16th fic for my anniversary event | requested by anon
wc: 0.75k, angst, fluff, time travel/loop, inspired by lovely runner, SFW; warnings: death/injury, blood
event masterlist | tbz masterlist
“Excuse me,” you say with a sweet smile that fills Juyeon’s chest with a sense of nostalgia that’d be hard to explain to anyone else, “I think this is yours.” You hand him the letter you’ve been holding onto that must’ve gotten mixed up with your own mail.
“Thanks.” He returns your smile and takes the letter, even when he’d much rather hug you and kiss you and hold you close. But he knows he can’t.
“I’m the new neighbour, by the way. Y/n.”
I know that, I know your name.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Lee Juyeon.”
“Juyeon, huh?” You humm softly, almost like you’re trying out the name on your tongue, almost like you’re saying it for the first time. Though, of course, it is the first time for you. “That’s a beautiful name.”
It’s sweet that you say this every time. There is something comforting about the consistency, about the way you love his name no matter how many times you meet him for the first time. It makes him feel assured that maybe your love for him is just as consistent, that maybe you will fall in love with him in every timeline too.
“Thank you,” he says and he knows his smile is too fond for a first meeting, but he can’t help himself.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out despite the blood gathering in the corners of your lips and the tears streaming down your face, “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s me that's sorry,” Juyeon whispers, gently cradling you in his lap, “You have nothing to be sorry about, my love.”
“You got hurt because of me,” you insist. And it’s ridiculous, it’s so ridiculous, because Juyeon barely even got a scratch in his futile attempt to save you, and yet you’re apologizing as if he’s the one barely breathing. It’s hard to see you like this, no matter how many times it happens. But he can’t leave either, can’t bear the thought of leaving you alone like this, even if this timeline gets erased the moment he’s gone. Juyeon could never abandon you.
He carefully wipes away your tears, ignoring the way they are mixing with the blood and dirt on your cheeks. “I’d do it again,” he says and he knows it’s true because he already has, so so many times. And he will do it once more.
Because it’s you.
Because being with you feels like spring after a long winter. Even if things get erased over and over, even if you don’t remember him, even if he’s a stranger to you every single time—he’ll do it all again. He’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes and he doesn’t mind falling slowly, as long as you’re falling in love.
“I’ll do it again,” he whispers, but he’s not sure you can still hear him. Your eyes are unfocused and blurry and your breathing is flat. He knows he’ll see you again, but he still can’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. The knowledge of meeting you again is comforting, and yet it doesn’t take away the pain of losing you. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches the light in your eyes disappear, maybe the next time will be the last. Maybe in his next life he can finally make everything right and choose a path where you get to live.
The pink petals falling to the ground almost look like pink snow, making the world feel soft and peaceful. It’s supposed to be lucky to catch one in your palm, and Juyeon thinks a little luck won’t hurt, so he outstretches his arm, closes his eyes and waits for a moment. Nothing happens, no petal falls into the palm of his hand. Instead, someone bumps into him from behind, taking him off guard and almost making him stumble forward.
“Sorry,” a familiar voice immediately stutters out. “I was lost in thought.”
“No,” he says, slowly turning around to see your apologetic face, “don’t worry about it.” You look a little disheveled, scarf in disarray and a bunch of things that seemingly didn’t fit into your bag pressed to your chest. A single flower petal got caught in your hair, and Juyeon almost automatically reaches out to remove it.
“How lucky,” he says, holding it between his fingers before placing it in your palm.
“Lucky?”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Hm,” you hum, “I guess it is, then. I’m y/n, by the way.”
synopsis : A clumsy runaway prince and a sharp-tongued farmer girl grow from unlikely friends to something more, but loving each other becomes complicated when duty and royalty threaten to pull them apart.
genre : slice of life, fluff, comedy, historical au, angst if you squint, romance, slow burn, royalty au
warnings : none
author’s note : i have 3 assignments due next week and im not even halfway done 😔 someone shoot me pls ❤️🩹
word count : 3.6k
The first time you met Prince Mingi, he was face-down in a muddy rice paddy screaming about frogs.
You were thirteen. He was fourteen.
And honestly, you should have left him there.
“You don’t understand,” the boy wailed dramatically, arms flailing while half-submerged in muddy water, “it looked at me.”
You stood on the edge of the paddy with your straw basket hanging from your arm, blinking slowly.
“It’s a frog.”
“It was judging me.”
“It’s a frog.”
“It knew I was weak.”
You stared at him another moment before sighing deeply through your nose.
Summer heat pressed against your skin. Cicadas screamed from the trees. The village fields shimmered gold-green under the afternoon sun, and right in the middle of it all was a very tall, very dramatic stranger who looked like he’d never worked a single day in his life.
His clothes gave him away instantly.
Fine silk. Embroidered sleeves. Boots too clean for a traveler—well, clean before the mud. A jade hairpin tucked through dark hair that had mostly fallen apart from his struggle against the “evil frog.”
A noble. Possibly stupid. Definitely rich.
You crouched by the paddy.
“Why are you in there?”
He looked personally offended.
“I fell.”
“How?”
“I was running.”
“From the frog?”
“FROM THE HORSE.”
You pressed your lips together. Then snorted. Then laughed so hard you nearly fell into the water yourself.
The stranger pointed at you accusingly. “You are cruel.”
“You’re muddy.”
“You’re heartless.”
“You’re dramatic.”
He gasped like you’d stabbed him.
“You wound me.”
You held out a hand anyway.
He stared at it. Then at you.
Then dramatically placed his hand in yours as if you were rescuing him from certain death rather than helping him out of ankle-deep water.
The second he stood, he slipped again. This time he took you down with him.
The two of you crashed into the mud together with matching shrieks.
Silence followed.
“Oh no,” he whispered.
You slowly turned your head. Your basket of freshly picked vegetables had overturned into the water.
You stared at it. He stared at it.
“You,” you said calmly, “are paying for those.”
That should have been the end of it.
A ridiculous noble boy passing through your tiny farming village.
Instead, he came back the next day.
And the next. And the next.
At first, you assumed he was lost. Then you assumed he was lonely.
Eventually, you realized Prince Song Mingi of the royal family was simply insane.
“You live like this every day?” he asked one afternoon while following you through the fields carrying a sack of cabbages incorrectly.
“Yes.”
“There’s dirt everywhere.”
“It’s a farm.”
“There’s bugs.”
“You live outside too.”
“Outside with servants.”
You rolled your eyes.
Mingi huffed dramatically and shifted the sack on his shoulder. He was terrible at manual labor. Truly awful. Somehow every task became a disaster.
The first time he tried milking a cow, he got kicked into a fence.
The first time he fed chickens, they chased him.
The first time he attempted harvesting, he cut through his own sleeve and cried for ten straight minutes because “this robe was imported.”
But he kept coming back. Tall and smiling and endlessly talkative.
You learned quickly that Prince Mingi hated palace life.
“I can’t breathe there,” he admitted once while lying across the hill beside you beneath the evening sky. “Everyone watches everything. Every word. Every step.”
You chewed on a blade of grass.
“That sounds annoying.”
“It’s awful.”
“Then don’t be a prince.”
He turned his head toward you.
“That’s not how that works.”
“Seems easy enough to me.”
He laughed.
God, his laugh was terrible for your heart.
Big and loud and warm enough to melt mountains.
“You’d overthrow the monarchy in three business days,” he said.
“I don’t know what monarchy means.”
He grinned.
“Exactly my point.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
The village adored him eventually.
Mostly because he was incapable of acting like royalty.
He’d sit with the elders playing cards for hours. He helped children catch fish in the river. He bought sweet buns from the market and handed them out to random people before realizing he’d spent all the money his guard gave him.
Once, he tried helping repair a roof. He fell through it.
Mrs. Choi screamed so loudly half the village thought someone died.
Mingi emerged from the broken ceiling covered in straw holding a turnip somehow.
“I found this,” he announced.
To this day, nobody knows where the turnip came from.
“You like him.”
You nearly dropped your basket.
Your best friend narrowed her eyes at you from where she sat beneath the shade tree.
“I do not.”
“You made him lunch.”
“He forgot his.”
“You braided flowers into his horse’s mane.”
“The horse looked sad.”
“You smiled today.”
You froze.
“That means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
You glared at her.
Unfortunately, she was right.
You did like him. Which was stupid.
Catastrophically stupid.
He was a prince.
You were a farmer’s daughter who spent half her life smelling like dirt and onions.
Nothing about that ended happily.
So you ignored it.
Mostly. Okay, terribly.
Especially when Mingi smiled at you like you were sunrise itself.
Especially when he remembered tiny things about you. Especially when he started bringing gifts.
Not expensive gifts. Never jewels or silk.
Just little things.
A ribbon because he noticed yours fraying. A peach because you mentioned liking them once.
A tiny carved wooden rabbit because “it looked grumpy like you.”
You kept every single one.
Hidden carefully beneath your bed.
One autumn evening, the two of you sat by the river eating roasted chestnuts.
Mingi was unusually quiet.
You nudged his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
He tossed another chestnut shell into the water.
“My father wants me back at the palace.”
You frowned.
“For how long?”
His silence answered enough.
Your chest tightened.
“Oh.”
“They’re starting marriage talks.”
You stared straight ahead. The river blurred slightly.
“That’s good,” you managed.
“It’s terrible.”
“You’ll marry some noble lady.”
“I don’t want some noble lady.”
Your fingers tightened around the warm chestnut.
“You don’t get to choose.”
“I should.”
“You’re a prince.”
“And?”
“And princes don’t marry farmers.”
The words came out harsher than intended.
Mingi went still beside you.
Then quietly—
“What if I wanted to?”
You looked at him finally.
Moonlight caught across his face.
Too soft. Too sincere.
You forced a laugh.
“You’d survive one week married to me.”
