series: that vacation you're looking for (rewrite)
pairing: leon kennedy x reader
premise: In a world still reeling from bioterror, a seasoned agent who once walked away from the fight is pulled back in when a new threat emerges—one rooted in tragedy, vengeance, and the consequences of government missteps. Forced to reunite with former allies and a man she once loved, she must navigate unresolved wounds while confronting a rising enemy, proving that even in a war without end, some battles are deeply personal.
scope: post-resident evil 6, resident evil vendetta, probably resident evil death island
playlist
chapters:
01 || the life i gave away...
02 || all of me changed like...
03 || i haven't seen you in a while...
04 || ...callin your name
05 || it was war, it wasn’t fair...(in progress...)
you can’t really call wen junhui your ex-boyfriend. it was more of a friends with benefits situation—except you only got ghosted, while he got an internship at your recommendation. people always say to not bite the hand that feeds you; it looks like jun didn’t get the memo.
🗂️ pairing. marketing intern!wen junhui x copywriter!reader.
🗂️ word count. 12k.
🗂️ genre/warnings. smut, romance, humor, pinch of angst. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of alcohol, food; profanity. semi-public & unprotected sex. ex-situationship, forced proximity, tension... so much tension!!!, contract terms i’m not 100% sure about. soonyoung from eunha’s Be My Tigress?
🗂️ footnotes. this is part of the that’s showbiz, baby! collaboration. eternally grateful to all the writers in the server who motivated me to finish this. above all, indebted to @diamonddaze01, who pitched this collaboration to me over six months ago. what a pleasure to finally write a long fic for jun!!! goin to take a veryyy long nap now.
🎵 recommended listening ⸻ company benefits.
You never dated Wen Junhui.
You made out with him in the backseat of an Uber once. Shared a bowl of tteokbokki at 1:00 a.m. and left a toothbrush at his place. He sent you voice notes saying things like, “I wish you were here,” in that half-awake tone he got when he couldn’t sleep, which was often.
You spent entire weekends tangled on his couch, watching movies you barely remembered because you were too busy tracing the veins on his arm with your pinky. You cried once, in front of him. He didn’t flinch.
You never dated Jun, so when he shows up as one of the interns at your company, it's not like you can call him your ex. You can, however, nearly snap a Pilot G-2 pen in half.
The intern orientation is a thirty-minute slide deck with enough corporate jargon to resurrect a Roman senator. You're sitting near the back, doodling tiny skulls in the margins of your notes, when your manager says, “Let’s all welcome this year’s marketing interns!”
And there he is.
Wen Junhui. Hair longer than you remember. A navy button-down that you’re 90% sure used to be yours. He spots you in the crowd like it’s nothing. Like no time has passed. And then—the male audacity of it all—he smiles.
Your pen creaks, spine bending until the plastic gives a quiet, pitiful snap.
You recommended him. That’s the worst part.
Back when he was unemployed and soft-spoken and yours in a way you never could quite name. You filled out a glowing referral form like an idiot. Said things like creative thinker and natural collaborator when what you meant was: makes me laugh when I don’t want to, makes me feel like I matter.
Now he’s here. Mid-career intern. Probably labeled as non-traditional in the onboarding notes. Definitely labeled as dead to me in your mental CRM.
You corner him in the coffee room after orientation. He’s stirring oat milk into some artisanal nonsense, back to you, as if this isn’t the beginning of your villain arc. “You’ve got some nerve, Junhui,” you declare, properly pissed.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just turns, holding his mug like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. “... I was just getting coffee,” he answers, one perfect eyebrow already arched.
You fold your arms. “What are you doing here?”
“Interning.”
“You’re in your thirties.”
“I’m only twenty-nine, actually.”
“You had a whole job before this.”
“And now I have a new one.”
You resist the urge to glower. “As an intern.”
“Mid-career transition,” he says smoothly. “It’s a thing. There’s a podcast about it.”
You’re aware. You introduced the podcast to him. “Why here?” you bite out.
He sips his coffee, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “It’s the best, isn’t it?” he drawls. “And I always want the best.”
There it is. That infuriating sincerity, tucked behind some metaphor you can’t afford to unpack. That must mean I wasn’t the ‘best,’ then, you nearly snap, considering, you know, you up and left.
You hate that your chest aches. You hate that he still looks at you like you mean something. Like he didn’t disappear. Like he didn’t cut the cord with clean hands and a lazy smile.
You made your bed. Now, you have to lay in it.
–-
This Agreement was entered upon by Wen Junhui [“FORMER SITUATIONSHIP INTERN”] and You [“ABSOLUTE FOOL COMPANY”] and shall remain in effect until either party learns how to stop looking for closure in a coffee room.
–-
You decide to be a professional about it.
Which is to say: you ignore him. Flawlessly. The way an inbox ignores unread emails from old flings or the way a cat ignores physics. With dignity, aloofness, and a very calculated schedule of exits and arrivals.
You walk into Monday morning’s marketing sync with an iced Americano, a bullet-pointed agenda, and an expression that says try me. Jun, mercifully, sits at the far end of the table, between a girl who uses color-coded spreadsheets and a guy whose entire personality is PowerPoint animations. You pretend not to notice when he nods at you. You definitely pretend not to notice that he’s taken to twirling his pen the same way you do.
Soonyoung, the Marketing Director, is wearing a shirt printed with neon tigers. Again.
“Okay, okay,” he claps his hands once, then dramatically slaps a stack of post-it notes down. “Let’s make this week roar!”
The interns balk, but none of the full-timers bat an eye. You’re all used to it. The man once themed an entire quarter around ‘predator energy.’
You run through project updates with the calm precision of someone who did not threaten emotional homicide in the coffee room last Friday. You lead the discussion on the spring campaign revisions, answer questions, deflect unnecessary input, and even sneak in a joke that makes Soonyoung laugh hard enough to drop his whiteboard marker.
The meeting ends. You gather your things. You’re halfway out the door when he catches up to you. “Hey,” Jun says, gently, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. “You killed that. You always do.”
You glance at him, expression neutral. "Thanks."
He looks like he wants to say more. Like he wants to be invited to say more. But you walk away, shoes clicking a little faster than necessary.
You still remember the other times he said it. After your first promotion. After you helped him rehearse for a job interview he never got. After a random Wednesday when you had ranted over a headline you couldn’t get right and he said, I wish you could see yourself the way I do.
You don’t want to remember any of it, so you go get coffee with Jihoon.
The head of HR is not known for emotional delicacy. Or any kind of delicacy, really. He wears monochrome like it’s a moral stance and drinks black coffee like it’s a dare. But he’s your friend, and he gets to the point.
“I’m not asking for details,” Jihoon says, stirring his drink with the slow menace of someone thinking about a compliance form. “But I saw the way you looked at the new intern.”
You feign innocence while you still can. “Which one?”
“Don’t insult both of us.”
Short-lived. You sigh. “It’s fine. He’s fine. We’re professionals.”
“Good. Because if I get even a whiff of nepotism, I’m lighting your recommendation form on fire.”
“You’re throwing around the word nepotism pretty lightly.”
“Am I?”
You lean back. “Everything’s professional,” you insist. “I wouldn’t jeopardize my own career over someone who thinks career pivots counts as a personality.”
Jihoon gives you a look. You sip again. Neither of you smiles.
Business as usual.
At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. Some of it fractures two days later, in the breakroom with the flickering fluorescent light. You’re there for a sad granola bar and a moment of peace. Instead, you walk into chatter. The kind with edges.
Three interns—clipboard girl, PowerPoint boy, and someone new who looks like she does CrossFit for sport—are huddled near the snack station, laughing in that tight, conspiratorial way that means something mean is about to follow.
“I swear, he’s like, ancient,” Clipboard says.
“Wasn’t he in finance before this?” PowerPoint Boy adds. “Kind of sad, right? Like, starting over in your thirties?”
“He’s not in his thirties,” CrossFit interjects. “I checked. He’s twenty-nine. But still. Mid-career intern? Kinda screams washed-up.”
There are no names being thrown out—the slightest practice of discretion. It’s not difficult, though, to nail the topic of their breakroom gossip. The oldest intern in the pool. The one who hasn’t quite meshed with the Gen Z-ers who take OOTD mirror selfies and film TikToks in the bathroom.
You clear your throat. Loudly. The interns freeze, a tableau of bad choices and instant regret. “Funny,” you say dryly. “I thought interns were supposed to observe before speaking.”
Clipboard opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “We didn’t mean—”
“You did,” you interrupt. “But that’s okay. Not everyone gets to be interesting on their own, so I understand the appeal of tearing someone else down.”
PowerPoint looks at the floor. CrossFit suddenly finds the nutritional facts on her trail mix fascinating.
Your words come out with their trademark sharpness, with the type of teeth that has silenced board rooms. “Jun has more experience than most of you. He chose to be here. He got in the same way you did. Maybe keep that in mind next time you’re measuring someone’s worth by your own insecurities.”
Silence. Blessed, blooming silence. You grab your granola bar and turn around.
And then you nearly walk right into Jun.
He’s standing by the doorframe, coffee in hand, eyes wide. You have no idea how long he’s been there. Long enough, judging by the way he looks at you. Not shocked. Not smug. Soft. And a little sad.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.
You nod once. He nods back.
You walk away, heart tapping a rhythm that feels like a memory.
–-
IV. In addition, the Intern will be eligible to participate in bonuses and other employee benefits established by the Company for its employees. The Employer currently offers the following benefits to its employees: momentary witness to your better nature, free of charge.
–-
The assignment happens on a Wednesday. Which already feels unfair. Mid-week emotional warfare is always much more draining than, say, a Monday terror or a last-minute Friday deadline.
You’re sitting in the glass meeting room with a half-dead laptop and a whole-dead espresso shot when Soonyoung bursts in with his usual flair, dragging Jihoon behind him like a reluctant paperweight.
“Alright, team!” Soonyoung announces, sleeves rolled and tie nowhere to be seen. “It’s time to mentor the future!”
Jihoon sets down his folder with the quiet judgment of a man who had no say in this decision. “Intern shadowing,” he says, flat. “Mandatory. Two weeks. No complaints.”
“Like a tiger teaches its cubs,” Soonyoung adds, teeth bared in a wide grin.
Pairings are doled out quickly. Clipboard girl is assigned to someone in data. PowerPoint boy goes to Accounts. CrossFit intern gets Soonyoung himself (“I will break her spirit or befriend her forever,” he declares).
And then—
“Junhui,” Jihoon reads. And then your name.
You don’t flinch. You nod once, hand still moving across your notes. Professional. If the pen’s plastic creaks underneath your grip, that’s between you and whoever invented Faber-Castell ballpoints.
Jun, across the table, shifts. “Is that... final?”
Jihoon frowns. Never a good sign, even if it is his default. “Would you like to dispute the legality of this HR-approved decision?”
“No,” Jun mutters. But he doesn’t look at you.
The meeting ends. People scatter. You’re organizing your things when Jun corners you in the hallway, by the glass copy room that reflects everything you don’t want to see.
“I was trying to give you an out,” Jun says curtly, almost explaining.
You glance up at him. “What?”
“Back there. In the meeting. I was trying to not make things worse.”
“By publicly questioning a department head’s assignment?”
“By not forcing you to work with me when things are clearly… complicated.”
You back out a laugh. “It’s just work, Junhui. Not everything is personal.”
He stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out if you mean it. You mean it. Mostly.
There’s a flicker of something—memory, maybe. The last time you fought, back in the vague non-label limbo of your not-a-relationship. Something about a canceled plan. Or the way he left your texts on read. It spiraled, and somehow you ended up half-yelling and then making out in his kitchen, back against the fridge.
Those arguments never lasted long.
This one already has.
You tuck a pen behind your ear, shoulders squared. “We’ll get the intern materials from Soonyoung this afternoon. I’ll book a conference room.”
“Okay,” Jun says. He still looks like he wants to say something else. Maybe everything else.
You walk past him before he can. The hallway feels colder than usual.
Just like that, the stage is set. You. Him. Two weeks. One shared desk. Zero unresolved tension whatsoever.
The project brief lands the next morning like a meteor.
Marketing strategy for upcoming romantic comedy starring Jeonghan, the email reads. The subject line includes a heart emoji. You click it with a growing sense of dread.
The film’s title? Just Friends.
“Fuck me in the ass,” you mumble underneath your breath, the same way a corporate slave does once or twice a week.
You open the attached pitch deck. The logline reads: Two friends navigate the blurred lines of a no-strings-attached relationship until one of them catches feelings.
You close your laptop. You reopen it thirty seconds later. Professionalism, you remind yourself, is a decision.
By 2 p.m., you and Jun are in a borrowed conference room with Soonyoung, who has inexplicably brought snacks and a whiteboard shaped like a heart. “Okay! Let’s ideate,” Soonyoung says brightly, cracking open a soda. “No bad ideas. No wrong answers. Just vibes.”
“How about a trailer that ends with both characters alone,” you start, “because some things aren’t meant to be mutual.”
Jun’s lips quirk to one side. “A little bleak for a rom-com.”
“Not if it’s honest.”
“Or bitter.”
“Not everything has to be about you.”
Soonyoung pauses mid-sip.
Jun clears his throat of the faux pas. “We could do a digital campaign,” he offers. “Confession booth at the premiere. People record what they never told their almosts.”
You write it on the board. Then, without looking at Jun, you add: “QR codes on limited-edition tissues.”
“You still have those?” Jun asks, his tone a little snide. “Thought you threw them out.”
“I did.”
A beat. The marker you’re holding is probably going to run dry by the end of this hour. Jun’s fingers are tightly clenched over the table edge. Soonyoung is unashamedly looking back and forth between the two of you, as if this is a particularly interesting tennis match between Carlos Alcaranz and Jannik Sinner.
“Maybe a microsite,” Jun says quickly. “Where users can soft-launch their regrets anonymously. Could include heat maps for popular phrases.”
You nod. “We could include copy like Sometimes the fine print on friendship is heartbreak.”
Jun’s next words are spoken under his breath. “Right. Friendship.”
Soonyoung raises his hand like he’s in school. “Sorry,” he squeaks. “Is this a pitch or—an actual breakup in real time?”
“Both,” you say simultaneously with Jun.
Jun clicks his pen. “At least I’m trying.”
“Is that what this is? Trying? Looked more like derailing.”
“Better than deflecting.”
“Better than ghosting.”
Soonyoung reaches for another snack. You turn back to the board. “Let’s bring in Jeonghan for a cheeky teaser. Maybe he narrates bad firsts. First kiss, first fight, first time you find their ex’s number still in their contacts.”
Jun exhales, sharp. “How about the first time they refused to introduce you to their friends?”
“Not as bad as the first time they said someone else’s name during sex.”
Soonyoung coughs, intentional and interrupting. “Wow. Okay,” he exhales. “Let’s take a break, cubs. Hydrate. Process.”
No one moves.
You cap your marker slowly. “I’ll send a write-up.”
Jun’s stiff fingers flex on the table. “Looking forward to your notes.”
–-
V. The Employer also offers the benefit of one (1) shared creative meltdown in the presence of your manager, and unlimited awkward silence thereafter.
–-
Jihoon calls you into his office with the same tone someone might use to summon a guilty terrier who’s chewed through a power cord. You arrive with your laptop and your most composed expression. You know better than to ask what this is about.
He shuts the door. Points to the chair opposite his desk. You sit. Jihoon steeples his fingers. “Soonyoung says the marketing brainstorm was intense.”
“I’d call it thorough,” you say wryly.
“He used the words ‘emotional combat.’ Also ‘trauma-fueled campaign ideation.’”
You exhale through your nose. “We delivered on the brief.”
“Is there something I should know?”
The question hangs. You think about deflecting. About redirecting. But Jihoon’s office is too small for half-truths, and cluttered with evidence of a man who lives off structure and caffeine. You suspect he can smell lies the same way bloodhounds smell fear.
You lean back into the chair and pick out the bullet points. “Jun and I were… sort of a thing. Before. It wasn’t official. But it also wasn’t not.”
Jihoon doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he huffs. “I figured.”
Your brow furrows. “Then why ask?”
“I wanted to see if you’d admit it like an adult,” he replies. “You passed. Barely.”
“I’m not going to make this a disciplinary thing,” Jihoon continues, flipping through some papers just to emphasize how above it all he is. “But you have to keep it together. Finish the project. Grin and bear it.”
“I am grinning,” you mutter. “Aggressively.”
“Good. Because this is what happens when you mix personal history with professional decisions.”
You squint at him. “You mean helping a qualified former friend apply for a job and letting HR do its job?”
“See,” Jihoon says, pointing with his pen, “this is why nepotism is bad.”
You groan. “It wasn’t nepotism. We weren’t even dating. He was unemployed. I had a moment of generosity.”
“And now you have a moment of regret,” Jihoon says. “Funny how that works.”
You cross your arms. “I liked it better when you barely spoke to people.”
“Me too,” he replies. Then, almost kindly: “Finish the campaign. Keep it clean.”
You nod. He returns to his laptop without another word. You take that as your dismissal.
As you leave Jihoon’s office, you hear him grumble, just loud enough: “God, I hate romantic comedies.”
You invite Jun for coffee the way some people file restraining orders. Terse. Cold. Legally sound. “After work,” you say, passing his desk without slowing. “Fifteen minutes. Corner place with the green awning.”
Jun, understandably, looks mistrustful. “Is this a trap?”
“Only if you make it one.”
Thirteen minutes later, he shows up. Hair slightly mussed. Shirt rolled at the sleeves like he’s trying to look less guilty. It doesn’t work. You’re seated already, nursing a decaf and a dull headache.
He slides into the chair opposite you. Eyes scanning your face like you’re a riddle he once solved and forgot the answer to. “If it’s not a trap, is it a truce?” he asks outright.
“Well,” you say, sipping. “Some of them were paper airplanes.”
He grimaces. “I’m not doing this sober.”
You hate it when he’s right.
The bar you two agree on is dim and semi-functional. Exposed brick. Mismatched stools. The music sounds like it was curated by a heartbroken DJ. Jun orders a peach soju; you get the blueberry one.
“So,” he says around the rim of his soju bottle. “Where should we start?”
“How about,” you exhale, “with your obnoxious sipping habits?”
“My what?”
“The way you slurp. It still gives me the ick.”
Jun’s responding laugh is humorless. The drinks go down quickly. The second round is unnecessary and immediate.
“Remember that fight we had about ice cream?” you ask, after he chewed you out for being emotionally unavailable and unnecessarily anal-retentive about halving bills.
Jun laughs into his glass. “You said anyone who chose mint chocolate chip was self-sabotaging.”
“And you defended it like a personal religion.”
“You called it mouthwash in disguise.”
You shrug. “Still true.”
More drinks. More memory lane. There’s a half that has teeth, that tears through the gripes and frustrations. But there’s also a half that’s almost tender, that provides a montage of why it could have worked once upon a time.
“You kept a spare toothbrush at my place,” he says.
“You gave me a drawer.”
“You never used it.”
“You never asked why.”
Silence. Real, this time. The music changes to something softer. A song you both know. You hate that you both know it.
“I was always trying to be careful,” he says delicately. “Trying not to overstep.”
You stare at your glass. “Yeah. Well.”
In not overstepping, Jun ended up taking no steps at all. Another silence tugs. Longer. It doesn’t bite. Just lingers.
“We were never good at timing,” he says eventually.
“We were never good at talking.”
You expect him to push back on that. He doesn’t. For a moment, you contemplate asking the million won question. Why did you ghost me?
Before you can, though, he’s saying something too sincere for you to ruin. “Thanks for the rec. For the job.”
“Thanks for finally thanking me,” you answer, taking a long enough sip of your soju to ignore the way your heart flutters.
He winces, smiles. “Small steps.”
You nod.
“So, we’re okay?” he asks.
You think about it. The ghosts, the drawer, the campaign brief that cut too close. “Whatever ‘okay’ means,” you say, because you never lied to Jun; you weren’t about to start now.
He raises his glass in a wordless cheer. You clink.
The second brainstorming session is mercifully normal.
You arrive ten minutes early, not because you’re eager but because you’ve started pre-gaming meetings with silence. Jun arrives exactly on time, not a second more, not a second less. He looks at you like he’s bracing for shrapnel. You nod like you’re not holding any.
Soonyoung plops into the seat across from you both, wearing a tiger-print shirt that says FIERCE IDEAS ONLY. You want to make fun of it. You don’t. Growth.
The meeting flows. That’s the only way to describe it. No barbs, no barbed metaphors. Jun pitches clean, clever ideas. You counter with strategy. There’s laughter. There’s alignment. There’s a genuine moment where you look at him and say, “That’s a good one.”
He smiles, appreciative and maybe even a little fond. You have to look away from it. The compliment tastes like a penny on your tongue.
“Hehe,” Soonyoung cackles, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Just your reign of chaos,” you deflect.
“Horang-haaay,” he sighs. “Anyway. Love this direction. Run with it. Make it beautiful. Make it bite.”
You do.
The presentation goes well. Soonyoung beams like a proud zookeeper. Jihoon nods once, which is his version of a standing ovation. The execs approve the romantic comedy campaign with minimal edits. There are even murmurs of early awards submissions. You pretend not to care. You care deeply.
Jun catches you after the meeting, shoulder brushing yours in the hallway. “Hey,” he says. “We made that work. Really work.”
The pride blossoms in your chest, persistent and unwelcoming. “We did.”
“So,” he starts, casual but not, “Want to grab a drink? Just us. Not like before. Or maybe not not like before. Whatever works.”
You hesitate.
If it were anyone else, you probably wouldn’t balk. This offer isn’t a romantic advance. It’s a grabbing-a-drink-with-your-workmate-after-a-job-well-done. Unfortunately, your mind is a slideshow of late texts, half-finished thoughts, and the sound of silence where a goodbye should’ve been.
“I can’t,” you answer. Not unkind. Just honest. You give no explanation, and Jun doesn’t press even though he flinches. Wavers. As if he’s remembering his place.
He nods slowly. “Okay,” he says with faux cheer. “Another time.”
You don’t say yes. You don’t say no. He walks away like it doesn’t sting, and you stay rooted like it does.
To ease the hurt, you take yourself to dinner like a pity party with better lighting. Your comfort place is a hole-in-the-wall Italian spot tucked between a laundromat and a locksmith, which is, frankly, how you know it’s good. The tables wobble slightly, the waitress knows your name, and the carbonara tastes like a hug from someone who never judged you for your bad taste in men.
You order your usual. Set your phone face-down, then pick it up again. Jun’s contact is open.
You don’t remember when you opened it. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, caught between being impulsive and being pathetic.
You almost start typing. Something like, Hey, my schedule cleared up. Drinks on me? or Were you flirting with me or am I delusional? or I’m at the place where we had our first date. At the very same table we sat at, in fact.
Then the door chimes.
You look up.
Jun walks in. Not alone.
He’s with another intern—the one from finance, maybe? She laughs at something he says as they walk toward the back. He’s relaxed. Rolling his sleeves like he wants to look like effort. He gestures to the menu like this place wasn’t once yours.
You watch, stone-still, as he orders. You catch fragments. “You’ll love the tiramisu.” “This place is a hidden gem.” “No, seriously, the carbonara—life-changing.”
You’re vaguely aware that you’re gripping your fork too tight. You don’t name the feeling. Not jealousy. Definitely not jealousy. Just territorial spite and righteous betrayal with a dash of indigestion.
Your pasta arrives. You pick at it. Every bite feels like chewing a memory that now has someone else’s fingerprints on it. In your head, it’s a litany of fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui, fuck you Wen Junhui.
The carbonara is wrong. Too salty. Not al dente enough. And Jun is sitting a couple of seats away, smiling at his date. Blissfully unaware that he’s ruined your comfort food for life. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Fuck you, Wen Junhui.
You flag the check. You tip generously, because if you’re having a terrible night, then the waitress might as well have a good one.
Jun notices you only as you brush past his table. His expression morphs mid-laugh—first surprise, then something else. His companion’s gaze flits to you, recognizing you as a senior at the company.
“Hi!” she says politely.
You give her a tight nod. “Hello.”
Jun rises. “Wait, hey—”
But you’re already pushing past the door. The air outside is cooler than expected. He catches up halfway down the block.
“Hey,” he calls, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Clearly.”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Didn’t ask.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Oh, what, colonize my safe spaces?” You stop. Turn to him. “I didn’t realize you gave restaurant tours now. How generous.”
He runs a hand through his hair. Frustrated. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”
“You weren’t thinking. That tracks.”
The words hang. Sharp. Petty.
“Don’t be rude to your not-date,” you grit out. “Haven’t you got some life-changing pasta to share?”
You don’t wait for his reply.
You walk off, fast. The kind of walk that dares someone to follow.
He doesn’t.
That, too, tracks.
–-
VI. The Intern is entitled to unlimited paid time off (PTO) for as long as they do not do it at bygone date spots. In light of this, the Employer may claim a lifetime of pettiness.
–-
Soonyoung makes the announcement as if it’s a reality show reveal.
“There might be one or two interns we absorb after the cycle,” he tells the room of department heads, bouncing on the balls of his feet like this is an exciting twist instead of a budget conversation. “Jun’s doing well. Also, that other one—what's her name? Finance intern? The one who has a nice laugh.”
You freeze mid-note taking. He means the girl from the restaurant. The one who knows about the tiramisu. Your stomach coils, and your poor pen jabs into your paper a little too hard.
You make it through the rest of the meeting on autopilot, the kind of dazed professionalism that only corporate trauma can birth. Jihoon gives you a look on the way out. You ignore it.
As expected, you’re assigned to write Jun’s intern evaluation.
It’s a task you’d normally treat like any other. Bullet points. Benchmarks. But the cursor on the blank Google Doc blinks at you like a dare. Because it’s not just about campaign contributions or interpersonal skills. It’s about putting on record what he it, or what he isn’t.
You close the tab. You’ll come back to it. Maybe. After a lobotomy.
Two days later, Jun finds you by the vending machine. “You’re evaluating me?” he says by way of greeting.
You take your time selecting a soda. The machine whirs dramatically. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.
He proves otherwise. “Soonyoung told me,” Jun presses. “He said you’re writing my assessment.”
You procure your strawberry Fanta with deliberate coolness, fingers already toying with the metal lid. “Do you greet all potential references this way?” you say dryly.
“I just—I figured you wouldn’t be neutral.”
That stops you. You turn, slow. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, after everything. The way we—” He gestures vaguely. “That night. The restaurant. You were pissed.”
You laugh. You can’t help it. God, what did you do in your past life to end up in a situation like this? The last of your patience snaps like a rubber band, and the words spill out of you with a kind of cutthroat that could melt tungsten.
“I gave you a glowing recommendation, Jun,” you snipe. “I said you were sharp and collaborative and vital to the pitch. Which, in case you forgot, you were. I did my job. Maybe try doing yours.”
He gapes. You don’t stop. “You’ve been the unprofessional one here. You keep making things personal. You bring other people to restaurants that aren’t yours to share. You act like I owe you something when I don’t even owe you eye contact.”
Jun opens his mouth. Closes it again. You toss your still-full can in a nearby bin. You don’t have the appetite for anything sweet right now.
“You haven’t changed, Wen Junhui,” you bite out—the last word, huzzah!—before walking off.
It’s not the cleanest exit, but it’s something final. And right now, that’s all you have.
Jun pretends like nothing happened.
You’re not surprised. Denial is practically his native language. He nods at you in meetings, leaves polite spaces between you in the break room. He’s mastered the art of the neutral expression, the kind that suggests nothing has ever gone wrong. That everything is fine.
Then a package arrives at your desk.
No note. Just a brown paper bag tied up with string, like something out of a middle school crush fantasy. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a bouquet.
Of ballpens.
Dozens of them, in your preferred brand and ink weight. All black, all clicky. Not one of them chewed, cracked, or snapped in half—yet.
You stare at them like they’re a coded message. Maybe they are.
Jun used to tease you about it. How you went through pens like breath mints. How he’d hear the telltale crack of a barrel and look over to find you sheepish, a half-dismembered pen in hand. Once, he said he was going to buy you a box just to see how long it would take you to kill them all. You laughed and told him that was the most romantic thing he’d ever said.
You use one of the pens in the next meeting. On purpose. Jun notices. You can see it in the flick of his eyes, the way he registers it with a twitch of his mouth that isn’t quite a smile.
After, as people are clearing out, he lingers.
“That one working okay?” he asks.
You click it. Unclick. Click again. “Still alive,” you say. “No casualties yet.”
He nods. You don’t say thank you. He doesn’t say sorry.
All the same, it hangs there, between you. The closest either of you has come to being a decent person.
–-
VII. The Intern will respect all intellectual property of the Company, and in return, the Company will provide necessary tools for productivity—and occasional forgiveness.
–-
The interns are tasked with planning the company party to cap off the end of their rotation. It’s meant to be a fun assignment. Low-stakes. High morale. Naturally, it turns into an emotional landmine.
Jun, for reasons you pretend not to think too deeply about, takes the lead.
He delegates well. Manages expectations. Schedules with military precision. In the end, what catches your attention is the uncanny accuracy of his planning decisions.
The venue is one of your favorites. The playlist includes that one obscure indie-pop band you once had on repeat. The snacks avoid all your known aversions—no olives, no red velvet, no sad carrot sticks masquerading as party food.
You raise an eyebrow when he unveils the plan in the department-wide meeting. He doesn’t look at you directly, but when you glance his way, he winks. Later, when everyone’s clapping for the effort, you wait for him to slide into the seat next to yours. You lean over and mumble, taunt just for him, “Stalker.”
He raises one shoulder in a shrug. “I shadowed you for two weeks. I’m observant.”
The party is in a week, which is probably why you run into him at the grocery store later that night, arms full of sparkling water and overpriced string lights.
You’re already in line, clutching a frozen meal and a bottle of wine that screams dinner-for-one. He falls in behind you, a little breathless, a little smug.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.
“Is that rosemary sea salt popcorn?” you ask, peering into his basket. “Wow. Intern budgets have really changed since my day.”
He grins. “Only the best for Carat Company.”
You point at a tub of hummus. “That brand’s terrible. Too tangy.”
“Noted,” he says, and swaps it out for another without fanfare.
You don’t know what makes you say it—maybe the buzz of fluorescent lights, maybe the way he’s stacking paper plates like it’s an art form—but you tilt your head and ask, “Bringing a date?”
Jun doesn’t miss a beat. “Nope.”
“Finance intern not free?”
“She’s got better taste than me,” he says. Then, a little more tentatively: “Position’s still open, if you’re interested.”
You click your tongue. Before you can think better of it, a responding flirtation breaks free. “I could be convinced.”
Jun giggles, quick and honest. He tries to cover it with a cough, but he’s still smiling as he sets down his basket.
The next couple of days unfold with unnerving ease. You tell yourself it’s just the party approaching, just everyone being unusually cooperative for once. But there’s a rhythm to the way you and Jun move around each other now—a familiarity that feels inherited. Like muscle memory. Like relapsing.
You catch him finishing your sentences, anticipating your notes in meetings, handing you the pen you’re about to ask for before the words even leave your mouth. It’s annoying. It’s also disarming.
You’re in the office late one evening, finalizing a last-minute asset for the event. A print layout no one else had the brain cells to catch. Most of the floor’s lights have gone dark, save for your corner, glowing sterile and soft. But Jun’s still there too, cross-legged on the carpet like he lives here, surrounded by poster tubes and tangled cable wires, wielding a stapler with the intensity of a man on the edge.
“You know we have tape, right?” you say, leaning against the copy room door frame, sipping cold coffee that tastes like regret.
He glances up, squints. “Yeah. Tape’s a coward’s tool.”
You snort. It sounds like something he would’ve said back when you were sharing fries and arguments on your living room floor, when evenings blurred into 2a.m. discussions about plot holes in movies and whether hotdog sandwiches were burgers.
“Besides,” he adds, popping a staple in with too much flair, “this is more permanent. It says, I commit.”
You raise an eyebrow. “To the banner?”
“To the bit,” he says, deadpan.
You roll your eyes and go back to your screen, but your grin lingers longer than you want it to.
He offers you a ride home. Says it casually, like it’s a weather update. You accept. Too casually. Like you haven’t already memorized the way his dashboard lights flicker, or how he drives five over the limit.
In his car, it’s too quiet. The AUX cable is broken. His windows fog slightly from the humidity. The air smells like mint gum, vinyl from a new car freshener, and something else—something old. You give him the directions without thinking, because they haven’t changed. Neither has the weight that settles in your chest when he takes each turn with instinctive precision.
Outside your apartment, the silence hovers. “Thanks for the ride,” you say, hand on the door handle, already half-gone. Trying very, very hard not to think about the dozens of other times this ride has happened, and how each of them ended the same way.
He doesn’t answer for a moment. He just watches you, head tilted slightly like he’s solving a puzzle or waiting for permission. You face him, nose scrunching with mild confusion. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says.
And then he kisses you.
It’s not sudden, but it still surprises you. Your body forgets to protest, forgets the smart thing to do, forgets the narrative you’ve been building for weeks about being over this. His mouth is warm, and patient, and frustratingly familiar. The kind of kiss that bypasses logic. The kind that knows too much.
You kiss him back. Automatically. Completely. As if no time has passed. As if the ghosting, the tension, the HR talks and overused pens never happened. Just mouths and memory and momentum.
It isn’t until you break apart—his thumb still barely touching your jaw, breath heavy in the space between—that you hear yourself say, “What are you doing?”
He exhales a laugh, like he’s embarrassed. “Convincing you.” A beat. “Is it working?”
The panic rises in your throat like bile. You’re not sure what you’re about to throw up—regret, probably. But for what? Which part?
You don’t know the answer to that question. And so you peel away from a confused Jun, and you open the car door. The night air rushes in, cool and intrusive. You get out without a word.
He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t call after you. You don’t know what you’d want him to say, anyway. For once, you’re grateful that Wen Junhui has never chased after you when it counts.
The morning after, you walk into the office like nothing happened. Which is to say: you walk in five minutes late with a coffee too hot for your tongue and sunglasses still on because your soul isn’t ready for fluorescent light.
You make yourself a promise. You will not acknowledge the kiss. You will not dwell. You will do what Jun did months ago. You will ghost in broad daylight.
It feels very mature.
Except, unlike Jun, you have to see him at the printer. And at the shared snack drawer. And at the joint team huddle where Soonyoung teaches everybody how to this weird, new hand gesture he picked up on.
Jun keeps looking at you. That too-familiar softness, that edge of disappointment creeping around the corners of his mouth like he expected better from you. You don’t return the look. You don’t even return the stapler he loaned you yesterday. If professionalism is a hill to die on, then consider your gravestone already drafted.
Two days pass. You think you’ve successfully rewritten history until Jun corners you by the vending machine. Again. Before you can half-joke we have got to stop meeting like this, Jun is already snipping at the strings of your defenses.
“Is this revenge?” he asks, low voice, eyes scanning your face.
Your hand hovers over the button for salted almonds. “What?”
“This,” he gestures vaguely at the space between you, which has become somehow both intimate and unbearable. “You pretending like it didn’t happen. Like the kiss didn’t happen.”
You choose the almonds. Not because you want them, but because silence is at least with vending machine clatter.
“You kissed me back,” he says. Almost an accusation.
You shrug. It’s not as nonchalant as you probably want it to be. “People kiss. It’s a thing.”
Jun recoils, and something like white-hot guilt flashes through you. You douse it as Jun huffs out his next words with poorly-concealed offense, “Wow. Is this what being the bigger person looks like now?”
You pocket the almonds. “Well, you always said I was good at taking notes.”
His jaw flexes. Hurt flashes in his eyes before he smooths it over with a tired smile. “Right. Got it.”
You don’t stop him when he walks away. For the both of you, it’s a lesson learned. Turns out, the taste of your own medicine is bitter.
And, sometimes, it comes with a side of overpriced almonds.
–-
VIII. The Employee acknowledges that emotional clarity is not listed among official job responsibilities, and therefore will not be provided under Company policy.
–-
The company party is held at a rented rooftop bar with fairy lights, questionable shrimp cocktails, and cheap beer masquerading as an open bar. Someone’s playlist is stuck on a loop of early 2010s hits, and there’s a half-deflated inflatable swan in the punch bowl. It’s all very on-brand.
There are icebreaker games, a makeshift red carpet, and a cardboard cutout of Soonyoung in a tiger costume posing with the slogan: ROAR FOR Q4! It is, in every way, excessive.
