it’s pretty cool out here,” you said softly, drawing your legs up onto the couch and shifting to rest your cheek against the cushion. Vernon’s bare bicep warmed your temple. He glanced at you for a moment, then snapped his eyes back to whatever cloud was so fascinating in the empty blue sky. “It reminds me of the treehouse.”

“Yeah,” he said. His lips parted, then he paused.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Vernon. You can tell me.”

“Whoa, hang on, we just re-met two days ago!”

It was a poor attempt at a joke. Vernon knew it, he had to. His arm shifted under your head, muscles flexing as he adjusted his spot on the couch, his forced smile falling.

The silence stretched. You didn’t think about Vernon’s bicep or the way his eyes glowed gold in the sun. Not at all.

“Did you really mean that?” he said finally, and you blinked in surprise.

“Mean what? That you can tell me? Yeah –”

“No, I mean…” Vernon looked away. Not even at the sky. Just away, the long hair at the back of his neck facing you. Pretty. “What you said before you left.”

Your brain screeched to a halt. You sat up, and Vernon’s head snapped back around. Were his ears… pink?

“Before I left?” you asked carefully. “You mean…?”

“Yeah. Back then.” Vernon swallowed. His eyes seemed more glossy than normal. “The last time we were in the treehouse. And you…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

You’d blocked that memory from your brain a long time ago. But Vernon, staring at you with something almost desperate in his gaze, cracked that night wide open.

“Oh,” you said carefully. “You mean when I…”

“Yeah.”

The silence stretched until you dropped your eyes from Vernon’s steady stare.

“You want to know if I… meant it?” you asked, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. “That I…?”

“That you had a crush on me. Yeah.”

You swallowed. I like you, Vernon, thirteen-year-old you had said, fingers digging into the cuffs of the sweatshirt he’d let you borrow. Like – a lot.

“I think I did,” you said, barely above a whisper.

He inhaled sharply. “Oh.”

“Mhm.”

(Little Vernon had blurted something about cooties and then shut up until you left.)

“What about… now?”

Vernon’s voice was so quiet, you almost had to lean closer.

“Now?” you echoed. Was it normal for your heart to beat this much?

“Yeah. Like, do you… still?”

You swallowed. Vernon’s eyes weren’t leaving you.

“Still what?” you whispered. “Still like you?”

“Yeah.” Vernon’s eyes pinned you down, not with a demand, but with desperation.

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when Vernon, older and beautiful and staring, was right there.

“Please,” he whispered, and you almost cracked. “Please don’t let it just be me.”

Don’t let it just be me?

“Yes,” you blurted. You clenched your fists in your lap to hide how they shook. “Yes. I do.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Then he smiled, head rolling back against the couch, and your heart sang.

You woke up with a smile. Vernon’s scent clung to you again. His sheets wrapped around your legs. It took a moment to get up, but the gentle clinking of dishes in the kitchen finally coaxed you to pry yourself from the blankets.

This time, before you left the room, you paused in front of his dresser.

One quick closet raid later, you slipped into the kitchen, feeling rather smug. Vernon was there, his back to you as he handled a pan at the stove. Eggs, by the smell.

You slid your hands around his waist, hiding your grin in the back of his shoulder as he gasped.

“Oh, you,” he breathed. It was almost a groan, but there was something fond to it. His hand settled over yours, rough and warm. “Good morning.”

“Mm. Good morning.” Your lips still tingled from last night. “But I thought I said you didn’t have to sleep on the floor again?”

Vernon shrugged. “I didn’t want to push. A kiss and sharing a bed are kinda, like, very different levels.”

“I guess I see that.” You peeked over his shoulder at the eggs. They looked edible. “What about stealing clothes? What level is that on?”

The speed at which Vernon’s neck snapped around was honestly impressive. You stepped back, suddenly shy now that his eyes were on you.

You’d stolen a pair of long jean shorts and a white tee and a grey zip-up that hung loose off your shoulders – nothing overly impressive – but from the way Vernon’s widening eyes traced your body, you’d think you were robed in gold and jewels.

“Wow,” he said, gaze finally meeting yours. He reached behind him and turned off the stove. “Please steal my clothes more often.”

You laughed, sweater paws coming up to cover your mouth, but in one long stride Vernon was there and guiding your hands down with a gentle grip on your wrists.

“Hi,” you managed despite the heat rushing to your cheeks as he towered over you.

“Hi,” he echoed. “Can I please kiss you?”

Your heart jumped. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Vernon grinned, and then calloused fingers dove into your hair and that brilliant grin molded against your mouth.

You caught his waist, trying not to stumble as he walked you backwards. Your thighs hit the edge of the kitchen table. His mouth was soft against you, and yet his touch was rough; lips that caressed with fingers that grabbed, and the contrast was breathtaking.

“You,” he murmured, lips moving against yours, “are beautiful.”

Your knees threatened to give out, and you had to drop your hands to the table behind you for some semblance of steadiness. Vernon chuckled into your mouth. Then his hands slipped from your hair and curled instead around your thighs.

“Up.”

Quickly you threw your arms around his neck and jumped. He hiked you easily, so easily, up and onto the table. Your legs spread for him of their own accord, and then he was pressed close again, hands wandering up to grasp at your waist.

“You know,” he said, breathless, pulling away from your lips to kiss his way slow and hot and wet along your cheek, “I’ve always wanted to make out on that couch in the Nest.”

You inhaled so sharply that Vernon broke away to laugh.

“You like that, huh?” he said, eyes dancing and lips smirking in such a way that you had no choice but to reach for him and kiss him again.

“Hold on,” he grunted into your mouth, and then you were in the air again, locking your ankles around his waist and kissing along his jaw as he navigated through the apartment. He bumped into something, your knee clipped the wall; none of it mattered, not when his skin was hot against your lips and his fingers pressed into the swell of your thighs.

Sunlight burst through with a thud as he kicked the last door open.

“Get the hell out, man,” Vernon rasped, and a strangled noise of disgust echoed from somewhere else. A pink blur that might have been Minghao dodged past. You didn’t care. All that mattered was the way that Vernon fell away as he threw you onto the couch, then as you reached out with a whine, the way he crashed back in with so much force that the springs screamed.

His mouth found yours, and this time, he didn’t waste a moment. His tongue pressed against your lips, then pushed through, tangling with yours and exploring your mouth like it was the only thing that mattered.

Maybe it was.

You ran your hands through his hair, thumbs massaging the buzzed sides, revelling in the way it prickled and the subtle movement of his jaw under the heels of your palms – his jaw that was working into you, tongue diving deeper, dragging you into oblivion.

He caught the inside of your knee and hiked it up against the cushions. More of his weight leaned onto you, his hand bracing on the arm of the couch as he hovered over you, and you lifted your hands to his waist and tucked them under the hem of his tank top.

Warm, taut skin greeted you. So did a muffled noise from Vernon’s throat that you drank down greedily, rubbing your thumbs against his abs with the hope of eliciting more. You weren’t disappointed, but soon tones of surprise melted into something darker, and Vernon’s free hand found your hip and squeezed so hard that you squeaked.

“There we go, baby,” he murmured, pulling back just enough, and you stared up into his dark brown eyes with lips parted in shock. His mouth quirked into a grin.

“Say that again,” you begged, fingers digging into his sides, but Vernon just laughed. He shifted his weight, shifting his hand from the couch to your shoulder, and then he captured your lips and began to press you deep into the cushions. The force nearly took your breath away, and your hands floundered for his biceps, finding nothing but pure, lean, firm muscle. Oh. The muscle flexed beneath your fingers, your body sinking deeper into the couch, and the last remaining damp from the rain seeped from the center of the cushions into your stolen clothes, deliciously cold against the fire of your skin. His whole weight seemed to be driving you into the couch, because you felt like you might snap from the tension between your hip and your shoulder. If you did snap, at least you’d die happy.