“I’d survive forever.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it now.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. He leaned closer.
“You know,” he murmured, “when I first met you, I thought you were terrifying.”
You snorted weakly.
“You cried over a frog.”
“It was a very aggressive frog.”
“It was sitting there.”
“It had malicious intent.”
Despite yourself, you laughed.
Mingi smiled immediately like he’d won something.
Then softer—
“You always laugh like that when you forget to stop yourself.”
Your breath caught.
Too close. Too warm.
You stood abruptly.
“I should go home.”
He grabbed your wrist gently before you could leave.
The touch was light. But devastating.
“You never answered me.”
Your voice came out smaller than intended.
“Answered what?”
His eyes searched yours.
“What if I wanted to choose you?”
You couldn’t breathe for a moment.
Because part of you, the selfish, reckless part—
Wanted to say yes. Wanted to tell him you’d loved him quietly for years already.
Wanted to let yourself believe impossible things.
Instead you pulled your hand away carefully.
“You should go back to the palace, Your Highness.”
The title hit him like a slap.
You saw it immediately. The hurt.
Mingi stared at you for a long moment before nodding once.
“…Right.”
He stood slowly.
For the first time since meeting him, he bowed formally.
Prince-like. Distant.
It made your stomach ache.
“Goodnight,” he said quietly.
Then he walked away.
You were miserable afterward. Truly unbearable to be around.
You snapped at chickens. Burned soup twice.
Accidentally dumped an entire basket of peppers into the river because you kept replaying that stupid conversation in your head.
Your mother finally grabbed your face one morning.
“If you sigh one more time,” she warned, “I will marry you to the blacksmith.”
You looked horrified.
“The one with the nose hair?”
“Yes.”
You burst into tears immediately.
Your mother sighed deeply.
“Ah,” she muttered. “So it’s serious.”
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Weeks passed.
No Mingi. The village felt wrong without him.
Quieter.
You hated how much you noticed.
One evening, while gathering water from the well, you overheard traveling merchants gossiping nearby.
“The prince returns to court this winter.”
“They say the king favors Lady Han.”
“Poor boy looks miserable.”
“Royalty never marries for love.”
You carried the water home in silence.
That night, you cried so hard your pillow ended up damp.
Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.
Winter arrived harsh and fast.
Snow blanketed the fields. The village slowed beneath icy winds and gray skies.
Then one morning—
“HE’S HERE!”
You dropped the potatoes you were peeling.
Children sprinted through the village shrieking excitedly.
Your heart immediately betrayed you.
No. No no no.
Absolutely not.
You marched outside trying very hard not to look eager.
Then froze.
At the village entrance stood a royal procession.
Guards. Horses. Banners.
And in the middle—
Prince Mingi.
Dressed properly this time in dark royal robes lined with fur.
Beautiful. Infuriatingly beautiful.
The villagers bowed quickly.
You didn’t.
Mostly because your body forgot how to function.
Mingi’s gaze found you instantly.
Then lit up. Actually lit up.
Like he’d been waiting only for that.
He stepped forward.
Then immediately slipped on ice.
Chaos erupted.
A guard lunged for him.
Another screamed. A horse panicked.
Mingi windmilled violently before crashing face-first into a snowbank.
You stared. The whole village stared.
Slowly, Mingi lifted his head from the snow.
“…I meant to do that.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
His eyes widened slightly at the sound. Then he grinned.
And suddenly it felt like no time had passed at all.
“Why are you here?” you asked.
Mingi sat at your family table devouring stew while your parents watched him with poorly hidden fascination.
“Official royal business.”
“You’ve been here three hours and challenged six children to snowball fights.”
“They were threatening.”
“They’re eight years old.”
“They lacked honor.”
Your father barked out a laugh.
Mingi looked extremely pleased with himself.
You tried not to smile. Failed horribly.
And Mingi noticed immediately. Of course he did.
He always noticed everything about you.
That night, he found you outside feeding the animals.
Snow drifted softly around the barn.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said.
“I’m feeding chickens.”
“At midnight?”
“…They’re hungry.”
Mingi snorted.
You refused to look at him.
Because if you did, you’d cave instantly.
And you couldn’t afford that. Not with him.
Not when he belonged to another world entirely.
“I missed you,” he said quietly.
Your chest hurt.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Too late.”
Silence settled between you.
Then—
“They chose someone for me.”
You froze.
Lady Han. Of course.
Something sharp twisted inside your ribs.
You nodded once.
“Congratulations.”
Mingi stared at you. Then laughed softly in disbelief.
“You think I came all the way here for congratulations?”
“What else would you want?”
“You.”
The word landed heavily between you.
You finally looked at him.
Snow clung to his dark hair. His cheeks pinked from cold.
And his eyes—
His eyes looked devastatingly earnest.
“Mingi…”
“I told them no.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“I refused.”
“You can’t refuse the king.”
“Turns out you can if you embarrass him publicly enough.”
Horror filled your face.
“What did you do?”
“I may have climbed out a window.”
“You WHAT?”
“And there may have been a horse involved.”
“Mingi.”
“And possibly a goose attack.”
You stared at him in absolute disbelief.
“…A goose attack?”
“It was protecting the gate.”
“That sentence doesn’t even make sense.”
“It was a very patriotic goose.”
You covered your face.
“Oh my god.”
Mingi laughed.
Then gently pulled your hands down.
His smile faded into something softer.
“I meant what I said.”
Your breath caught.
“I don’t want them,” he murmured. “I want you.”
The barn suddenly felt too small. Too warm. Too close.
“Mingi…”
“You know what my advisor said when I told him?”
You shook your head weakly.
“He said marrying for love is reckless.”
You swallowed hard.
“And?”
Mingi stepped closer. Snow crunched beneath his boots.
Then closer still.
Until you could feel warmth radiating from him in the freezing night.
“I think,” he whispered, “falling into a muddy rice paddy because I was losing a fight against a frog was reckless.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“I think coming back afterward was reckless.”
“Mingi—”
“And I think falling in love with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
Your heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Because this was real.
Impossible. Terrifying. Real.
“You’re an idiot,” you whispered shakily.
His smile turned brilliant.
“Probably.”
“You’d ruin your life.”
“Only if you reject me.”
“Mingi.”
He reached up carefully. Slowly.
Giving you every chance to pull away.
Instead you stood frozen as his fingers brushed your cheek.
Warm. Gentle.
“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.
“What?”
“I don’t even think I started loving you gradually.”
Your stomach flipped violently.
“I think it happened the moment you called me stupid in a rice field.”
You burst out laughing. Then accidentally started crying immediately after.
Mingi panicked.
“Oh no.”
“You made me emotional.”
“I can fight the king but I cannot fight tears.”
“That’s your problem.”
“Please stop leaking.”
You laughed harder through tears.
Mingi looked desperately relieved.
Then softly—
“Can I kiss you?”
Your entire brain stopped functioning.
“…What?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for years.”
“Years?!”
“You’re very distracting.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
You stared at him.
At his nervous smile. At the way his hands trembled slightly despite all his joking.
And suddenly you realized—
Mingi was scared too.
Not of kings. Not of court politics.
Of you. Of your answer.
That realization melted something inside your chest entirely.
So you grabbed the front of his robe and kissed him first.
Mingi made a startled noise against your mouth. Then immediately kissed you back like he’d been dying to.
Warm despite the cold.
Clumsy at first because he smiled halfway through it.
Actually smiled into the kiss.
An idiot. Your idiot.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, Mingi looked genuinely dazed.
“…Wow.”
You laughed shakily.
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I forgot every word I’ve ever known.”
“That explains a lot actually.”
He grinned suddenly. Then scooped you clean off the ground.
You shrieked.
“MINGI—”
“I HAVE POWER NOW.”
“PUT ME DOWN.”
“NEVER.”
He spun once in the snow before promptly slipping again.
The two of you crashed directly into a snowdrift.
Silence. Then your horrified whisper:
“You dropped me.”
Mingi emerged from the snow looking deeply offended.
“I fell with you romantically.”
“You threw me into ice.”
“It was a gesture of affection.”
“You concussed me.”
“You look beautiful.”
You stared at him. Then burst into helpless laughter.
Mingi joined instantly.
Loud. Bright. Completely ridiculous.
The kind of laughter that made your ribs ache.
The kind that felt dangerously like happiness.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Unfortunately, dating Prince Mingi was a nightmare.
Not emotionally. Logistically.
For one thing, he kept sneaking into your house through the window instead of using the door.
“Why are you like this?” you hissed one night while he climbed inside covered in snow.
“The window feels more romantic.”
“You fell into the cabbage basket.”
“The cabbages attacked me.”
“YOU attacked the cabbages.”
Another issue:
The villagers knew immediately.
Not because either of you confessed. Because Mingi looked at you like a man who’d gladly start wars for you.
Subtle he was not.
At the market he carried everything for you while smiling stupidly.
At festivals he followed you around like an oversized puppy.
Once, during dinner at your house, your mother asked him to pass the salt and he handed her an entire bowl of soup because he was too busy staring at you.
Your father watched this disaster silently before muttering:
“He’s not very bright.”
“He’s trying his best,” your mother replied sympathetically.
“I’m sitting right here,” Mingi complained.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Spring came gently.
The fields bloomed green again.
And somehow, impossibly, Mingi stayed.
The palace protested constantly. Letters arrived daily.
He ignored most of them.
One afternoon, you found him lying in the grass beside the fields holding a royal scroll above his face dramatically.
“What now?”
Mingi groaned.
“My father says I’m disgracing the bloodline.”
“That sounds serious.”
“He also said my handwriting looks desperate.”
You snorted.
“Can I see?”
He handed over the scroll reluctantly.
You read silently. Then immediately started laughing.
“Mingi.”
“What?”
“You signed this ‘Farmer Prince Mingi.’”