You don a black silk blouse tucked into tailored high-waist trousers, sharp and clean and the only ironed thing in your apartment. Your lipstick is a soft red. Strategic, not romantic. You wear your hair up, simple earrings, and shoes that are just shy of painful. You look like someone who planned not to linger.
Jun shows up in a white button-down with sleeves rolled past his elbows, collar slightly askew like he got halfway ready and forgot to care. There’s a wine-colored blazer slung over one shoulder and, unfairly, it works. He has the ease of someone who didn’t expect to be watched yet somehow is.
You avoid each other all night with the precision of two people still nursing unspoken sentences. You talk to other departments. He lingers around the interns. Jihoon drinks exactly one cocktail, makes direct eye contact with you for three seconds too long, and vanishes like The Judgmental Ghost of Situationship’s Past.
The party buzzes on. There’s a chocolate fountain that no one trusts and a dance floor that Soonyoung won’t leave. There’s a photo booth filled with props from last year’s pirate-themed anniversary campaign. You find yourself laughing at something someone from Legal says, and immediately hate that it reminds you of how Jun used to make you laugh just like that—like you were surprised by it.
It’s going fine. Almost.
Until the awards begin. Soonyoung, of course, is the MC, beaming with chaotic delight. “And now,” he grins, pausing for effect, “for the honorary award for Best Enemies-to-Lovers Plot Unfolding in Real Time…”
You blink. Jun blinks. You both know how this film is going to end, and sure enough, Soonyoung is screeching your name and Jun’s.
There are cheers. Some gasps. Mostly laughter. You rise with the grace of someone preparing for emotional war. Jun’s already on his feet, giving you that look like this is either his worst nightmare or his best bit. Possibly both.
Onstage, you are handed a trophy of a basketball player bought from the dollar store around the corner. You and Jun pose awkwardly for a photo as a chant of Speech! Speech! Speech! resounds in the crowd.
You contemplate handing in your two week’s notice tomorrow.
Under string lights and scrutiny, you take the mic first. “I’d like to thank HR for not firing either of us,” you say for the lack of better thing to say.
Polite chuckles. Someone from the Events team yells, “Not yet!”
Jun takes the mic next. “And I’d like to thank, uh, Soonyoung. For teaching me what a ‘horanghae’ is. Seriously, it’s done immeasurable damage to my vocabulary.”
Louder laughter. A few whoops. You both smile too hard, too bright, too fake.
Later, you spot him near the edge of the bar, half-shadowed by a potted ficus. He’s slipping away. Classic Jun, retreating mid-scene.
You excuse yourself before you think too hard about it. You follow him down a stairwell half-lit by emergency bulbs, the music above thumping faintly through concrete. He hears your steps before you speak.
“You always leave like this?” you ask.
He turns, hands in his pockets. His expression—initially closed-off, ready to bolt—creaks open ever so slightly. “I didn’t think you’d notice,” he answers.
“Can’t help it.”
He looks at you like it hurts. Like you’re saying too much without saying enough. “Is this the part where you ask me why I’m leaving?”
You fold your arms over your chest, over the maddening beat of your heart. “No,” you breathe. “I want to know why you left.”
You don’t care about tonight. Jun could leave this party and never look back at The Carat Company, and you wouldn’t blame him. You care about the way his texts stopped coming in, the way it was radio silence for weeks. How he didn’t even come to take back his things, so you made the executive decision to donate them to a thrift shop like it might somehow make you feel better about yourself.
Jun exhales, long and tired. He shifts from one foot to another. For a moment, you think he’s going to make a run for it.
He doesn’t.
“I didn’t think I could be enough,” he says, finally. “Not for you. Not for the version of you that has her life together, who writes like a scalpel and moves like she’s never tripped over anything in her life. I didn’t want to hold you back. I didn’t want to be another unfinished thing in your life.”
When Jun had gotten laid off his previous job, he’d fallen into a rut that you tried so hard to get him out of. You sent him motivational LinkedIn posts. You pointed out Harvard courses and helped him scour JobStreet. All the while, you were working your ass off at The Carat Company. Coming home burnt out but still willing to help him back on his feet.
You hadn’t realized how that might’ve looked like for him. You hadn’t seen the cracks, stretching like spiderwebs over his fragile male ego. Obscuring the reason why you did it all in the first place.
Love. Crazy, stupid love. You clear your throat, refusing to let the rage tip out of you. Some of it bleeds into your incredulous question, anyway. “So you decided for me?”
His shoulders flinch. “I was scared.”
“You don’t get to do that,” you say, your attempt at being cool fracturing. “You don’t get to leave me, then show back up like a better man, when the truth is—you didn’t even let me choose.”
He looks at you, stunned. “I—”
“No,” you say, stepping forward. “Who I want to suffer for is my call.”
This time, you kiss him.
It’s not clean. It’s not soft. It’s messy and fierce and fueled by months of bitterness and longing, of misspoken lines and things unsaid. His hands find your waist like they’ve never left it. Your mouth moves like a dare. There’s a wall at his back, and your chest at his front, and none of this feels professional at all.
It feels like something finally falling into place. Or breaking open.
Jun’s car is parked two levels down, the far corner of a concrete lot that smells like rain, gasoline, and the ghost of things unsaid. It’s far from the rooftop’s sticky laughter and company-wide inebriation. A hush broken only by the soft echo of your heels and the low, restless rhythm of your breathing. His, too.
You’re kissing again by the time you get nearer to the car. This time, it’s slower. Hungrier. The kind of kiss that drags a sound out of him—half-sigh, half-swear.
Jun groans into your mouth, hands moving instinctively. One finds your jaw, the other your waist, fingers curling with intent. Your back hits the side of his car with a quiet thud. You smile against his mouth, sharp and satisfied.
“You gonna run again?” you mumble, voice low, all edge.
He shakes his head, dazed. “Not unless you tell me to.”
“Good,” you say, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, grazing hot skin. “Then shut up and get in the car.”
He listens. He always did know how to listen when it mattered.
The door slams shut, muffling the world. The air smells like him—clean linen, faint spice, something faintly sweet beneath it. The dash glows dim. Your blouse is unbuttoned by the time you straddle him, knees digging into the leather seat. He fumbles to push his seat back farther, and you don’t wait. You settle on his thighs, hungry hands pushing his shirt up, over his head.
His eyes are already wild. Chest bare. Breath uneven. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening. You kiss him again, rougher this time, teeth grazing his bottom lip. He gasps.
“You want this?” he asks, voice cracked, part awe, part fear.
You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “I need this.”
Clothes are tossed somewhere in the front seat—jacket, trousers, shirt, all lost to heat and haste. Your fingers fumble with his belt; he helps, hands shaking. You lift your hips, letting him drag your trousers down, your underwear already damp and sticking to your thighs. His knuckles brush the inside of your legs as he pulls them off, slow and reverent, then not-so-slow.
His fingers ghost along your inner thigh, then between your legs, slipping through slick heat. He exhales like it guts him.
“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, voice shredded. “How are you still so wet?”
You take his hand, guide his fingers to your lips, and suck your own slick clean. Your eyes on his the entire time. The sharp, guttural sound he makes is a reward in its own right.
The kiss that follow doesn’t end so much as it fractures. Broken by breath, by the heat of your thighs still spread over his lap, by the way your hips keep shifting like you haven’t quite had your fill.
Jun exhales sharply when you pull back. His mouth is swollen, his chest rising and falling like he ran a mile, and his hands—God, his hands—don’t stop touching you. One strokes your thigh, the other drifts higher, sliding back between your legs.
He groans, thumb dragging through your slick, and you shudder. “You always get like this,” he whispers, like it’s a secret meant only for you. “I touch you and you… fuck, you melt for me.”
You grind into his palm, voice already too hoarse to feign nonchalance. “Don’t pretend you’re in control right now.”
His eyes flick up, wide and wrecked. “I’m not,” he laughs. “Not even close.”
His fingers slip in. Two at once, with a stretch that makes your eyes flutter. You gasp, back arching, one arm braced against the seat in front of him as he starts to work you open. Slow. Deep. A rhythm that feels almost reverent, like he’s savoring this. Like he’s making up for every missed chance.
“So warm,” he grunts, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “So perfect.”
You reach down to find his cock still half-hard and twitching. Your fingers wrap around him, familiar with the way he likes to be touched, with how he reacts when you drag your thumb just under the head. He shudders. Moans. His hand falters inside you.
“Don’t—don’t do that,” he stammers.
You smile, sharp and smug. “Why not?”
You jerk him slow, just enough to keep him on the edge. His eyes flutter. His mouth opens, breath catching on every exhale as your hand works him while his fingers fuck into you.
This is how it used to be, back when it was messy and undefined, back when you still pretended this didn’t mean something. His hands in your pants after a long day at work. Your mouth on him in a shared shower. But this is different. Sharper. Hungrier. The way he looks at you now—it isn’t casual. It’s not temporary.
His lips graze your jaw. His voice cracks. “You feel so good,” he says, his words slurred with pleasure, “s-so good. I can’t think.”
You lean closer, nipping at his throat. “Don’t think. Just give me your fingers.”
He does. He gives you everything. Curling deeper, pressing harder, stretching you out until you clench around him and gasp, nails digging into the side of his neck. “Shit,” you whisper. “There, please. Right there.”
He moans, like he’s the one being burned alive. His hips jerk up into your palm. “So polite,” he says affectionately, placing a quick kiss to your shoulder before going on, “You’re gonna come for me, baby? Huh? Just on my fingers?”
You grind down, breath punching out of you. The pleasure coils hot and fast in your stomach, that dizzy, electric pull that tells you you’re about to break. When you register that the old pet name had slipped out of him—baby—you shatter.
It hits you all at once. Tight, breathless, a wave crashing through your spine and curling your toes. Your moan rips through the silence, raw and wild, as you pulse around him.
Jun curses under his breath. Even as you climax, your hand hasn’t stopped moving. He trembles, thighs tight beneath you. “Fuck, stop, stop—please, I’ll come,” he pants. “I’ll come and I’m not inside you yet. Please.”
You still your hand, fingers flexing around the base of his cock. His hips twitch anyway, desperate. His head falls back against the seat, jaw slack, chest heaving.
You watch him. The boy you almost had. The man who’s trying not to lose you now.
“You good?” you ask, voice low. Fond. Worried.
He nods, swallowing hard. “Barely,” he croaks. “Need you.”
You lean in, mouth grazing his. “You’ve got me,” you promise, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said all night.
The second your hand lifts from his cock, Jun fumbles between your thighs with shaking fingers, lining himself up. His touch is clumsy, reverent, desperate. His breath hitches when the head of his cock drags against your slick, catching at your entrance.
“Fuck, yes,” he gasps, the sound raw, like he’s already too close.
You sink onto him in one motion.
It’s not graceful, not slow. It’s greedy.
Your body takes him deep, full, stretched wide around him in a single sharp thrust that leaves you both dazed. His head snaps back, mouth open in a moan that cuts off halfway, swallowed by the thud of your hips meeting. “Jesus Christ,” he chokes out. “You’re—fuck. Fuck. You’re perfect.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders, anchoring yourself. The leather creaks beneath your knees. You don’t wait, don’t answer. You ride him fast, rough, punishing—like you need him to feel just how badly you've wanted this.
His hands scramble to keep up, one sliding to your waist, the other gripping your thigh, then your ass, then back again. He can’t seem to pick where he wants to touch you, so he settles for everywhere.
“You’re taking me so good,” he groans, eyes flicking down to where you’re joined, completely lost in it. “So fucking deep. Missed this. Missed you.”
You grind down harder, pace unrelenting. “You missed me, or just my pussy?” you bite out, even as a moan escapes.
He laughs, broken and breathless. “Both. Don’t make me choose.”
You lean in and kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry, your teeth dragging against his bottom lip before you suck it into your mouth. His hands tighten, fingertips bruising. Your hips roll, bounce, grind. Every motion is intentional. Relentless. He’s twitching inside you already.
He lets out a strangled sound when you clench around him. “Trying to—hng—ruin me?” he whimpers, forehead pressed to yours.
“You’re doing that all on your own,” you exhale before chasing his lips.
The car rocks. Windows fog. Sweat beads at your spine, your thighs, the crease of his neck where you bury your face to muffle a cry.
He’s fucking up into you now, meeting every downward slam of your hips with a thrust that has you seeing stars. His rhythm is messier than you remember, but it’s probably the moment. The setting. The reunion.
“Gonna come,” he warns, voice wrecked. “Shit—baby, please.”
You pull back, lips brushing his ear. “Then do it,” you whisper. “Come—ah—inside me. Make a mess, baby.”
His whole body jerks. His fingers dig in. He groans deep in his chest like it hurts to hold on. You don’t let up.
Your pace gets rougher. Sloppier. He’s moaning, practically whimpering. The kind of sounds you’ve only ever pulled from him when he’s too far gone to pretend. “You sound wrecked,” you pant, dragging your nails down his chest. “You close, baby?”
He nods, dazed, unable to speak.
You fuck down harder. Grind meaner. Your clit drags against the base of him and your whole body tenses. It hits you without warning—full-body and sudden. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, ripping your breath away as your muscles seize around him.
He cries out, high and choked. His hips stutter. “Wait—wait, fuck, baby, stop—please,” he pleads, voice cracking. “Need this to last. Need to have you for longer.”
You freeze, panting against his mouth.
He’s trembling.
“Alright?” you ask.
He nods, frantic. “Yeah. Yeah. I just—don’t want this to end.”
You stroke his cheek, your body still sensitive in aftershocks.
He looks up at you, eyes glassy, lips kiss-bruised. “I used to dream about this,” he says, voice barely there. “After we... you know. Dreamt of having you again. But it never felt like this.”
“Like what?”
He swallows. “Like I could lose you if I didn’t hold on tight enough.”
The sincerity bowls you over, so you kiss him again. This time, you slow down. Not because you want to, but because you know you’re both too close to let it end like that.
Your next words are a tremble against his lips. “Don’t leave. Not this time."
“I won’t,” he answers without missing a beat.
You don’t move for a moment. Just sit there, full of him, your body still trembling with aftershocks, hips twitching every few seconds like your muscles don’t know it’s over. Jun’s forehead rests against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, his grip around your waist just this side of desperate.
You let it stretch. The quiet. The weight. The ache.
The car is still and humid, your skin sticking slightly where it meets his. All you can hear is the slow, syncopated rhythm of your breath tangled with his. Every now and then, your body clenches around him involuntarily, dragging tiny, startled sounds from both your throats.
After a couple of minutes, you start to move again. Just a slow, idle grind of your hips. Gentle. Lazy. The kind of roll that shouldn’t mean anything, but still makes you both react. A twitch from him. A flutter from you. You do it again. Then again. Just enough pressure. Just enough friction to keep you grounded in it.
He whimpers quietly, head tilting up to look at you through damp lashes. “This is torture.”
You smile. Kiss his temple, almost laughingly. “I always did like making your life hard.”
Jun huffs something like a laugh, more breath than voice. His hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb stroking over your pulse. The other traces down to your thigh, fingers dragging along the crease with slow reverence. You keep rocking gently, almost absentminded. Not fucking. Not chasing. Just—resting. Keeping him there. Letting him feel all of you, even in stillness.
It’s unfairly intimate, how your body fits against his like it remembers how. The arch of your spine molded to the shape of his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his jaw, your hands cradling his face when you lift it.
His heartbeat pounds beneath your palm, too fast. Too vulnerable. “Can I…” he starts, voice cautious, almost shy.
You lift a brow. “Can you what?”
“Take some of the control. Just for a bit.”
It kills you. That he has to ask. That he still doesn’t think you’d give him the world. “Of course,” you say, the word murmured against the corner of his mouth. “Take me.”
He doesn’t answer. His grip on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the supple fleshed. “Baby,” he says, wrecked and serious, “I’ve been dreaming of fucking you properly since the day I left.”
Your teeth grazes his lips. “Do it, then,” you hum.
And he does.
He plants his feet. Braces himself. Then lifts you slightly and thrusts up hard, cock dragging deep, unforgiving. The breath punches out of you like a hit. Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, your head falling forward.
He does it again. And again. Brutal. Precise. Each upward slam meets the drag of your body grinding down, slick and hot and soaked with all the aftermath he’s still pulsing inside.
“That’s it,” he growls, his breath ragged. “Let me fuck you. Let me make you feel it.”
You let him.
You go pliant in his hands, let him chase the tempo, his rhythm messy but deep. Every thrust is a reminder of what you both lost and what he’s begging for now.
He fucks up into you like he’s trying to chase every unsaid apology down your spine. The car rocks with the motion. His arms strain with effort, sweat slipping between your bodies, your skin slapping wetly together with every filthy thrust.
“You’re unreal,” he moans. “So good. So fucking good. I forgot how you feel. I forgot how you sound when I—”
“You didn’t forget,” you cut in, panting. “You just—hng—thought you could survive without it.”
He whines at that. Literally whines. You tighten around him and his hips stutter.
The pressure rises again. Slower this time. No sharp edge. Just steady, building tension in your core. Your muscles twitch with each thrust, your chest pressed to his, damp and heaving.
Jun kisses you hard, tongue hot and desperate. “I wanna feel you come again,” he begs against your mouth. “Please. Please, baby. One more. Give it to me."
You nod, but it’s not conscious. Your body answers before your mouth can.
It crashes into you, serrated and mean. Your third orgasm claws through your nerves, your thighs clamping down around his waist as you cry out into his neck. It’s overwhelming. Scalding. Your body trembles, every inch of you unraveling in his hands.
That’s all he needs. He groans, deep and undone, shoving into you one last time and staying there. His whole body goes tight, shakes. You cup his face. Make him look at you.
The thought occurs to you for the nth time: Jun is so pretty when he comes.
Even if he does it with a raw, wounded sound. He pulses deep inside you, buried as far as he can get, and you swear you can feel him shaking with it. Like it guts him. Like it saves him.
He clings to you afterward. Breathing hard. Drenched and unraveled.
You don’t say anything. You just stay. Let him hold you. Let him come back to you, slowly but surely.
Because this time, he isn’t running. And for once, neither are you.
The next morning, though, you wake to the absence of weight.
That’s the first thing you notice.
The second is the shape of your own anxiety, curling low in your chest, familiar as a bad habit. The other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are rumpled and cooling. There’s a single long strand of hair caught in the pillowcase. Not yours.
For a moment, you just stare at it. Then you look around. Bedroom door open. A thin shaft of light bleeds in from the hallway.
You don’t call out. You don’t move. You just go very, very still.
This is, after all, a familiar pattern. Boy meets girl. Boy runs away. Girl pretends she doesn’t notice until it’s convenient to feel something about it. The air smells like sex and detergent. The ceiling has a crack in it that you keep forgetting to report to the landlord. Your throat is dry.
Then Jun reappears.
Towel low on his hips, toothbrush in hand. He stops short in the doorway, mid-step, and you watch the exact moment he realizes what his absence must’ve looked like. The moment the air shifts. The look on your face must be something, because his shoulders drop in a slow exhale and his voice goes soft.
“Hey. I didn’t leave,” he says, swallowing his toothpaste—what a fucking psycho—before setting his tooth brush on to the nearest flat surface. “Just went to brush my teeth."
You raise an eyebrow. Try to mask the little betrayal that had already crept in. “You know, most people announce their morning survival before disappearing,” you say. “It’s customary.”
Jun winces. “You’re right. I should’ve said something. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
You sit up, sheets falling to your waist. Your body aches in a way that feels earned. Your hair is a mess after the two, maybe three rounds that you and Jun had when he fell into your bed last night. You don’t care enough to hide the overthinking.
“You could’ve left a note,” you say. Half-serious, half-joking. “Or a sock on the door. A smoke signal.”
He laughs, crosses to the side of the bed. Drops the towel a little lower on purpose, the menace. “Noted. Next time I disappear into the bathroom, I’ll launch a full PR campaign.”
You narrow your eyes. “See that you do.”
His hand lifts to your face, thumb dragging just under your cheekbone. “I’m here,” he says, plain and simple as a promise. And he means it.
Maybe it’s stupid that you believe him. Maybe it’s messier than it should be, that you’re even in this place, in this bed, with this boy again.
But his hand is warm. His mouth is soft when he kisses your forehead. And when he climbs back in bed to hold you to him, you don’t say no.
It’s a Saturday, so the two of you let the sun climb high enough to slice through your blinds. You’d move, but Jun is draped over you like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues. It’s clingy in a way that would be annoying if it weren’t also stupidly comforting.
His leg is thrown across yours. His arm is a dead weight on your stomach. He smells like your shampoo and the faint citrus of your soap, and the whole thing is either domestic bliss or a very elaborate trap.
His fingers are tucked into the curve of your hip, not moving, just there. A quiet claim. As if anchoring himself will stop time or stop you from thinking of endings.
You’re not even annoyed, which is suspicious. You should be cataloging all the reasons this is a bad idea. Cross-department entanglements, your no-office-romance policy (written internally, unspoken externally), the sheer HR nightmare of it all. Instead, you’re memorizing the rhythm of his breathing.
“So,” he says after a long moment, voice still scratchy with sleep, mouth near your collarbone, "they offered me a job."
You blink at the ceiling. The fan clicks. One of the blades wobbles slightly. “‘They’ being The Carat Company.”
He nods into your shoulder. You feel the curve of his smile before you see it. It’s smug and sleepy and dangerous—a combination that should come with a warning label.
You hum. Neutral. “That’s… a choice.”
Jun shifts. Enough to glance up at you, catching your expression with lazy amusement. It’s probably somewhere between polite support and visible internal shrieking. “Wow,” he murmurs. “You are doing an excellent job of pretending that doesn’t horrify you."
You sigh, staring at the water-stained patch on your ceiling. “I just think our HR department is one passive-aggressive email away from imploding, and I’m not sure I want to share a copier with someone who’s seen me naked.”
He chuckles. Kisses your shoulder. “That’s fair. But relax. I’m not taking it.”
You pause. Blink. Turn your head just enough to catch his face. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head, pulling back slightly, grinning like a man who knows he’s about to get a dramatic reaction. You squint at him. "So?"
“Sebong offered me something better.”
Record scratch. Full stop. You sit up slightly, sheet dragging across your chest. “Sebong Corporation? Our most flamboyant and passive-aggressive rival?”
“The very same.”
You purse your lips. “The one that sent us cupcakes during Q3 just to say ‘Sorry about your metrics’?”
Jun grins. “A plus for petty. But yeah, they want me.”
“You’re going corporate spy now? Love that for you,” you jab. “Can you wear a wire to our next team sync?"
He shrugs, undeterred by your sarcasm as a coping mechanism. “They offered better pay, better benefits. Free espresso on every floor.”
You make a sound of mock envy. “Now you’re just bragging.”
“I am,” he adds, with that soft arrogance only he can pull off without getting slapped. “I think I’m gonna take it.”
“Why?”
He looks at you with the kind of gaze that burns just a little. Like he’s searching for a permission he already knows you’ll give. Then he says it. The same thing he said when he waltzed back into your life, self-assured and saccharine.
“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Jun says. “And I always want the best.”
You roll your eyes so hard your ancestors probably feel it. But something in your chest stutters. This time, the words land different. Softer. Honest in a way that makes your ribs ache.
He’s making a concession. He’s doing something to make this, make the two of you, possible.
He’s calling you something he wants, and calling you the best, in the same breath.
Jun leans in, presses his forehead to yours, nose brushing yours like an apology. When he kisses you, it tastes like toothpaste and devotion. And also maybe like something terrifyingly close to commitment.
You lie there for a while. Wrapped in warmth and silence and the complicated calculus of wanting things that feel big and breakable. Like him. Like this. Like futures you haven’t even said out loud yet.
At some point, Jun shifts behind you, arms tightening around your middle. His chin rests in the crook of your neck, breath brushing your skin.
“You okay with it?” he asks.
You shrug. “I mean, it’s marginally better than you working across the hall from me and flirting over the printer queue.”
“We’d both get nothing done.”
“Exactly. Chaos.”
Jun kisses the back of your shoulder again. It’s like he can’t stop kissing you, like he can’t believe he can do it all again. Somewhere in the quiet that follows, your brain writes the paperwork.
--
This Employment Contract (“Agreement”) is made between Wen Junhui (“Boyfriend”), and you.
WHEREAS the Boyfriend agrees to remain shirtless in your apartment at least three mornings per week, and to bring the good coffee whenever you run out;
WHEREAS emotional transparency shall be upheld with the same rigor as quarterly reporting, including but not limited to: post-sex vulnerability, Sunday-night anxiety debriefs, and one (1) designated safe word for moments of self-sabotage;
WHEREAS both parties are permitted one (1) bad take per fiscal quarter, to be gently corrected and never mentioned again;
THEREFORE, both parties agree to exclusive rights to back scratches, late-night ramen runs, shared Spotify queues, and slow dancing in the kitchen when neither of you feels like cooking;
FURTHERMORE, cuddling shall not be used as a diversion tactic during emotionally intense conversations, unless unanimously approved by both parties in advance.
Effective immediately. Benefits include forehead kisses, a stupid amount of texting, sleeping on opposite sides but always ending up tangled, emergency ice cream runs, and never having to go to office parties alone.
IN A UNIVERSE filled with soulmates, you never wanted one, never wanting to be tied down to a stranger for the rest of your life. However, fate always seems to work against you and gives you the worst soul mark you could ever have: a soulmate who seems to have a taste for spicy foods, something that you have a distaste for.
PAIRING: idol!jun x food journalist!fem!reader
GENRE: Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut (in Part Two), Enemies to Lovers (One Sided), Romance
AU: Soulmates
TOTAL PT 1 WC: 26.2k
WARNINGS: mentions of food and eating, profanities, self-doubt, periods, anxiety, stress
PLAYLIST: songs for red, love jun
LIV'S NOTES... firstly: HAPPY CARAT DAY to everyone who celebrates <3 this fic is genuinely a love letter to all my friends who have heard stories of red and jun!
due to some unforseen circumstances, the fic is out a little later than i intended it to be but it's out!
the fic also turned out to be slightly longer than i intended which means that it's split into two parts! part two will be out on the 21st of February 2026.
official masterlist for the universe will be out then as well hehe! so, please enjoy the first part of the first installation of Soulmate Series: Written in the Stars.
BIG THANK YOU to my love @mellowgyu for helping me to beta-read this monster, be a constant support in my corner and fix mistakes with me <3 i love you so much
PART TWO (WC: 26K)
WRITTEN IN THE STARS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI
THE SWEET LINGERING OF 2014
When Jun turned eighteen, he celebrated it in the practice room surrounded by his twelve brothers who were undoubtedly more excited than he was. Being the fourth oldest in the group, it was almost like there was a routine now when their members were about to have their soulmark coming of age. He doesn’t quite remember how they established the tradition but it was probably something that Seungcheol, Soonyoung and Jihoon had done – as the overall leaders.
He remembered when Seungcheol had turned eighteen and Jun felt overwhelmed for him; it wasn’t the easiest being the oldest of the group and being the person that everyone looked up to. Turning eighteen was sort of a milestone for them, to know what to expect when they too turned eighteen someday.
He remembered how Seungcheol had blown out the candles on top of the cake set out for him by the staff and looked around as twelve pairs of eyes stared at him.
“Do you feel anything, hyung?” He remembered Seungkwan, who was normally scared of the older boy asking, making Seungcheol shake his head before he paused mid-shake.
Seungcheol's brows furrowed as he let out a groan, holding his head in his hands as the members scrambled around him, asking him what was wrong. “I just got a sudden headache.” Seungcheol managed to mutter out before Jun saw the staff noting it down onto their tablet.
That was the start of the routine: with Seungcheol getting the Pain Soulmark, Jeonghan celebrating next and getting a number written on his wrist and Joshua who thought he was markless, had shrieked in the toilet finding a faint silhouette of a handprint on his chest.
Jun fiddled with his fingers as they wrapped up practice in the green room, looking at the cake that the staff had prepared as the rest of the members were buzzing with anticipation, more specifically Soonyoung.
“Jun!” Soonyoung exclaimed, making the former jump in surprise as the energetic boy grabbed both his shoulders. “Are you excited?”
Jun opened his mouth to respond but Soonyoung had already breezed past. “I can’t believe you’re getting your mark today and I’ll be getting mine in 5 days time!”
Jun blinked as Soonyoung continued to ramble on and on about how excited he was for the mark and how he couldn’t wait to meet his other half. He managed to tune the boy out as he glanced towards Chan and Minghao at the side who were staring at the older boy with amusement and unamusement respectively. The latter glanced at Jun, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if the older boy was okay. Jun let out a tentative smile and nod, not wanting to alert the younger boy of his nerves.
Jun watched as Minghao’s eyebrows furrow, seemingly not believing him but lets the topic drop as the staff gathered the boys, placing the cake in front of Jun. Jun glanced at the cake, nerves pricking the edges of his skin before he felt someone brush up against his side. He turned to see Minghao sitting to his right, placing a hand on his with a reassuring smile, stopping the unconscious fiddling of fingers that Jun was doing.
“Don’t be nervous.” Minghao whispered to him in their native tongue. “You’ve been waiting for this day for ages.”
He was right.
To say that Jun was excited to get his mark, would be an understatement. Ironic, he thinks, even as he grew up in a slightly broken home where his parents had gotten divorced when he was two years old. His father and mother got married knowing that they weren’t soulmates, almost as if they were trying to game the system. His mother told him that they were happily married for a while before his father had found his actual soulmate and that was the end of their marriage. He remembered her comparing it to a ticking timebomb. They loved each other but they didn't complete each others' souls.
He remembered how much pain she was holding even as she decided to raise him on her own, challenging every social norm as a single mother before fate finally brought her soulmate to her. Bumping into each other at a supermarket that was actually out of the way from where his mother normally goes, a true meet cute if you asked him.
Fast forward many years later, they’re happily married and Jun has never felt more loved.
He snapped out of his thoughts as the members began to sing happy birthday, making him give a small smile as he made a wish and blew out the candles right as the clock struck twelve.
“Do you feel anything?” Soonyoung burst out before yelping as Jihoon smacked the back of his head, hissing at him to calm down. Jun began to search his limbs for marks, words or anything that would be an indication that he has a soulmate. Coming back blank made his heart sink. He couldn’t be markless, could he?
He felt Minghao press more into his right side, a hug it seems as he watched the members quieten down upon seeing his reaction.
He takes a sharp inhale. “I don’t feel anything.” he softly said as he fiddled with his fingers, silently cursing himself.
He wanted to be strong for his younger members, especially because he knew that the thought of being markless scared the maknaes more than they’d like to admit, especially Chan.
He plastered on a fake smile, swallowing his emotions before taking the plastic knife and cutting into the cake in front of him. “It’s fine,” he muttered out. “It might be something that can’t be seen or felt… I think I just need to be patient.”
The tension in the room was palpable. The members glanced at each other as Jun pretended not to notice, his heart wrenching slightly as he wished that he could cut the tension with the knife in his hand.
Jun felt himself going on autopilot, continuing to cut the cake as his head swirled with doubts. Why didn’t he get a soulmark? Was he just not fated to have a soulmate? Was there something wrong with him?
He felt his spiral halt when he felt arms drape around his shoulders, as someone leaned on him. He peered up to see Seungkwan hanging off him, almost nonchalantly. Seungkwan raised an eyebrow at Jun’s staring before nudging him, urging him to continue to cut the cake.
Before he could, the knife was plucked out of his hand making Jun peer up to see Seungcheol, who nudged Jun out of the way to sit in front of the cake.
“Move.” Seungcheol said, nudging Jun away again as he continued cutting from where Jun left off.
Jun blinked at the older boy before a plate was shoved into his hands. “Eat your birthday cake Jun!” Jeonghan singsonged, sticking a fork into the cake. “You know it’s bad luck if the birthday boy doesn’t eat his own cake first?”
Jun managed a weak smile at the older boy before he noticed words appear on Jeonghan’s arm: a sign from his soulmate. Jeonghan glanced at it, a small smile on his lips before placing his arm behind his back, away from prying eyes.
“Oops, made the missus mad.”
“You shouldn’t even be lying so much in the first place.” Minghao muttered, bringing a piece of the cake to his mouth. “The poor girl probably has so many numbers and words staining her skin everyday.” Jeonghan flicked his forehead, making the younger boy yelp before turning back to Jun.
“Better eat up, otherwise the lie would be for nothing.” Jeonghan said pointedly, but Jun could hear the faint fondness in his tone that could've been missed if they hadn’t spent the past two years training with each other.
Jeonghan took a plate before skipping towards the other end of the room, no doubt to tease (read, infuriate) his soulmate by lying so that he can talk to her. Jun peered at the cake in his hands before looking around the room to where all his members sat.
Seungcheol, who was cutting the cake while talking to Joshua, who was helping him to plate them whilst nodding, invested in their conversation as he passed the plate to Jihoon without even looking at him. Jihoon then passed it to Mingyu and Chan, who were sitting in the corner eating the cake with Vernon and Soonyoung. Mingyu, Chan and Soonyoung were talking animatedly while Vernon watched them, smiling at their comments.
He peered to the other corner of the room where Jeonghan, Wonwoo and Seokmin were, cracking jokes before his eyes ended up at Minghao who was leaning against him and Seungkwan who was hanging off of him. He watched as Minghao fed Seungkwan a piece of cake before feeding himself some and Jun smiled fondly as his thoughts calmed down.
Maybe he wasn't destined to have a soulmate but fate was kind enough to send him something else, something better. It sent him twelve brothers who really knew him in their heart and they really knew his soul. He felt the lingering of something on his tongue, some sweet thing that he couldn't name as he felt his heart swell at the information that he had just digested which made his smile grow even wider and softer.
Minghao nudged him. "Are you okay?" he asked softly in their native tongue as Seungkwan turned towards him as well. Jun nodded, using his fork to cut through the cake and placed it into his mouth tasting the sweet cream of the cake before turning to the two younger boys and giving them a smile.
"Never better."
However, even as the taste of the cake faded, Jun remained oblivious to the sweet taste on the tip of his tongue.
THE ACCOSTED MALA TASTEBUDS OF 2016
The moment the clock struck midnight on your eighteenth birthday, you swore your soulmate hated his tastebuds.
To your parents, turning eighteen was on par or even more important than turning twenty-one. Soulmates was all your parents ever talked about, how they were friends turned lovers when they both had turned eighteen. Their only wish was that you and your siblings could experience the same. So, when you were on the cusp of turning eighteen, they pulled out all the stops.
“Mum,” you started, staring at the wall of decorations and table filled with presents that looked like it was one more present away from collapsing on the floor. “I think you might have gone a tad bit o–” Your older brother immediately covered your mouth before you could finish your sentence. “—outdone! She meant outdone mum! It looks amazing!” Your brother finished for you, giving you a side-eye that said ‘proceed with caution’ which made you roll your eyes at the older boy.
Your mum breezed at your brother's comment. “Thank you dear! Just trying to make sure your sister gets the same party that we did for you last year!” She exclaimed as she made her way to the storeroom to possibly get more streamers.
You silently mourned all the lost trees before turning to your brother, crossing your arms. “You didn’t need to step in Chris.”
“And let you ruin mum and dad’s best day ever?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. “Yeah right.”
“You do know it’s my birthday right?”
“Yeah but you don’t care as much about this as them, so let them have it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Unlike your parents, eighteen really didn’t mean that much to you, you were going to be bound to a stranger for the rest of your life which meant that the next few years of your life would be going on dates, questioning if this was the right person or if the soulmarks match up and if they didn’t, it was inevitable that there's either no second date, or a break-up.
You practically didn’t really believe in soulmates either. Why did the universe have to decide who was the best person for you to match with? Why couldn’t you make the decision yourself?
“Besides,” Chris continued, taking a seat on the streamer draped couch. “You are their one shot right now at proving their stories are true.”
“You’re talking as if you aren’t turning nineteen and that Hannah and Lucas are not going to have the same celebration when they turn eighteen.”
“But,” Chris pointed at you to emphasize his point. “You’re their only shot right now.”
You narrowed your eyes at your brother. "And whose fault is that huh?"
Chris feigned an offended look and exasperatedly gasped as you plopped down onto the couch next to him. “What?!”