“Baby,” he whispered, low in the space between your lips. “Baby. Baby girl?” he tried, and you whimpered a quiet oh that earned you a nip at your lower lip. Your breath hitched, and as your eyes flickered open you caught a glimpse of the dark mirth dancing in his eyes. His beautiful, devastating eyes. He leaned in, cheek brushing yours, and then his slick lips traced the curve of your ear as he whispered, low and hot and ravishing –

“That’s it, baby girl.”

Oh.

You fumbled for the chain at his neck and dragged him back to your lips before you said something you might regret.

[daechwitatamic]

Not So Loud || LC

banner by @itaeewon <3

Not So Loud lee chan x afab reader || fluff smut baby angst || f2l, only one bed trope NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed...

wc: 16.6k

warnings: language, recreational drinking, sooo much pining, baby misunderstandings, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv sex (no protection mentioned either way), reader on top, mentions of shower sex

request by @eoieopda:

yes my fearless leader you may have even two crumbs of lee dino getting laid at the beach, i hope you enjoy every single second of it <3

“This,” you sigh blissfully, “is the happiest I may ever be.”

The sun is shining. Upbeat pop music runs like an undercurrent below the sound of the highway from the stereo of your best friend’s junky, decade-old sedan. Your iced coffee - light and sweet, but not too much of either - tastes like heaven. And the best part, the part that makes this day the best even if you didn’t have iced coffee or sunshine or Ruby or happy music, is that you’re less than an hour away from the beachfront house you and your friends have rented for the next five days.

All six of you had collectively been saving up for a full year and a half to make this happen, and there were times during the wait when it seemed like it would never come together between scheduling and money and rental availability. But now you’re here, racing down the highway to keep up with the flow of traffic, the ocean beckoning you closer.

“Now, now,” Ruby, the aforementioned best friend, scolds lightly. “What about your wedding day?”

You blow a raspberry. “What wedding day?” you shoot back sourly, but then you take another sip of caffeinated, iced perfection and your mood buoys immediately. It’s gonna take a lot to keep you down, today. Still, you rationalize, “I can’t even get to a third date.”

It was true. Your last third date had been almost two years ago. Since then, everything fizzled after one or two. Embarrassing. Something only Ruby - and, by proxy, her boyfriend Mingyu - would know about you.

“Because you compare them all to Chan,” Ruby says sagely.

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.

“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.

The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.

His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.

You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.

His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.

The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.

He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.

Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.

And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”

“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.

“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.

As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.

“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.

He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.

“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”

You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.

Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”

“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”

He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.

“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.

He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”

He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.

“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”

And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.

The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.

You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.

“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”

Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.

You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.

He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.

“What?” you demand through your own smile.

“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.

“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.

He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.

“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.

You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.

He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.

You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.

His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”

“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.

He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”

“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”

He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.

You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.

“Please move,” you beg, needing more.

“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”

The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.

A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.

“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.

“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”

You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”

He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.

“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"

Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.

When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 

“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”

“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”

thank you for reading!!! <3

[sailorsoons]

Rain Room (x.mh)

PAIRING: Waterpark Worker!Minghao x Waterpark Worker!Reader  SUMMARY: Working at a waterpark during the summer has its own trials and tribulations, but working with your ex makes it that much harder. When you discover the cool and quiet of the rain exhibit while hiding from your ex, you don’t expect to find additional solace - and something more - in its main occupant. WC: 9,039 AU: Coworkers to Lovers GENRE: Smut, Budding Romance WARNINGS: Reader has an annoying ex boyfriend who won’t stop being overly friendly and The Nice Guy, depictions of an asshole boss, reader has a bit of a bad work day and cries about it at some point, general shitty job life lmfaooo, Minghao is a little possessive in a single scene, recreational drinking at a party, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do this!!!), semi-public sex (in an officed at a party), soft dom Minghao if you squint, oral (f. receiving).  A/N: This is for the amazing Carat Bay Collab hosted by @camandemstudios! Thank you so much for hosting such a fun collab - writing quiet Minghao and silly reader has been so much fun! This is relatively short and sweet for me, but I hope you all love the little rain room and this pair as much as I do!  A/N 2: No beta we die like men 

MASTERLIST | ASK | FOR THE CARAT BAY COLLAB

A TANGERINE-COLORED INFLATABLE TUBE HITS YOU DIRECTLY IN THE FACE. You swear, your neck snapping backward as your sunglasses go flying. You hear the telltale splash as they hit the water behind you, barely audible as the little monster of a child goes screaming toward the steps to leave the shallow pool where the waterslide exits. 

“Don’t run!” You yell at him as he high-knees it up the steps, hearing but not caring at your orders. His feet hit the pavement and he goes thundering away, probably to harass more workers or better, the creators that spawned him. “Fucker.” 

Taking the floating device, you wade over to the conveyor belt and toss it on. The little lifesaver goes cranking up toward the top of the slide to be reused again. Sloshing back to where you were standing, you start looking for your sunglasses in the waist high water. 

Just as you spot them, bending at the knees to sink into the lukewarm, chlorine-heavy water, a shout and explosion of tangerine hits the pool's surface, water spraying you in the face and hitting you directly in the eyes. 

“Motherfucker!” You curse, blinking the burning chlorine water away as the kid floating by on the tube oooo’s at you for your language. Instead of honoring him with an answer, you grab the bottom of his float and flip it over, depositing him unexpectedly into the water. He comes up, coughing and sputtering. “Have a good day!”

After retrieving your drenched sunglasses and shoving them back on your face to keep some of the sun out of them, you go back to your routine of pulling tubes and putting them on the conveyor belt. It’s not hard work, but it’s not fun. The sun bakes down on top of your head, turning it pan-sear hot, your feet are waterlogged and your fingers are pruned.

You don’t even want to think about how much lotion it’s going to take to bring them back to life, the chlorine turning your skin dry every night after you get out of the shower. 

At least you get to take frequent breaks. When your manager tells you it’s time for yours, you don’t stop the visible sigh, sloshing toward the steps leading out of the pool. You pass Vernon on the way, giving him a wet high five as he descends, groaning when he immediately takes spray from a landing tube.

“Good luck, buddy.” 

The waterpark is nice. Despite your loathsome work, you can at least admit that. Meteor Falls is a state-of-the-art water theme park, all mystical space and falling stars. You don’t mind it some days, admiring the space-themed slides and attractions, impressed that it somehow manages to be both cheesy and kind of cool.

Other days, it’s your own personal hell filled with screaming children, chlorine blasts to the face, and never-ending run ins with your ex boyfriend. 

Jinwoo has a nasty habit of always managing to find you when you’re on break. You can’t prove that it’s on purpose, but every time you sit down in the staff cafeteria, one of your secret hiding places (like the storage room with life jackets or the storage room that smells plasticy with intertubes), he somehow manages to interrupt your peace.

You know you should be thankful that things ended amicably. Except - that’s sort of the problem. You’d ended things because though he’s nice, there’s no spark between the two of you. No passion, no something that makes your heartbeat a little bit faster, that makes your blood turn molten. 

He’d let you end things with a nod and a smile. And then got a summer job at the same water park, and felt the need to sit down next to you at lunch and talk your ear off, none the wiser to your growing agitation. 

It feels mean, this deep-seeded annoyance that has begun to fester every time you see him. He’s not doing anything wrong, and yet you can’t help but feel like maybe he thinks this - whatever this is - will patch things over. Will remind you that he’s a nice guy, that he’s easy to deal with.

Which means when you see him sitting in your new oasis Vernon had showed you - the pump room - you nearly throw your tupperware at him. Of course he and Chan are sitting in the room, pumps screaming over their conversation as they eat chicken tenders from one of the stands outside. Of course he sees you just as you pivot, raising his hand in a greeting before frowning and dropping it when he notices you’re fleeing. 