“I was making a point.”
“You drew a chicken beside it.”
“The chicken symbolizes freedom.”
“The chicken is wearing a crown.”
“Royal freedom.”
You laughed so hard you nearly fell over.
Mingi watched you with that same soft expression he always wore nowadays.
Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.
Eventually he spoke quietly.
“You know… I used to think love would feel grand.”
You looked at him.
“What does it feel like then?”
He smiled slowly.
“Like home.”
Your chest nearly exploded.
So naturally you threw a carrot at his head.
Mingi yelped dramatically.
“Violence!”
“You were being emotional.”
“You kissed me in a barn.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“…Shut up.”
He laughed for five straight minutes.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
The king eventually visited personally.
Which was horrifying.
The entire village panicked.
People screamed. Children hid.
Mrs. Choi fainted directly into a cabbage patch.
And you—
You contemplated death.
“Mingi,” you whispered violently while fixing your clothes for the eighth time, “your father is the KING.”
“Yes.”
“THE king.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you calm?!”
Mingi shrugged.
“He loves me.”
“You climbed out a palace window.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“You insulted royal marriage negotiations.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“You started a goose incident.”
Mingi paused thoughtfully.
“…Okay that one might still be sensitive.”
You groaned into your hands.
The king turned out to be terrifying.
Tall. Sharp-eyed.
Dressed in intimidating dark robes.
He studied you silently across your family table while the entire village collectively held its breath.
Then—
“So,” the king said calmly, “you are the girl who made my son abandon diplomacy.”
You nearly choked. Mingi looked offended.
“I abandoned diplomacy long before her.”
“That is true,” the king admitted.
Then his gaze returned to you.
“And what exactly do you see in him?”
You stared.
Then very honestly answered:
“He’s funny.”
The king blinked.
Mingi looked delighted.
“You hear that? I’m funny.”
“You fell through a roof.”
“It was charming.”
The king rubbed his temples slowly. For one terrible moment, silence filled the room.
Then unexpectedly—
The king laughed.
Not politely.
Actually laughed. Deep and helpless.
“You truly are impossible,” he muttered at Mingi.
Mingi grinned proudly.
“I learned from you.”
“That is unfortunately true.”
Everyone stared in shock. Including you.
The king noticed immediately. Then sighed dramatically.
“My son,” he said dryly, “has spent four years writing letters about you.”
Your head snapped toward Mingi.
“FOUR YEARS?”
Mingi looked alarmed.
“Father.”
“He once described your laugh for three entire pages.”
“MOTHER OF GOD,” Mingi whispered in horror.
The king continued mercilessly.
“He compared your temper to a territorial goose.”
You burst into hysterical laughter. Mingi buried his face in his hands.
“I trusted you.”
“You wrote it in official royal stationery.”
“You said nobody reads those!”
“I lied.”
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
And when you looked at Mingi again—
Red-faced. Mortified.
Still looking at you with endless affection—
You realized something quietly. You could do this.
Maybe the future would be difficult. Maybe court nobles would gossip. Maybe people would sneer at the farmer girl beside the prince.
But Mingi would stand beside you through all of it.
Laughing. Falling into disasters. Loving you loudly without shame.
And somehow that made impossible things feel survivable.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
The wedding happened a year later.
It was supposed to be elegant.
Royal. Refined.
Instead—
Mingi ripped his ceremonial sleeve climbing over a fence because he “wanted to see you early.”
A horse escaped. One of the ministers fell into the fountain.
And during the vows, Mingi got emotional and cried first.
“You’re crying,” you whispered.
“No I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
“These are royal tears.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“They’re expensive.”
You snorted so hard the priest lost his place.
The ceremony dissolved into chaos for approximately ten minutes.
Your mother nearly disowned both of you. The king looked exhausted.
And Mingi—
Mingi looked happier than sunlight.
When the ceremony finally resumed, he took your hands carefully.
Warm. Steady. Real.
Then softly—
“I know I’m reckless.”
You smiled.
“That’s true.”
“And dramatic.”
“Very true.”
“And occasionally attacked by birds.”
“Constantly true.”
The guests laughed quietly.
But Mingi only looked at you. Like nobody else existed.
“But if I had to live every lifetime again,” he whispered, “I think I’d still fall into that rice paddy.”
Your eyes stung immediately.
“Even with the frog?”
“Especially because of the frog.”
You laughed through tears.
And Mingi smiled like he’d just been handed the whole world.
Maybe he had.
Because when he kissed you, warm and sweet and grinning halfway through like always—
It felt a little like destiny.
Or maybe just two idiots finding each other in the mud.
trigger warning: minors do not interact. sensitive content ahead, read at your own risk.
word count: 22,5k
୨୧
y/n:
hey, it's san, you already know that. okay, you know i'm bad at this, so i'm sorry in advance. there might be a right way to write this and i don't think i know it, but for you i'll try. please don't judge the handwriting too much. or the wording, or how short or long it is. i rewrote the first part four times and it still feels bad. anyway, i'm sorry, here's the letter. i guess i should start from the beginning, no? is that stupid? i don't know. [scribbled] the first time i saw you was in that class we both didn’t want to be in. i don’t even remember what the professor was saying, but i remember you. you were leaning over the desk, hand on your cheek, resting your head. i remember thinking you looked easy to be around. i don’t know why, but it did. this is embarrassing but i think i knew i wanted to marry you way earlier than i probably should have. i didn’t say it, obviously, that would've been creepy. i just knew you looked so so pretty and now that i know you, you became so beautiful. not that you weren't beautiful before being with me, you always were, i'm just saying from my perspective just how mesmerized you had me from the start, you know? you are just so smart, so creative, so diligent. [scribbled] it's like when you balance numbers and they finally add up the way they’re supposed to, that's what it kind of felt like, but in the romantic way. i'm sorry i'm not good at expressing my feelings and all that, you know that better than anyone else. but i want you to know that choosing you has never felt like a decision i had to force myself into. i want this more than anything, with you. we have this apartment now. it’s small and the walls are kind of thin and the kitchen light flickers sometimes, but it’s ours. i keep thinking about how this is the place where everything will start. mornings, dinners, normal days, hard days, all of it. and i like knowing you’ll be here at the end of the day. i like knowing i get to come home to you. i promise i’ll take care of you. i promise i’ll work hard. [scribbled] i know i don’t always say what i’m thinking, but i feel things even when i don’t show them right. does that make sense? well, [scribbled] i’m really proud to be your husband. that still feels strange to write, but in a good way. i hope we grow old together. i hope we don’t stop choosing each other, even when life gets busy or complicated. i hope you always know that you’re my favorite person in the world, even if i forget to say it out loud sometimes. i’ll always try to try, even if i’m bad.
i love you.
san
tucked beneath the neatly folded cashmere sweaters, exactly where you left it. lace covered box, meant for letters he had promised to fill with, yet a year and a half later, only the first one stood alone. you weren't angry, not even sad. it actually made you chuckle a little. just a quiet grief for what had been started to root deep inside, for the vibrant colors that had softened into pastels, for the soft reverence in his eyes that had slowly faded into habit. you often found yourself staring at the box, a wry smile touching your lips.
the paper, once crisp, now yielded to countless revisits. you knew every word by heart, the rhythm of his awkward sincerity etched into your memory. you traced the faded ink. his handwriting, usually neat in ledgers, was a little clumsy here. each letter formed with an almost painful deliberation. it was short, a simple promise. a quiet declaration of his intent to build a life with you, to be your home. no extreme pronouncements of undying passion, but a solid foundation of devotion. san had never been one for grand gestures, at least not in words. his love manifested in the certainty of his presence, the steady rhythm of his life intertwined with yours. in fact, you had asked for the letter in the first place, at that diner right before receiving the keys to the apartment.
"a letter?" he'd shifted on his seat, a blush creeping up his neck. "i'm not... good with words, y/n."
you shook your head with an endeared smile. "you don't have to be shakespeare sannie, just you."
he seemed in thought for a moment, trying to resist looking at your puppy eyes asking pretty please before straightening his back, accepting the challenge. and he did. pen clutched tight, brows furrowed in concentration. you’d watched him, your heart swelling with a love so potent it felt like a physical ache. then when he finished, he slid it across the booth table, eyes avoiding yours with his shy offering.
now, the paper, soft as old linen, whispered between your fingertips. you didn't rush. each sentence, each carefully chosen word, you read them slowly, precious memory reexperiencie. tasting the hope, the fresh promise of that day when he later bought you the box, saying he'd get better at it and you'd have it spilling out with his loving written words. you ran your fingers over the intricate patterns of the lace, delicate threads contrasting the hollow space.
you folded the letter along it's original creases, the paper folding easily, and placed it back before checking your thight bun in the mirror, perfect posture, every single hair placed where it was meant to be. he still looked at you, of course, but the spark, the raw wonder, had dimmed. it wasn't his fault. life had a way of sanding down the sharp edges of infatuation, leaving behind the smooth, enduring stone of work life.
silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant city chorus. you tell yourself he just forgot. got busy, or thought one was enough. you're good at explaining things away. but when did trying turn into remembering? when did the promise of a future become the past?
the aroma of roasted chicken and rosemary filled the air, a comforting scent that tonight told a solitary performance. table was set, candles unlit, everything waiting for a moment that kept getting delayed. the antique clock sat on the mantelpiece. seven thirty, again. you waited for the familiar click of keys in the lock, the sound that usually signaled the end of day and the beginning of us.
when he comes in your head lifts before you even realize. smoothing your dress automatically, fingers brushing over fabric that was never wrinkled in the first place. a small smile already forming, reserved for him. san already halfway out of his shoes, shoulders slumped, a dark suit jacket draped over his arm. he didn’t glance at the table set for two, but knows everything looks exactly as it always does.
"hey," his voice tired, worn down. like business of the city still clung to him.