You smacked his shoulder as he let out a yelp. “Don’t ‘what’ me,” you said, continuing to hit him despite his protests. “If you didn’t decide to join the label, you’d probably have found your soulmate by now!”
Your older brother Chris was also known as Bang Chan to the rest of the world. Having been musically talented since young, it was almost inevitable that he would end up becoming an idol in Korea. That meant crushing your parents' dream of him finding his soulmate early as he was still a trainee and that meant that dating was a huge no-no.
You were happy for him, you truly were. Being his younger sister, you had first dibs on listening to all his garage or attic produced music and you couldn’t be more proud of what your brother has achieved, especially with his upcoming debut.
What you weren’t happy with was the fact that while your parents were struggling with the news, Chris had the awesome idea to throw you under the bus in his stead. He stated that it was the reason you were born a year after him, making you the perfect candidate to live out their stories which turned their attention onto you.
You felt like throwing him under an actual bus as soon as he had suggested that.
“I’m sor- ow - sorry, can we plea– OW, stop assaulting me with the pillow!” Chris yelped out as you kept hitting him with the pillow. “I should be using things other than pillows for the pressure you put me under, its too much!” You spat out, hitting him a few more times before he caught the pillow and ripped it out of your grasp.
“Okay! Okay! I get it.” Chris said, dodging your movement of getting the pillow back. “I’m sorry for putting you under this much pressure but,” He shot you a look. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious as to what your soulmark is.”
“You know about my thoughts on soulmates Chris.” You said softly, sinking back into the couch as you eyed the decorations sprinkled across the family living room. “I just hate that my life feels like it's predetermined just because of this person that I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with.”
You couldn’t bear to look at your brother although you could already feel his eyes on you as silence enveloped the living room. “Maybe you aren’t scared of the person,” Chris started slowly, making you raise your head to meet his eyes, “but more of the uncertainity that comes with it.”
His tone was soft but his words were firm and hit harder than you thought it would. He had a point, he always did. “Don’t be scared, the universe decided them for you, whoever it is, they are meant to be half of your own soul. I was scared when I got my soulmark too.” Chris said softly, his fingers tracing the half tattoo on his forearm. “But they will love you for who you are, and what you will become. You’re amazing and they will definitely see all those trademarks too.”
Your nerves dissipated little by little as your brother's words sunk in. “Thank you Channie.” you breathe out as you give your brother a side hug. He gave you a side smile, hugging you back as he used his other hand to ruffle your hair.
“Can’t wait to see who will actually match this gremlin energy of yours.” He joked which made you let out a scoff, playfully giving him a small smack on his side as he continued to laugh before he abruptly quietened.
You peered up at him and your heart sank a little as you watched him stare at the half tattoo, his eyes filled with hope and longing. You felt a little guilty for chastising your brother so much, unlike you, he didn’t have a choice of taking steps to finding his soulmate unless he meets her at the label or through shoots. He would need to actually wait for fate to take the reign and bring her to him.
You reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “You know,” you started slowly, giving him the time to lock eyes with you. “I read somewhere that if you trace the soulmark, your soulmate can feel that you're thinking about them.”
Chris stared at you, his eyes widening slightly. “Did you just quote a soulmate myth?”
You felt your cheeks heat up slightly as you attempted to glare at your brother. “Don’t push it.”
His face broke out into a mischievous grin. “Look at you, Miss I-Don’t-Believe-In-Soulmates.”
You groaned at his words as you gave him a shove. “Shut up!”
He chuckled a little more before looking straight at you, his grin softening into a soft smile. “You really think she can feel it?”
You mirrored his soft smile. “I’m sure she can Channie. I’m sure you’ll feel it when she does it too.”
Chris gives you a smile back before bumping your shoulder. "So, tell me about the internship!"
Your grin got wider at that, making you sit up straighter, fully facing your older brother.
Ever since you could remember, food had been a big part of your life, almost like how music was apart of your big brothers. Like how producing and music came easy to him, baking came easy to you.
Baking had been your safe space for as long as you could remember. When you were younger, your mother had been trying to bake a red velvet cake for Chris's seventh birthday. Being six and looking up to your mother, you wanted to try it as well. Your mother relented after you had begged her multiple times and was shocked when you were a whiz in the kitchen.
You could crack eggs, take measurements as if it was written in your blood and mix with the hands of a master baker. You were a natural and that was where you fell in love with it.
From that experience, was where you earned the nickname, Red. Part of it was because you were a whiz in the kitchen, but the main reason was because your parents had caught you, dead in the night, the day after your brother's birthday, stuffing your face with the remaining cake. With all the frosting all over your mouth and having eaten almost half of the remainder, it was endearing to say the least.
As you grew older, you opened a food blog, upon Chris's request as a way for him to keep tabs on your food journey even when he was in Korea doing his music. You learned how to take proper pictures, what were the right words to use for describing the food you were making, how to hook people to the blog as well as how to put a touch of yourself in all the baked crafts that you created.
Which lead you to this exact moment.
Two months ago, Gourmet Traveler posted that they were looking for an intern for the summer break that was willing to learn all that they had to offer. Being a huge fan since you were young, you spent many late nights perfecting your CV, perfecting every blog post that you had as well as preparing a video to state why you were the perfect fit for the role.
You spent the better half of your exam period, checking your emails for a response and upon seeing the ad receive almost over 2000 applicants, you were almost sure that you didn't get it. You were a bit upset at first, it was definitely your dream to get in but Chris called you, gave you a pep talk about how they didn't know what they were missing and it made you feel a lot better.
However, when you were lazing around on call with Chris, animatedly talking about the plans you guys had when he came back for your birthday, a 'ping' was heard from your laptop. You lazily walked over to it, clicking as you hummed, listening to Chris talk about how you guys should go get frozen yogurt when he was back. You giggled and was about to agree until your eyes landed on the new email that just came in titled 'Congratulations' which was from the magazine company in-charge of Gourmet Traveler.
Your eyes widened as you open the email, screening through the email before letting out a squeal, startling your brother who dropped the phone on his face with a 'thud'. You heard him let out a muffled curse as he was about to start scolding you, but you immediately turned the camera around to the acceptance letter making his own eyes widen as you both started shouting together.
Which lead you to this moment.
"It's so fun!" You squealed out to your brother, squeezing his hand tighter. "They brought me along to interview one of the new home bakers the other day and let me put in some of the questions that I thought we should ask!" You say, recalling the look on your managers face when he had approved the ideas. "I also got to write my own mini-section for the article coming out this weekend!"
Your brothers eyes widen at that. "Red!" He shouts out, "That's amazing!" He nudges you with his shoulder. "I guess we know what we're doing this weekend!" His eyes sparkle, full of pride, as he pulls his hand away from yours, starting to count.
"We need one for each of us as a keepsake, we also need to buy one extra for us to keep in a frame." He rambles, listing it off on his fingers. "OH! I'm sure Dad, Mum, Hannah and Lucas would also like a copy! And the guys! They were so happy when you got the internship so that's," His eyes widen, "Fourteen copies!"
You laugh, choking slightly on your own saliva from laughing so hard as you shove your brother.
"You're such a dumbass!"
Chris lets out an exasperated gasp. "How can you say that?!" He shoves you back, "Is it wrong for me to be proud of my baby sister?"
You roll your eyes, the smile never leaving your face as he grabs your hand again with a sincere smile on his face.
"Seriously though," He starts, looking at you, his eyes shining with pride, "I'm really proud of you Red."
Your heart swells, squeezing your joint hands before the lights turn off making you jump with a small yelp. You turn towards the kitchen to see your parents bring out a cake with the candles already lit, slowly singing happy birthday. A smile made its way onto your way as you glanced at the clock.
23:58pm
You took a deep breath as your parents put the cake in front of you, your brother's hand anchoring you as he gave it yet another squeeze before letting go for you to have your moment. Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at the beautiful homemade red velvet cake in front of you that makes a smile appear on your face.
“Make a wish darling!” Your mum exclaimed, snapping you out of your thoughts as she clapped her hands together.
You glanced at Chris who had a reassuring smile on his face before glancing back at the cake and closing your eyes, briefly making a wish before you opened them and blew out the candle right as your house was filled with a ding.
Your parents looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as you shifted nervously under their intense gazes.
“Do you feel anything Red?” Your dad asked, shifting excitedly on his feet. You nervously checked the underside of your arms before moving to your legs and shaking your head.
“I don’t–”
As soon as you said that, your face started burning up as a sharp burning numbing sensation hit your tongue making you gasp out. You immediately shot out of your seat as the sensation took over your tongue, making tears start to well up in your eyes. Chris was out of his seat, eyeing you, his face filled with shock.
“Red?! Are you alright?”
You wanted to scream at him, saying that of course you weren’t alright but sarcasm was definitely not the right approach while you were midway dying from the burning sensation.
“Water!” You managed to choke out, urgently gesturing to the water jar sitting on the family table. Chris immediately grabbed a glass, pouring like his life dependent on it, turning around to pass it to you. You grabbed it out of his hand and inhaled the water, feeling the burning sensation start to subside with each gulp you took.
Chris had given you a few more glasses before the spice fully subsided as you collapsed back on the couch, your eyes slightly rimmed with tears and slightly red. You watched your parents nervously glance at each other as Chris passed you a tissue paper to wipe the stray tears from your eyes.
Your tongue felt numb from the spice that had overtaken all your senses as a sourish aftertaste soon followed making you smack your lips as your face scrunched up slightly in disgust of the aftertaste. Swirling more water in your mouth in hopes to get rid of the taste, you turned to your parents.
“What was that?” you croaked out to them as they were shifting slightly uncomfortably from where they’re standing.
Your mum cleared her throat. “Well, sweetheart,” she started, as you watched her brain slowly piece the words together, “it seems like you have a taste soul mark.”
You froze, your hand stopping from dabbing at your eyes, looking between your parents for confirmation as to whether either of them were joking. When all you were met with was seriousness, you felt a heavy sigh flow up from your throat as you frowned.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me–”
“LANGUAGE!”
THE RED OF RED VELVET OF 2016
Jun felt himself collapse on the floor as soon as the video stopped recording. Catching his breath, he jumped slightly, hearing a soft 'thud' beside him before chuckling to himself at the view of his starfished team leader.
Minghao walked over to the two and sits down opposite Jun, an unamused expression on his face as he shakes his head at Soonyoung's antics.
"One of these days," Minghao muttered out, "You're going to hurt yourself really bad by collapsing like that." Soonyoung, who was still starfished on the floor, lets out a grunt in acknowledgment at Minghao's words but makes no further comment.
Chan who was the only one left standing after the intense practice, ran a hand through his hair as he kept slowly rehearsing the moves, slowly correcting himself, little by little. Jun watched in adoration, as their maknae continued to nail the choreography with ease.
Being in the performance unit was definitely something he was meant for but it didn't make the extra dance practices or intense choreography easier to get the hang off. Sometimes he was envious of the other two units, the hiphop unit just needed to look like they were having fun on stage and the vocal unit just needed to look ethereal. Them, on the other hand, needed their choreography to look flawless which meant extra practices and extra dances to remember.
Chan continued to hum the beat of 'Highlight' before walking over to his three hyungs, plopping down in between Jun and Minghao. "I think we're almost ready for the music video recording." Chan chirped up making Jun smile, despite still catching his breath. He was always envious at how much energy their maknae had, even after all those extra steps, Chan looked like he wasn't even panting.
Soonyoung sat up slowly. "Yeah and then tomorrow we need to figure out how to do the 13 member version for the concerts."
Minghao lets out a low groan. "You couldn't wait to drop that news tomorrow or something?" Minghao chastises lightly. "Couldn't just let us have the peace for the night?"
Soonyoung clicks his tongue. "As performance leader," he gives Minghao a cheeky grin, "I cannot."
Minghao rolls his eyes at the older boys antics. "Can't believe you're older than me." He muttered. Soonyoung lets out a scoff, about to retort when Minghao notices Soonyoung's eyes sparkle a little before changing, the dark brown slowly turning to a maroon red.
"Your eyes changed colour again." Minghao nonchalantly points out, gesturing towards his eyes making Soonyoung's eyes widen, any remarks dying, as he whips out his phone to document the change.
"Are you any closer to figuring out what it means?" Chan asked Soonyoung, who was still typing ferociously onto his phone. Soonyoung absentmindedly shook his head.
"No," He muttered out, still engrossed as he scrolled through his notes. "It's driving me insane! Like I can't believe I have a soulmate and I can't even communicate with them like Minghao can, all I have is the darned colour changes. Its almost as if the universe just doesn't want me to find—"
Minghao slaps the back of Soonyoung's head before he has the chance to continue making the older boy yelp in pain. Soonyoung shoots glares at Minghao, "What the hell was that for—"
Minghao raises a finger, silencing the boy before gesturing to Jun who was sitting there, quietly with his legs crossed. Soonyoung's eyes widen in understanding, gnawing on his bottom lip. "Sorry Jun." he mutters out making Jun glance up and shake his head slowly, a weak smile on his face.
"It's alright." Jun said softly, shrugging a little, "I'm used to it."
Even after two years, Jun was still the only one unsure if he had a soulmate or not, everyone else had gotten something on their 18th birthday except Chan whose birthday hasn't passed yet and was just a few months away. With every new soul mark that the group celebrated, Jun's hopes dimmed more and more.
After being told to not give up two years ago, Jun had done everything in his power to figure out what soul mark he had. He went onto his ipad in between practice sessions, just to read up on published articles of late blooming soul marks. He picked up some books in the library about the different types of soul marks that have been documented so far, each more unique than the last. Hell, he even tried to force the soul mark to happen by pinching himself after seeing Seungcheol's soul mark or even doodling on himself after seeing Seungkwan's but drew blanks everytime.
Maybe he was really unlucky and he really was going to be the only one without a soulmate.
He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the three younger boys share a glance, a silent conversation between them before shooting to their feet, shocking him.
"I think we're done with practice today." Soonyoung states, stretching a little before holding out a hand for Jun to grab. Jun stares at the hand, side glancing to the two other younger boys before looking at Soonyoung, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't we have another hour of practice today?"
It was true, the staff had booked the the practice room for eight hours today and left them around two hours ago, trusting that they would practice till the time was up. Soonyoung was normally the one in charge of the timings, being the performance leader and never let the group end earlier for any circumstance even with Chan's constant whines of wanting to end.
Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. "Well," he clicked his tongue, "I was being nice and offering but if you're that concerned," his eyes twinkled with a mischievous sparkle, "You can stay and practice by yourself."
Soonyoung starts to slowly pull his hand back, making Jun's eyes widen, grabbing onto it and pulling himself up. "No thanks." Jun chirped out making Soonyoung roll his eyes, a small smirk making it's way onto his face.
"C'mon." Soonyoung said, putting an arm around Jun's shoulder before glancing at his other two members, a smile on his face. "Let's go to get some food."
The four of them walked out of the practice room, up the stairs and onto the street which was buzzing with ambient noises. They talked about everything under the sun, random little tidbits and inside jokes filled the moments until they stopped at a familiar neon signage.
Jun blinked, not even realizing they had ended up outside his favourite Chinese restaurant. His eyebrows furrow before looking towards the other three boys, one eyebrow raising in question. "I thought you guys wanted to try the new Korean jeon place that was having that one for one deal?"
Soonyoung simply shrugged. "We changed our mind." Jun stared at him in disbelief, clearly not believing his answer but was pushed through the doors of the restaurant by the tiger boy before he could press even further.
"Good evening— Oh! It's you four!" The owner of the restaurant greets them, with a warm smile on her face as the four boys bowed, mirroring her expression. "Where are the other noisy nine that are normally with you all?" She teased, as the boys took their seats at one of the tables near the window of the store.
"Are the four of us not enough aunty?" Soonyoung whines out, making the old lady laugh as Minghao and Chan roll their eyes at their older hyung while Jun just shakes his head, a little embarrassed at their leader's antics. She pat Soonyoung's head. "Enough, enough," She says, soothing the boy. "It's just livelier when all thirteen of you are around."
Mrs Yang, as she told the boys to call her, was a lady in her sixties who had opened this restaurant after she moved from China twenty-odd years ago. Mrs Yang had opened the restaurant with her husband after they had been unable to find jobs in the corporate world and opted for their restaurants to be a 24/7 shop for those who just needed the comfort of a hot bowl of food.
The boys has stumbled across the restaurant before their debut, looking for food at the weird hours of the morning. She had welcomed them with open arms and for Jun, this place was like home far away from home.
Jun enjoyed the food so much that he found himself coming back to the restaurant whenever he felt down or just needed a hot meal that wasn't out of his budget. When Mrs Yang had learned about their debut, she purposely made a special menu for them that cost less than what other patrons paid.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan tried to argue with her about it but she was stubborn to say the least as she threatened them with the idea of lowering the prices for the thirteen of them even more.
She rounded the table to Jun and Minghao's side. "How are my two favourite boys?" She asked, in their native tongue making the two look at each other, a knowing smile on their faces.
"We're good." Minghao replied in Chinese before gesturing towards Jun, "Jun here really wanted to eat your food today."
Mrs Yang looks right at Jun, meeting his gaze before analyzing him.
"Thinking about her?"
Jun gave her a weak smile before looking back at the menu, analyzing it as if he didn't already know what he wanted. The night of his eighteenth Birthday, Jun sneaked out of the shared dormitories, needing to clear his head from the day. Having had practice the whole day, Jun didn't really have time to dwell on the fact of his soulmate and threw himself into the practice, making sure his moves were perfect and didn't really rest the whole day.
The other boys were worried, for sure. He saw the small glances that they gave each other when he was the first back on his feet after the breaks, they saw how he sweat a little harder than the rest of them and how he was unusually quiet, not a single mischievous comment coming out from his mouth.
Minghao and Seungkwan didn't leave his side for majority of the day and when Minghao had appeared in their shared room in his sleepwear with Chan no where to be seen, he knew that the members had a small meeting about him.
That's how he found himself back at the restaurant, drinking a hearty bowl of beef noodle soup, sitting opposite Mrs Yang. The restaurant was always quiet in the dead of the night. Mr Yang working hard to prepare the next set of ingredients needed for the wave of 5am customers who typically worked the night shift while Mrs Yang minced chili for their special chili oil, cut spring onions for garnish or plucked the heads off of bean sprouts.
Tonight she was doing the latter, slowly making her way through mountain in the left while she disposed the headless ones on her right, the heads throwing them into the plastic bag beside her.
She hummed along to an old Chinese song that flowed through the speakers of the restaurant that Jun recognized. It was one of his grandmother's favourite songs that used to play in the house when he was younger. It was at times like this that he missed his home in China and the food only amplified it more. He swallowed his emotions as he downed the last bit of his noodles, placing the bowl on the table with a soft 'thud' alerting Mrs Yang.
She gave him an easy smile, peering into the bowl, "Wahh," She said, the smile on her face growing bigger, "I guess we don't need to run the bowl through the dishwasher with how clean your bowl is."
Jun let out a weak laugh at the joke, sparing her a glance before going back to stare outside the window as he watched one or two cars whizz by.
Mrs Yang's eyes soften watching the forlorn boy who looked like he was close to breaking. She looked towards the kitchen where Mr Yang was standing, glancing between the two of them with a curious look twinkling in his eyes before gesturing towards her making her nod.
Jun was brought out of his thoughts when Mr Yang placed a small serving of a dessert that Jun wasn't expecting to see was placed in-front of him. His eyes widened, before looking between the older couple, his jaw dropping, "Nian Gao?" Jun sputtered out, making the older couple's eyes twinkle with delight.
"Happy birthday my dear boy." Mrs Yang said softly as Mr Yang placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Didn't think we would forget your birthday did you?" Mr Yang asked, his eyebrow raising, "We're old but not that old." Jun immediately shook his head, panicking slightly making Mr Yang let out a hearty laugh as Mrs Yang tsked at her husband, hitting his hand lightly.
"Don't disturb the poor boy like this on his birthday." She chastised her husband but there was no malice in her tone making Mr Yang laugh harder. Jun stared at the couple, longing in his veins, smiling a little sadly at the sight before looking down at the sticky cake in front of him.
The couple shared another glance at Jun's silence before Mrs Yang reached over the table and grabbed his hand that was resting there. "Want to talk about it?" She asked softly.
Jun swallowed. "I don't think I have a soulmate." He lowly admitted, his heart clenching slightly. The older couple were quiet for a beat at the confession before Mrs Yang's eyes hardened slightly on the boy. "That's nonsense."
Jun blinked at her stern words, "Everyone has a soulmate boy." She said, sternly locking eyes with Jun, "The minute you stop believing in that is when your soul doesn't long for them anymore or it feels complete without them next to you."
She raised an eyebrow at the young boy, "Do you truly feel like that?"
The question knocks the wind out of Jun's lung as he finds himself staring at her, his mouth open and closing like a fish before he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. He really thought about it, her words striking him hard.
"I don't," He manages to answer making Mrs Yang nod her head. "Then she's still out there, longing for you as well."
It's crazy how those few simple words made Jun's doubts all disappear but she was right. If he didn't have a soulmate, he wouldn't feel this upset about not having something he didn't have in the first place. He wouldn't feel like something is missing from his life.
Mrs Yang gave Jun's hand a small squeeze. "Blow your candle already my dear boy." She said, pulling her hand back, "Make a good wish."
Jun smiled at the older couple who stared at him, their eyes filled with adoration and pride before he made a wish. He wished upon every single star in the sky that he would find her.
That's how they ended up here, the Yangs' had been helping Jun out by giving him hope and also checking with all their soulmate doctors that they knew. They always had something new to give Jun but with the search getting harder and harder each day, they were coming up short during his last recent visits.
"I always am." He answered, a reply to Mrs Yang's question, "I don't think she ever leaves my mind."
Mrs Yang gives the boy a sympathetic smile, reaching down and giving his hand a squeeze, "Good, as long as you don't give up on her." She says, her words a little fierce before turning to the younger Chinese boy.
"And you?" Mrs Yang asked. "Has she communicated with you?"
Minghao gave her a small smile. "We're trying," He mutters back softly, tugging at his sleeves to show the dark words of his soulmates thoughts on his arm, "Hard with the time difference and the language barrier but Shua hyung and Vernon have been helping me."
Mrs Yang gives the boy a toothy smile at that. "Good boys." She says, her smile widening at the thought of Joshua and Vernon. "I'll pack some extra food later for you to bring to them." The two boys give her an appreciative smile and thank her in Chinese before Mrs Yang clapped her hands.
"Right!" She said in Korean, getting the rest of the boys attentions, "I got a treat for you boys tonight." She gave them a wink with a promise to be right back before disappearing behind into the kitchen where she talked in fast Cantonese with her husband.
The four boys glance at each other before laughing to themselves as the couple loudly talked to each other. Not even twenty minutes later, the table was filled with various different dishes that the older couple whipped up making the four boys salivate.
"Dig in!" Mrs Yang said, clapping her hands as the boys eagerly began to dig in. "Woah!" Soonyoung gasped out after taking a spoonful of soup, "This is so good." Mrs Yang nods, her smile filled with pride, "It's Mala Tang," She said proudly, "Mr Yang and I thought it would be good for us to add it to the menu since Minghao and Jun mentioned liking it."
Jun took a sip of the soup and let out a sigh of contentment. "Really tastes like home Mrs Yang."
"I'm glad." She says, giving him a huge smile and patting his head gently.
They share stories with Mrs Yang about their recent practice and their upcoming concerts, Soonyoung sometimes getting out of his seat to dance the dance for her making Minghao shake his head at his antics as Jun and Chan laughed at their leader.
She clapped her hands as Soonyoung finished his one man show of 'Highlight'. "Bravo!" She cheered as Soonyoung took an exaggerated bow making Chan laugh as Minghao sighed and Jun smiled in between bites.
He quietly listened to Soonyoung animatedly tell Mrs Yang about his ideas for the thirteen member version of the song, placing more chili oil in his mala tang spoon as the clock struck 10pm. He took a sip of the soup, loving the spice and numbness on his tongue before it totally dulled in record speed, replaced by the strong taste of water.
Jun jumped in surprise, confusion flooding his features as he stared at the spoon as if it had offended him, which it did. "What in the world?" Jun wondered aloud before placing more chili oil into the soup before taking another spoonful of the soup and put it into his mouth.
Minghao who heard his murmurs, glanced at him, his eyebrow raised. Jun felt the numbness and the spice hit his tongue again before it was once again doused with taste of water.
"Not spicy enough for you?" Minghao asks teasingly as Jun frowned at the bowl getting the attention of the other three people at the table.
"No," Jun started, confusion still etched into his features, "I keep tasting water for some reason after drinking the soup."
Minghao's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What?" He asked. Jun shrugged, "The mala taste of numbness and spice is there for like a second but then it gets overwhelmed by a really strong water taste." Jun said, taking another sip of the soup. He scrunches his nose in confusion as he tasted more water, the more he clicked his tongue.
Soonyoung at the other end of the table made a face before his eyes widened in realization as he turned to Mrs Yang who smiled as the gears turned in her head at Jun's words.
"Look's like your soulmate has finally found you." Mrs Yang said, making Jun tilt his head in confusion before it hit him. Chan and Minghao let out gasps as it hit them as well. Jun felt his heart thunder in his ribcage as his eyes widened.
Soonyoung rushed out of his seat, rounded the table and hugged the boy, squeezing him tightly as Minghao reached over to grab Jun's hand, "I told you so." Minghao said, in their native tongue, squeezing the boys hand.
Jun felt tears swarm his vision as his taste buds came to life, tasting the sweet taste of cream cheese frosting and chocolate cake on his tongue.
Red Velvet Cake.
He had finally found you.
10 YEARS LATER
"Fuck." You curse under your breath, running through the city in your heels was surely not the way you wanted to start your morning. It wasn't like you meant to sleep through all three of your alarms, you had stayed up to the early hours of the morning, working on your newest article for the magazine.
After you had graduated from high school, your old manager during your internship had called and offered you a position with the magazine after loving your work so much. Hence, you were known as the culinary and food expert at the Gourmet Magazine.
"Hey Mina," You greet as you brisk walked through the company glass doors. Mina, the receptionist looks up from her computer before giving you a bright smile, greeting you with your name as you gave her your card to scan you in.
"Long night?" She asks, glancing at the time on her computer making you give her a weak smile as you shrug, "You know how it is when we're wrapping up articles." You answered tiredly, making her nod her head sympathetically.
Mina had been the receptionist at the company since you started working full-time here. She was always around and she somehow always had the brightest smile on her face. She was also one of your closer friends in the company, always having an extra coffee for you whenever you were working late and always brought you donuts or other forms or sweet treats. She was quite literally your life saver.
"I hope the article goes well," She says softly, passing you back your card as you give her a warm smile, thanking her before she open the gantries for you. Your heels click on the marble floor as you press the button for the elevator, taking it up to the fifth floor.
You briskly walked in, dumping your stuff on top of the table of your cubicle before sinking into your chair, letting out a sigh of relief as you check the clock. Five minutes to spare, you roll your shoulders, finally catching your breath before a head peaked over your cubicle divider.
"There you are," Nari teased making you roll your eyes, a smile on your face as you came face to face with your cubicle sharer. "Was wondering if you were going to make it for the special meeting today or not."
You huff out a scoff, "And risk getting my ass handed to me by Minho?" You mutter back, shaking your head, "He would kill me if I missed the meeting."
Nari rolled her eyes at that, "As if." She scoffed, "You're literally his favourite journalist in the field. I think he would rather choke on his own guts before chewing yours out." You scrunched your nose at the image, "Gross." You said making Nari laugh.
Nari had joined the same time as you as a fellow intern for the food magazine. The two of you had solid portfolios and because management couldn't choose, they decided to offer both of you the spots. You and Nari became friends pretty quickly even though she was a year older than you were and the two of you chatted about everything under the sun. After the internship was over and the two of you finished high school, you were both on boarded together and have been working as cubicle besties since then.
Your phone buzzed making you glance at it before fishing through your bag for your laptop and the hard copy of your article and column for the week. "C'mon, you menace." You called to Nari, "Let's go see what Park wants before he hands us something bad for being late."
Nari appears beside you in record speed with her own laptop and hard copies in her hand, "He loves us too much to actually do that." She says, a mischievous grin on her face making you roll your eyes. "Well, let's not actually give him a reason then."
The two of you continue to chat as you made your way into the meeting room, where your magazine manager, Park Minho already stood. Beside him, sat his personal assistant, Lina who had a frown on her face as she was typing up a storm on her laptop in front of her, her fingers flying across the keyboard at record speed.
As you and Nari pushed open the glass door, Minho looked up before grinning at the sight of you two, "There are my two favourite food journalists!" He announced, doing an exaggerated arm opening movement making both you and Nari roll your eyes at his antics.
"Don't let Terry hear you say that," Nari teased, as she took a seat at his other side. You flashed Lina a grin who flashes you one back, tiredness etched into it before she went back to typing on her computer.
"Well, if Terry's articles and food columns actually hit 1500 views over the weekend," Minho began, eyeing the two of you with an easy grin on his face, "He shall get that spot then."
Your eyes widened as you looked at Nari who had a similar look on her face before looking back at your manager, "We hit 1.5k views?" You asked in disbelief making Minho nod as he flashed you both grins of pride, "Yep! Just over the weekend!"
You and Nari high-five each other, the smiles on your faces not dimming, "Was this what this meeting is for?" Nari asked, her eyes still sparkling making Minho shake his head, "Firstly," He pointed towards the papers on yours and Nari's computers, "I need to collect your columns and articles for this week."
The two of you share a look before passing them to him, he flipped through them briefly before passing them to Lina who tucks them into her file beside her. "Secondly," He starts before gesturing towards the projector screen, "The higher ups have been super impressed with the work that you both have been putting in and they recently wanted to offer you an assignment that is specially catered to the two of you."
You and Nari glanced at each other before looking back at the screen as Minho changed it to the next slide. Upon reading the words etched onto the slide, you felt your blood run cold.
"Food for the Soul: A Soulmate Assignment?" Nari asked, her tone ecstatic as you just stared at it with your mouth open. Minho nodded his head eagerly, seeming not to notice both your expressions as he continued, "Since both of you have a soul mark related to food cravings or taste, the higher ups thought that they wanted to create a series where you look for your soulmates through the foods and see if you can find them."
He flips to the next slide, "Of course, the trip is also fully-paid, you just need to inform Lina and I of the location you think your soulmate is in and we will get you the accommodations as well as give you money for you to spend to write the series."
Minho finally turns to you and Nari who have different expressions etched onto your faces as you just stared blankly at the projection screens, "Of course, we have to work out a timeline, what your series will actually entail but this is the basics of the assignment." Minho finishes, with a satisfied grin on his face as he takes a seat back into the rolling chair of the meeting room.
"Any questions?" He asks making Nari shake her head with a huge smile on her face before he turned to look at you who still stared at the board, a million thoughts running through your head. You felt faint.
After the incident of your eighteenth birthday, you held a huge dislike for your soulmate and his taste buds. You were aware that you and your soulmate definitely didn't live in the same country with the amount of times you would wake up with the taste of Americano on your taste buds before you even had your first cup of coffee and the amount of times you would eat your late dinner with the taste of toothpaste on your tongue.
At the start of your journalism journey, it was difficult to say the least. For every single assignment, you had to work around the times when your soul mate was having his meals so as to not have it clash with the food that you were writing your reviews for.
You had learned that the hard way when you were tasting the cakes of the newest rising bakery in town, only to almost spit out the delicious creamy cakes when you taste the sour and spicy taste of some fish dish that your soul mate was having. Safe to say, you worked your absolute hardest to give the bakery the best review it could ever get and business was still booming to this day.
You had tried to make a schedule for when your soul mate eats his meals and he was consistent for a while but within a month or so, that schedule will change sporadically throughout the month leaving you to just shred the schedule and go "fuck it", to try to find other workarounds. Which of course, there weren't.
This lead to your certain distaste for him and his taste buds as he never really had anything sweet and opted for every single spicy or sour food he could find his hands on. However, as much as you didn't like him or the idea of him, he was… sweet sometimes.
He must've gotten a schedule down for you, because unlike his outrageously sporadic schedule, you kept your meal times to a certain range in the day and it only strayed sometimes when you were in the middle of assignments or on work trips.
Because for the week during your periods, he ate milder stuff and kept to a proper schedule like it was clockwork. More sweet stuff than spicy or sour and sometimes he would sneak a chocolate during the middle of your day which made you smile as you taste the creaminess on your tongue.
You would be nice as well and eat something spicy during the week after, during one of your meals as a quiet 'thank you' to which he always replied with either another sweet chocolate or something sweeter. Still, that didn't mean you were okay with having a soul mate, he was normally a blip in your imagination until your tongue tastes something unfamiliar which makes you frown and curse him out even more.
Now you were expected to make a series to force yourself to find him? The biggest assignment of your career where you get to travel for 3 to 4 months and it was all to find someone that you didn't want in the first place.
You gnawed on your bottom lip before feeling Nari nudge you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You eyed her before realizing that all three of the people in the room were staring at you. You cleared your throat before straightening up, flashing Minho a weak smile.
"Sorry, spaced out there for a moment." you say, looking between him and Lina, "What did I miss?"
Minho gives you a curious look before clearing his throat as he gestures back to the presentation, "Well, I was just saying that you and Nari have a week, you can brainstorm with each other or separately and decide what your game plan is and where you think your soulmate is."
He peers at his watch before tapping it with his fingers, "Right, Lina and I need to run for a meeting with the Chief." He said, standing before pushing his chair and shooting the two of you a bright white smile, buttoning his suit jacket. "If you two have any questions, just shoot them into my inbox!" He says cheerily as Lina stood by his side, her signature frown still on her face as she gripped her laptop and files like they were her lifeline, which they probably were.
With that, he gives the two of you a wave before stepping out of the room. Nari turns to you as soon, her excitement radiating off of her. "I can't believe this!" She all but squeals as she grips your hands in hers, her eyes twinkling.
"A paid assignment to go find our soulmate!" She said, her tone dreamy as her eyes glazed over a little, "It's almost like a dream come through!"
You manage to give her a weak smile. "Yeah." You mutter out, your eyes moving downwards to stare at the scratch marks on the wooden table as the faint taste of kimchi fills your tastebuds.
"A dream come true, alright…"
You stare at blinking cursor on your screen, the blank document reflecting the opposite of every single thought in your brain before you groan out in frustration. You push your laptop off of your lap and onto your bed as you sink further into the pillows.
It had been almost a week since you had your meeting with Minho and you were nowhere close to drafting up that working plan for him about finding your soulmate. You felt like a zombie the past few days, sure you were present in the meetings, there for your discussion sessions with Nari but it felt as if you were on autopilot for all of them.
You half-heatedly listened to Nari as she explained to you her idea. Nari, like you, had a food related soul mark but for her, it was related to what her soul mate was craving at different times. They didn't taste each others food, but whatever her soul mate was craving, Nari found herself craving the same thing. It didn't matter who craved it first, the two of them ended up having the same meals anyway.
If you had gotten that soulmark instead, you felt that it wouldn't make a difference because he would've craved an immense amount of spicy and sour food and you weren't sure that your tastebuds could handle more than one meal of spice or sour foods a day. It just wasn't in your system to have it.
As she animatedly told you her plan, how she thought that her soulmate was situated in Italy, he always had a certain craving for different Italian foods such as pizzas and pastas and how he seemed to also crave a certain Italian wine.
You envied her a little bit, she had a plan and she wanted to meet the man that was part of her soul. You on the other hand, felt a pit in your stomach whenever you felt someone ask you about your soulmate.
You had been on a few dates here and there, with people who hadn't found their soulmate yet either but nothing ever truly stuck. You were committed to your work and you definitely didn't stand in the other persons way when the date eventually went eastward when they found their respective one.
"Don't worry," They used to assure you as they paid for your drink. "I'm sure he's out there looking for you as well."
You weren't sure about that. As much as you haven't been trying to find your mysterious man, he also wasn't making it easy to pinpoint where he was on the map. Your parents had given you a journal for your birthday, something cheesy with stars on it and titled it 'Your Soulmate Journal' for you to document everything related to your soulmate for you to find them. They had also given one to your brother for him to document the certain feelings he felt when he touched the mark or whether it glowed brighter and in which direction.