You spare a single glance over your shoulder and notice he’s getting up - probably to ask why you’re leaving - and you nearly scream in fright, rushing out of the room.

Jinwoo hot on your heels, you break the number one rule at the waterpark - you run. 

Bursting through the staff only gate, you nearly knock over a kid holding a very melted, very red popsicle. The child flinches but you’re already moving past him, your shoes squeaking and filled with water as you round the Rocket Launch Splash Pad and toward the Bridge Between Worlds, the rope bridge swinging dangerously as you run over the people floating in the lazy river below. 

Jinwoo shouts your name but you pretend not to hear him, slowing your run to a fast walk. Very demure. Very mindful. You take a hard left, nearly taking a palm frond to the face before noticing a tiny dirt path through the trees. You have no idea if it’s there on purpose or if it’s staff-only, but you see no sign so you rush down it, letting fronts and palmettos hit you in the face as the rush of a man-made waterfall fades behind you. 

Up ahead, you notice a small round building with a giant disc-shape roof. It takes you a second to realize that it’s supposed to look like the rings of Jupiter, a giant rocket ship stationed to the left of it. You frown, slowing your steps to peer around. 

No one else seems to be around. You’ve never seen this building, but the neon green letters built on top of the planetary rings read Jupiter’s Rain Room. From a distance, you hear Jinwoo call your name. It launches you to action and you bolt for the tinted glass doors that lead to the mysterious building. 

Air conditioning buffets you the second you step inside. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting, but once they do, you realize you’re in a sort of theater. Rows of cushioned seats fill the center of the room. The walls are circular, arching up until they form a smooth dome over the room. 

A single person twists around in one of the seats, a look of surprise on his face. He’s in an employee hoodie pulled up over his ash blonde hair, and his feet are kicked up on the seat in front of him. He raises his brows, as if to ask what you’re doing here. 

“Uhhh.” You lift your hand in a small wave. “Hi?”

“Hi?” He answers, just as unsure. 

“Sorry - what is this place?”

“The next show isn’t until three.” 

You pause. “I work here?”

“Why do you sound so unsure, then?” 

“I didn’t know this building existed.”

“That's because I took down all the directional signage.” 

“Oh?”

His mouth twitches, amused. “Do you phrase everything like a question?”

“No.” You think about it. “Actually, maybe sometimes. Look, I’m just trying to find a place to eat my lunch and hide from Jinwoo.”

He spreads his arms out to all of the chairs in the theater. “Be my guest.” 

Nodding in thanks, you walk down the steps to the auditorium proper. Up close, you can appreciate how handsome your unnamed coworker is. His feline eyes are intense, tracking you as you walk four rows ahead of him and sit down. He purses his full lips in thought before he settles back into his seat, nearly melting into the cushion as his eyes flick back to his phone.

Meanwhile, you pop the top on your tupperware, the fresh smell of grilled chicken and lemon hitting your nose. 

“What’s your name, anyway?” You ask, sticking your plastic fork in your chicken. You give him your name around a mouthful of lunch, followed by, “I’m in recreation. Usually you can find me on intertube duty for the slides.” 

“Minghao. Rain room attendant.”

“What exactly is the rain room?”

“It’s a room and it talks about rain.”

You frown, turning around to face him. His eyes flick upward, meeting yours over the top of his phone. When he sees you’re unsatisfied, he rolls his eyes. “It’s the room about how the park does water conservation. No one comes here.”

“Because there’s no signs?”

He nods. “Because there’s no signs.”

“Smart.”

He hums, attention going back to his phone. You turn back around to eat the rest of your lunch in silence, acutely aware of Minghao sitting behind you. Instead of peppering him with all of the questions you keep coming up with, you scroll your phone, monitoring the time until your break is over.

When it is, you stand up, joints popping. You groan and slide out from your row, glancing at him. He looks up, his brows raised in a question. “My lunch is over. Thanks for letting me hide here.”

“Anytime.” 

“Have a good day, I guess?”

He smirks. “You’re doing it again.”

You flush. “Sorry.”

“Mhmm. Catch you around.”

-

The next day, Mingho doesn’t have his hood pulled over his head. You’re surprised at how long his hair is, shaggy and a little bit longer in the back. It suits him, you think, as you pass him by and wave. He seems surprised to see you, but doesn’t object when you sit in the same seat as the day before, popping a chicken tender into your mouth.

Like yesterday, silence permeates the air. It’s cold in the room, making you understand why he’s always in a jacket. You make a mental note to bring one tomorrow - because yes, this is  your new lunch spot, so long as Jinwoo doesn’t find you and Minghao doesn’t kick you out.

Curious, you turn a little in your chair. He’s sitting folded into the seat just like the day before, entirely engrossed in whatever is on his phone. This time, you notice that he has a headphone in one of his ears. His ears are also pierced, with elegant hoops catching the light. Those suit him too, though you have a tough time imagining anything not suiting him.

Minghao is the kind of pretty that scrambles your brain. His face is made up of sharp angles and high, defined cheekbones paired with the most straight and refined nose you’ve ever seen. It makes his face look balanced and ethereal, but his plush mouth is where your eyes are drawn, watching his minute expressions while he’s engrossed with whatever is on his phone.

Until he’s not engrossed, and he’s looking directly at you, a single brow arched. 

“How long have you worked here?” It’s the first question that comes to mind, albeit not one of the ones you wanted to ask. 

“About four months.”

“Oh. I guess I’ve just never seen you around.”

“I avoid most of our coworkers.” He gives you a pointed stare and you shrink a little in your seat. “I know who you are, though. I room with Vernon.”

“Vernon has a roommate?” 

Again, not the question you wanted to ask. Minghao answers anyway. “Sure does.” 

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“Quiet.”

You hear the warning in Minghao’s tone, so you flash him a smile and turn back around in your seat. Three questions. He allowed you three questions before he got annoyed. Three is a good number. 

When you finish your lunch and your time runs out, you get up and give him a soft smile and a wave. He nods in acknowledgement, but that’s all you get from him for the day. 

Three questions. You prepare yourself to ask better ones tomorrow. 

-

“How many people a day come to the rain room?”

“Including you?” Minghao doesn’t look up as he asks this. You nod and he hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the side of his phone. The motion catches your attention. He has the fingers of an artist, long and elegant with a few silver rings. “Maybe ten.” 

“Only ten?” You try not to sound too surprised, too interested.

“Mhmm.”

“Lucky. I probably see hundreds of people a day.”

“That’s why I don’t work in recreation.” His tone is dry, but not unfriendly. You think he might be teasing, but it’s hard to tell. He still hasn't looked at you.

“Want to switch jobs?”

A beat. Then he glances up, meeting your eyes for the first time. It’s brief, but it’s enough to stir something “Nope.”

This time when you wrap up and head out, it’s Minghao who asks a question, eyes flicking to the drink in your hand. It’s the first time he sounds genuinely curious. “What is that?” You hold up the slushie in your hand, shaking it. “Yeah.”

“The Raspberry Rocket Blast. It’s a slushie and it’s so good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a real name?”

You laugh. “Yeah. And it’s amazing.”

Minghao’s gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary. “Interesting. Have a good day.”

You beam at him, blue teeth and all. “You too!”

-

Water sluices down your back. You rush underneath the awning of Jupiter’s ring, shaking water off your raincoat like a dog. So long as there’s thunder in the area, you don’t have to work. Most of the staff are lounging in the cafeteria and other break areas, but there’s only a single place you want to be.

To your surprise, there are people in the rain room today. Minghao isn’t sitting slouched in his seat, but rather standing at the back where there is a control table. He notices you come in and holds a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to stand in the back. 

Nodding, you follow his orders and pad over to him, pulling a hand out of your raincoat to hold out a styrofoam cup for him. He looks puzzled, hitting a button on the control table that sends the lights dying until you’re in a dark room, barely able to see his outline.