"hi," you answer, softer.
he leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. familiar, practiced.
"sorry i’m late," he adds, already loosening his tie as you walked towards the dining table. "we had to redo part of the quarterly report because... how do i put this- there was a discrepancy in one of the ledgers, and it threw off the whole reconciliation process. so we had to go back and..."
pulling out his chair. the heavy oak scraped across the polished floor. he loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. "had to redo a section. whole damn thing.” he ran a hand through his hair, already tousled from the day. “hours. just… hours.”
you watched him, spooning roasted vegetables onto his plate. you pushed his plate closer, then sat across from him. "must be frustrating," you offered, a soft murmur.
he picked up his fork, turning the chicken over. "frustrating doesn’t begin to cover it. the whole team, scrambling. for a single misplaced figure." he took a bite, chewed slowly. "it’s done now. mostly."
he keeps talking about work, deadlines, numbers, something about a client. you listen, always do. you don't understand every word, but you understand him in the way he talks when he’s tired. the slight edge in his voice, the way he explains things like he’s still in the middle of solving them. it’s easier for him to talk about numbers than about how his day actually felt.
nods at the right moments. hums of acknowledgement. small "and then?" once in a while, just to keep him going.
"…where did those come from?" he signals behind you at the counter. a faint lift of an eyebrow. a hint of a smile, almost.
you glance back, even though you know exactly what he’s looking at. the vase sits neatly by the sink, filled with fresh flowers. soft colors, carefully arranged.
"oh," you say, turning back to him, a warmth creeping up your neck. "mrs. jones gave them to me. i brought her some brownies earlier."
he paused, fork halfway to his mouth and exhales a small breath through his nose in genuine bewilderment.
"y/n," he says, setting his fork down for a second, "you need to stop baking so much."
you blink at him. "why?"
"i don't know, it's just..." he gestures vaguely, like the answer should be obvious. "it's every day. there's always something new. brownies, cookies, that cake from yesterday. the whole building must be swimming in your desserts." he didn’t sound angry, just... resigned.
"i like baking," your voice still gentle, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth
"i know, i know," he says quickly. "i'm just saying… it's a lot, isn't it?"
a small pause settles and you shrug, barely lifting your shoulders. "it keeps me busy."
he reached across the table, covering your hand with his. his palm was warm, calloused. "tell you what. how about i book you a day at that salon you like? the one on fifth street. hair. nails. the works. i can tell my sister to join you."
"what? am i starting to look like a hag?" you managed a weak laugh.
his grip tightened slightly. his eyes, usually so guarded, held yours with an intensity that surprised you. "you know that’s not what i meant." his voice was firm, no trace of humor.
the small joke withered and you nodded, slowly. "okay." you swallowed. "okay, that sounds... nice."
the candle flickered, casting dancing shadows across his face. he picked up his fork again, the brief moment of connection already fading.
later, the apartment settled into it's nightly quiet. you lay in bed, the soft glow of your reading lamp illuminating the pages of a novel you couldn't quite focus on. normal people by sally rooney, but the words blurred. beside you, san lay on his back, eyes fixed on the small screen in his hands. the blue light painted his face in stark contrasts. his thumb scrolled, scrolled, scrolled. numbers, probably. reports. another discrepancy.
you watched the subtle movements of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. he was so focused, so far away. still, you reached out, tentative touch to his forearm. his skin was warm beneath your fingers.
he didn’t stir, didn’t look up. his thumb kept scrolling.
you moved your hand, gently, up his arm, over his shoulder, until your fingers brushed the nape of his neck, then threaded into his hair. soft, dark strands. you leaned closer, your breath stirring the air near his ear.
a soft sound escaped him and it almost seemed like he was leaning into it. a yawn. deep, stretching. he lowered the phone, placing it face down on the nightstand. his eyes, heavy lidded, met yours. fleeting moment, again.
"long day," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he gave you a quick short peck on your cheek then turned onto his side, facing away from you, the duvet pulled higher. "good night."
lamp clicked off. darkness enveloped the room, thick and immediate. you lay there, listening to the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, soon turning into soft snores. beside him but alone in the quiet. the book lay open, unread. words still blurred.
୨୧
acetone and something floral, both sharp and comforting. hum of dryers and low chatter fills the space, blending into a steady background noise that makes everything feel easy. normal.
you sat in the middle chair, hands resting neatly on the small cushion in front of you, fingers relaxed but still. a sigh escaping your lips before you could stop it. the manicurist, a young woman with a bright, knowing smile, took your hand, her touch cool and precise. she filed your nails into neat, elegant ovals. you picked a soft, clean color without much thought. something simple, safe, that goes with everything.
across from you, two of your friends leaned into each other, their overlapping voices a stream of gossip. too loud and uncaring. the others chime in, voices overlapping. one of them threw her head back, a peal of laughter echoing, the other one nodded, eyes wide with feigned shock. they talked about a mutual acquaintance’s recent engagement, the scandalous details of a breakup, the endless parade of societal expectations.
"he actually said that?"
"no, stop-"
"i'm serious, i swear-"
to your left, rhythmic snip of scissors. noeul, san's older sister listened quietly, sat under a cloud of foil, her head tilted back as a stylist worked through her dark hair. but her attention drifts back to you more often than not. she owned a warm, reassuring glint. offering a small, conspiratorial smile whenever you caught her gaze in the mirror, silent acknowledgment of the shared escape.
a few chairs down, a woman with kind eyes spoke in hushed tones to her stylist. "she just graduated middle school with the highest scores," her voice, thick with a mother’s proudness, drifted over.
the stylist hums a singing note. "you must be so proud."
"oh, more than that" the woman exhales. "she's even already thinking about what she wants to study after high school."
she spoke of her daughter, a girl she’d poured her heart into.
your fingers still for a second on the cushion. the stylist murmurs something gentle back, and the conversation folds into the background. but it lingers.
your gaze drifted from the woman’s satisfied face to the neat row of polish bottles, then to your own hands, at the careful brush of polish gliding over your nails. you imagined those hands, smaller, softer, reaching for yours. a child. a son, perhaps, with san’s dimples and your own tendency to blush when surprised. or a daughter, with san’s quiet strength and your expressive eyes. the thought bloomed in your mind like a fragile hothouse flower.
you try to picture it. years stacked quietly on top of each other. a child in your apartment. toys where there are now empty surfaces. noise where there is now silence. san, coming home from work. would he pick them up? would he be too tired? would he talk to them the way he talks to you now, half there, half somewhere else? or would it be different? the thought catches you off guard. unfamiliar.
because you've never talked about it. not seriously. not beyond passing comments, vague things people say because they’re supposed to. someday. eventually. no timelines, no plans, no want or don’t want laid out clearly between you.
you don't even know if he wants kids. and for a second, that realization feels heavier than it should. there’s a whole future on a limbo sitting out of reach. not because it’s impossible, but because it’s never been named.
"y/n? you’re miles away!" the brightness of your friend's voice cut through your reverie.
the other leans forward slightly, "how’s married life treating you?"
you don't look up right away, only tilting your hand slightly when the nail tech asks you to. a practiced tug at the corner of your lips masked the tremor beneath.
"it's good, really good." you offered, voice light and airy.
"ugh," someone groans playfully. "of course it is. you guys were always like... perfect for each other."
you let out a soft laugh. "thank you, emma."
"it is," the friend grins. "seriously though, what have you guys been up to lately? anything fun?"
there’s a pause. you glance up for just a second, like you're checking your memory for something recent, something worth telling. "not really," tone still light. "just... normal stuff."
"that's adorable," another friend says, laced with genuine admiration. "no drama or chaos. must be so peaceful to marry an office guy."
"yeah," you nod, smile a little wider. "exactly."
the conversation shifts easily after that, flowing like a meandering river to other topics, someone starts talking about a coworker, someone else about a trip they want to take, and you listen, add comments here and there, smile when you're supposed to. their voices rising and falling in a comfortable rhythm. you watched them, their easy camaraderie, the way they finished each other’s sentences, and a familiar pang of loneliness pierced through the carefully erected wall around your heart.
noeul’s voice, soft but firm, cut through the din. she leaned closer, her perceptive eyes, meeting yours.
"how’s he been?” she asks.
you turn slightly. "san?"
a small nod. "yeah."
your smile didn’t falter. it felt glued on now, a permanent fixture. "he’s good," you say. "just busy with work, you know how he is." the words came out a little too quickly, a little too smooth. you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the manicurist applying the top coat, making sure each nail was perfectly glossy.
noeul scoffs and tilts her head. "i do." a faint, wry smile touched her lips. "you know, i’ve known my brother a long time. longer than you, even." she paused, letting her words hang in the air. "i know how he gets. when things pile up and he forgets the rest of the world exists."
for a second, the façade threatened to crack. the truth, the bitter, stinging sensation, rose in your throat. you wanted to confess, to unburden yourself, to say, he’s not here, noeul. even when he’s here, he’s not here. i’m so lonely. i feel like i’m drowning in this calm. but the words remained trapped. fearful of conflict, ingrained habit of presenting things softly. you forced a small, reassuring nod. "yeah, it's nothing." the lie tasted like ash.
she watches you for a second longer, like she’s weighing something, then hums lightly and looks away, letting the moment dissolve back into the room. as the conversation drifts away again, your gaze lowers, unfocused.
the manicurist finished, buffing your nails to a high shine. she applied a cuticle oil, the scent of almond and rose a delicate perfume. your hands, now impeccably groomed, felt foreign.
"all done, dear." she announced, her smile bright.
you lift your hands slightly, turning them under the light. they’re perfect. smooth, even, untouched.