You used it to document the food he ate instead. Sometimes if you wanted to wing the assignments, you used the food journal of his tastes to get ahead, to get the variety that you normally wouldn't eat yourself. It worked for a while but at the end of the day, you felt guilty for your soulmate. You didn't want anything to do with him but you were using him to get ahead, so you stopped and just documented what he ate, trying to find a pattern, just to satisfy your parents every time you saw them for Sunday dinners, just to say you were trying.
You glance at the journal on your desk and sighed, getting up to take it before flipping through it.
18/9/2017
Loser boy ate the spicy numbing food again. Been talking to Minho and Nari about what the foods were to try and get more info. Admittedly, maybe he has taken the hint from the amount of water I keep dousing my tongue in after he eats the food, but he's been getting a milder one.
Either that or I'm getting better at eating his god-awful spicy food.
25/12/2018
Found out what the hell that spicy food is. Nari came into work and brought an extra portion of lunch for me today. It smelled good but as soon as I tasted it, it felt like my tastebuds were tasting him. She told me its something called Mala tang, something she had discovered in the city and it was to die for.
I agree with her on that considering I nearly died from it during my birthday but I didn't mention that to her. I thanked her as my stomach did flip flops as I ate quietly.
The food wasn't bad but considering my low spice tolerance, I definitely can't eat this everyday.
My question to my loser boy, why the hell do you?
You grimace as you recalled the last memory before flipping a few more pages.
10/6/2019
Is today his birthday?
It could be a coincidence but he had cake just now. Not that he hasn't had cake before. But it's always on this specific day. I flipped through the last three years of entries and I think it is.
He had three different kinds today… Chocolate, Vanilla and Strawberry, all filled with cream. It felt like he ate a lot more sweet stuff today than normal. Maybe he was trying to communicate with me?
18/10/2021
I fucking hate him.
I thought I had his schedule down, but I somehow woke up at 4am in the goddamn morning, because he decided to eat Mala Tang again. He put extra spice this time though.
Is he doing it on purpose?
I would normally only taste mint now but I'm tasting so much food, its annoying.
I've tasted Mala Tang, some kind of sweet and sour pork and some kind of black pepper beef.
I fucking hate him.
I hate that he made me hungry at 4am in the morning.
29/6/2022
God, hes been eating at weird timings again. The last time it was like this, it lasted for a few months where I'd wake up with different food tastes in my mouth.
What does he work as?
A food taster? Some moonlighter? Why does his food schedule go haywire every few months?
The only conclusion I can come up with is that he travels a lot. There's no other explanation.
Unless he hates me which I can't blame him because I hate his tastebuds.
You flipped through it more until you came to the most recent one which was a tally.
Tallied results:
Korean food - 6890 times
Chinese food - 3568 times
You internally groan, just looking at the first two. You weren't stupid. He was definitely in Korea from the amount of times he had eaten Korean food over the last few years that you had documented. But he seemed to take a liking to Chinese food, considering that he eats Mala at least twice a week from your count.
You glance towards the framed polaroid on your desk and frown a little more. The picture of you and your older brother Chris, stares back at you making you sigh. You had an inkling for years that your soulmate was in Korea, which was why you never really traveled there with a fear of running into him on the street, breaking this little bubble that you were keen to keep.
You knew that Chris was disappointed. Your parents traveled there to visit him as least once every quarter with your siblings but you never went. It started with small excuses at first, like you can't take leave from work, you needed to finish the article, you were traveling for a work trip, et cetera.
Chris also hummed in understanding but you could see the look in his eyes that he knew you were lying to him and that you were keeping something from him. He just didn't press you enough to figure out what you were hiding from him.
You stared at the polaroid for a beat longer before sighing and pulling out your phone. Checking the time and doing the mental math, you went into facetime and hovered over the call button on his contact. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth before deciding 'fuck it' and hitting the button.
His ringtone rang once. Twice. Thrice.
As you started to second guess yourself and hovered over the disconnect button, the ringing stopped and changed to 'connecting'.
Your eyes widened but before you could calm your nerves, Chris appeared on your screen with makeup on with a concerned expression on his face.
"Hi-" You managed to say before Chris interrupted you.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, urgently making you stop and frown, "What—"
"Is something the matter?" He asked again, before rattling even more. "Did something happen with mum and dad? Wait- no then you would've called an ambulance first. Is it Hannah? Or Lucas?"
"Chris—"
His eyes widened, "Oh my god! Did you just get fired?? Is that why you look so worried?? Do you need money??"
"Chris." You called, getting a little more frustrated but he payed you no mind as he continues on rambling.
"Well, we didn't plan for this but we can go to Plan Contingency B! Where you move to Korea with me and then we can figure out the rest of the stuff. Let me call my manager and then we can have you situated her—"
"Christopher Chahn Bahng!" You exclaimed, making him pause at the mention of his full government name, looking at you as his face pales even more.
"Oh god! Is it worst than that?" You wanted to slam your head into the wall at your brothers expression.
Before he could launch into another spiral of rants, you spit out, "Chris, I need to talk to you about my soulmate."
At that, he freezes, his jaw dropping open.
You never talk about your soulmate willingly since your eighteenth birthday. Your parents or siblings always had to pull it out of you whenever you met up with them for dinners or on calls. You never brought it up first, considering it to just be a small blip in your life, much to your parent's disdain.
You stayed silent, letting the initial shock sink in as well as letting his brain process.
"Chris?" You call out softly after counting to hundred in your head, "Can I continue?"
Chris closes his mouth, taking a swallow before nodding, "Er, yeah." He clears his throat as he sat up straighter, "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that."
"Neither did I when you started your full rant about contingency plans." You quipped back making a small flush appear on his cheeks, "When you call me in the middle of the night after my concert —which you normally never do, a brother can worry."
Your eyes widen at that, "Oh shit!" You mutter out. He shakes his head and holds up his free hand before you could even begin to apologize, "You can apologize by telling me what's got you awake at 1am in the morning when you have work tomorrow."
You took a deep breath before you told him about everything, the assignment, how you thought your soulmate was in Korea and how conflicted you were about everything. Chris just listened, never interrupting you as he shuffled around his hotel room, dressing down for the night after the concert. The only times he spoke was to ask a few questions here and there, just to clarify and piece the story together better.
"So," You breathe out, finally catching him up on everything, "What do you think?"
Chris was quiet for a moment, his makeup now fully removed as he sunk lower into his bed, "Is that why you haven't wanted to visit me the last few years?" He asks, softly. Your heart drops at the question before you give a small nod, "I knew the chances of me bumping into him were small but," You shook your head, "I just didn't know if I wanted to meet him yet." You hesitate a little before admitting, "Or if I was even ready to meet him."
Silence enveloped the room as the two of you digested everything that you had talked about before Chris sighs over the phone and runs a hand through his hair.
"I understand." He finally says, giving you a small smile and a shrug, "It was your anti-soulmate defense system talking," he says, a slight tease in his tone before it drops, "But this might be a good thing you know?" He says gently, "You were going to have to face him eventually and meeting him might give you a better piece of mind Red. You need to give him a chance."
You nod, rubbing your eyes, "I know," you mutter out, "I just didn't think it was going to happen so soon."
Chris nodded, empathetically, "I know Red," he whispers out, "But running away from him isn't going to work forever. I think this might be the universes way of telling you to face your fears."
You heave out a sigh before rolling over onto your back, your hand reaching out to grab your pillow before cuddling it, "I didn't think that my biggest assignment of my career was going to revolve around him Channie." You softly admit making him frown as he stared at you through the phone.
"I'm sorry Red."
You shake your head as you feign a brave smile, "It's okay." Your voice wavering slightly as you try to reassure him (and yourself). "I need to finish typing up my game plan."
Chris visibly hesitates and opens his mouth to say something but rethinks it and just nods.
You bid him goodnight and was about to hang up when he calls out to you.
"Red?"
You raise an eyebrow, "Yeah?"
He chews his bottom lip, "Would you like to stay with me when you come?" Your eyebrows furrow at the suggestion, "Is that even allowed?" You ask making him shrug, "I probably need to talk to my manager about it but Jeong-in probably won't mind if you bunk with me plus…" He trails off, hesitating slightly making you raise an eyebrow, "Plus?"
"It'll be nice to live in the same house again, that's all." Chris softly says making your heart clench slightly at the tone of his voice making you relent, "Alright." You relent, giving him a small smile. "Check with your manager and we can plan from there."
Saying that the next few weeks felt like a fever dream would be the understatement of the century.
If you weren't at home, you were at work pulling different all-nighters to wrap up the remaining projects, interviews and articles you were assigned to write before this assignment. If you weren't at work, you were at your parents house having family dinner where they would ask you countless amount of questions about your proposal which you always answered halfheartedly or with an awkward edge in your tone.
If you weren't at your parents house, you were at home, writing and rewriting your soulmate assignment proposal as if it was the last thing you will ever work on— which it might be if Minho kept asking you to rearrange or add more things to give your assignment a little more pizzaz.
As if it wasn't bad enough, the icing on the cake was that your soulmate's eating schedule had changed for the umpteenth time, which caused you to have zero appetite to eat upon tasting whatever spicy or sour poison your soulmate had chosen to have right before you woke up.
You know you shouldn't be blaming your soulmate who was none the wiser about the situation that you found yourself in but you couldn't help it. Not when suddenly, your whole life just revolved around him.
Your work, your family dinners, hell, even your sleep schedule dependent on him. So, by some act of pettiness (and sleep deprivation), you decided to fight back with an ample amount of sweet things whenever the first drop of spice or sourness hit your tastebuds.
You retaliated with that for a few days until it seemed that he picked up that you were angry with him which he answered by eating cleaner food, food that didn't linger in your mouth which made your heart clench slightly, feeling guilty that you had taken your angst and frustration out on him.
So when Nari's jaw drops open upon seeing what you were eating during a normal Tuesday lunch, a week before you fly off, you sort of feel the urge to crawl into a hole and rethink your lunch option.
"Are you eating Mala?" Nari asks, her eyes fixated on the instant noodles you were about to shove into your mouth. You stare at her, your mouth agape, the food about to enter as you peer down at your lunch option before looking back up at her and shrug, using the chopsticks to put the food into your mouth.
"Wanted to see what the hype was about." You state as nonchalantly as you could even though you could feel your cheeks burn, as if you were caught doing something forbidden. "Plus, he was nice during hell week for me."
Nari stares at you as if you had grown a second head, "Did your period come early?" She finally asks, making you choke on your food as you stare at her, absolutely flabbergasted by her comment.
"No—" You choke out, taking a few sips of water to calm yourself down before continuing, "You can't ask me that in the middle of work! What the hell Nari?"
"Well!" Nari sputters out dropping her lunch on the table as she takes her seat opposite you, "I have the right to question if you're acting strange!"
You roll your eyes at her dramatics, picking up one of the ingredients with your chopsticks, "You're crazy." You mutter out, eating the ingredient making her narrow her eyes at you. Knowing that she heard you, you return it with a teasing smile making her scoff at your antics.
"Are you ready for next week?" Nari asks, opening up her lunch, a stir-friend special from the Chinese place down the road. You swallow your food before nodding as you take a sip of your water, "Yeah, just wrapping up the article on 'Milan's Bistro' and the special column on my take of 'Charles Boyle's Pizza Ratings' for the Writer's Takes, which should be published this Friday if Minho gives me the green light." You say making Nari chuckle slightly at your column for the 'Writer's Take'.
"Did you start rating some pizza places out of twelve then?" She asks making you give her a mischievous smile, "Of course," You exaggerate, "What kind of connoisseur would I be if I didn't use his famous metric system as a fellow food enthusiast?"
Nari laughs at your words making you laugh along with her before the two of you converse about her columns and articles she has left.
"Did Minho finally agree with your proposal?" She asks you towards the end of your meal. You hummed out a 'yes' making her let out a sigh of relief, "I thought he would never accept it." She states, recycling her takeout container as you let out a tense exhale.
"I didn't think he would either." You mutter out, turning to the water cooler to refill your bottle. "Can't blame him though, this proposal was definitely the worst one I've written by far for all the assignments that I've done."
Nari frowns at your words, "Don't say that." She sternly says making you shrug, unapologetic, "It's fine Nari, really." You assure her as you plaster on a small smile, locking eyes with her concerned gaze, "My heart just isn't into this assignment as much as it should be and he knows that, which is why he was pushing me to give it my all."
"Still," She argues, her frown deepening making you shake your head, "It's something to not want to find your soulmate but being forced to find them for the sake of your job." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry that you have to go through that."
You felt guilt sink in a little at her words.
You had shared your experience with Nari around your fourth brainstorm session when she was concerned about why your document was still semi-blank. You had hesitated to share with her but after taking a glance at her concerned face, you told her everything.
Still, after everything that had been going on, you realized that you weren't as against meeting your soulmate as you thought you would be. How he was thoughtful when he shouldn't be. How he always knows when you were heading to bed by eating a little sweet treat before you brushed your teeth to give you just that little burst of serotonin. How he always knew when you were having a hard day by the amount of coffee that you drank and would pop a mint before you did because he noticed that you did that everytime you had finished your coffee, not liking the lingering taste in your mouth.
It almost felt like he was apologizing for all the times he knew you were pissed off at him because of his irregular eating schedule. However, you were still a woman of your word and having to dedicate your life to someone who was written for you in the stars, just didn't sit right with you.
So you just gave Nari a shrug. "It's alright." You mutter out, grabbing your water bottle before walking with her out of the break room. "Who knows," You start, a joking tone in your words as you try to break the tension, "Maybe he's right and I will believe in soulmates after this."
As soon as Chris whips the door open for you, you collapse into his open arms, not caring whether it came off as clingy as you breath in your brothers comforting scent.
He jumped at first but slowly relaxed into your arms as you feel him let out a chuckle as he wraps his arms around you. "Long flight?" Chris asks lowly making you nod into his chest.
"Forgot how long it takes to get to Seoul from Brisbane."
He chuckles at that as you pull away, making him step aside to let you step into his shared apartment. You walk in and sigh, feeling the days weight lift off your shoulders as your brother carries your luggage in, before shutting the door close with a soft thud.
You take in your surroundings noticing how homely the apartment felt despite not having a lot of memorabilia around the living room area.
"Nice place." You call out as Chris made his way back into the shared area, right after dropping off your luggage in his room.
He shrugs, almost nonchalantly before he walks into the kitchen. "We try," He says simply as he whips the fridge open. "Want something to eat?" He asks, looking straight at you making you nod.
He pulls some stuff out of the fridge as you slide into a chair at their kitchen island.
"Where's Jeong-in?" You ask, noticing that his door was open and his lights were off.
"He's at the recording studio tonight." Chris says, ripping a packet of ramyeon open. "He wanted to get a bit of recording done for the new album."
You let out a hum of acknowledgment before you unlock your phone, answering a few messages from your parents as well as Nari and Minho who asked if you had landed. You continue to scroll, opting to answer a few work emails that were not as pressing, leaving the pressing ones for tomorrow instead.
"Checking your new article statistics?" Chris asks as he places a bowl of freshly made raymeon in-front of you making your stomach growl. Your mouth waters slightly as you nod, taking the chopsticks from him after placing your phone facedown on the counter.
"The article has 859 views concurrently and counting." You chirp happily, taking a bite of the noodles and humming contentedly. Chris watches you with slight amusement on his face as he leans against the counter. "Wouldn't have expected anything less from you Red." He says, his voice full of pride making you give him a sweet smile before continuing to scarf down your food.
The two of you indulge in small talk as you finish your food, him talking a little about his new album and giving you a few sneak peeks.
Him asking how the flight was, while you complain about the amount of non-direct flights from Brisbane to Seoul.
"It's a little insane." You say, placing your chopsticks on the rim of the bowl before pushing it to the side. "You would think that there would be more direct flights."
He chuckles, picking up your dish to rinse it off before placing it into the dishwasher. "Now you know how I feel." He teases lightly, wiping his hands on the cloth next to the sink. "You can't tease me anymore for how dead I look after every flight when I come visit now."
You roll your eyes at his words. "Fine fine." You relent, slipping out of the chair as you grimace slightly, feeling icky from the amount of traveling you had done. "I really need a shower."
Chris nods. "Your towel is on the blow up mattress in the room." He starts as he gestures to your room for the next few months. "After you shower, we can discuss about your plans for the week and how to get there."
You give him a quick hum in acknowledgement before skipping towards his room to wash the airport smell off of you. Twenty minutes later, you hum one of his songs under your breath before drying your hair as Chris scrolls through the places you had listed for your soulmate assignment.
You shut the hair dryer off before collapsing on his bed as he continues to analyze your itinerary. "So," You begin, stretching a little, "How's the itinerary?"
Chris nods, giving you a smile. "It's good but that's a lot of places to get through this week." He gives you a small look. "Are you sure you're going to be able to get through all that food tomorrow?"
You let out a sigh, trying to collapse further into the pillows. "I'm only allowed to be here for three to four months Chris." You shake your head. "I just want to narrow the places first so that I will have an easier time with the article."
"But this looks like a food suicide mission Red." Chris lets out, pointing towards the places that was listed on your spreadsheet. "You wrote that you have to get through nine restaurants tomorrow and it's definitely not cheap."
"This coming from the ever loving leader of Stray Kids, a premier fourth-generation Kpop phenomenon." You mutter out making your brother scoff as he pushes the laptop off of his lap. "I'm serious Red, don't you want to space it out a little more or remove some of the items on your list at least?"
You shake your head. "Again, I can't do that Chris." You say, feeling a little more frustrated by the second, "The timeline is already unbelievably short. Not to mention I need to write an article that means something to my soulmate. Which means I need to find the guy, and go, 'Hey, I don't quite want a soulmate but for the sake of my job, I need you to spend the day with me so that you can tell me about your favourite food and then we can go our separate ways.'" You rant as your brother watches you with an unreadable look on his face.
"How am I meant to do all that in four months if I take my time?"
Chris watches you for a beat, analyzing you as you go through your spiral before sighing and pulling you into his embrace. "Sorry." He mutters out as he wraps you slightly tighter in his arms. "Forgot how much pressure you're under to do this."
You let yourself breath a little, feeling his words hit home as you relax into his embrace. "It's okay." You finally let yourself say, slightly muffled due to his clothes, "I'll figure it out."
"You always do." Chris mutters out as you nod into his chest. "Wanna watch a movie?" He asks softly making you nod.
"Breakfast Club?" You ask, pulling your head away from his chest as he frowns.
"Again?" He groans out, as you give him a small frown in return. "What's wrong with the breakfast club?" You whine out as he shakes his head.
"I swear we've watched that movie at least once whenever we see each other." Chris quips back. "Are you not sick of the movie?"
"It's a classic."
"Deadpools a classic, but you don't see me asking to watch it whenever you bring up movie night."
You snort. "As if! I've seen you watch that at least twice whenever you're back home with us." You wave your hand a little animatedly, "Plus how is Deadpool a classic? It's a superhero movie."
"Superhero movies can be considered a classic."
"It's not old enough to be considered a classic you buffoon, although you could be from how old you are."
"How dare you?! I'm only a year older than you."
"A year closer to death you mean."
"I'll show you death."
THE BEEF NOODLES OF FATE - Week 1 out of 16
When Chris suggested that you should have a driver with you today, you had refused and told him that you wanted to explore Seoul independently and away from the spotlight which might be hard if you went in a JYP issued car.
The two times you had come with your family to see your brother's concerts, you realized how many of them knew when you would be arriving due to the cars that were sent to pick you up from the hotel. It gave you the shock of your life, seeing the amount of people waiting for you outside your hotel, wanting to get a glimspe of your brother.
Due to the fact that you were working on an assignment that caused you more migraines than any other ones, you knew that you needed a quiet day.
Now, however, you were regretting not taking up his offer.
You had forgotten to charge your phone when you had arrived home yesterday and left the apartment with low battery, only realizing after you had gotten onto the train which had been a hard walk already.
You tried to minimize your use of your phone as much as you could but by the 7th location, your phone had inevitably died.
Which leads you to where you are now.
You let out a small groan as you continue to walk down the street, looking for any signs or indicators that could get you out of your predicament. Chris mentioned that he was going to be working late at JYP and wouldn't be home till the early hours of the morning.
You had asked the lady at the restaurant for directions but unfortunately, due to your minimal sense of direction, you had gotten lost somewhere.
Judging from the clock at the 7th place you went to, you would guess that it was roughly around 10pm. Meaning that if Chris were to save you, he would only be able to in three to four hours depending on what time he gets home and realizes that you aren't there.
You hope that it was the former rather than the latter.
"At least it can't get worst than this." You mutter out to yourself before feeling something prick the edge of your skin making you look up to see that it is starting to drizzle. You let out a huff as you felt the rain pelt against your hoodie, dampening it. "Just my luck." You sarcastically mumble to yourself before you sprint down the street.
It starts to rain heavier as you try to look for a restaurant or shop that's open this late at night before you spot one in the distance. The neon sign of the restaurant acting like a beacon as you run towards it, feeling the rain soak you a little more.
A bell chimes as you enter the shop, a gust of warm air hitting you making you shiver slightly as the glass door shuts with a soft clang behind you.
You huff out a sigh as you take in your appearance, seeing the rain had drenched you from top to bottom. You were glad that you had decided to wear darker colours today before you left Chris and Jeong-In's dormitory. The smell of delicious Chinese food fills your nose as you look around the restaurant, your eyes widening at how cozy the interior looks despite it looking slightly run down.
"Oh hello!" A voice chirps out beside you making you turn to see an elderly Chinese lady with a warm smile on her face. You give her a sheepish smile as you watch her take in your appearance as a frown overtakes the smile on her face.
"Goodness!" She yells out, looking at you with wide eyes. "You're drenched dear."
You feel a small flush rise to your cheeks, opening your mouth to speak but are interrupted by her dragging you deeper into the restaurant. She makes you sit at one of the tables before disappearing behind the counter and speaking some fast Mandarin— or was it Cantonese, to the person in the kitchen before returning with a set of fresh clothes and a towel.
Your eyes widen as you stand up, sticking your arms up to try to stop her when she shoots you a stern look. "Don't argue with me on this." She says with a hard look making you shudder before taking the clothes from her with a soft 'thank you'.
She waves her hand as if it wasn't a big deal before pointing towards the kitchen doors. "There's a small bathroom just through there and up the stairs." She says, her warm smile back on her face. "If you get lost, just call for Mr Yang."
You give her a curt nod before awkwardly walking towards the kitchen through the hanging curtain. You see an older man, sitting on the stool there who shoots you a warm smile and points you towards the way you need to go making you bow before sprinting towards the tiny bathroom.
You change and dry your hair in a couple of minutes, looking at the fresh set of clothes which appear to be a K-pop groups merch, noticing the logo as you inspected it before putting it on. They must be real big fans of Seventeen to be having a hoodie and sweatpants of the group.
You walk out of the kitchen to see Mrs Yang already seated at the table you were at, a bowl of steaming hot soup in front of her. She notices you and gives you a warm smile. "Sit." She simply says. "A hot bowl of soup would be good for you, to make sure that you don't fall sick."
You feel your cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment as you awkwardly take the seat opposite her as she takes the clothes from your hands. "I'll put these in the dryer for you so that you can rewear them before you leave dear." She says and was off behind the kitchen curtain before you could even protest.
You stare at the delicious food before tentatively digging in. Through your experience with your soulmate, Chinese food was a big staple of what you tasted almost weekly so this food should give that familiar taste.
You blew on the soup before taking a sip making your eyes widen at how amazing it was, feeling yourself get almost hungrier from just that sip. You immediately dig into the food, feeling the amazing flavours hit your tongue as you began to scoop more noodles and beef slices into your spoon.
You think you finish the food in record time as Mrs Yang appears again, a proud satisfied smile on her face as she looks at the clean bowl.
"Wow!" She exclaims as you place the bowl down with a small thud. "You remind me of a boy I know, he really loves our beef noodle soup as well!"
You give her a warm smile, feeling the soup nourish and warm you up. "I can see why, it's really good." You say softly. "Please let me know how much it is later."
She shakes her head and gives you a small wave of her hand before she takes a seat opposite you. "There's no need." She says, her warm smile never fading. "We just wanted to warm you up because you were absolutely drenched by the rain. Plus, seeing the way you enjoyed eating our food is enough payment for us."
You blush a little at her words before you take in more of the restaurant, the soft accompaniment of the raindrops hitting the pavement and the soft melody of the old Mandarin song accompanying your little analysis.
Mrs Yang abruptly stands up, startling you slightly as you watch her waddle her way over to the front door. She flips the sign to 'close' making your eyes widen as you scramble to stand up. You pause when you hear her let out a really hearty laugh, turning to fix her with a face of confusion.
"Where are you running off to dear?" She asks, a teasing smile on her face as you feel your cheeks slightly warm at that. "Erm," You point towards the sign, "Aren't you closing?"
She laughs again, waving her arms as she gestures for you to sit. "The dryer hasn't finished it cycle yet." She points out. "Are you planning to leave without your clothes?"
Your eyes widen in realization, your jaw dropping slightly as your brain races for an excuse, an explanation, particularly anything at this point. However, before you could embarrass yourself even further in-front of the old lady, she speaks again.
"Plus, Mr Yang and I don't get many customers when it rains." She says softly, reaching you to push you gently back into your chair. "We used to get these four rowdy boys coming in whenever it rains but they're too busy with their music or whatever."
You smile a little at her nostalgic tone. "Do they live in the neighbourhood?" You ask making her smile larger, her eyes wrinkling with the smile crinkles as she nods. "Something like that."
You glance at the corner of the room where the digital clock was and deflate slightly. It was only 11:45pm, which meant that Chris would probably only be home in an hour or two before realizing that you aren't there and would only roughly pick you up in three hours.
"Why the face dear?" You hear Mrs Yang asking as you meet her gaze, a frown on her face. "Well…" You trail off slightly, contemplating how to put your predicament into words without embarrassing yourself even more as you glance towards your dead phone on the table.
Mrs Yang notices your glance and makes a sound of understanding. "Ah!" She exclaims making your gaze land on the older woman. "Do you need to charge your phone dear?" She asks making you hesitate slightly before nodding slowly.
She waddles over to you with her arm stretched making you tentatively put the phone into her wrinkly hands. She calls for her husband in Mandarin making the man peer his head out through the kitchen curtain with his head tilted.
She says a few words to him in Cantonese making him gives her a firm nod, an easy smile on his face before disappearing through the curtain again. In less than five minutes, he reappears with a tea pot and two tea cups that he places on your table. The smell of the tea makes you feel slightly warmer inside as you watch Mr Yang pluck the phone from his wife's hands and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before taking your phone to the cashier counter to charge it.
You smile a little to yourself at the fond interaction as Mrs Yang takes her seat opposite you again. Mrs Yang pulls the teacups in front of the two of you before pouring the tea slowly. She places one in-front of you making you thank her quietly as you take a sip, the warm liquid filling you up as you feel warmth spread throughout your chest.
The Mandarin song changes to a slower one that has Mrs Yang humming along to it, sipping the tea with absolute delight on her face as the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. You let your eyes flit across the room once more, seeing all the different types of memorabilia dotting the walls making a small smile appear on your face.
"I really love the interior of the place." You note out simply. "Feels very much like home."
Her grin widens even more at your words as she eyes the place that she and Mr Yang built up.
"When Mr Yang and I came here thirty years ago, we felt a little homesick while looking for a job." She says, her eyes slightly glazing over as she eyes a picture behind you of a younger version of the two of them, standing in-front of the restaurant on opening day.
"After we had given up, we decided to open this restaurant instead." Her expression morphs into a wistful as she retells her story. "So when we were constructing this place, we took inspiration from our old house back in Chengdu. A few of the pieces on the walls are some of the items we brought along with us."
She points to a beautiful cyan bamboo weaved hat that was hung near the entrance of the restaurant, that looks slightly vintage but had multiple beautiful roses on them. A bunch at the side was blue, the opposite side was red while there was one giant one painted in multiple shades of purple.
"That was the first craft that Mr Yang and I made together." She says, her smile wide as she recounts the memory. Your mouth drops open slightly as you stare at the work, slightly in awe. "It's really beautiful," You say, admiring the line work of the art a little more. "I really love the roses."
If possible, her smile widens even more at your words as she nods with a slight bit of pride on her features. "Mr Yang and I spent hours hand-painting them after our wedding. He wanted the two of us to work on something together that represents the two of us."
She pulls up her long sleeves. turning her arm closer to you for you to see. You lean in closer, squinting slightly before your eyes widen in realization as you stare at the rose tattoo etched onto her arm.
The rose was almost a splitting image of the ones painted on the bamboo craft, the only difference being that it was a singular rose and the rose was split into half, one half a crimson maroon whereas the other side was a vibrant blue. You let your eyes trail along the line work of the ink, noticing that the colours diverged seamlessly together almost as if it was intentional, leaving in its trail a beautiful shade of purple.
You meet Mrs Yang's gaze, a little more starstruck as she gives you a prideful smile.
"It's beautiful." You whisper out, taking one last glance at the tattoo before leaning back against your chair. Mrs Yang stares at the tattoo for another beat before rolling her sleeves down and looking back at the bamboo craft on the wall.
"It was one of the only things we brought along with us from our house in Chengdu." Mrs Yang says, her tone full of nostalgia. "We brought a lot of other stuff as well but," She shakes her head slowly, "It's one of the only things that represent the both of us as soulmates."
You quiet down at her words, your heart clenching slightly as you digest her words. She turns to you, her expression morphing into one of curiosity. "How about you my dear?" She asks softly, her eyes glinting a little. "Do you have a soulmate?"
You feel your heart rate pick up slightly at the question, unsure of how much you wanted to share with this lady that you just met. However, upon looking at the steaming cup of tea in front of you as well as the empty bowl beside it, you realize that a little truth never hurt anyone.
"I haven't met him yet." You say softly, after swallowing your nerves and wiping your sweaty palms against the borrowed sweatpants. Her features soften at your confession as she reaches out to tug your hand into hers, giving it a firm squeeze, shocking you slightly.
"I'm sure he's out there, yearning and longing for you as well my dear." She says softly.
Her words make your mouth go try and your heart thud faster against your chest making you give her a nervous laugh. "I don't know." You say, slightly awkward as you glance towards your joint hands. "I think we're a bit too different for each other to be each others halves."
You feel Mrs Yang stiffen slightly at your words making you glance up to meet her eyes, an unreadable expression on her face as she takes you in, her eyes scanning your facial features. You feel slightly uncomfortable at her calculating gaze but as soon as you want to mention it, her expression drops to something softer as she gives your hand a squeeze again.
"Soulmates aren't meant to be similar to you dear." She says softly. "They are meant to be the one that completes your soul, fill in the gaps so that the two of you feel complete when you are together. Independently, you both will survive without each other but being together," She pauses, glancing towards the bamboo craft hanging near the door making her smile, "makes everything feel as if it was meant to be, as if it was written in the stars."
You feel your breath hitch at her words as she stares softly at you, her wistful smile never wavering as you feel your heart beat slightly harder in your chest. She pauses, as if she was waiting for your response making you swallow hard as you open your mouth to try and sputter a response together.
Before you could, Mr Yang's footsteps interrupt you and his wife making the two of you turn towards the older man who has your phone in his hand. He reaches your table in two big strides, a small smile on his face.
"Sorry to interrupt." He says, glancing towards your joint hands making your cheeks heat up slightly as you gently pull your hand away from his wife's grasps. He clears his throat before sliding your phone across the table, speaking as you pick it up to turn it on.
"You were getting a call from someone named Chris a couple of minutes ago." He says, resting a hand on his wife's shoulder as your eyes widen before glancing towards the time on your device, noticing that only an hour had passed.
You open your phone quickly to see a bunch of missed calls and text messages from your older brother as well as a few from his roommate making you let out a sigh, knowing you were going to get an earful from the older one as soon as you got home.
As if Chris could read your thoughts, your phone immediately rings, a picture of you and him appearing on the lock screen. You hesitate for a beat before sliding your thumb across the screen and putting the phone to your ear.
"Hell—"
"WHERE ARE YOU?!"
You flinch slightly at his sudden outburst, pulling the phone away from your ear as his voice booms out through the phone as if you had him on speaker. You glance in disdain at your phone as he continues his rant about safety and how he was about to lose his mind before you give Mr and Mrs Yang a sheepish smile.
"Sorry." You mumble out making Mrs Yang lets out a small laugh, waving her hand. "It's no problem dear." She says, glancing at the phone as your brothers voice continues to flow through it. "Family member?"
"Older brother." You say, a slight bit of disdain in your voice as Chris continues to rant, not knowing that you were only picking up on every fifth word of every sentence he was spouting.
You give them one more smile, gesturing for a second before standing and walking towards the door of the restaurant. You compose yourself a little before putting your phone back to your ear.
"— and I can't believe you didn't even think to bring the powerbank that I got for you for your birthday! Do those presents mean nothing to you, I swear to GOD—"
"CHRIS!" You yell into the phone, making him pause mid-rant as you inhale slowly. "I'm sorry for not picking up the phone or bringing that brick of a power bank that you got for me for my birthday." You apologize, gnawing on your bottom lip.
"I'm safe and would really love a pickup please." You say slightly softer this time. Chris was silent for a moment before a loud groan fills your ears. "I'm five minutes away Red." He says, his tone still slightly tense.
You blink at that. "What?" You say, a little taken aback by his statement. He scoffs and you imagine him rolling his eyes as he mutters something to himself.
"You forget that I have your location on my phone huh?" He says as you hear the buzzing of the car in the background, not knowing how you didn't notice it before. "I checked your location when I was in the office, realized that you weren't home so I left early to come get you after I couldn't reach you."
You felt guilt creep into your veins as you process his words and let out a small sigh, knowing how much you worried him. "I'm sorry." You say again, softly and more sincere this time. Chris lets out a sigh on the other end. "You're safe." He says, repeating your words from earlier, "I'll be there in three minutes, just wait outside for me."
The two of you hang up after you agree before you turn back to the elderly couple. Mr and Mrs Yang stand near you with your bag and another in their hands making you blink as Mr Yang passes you your bag while Mrs Yang passes you a large paper one.
You take it from her slightly tentative as you peer inside to see your clothes plus a couple of takeaway boxes making your eyes widen. You whip your head up to meet their gazes, your jaw dropped open as you try to sputter for a way to say that you didn't need this much food.
Mrs Yang halts you by raising her hand and giving you a stern look.
"Don't worry about it dear," She says, "We made too much food and from your phone call with your hyung, it seems like he might be hungry as well, so share the food with him."
"But the clothes—"
She waves you off again. "Please keep them!" She says before muttering a little lower, "Lord knows we have too many." She has a small knowing smile on her face as she glances up at her husband who laughs, sharing an inside joke from what you could tell.
"Are you two big fans of Seventeen?" You ask, not being able to help yourself as you glance between the two of them. The elderly couple let out another laugh at your confusion before Mrs Yang waves her hand. "Something like that." She says, a similar tone used when she said those same words just an hour before.
A horn outside the shop breaks the warm atmosphere making you look outside to see Chris's car. You turn back to the elderly couple.
"Thank you so much for everything." You thank making the couple give you a warm look as Mrs Yang steps forward to grab your hands into hers.
"I hope you come back soon dear." She says, her eyes glinting with sincerity as she gives your hands a squeeze. "We would love to feed you again and learn more about you."
You feel your chest warm slightly at her words before giving her a small nod as a smile crosses your face. "I will." You whisper out, giving her a small nod before she lets your hands go. You walk out of the restaurant and head to Chris's car but not before giving the elderly couple another wave.
Chris's cologne immediately fills your nose as soon as you shut the door before turning to your older brother who looked slightly more disheveled compared to when you left this morning.
Before he could open his mouth to chastise or fuss over you, you beat him to it.
"Thank you for picking me up and I'm sorry, I should listen to you next time and take the car and I will bring out the pink energy brick out with me tomorrow as well."
Chris blinks at your apology before a huff escapes him, he shakes his head and places his hands on the wheel again.
"You're so lucky that I'm more relieved than mad." He says, his tone still slightly tense with an undertone of tiredness. You give him a small smile before turning to place your bags in the backseat.
"We should come back to this restaurant sometime." You say as Chris puts the car into drive and slowly pulls away from the restaurant. "I think you would like their beef noodle soup."
You see Chris sneak a glance at you, a glint of confusion in them. "I thought you didn't like Chinese food?"