A narrator comes over the speakers, so loud it vibrates the room. You flinch and he adjusts the volume as the display of thousands of stars appear on the domed ceiling. Minghao takes the slushy from you, tilting it toward him to examine it.

“It’s the Raspberry Rocket Blast,” you whisper. “The one I had the other day.” 

Minghao takes it skeptically. He looks from the cup to you, back to the cup again, his face downturned like something might jump out and bite him. You nudge the bottom of the cup, urging him to take a sip. 

Hesitantly, he does. He brings the red straw up to his lips, taking a gentle pull. When the slushie hits his tongue, you can tell. His face morphs from careful skepticism into surprised delight, smiling around the straw, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a few strong sips. 

The inside of his lips are blue when he removes the straw, nodding. “It’s good.”

“Told you.” He rolls his eyes, but continues to sip the drink while the presentation plays.

You only half pay attention to it, deciding to sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Minghao glances over his shoulder at you and you point to your lunch. He shrugs and turns forward again, sipping his drink quietly as the ceiling turns to a rainstorm. 

It’s peaceful. The threadbare carpet isn’t exactly comfortable and the drywall behind you seems to absorb all of the moisture from the air, but it’s cold and dark. You only vaguely follow the story of the water park’s founding and core pillars. A soundtrack of rain and thunderstorm plays on the projector, lulling you until your head dips a few times as you flirt with sleep. 

Exhaustion wins. You doze off, only coming to when the lights come up and you hear shuffling feet and the thwunk of the theater chairs as they slam back to their normal position. You blink groggily, watching the procession of people who head to the door, checking to see how bad the rain is. 

Someone announces that it’s finally a light drizzle so they all head out, a mix of kids whining that they want to go down the slides and adults who want to give up and go home. When the last of them is gone, Minghao turns to you, smirking.

“Enjoyed the nap?”

“Very much.”

“Hmm. I’ve got to clean up. People love to leave their shit.”

You grumble and get to your feet. “I’ll help.” 

Minghao gives a hum of appreciation but says nothing else. It’s easy and methodical, picking up candy wrappers and empty bottles of soda. By the time you’re done, your phone is buzzing and Vernon is looking for you to switch rotations with him at the Astroslide. You sigh, sliding your phone back in your pocket while you toss the trash into the appropriate bend. 

Looking up from where he’s fishing a chicken tender from a chair, Minghao asks, “See you tomorrow?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Feel free to bring the…. Blast rocket.”

“Raspberry Rocket Blast.”

“Sure.”

You grin, teasing. “Bye, Minghao.”

-

Minghao’s lips and teeth are blue. You don’t want to admit it, but it doesn’t look so bad on him. Nothing looks bad on him, though. He’s the kind of pretty that doesn’t belong working in an empty theater room at a waterpark, which has made you wonder on more than one occasion if maybe he’s a figment of your imagination. 

(Vernon has assured you that Minghao does, in fact, exist). 

Sitting in the back row, you watch as Minghao hops over the seats to walk to the control podium. “Show off,” you mutter under your breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You’re very athletic.” 

“Yes, I like keeping in shape. And yoga. And meditation.”

“Of course you do.” Settling further in the seat, you watch him as he flicks off the lights and turns on the presentation. “Why do I have to watch this, again?”

“Because if you’re going to hide in here from your ex boyfriend weekly, you might as well see the presentation so when a guest asks a question, you can answer it.” 

“Can’t I tell them I’m in recreation?”

He grins, his teeth Raspberry Rocket Blue. “No.” 

You huff, sliding further into the scratchy fabric of the chair as though you can become one with it. 

The walls of the room vibrate with how loud the speakers are, prompting Minghao to turn it down. When it’s at the desired volume, he returns to the row of chairs and jumps back over it, sitting down next to you while matching your slouch. He grins again before sipping his slushie.

You think he should smile more often. 

Instead of telling him that, you turn back to the screen as an aerial view of the waterpark pains the room in light. Meteor Falls, despite being your personal water-logged hellscape, is quite beautiful at a distance. Full of tropical trees hiding the stone walkways, pops of red and purple and blue waterslides peeking from the greenery. A cerulean ring wraps the waterpark, little tubes dotted along it as park goers float along the lazy river. 

“Welcome to Meteor Falls,” the narrator says, voice warm. “We know you’re here to have fun and cool off, but did you know that water is one of our planet’s most precious resources? We here at Meteor Falls, seek to reduce, reuse and recycle our planet’s water.” 

You watch as the scene cuts to footage of kids going down slides. You spot Vernon guiding tubes to the conveyor belt and point to him. “Holy shit, does he get royalties?” 

“If he does, he spends it on fast food.” 

“Every drop here counts,” the narrator continues. “Even the ones from the sky! That’s why we’re doing our part to conserve water by collecting and reusing rainwater!” 

“Probably cleaner than the piss-filled water in the lazy river.” 

“You’re probably right.” 

It’s a good presentation. You pepper the film with your commentary, earning a grin or a sharp huff of air through Minghao’s nose when he laughs. It feels like a win, each time you make him laugh. In the days you’ve been escaping here in the rain room, it’s felt like a personal goal to open him up a bit more.

Minghao is quiet. Observant. You ask him a ton of questions and he asks you none in return, and yet he’s seemed to puzzle things out on his own. It’s different from what you’re used to, most of your friends are loud and outgoing and overwhelming. 

Overwhelming like Jinwoo, who you wish would be awful just so you had a reason to cut him off, cut him out, push him away. 

At the end of the presentation, Minghao stands and, with a lazy sort of grace, hops over the row of seats instead of walking around like a normal person. He moves like he’s used to being watched, but not in the way that invites it. Just comfortable in his own skin. Then he flips the light switch, flooding the room with brightness.

“What’d you think?”

You wince instantly, throwing up a hand like it’ll shield you from the sun. “I think you just tried to blind me.”

“About the presentation.”

“I think it’s a crock of shit and we still overuse water,” you say without missing a beat.

Minghao snaps his fingers and points at you like he’s awarding a prize. “Good.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. You feel oddly proud, which is stupid, because you’re not here to impress him. 

Checking your watch, you heave a sigh. “I have to head back before Vernon freaks out. I was late last time.”

“Tough.”  He pushes off the chair, steps a little closer, not close enough to be improper, just close enough that you feel it. “Try not to take any pool noodles to the face.” 

“Tubes. They are tubes.” 

From behind you, you hear the quiet rustle of his hoodie as he slips his phone out of his pocket. “Sure. Later.” 

You glance back just once. Minghao’s got his headphones in, watching you, like he was waiting to see if you’d look. You meet his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. Then you nod, casual, like your pulse isn’t doing weird things.

“Later.” 

-

Pressing the sleeves of your hoodie into your eyes, you dab away any excess tears. The sunburn on your face is just as scalding as the lecture you’d received from your boss, reducing you to giving a tight-throat yes when he’d screamed if you’d understood him, fighting tears all the way down the rope bridge and gravel path to the little hidden oasis you’ve made for yourself. 

You don’t really consider yourself a crier. But today had been a bad day, your morning staring with someone running a stop sign and rear-ending you significantly enough to make you two hours late to your shift. Though you’d texted and called several times, your asshole Peaked-In-High School Manager liked to make people feel small.

He’d done a really good job of it today, despite explaining what had happened with your car. With the added, unplanned expense of needing to get it fixed because it had been a hit and run, you couldn’t exactly tell your manager to get his head out of his ass. 

So instead, you’d texted Vernon and agreed to take his shift tomorrow if he let you be another thirty minutes late, just enough time to collect yourself. Which is how you find yourself outside of Jupiter’s Rain Room, eyes burning, pride stinging. 