"thank you," you say, smiling.
for a moment, you imagine asking him. should be simple. do you ever think about kids? it doesn’t feel like a big question. it's not.
and yet, you can’t picture the moment clearly. when you'd ask, how he’d answer, whether it would feel natural or out of place, like introducing a topic that doesn’t belong in the quiet shape of their life. so you let the thought go.
you reach for your phone absentmindedly. no new messages. thumb hovers over the screen for a second, like you might type something, then you lock it instead and set it back down.
"do you guys want to grab something after this?" a girls asks. "coffee?"
"perfect! i’m craving that new lavender latte."
"oh, i can't," you say quickly, forcing another regretful smile. "i really should head home. dinner, you know." you gestured vaguely, as if the very concept of an empty fridge was an urgent, looming threat.
"alright, wifey," someone teases.
you simply smile again in a thin line as you stand, smoothing down your dress out of instinct and reach for your bag. giving everyone a small goodbye hug. as you pass behind noeul, there’s a brief brush of hands, intentional to pause you.
"hey, if it’s ever not nothing," she says quietly, a hint of concern still lacing her words. "you can tell me."
you hold her gaze for a second. then you smile. soft, reassuring, effortless. "i know." and you mean it, you just don't use it.
blur of city sounds and hurried footste. you stepped out, the cool afternoon air a sharp contrast to the salon’s warmth. rose scented oil on your nails, faint blush of pink, it felt like a disguise. you walked, footsteps echoing on the pavement, toward the quiet of the apartment, toward the silent kitchen, toward the dinner you had to make. the thought of it, a weight in your stomach, settled in with the dull ache of loneliness. the calm awaited.
୨୧
the last of the suds swirled down the drain, taking with them the faint scent of tonight’s braised short ribs. you wiped down the counter, movements precise, methodical. the clinking of ceramic plates against the drying rack was the only sound in the kitchen. you dried your hands on a towel, folding it neatly over the edge of the sink when you're finished. dishes done, kitchen clean again.
san's in the living room, laptop open, the soft glow of the screen lighting his face. he's not typing much. just staring, scrolling, thinking. you paused at the archway, shoulder pressing lightly against the cool plaster. the conversation from the salon, a snippet of motherhood, rang in your mind. it had all been a gentle nudge, a question mark in the back of your thoughts all afternoon. you hadn't realized how much space the idea of a child, of your child, could occupy until that moment.
the future, once a vibrant tapestry you and san wove together with eager hands, now a blank canvas. you’d painted the college days in bright, bold strokes, the wedding vows in shimmering gold. but the years beyond, the ones stretching into a quiet domesticity, remained unsketched. you found yourself wondering if san even saw that canvas anymore, if he still held a brush.
you watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he began typing, the subtle ripple beneath his shirt. his dark hair, a little longer than you usually liked, fell across his forehead. he didn’t look up, his focus absolute, a tunnel vision you’d come to recognize.
"still have a lot to do?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended, a whisper against the keyboard’s clatter.
his fingers stilled for a beat, then resumed their pace. "almost," he murmured, eyes still fixed on the screen. "just finishing up these projections for the morning."
a breath, deep and slow, air cool in your lungs. you watch him for a second. the way his brows pull together slightly, the way his attention narrows into whatever’s on the screen. focused. distant. the question, the real question, the one that had been brewing since you left the salon, fell heavy on your tongue. it wasn't just about kids. it was about us. about the unspoken, the unasked, the growing chasm of silence. you wanted to ask if he ever thought about them, about a future that wasn’t neatly tied to quarterly reports and spreadsheets. you wanted to ask if he still saw you, really saw you, beyond the perfectly made bed and the carefully planned dinners. maybe, just maybe, this question could be the key, a small crack. it could lead to an actual conversation, a real one, not just about work or groceries or the weather. your heart beat a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"hey," you start.
he hummed, signaling acknowledgement without breaking concentration. his head tilted slightly, silent invitation to continue.
do you ever think about kids?
words once so clear in your mind, so simple in your head, at least, suddenly tangled. they became a knot in your throat, a lump of unspoken fears and resentments. the image of him, so engrossed, so far away, solidified the doubt. what if he says no? what if he doesn’t want them? what if he thinks it’s a silly question? the fear of that disappointment in his eyes, was a known, suffocating weight. you’d spent years perfecting the art of soft landings, of avoiding any ripple in the calm surface of your shared life. to shatter that now, to introduce a potential disagreement, felt like a betrayal of your own carefully constructed peace. the question of children, of your future, of his love, dissolved into a vague, unformed anxiety.
"do you…" you began, then faltered, sentence dying on your lips. "do you want some tea?"
he looked up then, slanted brown eyes meeting yours, a faint smile touching his lips. the blue light softened the edges of his face, highlighting the dimples that appeared only when he was genuinely pleased. "yeah," he nodded. "sounds nice."
and just like that, the moment passed. the opportunity vanished. you offered a small, tight smile in return, then turned and walked back into the quiet kitchen, already reaching for the kettle. behind you, the quiet settles back into place. the question dissolves somewhere between the sink and the stove, blending into the rhythm of water filling, mugs being set out, something warm being made and offered instead of something uncertain being asked. by the time the kettle starts to hum, you can’t even tell if it would’ve been the right moment or if there would ever be one.
୨୧
the supermarket was colder than you'd expected when the automatic doors whispered open, spitting out artificial chill. paused just past the entrance, adjusting your grip on the heavy cart as the air settled unwelcome against your skin. for a moment, you just stood there, letting the quiet hum of refrigerators and distant chatter fill the space around you. a shiver traced it's way down your spine, cold reminder that you had to move, and so you pushed the metal basket forward as it's wheels squeaked faintly.
there was no reason to rush. you followed the aisles in a pattern you didn’t have to think about anymore. chicken first, hand reaching for the familiar white tray. then the vegetable section. flour, again. sugar, constant drain on the pantry, always seemed to run out faster than it should. everything found it's place in the cart without hesitation, each item chosen with the same steady certainty. each line on your shopping list crossed off with a decisive stroke of the pen. at some point, you realized you had already walked down the same aisle twice.
nothing missing, nothing forgotten. the necessities secured, a small indulgence felt earned. you slowed, then stopped altogether at the snack aisle. eyes drifted over the shelves, lingering on things you didn’t need. brightly colored packaging, a mental tally forming: which ones you wouldn't you buy, which ones would san wrinkle his nose at? the familiar ritual offered a brief, quiet comfort. you imagined his polite imperceptible nod of approval when you presented his favourite chocolate covered crispy biscuits, or the slight, teasing lift of his brow if you dared bring home something too exotic.
"y/n?" the voice came from behind, uncertain but enough to make you turn, the cart creaking in protest. you couldn’t place him until the crooked smile appeared and recognition settled in.
seonghwa.
he stood a few feet away, a half basket hooked over his arm. the boy you remembered, all sharp angles and adolescent angst, had softened around the edges, but the core was undeniably him. the piercings that once studded his ears and lip were gone, leaving only ghost like indentations. but new ink snaked up his forearms, dark tendrils against his skin, a testament to a life lived beyond high school hallways. his wolf cut, a shaggy, artfully dishevelled frame around his face, was longer, wilder than you remembered. his round eyes, still piercing, held a glint of surprise, then something else, something assessing.
"oh...hi," you said, a small, surprised smile breaking through. "wait, hi."
"wow, it's really you." he smiled back, a little wider, like he’d been more sure of it than you were. "i almost didn't recognize you. you... look good, exactly the same," he added, almost as an afterthought.
you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "that’s not true."
"it is," he said lightly. "just... older. in a good way."
you smiled again, more out of politeness this time, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as if to give your hands something to do.
"what are you doing around here?" he asked. "do you live nearby?"
"yeah," you nodded. "not too far. i just came to... groceries."
"right," he said, glancing at his own cart. "same."
there was a brief pause, the kind that should have felt awkward, but didn’t quite. not yet.
"so... are you still in touch with... what was her name? sarah? no- samantha?”
you smiled faintly. "no."
"right, yeah," he said quickly, waving it off with a small laugh. "i always mix those up."
you didn’t correct him. his gaze shifted then, catching on your left hand, lingering for a fraction on the thin band around your ring ringer. you followed his eyes, as if you hadn’t noticed it until that moment.
you offered a practiced smile, a smooth, well rehearsed performance. "oh, yeah. met him in college." the words came out light, airy, almost dismissive of the years of shared history, of the dreams whispered in dorm rooms, the silent promises.
"college, huh? that's nice," he said, and it sounded genuine.
"it is," you replied, too quickly. "his name is san, he's an accountant." the description felt flat, inadequate, a pale shadow of the man you loved.
"an accountant. fancy." he chuckled. "so, what have you been up to? still arguing about about freud versus jung for fun?"
"no, not really." you corrected gently. "i mean, i got a psychology degree but i'm… i'm a stay at home wife now." the phrase almost felt embarrassing on your tongue.
his eyebrow shot up. "huh... i always pictured you, like, running a therapy practice, saving the world from going insane."
you shrugged. "well, it’s nice, though. i get to... manage the house. bake. plan meals. save him from going insane, you know?" the words hollow, even to your own ears.
"i bet san’s a lucky man. always coming home to fresh cookies." he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
small, tight knot formed in your stomach. you baked when you were anxious, yes. but san rarely came home early enough for the cookies to still be warm. and most of them, you gave away to the neighbours, offerings of surplus comfort. "something like that," you murmured, deflecting. "what about you? still making music?"
his face lit up, a genuine, unadulterated passion sparking in his eyes. the words lingered between you for a second before dissolving into something lighter. you talked after that. nothing important, nothing that would be remembered in detail later. work, vaguely. life, in broad strokes. the kind of conversation that filled space easily without asking too much of either of them. he asked questions and waited for the answers. reacted in the right places. kept things moving without letting them settle too long in any one place. you found yourself talking more than you expected to.
"a few of us get together sometimes," he said, almost casually. "nothing big. just... hanging out. you should come, we’re going to a friend's house next week. old times' sake."