You shrug, looking out the window as the streets whizzed past. "Maybe I was too quick to judge." The double meaning in your sentence wasn't lost on you. Mrs Yang's words lingering in your thoughts as they play over and again.
Were you really too quick to dismiss this person who is meant to be your other half?
In the midst of her cleaning, Mrs Yang's eyebrows furrow as she hears the bell chime again, signaling that a customer has just arrived. She glances towards the door, her expression never changing until she spots the four that she has been feeding religiously for the last ten years.
"Aigooo." She coos out as soon as the tallest of them comes closer to her, dressed in a black hoodie with a luggage behind him. "I thought you all were only going to be back the day after tomorrow?"
Jun lets out a laugh as the elderly woman pulls him into a hug, accepting it by wrapping his arms around her tightly and giving her a shining smile. "Our schedule ended early." He cheekily says, his grin never wavering. "We were craving some food that tastes like home so we asked the driver to bring us here instead of back to our homes."
Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao stand behind him, with matching grins on their faces as Mrs Yang pulls each of them into a hug. Mr Yang, hearing the commotion steps out of the kitchen, his eyes and smile widening as he sees the four familiar boys.
"Wow!" He exclaims, bringing each of them in for a hug. "You boys look like the airport didn't even affect the four of you."
The four give him a sheepish smile before the elderly couple shoos them into the center table, eager to feed them.
"What can I get for you boys today?" Mrs Yang asks, her eyes glinting as she looks between the four boys. Soonyoung, Chan and Minghao share a teasing glance, before Chan turns to Mrs Yang.
"Mrs Yang," he singsongs out, "I hope you have your amazing beef noodle soup today!" He ends his sentence with a glance towards Jun, a smug grin on his face as the other shrinks slightly, a little flushed.
Mrs Yang glances between the two of them before turning her gaze to the tallest one.
"Did you miss our food so much that you brought the three boys along with you again?" She questions, a teasing smile on her face.
Jun flushes slightly at the accusation, lifting up both his hands to wave them as he lets out a sheepish laugh. "No no." He says, trying to defend himself through his laughs.
The other three collectively roll their eyes before Soonyoung turns to Mrs Yang, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Jun's soulmate was actually the ones who brought us here."
Mrs Yang's eyes widen as her hand flies to cover her open mouth before she turns to Jun. "Oh my gosh!" She exclaims. "You met her already?"
Jun shakes his head, scratching his nape as he fixes her with a semi lovesick grin. "She was having some Chinese food earlier." He says, his grin turning more lovesick by the second. "I tasted it when she was eating and it felt like she was enjoying it. It tasted almost like your beef noodle soup."
Mrs Yang freezes at that, but Jun doesn't notice as he keeps rambling on. "So, I thought that she was trying to tell me that maybe she was thinking about me or something." He says, the tips of his ears turning pink. "I thought maybe if I have it here, we would end up having the same dinner so that she knows that I'm thinking about her as well."
Jun locks eyes with the older lady who immediately composes herself, a small grin appearing on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Well." She starts, clearing her throat as she glances at the four of them. "You've come right on time! Mr Yang just made a new batch of beef soup with amazing tender slices."
She claps her hands. "I'll bring them out for you four!"
With that, she scurries into the kitchen, her heart racing as she runs through the words that Jun has just relayed to her.
It could just be a coincidence right?
She leans against the metal counter, processing the information when her husband glances over at her. He frowns, noticing her spacey look.
"Lo-po?" He asks, the endearing name rolling off of his tongue as he steps closer to his wife, intertwining their hands together. "Are you alright?"
Mrs Yang looks up and gazes into her husbands eyes, hesitating slightly before nodding slowly.
She feigns a small smile. "I'm alright lo-gong." He analyzes her face, frowning slightly.
"Are you sure?" He asks, bringing his wife closer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Mrs Yang nods her head as she squeezes his hands in reassurance. "I'm fine dear." She glances through the kitchen curtain, looking at the tall boy who was laughing at something his members said, his grin bigger than it had been in months.
"I just hope that fate brings the two of them together."
THE SCALLION NOODLE MEETING - Week 3 out of 16
Two weeks later, you find yourself back in front of the glowing neon sign. You didn't know how or why but you felt a pull to this place that you couldn't explain.
You had tried to keep yourself busy the past two weeks. You visited almost all the different places on your list, eating tons of delicious food that tasted vaguely familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Most of the time, you went by yourself during the non-peak hours, favouring the smaller crowds so that you could have some time to yourself and be able to document the flavour profiles correctly. Other times at night, you went with Chris who was determined to stick by your side as much as possible.
Today, however, you ended up cancelling all the restaurants on your agenda and you just unconsciously made your way here.
For two weeks, her words had been playing on repeat in your head. You found yourself thinking about the person who she meant, the person who was connected to your very soul. Somehow, you had started to yearn for him as well but you were stubborn, you wouldn't allow yourself to.
You continue to stare at the neon sign, unsure of whether you should go in when a voice interrupts your inner monologue.
"Are you going to stand there the whole day?"
You jump at the sound of the man's voice, whipping around to see a guy in a black hoodie, wearing a mask that obscures his face, the only thing visible being his eyes.
"God." You mutter out, glaring slightly at the man. "Do you normally sneak up on strangers and scare the daylights out of them?"
The man blinks at you before letting out a small laugh.
"Only when they're standing in-front of a Chinese restaurant, contemplating every single life choice they've ever made."
His sarcasm makes you roll your eyes. "Gee, thanks."
He gives you a shrug, his eyes glinting playfully. "You're welcome." If you could see under his mask, you were sure that he would be smirking at you. "So," The man says, glancing between the neon sign of the restaurant and you. "Why are you standing outside the restaurant as if you're contemplating life choices?"
You let out a huff, crossing your arms. "And why would I tell you, a complete stranger that?"
He shrugs. "Maybe you need someone to work through those life choices with."
You let out a huff, about to retort when the bell on the door rings and a bunch of different conversations flow out of the restaurant. You turn to see Mrs Yang, wide eyed as she stares at the two of you. You feel your face flush slightly, as if you've been caught red-handed but you hadn't done anything wrong.
"Why are the two of you standing outside and arguing?" She asks, apprehension in her voice making you give her a sheepish smile as the guy scratches his nape.
"We weren't arguing Mrs Yang." The man says, glancing in your direction before looking back at her. "We were just… talking."
He glances at you, hoping that you would catch on. You turn to Mrs Yang, nodding with an awkward smile on your face. "Yeah, just talking."
Mrs Yang glances between the two of you, entirely not believing a single word the two of you says but she nods anyway.
"Well, come in." She says, sternly as she opens the glass door wider, ushering the two of you in. "It's way too cold to be talking outside."
You and the man scurry into the restaurant, which was packed like sardines. "I'm sorry but it seems like we only have one table left." She says, apologetically as she gathers the menus for you and the man. "Mr Lim and his family are having a gathering today at the further side of the restaurant which means that we had to close off a certain section."
She glances between the two of you, clutching the menus in her hand. "Would the two of you be okay with sharing a table?"
You visibly freeze at the suggestion, eyes wide as you blink at the woman. She wants you to share a table with the insufferable man who made fun of you, five minutes ago? You didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the suggestion.
"I'm okay with it as long as she is." The man says, eyes locking with yours making your heart nearly bounce into your throat. You want to protest, to say anything against this suggestion but as you lock eyes with Mrs Yang again, the words die on your tongue.
You analyze her for a beat, taking in her dark rings under her eyes, how frazzled her hair looks compared to the first time you met her and felt a pit of guilt at the bottom of your stomach. You internally sigh, composing yourself and hoping that you will not kill this man with your chopsticks as you share a table with him before giving her a nod and the best smile that you can muster.
"Sure." You breathe out, glancing at the man again with a few daggers in your eyes as you give him a sickly sweet smile. "Let's share a table."
That's how you find yourself in a secluded corner of the restaurant, awkwardly sitting across the man, a menu in hand as you try your hardest to not accidentally kick the stranger in his legs. When you came the first time, you didn't notice how small the table was until this lanky man sits across from you.
You drag your eyes down the menu, contemplating what to order as you try to ignore the burning sensation at the left side of your head. The stranger had been staring at you since Mrs Yang had shown both of you the table before leaving, slightly frazzled as she went to attend to the Lim's gathering.
When you couldn't take it anymore, you let your eyes whip towards the stranger who jumps slightly as you abruptly lock eyes with him, a fiery intensity in them. "Why are you staring at me?" You hiss out making the stranger blink as he leans back against his chair.
"Trying to see if you made your decision yet." He says, fiddling with his mask. "It's going to be rush hour soon so we would have to wait a lot longer if you haven't."
You feel your eye twitch slightly at the admission. "Well, I'm sorry." You mutter out, eyes turning back to the menu, "it's only my second time here so I'm a little unsure of what to get."
You feel the man tug your menu down from your face, making you lock eyes with him again. "Want a suggestion?" He offers, making your eyes flit from one of his to the other, trying to gauge if he was joking. When it's clear that he isn't, you sigh, a little tired from the interaction before nodding.
"Sure." You say, placing the menu on the table and crossing your arms. "What could go wrong?"
A lot actually.
You find yourself thinking as Mrs Yang places a bowl of fried chicken in front of you seasoned with more red peppers than you have ever seen in your life. You feel your hands start to clam up and become sweaty as you inhale the spices through your nose.
"Dear." Mrs Yang tentatively says, seeing your face. "Is everything alright?"
You try to compose yourself as you wipe your hands on your jeans before locking eyes with her and giving her a weak smile.
"Yeah," You mumble out as you quick glance at the food again, "I'm alright."
If Mrs Yang weren't convinced, she doesn't say anything and just leaves you to stare at your food as your tablemate analyzes your reaction.
"You look like you've seen a ghost." He bluntly states making you whip your head up to lock eyes with him.
"The food looks spicy."
"I would hope so, it's spicy chicken."
You frown at that and stare at the amount of peppers on your food again, wondering if you could will them to disappear the longer you stare at them.
"You can't handle spice." He states, the cogs in his brain turning as he watches you gnaw on your bottom lip, looking at the food apprehensively. "You should've told me that you can't handle spice."
"Well, I didn't expect to be accosted by your recommendation." You bite back, giving him a small glare even though you know it's not his fault. The stranger however, doesn't take it to heart as his eye lines crinkle at your words, a sign that he's smiling under his mask.
"Are you too scared to try it?"
You frown at his words, feeling your eye twitch as he eggs you on, his eyes glinting with mischief.
"It's hard to take you seriously when you're still wearing your mask." You say, hoping to change the topic as you cross your arms. "Why are you even wearing that anyway? Are you a celebrity or something."
He hums at your question before tugging his hood downwards, covering a little bit more of his forehead. "Something like that." He says making you stare at him, quizzically.
"What does that even mean?"
He sighs before locking eyes with you. "How about we make a deal."
You squint at him. "You're just trying to change the topic."
"You did that too a moment ago."
He got you there.
You sigh, unfolding your arms as you lean against the table. "I'm listening."
"I'll order us something different and pay for our meal if you promise to not tell anyone that you saw me here."
You raise an eyebrow at that. "What's stopping me from ordering what I want anyway and letting you starve because you refuse to take off your mask?"
He's silent for a beat as he blinks at you.
"You have a point."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the stranger, who leans back in his chair.
"But," He starts, crossing his arms, "I think you're smart enough to not pass up a free meal."
You contemplate his words for a second. You know he's egging you on, he's done nothing but be playful and egg you on since the moment he scared you outside the restaurant. By right, you should refuse, let the insufferable stranger suffer while you eat the Yangs' tasty food in front of him.
Which is why, it surprises you and him when the words that follow after was, "Fine, I'll bite."
His eye lines crinkle again before he waves Mrs Yang over and says something to her in Chinese. The elderly lady looks between the two of you, an unreadable glint in her eyes before she nods at the lanky stranger and takes the two plates of spicy chicken away.
"You speak Chinese?" You can't help but ask, making him nod.
"I'm Chinese." He says simply reaching to the side to get the jug of water that Mrs Yang brought earlier.
"Oh." You mutter out, feeling slightly embarrassed as he pours the water into your empty glasses. "I couldn't tell."
He waves you off. "It's alright, you can't really see my face and I gave you no indication whatsoever so," he shrugs, "it's not a big deal."
You feel slightly better, relaxing a little as you watch him tug his hood down again.
He cautiously looks around making a frown appear on your face. "You don't have to tell me who you are if you're uncomfortable by the way." You say making the stranger lock eyes with you as you feel a small pit in your stomach at the way his eyes keep glancing around. "I could always request for another table if you're uncomfortable."
He hesitates for a second before shaking his head. "No, a deal is a deal."
You open your mouth to retort but he moves before you can, looking downwards before bringing his fingers to his ears and plucking off the mask as if it was second nature.
When he looks up, your eyes widen as you immediately register who he was.
"You're Jun from Seventeen." You state, looking at his features as he gives you a sheepish smile.
"Surprise?" He mutters, a weak laugh escaping his lips. You stare at him for a little longer, watching his confident facade shatter slowly as he looks at you with a little more apprehension after he realizes that you knew who he was.
"It all makes sense now." You say as everything clicks in your head.
The man in-front of you frowns in confusion. "What?"
"I came here two weeks ago, drenched in the rain and Mrs Yang gave me a hoodie and sweatpants from your group to change into." You say, as your eyes flit around his face, taking in his features. "I thought they were big fans of your group but you probably gave it to them."
He stares at you for a minute. "Are you a detective or something?"
You let out a snort, as you try to keep your growing smile off of your face. "I'm just observant."
"A little too observant."
"Well, sue me then."
You roll your eyes as Jun gives you a mischievous grin.
Mrs Yang appears at the corner of your eye making you turn towards the elderly lady as she places two new bowls in-front of you two. She eyes the two of you, noticing the lack of Jun's mask before a knowing smile creeps onto her face.
Your eyebrow raises at her expression but before you can ask, she bids the two of you a good meal before rushing back to the Lim gathering.
You look down at the bowl, noticing the lack of any red peppers or flakes making you smile as you notice the bowl only had what looks like tossed noodles with a sauce, topped off with spring onions and a fried egg. The smell of the spring onions floods your nose making your mouth water slightly.
"Scallion oil noodles." Jun says as he passes you a chopstick from the side box. "Mr Yang cooks them really authentically, it's one of my favourite dishes from here."
"And here I was thinking that you like to put your own taste buds through hell for fun." You mutter out making Jun roll his eyes. You use your chopsticks to place the food into your mouth as you take tentative bites.
The immediate flavour explosion in your mouth makes your eyes widen as you taste every single ingredient on your taste buds. You stare at the noodles, a little shell shock before you shove a few more bites into your mouth.
You can't fathom how you've never eaten anything like this in your few years of being a food journalist. You've definitely tasted this flavour profile before, no doubt from your soulmate but eating it and tasting it is definitely two different things
Jun who has also eaten the noodles, gives you a smile as he chews, watching as you happily slurp up the noodles, satisfaction written all over his face.
"So," He starts, taking a sip of his water, "Since you know who I am, I think it's only fair that I know your name right?"
You give him a side-glance, in between your bites before your eyes narrow slightly as you swallow your food. "I think there's a certain irony to your statement with you being a very famous idol."
Jun gives you a small pout. "C'mon." He says, the pout deepening. "I'm already paying for your meal, the least you could do is give me your name."
You want to retort that the meal was the expense of keeping his secret but as you watch his pout deepen a little more, you internally curse before giving him your name.
He repeats your name with ease as you feel your heart skip a beat upon him pronouncing your name. You furrow your eyebrows at the pinch in your chest before shrugging it off as just a weird prickle, maybe from the amount of oil in the noodles.
"Do you like the noodles?" Jun asks, gesturing to your bowl that is already half empty.
You nod, taking a few more bites of the springy noodles, humming contently. "I don't really like Chinese food but this is really good."
The idol freezes at your words, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth as he looks at you, his eyes wide, noodles forgotten. "You don't like Chinese food?" He asks, a little baffled as he just continues to stare at you as if you just said something really incriminating.
You shrug, swallowing the noodles before taking a sip of your water. "Just had some bad experiences with Chinese food." All because of your soulmate but you left that part out, not wanting to divulge in that with a complete stranger, even if he was famous and known for being kind-hearted and a good person.
Jun eyes you for another second, a gentle curiosity swirling in his eyes. "Then why did you come here? They only serve Chinese food here."
You hesitate a little at his question. You knew it was coming but you couldn't tell the idol that you came here because of an unexplainable pull, you would sound a little strange and kind of crazy. So, you settle for half of the truth.
"I wanted to come back and repay Mr and Mrs Yang for their kindness. I was going to actually pay them the money for the meal that they gave me last week."
Jun fixes you with a look of amusement and a slight smirk before shaking his head.
"You clearly haven't seen Mrs Yang's stubborn side if you think you can just repay her back."
You frown at his statement. "What makes you think she won't accept the money?"
Jun fixes you a look as his eyebrows raise. "Did you offer her money two weeks ago after she fed you?"
"Yeah but—"
"Did she accept the payment or did she fix you with one of her motherly stares that got you to shut up?"
Your silence answers him, making him laugh as he shakes his head. "Trust me." He says, using his chopsticks to cut the fried egg into smaller pieces. "Pigs will fly before she accepts your money."
You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips as you shake your head before continuing to eat your food. The two of you eat in silence, occasionally making small talk about the food as Jun shares with you a few small anecdotes about how Mrs Yang and her husband was a few years ago. The stories make you laugh as he recounts them with an exaggerated passion, his hands moving around animatedly here and there.
"So what do you do?" He asks, polishing off his food as he grabs a tissue paper from the container at the side. "Other than stand outside Chinese restaurants and contemplate your life decisions."
You scoff before taking a sip of your water to cleanse your palette. "I'm a food journalist."
His eyes widen. "Wow! That's really cool!"
Your brows furrow. "Says the guy who is apart of one of the biggest boygroups on the planet." You say, animatedly moving your arms. "Plus, aren't you also an actor?"
He chuckles, shaking his head. "I mean it, you must be a really good food journalist if you got sent here for an assignment."
Your eyebrows furrow even more as you stare at the man, shock running through your veins. "What? How did you know that?"
He gestures to your handbag. "You still have the tag from the airport hanging off the third zipper."
You turn and internally curse as you see the white string and tag from the airport. You feel your cheeks heat up as you rush to rip it off, crumple it and place it into your bag to try to save yourself from a little embarrassment. You clear your throat before looking back at the idol who was trying very hard not to laugh, even with his hand over his mouth.
You send him a narrow glare (or at least try to) as you point at him. "Don't laugh."
"I'm not! You can't even see my mouth!"
"Your eye lines tell me otherwise!"
That makes the idol crack up, his eye lines crinkling more which makes you freeze, realizing just how pretty he is.
You weren't blind by any means, the minute he took off his mask, you could tell that he was good-looking even without the full-face of makeup. With your brother in the industry, you had watched every MAMAs award show that he had been apart of and with Seventeen up there as one of the bigger boy groups, you've definitely thought that they were good-looking, especially Jun who always looked like he belonged on the stage.
The idol finally calms down, his smile not leaving his face as you shake yourself out of your thoughts. "So, what's your assignment about?"
You freeze at the question, gnawing lightly on your lip as you give him a once over, wondering if you should be honest or not. He notices the look on your face, his eyes softening. "If it's too personal, you don't need to tell me." He says, his voice reassuring as he gives you a soft smile. "I just think it's really cool that you get to travel and just eat food, I think one of my bandmates would kill to do that."
You feel a small smile creep onto your lips as you relax slightly, hearing the awe in his words. "Let me guess, DK?"
He laughs, nodding. "Or maybe Hoshi." He says, leaning his elbows on the table, his posture relaxing as he realizes that you were more comfortable now as you let out a laugh.
"Sounds like him."
His smile widens "So, I assume you're somewhat familiar with my group then, if you're able to make associations like that."
You feel a bit of warmth on your cheeks as you clear your throat. "Well, my brother's involved in the industry as well, so after a while, you kind of have to know who is who after watching all the different concerts and award shows."
His head tilts at that, a look of curiosity flashing across his face. "Oh!" He says with a slight understanding, "Is your brother an idol too?"
You nod, a small sense of pride settling in your chest as you pick up your phone before turning it to face him, a picture of you and Chris as your lock screen.
His eyes widen in realization. "You're Bang Chan's sister?" He asks, gawking a little as you nod.
"Wow, I've only ever heard about your younger sister, Hannah." He says, his smile widening a little more. "What a small world, Vernon, Mingyu and Minghao always talk about how cool your brother is."
You smile a little more, thinking about your brother who was probably working his ass off in the studio right now and having the best time. "Yeah, he's the coolest."
His smile widens, grabbing the water jug to refill his empty cup, leaving you with your thoughts. You think back to his previous question, wondering if you should answer it or not. Jun has been nothing but honest with you since the start of your meal, even honouring his side of the deal even if he didn't need to. You would've stuck by your words if he had decided to not shown you and asked Mrs Yang for another table instead.
Your mouth made the decision for you before you could even comprehend it.
"I'm doing a soulmark assignment."
Jun freezes mid-pour as he turns to you, his eyes wide. "Oh, that's pretty cool." He says, nodding slightly. "Have you already met him?"
You shake your head, using your chopsticks to move your food around, letting it sop up the scallion oil. "The assignment was about to write about the places that we think our soulmate has been to based on the soulmark we're given."
His eyebrows furrow. "That's pretty vague."
You let out a snort. "You're telling me."
"Is the goal for you to find them at the end of it?"
You shrug. "All I know is that I'm here for four months, a tight schedule for sure to figure out which restaurant means the most to my soulmate." You say, the tone of your voice turning slightly bitter towards the end as you say 'soulmate'.
Jun notices, fixing you with a small curious grin. "I take it you're not the biggest fan of your soulmate?"
You slouch slightly, letting out a sigh. "Let's just say that our flavour preferences make us very very different people."
"You have something against his food preferences?"
"I have something against the fact that he's trying to kill my tastebuds in the process."
"Is he the reason why you have a grudge against Chinese food?"
You lift up your hand in mock defense. "Hey, I don't have a grudge against Chinese food." You point out, making Jun's expression morph into one of amusement. "I just have a grudge against my soulmate who puts chili oil on almost everything, as if the food needs that extra bit of spice."
Jun lets out a laugh before shrugging. "Can't say I fault him for it, chili oil is definitely one of the best things ever."
You snort, placing your last bit of noodles into your mouth, chewing then swallowing as you polish off your food. "I'm sure the two of you would get along great." You sarcastically remark making Jun laugh again.
"So, what are you a fan of?"
You ponder for a moment. "I'm a big fan of sweet stuff like cake, ice-cream, macaroons. Oh! Affogato as well." You watch Jun make a face as a shudder goes through his body making you raise an eyebrow at the man. "Not the biggest fan of sweet stuff?"
Jun immediately shakes his head. "Can't say that I am. Sugar makes me feel really ill sometimes, especially if there's too much of it. My soulmate is the biggest cake fan though, she really loves eating it."
You smile at that. "Sounds like we would get along great as well."
Jun laughs, smiling at the implication of the two of you meeting each others' soulmate when his phone rings. He glances at it before his face pales and his eyes widen.
"Shit." He mutters, staring at his phone for another beat before wiping his mouth quickly and slipping his mask on in record speed. The actions make you jolt as you blink at the idol who was moving at the speed of light, shoving his wallet and phone into his pockets.
"What?" You ask, finding your voice as he reverts himself to his pre-meal mode. He looks at you, his eyes softening a little from the panic that was in them moments ago as he pulls down his mask.
"I forgot I have practice in half an hour, so I need to get going now." A small frown appears on his face as he finishes his sentence, looking a little crestfallen that your time together was coming to an end. You blink at him, before glancing at the time, your eyes widening as well as you realize that you and Jun had been eating and talking for almost two hours.
"That makes two of us then." You say, a laugh bubbling in your throat as you pack up your stuff. "I forgot that I got an interview with the owner of a restaurant for my assignment in half an hour as well."
Jun lets out a laugh at the realization as he stands, towering over you slightly as he fixes you with a cheery smile. "Guess we aren't so different after all."
You roll your eyes as he pulls his mask back up before gesturing for you to move first. "After you."
You give him a polite 'thank you' before the two of you head to the front counter where the cash register was. Mrs Yang's eyes flit between the two of you, the same knowing smile on her face.
"How was the food my dears?" Jun's eye lines crinkle again. "Amazing as always Mrs Yang." He says before gesturing to you. "I think our food journalist will definitely be putting it in her article."
You let out a small scoff, giving him a quick side-eye before looking at Mrs Yang, your expression changing to one of adoration. "The food was lovely Mrs Yang. Please help me thank Mr Yang for the food as well."
She waves you off, a wide smile on her face despite how tired she looked from the chaos of the rush hour. "It was our pleasure to feed you." Her eyes flit between the two of you again. "Both of you."
You think back to your words to Jun a while ago and take out your purse from the depths of your handbag. "Before I forget, please take this Mrs Yang." You say, producing a few bills. The older woman fixes you with a stern look as she shakes her head.
"Dear, I already insisted the last time that you don't need to pay me." You open your mouth to protest but she holds up her hand again, her eyes narrowing slightly as her
Your mouth snaps shut at that as you slowly put the bills back into your wallet making Mrs Yang's stern expression instantly drop, replacing it with a prideful one, knowing that she has successfully won the argument again.
Mrs Yang - 2, You - 0
You glance at Jun who fixes you with a look, his eyes glinting as if to tell you 'I told you so' making you roll your eyes as Jun passes a few bills to Mrs Yang, paying for your meal and his. Mrs Yang hands him the receipt before reaching to the counter behind her and taking the plastic bag that was seated on it.
"Before I forget," She starts, giving the big white plastic bag to Jun, "I packed a few things for you and the boys to enjoy."
Jun's eyes widen as he takes the bag from her with zero protest, almost as if Mrs Yang trained him to just accept everything she gives to him — which she probably did, considering how long they've known each other.
"Thank you so much!" Jun says as he peers into the bag, his eyes flitting from one box to another. "You really didn't have to."
Mrs Yang waves him off. "Nonsense." She states. "If I don't feed you guys, God knows that you all will starve by how much dancing you all do."
Her comments make you let out a laugh which you try to cover up as a cough as Jun gives you a side-glance. He looks back at her, his eyes softening more. "Thank you."
She gives him a smile of adoration before turning to the back counter once more and producing a smaller white plastic bag which she holds out for you. Your eyes widen, about to protest again but falter as soon as you see the expression on her face.
You sheepishly take the bag from her, peering inside to see a few food containers filled with some scallion oil noodles, a few servings of spring rolls, a meat dish as well as a box of stir-fried vegetables.
"For you and your brother."
Your heart squeezes at her words, feeling warmth spread through your chest as you try to swallow your emotions. You look up, giving her a soft smile. "Thank you so much."
She mirrors your smile. "It's no problem at all my dear, I hope we see you again soon."
You nod, your grin growing wider. "I'll bring my brother with me next time." You reassure her. "He was raving about how good the beef noodles were, made a lot of his friends jealous."
She laughs as you recount the video Jeong-In had sent to you when your brother brought Mrs Yang's beef noodles to work and was just making a show out of it in-front of his members. They looked like they were seconds away from chasing your brother down the hallways of JYP if he made a single new sound and talked about how good it was and that he wasn't sharing.
"I guess I'll see the two of you soon then." Mrs Yang says as she walks to open the door for the two of you. "I hope you two enjoyed each others companies."
You and Jun glance at each other before you turn back to Mrs Yang. "It was definitely an experience."
Jun narrows his eyes at your words. "But I was an angel."
You scoff. "And I'm a multi-billionaire." You say, the sarcasm just rolling off your tongue making Jun shake his head and walk through the door.
The two of you bid Mrs Yang goodbye once more before she closes the restaurant door behind her. You turn to Jun, a little awkwardly as you shuffle your handbag onto your shoulder.
"Well, it was nice meeting you." You say, giving him a smile. "I hope you don't sneak up on me the next time we cross paths again."
Jun laughs, shaking his head a little before locking eyes with you and giving you a wink. "It'll only happen if you contemplate life outside a Chinese restaurant again."
You roll your eyes, not bothering to keep your smile off your face this time as you give him a wave before making your way to the right of the restaurant. You scroll to your itinerary when Jun calls out your name, making you turn to face him.
Your eyebrow raises as he looks at you, blinking as if he didn't realize that he called out your name, until it rolled off of his tongue. Before you could question further, Jun jogs over to you and hands you his phone. You take it before your eyes widen at the 'new contact' page staring right at you.
You blink before looking up at him, your eyes still wide as saucers as you fix him with a look of confusion. "What?" You ask as you stare at him, completely dumbfounded by his actions.
He shrugs, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck. "I had a lot of fun talking to you today and," he hesitates slightly, "I want to try to change your mind about Chinese food before you meet your soulmate."
You narrow your eyes at him. "What's the catch?"
His eyes widen as he lifts both arms in surrender, the big plastic bag rustling as he does so. "No strings attached, I promise." He says, absolute assurance in his voice. "I just know what it's like to be on the receiving end of the taste mark and my soulmate has been quite pleasant with their food preferences so…" He shrugs. "Let me at least try to convince you that your soulmate isn't all that bad."
You blink at him again, slowly digesting his words before looking down to peer at the cursor, pulsing as it awaits an input.
"You don't need to!" Jun suddenly exclaims, his free hand starting to wave animatedly as he starts to ramble. "I just thought that I should introduce you to better Chinese foods that will give you a better impression of the person before you meet them and brush them off completely. I mean, as someone with a taste mark as well, I also know that food sometimes doesn't taste as it seems and—"
You interrupt him, mid-ramble by grabbing his free hand and placing his phone back into it. Jun blinks before looking at his phone to see that you sent a message to yourself after inputting your contact into it.
He turns back to you as you give him a small smile. "I'm in if it's more free food."
He blinks before huffing out a laugh, shaking his head. "Don't think that was part of the deal." He ends the sentence with a teasing chastise tone of your name making you shrug.
"Too bad, it was." You cheekily reply before adding. "Also call me Red."
Jun tilts his head to the side. "Red?" He repeats, the word rolling nicely off of his tongue. "Why Red?"
"I'll tell you when we meet the next time but, I figure it easier to call me that than my actual name, lesser syllables."
Jun eye lines crinkle, a sigh that he's smiling under his mask before nodding. He glances towards his phone before taking a few steps backwards. "I guess I'll see you soon Red."
You nod, flashing him a smile. "See you soon Jun."
Really want to write a smut fic centered around an AU where Ganondorf never betrays / kills Sonia, never attacks Hyrule, never becomes the Demon King....
because he has his short, plus-size Queen wife glued to his side and he is simply too fed, too fucked, and too adored to bother with world domination.
Ganondorf still holds centuries of ambition in his veins but you keep crawling into his lap, tugging his cape, whispering “Ganon, come back to bed,”and suddenly the war can wait.
Once every century, a King is born to the Gerudo—a rare event marked by prophecy and purpose. Tradition dictates that this king must take a queen from beyond their desert sands, forging strength through difference. To fulfill this rite, the current Gerudo King arrives in Hyrule under the polished pretense of renewing an ancient treaty between their lands. But his true intent becomes clear all too quickly. Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t find a bride—he finds you. And you are the one woman he is willing to challenge kingdoms for.
Chapters
Chapter One
You, the spare Hylian princess, reject a royal match and claim dreams of a destined Gerudo king. The court reels. Five years later, he arrives—unknown, unstoppable—and every secret begins to stir.
Chapter Two
The Gerudo delegation arrives in Hyrule without their king, naming the protagonist their long-foretold "Moon Princess"—a title that shifts courtly power, stirs old jealousies, and marks the beginning of a silent, dangerous test.
Chapter Three
As court politics turn against her and the Gerudo delegation tests her authority, the Princess endures quiet sabotage from Lady Selene and rising pressure to prove herself. When she finally snaps and publicly silences Selene, the Gerudo begin to respect her—but the moment leaves her shaken. Guided by a kind scribe, she finds a quiet space to breathe and begins to understand that power isn’t just grace—it’s fire.
Chapter Four
The Gerudo King arrives, and find yourself haunted by your own words. He is everything the prophecy warned of—too precise to be brushed away. You try to dismiss it and steady yourself, but the memory of your words lingers. Dreams you'd once forgotten now feel like warnings.
Chapter Five
You try to stay quiet. Unseen. Let the desert king pass like a storm. But instead, you've caught his eye. Praise became pressure. Glances turned to whispers. Suddenly, you are not just a princess. You're a potential problem.
Chapter Six
Your plan to feign illness and avoid Lord Ganondorf backfires. Suspicion builds, and the Gerudo King marks you.
Chapter Seven
They dressed you in silk and sent you into the fire. One dance with the Gerudo King, a tempestuous kiss, and a chain pulled your throat like a noose.
Chapter Eight
You wake from a dream drenched in silk, scent, and heat. His voice, his hands, the hunger in his eyes—it felt too real. Worse, some part of you wanted it. By morning, the court watches with sharpened smiles. Terrified, you turn to your uncle, the Hylian King, for protection. He strips you of your title instead.
Chapter Nine
Cast out and hunted, the princess flees into the forest—pursued by prophecy, betrayal, and the Desert King who would claim her. The hunt has begun. But others wish to see your end as well.
Chapter Ten
As storm clouds gather, the Gerudo King prepares to claim his bride through an ancient rite. While Link races toward the Zora, you flee through the forest and betrayal, only to discover the past closing in.
Chapter Eleven
Chased through storm and shadow, you fall—but do not fall alone. Pulled from the river by the one who shouldn’t be there, you awaken to prophecy, a crown, and a name you never claimed. In the silence between firelight and breath, something ancient stirs. And he is waiting.
Chapter Twelve
Betrayed by your kingdom and bound to the Gerudo King by ancient magic, you fight to reclaim your freedom. But as truths unravel and war looms, the man you hate may be the only one who hasn’t lied. In the cave’s firelight, something dangerous begins to shift—you.
Chapter Thirteen
Dragged across the wilds by a maddeningly devoted Gerudo King, you fight, protest, and refuse to yield. But as the journey wears on, his loyalty never wavers. Your fury begins to blur with something far more dangerous.
Chapter Fourteen
In the heat of the Gerudo desert, laughter slips past your defenses, and so does the Gerudo King. What begins in irritation ends in an ancient shrine, where a sacred bond is sealed not by force, but by choice. You meant to resist. Instead, you took his hand.
Chapter Fifteen
A midnight attack by the Yiga Clan tears you from Ganondorf’s arms. He shields you with fury—then makes a terrible choice. To save you, he seals you away. When you wake, weeks have passed. You are queen in title, alone in truth. And the man who vowed to find you is missing.
Achilles: How could Heracles not recognize his wife?
Chiron: That is the nature of madness.
Patroclus’ inner monologue: Sounds like a skill issue. Couldn’t be me. Truly pathetic to be honest. Personally, I would recognize Achilles in the dark, or in disguise. I would know him even in madness. But that’s just me I guess.
synopsis ➠ you have a crush on your boss and he knows it. he just does not care. until, he starts behaving awfully lot like someone who cares—or maybe you are reading too much into it.
genre ➠ office romance, unrequited love, smut.
word count ➠ 5.7k
warnings ➠ pining, low-key asshole cheol, flirty jeonghan who's lowkey a cupid, unequal power dynamics ig, jealousy, cursing, reader does smth pretty embarrassing, lowkey unrequited love, unprotected sex, office sex, tiny bit of sir kink, female oral, hickeys, multiple orgasms, a lot of kissing, creampie, HR would go crazy if they knew what these two were doing in the office.
“Can I leave early today?” You stand in front of your boss’s desk, sweaty hands clasped in front of you, heartbeat thudding in your ears. Seungcheol has been in a bad mood for a few days now — with the factory relocation and all, which has made his usual grumpy self even grumpier.
“Why?” He drops the file you just brought in with a thud on his desk. Leaning back on his chair, he stares at you with a pointed gaze, like a prison officer looking at an inmate.
“Uhm…I actually have a date…” You murmur. Still impassive, he keeps boring holes into your face with his eyes as you grow uncomfortable.
“Date, huh?”
“Yes.”
He rubs his index finger thoughtfully over his chin before saying, “Go ahead. Take the afternoon off.”
Whew. “Thank you, sir.”
“I hope you won’t go on your date dressed like that.”
What?