Cool air hits you in the face when you enter. Minghao doesn’t even turn around to see who it is. He knows it’s you. He’s sitting in the last row as usual, on his phone, the faintest sound of music drifting from one of his earbuds. 

You drop heavily into the seat next to him. That does make him look at you, his eyebrow raised and side eye heavy until his eyes scan your face, the attitude vanishing from his. 

“Are you crying?”

“No,” you answer sulkily. “I was crying. There is no active crying right now.”

“I see.” You sniff, staring with unseeing eyes at the rows of seats in front of you. “Want to talk about it?” That makes your stomach dip, but you shake your head. “Hmm. Want to listen to my favorite songs right now?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. Minghao has never offered something like this. He usually keeps a perfectly manufactured distance, friendly but not friends, polite but not open. When you nod your head, he plucks the other earbud from its case and passes it over to you.

Tentatively, you put it in, heart hammering over something so simple that you chastise yourself, trying to make your breathing even. If Minghao notices, he’s nice enough not to say anything, pulling his phone from his pocket instead to tap on it. 

Music fills your ears. The song opens on soft guitar strumming, a soft and subtle melody. You feel your muscles unclench, the berating drifting far away as a soulful voice begins to sing. There’s a quiet intimacy to the song, making you glance at Minghao who watches you with rapt attention. 

You give him a small smile, a signal that you like it. He returns your grin, flashing his phone screen toward you so you can see what you’re listening to. River by Leon Bridges. You nod and write it down on your phone before leaning back and listening to it, the rhythm of mixed voice and minimal instruments lulling you into a calm. 

All you get is a few more songs. You list each one in your notes app. Minghao is quiet. Patient. A calm sea after a storm, only rippling when you take out to return the earbud, your over-long break over. You know Vernon is probably burnt to a crisp by now and will complain about this for the rest of the week. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, standing.

“Mhmm.” 

When you leave Jupiter’s Rain Room, you feel so much lighter than when you came. And so what if your heart beats a little bit faster. 

-

Sun beats down on the gravel paths winding through the waterpark. You feel the steam from them, yesterday’s rain burning away in the simmering heat. The smell of chlorine sticks to your skin as you balance the boxes in your arms, careful not to squeeze the styrofoam cup in your hand too hard. 

Cool air kisses your skin when you enter the theater. It’s empty, as usual, with Minghao sitting in the back row. He turns when he sees you, a smile alighting on his face. You nearly stumbled, surprised at how genuine the smile has become when he sees you. You ignore the skip in your heart.

Minghao is dressed in his usual polo and loose hoodie. He gets up and reaches for the items in your hand, eager to help you. 

“Hey,” he says, holding up a box. “What’s this?”

“I brought you lunch.” 

He raises his eyebrows before sliding back into the seat with grace that makes you hyper aware of the way you drop into your own seat, the metal creaking under your sudden weight. You straighten, sticking one of the styrofoam cups in his cup holder.

“Consider it a thank you.”

“For?”

“Not kicking me out when I was being a wimp. And for the really good song recommendations.” 

He hums, opening the container to reveal perfectly fried chicken tenders. He picks up a fry, popping it into his mouth to chew experimentally. “Not terrible. And you don’t have to thank me.” 

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to talk about anything else. “Leon Bridges is really fucking good. I went through his entire discography.” 

Minghao’s face lights up, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah? Glad you liked it. “He’s one of those artists that just holds you, you know? His music is there when you need it.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve got more recommendations if you need them. I spend most of the day here curating playlists. It passes the time and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” His eyes meet yours and this time, they hold, dark and thoughtful. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you like to do to pass time?”

The question catches you off guard. You sink into the seat, thinking. Minghao rarely asks questions about you, content with letting you sit a few rows away while being a cranky cat in the corner. 

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers tap gently on the cardboard container while he waits, a rhythm only he can understand. 

“I guess I like reading?” It comes out like a question. “I’m into Sci-Fi movies - I’m sure you’re used to that with Vernon. When I was a kid, I was really into weird animal facts. Like did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it’s not mocking. “I didn’t. What’s another?”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. You catch the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and citrusy, not at all like your sterile chlorine. 

“Hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He tilts his head, lips curving into a half-smile that makes your pulse skip. “You’re full of surprises.”

You take a sip of your slushie, trying to cool the warmth creeping up your neck, but his eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your heart stumbles.

Desperate to keep the conversation going, you ask, “What about you? Besides music, what’s your thing? You’re always so quiet and put together.”

“It’s easy to seem together in the natural chaos of this place.” 

You snort. “Okay, fair.”

“I don’t know, I like meditating. Working out. Reading. I’m pretty simple, but I like it. I don’t always have it all together, but I’ve gotten pretty good at appearing that way.”

You nod, drawn to this glimpse of him, the crack in his polished exterior. “I admire that.”

He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze steals your breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment hands heavy with something unspoken. You’re so acutely aware of him, the way your knee brushes against his in the seat next to him, the way his fingers twitch. Your heart’s pounding now and you realize with a pang that these snatches with Minghao are the best part of your day.

Minghao is the best part of your day, the quiet he brings, the steady presence. Here, there’s no orange tubes hitting you in the face, no Vernon bitching and moaning that his skin is dry. There’s no sun to burn the top of your head and scalp. 

Just Minghao and his calm countenance. 

Silence falls between you, backtracked by the hum of the air conditioning. Your break is almost over, but neither of your movies. He takes a bite of a chicken tender while you nibble at your friends. You steal glances, the silence warm and electric. 

When you finally stand, brushing crumbs from your lap, he stands too. He’s close, the tangerine scent of him exhilarating. His hand brushes yours when he takes your container from your hands, assuring you he can toss it out. 

“See you later?” He asks, voice soft, eyes lingering.

“Yeah,” you agree, a little breathless. 

Outside, the sun is beaming, but its warmth is nothing compared to the burning Minghao’s touch leaves on your hand. 

-

Voices blend together as you enter the stuffy conference room. The air is thick with the smell of old coffee and dry-erase markers, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Rows of mismatched chairs fill the small meeting room. It’s ass o'clock early in the morning, but the resort's monthly meeting demands everyone to be present. 

You wonder why they don’t use the Rain Room for their meetings and then think better of it. The last thing you want is for the company to find the single space in the entire park that you like to hide in, that is now special to you.

Coworkers fill the room. You pick a random seat in the middle of a row, dropping down as the low chatter fills the space around you. You’re so caught up in scrolling on your phone that you don’t notice Jinwood at first, gliding toward you. You realize he’s going to the seat next to you at the last second, panic taking over as he moves toward you, smile friendly, steps confident. 

Before he can reach you, Minghao jumps over the back of the chair like he always does, dropping into it with an easy grace. He grins at you, lips curving into a private smile that makes your heart skip. He pulls one of his earbuds out and offers it to you, brows raised.

Heat simmers beneath the surface of your skin. You accept it, feeling flushed and breathy as you pop it in. He’s got Khruangbin playing, a gentle buffer between the noise of the room and everything else.

Jinwoo falters, his jaw tightening for a second as he diverts, taking a seat in the row in front of you but a few off. His irritation radiates, surprising you. Instead of paying him any mind, your focus is on the song in your ear and Minghao’s fingers drumming on the arms of his chair. 

“Ready for the torture?” He asks, leaning back. His shoulder brushes against yours but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.

“Not at all.”

“Same.”

Quiet swoops through the room as the executives barge into the room, asking everyone to settle in. You peel the headphone out of your ear, passing it back to Minghao. He takes it, popping both of them in their holder and snapping the lid shut. He leans toward you to shove them in his pocket, filling your nose with tangerine.

When he leans back, you notice Jinwoo staring. His eyes linger for a second before he turns toward the front as someone begins a monotone spiel about budgets and schedules. At multiple points you see the tilt of Jinwoo’s head, the way he cuts a glance toward you. It makes your anxiety climb, palms sweaty. You wipe them against your pants, squirming. 