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because you did. your mind immediately conjured a mental checklist: the laundry basket overflowing in the utility room, the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun on the living room floor, the intricate dinner you had planned for san, a quiet attempt to reignite a spark that felt increasingly dim. the thought of all those small, domestic duties, waiting patiently for your attention, made a familiar pang of guilt twist in your gut.
"i don’t know," you said lightly, automatic refusal on your lips. "i might be busy."
"with what?" he asked curiously.
you searched for something immediate, something obvious.
"just… stuff," you said instead, smoothing it over with a small smile.
he nodded, accepting it without question.
"well," he added, "if you’re not, you’re welcome. it’d be nice to catch up properly. it’s good to break free sometimes and let loose, you know?"
a small yearning stirred within you. the idea of an afternoon free from chores, from the quiet hum of your own thoughts, from the subtle ache of loneliness, held an unexpected appeal. "okay," you said, the word simple.
"yeah?" his eyes amused.
"yeah."
you exchanged numbers. nothing ceremonious about it, a small addition, barely noticeable in the moment. "well, it was good running into you, y/n. don’t be a stranger." he offered a quick, easy smile, then turned, his basket still hooked over his arm, and disappeared down the aisle towards the dairy section.
that night, you work through the knots in your hair in front of the vanity mirror. each stroke of the brush pulls a small discomfort. the rush of water from the tap in the en suite bathroom ceases. the door creaks open and san emerged, a towel draped low around his waist. water still clings to the dark hairs on his chest, glistening under the low light. he moves with a quiet efficiency, his broad shoulders filling the doorway for a moment before he crosses to his side of the bed, carrying the clean scent of his soap. he doesn’t look at you, not directly, as he peels the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. your gaze, however, finds the smooth expanse of his back, the hard lines of his muscles shifting as he reaches for the pajama drawer. you note the way his bicep flexes, the familiar curve of his neck, the slight slump of his shoulders that wasn’t there when you first met him.
you continue brushing, rhythmic scrape of bristles against scalp filling the silence. your heart a persistent bird, flutters.
"i ran into someone today," you say, your voice almost lost in the rustle of san pulling on a shirt.
a low hum sound from inside the fabric, he pulls the shirt down, smoothing it over his chest. he turns then, his eyes, dark and heavy lidded, finally finding yours in the mirror. a flicker of something unreadable passes through them before settling into a tired affection.
"at the market?" he asks as he pulls back the duvet on his side of the bed.
you nod, watching his reflection as he settles onto the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard. "an old friend. from high school." you pause, the brush still in your hand, it's bristles splayed. "apparently some of them still hang out, and i was invited."
the bed dips as he adjusts the pillows. "that’s good. you should go." his voice is calm, even. he picks up his phone from the nightstand, it's screen glowing blue for a moment before he sets it back down.
you turn fully then, the brush forgotten on the vanity. your bare feet touch the cool wood floor. "really? you don’t mind?" you walk to your side of the bed.
he looks up, his brows furrowed slightly. "why would i mind? it’s good for you to see people. you’re always here." his gaze sweeps around the room, then back to you. "you should get out more."
the words, meant to be reassuring, land with a surprising weight. always here. a small, sharp ache begins in your chest. you climb into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin. the sheets, cool against your skin, feel vast tonight.
"i mean," you start, choosing your words carefully, "i haven’t seen them in years. since graduation, probably." you watch his face, searching for something, a hint of curiosity, a flicker of concern.
he just nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "people change. that’s okay. it’ll be nice to reconnect." he reaches over, his hand finding yours under the duvet. his fingers, warm and strong, intertwine with yours, a familiar comfort. "you’ve been cooped up. it’s good to have plans."
his thumb strokes the back of your hand, it’s a connection, yes, but one that feels practiced, automatic. you want to tell him more, to say, it was seonghwa, the boy with the emo hair, the one who used to draw skulls in his notebook during history class, but the words catch in your throat. the moment feels too delicate, too easily broken.
"i guess so," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. you squeeze his hand, a silent plea for more, for him to ask, who was it? what did you talk about?
soft exhalation that sounds like relief escapes him. he leans over, his head dipping. his lips, warm and soft, brush your forehead, then your temple, then your mouth. it’s a brief, chaste kiss, a familiar closing to the day. his lips taste faintly of mint. he pulls back, settling deeper into his pillow.
"good night, y/n," he says, his voice already thick with sleep.
eyes closing and breathing deepening almost immediately. the rhythm of his breath fills the room, steady and even. his hand, still holding yours, loosens it's grip. fingers, heavy with sleep, slide away.
darkness pressed in as you layed there, the silence amplifying the quiet hum of the city outside. your eyes trace the familiar contours of his face in the dim light. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rest against his cheekbones. faint smile, ghost of a dream, plays on his lips. he looks peaceful, untroubled.
he hadn’t asked. he hadn’t asked anything beyond the most superficial. he hadn't asked who. he hadn't asked if you wanted to go. he just assumed.
you turn onto your side, facing away from him, pulling the duvet tighter around you. the warmth of the blankets does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep within you. still, you tried to push the thought away. it’s not fair. san is tired. he works hard. he provides. this is what you agreed to. this is the life you built. you chose this, to be here. for him. but the loneliness curls around your heart. the perfection of the bed you made this morning, the carefully planned dinner, the unspoken anxieties baked into the pastries you gave away, all of it feels like a silent scream swallowed by the vast, quiet expanse of your days.
tears won’t come even if the knot in you throat screams for a cry. instead, your mind drifts to the closet, to the neat rows of clothes, the perfectly folded sweaters. tomorrow, you think, you’ll reorganize the winter section. it needs it. you need it. a small, manageable task to fill the endless hours.
y/n choi: hi, it's y/n from the store. i think i'm free that day if the invite still stands
seonghwa park: hey!
seonghwa park: yeah of course 😉
seonghwa park: glad ur coming, heres the address
seonghwa park: [location]
୨୧
the building wasn't what you expected. grimy canvas of faded brick and peeling paint that slightly unnerved you. you pulled your phone from your pocket a third time, checked the address, then glanced up at the entrance like it might correct itself if you stayed waiting long enough.
no, this was it.
bass vibrated through the pavement, pulse beneath your feet. for a second, you consider leaving, then you adjust your grip on the small container in your hands and step inside. the hallway swallowed you whole, narrow canyon that smell suspiciously of gasoline. when you reach the graffiti painted door, it was already slightly open. you knocked anyway.
there's a small shuffle inside before seonghwa emerges, his grin a flash of white teeth.
"y/n! thought you weren't gonna make it." he stepped aside, his arm sweeping an invitation.
you offered a small, polite smile, stepping into the room. the air hit you first, thick with a cloying sweetness you couldn't recognize and the acrid bite of stale cigarettes. the apartment was a controlled chaos. art adorned every available surface, canvases leaning against walls, sketches tacked to corkboards, a half finished sculpture draped in cloth in a corner. the room swam with bodies. girls, their midriffs bare, navel piercings glinting under the strung fairy lights. men, their arms drawn with ink, sprawled on beanbags or perched on the worn, leather couches. they moved with an easy, unhurried rhythm, as if the space molded itself around their presence. your modest linen shirt, a soft ecru, felt suddenly like a costume, an ill fitting disguise.
"hey everyone, this is y/n, from high school." seonghwa’s voice cut through the haze, a casual announcement.
a few heads turned, a couple of languid nods, but most remained immersed in their conversations, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings. your gaze swept across the room, searching for a familiar face, a flicker of recognition. nothing.
"it’s... nice to meet you all," you murmured, voice a little too soft, a little too formal for the raucous atmosphere. you clutched the clear container in your hands, the weight of it suddenly grounding.
a girl with a constellation of tiny tattoos climbing her neck, her hair a violent shade of fuchsia, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at your hands. "what’s that?"
you felt a blush creep up your neck. "oh. cookies. i made them." you held the container out, a silent offering.
a woman with striking, dark eyes and a generous smile detached herself from a group near the window. she wore spiked hair and her eyebrows seemed to be gone, but her presence offered a quiet anchor. "cookies! how cute. anna, by the way." she extended a hand, her grip firm and warm.
"y/n." you returned her shake, a surge of relief washing over you.
"i didn't know this was a bake sale," a gravelly voice grumbled from a corner, followed by a snort.
anna turned, her dark eyes narrowing playfully at the fat guy with a mohawk. "shut up, mark. you never bring anything." she gave his arm a quick, sharp shove. despite his joke, he came up as well.
a fresh wave of embarrassment hit you, cheeks burning as you began to stammer, "i just thought, you know, as a... a thank you for inviting me..."
anna waved your apology away. "no, it’s great! we love snacks. what kind?" she peered into the container, her eyes sparkling.
"chocolate chip. with sea salt." you offered, a small smile tentatively forming.
the lid popped open with a soft click. the aroma of warm chocolate and vanilla wafted through the air, momentarily cutting through the other scents. it was like a siren song. suddenly, a small crowd materialized around you, drawn by the scent. hands reached in, fingers deftly plucking cookies from their neat rows.
"someone brought cookies?"
"wait, i want cookies."
"no way, cookies?"
"save me one. i said save me one!"
the conversation dwindled, replaced by the soft sounds of chewing and contented murmurs. a lanky guy took the last cookie, giving you a between apologetic and grateful look and you laugh it off. within minutes, the container lay empty, a few crumbs clinging to it's clear sides. you felt a genuine smile spread across your face. the tension in your shoulders eased. "i’m glad you liked them."
for a moment everything was filled with overlapping conversations and easy movement, people drifting in and out without much structure. you sat at the couch with anna and mark. being spoken to, responded to, included without having to work for it. she asks you what else you like to bake. he asks where you live. the questions aren’t deep, but they come one after another and you answer, laugh and nod. the silence you've been carrying around doesn’t follow you in, it stays somewhere outside the door you walked through.
after a while, when the rhythm starts to feel harder to follow and topics shift quickly, you find your way back to seonghwa in the kitchen. he’s near the counter, talking to someone, but he glances over when you approach, like he’s been keeping track of where you are.