You pause, thinking you misheard, and blink at him, who is now looking at his computer screen like he did not just make that snide remark. You look down at your clothes — baby blue silk blouse and a cream skirt — this is not a bad outfit. Not that you were going to go on your date like this anyway. You asked to leave early so that you could go home and freshen up.
Biting your cheek, you hold back any retort. Instead, you decide to overlook his petulance and offer him a smile as you step back. “I will see you on Monday, sir.”
He does not respond and you march out of his office.
—
The man in front of you — Eric — is underwhelming. You already forgot his last name.
he is definitely not worth you going home early to take a full body shower, shave and put on makeup and a nice dress. One hour into the date at the Italian restaurant, he keeps on talking about some start-up he and his buddies are working on, not bothering to ask you a single question.
As you play with the cherry tomatoes on your plate, occasionally nodding as a pretence of listening, your mind starts to wander. And like most times, they drift to the thought of Choi Seungcheol, your boss.
You have had a crush on him for a few years now. The story is an embarrassing one but you have come to own it over time. Five years ago, when you first joined this company as a junior sales executive, he was the COO. He made a good name for himself and the previous chairman loved him, so it was almost an open secret that he would be the next one to take over. He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, with a side of sharp intellect and unapologetic bluntness, gaining everyone's admiration if not support.
As expected, once the ex chairman resigned two years later, Seungcheol became the CEO. Right away, he needed a secretary and he wanted someone within the company who already knew the ropes. Among the five applicants, you got the job, and right there, your future was decided — working in close quarters with Choi Seungcheol, the handsome, brooding man whom you looked up to immensely. And somewhere between you switching roles and becoming his right hand person, you fell for him. Hard.
And it was supposed to be a secret. A harmless little crush. Until that one mistake drunk you made.
You had sent your coworker Minji — who is also one of your best friends since college — a text one night after a team dinner, fangirling about your boss in the most brazen way. The next morning, you woke up to see that you, in fact, did not send the text to Minji but the group chat you were in with all the sales team members. Words spread like wildfire, and on Monday, when you showed up at work (while contemplating on what excuse to make up and quit this job and leave this city; possibly the country) word had already reached Seungcheol. Once in his office, he asked you only two questions. Was it true? You nodded yes. Were your feelings going to affect your work? You vehemently shook your head no. As unbothered as ever, he signed some files, handed them back to you and said that all was good and he would overlook this fumble.
And so, since then, everyone in the office knows you have heart eyes for your boss. And over time, you have gotten good at acting casual about it. Except, you know, there is nothing casual about it. It has become a disease, the way you yearn for that man, and it was high time you decided to get out of that cycle of torment.
Which is why you are on this date.
And it isn’t really going well.
Eric is still, somehow, talking about his start-up. With a tight-lipped smile, you interrupt him as your patience stretches thin, “Shall we order dessert?”
—
It is drizzling now.
Outside the restaurant, you stand and wait for your Uber, which seems to be malfunctioning. For the past ten minutes, it has been looking for a driver, but to no avail.
Eric left a while ago, parting with decency once you said you were not sure this would go anywhere. He agreed, saying he was too focused on his business right now anyway. So, that was that.
As you stand and watch the rain, contemplating your life so far, a familiar voice calls your name. “Secretary ___?” You turn around to see Yoon Jeonghan, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends and a big name in the business world. You have worked with him a lot on various projects over the past few years and he has almost become your friend as much as he is Seungcheol’s — especially due to his easygoing behavior and charming humour. He is the exact opposite of Seunghceol in terms of personality and attitude, and you sometimes wonder how they are such good friends.
“Good evening, Mr. Yoon.” You smile.
“See, I thought I saw you earlier when I came in.” He says, stepping out of the restaurant and standing next to you. “Were you not here with someone else?”
You nod.
“Date?”
Another nod with an awkward smile.
“Let me guess, it did not go well.”
“Not really.”
He chuckles. “Well, it is good to see you trying.” He sends a playful look your way. “As I have always been saying, you are too good for Seungcheol. I can get past you being his secretary, but his girlfriend? Nah, that guy isn’t worthy of you.”
Yeah, even Jeonghan knows about your crush on his friend. Probably everyone in this field does.
“I am sure Seungcheol would not like hearing you badmouth him.” You tease.
Jeonghan sends a dramatic look of offence your way. “Badmouth? I am stating the facts, ___. And he would agree with me.”
A black Mercedes pulls up in front of you, the driver stepping out to hold the back door open and Jeonghan extends a hand, gesturing you to get in.
“What? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly trouble you.” You refuse politely.
“No trouble, ___. Get in. You are not going to find a ride anytime soon.”
You bite your lip, hesitating for a second. “Thank you, Mr. Yoon.”
“When are you going to stop calling me that? I told you, Jeonghan is fine.”
Maybe it is the wine in your blood that enables you to say, “Alright, thank you for the ride, Jeonghan.”
He smiles, closing the door behind you.
—
“How was the date?” Seungcheol asks without sparing a look at you as you set down his morning coffee on his desk while he flips through the pages of a report.
You pause. “It was…okay.”
His eyes stray from the documents briefly, taking a quick look at your face before returning to the report. “Seems it was unworthy of the afternoon you took off.”
You look around his office helplessly, uncomfortable at his sudden questioning. It seems like he is picking on you on purpose. You decide it will be better to divert the conversation, “I met Jeonghan at the restaurant.” You cringe at how you accidentally refer to his friend by his first name.
Your words finally make your boss drop his work and regard you with full attention. “Jeonghan?”
“Erm, Mr. Yoon, I mean.” You avoid his eyes. “He was kind enough to offer me a ride home, since it was raining and all.” You need to stop blabbering. Seungcheol stares at you silently for too long a moment, his intense eyes focused on you as if he is decoding something.
“I see.” He murmurs after a while.
A beat of silence.
“Well then, I will prepare for the meeting.” You awkwardly bow while stepping back, eager to rid yourself of the growing tension in the air. With his usual expressionless face, Seungcheol’s eyes follow you until you are out the door.
—
The meeting today is, in fact, with Jeonghan. This weekend, his gallery is holding an art exhibition, sponsored by Seungcheol’s company, with him as the keynote speaker. Today’s meeting is to cross-check if everything is in place and for last-minute adjustments.
“Where is my dear friend?” Jeonghan asks as he takes a seat in the meeting room. You take a seat on the opposite side of the table while a junior employee distributes the printouts across the table.
“He will be here soon, Mr. Yoon. He told me to go ahead and start the meeting.” You smile. Jeonghan drums his fingers on the desk. “I thought we agreed you’d call me Jeonghan.”
You pause, looking around, briefly meeting the eyes of Jeonghan’s secretary as well as the employee arranging the desk. “At work it may not be the most appropriate.” You explain.
He sighs dramatically. “You know, sometimes, I feel like you are becoming quite like Seungcheol.”
You look at him, wide eyed. “My god, what do you mean?”
He throws his head back and laughs, “The idea is distressing, no?”
“Your face is distressing.” A voice says quietly but unamusedly and you turn back to see Seungcheol stepping into the meeting room, with his usual air of boredom. Taking the seat next to you, he murmurs, “Why don’t you stop flirting with my secretary and optimize the work hours?”
“Someone is extra grumpy today.” Jeonghan teases with a knowing grin. Ignoring him, Seungcheol says to the junior employee, “Mina, can you pull up the slides?”
The rest of the meeting is productive as the four of you finalize all the details and map out the entire event. As the discussion rolls to an end, and your boss is getting up from his seat, Jeonghan says, “___, I would like to have you as a translator for the exhibition day.”
Surprised, you blink at him. Next to you, Seungcheol, who just got up from his chair, stills. Jeonghan continues, “You know, there will be a lot of French guests and I would love it if you were my translator. I’ll pay you for your time, of course.”
“Just hire a translator,” Seungcheol says dryly.
“Oh come on,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. ___ has helped us out with translations before. I need someone I am familiar with and someone who is smart and charming.” He turns to you. “You have no problem with it, right?”
“Uh,” you glance at your boss, who is staring at his friend with narrowed eyes. “No, I don’t mind.” You are supposed to be there anyway, as a representative on Sungcheol’s end. So getting paid separately to be there does not hurt. Besides, you have always loved meeting new people.
“It is settled then,” Jeonghan smiles, clasping his hands. “I promise to return her to you, Cheollie. Stop glaring at me like that.”
“Whatever,” your boss murmurs and marches out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud. You cringe, before looking at Jeonghan, “I’m sorry. I have no idea why he has been behaving weirdly for the past few days.”
A mysterious smile kisses his lips, “I think I know why.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He turns to his secretary, “Could you please email the contacts of the French guests to ___.”
—
The exhibition starts at 2 pm, but you arrive at Jeonghan’s gallery by 1 pm. Jeonghan’s secretary, Chan, gives you the tour, showing you around the space and the paintings being exhibited while his boss finishes a meeting. Just before the exhibition is about to start, Jeonghan finds you.
“Hey, ___. Sorry, my meeting took longer than expected.”
You smile. “No trouble. Chan was a very helpful guide.”
“That’s good to hear.” He replies before glancing down the length of your body. “You look stunning, by the way.”
Flattered, you glance down at the length of your baby pink dress before giving him a smile. “Thank you. You look great as well.”
He fixes the lapels of his maroon suit with a dramatic gesture. “Thanks, this is a custom piece from Italy. By the way, when is your boss going to grace us with his presence? He does know that he has to be here by 4 for his speech, right?”
“He said he would be here in time.” You give Jeonghan a tight smile. “He had a few meetings in the morning.”
“And let me guess, he is brooding.”
“Yeah, the warehouse shift has been a challenge.”
“Mhm, I think that’s not all.”
“What?” You blink. Before he can reply, Chan calls his name. With a reassuring smile and a soft squeeze on your shoulder, Jeonghan takes his leave.
Thus starts the event. You greet the guests and show them around the gallery, chatting and socializing all the way through while keeping an eye out to make sure everything is going as planned. Despite your worries, Seungcheol shows up on time — 15 minutes before his speech. After the viewing, the crowd moves to the auditorium for the panel discussion, where Seungcheol delivers his speech, along with a few other guests. You have some food, observe the scene, and help the staff with anything they need before finally, the exhibition officially rolls to an end.
To your surprise, Seungcheol stayed the entire time. You had expected him to march out the moment he was done with his formalities but he stayed the entire length of the artist’s discussion panel, hovering around, never quite coming to you or addressing you, puzzling you.
Why was he acting like a stranger?
Just as you are contemplating his behavior with a glass of champagne in your hand, Jeonghan appears. “Thank you so much for your help today, ___. You were amazing.”
You grin. “You are too kind. And it was my pleasure. This is a really good exhibition.”
“Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed it.” He winks playfully. A cameraman walks past you and Jeonghan flags him, asking for a photo of the two of you. You pose next to him, flashing a big smile for the camera. Just as you are recovering from the blinding flash, you see Seungcheol heading towards you.
He is dressed in a dark grey three-piece suit today and all afternoon, you have tried your best not to let yourself drool over him. It does not work right now, as with the jacket off, you can see the muscles of his bicep bulge underneath the white shirt and momentarily, your mind blanks.
“Ugh, there comes Mister Sourpants.” Jeonghan murmurs. Seungcheol comes to a halt in front of you, his eyes briefly meeting yours before he looks at his friend. “Great work on not botching the show.” He says unimpressively. Jeonghan laughs, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “You underestimate me, my friend. But thanks for showing up and not badmouthing me on stage. I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“I was looking at the pictures.” Your boss responds indifferently.
“Well, since you are all still here, let's go grab dinner together.” Jeoghan offers.
“No thanks, I am going back to the office.” Seungcheol removes his friend’s arm from his shoulder. When Jeonghan looks at you expectantly, you say, “I would love to, but not today. I have to go to the office too, as I left my charger. My battery is about to die. I have some work to finish up as well.”
Jeonghan rolls his eyes, “Ever the workaholics. Come on, people, work hours are over!”
“Let’s have dinner on Friday night, perhaps?” You look at Seungcheol for confirmation but he seems busy with his phone, dialling his driver’s number. As he presses the phone against his ear, you notice something and your hands instinctively reach out to fix his crooked tie, before smoothening the hem of his vest. You have done it multiple times before — for meetings and press conferences — as Seungcheol’s tie always seems to rest in a crooked manner.
As you finish fixing it and he hangs up the call, your eyes lock with his and a shiver runs down your spine. In a split second, the air seems to be full of tension, thick enough to cut through with a knife and hot enough to ignite a fire in your belly.
Fuck. You look away and retract your hands, trying to act as normal as possible. “Your tie was crooked.” You murmur.
“Thanks.” Seungcheol’s voice is quiet.
Jeonghan looks at the two of you with a growing smile of mischief. “Well,” he looks pointedly between the two of you, clasping his hands, “I will let you kids get back to work for today. Thanks again for your help, ___.”
“My pleasure.” You smile, suddenly embarrassed to meet his eyes. With a harsh pat on the back and a suggestive wiggle of his brows, Jenghan says goodbye to Seungcheol, grinning like a Cheshire cat. With his friend gone, Seungcheol wastes no time, marching towards the exit, “Let us get going.”
—
It is suffocating inside the car.
Even with the AC on full blast, it feels like a thousand degrees in here with zero ventilation. The earlier tense moment between the two of you seems to linger, now even more amplified than before in this enclosed space.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat, trying to think of something to talk about but coming up with nothing. You don’t trust yourself to speak right now, so you try your very best to look out the window and pretend there is no one sitting next to you. After a while, when doing that gets tough, you pull out your iPad and start sorting through your work.
Just then, Seungcheol speaks. “You seem to have gotten really close with Jeonghan.”
Oh boy. There seems to be an edge to his voice and you are unsure how to reply or what to reply. An awkward laugh floats past your lips. “I mean, he is easy to get along with, you know.”
“Mhmm.” Even the Sahara is not as dry as his tone.
You glance at him, waiting to hear something else. For a brief second, you let yourself be distracted by his gorgeous face — the couple of stray strands of hair on his forehead calling your name, making your hand itch to put them back in place.
Though if it were up to you, you would mess up his hair. And his clothes. And his back—
“From now on, don’t help him out.” He turns to look at you. “He might be my friend but business is still business and you are my employee.”
“Uh, okay.” You whisper. Your boss looks back out the window, and you interpret that as the conversation being over. You return to your work, but for some reason, the numbers and the letters on screen make no sense to you.
A moment later, you whisper, “Did I do something to upset you?”
Seungcheol turns his head slowly to regard you with a quizzical look. A sudden rush of emotions swirls within you, and for a scary moment, you think you might cry. With a deep, calming breath, you meet his eyes and try to flash your usual professional smile. “If you are displeased with my work or anything I have done, I hope you will let me know.”
Seungcheol is mute and slightly wide-eyed, almost like he is scared of you. The silence stretches on like chewing gum, and he looks like he is about to say something, but the car halts, and you waste no time getting out.
A quiet and suffocating elevator ride later, you step into your floor, with Seungcheol leading the way. The office is now empty and quiet, save for your footsteps, which halt in front of your desk as you set your things down. Seungcheol continues his way towards his personal office, but stops at his door. Turning his head back, he says, “Can you come into my office for a second?” His voice is not commanding, and he almost sounds unsure.
Confused, you stare at him for a second as he stands at his door, eyes fixed on you expectantly. Quickly plugging your phone in, you walk towards the double doors, stepping through the one he was holding open.
The second you are inside, Seungcheol locks the door shut behind you. You only get a second to process that you are pressed against the door with Seungcheol’s body dangerously close to yours and keeping you trapped, before a hand cups your jaw and tilts your head up.
“I can’t pretend anymore.” He whispers so low, you almost miss it.
“What?” You croak, your heart galloping like a racehorse, your knees are suddenly weak. What the fuck is going on? Are you dreaming?
His eyes meet yours before he utters very quietly, “I can’t pretend that I don’t care for you. I care much, much more than a boss should care for his secretary.”
“I…I don’t…” You mumble, heart racing in your ribcage, brain functioning on overdrive to make sense of what is happening.
“I am going to kiss you now, ___.” He warns. Then, Seungcheol is kissing you.
Warm, soft and delightful, you forget to breathe for a long second, your heart swooning, ready to burst. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close, molding your body with his. His large arms wrap around your back and your waist, pressing you flush against him, and you swear it is the best feeling in the world.
When you part, Seungcheol looks at you with glistening eyes, warm like a summer afternoon and for a second, you get lost in them. The kiss lingers on your lips, making you bite your lower lip. Like yours, your boss’s lips too, are swollen and just as he leans his face towards you again, you stop him, pressing your hands flat on his chest.
“Wait. Stop.” You say, voice too loud amongst the stillness.
Seungcheol pauses, eyes flashing with worry.
“Are you drunk, Mr. Choi?”
“What?”
“This cannot happen if you are drunk.” You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I… I cannot be your plaything. You know very well that I like you — I have been for a while and I’m trying to make sense of why you are suddenly doing this. I…I cannot—” you are suddenly choked with emotion, your gaze falling on the floor.
“___.” He says your name with a tenderness unlike ever before. “Look at me.”
You cannot bring yourself to, fighting to keep the tears at bay. With a finger below your chin, he tilts your face up to meet his eyes. “I am not playing with you. I am doing what I should have done long ago.”
“What?”
“I like you, ___. A lot. And I have liked you for a while. I just did not realize it,” He sighs, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair. “Well, I actually did…I think. I just did not want to give in to it, I suppose, with the dynamic we have and all.” His pauses, looking back at you. “I know this is pathetic, especially with the way I have been behaving for the past few weeks, but I cannot pretend anymore. I hate seeing you go on those dates. I hate seeing you be friendly with Jeonghan. I want to do those things with you. I want to be with you.”
Breathless, you gape at him, still struggling to believe that all of this is real.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
“I took you for granted.” He continues. “I got so used to your presence around me that I thought I would have you forever, forgetting that you could eventually move and find someone else, not only getting over me but leaving this job altogether.”
“So what, this is a ploy to keep me working here forever?” An awkward laugh comes from your mouth. Seungcheol keeps looking at you with a somber expression, a quiet storm brewing in his eyes.
“I mean it, ___. I want you. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.” He says quietly.
Wow. You must have died and gone to heaven.
Realizing that there is not much left to say, you inhale a steady breath, remove the gap between the two of you with a few quick steps, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Seungcheol wastes no time, wrapping his arms around you, meeting your lips with an equal fervor and the passion of a starving man. Lips connected, bodies in embrace, he guides you through the office, stopping in front of his desk and pushing you against it.
Catching his breath, he swiftly takes off his jacket and your fingers reach out to undo the buttons of his vest, shaking with hazy desire. He helps in taking off your dress, undoing the ribbon on the back and pulling down the zipper before tugging it down with one strong move. Left only in your bra and panties — which do not match by the way — you cringe in embarrassment while trying to combat the sheer amount of desire flowing through your veins. Seungcheol, unbothered, gets down on his knees, face to face with your pussy.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?” You squeak. The response is him taking off your panties with a tug so harsh that the lace on the edges rips.
“Seungcheol!”
“That’s right. That’s how you call me from now on. And that is the only word I want to hear from you now.” He commands with a burning fire in his eyes as he grabs your thighs, putting them over his shoulder and then gets to work.
Shit.
His tongue laps at your core and the first touch has you falling back on his desk, pushing down the stack of files and stationery on the floor. His tongue works at your core mercilessly, switching between playing with your folds and sucking your clit while you writhe in his grasp that is iron clad. With each flick of his tongue, your moans rise, and then he inserts one finger, which very quickly turns into two, and you think might die from the pleasure.
"Fuck!" You cry, body twisting and turning on his desk, desperate to get away from his touch but wanting it simultaneously. It is maddening —whatever that is happening, and you feel your high building, too quick, too strong.
"I cannot...Seungcheol...I think— I think—"
His response is muffled and you can only hope its a positive one as you feel the tremors run through your body, sitting right at the edge of an orgasm. His tongue moves like he has known your body for years, and with one strong flick on your clit, you go off, falling head first into an abyss of pleasure, all your nerves on fire.
As you lie flat on his desk, body still trembling from the orgasm, Seungcheol smothers kisses on your belly, slowly going up towards your chest and then your neck, biting and sucking your skin however he likes. You have bearely had a couple of minutes to recover, but heat starts pooling in your belly all over again, your hands coming up to wrap themselves around him, soft sighs parting from your lips as he kisses your jawbone, soft and sweet.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers in your ears. With a thousand butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss.
Then, he stands up, discards all the remaining clothes from his body and makes himself comfortable between your legs. You prop yourself on your elbows, taking a good look at his chiseled body and his flushed cock, which stands tall and angry, pointing at you.
“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Your boss hums, stroking his length, before hooking an arm underneath your thigh and yanking you closer to the edge of the table, your pussy a mere inch or so away from his cock.
“I am so sorry, sir,” you smile suggestively and Seunghcheol exhales a rough breath.
“You better keep screaming that when I pound this pussy.” His eyes shine with determination. You bite your lip, giving him a cheeky smile and watch as he inches his cock near your pussy. You take in a deep breath as he pushes his cock inside you, tantalizingly slowly, making sure you feel every inch and your nerves are on fire. With a moan, you fall back on the table, eyes falling shut with the way he fills you up over and over again.
“Fuck,” Seungcheol hisses, his voice throaty as he goes all the way in, and you swear you feel him in your stomach. With a loud cry, you cling onto his body, nails digging into his back and your toes curling at each thrust. He builds a pace, pushing in and out of you in steady movements. Your brain feels like mush as you fail to utter anything, your mouth simply hanging open to let out breathy pants as you close your eyes and feel every ridge of his cock move in and out of you.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters underneath his breath, eyes set on you so intensely, you feel a shiver run down your back. “Seungcheol…” his name parts from your lips like a prayer. Another mutter of curse from him before he stops his movements and yanks your ass upwards. The new angle makes his length curve inside you and you start seeing stars.
“Oh my god,” you hiss, eyes squeezed shut. The back of your thighs rests over Seungcheol’s, your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands clutching his arms as he starts to pick up pace. With each thrust, the force increases, the tip of his cock hitting your most sensitive spot, low groans falling from his lips to match your breathy moans.
“Shit...I want to cum...please,” your whisper mindlessly, the words scattered between whines of pleasure. “You want to come?” He taunts, leaning closer to look at your face. “Beg me. Say sir, please let me cum.”
Oh god.
The need to find your release only intensifies at his words. You are so close you can almost taste the blissful release, and as you utter the next words, you wonder what other hidden kinks you have. “Sir, please let me come.” You beg, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. The man squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a low groan, his pace increasing.
“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,’’ he hisses in your ears, his warm breath tickling your skin.
“Please, sir.” You whisper, doe-eyed and drunk on his cock. “Oh baby,” he murmurs, before leaning in to seize your lips in a bruising kiss. With one hand, he keeps a firm hold on your jaw while the other reaches below to touch your clit as he wastes no time rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his finger, all the while continuing to thrust inside you earnestly.
“Seungcheol!” With a loud cry you part your lips from his, your entire body jolting at his touch.
Your reaction makes him smirk as he chases his own high, not far away from finishing inside you. Standing up, he slows he pace ever so slightly, making sure to put all his body weight in each thrust as he places your clit between his thumb and index finger, giving you a particularly harsh rub followed by a pinch.
You are catapulted over the edge. Your vision goes white, your entire sweat-coated body twitching on his desk from the intensity of the orgasm. It only amplifies as you feel Seungcheol spill inside you, his warm release filling you up while float as high as the clouds, pure bliss overtaking your senses.
Once you have caught your breath and managed to gather your senses, you realize you lie on top of Seungcheol on the office floor, your bodies pressed together, riddled with exhaustion and sweat. For a moment, you say nothing, just feeling Seungcheol’s chest go up and down with every breath he takes.
“I can’t believe we just did that. In the office.” You whisper, almost like someone would hear you. Seungcheol shifts underneath you, helping you rest your head on his arm. “Me too but about time I acted on my desires.”
Shy but intrigued, you look at him, “Have you been wanting to do this for a while?”
“Fuck you on my desk?” He asks bluntly, making your face heat up. “God yes. You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.”
A small burst of laughter parts from your lips, delighted at his confession. Snuggling closer to him, you start tracing your index finger aimlessly over his chest. “We are going to be a nightmare for HR.”
“Fuck them. I am the CEO.”
His response makes you smile. “You are serious about this, aren’t you?” Seungcheol’s hand reaches out to cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards to look at him. “If you still have any doubts in your heart, you need to let them go because I am dead serious. You are mine.”
His words reignite the fire in your belly. And the way your lipstick marks are branded all over his face does not quite help either. Still, you decide on teasing him with a pout, “Was that supposed to be a confession? At least buy me some flow—”
You are cut off with another ruthless kiss. His tongue passionately makes its way into your mouth, meeting yours that is equally wanton. You claw at his chest, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel him growing hard again.
“Fuck,” he almost yanks himself free from your lips. “Let me get you home before we start round two here.” Your delighted laughter rings in the air as the two of you get dressed.
Next morning, when you wake up in Seungcheol’s bed, a bouquet of a hundred roses sits at the foot of the bed, with a note saying:
Can I be your boyfriend?
For a bonus epilogue, click here! This work will also be cross-posted on my AO3.
a/n: this was supposed to be out like a month ago but life got in the way, I suppose. been feeling quite shitty these days hence I haven't been writing much but I have started on this wonwoo fic that is inspired by Perfect Crown (the prime minister's character basically) so let's see where we can go with that. thank you for reading till the end and as always, your reblog, comments and feedback are very very appreciated!
SYNOPSIS. Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he’d have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league. But it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.
PARING. Lee Chan x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad!chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.
WC. 20k (sorry)
RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).
WARNINGS. Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie.
AN. Officially my first Chan fic and I’m SO happy I finally get to post it... hope you love it as much as I loved writing it! Also, since I forgot to say it earlier: this whole fic is based on End Up Here by 5SOS.
🎧 SOUNDTRACK. end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino.
He knew the exact moment you walked into the apartment. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence, a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.
Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Well, their expressions made it very clear: they were dying to find out.
There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself—though that certainly played a part—it was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something.
And he, well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.
Tonight, when you walked through the doors of his apartment looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin. It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t.
That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you during orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.
Of course, he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.
“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan’s voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.
Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.
And him? He was no better than the rest of them.
He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan — who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist — a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three.
“What?”
Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”
It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it.
Not that he was openly hitting on you whenever he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn’t even know he had.
It was a mess. He was a mess.
Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway.
Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”
Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a backing vocal for Beyoncé.”
“You do,” Vernon stated, deadpanned. “Mingi just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”
Yeah, he was that obvious.
He watched as Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?”
His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.
Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”
Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.
“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”
Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate.
Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program, meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.
You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.
Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times.
Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”
“Hyung—” Chan groaned.
“I mean, come on,” his eldest friend cut him off, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”
Chan glared at him again. “That is not the same thing.”
“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, scoffing.
By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though.
Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him.
A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care.
Not only was he the luckiest dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, and the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan if he could peek into his brain and see all the dreams he had about you over the years.
The guy also irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.
Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else — someone like him — made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.
“She has a boyfriend,” Chan finally said, feeling the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did.
“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”
He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”
Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.
“Look, man,” Seungkwan stared again, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”
“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.
“Seriously, dude,” Vernon chimed in. “You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”
Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”
“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”
Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.
Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.
He froze.
It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.
And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips — marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen — curved into a smile.
For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then—just as quickly as it happened—, you turned back to your friends, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand and leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.
He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.
Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” announced Vernon, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.
He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”
Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”
He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.
Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.
“Act normal,” he whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled.
Chan shot him a glare, but before he could tell his friend to shut the hell up, you were there, standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.
“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something so soft and delicate that made his breath catch.
Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.
“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.
Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix: Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show.
Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan.
“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their apartment. “Full house, I’ve been told.”
It was the first party the three of them had thrown since Vernon and Seungkwan became seniors and he a junior. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in their apartment right at that moment, it seemed they had been wrong.
“Thanks,” they chorused in perfect unison. You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity.
“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking?” He knew you weren’t just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body slowly but surely. “I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as Namsan Tower.”
It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house, and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.
Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.
Your laugh—soft, amused and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face.
“What’s your name?”
His world seemed to stop for a second.
Even though the two of you weren’t close, or even friends, he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was one of his best friends. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?
This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn’t know his name? Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.
This couldn’t be happening.
“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging a surprised and amused look, definitely holding back laughter.
“Oh, I know your name, Channie.” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”
Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.
“Oh.” Was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”
You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.”
Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go to his bedroom and sleep.
He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long.
“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.
“He’s fine,” Seungkwan answered for him. “We’re all fine.”
You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”
Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he was clearly trying to fill the awkward silence that Chan had created. “Are you having fun?”
“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”
The four of you glanced around the packed apartment, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable with the couch pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in one corner with beer and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things.
Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, the homecoming parties that were happening around campus this time of year were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.
The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you come alone?”
“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”
Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”
Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.
Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We’re a great company.”
You grinned. “Exactly.”
“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.
“Not here.”
The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory.
He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.
Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? No boyfriend? That’s new.”
You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his teasing tone. “He’s busy with something, I guess.”
You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan again, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat.
“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”
You let out a hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”
Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile per minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.
“You seem awfully interested in that drink.” You pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”
Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it, he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.
“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, like that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”
Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”
You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”
Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name so casually, so effortlessly, made his brain short-circuit again.
Everything he wished for — right after you, of course — was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him.
I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus. Hell, he was the current best dancer on the program since Xu Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.
So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?
It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.
Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”
At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.
“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”
Chan blinked.
“Oh, you know…” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”
It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.
You laughed, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”
Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words.
“So…” you mused, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”
Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”
Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically as if trying to convince both of you.
You just hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?
But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams. Just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.
Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it definitely shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer.
“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up and a smile so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet.
Two seconds later, and before any of them could say anything, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”
You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.
“I have to go.” You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend like they haven’t seen her there, shattering Chan’s dream of spending more than ten minutes near you. “See you guys around.”
His heart sank a little at your departure, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.
But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan, just him.
“I love your shirt, by the way.”
And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.
Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”
Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”
You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the bedrooms with an unlocked door.
To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for partying tonight, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected at all by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them.
So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.
That person was currently somewhere in the living room, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone in the coat closet, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.
With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name.
That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much.
You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances.
Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
It was nearly two in the morning when Chan finally decided he’d had enough of the party. You had disappeared a while ago to God-knows-where, and even though your friends were still in the living room playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home without them. Your boyfriend had probably swung by to pick you up at some point—like he always did—and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.
All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten in a way that hurt.
You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much out of reach.
Now, Chan was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed to his bedroom.
After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head.
He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right: this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos around the apartment. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every single move.
He was such a big fool.
A fool for you, apparently.
For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.
When the fabric shifted again, his breath caught in his throat. It was unmistakably you perched on the balcony railing with your legs dangling over the edge, one hand resting casually against your knee. Even under the dim glow from the city lights below, he knew that silhouette by heart. He didn’t know how long you had been out there, but seeing you, calm and distant and seemingly lost in thought, entirely unaware of him, rooted him to the spot.
He hesitated. Again.
The cool night air slipped into the room, sweeping the curtains aside and making them billow like they were inviting him forward. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But the thought of you sitting out there by yourself pulled at him, tightening something deep in his chest. It felt like the universe was placing a second chance right in front of him, daring him not to waste it this time.
Before he could overthink, before doubt could drag him back down, Chan pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room toward the balcony.
He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party still faintly echoing in the distance. Chan took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close, when all it took was one glance to unravel him completely.
You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.
Chan never really liked people invading his space — especially his room — and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But this was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance. “Chan?”
The way your voice sounded when you said his name — disbelieving — made it seem like you were the one wondering if he was real, not the other way around. And he couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Hey,” Chan managed to say, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “Are you alright?”
You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”
Chan hesitated for a beat before leaning against the railing beside you. His posture was a little stiff, like even though it was his bedroom, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there, intruding on your moment alone. Yet, somehow, your presence made him and the space feel calmer.
“I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”
You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dance major?”
He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends’ advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, as if they’d been made for you just as much as for him.
Still, Chan forced himself to get the words out.
“Yeah. Well, dancing is… different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense, you know? It’s the kind of noise I can control.”
You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”
“Not so much.”
A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet here you were, wrapped in his hoodie, on his bedroom balcony, as if you belonged there.
Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening.
God, you were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.
He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.
You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.
You’d known Chan and his friends long enough to recognize their signature chaos. They moved like a unit, very loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically themselves. Each one matching and amplifying the other’s quirks without a single trace of embarrassment. It was refreshing. Maybe that was why you liked being around them so much; they weren’t like the typical guys you met on this campus.
Every now and then, you’d end up hanging out with one of them. Sometimes it was Vernon, your friend, your classmate, basically unavoidable. Other times it was Seungkwan, who somehow knew everyone and always drifted into whatever group you were in.
Lee Chan, however, was the one you barely ever heard speak. You could never tell if he was always that quiet… or if he just became that way around you. You suspected it was the last one.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” The question left you in a light tone, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.
Chan laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He scrambled for words, anything to not look like a complete idiot. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”
Brilliant! Just brilliant.
For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, Chan hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.
Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.
He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips, even with the awkwardness hanging in the air. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy. You didn’t make him feel self-conscious. If anything, you made him feel noticed, and something about that sent a slow warmth spreading through him.
“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he defended himself, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just… not always the best at small talk.”
You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway.”
Silence settled between you, strangely comfortable. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like the two of you were sealed off from the rest of the world. Right here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something Chan couldn’t quite name.
He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.
The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.
So instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”
Chan watched as you suddenly froze, eyes widening as his question sank in. Your gaze followed his, tracing down to the hoodie hanging loosely on your frame, and the realization hit you. A soft laugh slipped past your lips and it sent his pulse straight into overdrive.
“Oh shit.” You blinked rapidly, the disbelief written all over your face. You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. “Wait, no—” you rushed out, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I didn’t even realize this was your room. I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t come in here to—”
“You just… what?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
He was still trying to process all of it. you, standing in front of him, frustration and embarrassment coloring your face, and wearing his hoodie of all things — did he stress that enough?
Chan had spent the entire night convinced he’d already ruined every chance he might’ve had with you, and now here you were, undoing every conclusion he’d drawn.
You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. I found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”
He stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”
It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.
He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over his whole body. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.
You stayed seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.
Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a small smirk. “It looks better on you anyway.”
He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Maybe it was the cool night air. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.
Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now, almost shy. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”
Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his clothes, looking at him like that. Yeah. He was completely screwed.
“No, stay,” he blurted out, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”
You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”
Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back?”
You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”
He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.
You held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.
“Okay,” you said at last. Then your lips curved into a teasing smile. “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”
Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he could ever say no to you. “Fine. You can keep it.”
You grinned. “Thanks, Chan.”
“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”
“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.
And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.
There was a comfortable silence between you after that again, just the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges just for you and him.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him, studying him like you were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Chan felt his pulse jump all over again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him.
Or maybe — just maybe — it was simpler than that. Maybe it was because he wanted to be on the receiving end of the softness you reserved for your boyfriend.
At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.
Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “So where’s your boyfriend?”
If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose.
The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.
And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He’s...not my boyfriend anymore.”
Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words.
Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.
“Not your boyfriend anymore?” he repeated after you. “Why not?”
You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn’t want to be, I guess.”
That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with his step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already.
Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?
“Then he’s an idiot,” Chan muttered with no hesitation. Like it was a fact, not a judgment.
When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion. Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”
You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”
The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it.
He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”
You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was a little more sharper when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”
Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him, like a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel tonight. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.
“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”
“And what finally made you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Chan.”
“Yeah?”
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even though a smile tugged at his lips. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative, made him braver, lighter, more him.
You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”
His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment.
Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head?
Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him, the asshole who never let you breathe.
“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk.” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them.
“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?”
Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.
“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you continued, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”
Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.
Something you truly deserved.
“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”
Chan hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.
You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled.
“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”
His heart beat faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before.
“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment.
“Maybe,” you murmured quietly, though your voice didn’t waver, eyes locked on his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”
Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility.
Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air.
Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you, not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart.
He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the curtain of rain before inevitably returning to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, the hesitance in his voice sounding less like uncertainty and more like an offering. Chan was trying to give you an escape, if you wanted it.
You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”
Chan turned to face you, his eyes softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, in the tiny pause, the quiet wobble of your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience. If anything, you were the one person he wanted there, more than anything, more than anyone.