Halfway through the meeting, Minghao leans over and whispers, “What’s with the dude staring at you?”

“Ex-boyfriend. Still friendly, but uh… I don’t know.”

Minghao’s face stays neutral, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. “He’s making you uncomfortable.”

“A little. I think he’s hoping because we remained friends that we’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.” It’s not a question. Minghao leans back, draping an arm along the back of the row of seats. Not around you, but along your back. Not claiming, not possessive, but something.

The meeting drones on, but Minghao keeps you anchored. Jinwoo’s glances taper off, but the tension is obvious in his jaw. When the meeting is finally over and you’re standing, Minghao’s hand brushes against your wrist, catching your attention. 

“See you later?” 

“Mhmm.” 

Minghao’s smile is brief before he hopes over the chair, blending in with the other employees all bustling out, eager to get away from cranky executives and uncomfortable chairs. 

-

Sun scorches the top of your head, heat bouncing off the chlorinated water at the base of the water slide. Kids shriek as they hurtle down the side, their tubes hitting the water with a spray. You and Vernon take turns grabbing tubes and adding them to the humming conveyor belt.

It’s one of the busiest days of the year, which means two people on duty. You and Vernon work in tandem, never stopping, the heat making you tired and prickly. For once, you’re thankful that the shallow pool you’re in is freezing cold.

Vernon is humming as he tosses a tube toward you with a lazy flick. You recognize the song as something Minghao recommended, a smile tilting your lips. Your stomach flips at the thought of Minghao, sad that you won’t see him today. It’s his off day, one of the few times his schedule doesn’t align with yours. 

You crab a tube from a splashing kid, tossing it onto the conveyor. You notice Vernon watching you, his expression curious but cautious. You slosh back over, giving him a once over.

“What?” You ask between lulls of kids coming down the slide. 

“So,” he says casually. “You and Minghao are friends?”

Your heart lurches. You’re saved from answering right away as a kid crashes into the pool, screaming. Vernon rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab the tangerine ring before chucking it at the conveyor. He almost misses. It gives you time to think, resting your hands on top of the cold surface to ground you. 

“Friends?” You ask as Vernon returns. “I guess? I like to hide out in the Rain Room.”

“Hmm. He mentioned you at home the other night. Which is weird, being that he never mentions anyone.”

You blink, heart pounding. “Huh. What’d he say?”

Vernon shrugs, his smile a little too amused for your liking. “Who's to say?”

“Vernon.”

“Relax. Just that you’re cool. He was smiling when he said it, which is so unlike Hao that I thought I was hallucinating.”

Your chest warms, picturing Minghao on their couch, earbuds in, smiling about you. It’s thrilling, but terrifying. You tread carefully, unsure how much to reveal to Vernon, afraid to show that perhaps maybe you have a bit of a crush on his roommate. 

“We get along. He’s nice.”

Vernon hums. “He’s picky about who he vibes with. You must have made an impression.” He tilts his sunglasses down, looking at you. “Did you tell him about the octopus hearts?”

You groan and he laughs, slapping the surface of the water. It splashes you and you smack it back at him, volunteering to get the next tube if only to get away from him a little. 

He’s grinning when you come back. “He’s cool. You’re cool.”

“Cool,” you shoot back with venom. 

Two tubes come down at the same time and you both shoot for them. 

“You going to Mingyu’s party this weekend?” 

You’d forgotten all about the party. Now that Vernon says it, you wonder if Minghao is going. You assume not, assume he’ll keep to himself. Plus, you’ve never seen him at parties in the past. But you imagine if he did go, what he would be like outside of work, leaning against a wall, watching you with that steady gaze.

“Probably?” You finally answer. “He’ll be annoyed if I don’t.” 

“Good.” Vernon pauses before casually adding, “Hao is going. He’s been in a good mood and he figured why not. So. Just wanted to mention in case, you know. You needed to know.” 

“Vernon.”

He lifts his hands, a white flag. “Just saying, that’s all.” 

You both go quiet, only the ambiance of the water and shout of voices from down the slide to accompany you. Vernon’s words stick with you though and you fight a smile, trying not to let hope bloom in your chest knowing Minghao mentioned you at home. That he never mentions anyone. 

The sun dips behind the trees and you feel lighter, looking forward to the weekend and your well-earned off day. 

-

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s loft pulses with life, a sprawling expanse of lived-in comfort. Exposed brick walls rise to high ceilings, soft lights casting a warm glow over the crowd of your coworkers gathered all over. The living area is anchored by a massive sectional couch, its cushions littered with spilled chips and empty cups. 

The kitchen island is cluttered in the heart of the chaos, filled with bottles of tequila and vodka, mixers spilled over the surface. Mingyu is in the kitchen pouring shots into someone’s mouth while Wonwoo hovers nearby, watching with mild alarm. 

Floor to ceiling windows frame the city skyline, which twinkles like stars outside. Music rattles your ribcage, high energy as people dance in the living room. 

You have no idea how either of them can afford this luxury, but you don’t ask. Instead, you slip into the kitchen, looking for a drink to help ease your nerves. You’re dressed in a denim skirt paired with a cropped denim top, the barest hint of skin visible between the two pieces. 

Your shoes squeak on the hardwood  floor as you navigate the crowd. The room is packed with park staff, Vernon in the corner of the kitchen cackling at something Seungkwan is saying, your manager lurking in the corner nursing a beer, other coworkers in a loose circle near the speakers. 

You scan for Minghao, heart quickening. Your thoughts stutter when you see Jinwoo instead, leaning against the brick wall near the dance floor, is black button-down rolled at the sleeves. He notices you and your stomach twists as you dart away, heart pounding as you weave through the crowd, dodging coworkers as you aim for the balcony. 

The glass door slides open and the night air hits you, cool and cleansing. The city’s hum is a soft backdrop, its sounds drifting up from below. Minghao startles you, turning to look at you from where he leans against the railing, a cup in his hand. He’s in a loose, black sweater and jeans, hair mused by the wind. He looks good, your breath catching when he grins. 

“Hey,” he greets, surprised. “Escaping already?”

“Looks like you beat me to it.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit loud in there.” 

“I know, I’m surprised you’re here, honestly.”

He lifts a single shoulder, a shy shrug. “I like to keep people on their toes.” His gaze dips down to drink in your outfit and you feel hot all over, withering under his gaze. “You look nice.”

“Oh. You too.”

He chuckles, warm and low as you join him at the railing. He offers you his cup. “Sangria? Swear that's all it is, I just realized how creepy that was, sorry.”

“Not at all, thank you for clarifying though.” You take the cup from him and take a sip. It’s strong, not as sweet as you like it, but flavorful. “Not terrible.” 

The balcony is a quiet haven, like the Rain Room. The night air feels good against your flushed skin, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the potted plants. Minghao chats casually, asking what kind of Sci-Fi movies you’re into. He lets you yap, mostly doing his part listening and adding commentary where necessary.

You like that about him, how he’s a quiet counterbalance to your talkative nature. It’s comfortable. Even. you could spend all night standing and chatting with him, living for the familiar way he leans in close when he laughs, arm brushing yours. He doesn’t pull away, touch not lingering but still there. 

The balcony door slides open just as you both get to the bottom of the sangria in the cup, Seungkwan sticking his head out. “Yo! Come inside, we need people to dance.” 

Seungkwan vanishes back into the apartment and Minghao looks at you, brows raised. You shrug your shoulders and he grins, gesturing for you to head in. He follows, close on your heels. It’s crowded at the threshold of the door and he steps in beside you, a hand brushing low on your back. It’s soft, but it feels deliberate as he guides you after Seungkwan. 