"hey," he says, turning slightly towards yo.
"hi," you answer before a small pause, then casually, "are any other people from our school coming?"
he doesn't hesitate. "nah," he says, shaking his head. "couldn't come."
"oh," you felt a pang of disappointment, small knot tightening in your stomach. you’d envisioned friendly faces, shared anecdotes, a comfortable bridge to this unfamiliar landscape. "okay."
"why?" he adds. "were you expecting someone?"
"no,no. i just thought maybe-" before trailing off, you shake your head lightly. "it's fine."
he watches you for a second, then nods once, like that’s enough.
"you’re good," he says. "don’t overthink it. come on, let’s get you a drink." seonghwa grinned, his hand briefly brushing your lower back as he steered you towards a cooler overflowing with ice and bottles.
you chose a sparkling water, the chill of the can a welcome sensation against your palm. you gravitated towards anna, who was now engaged in a lively discussion with mark about a band you’d never heard of. you hovered at the edge of their circle, listening, slowly piecing together fragments of their world. they spoke of gigs, of art installations, of obscure films, their words painting a vibrant, chaotic picture of lives lived on the fringes of convention.
as the evening continued it's slow, winding course, the hours passed by without warning, suddenly, it was later than you thought. through the subtle buzz in your veins and lightness you hadn't realized you were missing, the image of san already in bed, alone, stirred something in you. your small bag and empty container already in your hands.
"you can come in anytime, even if seonghwa isn't here." anna said before hugging you goodbye.
as you made your way towards the door, seonghwa intercepted you. "leaving already? come on, just one more drink." his voice was persuasive.
"i really should go. it’s getting late." you offered a polite, but firm smile.
he stepped closer, his hand briefly touching your arm. "you know, you’re really something, y/n. a real breath of fresh air." his eyes held yours, flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
"thank you, seonghwa. for inviting me." you pulled your arm away subtly.
"anytime. seriously. we should hang out again, just us two." his voice dropped, a low murmur intended only for your ears.
you felt a shiver, a faint unease prickling at your skin. "maybe," you said, voice noncommittal, then slipped out the door, back into the cool night air.
the street was quieter now, the bass from the building still a faint thrum in the distance. you walked and thought of the laughter, the music, the easy camaraderie, and a strange sense of longing settled in your chest. it was a world so different from your own, a world where boundaries seemed to blur, where emotions were worn on sleeves, where life felt raw and immediate.
stale cigarette smoke clung to your clothes, a new perfume you hadn't anticipated, but somehow, it felt less offensive than the lingering scent of dish soap from your day to day. your sensible sedan, parked a block away, seemed almost out of place among the battered vans and motorcycles. once you got in safely, you pulled out your phone, the screen illuminating your face with a single text from san from an hour ago: 'home. have a good time, night.' short, efficient, just like him. you stared at it and felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to him, to tell him about the fuchsia hair, the tattooed arms, their reactions to your cookies, the melancholic music, anna’s kind eyes. but you tucked your phone back into your purse, the small, bright screen now dark.
you unlocked the apartment door, the click echoing in the silent space. the air inside was still, heavy with the scent of your carefully chosen strawberry cake diffuser. a half eaten bowl sat on the kitchen counter, remnants of the chicken stir fry you had prepared earlier, the pan still on the stove, a few grains of rice clinging to it's surface. a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. he had eaten. the simple act, a confirmation of your effort, brought a satisfaction to you. you moved through the kitchen, the soft clink of ceramic and metal as you rinsed the bowl, scrubbed the pan. it was a mindless task, your hands working on autopilot, while your mind drifted back to the vibrant chaos of anna's house.
the bedroom was a hushed darkness. san lay sprawled on his side of the bed, a rumbling snore escaping his lips, his face buried in the pillow. the sheet, pulled up to his waist, outlined the broad expanse of his back, the familiar curve of his spine. a sight you knew intimately, a tableau repeated almost every night. he worked hard, you reminded yourself, always.
you untangled your hair from the neat french twist, the pins scattering like tiny metallic insects onto the polished wood of your dresser. soft fingers massaged your scalp, releasing the tension that had gathered there throughout the day. you stripped off your clothes replacing them with silk pajama shorts and a matching camisole. teeth brushed and bathroom light off, the bed dipped slightly as you eased yourself in, careful not to disturb san. he remained a dark, unmoving mass beside you, his breathing deep and even.
sleep, usually a welcome embrace, felt elusive tonight. your mind buzzed, a kaleidoscope of new faces, loud music, and unfiltered laughter. the freedom of it all, the raw, unpolished authenticity, contrasted sharply with the quiet, ordered life you had carefully constructed.
shifting restless, silk rustling against the sheets. the image of the girl's fuchsia hair, defiant and vibrant, flashed in your mind. her confident stride, her easy smile. what did she worry about? did she ever feel this profound, aching quietness? you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of san's back. the moonlight, filtering through the gap in the curtains, painted a silver line along his broad shoulder, the muscle defined even in repose. he was strong, reliable, your rock. yet lately, the rock was a mountain you couldn't climb.
a pang of something sharp, something akin to longing, twisted in your gut. you wanted to feel. you wanted to be seen. not just as the wife who kept the house, who cooked the meals, but as you, again. the you who had laughed tonight, unburdened. the one you knew san had fallen in love with.
your hand, almost without conscious thought, slipped beneath the silk of your pajama shorts. the fabric parted, your fingers, tentative at first, found the soft mound of your grown pubic hair, then the slick, warm folds beneath. a small gasp escaped your lips, swallowed by the quiet room. your core, already sensitive, pulsed beneath your touch. you stroked, slowly, deliberately, soft pressure building.
subtly, your hips began to tilt, involuntary movement, pressing into your palm. your fingers worked with a quiet urgency, tracing the delicate ridges, circling the peak of your clitoris. a moistness spread, warm, slick rush that dampened the silk shorts beneath your hand. the sensation intensified, a delicious ache blooming deep inside you, spreading through your belly. your breathing hitched, growing shallow, ragged.
wake up, i'm here.
you closed your eyes, a torrent of images flashing behind your eyelids. san, the warmth of his touch, a vague, undefined hunger. you pressed harder, your thumb finding a rhythm, a steady, insistent pressure. a low moan, barely audible, escaped your throat, a sound of pure pleasure. your whole body tensed, arching slightly into your hand. the climax a sudden, exquisite release, wave of heat that cascaded through your limbs, leaving you trembling, breathless.
୨୧
the shrill ring of the alarm ripped you from a dreamless sleep. your eyes fluttered open, the room still shrouded in pre dawn gloom. a glance at the clock sent a jolt of panic through you. 6:45 am. san left at 7:30. you had overslept.
you scrambled out of bed, the silk shorts clinging briefly before you shed them. the floor was cool beneath your bare feet.
"san, wake up," you whispered, nudging his shoulder. he grunted and slowly, reluctantly, stirred.
you moved with practiced efficiency, a whirlwind of motion in the quiet kitchen. the scent of brewing coffee began to fill the air, mingling with the sizzle of eggs in the pan. toast popped, butter melted, and the rhythmic thud of a knife chopping fruit filled the space. san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed, his black hair still damp, clinging to his forehead. he looked tired, his eyes still holding the remnants of sleep, but his movements were precise, methodical.
"morning," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. he poured himself a mug of coffee, the steam curling around his face.
"morning," you replied, already assembling his lunch. a neat stack of sandwiches, a small container of cut fruit, a handful of almonds. you wrapped it all meticulously, fitting it into his lunch bag.
"did you sleep okay?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee. he leaned against the counter, watching you.
"yeah, eventually," you said, trying to keep your voice light. you packed a small thermos of tea. "i went to that thing last night, you know, the hangout thing?"
he nodded before picking up a slice of toast, spreading jam onto it. "how was it?"
"it was...different," you began, a small smile playing on your lips. you wanted to tell him everything, about the fuchsia hair, the tattoos, the unexpected warmth. "it was in this old building, kind of grungy, but everyone was so nice. there was this girl, sally, she had the most incredible hair, like, bright pink and her face was like a strainer, filled with piercings, it was so cool. and then i met anna, she had these dark intimidating eyes but she was actually really sweet. she’s a photographer for bands."
he turned to you with a slight frown. "y/n?"
"yeah?" you cleaned your hands with a kitchen towel.
"you're not... getting into anything dangerous, are you?"
you tilted your head, looking at him confused. "what? no, no. they were really nice people, they had this energy, like they just didn't care what anyone thought. it was kind of... inspiring."
"hmm..." he took a bite with a raised brow. "be careful y/n, you know how those types can be."
the warmth you’d felt, a flicker of shared experience, began to cool. "i am. but listen, there was also music, not like the music we usually listen to, more like a band sound," you continued, a little more emphatically, trying to inject some of the excitement you had felt into your words. "there was this guy, he had these huge arms filled with tattoos and he had a mohawk, i'd never seen one of those in real life."
he looked away again, finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "just don’t get into anything foolish." he reached for his briefcase and lunchbox, already moving towards the door.
your shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly, there was so much you still wanted to tell him. but there was also no time, you knew. there never was. he was already halfway out the door, his hand on the knob.
"i'll make your favorite soup for dinner tonight," you offered, a last ditch effort to connect, to anchor him for just a moment longer.
he paused, turning his head slightly. a small, tired smile touched his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "thanks, that sounds great, i'll try not to be too late. love you."