“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.”
“Never,” you replied, sounding casual, though something in your voice slipped past his understanding. Particularly when you added, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart giving a sharp, startled kick. At this point, a heart attack felt like a valid possibility. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.
Chan cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.
As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips.
What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went to his bedroom and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends?
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answered, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs.
Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout, but contained himself.
Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric.
So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care.
He couldn’t help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.
The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life.
There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance group, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.
Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely.
“Lee Jung Chan?” you read aloud, curiosity threading through your voice as your eyes went back to his children’s dance trophies. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time.
Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”
“You went by your full name back then?”
He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”
“It’s cute,” you remarked, throwing him a look over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”
“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”
You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you’d only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation.
“What? Jimmy Neutron?”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn’t help.”
You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips or else his blood would rush south.
“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.
He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it’s adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it beautifully.”
Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look beautiful now?”
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”
He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”
You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you’ve probably never seen anything so lovely before.
“Well, I think you were adorable,” you said under your breath, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”
He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”
Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”
“She is,” he replied, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”
Something about the way Chan said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. The streetlights made his features look even more defined, shadows deepening along his strong jawline.
If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.
Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure simply because he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.
“You still are, you know,” you said gently. “A star.”
His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I think I prefer when you call me cute.”
“Duly noted.”
Chan exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”
You didn’t need to say his name that way, or shape the word with your lips like that. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and a flicker crossed his expression. His eyes met yours.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you are.”
To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”
As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued the exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he was standing between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly.
“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture.
“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”
“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”
Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”
You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?”
He paused, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”
“That’s love.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.
He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.
Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.
“I was there that day, you know?” you pointed out, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to.
Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.
“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo, and then at him.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.”
He felt a warmth spread through him at your words. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you.
“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”
He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”
There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”
He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”
Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.
There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter.
You noticed him.
Not just that night, but every time after.
He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had. Every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do.
How did he end up here?
Chan felt lightheaded.
He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.
“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.
You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”
Chan swallowed. Hard. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different?
But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”
Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night so he could scan every face in the crowd to find you standing by the side stage, maybe watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time.
Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken.
The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.
He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, making his head spin in the best way.
His eyes stayed fixed on you as you pressed your hands into the mattress and stared at the wall ahead, as if you were deliberately avoiding his gaze for reasons he couldn’t name.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mhmm.”
You wet your lips, a brief hesitation before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”
Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.
You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. The question seemed to be answered to you. “That’s what I thought.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He paused, eyes lifting to the ceiling and then settling on you again. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”
You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious.
“I make you nervous?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as your eyes widened. “That’s a first.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”
You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”
“That is just an act,” he confessed. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you. “You’re real. You’re right here.”
And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.
Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew how your stomach was doing backflips because of the way he was looking at you like you were something impossible and unreal all at once.
You hadn’t expected this and most certainly didn't expect him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, sounding like you were trying to defend yourself. You had never looked so cute as you did now.
“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan tried to explain, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”
Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things.
And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.
Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you’d heard him right.
Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Something inside you fluttered at the thought. It seemed like every word that came out of Chan’s mouth was meant to surprise you, even if you didn’t believe he was doing it on purpose. You hadn’t expected this at all, not from him, least of all, not tonight.
“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.
He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”
“But you never said anything!”
“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.”
You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence.
Didn’t think you’d be interested?
It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.
What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around.
Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.
So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. “Is it just in the past?”
Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”
“Your crush.”
“Uhh..”
“Because it would be so sad if it was” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his.
“Really?”
You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”
He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what Chan had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.
“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”
You hummed. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”
Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous.
“Would it?” he managed, clearing his throat in the process.
Your smile again, nodding.
He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”
“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
You didn’t say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real.
He was messing with your head? That’s a first.
“Noted,” he simply murmured.
“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.
Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed.
He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.
Chan’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. His first instinct was to joke, to brush it off, to act nonchalant, as he always did. But the look in your eyes—quiet, expectant, tinged with something dangerously close to hope—left him no room to lie.
And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”
You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him.
You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Good.”
Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash.
“Good?”
You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”
A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe. “Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.
“What do you think?” you asked, biting your lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”
You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”
“Noted.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful.
You kept your lip under your teeth for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.
Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.
You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.
“Chan.”
“Yes, noona?”
“Do you wanna kiss me?”
He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.
Did he hear you right?
Did you—did you really just ask him that?
But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.
His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.
He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.
“Uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”
“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, “and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”
He was absolutely, utterly doomed.
He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Chan let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head.
You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”
You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning.
Yeah, he was probably overthinking this. Hell, scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this. But the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him.
He didn’t want to screw this up.
But at the same time…
God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again.
So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.
“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”
Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”
That’s all it took.
Chan closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. It was slow, tentative at first. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips, engrave it into his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped completely.
He exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it.
If the party outside still carried on, now it felt absolutely muted. The only thing that existed was your lips against his, the way they fit together, your fingers threading through his hair, the soft sound you let out when he nipped your bottom lip.
Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed.
And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else.
Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side, and that was it. You were lost too.
When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs.
Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him.
A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter, if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.
One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.
Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time.
Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hips to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.
His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.
As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him and the fact that you looked like a goddess on top of him.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you.
Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling his full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him.
Chan’s breath came in uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.
“Fuck,” Chan rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.
Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours.
“You,” he admitted, breathless, “I just want you.”
The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. “Then take me, baby,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.
Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.
“You really are on a mission to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath deliciously warm against your lips.
You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”
He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.
The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.
His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize it, in case this was the last time he’d ever get to.
Your hips rolled instinctively again, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.
You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.
Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”
His hands traveled higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.
“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”
You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you.
“I want you to sit on my face.” His voice didn’t waver; it was an order wrapped in certainty, his eyes darkened with something you’d never seen in him before, something you instantly craved. The sheer weight of it dragged a whimper from your lips.
Still, you can’t help but think about his safety.
“Are you sure?” The words slipped out on a shaky exhale, your breathing already unsteady.
Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt.
“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please”
“Fuck. Okay.”
You got off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you stepped out of the bed. You pulled off your skirt and panties, while Chan got up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returned to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burned with desire as he watched you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset, clearly on purpose.
When your breasts finally spilled free, his mouth parted slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world.
“Come here, baby.”
You slowly crawled across the bed toward where he was lying close to the headboard, and Chan helped you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settled on either side of his head as you both adjusted, ensuring the position was comfortable for both of you.
“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against you, followed by a groan, and you felt his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.
You knew that you were so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you were sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill ran through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you were the most delicious meal he was ever going to have in his life.
“You smell delicious, noona.” The way he spoke made you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”
Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat was right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips found your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate.
When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him.
The gasp that left your lips was a sound you’d never made before, completely immersed in the pleasure he was giving you. His nose nudged against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moved over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who had been starving for far too long.
“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”
The way Chan’s mouth moved on you was pure, unrestrained hunger, and it felt so good that, only for a moment, you entertained your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to do exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cupped your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that made you shiver around him.
His tongue circled your entrance, sliding in as more of your slick spilled into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wanted this to end. All day, every day, Chan was sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wanted was to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that was you with your pussy right in his face.
Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans were the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty sure this was the soundtrack of paradise and he couldn’t wait to get there.
When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sensations.
“Oh my god, Chan,” you choked out, closing your eyes shut.
“Hmm.” His hum sent vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would have fallen forward on the bed.
Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.
He was done. Gone.
There was no one else for him in this world.
Only you.
You.
You.
You.
You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.
“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.
That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.
Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.
When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked-out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn’t resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.
Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.
He could only be dreaming.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.
Normally, words like that spoken so close would have made you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length—aching, neglected, and probably leaking—pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants.
Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing second. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.
The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and you arched into him, desperate to feel more, to press him even more against you, to take him in.
“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm.
Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.
“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”
“I want it.” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.”
“Okay, noona.”
Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips.
“You were driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you.
You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”
Chan didn’t argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his thighs in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.
You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you.
You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.
After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake.
“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said, “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”
He didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive.
“Didn’t you wanna take me raw, Channie?” You pouted, sliding forward again. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.
The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint.
“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze.
“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender.
Another soft moan escaped you as you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch. The way he fit inside you felt achingly right, as if your bodies had been carved for each other.
Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support.
“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”
You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan’s hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.
“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you grew harder, more intense, driven by pure need.
You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him too, the pressure mounting with each thrust.
You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.
A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot.
“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.
He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”
One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.
“Chan!”
The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.
The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison.
The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you’d run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together.
Still buried inside you, Chan could hardly believe any of this was real. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment.
He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.
Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”
Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Mmm,” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?”
Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him.
You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I’ve been wanting this… for longer than I care to admit.”
He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him.
“Wow,” he breathed. “I...I didn’t think…”
“Didn’t think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.
He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought… I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”
Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on.
Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.
His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he’d been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.
You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”
He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”
“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something… that made me want to get to know you better.”
Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren’t scared off by my… awkwardness around you?”
You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”
He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”
You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you’ll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”
He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I’m willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”
“Mhmm.”
“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”
You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.
“Honestly?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn’t think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was… persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed… distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”
He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He’d been so afraid of rejection that he’d inadvertently pushed you away. “I… I was an idiot.”
You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we’re not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”
Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
“For giving me a second chance.”
You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”
A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…”
You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest.
“Don’t get any ideas, Jimmy Neutron,” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I’m a tough negotiator. You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m a very hard worker. And, I’m more than happy to put in the overtime for you.”
“We’ll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You’re incredible, Lee Chan. Don’t ever forget that.”
He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore.”
Not even seconds before he fully opened his eyes, Chan already had a smile on his face.
His arm instinctively reached for you, only to find you already curled against him, leg thrown over his, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your hand sprawled across his bare chest like it had always belonged there. His shirt — the one you’d stolen off the floor around 3 a.m — was hanging loosely on your body, oversized, and entirely too intimate. Your soft breath tickled his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile wilder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder.
He loved that sight. Your sight. It felt like a livid dream.
Except he knew this wasn’t a dream because last night replayed in his mind on repeat. Every whispered word, every touch, every breathless plea. He had thought about it for so long, imagined it in so many ways and scenarios. Yet, nothing compared to the reality of holding you now.
Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room—and you—in a soft golden glow. Chan swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment: peaceful, warm, and completely wrapped up in him. His heart swelled as he took in the way your lashes fluttered slightly, the way your fingers still clutched at his arm like you never wanted to let him go.
God, only if you knew.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tightening his arm around your for a bit. You only stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him with a soft sigh. Chan chuckled under his breath, his hand running down your back soothingly. He wanted to stay like this forever, stay with you here forever. But he also wanted you to feel welcomed in his house, to make you never want to leave.
So carefully, Chan slid out from under you, heart pounding as he sat at the edge of the bed. You curled into the warm spot he left behind, sighing softly like his scent comforted you. He had to bury his face in his hand to keep from screaming into them.
With a quick look around his room — the clothes on the floor, shoes scattered as if they had been thrown off their feet, the hoodie you’d worn discarded on his desk chair — and exhaled a shaky, lovesick breath.
Yeah, he was a total lovesick puppy, and honestly? He didn’t mind admitting it one bit.
Taking just one more look at you sleeping in his bed, dressed in his clothes, looking very much like an angel sent from up above, Chan smiled. He took a mental picture of the sight, hoping it would be the first of many, then slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound.
The first thing he saw when he entered the kitchen was Vernon pouring cereal like a man who hadn’t slept in three days and was on the verge of starvation. Seungkwan was slumped over the counter, half-dead, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Both looked up when Chan walked in wearing nothing but sweats and a very evident bruised neck.
Seungkwan squinted. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Chan asked, voice definitely not and octave higher. The look on their faces said it all; they already knew he had something to say. He was terrible at pretending to be nonchalant.
“Like you’re thrilled to be alive,” Vernon added, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “Did you see god or something?”
Very close.
Chan opened the fridge just to have something to hide behind. “I didn’t see God. I just… had a very good night.”
Seungkwan snorted loudly. “You? A good night? With who? Your pillow?”
“Actually…” Chan closed the fridge door, trying his absolute hardest to be casual. “Y/N and I—”
They both rolled their eyes as if to say, ‘here we go again with this subject,’ and Chan did his best to hide the smile threatening to appear on his lips, along with the urge to shout to the four corners of the apartment about what had happened last night. Of course, he held back, because you were sleeping like an angel in his sheets, and he would never risk disturbing you.
“Chan, seriously,” Seungkwan said, exhausted. “It’s time to let it go. You couldn’t even speak in front of her last night.”
Vernon nodded. “Pretty sure her boyfriend came to pick her up anyway.”
“Could you let me finish?” Chan huffed, arms crossing over his bare chest. “As I was saying, Y/N and I… we kinda talked. A lot. And then we… uhm… we—”
“Are you high right now?” Seungkwan cut in.
He blinked. “What?”
“Why are you referring to you and Y/N as ‘we’?”
“Because… last night we finally…”
Vernon stared at him, monotone as always. “You didn’t.”
“I DID!” Chan whisper-yelled, pointing vaguely toward his bedroom. “She was wearing my hoodie and then we talked and the she kissed me and—”
Seungkwan burst into laughter so loud it echoed. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you, but you dreamed that. No way Y/N was in your room last night.”
“I didn’t dream it!”
“You definitely did,” Vernon said, crunching cereal like this was a court trial. “You were drunk. Did you use that thing I bought Wednesday? Seungyoun said the trip was insane—”
Chan groaned. “Guys, I’m serious.”
Seungkawn patted his shoulder sympathetically, shooting his voice like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay, buddy. One day you’ll kiss her for real. Just maybe not in your dreams next time. Okay?
He opened his mouth to argue, but footsteps echoed down the hallway, making Vernon and Seungkwan look over and watch intently. It didn’t take long for Chan to notice their eyes growing wide in their socket, almost popping out. Vernon dropped the cereal bowl, while Seungkwan looked like his soul had been yanked straight out of his body and shoved back in, choking violently on his iced coffee.
And there you were.
Smiling shyly. Sleepy-messy hair. Bare legs. Chan’s oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder like it was made for you. Blinking in the sunlight and looking way too soft and way too pretty for this hour, and for anyone else’s eyes; he should be the only one allowed to see you like this from now on.
You walked over to Chan like it was the most normal thing in the world, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on your toes to peck his lips.
“Morning,” you murmured against his lips.
He smiled into the kiss. Vernon and Seungkwan were nothing but white noise now. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep okay?”
“Like a baby.” Then you finally noticed the two frozen men staring at you. “Oh—hi. Good morning. Do you guys have coffee?”
Seungkwan made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.
Vernon blinked slowly. “Bro.”
Chan shrugged at them with a smug little smile, arm slipping around your waist. From now on, it was the one place it belonged.
“Told you.”
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Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!
summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
SUMMARY: The concept of a happily ever after has never really occurred to you. Yet, you find yourself wondering if you could actually find one with Chan, and what kind of future would be right for both of you.
PAIRING: lee chan x f!reader
GENRE: drama, angst, fluff, oneshot
WARNINGS: suggestive content, mature themes, mention of loss of virginity, emotional conflict, coming-of-age elements (teen growth, rebellious phase, puberty changes), emotional intimacy, possible psychological distress, mentions of alcohol use, avoided attachment, self-erasure, fear of inadequacy, academic pressure, brief family conflict, miscommunication, unhealthy attachment, heartbreak, implied depression, emotional isolation (if you read closely).
WC: 12.7k (pukupukupowpow)
ADD TAGS❦: childhood friend! chan, forbidden love themes, post-timeskip mention, first love, secret relationship, kinda tragic, open ending(?), brief mention of arranged marriage, this is a bit emotional lol idk chat, jihoon and jeonghan emotional support, cinderella metaphor, verkwan cameo, sorry cheol this is not your time to shine, a little surprise in the end.
a/n: a bit heavy, please take care of yourself, apples <3
2015, May (5) 20 — The Boy, the girl, or The Puppy
Some people long for a simple, planned life. Tied up like a ribbon, sealed neatly so everything feels settled. Some refuse to sail the sea, believing it’s safer to stay on land. People tend to follow what’s already been written for them, what’s been decided in advance. As a child, you have yet to discover what’s truly meant for you. At that age, it’s only natural to follow what your parents have chosen.
You were six years old when you met Chan for the first time. It was at the playground. You had been expecting Jihoon to show up as usual, but instead, it was his cousin. What could a kid like you possibly find to play with someone who looked like fish out of water?
You didn’t speak to six-year-old Chan. You sat under the slide, drawing meaningless lines in the sand with a stick. You were never a sociable child, so you left it at that. And it went on, you never intended to talk to him. Not until he suddenly spoke up, telling you he had a treehouse in his backyard.
At six, you didn’t think much of it. You simply followed along, expecting the typical kind of treehouse you’d seen on TV. A normal child would be curious, and you were no exception. His wide, hopeful eyes made it obvious he wanted you to say yes, to be his friend. Still, you gave him a hard time, as if you had plenty of friends to choose from. The truth was, you didn’t. Jihoon was your only playmate, three years older than you, someone you only ever saw at the playground.
By the time you and Chan turned fifteen, things felt… different. Maybe even stupid, in the way teenage years often are. He used to follow you around whenever you met at the playground, but eventually, you both started meeting at the treehouse instead. Back then, you were just messy, loud, carefree kids. But as you grew older and entered middle school, a gap began to form between you. You had grown up together, always seeing him as nothing more than a playmate. Yet somehow, you and Chan ended up in completely different worlds. Sometimes, you would catch glimpses of him through your window, laughing and playing with his friends, while you sat alone with your MP3 player, earphones in, watching from a distance.
As they grew up, most kids found their own circles of friends to spend time with, people to share their interests. But for you, that idea felt both foreign and oddly familiar. Hanging out with friends after school was something you had never really experienced. Instead, your days were filled with tuition classes and cram school. To put it simply, you never quite saw eye to eye with your classmates. As a result, you didn’t have many real friends. If you could even call them that. Some people described you as having a stiff upper lip. At sixteen, it wasn’t something you thought much about… not at first. Eventually, it began to sink in. Watching Chan interact so easily with others his age made you realize something you had always avoided admitting: You were different.
If there was anyone you could even call a friend, it would be Chan.
2017, June — I Know What You Did Last Summer
They say youth is when you discover your passions, when your future is placed right in the palm of your hand. It’s also when people experience their first love. Every girl and boy seems to be thrilled by the idea of it. Even if you’re a little cynical, you’re not immune to it either.
When you and Chan entered your final year of high school, he hadn’t expected to end up in the same class as you. He was so different from you. Even though you were in the same grade, you were sharp as a tack, unlike him. Not that he was stupid. Chan liked to think he was bright… in his own way.
The moment he saw you again in the assembly hall, walking up to receive your certificate from the principal, he knew he was doomed to sit beside you. Of course, he knew you. Growing up together made that inevitable. He was well aware of your flaws, though people often assumed he had the upper hand over you. They were wrong. You were a tough cookie, and he had known that since the day he met you at the playground when he was six.
He also knew how other students saw you. He’d heard it enough, the self-centered, cold, selfish. Words that felt completely different from the version of you he knew in the treehouse. Sometimes, he wondered how you really felt about it all. But you never showed anything beyond that blank, unreadable expression, as if none of it bothered you. His first impression of you hadn’t been great either… not until he got to know you.
What could he even do, anyway? Fifteen-year-old him had always been arguing with you. Even now, that hasn't really changed. That was until he found out you were his seatmate. Just right beside him, for the rest of the year.
The classroom door slid open, drawing everyone’s attention. Chan stood there with a sheepish smile, clearly late again, during the first week of school. He didn’t seem too bothered. As he walked to his seat, you didn’t even glance up. You simply continued listening to the teacher, who let him off this time. If it had been his math teacher, he would’ve been grilled alive.
He dropped into the seat beside you. You didn’t react. What did bother you, though, was the constant shuffling. You shot him a sharp side-eye look. The silent stare, but threatening enough.
Chan paused mid-search, hand still inside his bag. “Why are you glaring at me like that?”
“I’m hoping you'll spontaneously combust,” you replied flatly, eyes still fixed on the whiteboard.
He ignored the jab and kept rummaging, the noise somehow getting worse. You hissed under your breath, trying not to snap mid-class.
“Can you be quieter? It’s annoying. What are you even digging for—your boogers?”
He sighed, still clutching his bag. “I forgot my stationery. Can you lend me some?”
“No.”
“Oh, come on.” He scooted his chair closer, and you instinctively shifted away. “Just this once. I’ll buy you snacks after school.”
You didn’t respond. Face on the board as you solely focused on your teacher’s teaching which is something Chan wouldn’t care about. He slumped. “Okay, fine. I’ll double it. Tempura and extra fishcake.”
“I hate fishcake.”
“Tteokbokki, then. Extra sauce.”
You slid your pencil case toward him. That alone felt like a victory to him.
...
That was how he lost his money.
During recess, he paid for your convenience store snacks. After school, he still had to treat you at the street stall you both used to visit as kids. There went his allowance. Not that he was too worried, his grandparents adored him enough to make up for it. His mom, on the other hand, would definitely ask questions.
Some people tend to follow what’s written for them. But for Chan? He always seemed to follow you instead. To the great unknown, into something uncertain. Something undefined. Something that only the two of you could call your own.
Our world.
Chan had his first kiss when he was eighteen, and so did you. It started with something harmless, just another teenage conversation about relationships. The idea of love wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You’d heard your classmates talk about their crushes, their boyfriends. Chan, being a typical boy, got curious. Have you ever liked someone? With your nonexistent social life, he doubted you even found anyone interesting.
“Are you even listening?” He was sprawled across the bed while you worked on your homework at the low table.
“Yes,” you replied without looking up. “It just takes me a while to process this much stupid at once.”
Of course. That was such a you answer. He really should’ve expected it. Really. He figured it out you were not particularly interested in anything at all. Even so, he kept trying. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe something else.
Despite being uninterested in almost everything, you still found yourself staying in his treehouse, from when you were just a snotty child until now. He never questioned why you kept coming back, even while half-assing your way through conversations with him. The treehouse became more livable over time. Sometimes, he stayed there just to escape his study hours, his mom constantly nagging him about his grades. After all, it had been a gift from his grandfather. Somehow, his safe haven had become yours too.
Still, that didn’t stop him from trying to get you to talk about things like this. He was too timid to bring it up directly, though curiosity came naturally at your age. He figured girls would understand these topics better. But you weren’t like other girls. You were a stone-cold bitch.
“You’ve never had a crush on anyone?” he asked again, sitting up.
You hummed, still focused on your work. You were not taking him seriously. He sighed louder this time, deliberately. The only way to grab your attention was by being annoying.
Rolling your eyes, you finally looked at him, “Why are you so worked up about this? If this is about that noona you liked last year—”
“It’s not!” His face flushed. “We’re past that. Don’t bring it up.”
“Then what?” You went back to writing. “If this is about trying to get a girlfriend, stop hanging out with Jaehyuk. He pisses me off.”
Chan opened his mouth then closed again. He hesitated before sliding down beside you. The proximity wasn’t foreign for you both but you would always be the first one to jerk away yet stayed there.
“…Okay, you got me. But Jaehyuk’s not that bad. He’s just… kind of arrogant sometimes.”
“He is arrogant,” you said flatly. “The way he treats his girlfriend like a prize makes me want to throw a chair at his face.”
Yeah. That sounded like you. He couldn’t imagine you liking anyone. Honestly, who would? Your personality alone scared people off. And yet, he’d stayed by your side for years. He also didn’t really understand why.
“If you keep acting like this,” he said, “I don’t think any guy would want to kiss you.” He paused. “Wait—have you even had your first kiss?”
“Have you?” you shot back.
At that moment, you both stared back at each other. He swallowed his lump, feeling himself exposed by your retort and questions. He had held a girl's hand before and had never even kissed someone, but that was a different story.
He, in fact, had never kissed someone in his eighteen years of life.
For the first time, you leaned closer. He instinctively leaned back, just a little. You weren’t someone who liked closeness. Not like this. Your faces were barely inches apart now. He swallowed, eyes flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.
“Have you ever heard of a butterfly kiss?” you asked.
“Huh?” he dumbly blinked, just staring there with a puzzled look on his face. He shook his head slowly, then wondered, “No, I’m not familiar with that.”
“When you flutter your eyelashes against someone else’s.”
He blinked again, looking somewhat like an idiot to you.
“Want to try it?”
Noticing his curious eyes, you stifle a chuckle and then lean closer again, this time. He doesn’t back down, stays there. Your face moving closer to him, moving your eyes closer to him, as he could feel your breath fanning him. The way your eyelashes fluttered against his eyelid as he did the same made the touch itself gentle and intimate. Almost ticklish yet tender, like close to affection. When you pulled back a little, he almost found himself wanting to lean closer again, missing the proximity you both once had.
When you pulled away, he almost followed. “…That’s it?” His voice cracked slightly.
“What? Were you expecting a french kiss?”
He groaned, flopping back. “Not funny. I was this close to my first kiss.”
You shifted beside him. “Why does it matter so much? Afraid your friends will call you a late bloomer?”
Yes. That was what he wanted to say. Not that he wanted to admit that to you. It’s almost frustrating because you would always get on point and figure out everything about him, like he was easy to read.
A quiet moment passed. Then you said, “Do you want to try?”
Now his head snapped toward you, making you startled a little at how fast he was being. “...the french kiss?”
“I was going to say a kiss, not that.”
“Same thing.”
“Do you even know what that is?” you scoffed, "I don't want to hear that coming from a sore loser who never had his first kiss. You’d probably be terrible at it.”
“Ugh,” he muttered, sulking. “This is why I don’t talk to you about this stuff.”
“Then go kiss your boyfriends, especially Jaehyuk,” you said, “since you loved to hang out with his ass.”
After a long moment, he finally looked at you, and you looked back at him. Something is shifting in the atmosphere in that place. It felt different; he could sense it, but he couldn’t quite put what that feeling was.
“…I mean it,” you added, softer this time. “while I’m still being nice.”
Chan inhaled then exhaled slowly, leaning closer to you when you were both just by side. “You sure?” He finds himself stuttering in between.
You nodded at him in confirmation. His hand covers yours on the floor. Nose just brushing against yours as his eyes flutter for a moment, the feeling was both intimate and tender. The way your breath hitches a little, after what felt foreign, you feel his lips on yours for a moment. You and he stayed like that for a while, his lips pressing against yours in soft tenderness as your eyes closed.
When he finally pulled back, leaving only a small gap between you, his eyes lingered on yours, now open. You held each other’s gaze for a moment, something in the air shifting, yet never awkward. There was something different about Chan now. No longer the snot-nosed, scaredy-cat kid you once knew, he had grown into someone else entirely.
“…Do you want to try again?”
You nodded. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips to yours again — more certain now, but still gentle. Outside, the rain poured heavily against the roof. But all you could hear was your own heartbeat, rapidly beating. It was summer when you and Chan shared your first kiss.
2021, February — 520 Days of Summer
When Chan turned twenty-two, he was still a virgin.
It wasn’t something that bothered him. At least, not until he started university. After graduating high school and taking your college entrance exams, you and Chan went your separate ways. That didn’t mean you drifted apart. You still saw each other occasionally, meeting at the treehouse whenever you could. You went to a prestigious university, just as he had expected. Chan, on the other hand, got into a public university nearby. Not as exclusive as yours, but he was still surprised he managed to get in at all.
His freshmen year went fine. That was, until his friends started teasing him for being “bitchless.” It got on his nerves. He had dated someone, an older girl, but they broke up when she said she wanted someone more “mature.” He had already seen that coming. It sounded more like an excuse than anything else. At this point, he wouldn’t even be surprised if the next person he dated ran off the moment they found out he was still a virgin.
Fuck.
That thought bruised his pride more than he wanted to admit. So he tried not to think about it. Instead, he threw himself into the game. Dribbling the ball, he tried to shoot, but missed cleanly. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. He’d come to the court to blow off steam with his friends, but it clearly wasn’t working.
Seungkwan let out a whistle, panting as he grinned. “Cut me some slack here—is that all you’ve got?”
Chan bristled, tossing the ball toward Vernon. Seungkwan always knew exactly how to get under his skin, and he always fell for it. Especially today. His birthday, of all days.
“No,” Chan shot back, dodging Seungkwan as he got the ball again. “If I wanted to miss, I’d just throw it straight at your face.”
He shot again and missed. He groaned, collapsing onto the court floor. They’d been playing for what? Two and a half hours?
“I’m beat,” he muttered, eyes closing as he exhaled. “Time out.”
“Good game,” Vernon said, high-fiving Seungkwan and smacking his ass before walking over to Chan with a bottle of water. Chan took it with a quiet thanks.
Seungkwan, of course, was the first to speak again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You kind of suck at ball games.”
“Fuck off, what is wrong with you?” Chan scoffed, sitting up. “Is that how you treat me on my birthday? I’d appreciate a gift, you know.”
“You’re welcome,” Seungkwan grinned.
“No, seriously,” Vernon added, settling onto the bench with a towel draped around his neck. “What’s got you so worked up?”
Chan opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t want to talk about it at all.
“He’s just mad his girlfriend didn’t wish him,” Seungkwan cut in, earning a sharp glare.
“No, I’m not.”
Vernon chuckled, “Your ex? I thought you said you moved on. Dude, you know she wasn’t serious, right?”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan added, finishing his drink in one go. “Freshman getting targeted by a senior? She probably just wanted to get into your pants. You were easy.”
Chan grimaced. It stung, but at the same time, he knew they weren’t entirely wrong. If anything, he’d dodged a bullet. Still, he wasn’t about to admit that.
“Anyway, I wasn’t even talking about your ex,” Seungkwan continued. “I meant her.”
His friend turned to him, puzzled by that. He doesn't recall dating many people, but certainly the recent ex was shitty. He was probably talking about you. Chan stood up and joined Vernon on the bench after a moment.
“…Who?” Vernon asked, curious now.
“_____,” Seungkwan replied with a small grin.
Vernon let out a soft “Ahhh,” clearly amused. “I thought you two had something going on.”
Chan immediately grabbed a towel and threw it at his face. “We’re not a thing. Stop making things up.”
It wasn't that simple. Vernon wasn't completely wrong either. Even if he tried to explain whatever this was between you and him, they wouldn’t understand. The bond you shared wasn’t something easy to label.
“Speak of the devil,” Seungkwan said, nodding toward the entrance.
Chan turned, and there you were. He found himself wetting his bottom lips as he swallowed, suddenly aware of the way his body tensed in your presence.
“Why are all of you staring at me like that?” you asked, dropping your bag. “Talking shit behind my back?”
“Yeah,” Seungkwan said without hesitation. “We were just saying how Chan’s bitchless and a sore loser.”
A towel hit him square in the shoulder. “Not cool,” Chan muttered, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt and switching into a sleeveless top. “How did you even get here? Your dorm’s far.”
You shrugged, sitting beside Vernon. "Suhyeok gave me a ride," you simply said, your eyes lingering on the way his gross sweat glistens on his lean muscles.
He let out a disbelieving sound, “The senior who wouldn’t stop clinging to you since orientation? I thought his existence irritated the hell out of you.”
Vernon snorted quietly, scrolling through his phone as he listened to the conversation.
“What? He offered, so I said yes,” you replied casually. Chan didn’t buy it, believing that he had knowledge of your nature. He was immune to it, despite your hatred in everything. It’s hard to believe that you’d actually tolerate that.
“You’re just taking advantage of the situation,” he scoffed.
“Hey, don’t blame her,” Seungkwan chimed in, dribbling the ball again. “Girls use their advantages to survive. My friends do it all the time.”
Chan shot him a look, “Survive? She’s on a scholarship. And she gets an allowance from her dad.”
You crossed your legs, smiling faintly. “So? I’m not going to cry over a guy with one outfit in his wardrobe. You know people like that never change.”
Vernon glanced at you. You stared back with an amused tone, “What? Did that hit close to home?”
“You really just say anything, don’t you?” Chan sighed, dropping his bag and sitting beside you.
That was one thing he knew about you, you picked fights with literally anyone. You and Seungkwan had nearly clashed the first time you met. To add on, you didn’t have a single romantic bone in your body. At least, that’s what he told himself. You kept hanging around him, and his friends. He had a feeling you didn’t have many people at your own campus either. He’d heard stories, too. About how you removed a teammate’s name from a presentation because they bailed. For once, he was glad he didn’t go to the same university as you. Some things never changed. Even now, your social skills still sucked. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but to wonder. Have you ever been interested in love at all?
...
The rain wouldn’t stop pouring. You and Chan rushed into the treehouse, both half-soaked. When he asked if you wanted to head back to your dorm, you brushed it off, saying you’d rather stay here. When he brought up your home, you didn’t answer. He didn’t push it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go back. You just needed somewhere to breathe, somewhere that didn’t feel suffocating, even if that place was supposed to be your so-called home.
Chan groaned, shrugging off his jacket until he was left in his tank top. He disappeared briefly into the bathroom while you sat on the couch, damp clothes soaking slightly into the cushion. When he came back out, towel draped over his head as he dried his hair, his gaze flickered toward you, just for a second too long. Your blouse clung to your skin, still wet from the rain.
He looked away almost immediately. “Here,” he muttered, tossing you a clean towel. You caught it with thanks.
He exhaled, running a hand down his face. He needed to calm down. He wasn’t some hormonal teenager anymore. So why the hell was he acting like one.
“Did you bring any spare clothes?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No, just me and my bag.”
He clicked his tongue, splashing the water from the sink as he wiped his face into the soft towel. “Not even a hoodie? Jacket?”
“Nope.”
Great.
He almost wanted to take a cold shower now. He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck before heading to his wardrobe. After a moment, he pulled out a hoodie and handed it to you.
Not that he had never found you attractive. There had been times—he just couldn’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe after that first kiss when you were eighteen. Maybe even before that. Back then, he’d brushed it off and told himself it didn’t mean anything.
Okay. He still thought about it. Even after his last relationship ended, his mind had a bad habit of drifting back to you. It always did. He’d kissed other people since then—more than just kisses, even—and yet, somehow, he still found himself wondering about you. Wait, have you ever kissed anyone like that? Were you seeing someone now? It was university. There was no way you didn’t have people lining up for you. He knew how guys looked at you. He’d seen it.
You started unbuttoning your blouse. Chan turned around so fast it almost looked rehearsed, heading toward the bathroom even though the door stayed open because of course, everything in this damn treehouse was connected. He exhaled sharply.
Yeah. He had liked you. Maybe even more than that. But your whole… anti-romance personality had snapped him out of it. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. And yet here he was—still thinking about things he shouldn’t. You were pretty, and that much was obvious.He didn’t even know if you were aware of it. Honestly, he didn’t want to tell you. Your ego was already unbearable enough. If only that personality were fixed, he might think you’re cute.
The way your lips kept moist with your strawberry lip balm. That soft hair swayed flawlessly. He still remembered the first time he introduced you to Seungkwan and Vernon. They were shocked. They also kept asking him how the hell he “pulled” you. He told them the truth that you were just childhood friends. They didn’t believe him at all. Of course they didn’t. One of Seungkwan’s friends even asked to be introduced to you. Chan had to shut that down immediately.
Now looking back, he had realised one thing. He’d been gatekeeping you. Not that you noticed. And even if you did, it’s not like you would’ve cared. That was something he liked about you.
So what changes now? He’s single, and he didn’t want to make things weird between you. The last thing he wanted was for you to call him a freak, which you already did called him that.
“What are you doing there?”
He flinched. You were leaning against the bathroom doorway, already changed into his hoodie.
“Did you jerk off or something?”
“What? No!” he snapped, immediately defensive as he walked past you and flopped onto the bed. “What kind of person do you think I am?”
“A bitchless virgin,” you said casually, stretching out on the couch.
He scoffed. “Where did you even hear that? My friends are getting to you now?”
“Oh? So you admit it?”
“Stop,” he groaned. “I’m still a lady-killer. Just… not experienced.” he paused for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “…and yeah, I’m not exactly proud of it.” The words slipped out easier than he expected. “My ex,” he continued, "quieter now, “said she wanted someone more mature. More focused. Then she showed up with someone else a week later.”
You hummed, listening.