Inside, the loft pulses with music, bass heavy. Seungkwan is near the speakers, grabbing a coworker and backing it up on her. You laugh when you see them all, Vernon wincing and watching Seungkwan with pure horror as Mingyu crashes onto the scene, fist pumping. 

Someone bumps Minghao, his chest pressing to your back, and he freezes, hands hovering. Your heart races. You glance back, meeting his dark, hesitant eyes.

“Do you dance?” You ask, teasing over the music.

“Sometimes.”

You raise a brow, challenging, and he nods, hands finding your hips, guiding you to the beat. You sway, melding to him, hesitant then bold, hips rolling, denim brushing his jeans. You spin, surprising him, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. His smirk is molten, tugging you flush against him. His hand slides up, cupping your neck, thumb on your jaw, tilting your face.

“Remember how I said I’m not always composed?” he murmurs, rough, thumb tracing your lip. “You’re making it very hard right now.”

“So don’t be,” you grin, batting your lashes, bold, breathless.

Minghao’s eyes darken and he pulls you tighter, the music slowing, sensual. You dance longer, bodies locked, hips grinding. His breath hitches, lips grazing your ear, grip tightening as you arch into him. Your eyes drift away for a second, a tingling sensation needling at you.

Jinwoo is staring, sour as he watches you. 

Minghao notices your shift, loosening his grip to follow your line sight. “You okay?” He asks, hand on your back, protective.

“He’s just annoying.”

“Come on,” he says, firm.

Minghao steps away from you but grabs your hand, tugging. He weaves you through the crowd, past Mingyu pouring more shots, past Vernon slumped on the couch. You pass into a study that you immediately can tell is Wonwoo’s, with a desk and vinyl shelves.

He shuts the door, muffling the party, and it’s just you, the faint bass rattling through you, and Minghao, eyes burning. 

Ye backs you against the door, hands caging you in. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you started spending time in my Rain Room, you’ve upset the order of my life. I never come to these things, but honestly? The thought you might be here is what made me come.” 

Your heart hammers at his candor, at the way his breath ghosts against your lips. “You are entirely distracting,” he mutters. “And I’m so unused to distractions.”

“What about now?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I distracting you now?”

“There is nothing else I would rather focus on right this second.”

Minghao’s eyes flicker, hesitant, like he’s waiting for your signal. You nod, breath lodged in your throat. Then he kisses you, slow and deep, lips commanding. He tastes like sangria and want, lips softer than you could have ever imagined. 

His hands grip your hips, spinning you to press your front to the door, his chest warm against your back. He palms your ass, pausing to look at you. You nod, wanting - needing him to keep doing. He lifts your skirt a little, fingers exploring the round shape of your ass.

Minghao mouths at your neck and you go pliant under his touch, eyes closing as you gasp against the door. His tongue laves up and down your neck, eager to taste you as his hands continue to explore before he finally - finally - traces his finger along the line of your underwear.

“Minghao,” you breath, shuddering. 

“Yeah?” He asks. “This what you want?” 

You nod vigorously against the door. “You’ll tell me to stop? Tell me when you’re uncomfortable?” 

“Yes.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Good.”

Minghao hooks a finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. Cool air hits your heated pussy and you whine. He shushes you, his fingers teasing your folds, spreading your wetness. You gasp, hips bucking back into his hand while you see stars.

His fingers circle your clit, slow, deliberate, drawing a whimper. He catches your mouth as you crane back, kissing you deeply, lips tender but firm, swallowing your sounds. Trapped between the door and his chest, his fingers are sinful, sinking one deep inside, then another, curling against that spot that blurs your vision. The wet squelch is loud, intimate, and he hisses, breath hot.

“Fuck, you’re so greedy for me,” he says, voice rough.

You tremble as he slides in another, curling them, pumping slow and deep. Each stroke is precise, making you pant and go weak at the knees. He sucks at your neck gently, teeth scraping, tongue sweeping. You turn to liquid in his hand, the wet squelch filling the room as he finger fucks you properly, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Come on,” he murmurs, mouth buzzing against your skin. “You got it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you, walls clenching. You cry out, shaking as he works you through it, not stopping until you’re panting and boneless against him. 

Minghao removes his hand and turns you toward him, kissing you and pressing the back of your head against the door. The kiss is hungry but controlled. He breaks away, eyes burning as he lifts his hand to lick his finger clean. He hums and it makes you shiver. 

“Need a taste.” 

You flush. He guides to the desk, swapping aside all of Wonwoo’s things before he helps you jump onto the edge. The wood is cool against your thighs. He drops down to his knees, hands kneading your thighs, squeezing as they tremble.

“You’re so good for me,” He murmurs. “Can you keep being good for me?”

Your head is dizzy with this new dynamic. Somehow, this makes sense. He’s still calm and collected, but you can see the chaos on the edge of him, the way he takes control of the situation - of you. 

When you nod, he hums, pleased, and kisses your knee gently. 

You lean back, skirt bunched, underwear still pulled to the side. He places wet kisses on your inner thighs, his breath warm and making you squirm. His hands hold you still, firm but gentle as his lips trail higher, each kiss a spark until he looks up at you, eyes fathomless as his tongue dips tentatively against your folds.

A gasp breaks from your lips. He grins, his tongue brushing long, languid licks up your cunt that make your hips twitch. He dives in, lapping, focused and hungry as his tongue circles your clit with slow, wet strokes. 

Minghao is relentless, alternating between broad licks and precise flicks. He sucks your aching clit into his mouth, pulling softly with his lips, then harder, until you’re trembling, thighs closing in on either side of his head. 

When he pulls back, his lips are wet with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He dives back in, keeping you spread as his tongue dips into your hole playfully, thrusting. His nose brushes against your clit, making you clutch the edges of the desk, sliding down the wall as you fight to stay upright. You reach a hand down, threading your fingers in his hair. He groans, doubling down, the wet sounds of his smacking lips filling the room. 

The desk creaks as you shift again, losing control of your ability to remain upright. His tongue flicks faster and you start to peak, healing right for your orgasm. He senses it, increases the way he sucks at you, tongue hungry, perfect.

You shatter. 

He drinks you in gently, tongue turning soft and lazy as he licks you through it. You turn oversensitive, pushing at him with a weak moan. 

Minghao stands and leans over you, grabbing your chin to plant a wet, messy kiss on your lips. You lick into him, tasting yourself, eager to have his mouth on yours again. 

His hands fumble against his jeans, fingers working the button until he’s finally free of them enough to shove them down. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy cock bobbing, hard and leaking from just pleasing you, from getting you off twice. 

With a few pumps, he’s brushing the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting the wetness there. You moan in tandem, both of you transfixed with the way his shaft slides against you. He lifts your thighs, hooking his forearms behind your knees as he presses the head of his cock into your throbbing entrance. 

“Shit,” you gasp as he breaches you, sinking in. 

He groans too, easing in, slow and deep until he’s seated, hips pressed flush against yours. He slowly starts to fuck you steadily, each thrust perfect and sending your eyes rolling backward in your head. The desk creaks beneath you, wet sounds filling the room.

“You drive me crazy,” he admits, kissing your neck, teeth crazy. “Glad you disrupted my quiet days, though.”

That makes you whine. You kiss him, messy, nails digging into the side of his neck. He groans and speeds up, dropping a hand to slide between your legs and circle your slippery clit. That makes you moan his name, hips bucking as he sets a faster pace. 

“Come for me,” he urges, grinning.

You do, clenching, his name on your lips. His thrusts turn messy until he grits his teeth and follows suit, spilling inside you. He rests his forehead on your neck, panting. Your fingers run through his hair, soothing, grounding for both of you.

“I,” he pants, voice raspy. “Have never fucked someone in a random room like that in my life.”

“Wanted me that bad?”