“And when I told her I hadn’t had sex before…” He let out a dry laugh. “She looked at me like I was joking.” You let out a snort. “Don’t laugh,” he muttered. “I was nervous, okay? What if I messed up? What if I finished too fast and she thought I sucked?” He dragged a hand down his face. “That’s embarrassing.”
He didn’t mean to vent, but somehow, he needed to let it out without someone making fun of him. Not Seungkwan, who would say “I told you so,” or Vernon, who would just shrug and go, “damn, that sucks, dude.” He just wanted to speak without being mocked or pitied. It felt frustrating. Pathetic, even. And the worst part was he didn’t fully understand himself either.
You hummed, listening, your cheek resting against your propped-up elbow. Chan kept going, not caring if what he said sounded stupid or messy. You were the only person who would sit through all his rambling, even when you were being cynical about it. Maybe it was because he’d gotten used to you.
“So you broke up because of that?” you asked.
He shook his head, “No… not really. I think part of me was relieved that I didn’t do it.” he glanced at you. “Now that I realized, being in a relationship with her felt… suffocating—excuses here and there. Saying it’s just a group project and all, did she even like me? Man, I don’t even want to think about it. Can’t call it love, I guess.”
You only listen to his ramble. The silence settled between you. “Maybe it’s not about sex. Maybe I'm just scared—scared that if someone really gets to know me—the ugly parts, showing vulnerabilities,” his voice turned softer this time, “does knowing me more lead to loving me less?”
He didn’t mean to turn this whole conversation into a deep talk. Somehow, part of him needed that as much, even if he ended up talking to a wall.
You looked at him properly then. For once, you didn’t interrupt. “…Humans are like that,” you said after a moment. “You don’t need to be in a relationship to know when something’s wrong.” There's a pause in between, “congrats, though. You dodged a bullet.”
Chan huffed out a quiet laugh. “Thanks. You’re not one of those people who care about experience, right?”
You shrugged. “How would I know? I’m a virgin.”
He paused, staring at you. Right. Of course you were.
“What about Suhyeok?” he asked curiously, wanting to gauge if you had some love interest.
You made a face. “Him? I can’t stand him.”
He sat up slightly, interested now. “Why? He’s got looks, money—”
“I don’t want a playboy,” you cut in. “And when he found out I’ve never been in a relationship and still a virgin? He got weird about it,” you scoffed, sounded bitter even. "I don’t get that whole ‘first time’ obsession.”
Chan went quiet. He understood the appeal. He was a man, after all. He knew how it worked. It was shitty, but still… unsettling now that it was happening to you. All he could do was sympathize with what you had to deal with on a daily basis.
“It’s funny, isn't it?” you continued. “A guy being a virgin is unattractive, but when it’s a girl being one—suddenly it’s desirable.” You glanced at him. “Is there any reason behind that? I also don’t know, and I think that’s bullshit.”
He watched you, something shifting in his chest.
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” you added. “Your value isn’t based on whether someone wants you.”
For someone who claimed to hate everything, you had a surprisingly rational way of seeing things. For once, it made him realize there was more to the world than he’d allowed himself to believe. That was why he always found his way back to you. You were rough around the edges, impossible at times but you were wiser than most people he knew.
Maybe venting to you wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe that was the reason he kept circling back, no matter how far he went. People often wanted to hear what they expected. Something comforting, something easy instead of the truth. And even when they asked for advice, they didn’t always want to take it. You never gave him comfort, never said what he wanted to hear, but you only said what he needed. You gave him clarity, and somehow—that was enough.
He felt like an idiot for ever thinking so little of you.
You turned at him, sensing the silence. “…Don’t tell me you’re depressed over it,” you said, breaking the moment.
“I’m not,” he replied quickly.
You laughed, rolling onto your stomach, hair slightly tousled which got him gulping by that sight. “That doesn’t make you more of a man, you know.”
You had a way of making people feel worse yet he could tell you’re either trying to insult him or comfort him in your way.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” you teased. “Or do you think you’ll magically become one after you finally have sex?”
He groaned, “can you not?”
“What? Want me to suggest you dress like a hooker?” Are you a hooker though, do you see me dressing like one to get laid?”
He shot up, “No—and I’m not a hooker. And you’re definitely not one either,” he added quickly, “...you’re more like a dream.”
Shit, that slipped out real fast.
You looked at him, raising a brow.
He nervously gulped, “I mean—you don’t look like one,” he corrected, fumbling. “And… I get why Suhyeok is so crazy about you.”
There was a moment of silence. He didn’t like this quietness, you staring at him and he was staring back. He could never figure out what goes in your pretty little head.
“Do you even see yourself?” he sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “You’re so…”
He couldn’t say it. Not when his eyes sometimes lingered on the way your jeans hugged you. Not when he caught himself staring a second too long at your chest, even when you were fully covered. He wasn’t any different from other guys. He just had more restraint.
Not when he remembered pulling you a little closer whenever Suhyeok was around, whispering into your ear just because he couldn’t stand that guy. Not when his ex had gotten insecure about you, about how often you were around despite him drawing clear boundaries.
Not when he remembered you falling asleep against him, your head resting on his arm, your face so close it made him hold his breath. The softness of your skin. The length of your lashes. Your lips—still glossed with that faint cherry scent.
…Yeah.
He really couldn’t say it.
“Do you want to eat ramen?”
His eyes snapped to you. “Are you messing with me?”
“No. I’m serious.” You stood and walked over to the cabinet, checking inside.
His gaze followed immediately, and so did he. He might think you were cute, sure. But touching his food? That was where he drew the line. He kept his stash here for a reason—away from his siblings who would raid it without hesitation.
“No. Don’t have any,” he lied quickly, grabbing a cup of noodles before you could see.
“I want Chapaguri,” you said, leaning against the drawer behind him. “Do you have that?”
“No.” Another lie.
You stepped closer. Then, without warning, you slipped your arms around his torso from behind. Chan froze, mid-motion as the seasoning packet was still in hand. He already knew you well enough to recognize danger when he felt it. There was always something behind your actions.
“Still no,” he said flatly. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. Ask Suhyeok. Maybe he’ll give you the moon too.”
You chuckled softly. The sound vibrated against his back—too close, too warm. Your hands slid slightly over his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“W-what’s wrong with you?” His voice came out higher than intended.
“Nothing.”
He tried to move, but your grip held him in place. And then, he felt it. His whole body tensed. The soft press of your breasts against his back.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to turn around and face you. “Call me oppa first,” he muttered, trying to recover. “Maybe I’ll consider giving you ramen.”
You rolled your eyes. “Not happening.”
He scoffed and turned back to the stove, sulking.
After a while, you were still watching him. Your gaze drifted to the vase nearby, the red lilies that had been long withered. Probably from his grandmother. He hadn’t replaced them.
Then your attention returned to him. “Suhyeok asked me out,”
Chan paused, just for a second before continuing like nothing happened. “Is that so?” he said. “Why are you telling me this?”
“He asked why I came all the way here,” you continued. “So I told him I wanted instant noodles.”
“…Right.”
“He said I could’ve just gone to his place,” you added, voice lingering slightly. “…but I told him you already asked me over.”
Chan turned this time, fully at you. You and that stupid ramen theory. It’s impossible to not think you’re innocent, you were far from that.
“He didn’t seem pleased.”
Chan tossed the empty packet aside. “Good. I can’t stand that guy.” a pause in between, “But you don’t have to lie about staying with me,” he added. “What am I supposed to say if he sees me?”
You tilted your head. “You don’t want to?”
He stared at you—really stared at you. Making sure that you’re not completely fucking with him. He tried to calm himself down, not get too giddy at your sudden slip of innuendo there. You really have no idea, don’t you?
“Look,” he started, “I’m sure that your brother tells you more than I have. Men are—”
“Like wolves?” you cut in, amused. “Oh, so all men live in cooperative packs and bring small games to their pups? That sounds nice.”
He stared at you, unimpressed. He tried so hard to be patient with you, in fact, he had been one since the moment he met you with that stupid stick when you both were six.
Your eyes drifted back to the withered red lilies in the vase, then to him. You’d already passed the point where personal space mattered. With Chan, you could be as unfiltered as you wanted.
“Do you want to…”
He blinked, dumbly. “Want what?”
You held his gaze for a moment.That same look from before, the curious and searching. The same one from years ago. Those familiar words remind him of the first kiss you and he had shared.
But this time? You are no longer the eighteen-year-old girl, both legally and emotionally. He never had any intention of doing anything more than that, even when he finds you attractive. He turned his gaze elsewhere, unsure, as he retreated to the bed with his ramen. You kept your eyes fixed on him while grabbing a couple cans of beer along the way.
“Am I not attractive?” you asked. “Is that why you’re not saying anything?”
“Let’s not do this,” he muttered.
You ignored him. “You know, you had terrible haircuts growing up,” you added casually. “It's good to see that it's decent now.”
He frowned. “What does that have to do with anything? Just say my hair looks great, compliment me like normal people please.”
“…So was sleeping with me that bad?”
He choked. “What?!” he was totes freaking out now, coughing as he took a sip of his water. “I don’t have condoms,” he blurted.
You stood up, opened the drawer, and dumped everything out. A pile of unused condoms and lube spilled across the floor. Chan froze. His face flushed red, completely at a loss for words. How did you even find that? Those had been sitting there for almost a year. The thought that you might’ve come across them earlier made him feel instantly mortified.
You didn’t stop there. You nudged his legs aside and reached under the bed, pulling out a stack of old magazines—women in swimsuits, barely hidden. Then you moved to the wardrobe, opening the corner he thought was discreet enough, revealing a stash of erotic movies he’d watched with Vernon before.
“Okay… pervert,” you sneered lightly. “Men are like wolves indeed. Actually, I think you’re just trash—I always knew that.” You smiled sweetly.
Chan was speechless. He wanted to defend himself, really. But nothing came out. Even if he tried, you’d just shut him down again. You always did.
“You’re unbelievable,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “what do you want actually? I’m not going to do that.”
“Why?”
He hesitated. Wait, why was he hesitating? Was it because he didn’t want to? Or because he was afraid he wouldn’t be enough? That familiar insecurity crept in, settling quietly at the back of his mind.
“You’re overthinking again,” you said. “What? Is it that small?”
“No,” he shot back immediately. “I’m more packed than you think. Where do you think all these muscles came from?”
You raised a brow, skeptical. “Oh, really? Hard to believe, considering your head’s bigger than most of them.”
He let out a disbelieving scoff, a grin tugging at his lips as his hand moved to his belt. “Yeah? I’m sure once you see it, you’ll owe me an apology.”
He was too caught up in his bruised pride to notice it. The moment of realization hit him, you were baiting him. He froze, slowly, he looked up at you. You were already smiling, head tilted and acting all innocence.
He exhaled sharply, taking a long sip of his beer. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I’m serious,” he looked over at you.
“And I’m serious about that too,”
Chan only stared at you as you stared back. He felt like he was going crazy just having this conversation. Because if something started between you and him… he didn’t know if things would ever be the same again. And he didn’t want that. That was exactly why he’d been avoiding crossing the line in the first place.
“Then promise me,” he said finally, voice quieter, “if anything happens… nothing changes between us.”
You noticed the way he looked at you. You weren’t entirely innocent in this either. Sometimes, your gaze would linger on his bare arms, on the way they’d grown more defined since he started going to the gym. And he never seemed to care, not even when he walked around shirtless or changed in front of you. The idea of attraction had always felt distant to you, something abstract. At least, it had been. Until you started noticing Chan. Maybe there was something there after all. Like unfamiliar, something close to what people would call it desire. You found yourself curious in the end.
You didn’t remember who moved first. Only that suddenly, you were on his lap. His hands are on you, roaming every curve of your body. Your lips against his. The kiss was different this time. It was all consuming and intoxicating, like something that had been building for years finally breaking through. The rain outside blurred into the background.
You had the same red lilies back in your room. You remembered how they had withered not long after you left for university. When they bloomed again, you found yourself wanting to go home, just to see the new flowers sitting in your vase.
2024, December — But Daddy I Love Him
In your entire life, being the second middle child was never something you were proud of. In fact, it often felt like you had lived in the shadows of your siblings. Which also meant you were never the best, nor the liveliest, in your parents’ eyes, or at least that was how it seemed to you.
Your older brother has always been a good example, carrying the family name well. Your father, a chief judge, held a respectable profession, and it was only natural for you and your brother to be expected to follow in his footsteps.
Your younger sister was different. A “problem child,” as your father liked to call her. She was never good at studying, never able to reach the standards that you and your brother had set. But she had a sociable personality—something you never did.
Even while being average, it was easy for you to be overshadowed by both of them. That became another reason for your parents not to be concerned about your presence. They must have assumed you were doing fine. Unlike your sister, who often caused trouble, or your brother, who constantly updated everyone on his successful life, something you found suffocating to listen to.
Everything at the dining table sounded like noise. You could barely focus on the dinner in front of you.
You had sunk so deep into your thoughts that listening to the conversation no longer felt worth the effort. At this rate, how far would you have to descend before no one could find even a trace of you?
For someone like you, life could be painfully lonely. It had always been that way. Even now, you still don't seem to have a fixed dream for yourself. The noise in your head never stopped. Your mind kept agitating itself until you couldn’t even pinpoint what the problem was.
It had always been like that.
From adolescence into adulthood, you carried the same tendency. All your life, you had been obsessed with mistakes. Mistakes, mistakes, and more mistakes.
Your head screamed at you to keep going, but your heart never allowed it. When Chan asked if you were okay, you only muttered a quiet, “I’m fine.”
It had always been like that.
You never thought you would still carry this emptiness at twenty-five. Even after passing the bar exam, you still hadn’t figured out what you truly wanted to do. You thought maybe you would simply follow your brother’s path and become a judge, just like your father. Your sister, meanwhile, said she wanted to pursue diplomacy, despite being called reckless by your parents. Even so, they barely paid attention to you. Perhaps because they believed you were doing well, or so you thought when you found out about your father’s ambitious dream.
“I want you to meet the Choi heir tomorrow,” your father said suddenly. “His parents agreed to meet with us.”
Your brows furrowed. Your hand stopped mid-motion over your plate. You said nothing, but your expression spoke for itself.
Your father met your gaze as he placed his napkin aside. Your mother looked on quietly. “We thought you might be a suitable match for what they’re looking for.”
You were not pleased. The silence on your face was not obedience. It was defiance. They had considered your sister first, but knowing her, she would have openly rebelled. What they failed to notice was that you were just as stubborn.
You excused yourself from the table, already finished despite barely touching your food. You had lost your appetite the moment you sat down.
Locking your door, the dim room was illuminated only by the balcony light. As you sank onto your bed, the only thing that followed you was the emptiness in your mind. The bitterness of the red wine you had sipped earlier still lingered on your tongue.
You thought things were going well. Has everything you done so far still failed to reach your parents? Another failure, it seemed. It felt like an endless cycle of climbing stairs. Again, again, and again.
Until when exactly?
You tried to convince yourself that just a little more, and you would finally see something ahead. Maybe someday you would recognize the progress you had made. But even now—still nothing.
It was like walking in circles, searching for something only to end up with nothing. Spinning endlessly, like a suffocating music box. Your relationship with Chan has always been the same—up and down. Never all sunshine or sweetness.
Intensity was the closest word for it. Breaking apart, then coming back together again. You treated him that way because you weren’t sure of yourself either.
The only person who ever allowed you to escape reality was Chan. Sometimes, you were desperate for comfort from a life that felt too heavy. When you skipped cram school after classes, you went to his treehouse instead. The first time you were brave enough not to do what you were supposed to do. Therefore, Chan was the only person who made you feel like you could finally breathe properly for the first time.
So you kept doing it. Again and again.
Until your mother found out you had been skipping tuition after seeing your attendance record. She warned you not to meet Chan anymore. The thought alone shook you. The teenage version of yourself could not bear it. You were young and emotionally fragile then.
So you chose your studies, and stopped meeting him after school. Chan had been confused by your sudden coldness. Slowly, he accepted it—even after you had stolen his first kiss. Which had also been yours. He thought the two of you were something.
In the end, he decided not to take it personally. Even at graduation, he never caught a glimpse of you again. It ate at him. He was angry, bitter, upset—unsure whether the resentment was toward you or himself. He only wanted to see you again. Leaving you behind had never been what he wanted. Except you were the one who left him first.
Then he met you again during his second year of university. It was summer. Near his campus. He didn’t hesitate this time. You were radiant—even distant, you had always been the only one in his eyes.
So the two of you reunited. It was easy to see him then, since you were living in a dorm nearby. After that, you both decided to become “one.”
The relationship lasted longer than any partner he had before. Chan loved you in a way your family never had, unconditionally. For someone like you, it was easy to fall into that love. But it also became an unhealthy addiction. Wanting more and more of him until you could no longer bear it.
The intensity awakened an ugly jealousy inside you. A green-eyed monster you never expected. Whenever you saw him interacting so easily with others. Blending in naturally, and living so freely. A complete opposite of your dull life, where half your world revolved around him. It was an ugly part of yourself. One you never wanted to acknowledge. Even when you looked in the mirror, it was unsightly. You could not help but envy the life he had. That was when your relationship began to turn bitter.
After so long together, your personalities started to clash. Hot and cold. Blue and red. Cats and dogs. Whatever it was, you both became so used to it that breakups and reunions felt normal.
There was so much room in your heart for him to keep returning. Filling the emptiness until it was full of only him. But what would be the point?
The one who loves. And the one who wants to be loved.
You had no one in your life who mattered more than Chan. You thought your life had always been dull. Turns out, you had experienced beautiful moments after all. The only person who made your life seem pathetic was yourself.
What should you do? Entangled in emotional struggle and isolation, you were only being dragged deeper into the shadows. If things remain the same, you’ll be hated by him forever.
—“Are you better now?” —“No... I don’t know.”
What was the point of living if the pain never ended? That was what you sometimes thought whenever the void consumed you. You wanted to let go of yourself. To stop breathing, if only you could.
“Am I the easiest thing for you to throw away?” Chan asked, his voice hollow as he stood in front of you.
There was a moment of silence before you answered, refusing to meet his eyes.
“No,” you said. “You’re the only thing I can throw away.”
You said it so easily, then left him standing alone in the rain. You kept recalling the things you had said to him. Every word that came out of your mouth felt like something you never imagined yourself capable of saying.
Why did you have to end things in such a messy way? To be honest, you were afraid he would eventually notice your inferiority complex. It was never because he was the only thing you could throw away. It was because you had nothing but him.
He was the only good thing in your life. And you kept ruining it with lies—lie after lie. All while longing to be loved properly. To have your own happy ending. Perhaps you did it because you wanted to be loved even more by him. That love had consumed you, making you greedy for every taste of it.
This was how Chan had felt while dating you. Waiting like a fool, watching you walk away one step at a time. It had always been like that. Whenever he asked if you were okay, you answered simply, and he forced himself to accept it. Whenever you refused to open up, he got worried. Even after your student days, you remained the same. He only wished you wouldn’t keep everything bottled up and leave yourself alone in the dark.
Could he even call himself a lover if he cared this much?
He cared because he loves you. You always seemed to push him away in subtle ways, yet even after everything—he was still hopelessly in love with you.
And when you wanted to break up, for what felt like the millionth time, he had no choice but to accept it without ever knowing why.
Then nine months later, he saw you again, with someone new. It drove him crazy, because you had never seemed interested in anyone until then. He hated the ugly feeling twisting inside his chest. It had always been him who saw that side of you.
He liked knowing no one else could see the softer version of you, the loving version. The one only he got to know. He always accepted things without understanding them, even when it hurt him deeply. He loved you so much that he could never give up on you.
As he clung to your excuses and painful desperation, his rusted heart could only slowly grow numb. Now, you found him standing outside the balcony of your room. When you opened the door and saw him, after so long, there stood the face you once loved.
His eyes lowered to you, and without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around your body, pushing the two of you back into your room. Once again, you welcomed him with open arms. Had he been drinking? The way he leaned against you, unsteady, answered enough. Before you could fully realize it, he was already pressing his mouth against yours, swallowing you in hungry kisses.
You pulled back slightly. The aftertaste of alcohol hit your tongue. Even now, you were never used to bitterness. Whether it was alcohol, or the intimacy you had always shared with Chan.
Sometimes, when he was rough with you, it hurt—but in a way that made you see heaven. That alone proved you were still deeply in love with him, enough to let him touch you like that. He dipped down again, kissing you as if you might slip away once more.
A soft sound escaped you, your body already weakening under him. One of his hands tangled in the back of your hair, the other resting firmly on your lower back.
“Tell me why we had to break up,” he whispered against your lips. “If you don’t tell me why... I’ll have no choice but to hate everything about myself.”
You could hear the desperation in his voice. The vulnerability. His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing. You had pretended everything was fine, hoping one day you would grow used to it. People were often like that. Accepting the love they believed they deserved, but you had never believed you deserved him. Not even once. Chan was the only valuable thing in your life. Something precious enough to destroy you.
Growing up, you believed you were unlovable, yet Chan came anyway. No matter how difficult you were. No matter how many times you pushed him away. He always returned, and that only made you more anxious—that one day, he would finally grow tired and leave for good.
But he didn’t. He came back again. Searching for you as if you had left behind a glass slipper for him to follow. Except what you truly left him was a scar, or perhaps a love so consuming it had imprinted itself deep inside his heart.
“I’ve started to think of myself as someone who deserves to be abandoned,” you said quietly, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to treat you like a placeholder... just to make myself feel something. Just to fill the void.”
You swallowed hard before finally looking at him. His gaze was soft.
“And because I was too greedy... my selfishness couldn’t let you go. So the first solution I chose was to break up with you.”
That has always been the pattern of your life. To avoid being hurt, you hurt the people you loved most.
Chan searched your face. Then he kissed you again, softer this time. When he pulled back, his breath steadied. “Just say sorry,” he murmured. “All you have to do is say sorry, and I’ll come back to you again. Like I always do.”
As your feelings intertwined together in the cold room, he wanted your answer now. He wanted the mask torn away and to see your real face.
Your soft gaze met his, tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry,” you whispered against his lips. “Can you forgive me, Chan?”
He had missed you like madness. The misery had sunk so deep it became intoxicating, unhealthy—consuming. But he could not bear to lose you again. To have you back, he would always lay down his pride first.
...
Your father seems to hate Chan so much.
He had never cared about your life, not until Chan. You had told them—again and again that you wanted nothing to do with this arrangement. Yet your words slid past them like they meant nothing.
That evening, after your interview for the prosecutor position, you were brought to meet the Choi family.
Everything about it felt suffocating.
The polished smiles and the measured conversations. The quiet expectations hanging in the air. You barely listened, didn’t even look at him—Choi Seungcheol. A few years older, maybe. He’s well-mannered, accomplished. Exactly the kind of man your father would approve of. Exactly the kind of life you didn’t want. Your mother nudged you to engage, but your gaze stayed distant, unfocused. The Choi family seemed pleased regardless, impressed even.
It made you feel worse.
When your mother suggested you show him around, you refused outright, blaming exhaustion from the interview. It was rude, you knew it. But it was the only way you could say no.
That night, everything broke. “It's because of him, isn’t it?”
You stopped mid-step, slowly, you turned. “Stay him out of this.”
Your voice was steady, but your chest was burning. Your mother approached, gripping your arms. “Whatever you have with him, I want it to end. Your father will never accept this—”
Of course he wouldn’t. He never liked Chan.
She had always known. Even back then—when you were children, inseparable. She saw it coming, that attachment and the inevitability. And she tried to stop it. After graduation, she made sure of it. Because if your father ever found out. It would be worse, much worse.
You let out a hollow breath. “So you do care.” Your voice came out quieter than you expected. “After all this time.”
Your mother froze. “All my life, I’ve tried to be the child you wanted.” Your throat tightened. “And still—I was invisible.”
Your words came faster now, sharper. “You were too busy worrying about her… and too proud of him to notice me.”
Your chest ached. “Did you ever think about how I felt?” pressing a hand against yourself, as if holding something together. “I’ve been surviving like this—every day—alone.”
Your voice trembled now, cracks breaking through. “And the one thing that made it bearable…” Your breath hitched. “…you want to take that away too?”
Your mother’s expression crumpled, but you couldn’t stop anymore. “The only thing I was ever good at was studying,” you continued. “And if I’m not that—then what am I?”
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
You swallowed hard, your voice softening for the first time.
“Mom…” It almost didn’t sound like you. “I’m hurting.”
That broke her, but it didn’t stop you. “You can’t take away the only thing I have,” you whispered. “Just this once… let me choose my own happiness.”
Even if it meant choosing a life without them.
That’s how it always was with your family. The moment you chose yourself, you were labeled rebellious, disrespectful, and selfish. Even though you had never been any of those things. If anything, rebellion was never part of you. You were never the type to speak out, never the type to voice what you truly wanted.
And yet, the one time you did—
It was treated like a mistake. But Chan was never a mistake. He was the one thing in your life you never once regretted letting in.
...
No matter how hard you tried to move on with your life, the broken parts of you always found their way back.
The Yoon estate was alive with chatter—respectable figures, your father’s circle. Laughter, polished conversations, clinking glasses. Everything about it felt suffocating. You never wanted to be here. But after the argument, after everything left unresolved between you and your parents—you had no choice.
Especially with your father.
“What's with that face, Juliet?”
You turned to see Yoon Jeonghan approaching, a glass of champagne in hand, that familiar teasing smile still intact.
You gave him a faint smile. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, taking a sip.
You nodded, barely touching your own drink. “It has.”
Jeonghan had always been an exception. A senior from university. The only person you willingly approached back then—for research, for help. Not quite a friend, but close enough to matter.
Your eyes drifted across the room—landing on your father, deep in conversation with his circle. Including Mr. Yoon. You didn’t miss the way they glanced at you. Even after you said no, nothing had changed.
“I guess you already figured it out,” Jeonghan said quietly.
You didn’t respond.
“I’m sorry,” he added. “You can still refuse. I’ll handle it.”
He was one of the few who knew. About you and Chan. About everything. You met Jihoon after that. He had told you Chan was here earlier. That alone was enough to make your chest tighten. You excused yourself quickly, leaving the suffocating crowd behind.
The garden felt quieter. Colder. Then, you saw him. Standing alone beneath the gazebo. Even from behind, you recognized him instantly. You always did.
And why was he alone here?
You called his name softly, approaching him. As you saw him turn, for a moment—you almost didn’t recognize him. He was in a dress shirt, sleeves folded neatly on his forearm and tucked into his sleek pants. His hair slicked back—it was different, but still him. You never saw him like this, always in jeans and a leather jacket.
“I didn’t know you were here,” you murmured, stepping closer, your fingers finding his.
“I guess Jihoon snitched,” he let out a quiet chuckle, draping his blazer over your shoulders.
That feeling was warm, familiar and almost dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be here…” he said softly, resting his forehead against yours.
“Why not?”
A pause.
“…He hates me.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to because you already knew.
“But I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes. “I don’t want to give up. You’re the one I want.”
Chan smiled faintly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “I know,” he said softly. “I know you do.” He kissed you with tenderness, like something fragile.
But when you looked at him again, something wasn’t right. He was here, just not physically here. His thoughts were somewhere else. Almost heavy or distant.
And you hated it. You hated that loving you felt like a burden he had to carry. Guilt twisted inside you. No matter how many times you told him you would choose him, that you loved him — it never seemed to ease him. Not since your father found out. Watching him slowly wear down because of you, it hurts more than anything. You couldn’t seem to let him go. You knew you weren’t easy to love. And yet, you kept pulling him deeper with you, into something that felt more like drowning than living.
Were you ruining everything?
The thought lingered, heavier each time. Maybe the only way to make things right was to let him go. Even if it meant swallowing your pride. Even if it meant losing him for good.
The clock was nearing midnight. You should have gone back. You should have left, but you didn’t. Instead, you followed your heart. Back to the treehouse. Where everything began. Where, for a moment, you could pretend nothing else existed.
…
The next morning came, and you were met with an empty space beside you. What you weren’t expecting was his note left on the drawer, just above the music box he had once gifted you on your twentieth birthday. Your face crumpled at the message itself, leaving you there—cold, bare, and alone after that night.
You tried to reach out to him, spamming calls and messages. Your mind spiralled with countless possibilities about the note he had left you, feeding into your biggest fear, that he would leave you someday. You weren’t ready for this. You demanded an explanation, hoping it was all just a bad dream.
Was this the reason why he looked so troubled yesterday?
You didn’t want to believe it. You couldn’t accept this. Chan was everything to you, he would’ve told you if something was wrong. Bottling things up was never his style. You knew him well enough to notice his tendencies, every habit and every quirk.
…Or did you?
Scrambling out of the covers, you searched around, only to find his engraved necklace left behind. Slowly picking it up, your chest tightened as you looked around the space, hoping to find him, but there was no one there. So, you reached out to Jihoon instead, because you couldn’t get through to Chan no matter how many times you called.
That was when your expression fell, hearing everything from Jihoon. He had left overseas—for good. Something about a deal with his grandfather, related to taking over the family business. Everything blurred after that. You didn’t hear the rest. Your mind filled with doubt, with a heavy, sinking feeling in your chest.
So, he really did decide to leave you without saying anything.
You couldn’t blame him. Not at all. Because who would want to stay in a relationship like this? Even if you tried long distance, it would’ve been difficult for both of you—not with everything already weighing you down. The situation never allowed the two of you to just be.
That’s why you kept asking yourself if you were ever truly okay with this relationship. The waiting, the longing, the constant disappointment. One of you was always angry, the other always apologising—until eventually, one of you would give up. Understanding was never enough. Patience wore thin, and everything felt fragile, like walking on eggshells.
No one wanted a life like that.
That’s why the two of you kept breaking up. Loving each other was easy, but when it came to understanding and clarity, everything fell apart, like it was always the end of the world.
You cried until your chest hurt that day, clutching his necklace tightly against you. It had always been you—the one leaving pieces of yourself behind, trusting that he would come back for them.
But now? Now you have to taste your own medicine. Reaping what you sowed. The quiet realization that you were finally learning what it felt like to be the one left behind.
20XX, May (5) 20 — Our Happy Ending
Years have passed.
You moved forward with your life, as if nothing had ever happened. Slowly, you learned to accept that things would never turn out the way you wanted.
They say time heals everything. That’s a lie. What words are you supposed to believe to make your heart feel better? You can try to move on, try to make sense of it all—but nothing ever truly stays permanent. Even if things had gone differently, time would have still found a way to lead you here. No amount of time could heal the wound you still carried. You never truly forgot him. Instead, your memories of him slowly blurred over time. The love you once shared built up, little by little—like filling a jar to the brim.
But what was the point of it all?
After everything you had built together, there was nowhere left to put it. It didn’t make sense. Why did you both have to walk away, even when it was so clear that you were deeply in love? You already knew the answer. Leaving was for the best.
The kind of love you and Chan shared—intense, consuming, almost suffocating was never meant to last. It was too much, too overwhelming.
And yet, you both held onto each other, because you needed to.
If you could go back, maybe you would have done things differently. Maybe you would have treated him better. Maybe you would have reassured him more, told him that he didn’t have to try so hard, that he was already enough.
Because he always was. He was the one who saw you clearly without illusions, without expectations. Even when you were struggling, even when you believed you were unlovable, he stayed. He made you feel human, and because of him, you learned that maybe, just maybe—you were capable of feeling something real. Because he was the only person who could bring that part of you to life.
Would you ever be able to let him go?
It felt unfair. Neither of you wanted it to end, yet you both held onto what little was left until it finally slipped through your fingers.
That day, he let you go and you couldn’t. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. The only thing you ever hated about him… was that he left. And still, you missed him. So much that sometimes you woke up, instinctively searching for him beside you, as if he had never really gone. Like a ghost that refused to leave.
You set your coat aside on the chair as you smiled, taking the seat across from Jihoon. “I hope I’m not late. I apologise in advance—my case took longer than I expected.”
Jihoon smiled in return, giving a small nod. “Not at all. If anything, I shouldn’t be taking up too much of your time, considering how busy you are with criminal cases.”
“I know it’s a bit late, but congratulations on officially taking over the Lee family,” you said with a faint smile. “I read the article. I hope we’ll stay in touch—as business partners.”
He grinned, taking a sip of water before exhaling softly. “Thanks. I’ll pass your message to the rightful holder,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
You tilted your head, slightly confused. “Hm? What do you mean by that?”
Jihoon only smiled. His gaze dropped to his hands before he reached forward and handed you a bouquet of mixed red and white lilies. You let out a small laugh as you accepted it.
“Congratulations on winning your case, Prosecutor ____.”
You shook your head lightly. “I should be the one giving you a gift—for your promotion.”
Still, he didn’t correct you.
After a while of conversation, he excused himself to the restroom. You sat there, still wondering about what he meant earlier. Had you misunderstood?
Your eyes drifted to the glass window, where you spotted two students, a girl and a boy laughing together under the warm sunlight. Without meaning to, you were reminded of what you and Chan once were.
You wanted to believe that everything that happened between you wasn’t just coincidence. You refused to call it a passing chapter. It was something more—something that stayed, even after everything ended.
A memory.
Jihoon was taking longer than usual. The cafe felt too quiet. The soft chime of a bell echoed faintly, and only then did you realise—you were alone.
Your gaze wandered across the space until it landed on a music box. Maybe it was your imagination, but the design looked painfully familiar. Almost identical to the one you once had in your room—the one Chan had given you. A tiny ballerina spun gently as the melody played.
Your eyes slowly shifted to the small velvet box placed beside it.
You froze.
Happiness doesn’t always come in grand gestures. Sometimes, it fits inside something small—something simple, just like in a small box. You had forgotten that.
It was never about bouquets of lilies or diamond rings. All you ever wanted was to go back. Back to when you and Chan were still young, still reckless, still wrapped in the warmth of summer. Back to when loving him felt easy.
But you couldn’t go back.
And yet, you missed him more than you ever realised.
Your parents hadn’t changed. They were still the same. And if you had just been honest from the beginning, if you had only said what you truly wanted—maybe none of this would have happened.
Maybe you wouldn’t have let him go.
Slowly, your fingers moved, opening the velvet box. Inside was a gold ring, set with a delicate diamond. Before you could fully process it, you felt a presence beside you. Your breath caught as you lifted your gaze.
And there he was.
The face you had memorised in your dreams. The one you thought you had begun to forget.
Chan.
He looked different—more refined, more composed but unmistakably him.
Before you could stop yourself, you stood up and wrapped your arms around him.
He was real.
Chan held you just as tightly, as if afraid you would disappear again. Just like you, he had missed you—more than words could ever hold. Leaving you had been the hardest thing he had ever done. That night, he told himself it would be the last time before he left overseas.
His selfishness hadn’t allowed him to let go completely. He knew his love for you had been suffocating, borderline obsessive, close to imprisoning you. He couldn’t keep holding onto you like his life depended on it.
So he left. He chose to become someone better. Even if it meant breaking both of you.
And now, here he was standing in front of you again. Not the boy you once knew, but someone who had grown.
“Where have you been?” your voice broke as you clutched onto him. “Did you leave… because you stopped loving me?”
Chan smiled faintly, something soft and wistful in his eyes. He leaned closer, your noses brushing. “No,” he whispered. “I never stopped loving you. If anything… I never learned how to stop.”
A quiet sob escaped your lips as you buried your face against his chest. “Then keep loving me,” you murmured. “I don’t want us to be apart anymore.”
He smiled against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise.”
You didn’t want this to end in sadness. So you held onto this moment, afraid that if you cried too much, it might disappear.
All you ever wanted… was your happy ending. This time, you finally found it. You and Chan had found your way back to each other.
Your happy ending.
FIN.
a/n: ahh, we’ve finally come to the end, apples!! this is probably one of the heaviest stories i’ve ever written, and it’s very special to me. i just want to say, there are so many people out there still struggling, whether it’s with their minds, their emotions or even just trying to understand themselves. if you’ve read this far, thank you truly. i hope this story reminds you that it’s okay to feel unfamiliar with yourself sometimes. it’s okay to not fit into expectations, to feel lost or even imperfect. that doesn’t make you any less, it makes you human. learning how to understand and express your emotions takes time. be patient with yourself. please take care of yourself. you are worth more than you think.
I have a million and one things to do because it's my only day off for ages and yet instead I ignored everything and finally got round to reading this and now I'm completely in my feels.
It's so amazing, I really really loved it.
“You’re the only thing I can throw away.” just for some reason really hit me.