“You have no idea.” He lifts his head, looking up at you with dark eyes. “I thought you were going to be a nuisance. And then you kept showing up, kept being chipper. Sweet, even. You brought me slushies and asked about my music. You grew on me in a way I didn’t expect.”

“It sounds like you like me.”

He groans as you laugh, teasing him. “I guess, yeah.”

“Well, I for one, am glad I stumbled on that Rain Room.” He hums in agreement, tired. “Now how about you pull up my skirt and take me home to fuck me properly, Minghao. And maybe get a slushie on the way.”

He huffs, shivering. “I’ve got you.” 

[ts19009]

Seventeen Fic Rec's Part 5

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: June 2nd, 2025)

when their bb girl steals ur phone @mi9yuz

the small romantic gestures that seventeen would be @fairyhaos

Kim Mingyu

guilty as sin (the thought crosses your mind that this is something you definitely shouldn't be doing. that what you're just about to do will be a terribly wrong move for you and your freshly broken heart.) @toruro

clarity (bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff) @hannieoftheyear

pure coincidence (office worker!mingyu x officer worker!reader) @sluttyminghao

that’s so true ❤️‍🩹(exes!mingyu x reader.) @studioeisa

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu (Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery ) @mylovesstuffs

STRAWBERRY SCENTED STRINGS (bassist! mingyu x cellist! f reader) @himewonu

SAVE THE DATE (5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.) @goldenhourology

Back To Me (Mingyu or Hansol? You finally decide who you want to be with.) @xomakara

still yours (exes to lovers, second chance romance, fluff, angst, smut MDNI!) @cherrynpink

Theories & Heartstrings (Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.) @wongyuseokie

croissant cravings (A seating chart mix-up has you crossing paths with a very good-looking pastry chef. ) @facethesunflower

Let Me Hear You Say... (mut (minor dni), heavy angst, fluff, toxic, ranch au, brothers best friend au) @onlymingyus

KITTY'S GOT CLAWS (a svt spiderman x jujutsu kaisen au (what a mouthful >< ), spiderman!mingyu, blackcat!reader, lots of banter, mild fighting scenes = mentions of blood and injuries !!, fluff with angst if you squint) @yi2huo

might let you make me juno @straylightdream

good behavior (just smut tbh) @ddeonghwa-s

Jeon Wonwoo

My Ride or Die (Late one night, you're attacked outside the library—your bag stolen and safety shattered. But someone saw everything. A mysterious stranger steps in to recover what was lost. What begins as a random rescue soon hints at deeper intentions and unexpected connections.) @missgraylock

WHAT IF you were wonwoo’s gf and almost got caught during NANA TOUR surprises… @cherriicou

good sport | wicked games series (bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, messy love triangle, friends with benefits, right person wrong time) @hannieween

on call (you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.) @kkaetnipjeon

first love/late spring (first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation.) @studioeisa

The Fine Print (Enemies to Lovers | Fake Dating | Revenge Pact | Forced Marriage Fallout) @kathaelipwse

Lip Tint Stains and Hair Ties (childhood friends to lovers, school, college, slow burn, fluff, one shot, peachesndreams) @shineesbackbitches

Yours to Keep (Before leaving for military service, Wonwoo hands you a disposable camera, saying, "Take a picture whenever you think of me." At first, you laugh it off, but as the days pass, you find yourself reaching for the camera more often than you expected) @nerdycheol

make 'em sweat (introducing you to his friends doesn't go quite the way wonwoo expected (title from water by seventeen ; technically a sequel to fuck the neighbors but can be read as a standalone) @sluttywonwoo

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww(Childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au) @imnotshua

CHEMTRAILS (Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms.) @vampsol

Warning Signal (In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with. As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.) @hannieoftheyear

A New Vendetta (Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader) @thedensworld

wish you were here (you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is.) @haologram

My Brother's Bestfriend (fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper) @honeyhaeya

SLACKING OFF. ( being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.) @goldenhourology

Hong Jisoo

tough love? (boy dad!joshua, parents au, teeth rotting fluff, domestic asf) @mvnscloud

heaven knows (non-idol au, seminary student joshua, hurt/comfort (??), secret relationship, mentions of church, joshua is the pastor's son, mutual pining, physical touching (ex: hugging, holding hands), pet names (joshua calls reader baby), they are not slick your honor everyone knows they're in love) @seokminfilm

When Tangerines Give You Lemons (joshua fluff, joshua angst, joshua both, joshua breathing, joshua existing, non-idol!au, lawyer!au, hurt & comfort, angst first fluff later kinda; a warm rain after a heavy storm) @moonstarsunflower

Break (h.js) (Witch!Joshua x Cursed!Reader) @sailorsoons

dude, nice try! masterlist (strangers to lovers, revenge fic, humor, smau bits) @joshujin

starting again (you're wallowing in self-pity at your friends' wedding after being cheated on. you think you're unworthy of love until you meet someone who changes your mind.) @wonwootattoo

i can still see it all. (best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.) @woncheolisms

we both 🐚 (romance, friendship, light angst. 🐚 includes. mentions of food, death; cussing/swearing. alternate universe: non-idol; joshua is a marine biologist. bad-at-being-exes/exes to ???) @studioeisa

blurring the lines (you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.) @amourcheol

begging for the next (no one needs to know what you and joshua get up to except the two of you.) @100vern

Yoon Jeonghan

dropout | part one (okay, so you dropped out of law school. and you need a job. and the only job your wildly specific resume can get you is… lifeguard at the local 3.2-star water park, and the person assigned to supervise you at your new post is the mysterious and gorgeous yoon jeonghan. what could possibly go wrong? ) @kkaetnipjeon

always the lover, never the loved (lovers to ??? ; angst, mentions of suggestive themes) @haologram

Undue Influence (lawyer fem!reader x lawyer!jeonghan) @starlightxsvt

the final defense of the dying (hunger games mentor!jeonghan x tribute!reader.) @studioeisa (IM OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE)

Even Dumbasses Deserve Love (Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are. ) @cheers-to-you-th

like starglight (howl’s moving castle-inspired au, fluff, humour, romance, magic!) @gallivantingheart

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 (after an arranged marriage you come to realize that your new husband, the crown prince, and his kingdom are not like anything you expected) @yerimacoustic

Lee Seokmin

you deserve each other (co-workers seokmin x reader.) @studioeisa

Best Neighbor of All Time Award | Lee Seokmin (M) (Seokmin is the best neighbor you've ever had, making it impossible not to fall for his charms.) @drunk-on-dk

picture of a perfect rose (n total years of your whole life, you met Seokmin only twice. That will change drastically starting now. Because the young King is unfortunately a good person, loves his mother, and a true believer in good of people. No matter how hard it is to find and how cold he looks outside.) @youngwonhui

You Know What They Say About Men With Big Feet @hansols-yoda-boxers

Lee Chan

Cherry Sours (l.c) (Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers) @sailorsoons

CHWE HANSOL

Dark Gospel (c.hs) (After experiencing what you’re sure is a possession, you try to help Vernon get his old self back. Except - Vernon doesn’t want his old self back and you’re not sure you hate the new Vernon either. ) @sailorsoons

KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1 (baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader) @shuastar

Kwan Soonyoung

in the zone | ksy (strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst) @100vern

we can be all we need (best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending) @joshujin

the accidental kiss (fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything!) @fxstpace

busy woman @straylightdream

Echoes of Summer (Get ready for the most unforgettable summer yet at Camp Logan, where lifelong memories are made, friendships are strengthened, and old crushes make new appearances.) @mr-cha-n

red wine supernova (friends to lovers, childhood friend to lovers, romance, fluff, smut) @straylightdream

Xu Minghao

Rain Room (x.mh) (Waterpark Worker!Mingao x Waterpark Worker!Reader) @sailorsoons

the quiet world (minghao saves his words for you.) @studioeisa

[chwedout]

old man rave