"love you," you mumbled as the door shut and he was gone, the click of the lock echoing in the now silent apartment. you stood in the kitchen, surrounded by the lingering scent of coffee and eggs.
y/n choi: hi, it's y/n, i had a really good time yesterday.
seonghwa park: hey, me too
seonghwa park: everyone loved u btw, they were all talking about how sweet you were when you left
y/n choi: really? that's so nice to hear
seonghwa park: ur coming next week, right?
y/n choi: again?
seonghwa park: yeah
seonghwa park: we hang out every weekend
seonghwa park: always at annas
seonghwa park: come ooon, ull have t come
seonghwa park: ur a part of the group now
the words, simple and direct, landed like a soft blanket on your exposed nerves. a part of the group now. the phrase resonated, a balm to the quiet ache san’s rushed departure had left behind. it wasn’t profound, not a declaration of affection, but it was an invitation, a recognition. it felt like a small hand reaching out in the growing expanse of your solitude.
y/n choi: i’d like that, thanks seonghwa.
the next week crawled by, each day a slow, methodical march of chores and quiet anticipation. the perfect bed, the planned dinners, the reorganizing of the linen closet. each task a meticulous attempt to fill the hours, to ward off the encroaching loneliness. but seonghwa’s words, hummed beneath the surface.
a part of the group now.
as saturday evening approached, nervous flutter stirred in your stomach. you pulled out a simple, soft cotton t-shirt, one you usually wore for lounging. then, a pair of well worn dark jeans. your fingers went to your hair, letting it fall, then found a simple black velvet hairband, pushing back the front strands.
the grungy building loomed, a concrete behemoth adorned with a tapestry of peeling posters and vibrant graffiti. the door stood ajar again, inviting light spilling onto the cracked pavement. but politeness, ingrained deep within you, compelled your knuckles to tap softly against it.
the door swung open further, revealing anna. her spiked hair, dark halo around her face, seemed to defy gravity. thicker eyeliner from the last time, you noticed. a cigarette dangled from her lips, thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air.
"well, look who it is," anna’s voice, raspy like gravel, held a surprising warmth. a slow smile spread across her face, revealing a glint of metal in her upper teeth. "you bring cookies this time, wifey?"
you laughed, unforced sound that surprised even yourself. "i didn’t, i’m afraid." faint blush touched your cheeks.
anna leaned against the doorframe, taking a drag from her cigarette. "shame. your hair looks good though, so i'll let you in." she winked, a playful glint in her dark eyes.
you stepped inside murmuring a small "thanks." she led you into the living room as seonghwa, who was meticulously cleaning something that looked like a round bottom flask, rose from the couch.
"hey, you. where's my hug?" he grinned, a flash of genuine pleasure in his expression. he offered a thight hug, quick squeeze that felt surprisingly comforting. "glad you came back."
"come on, i’ll show you my current obsession." anna, having stubbed out her cigarette in a makeshift ashtray, clapped you on the shoulder and led you to a corner of the living room, where a makeshift studio was set up. a flash unit sat on a tripod, and a black backdrop hung from a makeshift frame.
she showed you her new lighting techniques, her raspy voice softening as she spoke about her craft, explaining each of the series of prints tacked to the wall. the subjects, all punk, stared out with an intensity that pulled you in. low groan emanated from the other side of the room. mark, with his pants that perpetually threatened to slide off his ample frame, was getting another tattoo. the machine buzzing like an angry bee.
you watched, a strange mix of fascination and unease stirring within you. the raw intimacy of the moment, the deliberate pain, the permanent mark being etched into skin. it was so far removed from your carefully ordered world. visceral, unapologetic. you thought of san, of his disciplined body, his aversion to anything that might disrupt his carefully constructed order. a tattoo, to him, would be an act of reckless abandon, an unnecessary defacement.
anna exchanged a few words with the tattoo artist and you followed seonghwa and sally into the kitchen.
"tacos?" you asked, a sudden urge to ground yourself in something familiar, something productive.
"attempting to," seonghwa repeated, a wry smile playing on his lips. sally, armed with a knife, was making a valiant but clumsy effort to chop an onion. tears streamed down her heavily made up face.
"this is harder than it looks," she sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing eyeliner.
"i don’t even know if this is cooked enough. it still looks… pink."
you stepped forward with quiet confidence. this, you knew. this was your domain. "let me help," you offered, already reaching for the cutting board. you gently took the knife, demonstrating a quick, efficient chop that produced even dice.
you moved with an easy grace, hands finding their rhythm. chicken seasoned, a blend of spices from the overflowing spice rack that seemed to surprise even seonghwa. you showed sally how to properly dice tomatoes and shred lettuce, your voice soft but instructive. the kitchen, which had been a scene of mild culinary disaster, slowly began to transform into an efficient workspace.
"wow," sally beamed, her fuchsia hair bouncing. "seriously, my mom just nukes everything."
it was a simple thing, a small act of connection, of contribution. but you felt useful, appreciated. the feeling was a pleasant counterpoint to the quiet solitude of your own kitchen at home, where your culinary efforts often met with san’s polite, but often silent, approval.
the group gathered at the living room again, something being passed from hand to hand. you saw it before you recognized it, it wasn't tobacco.
the joint made it's rounds, anna took a long drag, her eyes closing in apparent contentment. seonghwa inhaled deeply, then exhaled a plume of smoke that dissolved into the dim light. sally giggled, her eyes a little brighter, her movements a little looser.
then, mark’s hand, big with his new tattoo, extended towards you, holding the burning joint. the tip glowed orange, small pulsating ember. a hush fell over the group, subtle, expectant. no one said anything, but their gazes, soft and encouraging, rested on you.
your breath hitched. your mind, usually so clear, swam with conflicting thoughts. weed. the word echoed in your head, sharp and disapproving. san’s voice, clear as day, cut through the hazy atmosphere.
disgusting. it’s not a gateway. it destroys lives.
his lectures, delivered with a quiet intensity, about the dangers of drugs, of anything that clouded judgment, that compromised control. he hated it. he hated all of it. smoking, drinking to excess, any form of escape that wasn’t productive, wasn’t measured.
your gaze flickered to mark’s hand, then to seonghwa, who offered a small, reassuring nod. a strange defiance, a tiny spark of rebellion, ignited within you. san, with his rigid rules and his unspoken expectations, felt miles away, a distant, fading echo. here, in this room, with these people, there was an unspoken permission, an acceptance of difference.
you thought of the quiet mornings, the unasked questions, the emotional chasm that had grown between you and san. you thought of the lingering loneliness, the slow, insidious fading of sparks. you thought of his hurried goodbye, his preoccupation, his casual dismissal of your small joys.
a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. it wasn’t about wanting to get high. it was a quiet protest. a moment of reclaiming a sliver of yourself that felt lost, submerged under layers of wifely duty and unspoken disappointment. it was a fleeting, irrational thought, but it felt powerful in it's simplicity.
trembling fingers, usually so steady, reached for the joint. your eyes met seonghwa’s, then anna’s. they offered soft, almost imperceptible smiles.
the joint touched your lips. the paper felt rough against your skin. the smell, pungent and earthy, filled your nostrils. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, a silent battle raging within. then, you inhaled.
the smoke, harsh and acrid, scraped your throat. you coughed between involuntary gasps. tears sprang to your eyes. the group chuckled softly. your lungs burned, heat spread through your chest, then a dizzying lightness in your head. it wasn’t pleasant, not yet. but as the initial shock subsided, a curious sensation began to bloom. a loosening. a letting go.
the world around you, already vibrant, seemed to soften at the edges. the music, a low thrumming before, now seemed to pulse with a deeper rhythm. the faces around you, previously distinct, now blurred into a warm, accepting tableau.
you exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. the smoke drifted upwards in a cloud, carrying with it a rebellious whisper.
the taco shell crumbled in your fingers, a warm, messy embrace of seasoned chicken and melted cheese. a laugh, sharp and high, tore from your throat. it wasn’t your laugh, not really, but it escaped anyway.
"y/n, these are..." sally kissed the tips of her fingertips at once. a piece of tomato, vibrant red, clung to her chin. you watched it, mesmerized, as it wobbled precariously. like a tiny significant event.
"no, for real. this is the best shit i've ever eaten," someone grunted as they took another bite, cheeks bulging. the sound of their chewing a symphonic rhythm, wet crunch that filled the room.
you smiled, you think, a wide, unbidden thing that stretched your face. your cheeks felt warm and tingly. the praise, usually a balm, now felt like a spotlight, too bright, too focused. you didn't need to respond. the air itself seemed to hum with approval.
seonghwa leaned in, his hair brushing your shoulder. the scent of his cologne filled your nostrils. it was a new smell, suddenly potent, a story in itself.
"you have to come over more often," he murmured. his words were slow, stretched out, like taffy. "we’d starve without you."
you nodded, or thought you did. the room swirled, a gentle eddy of color and sound. the soft glow of the fairy lights strung across anna’s living room became individual, shimmering points, each one a tiny sun.
anna, perched on the armrest of a worn armchair, watched you, her eyes unblinking. she held a half eaten taco, but she wasn’t eating. she was just watching. a flicker of concern crossed her face, or maybe it was just the way the light caught her smudged makeup.
you turned your head, the motion slow, deliberate, like moving through thick syrup. seonghwa’s face was inches from yours. his eyes liquid and half lidded. a tiny mole, small and innocent on his ear. you had never noticed it before.
"you know," he began, his voice dropping, a conspiratorial whisper meant only for you, "i actually lied to you."
the words themselves were like individual pearls, strung together on an invisible thread that made your breath hitch.
"about what?" you managed a reedy whisper. it sounded like someone else speaking.
he chuckled like it was obvious. "about keeping in touch with people from high school. i don't. not really. i just... wanted you to have a reason to come."
the confession ignited a fresh burst of laughter. bubbled up from deep inside, unrestrained, joyful. it felt like a new sensation, a freedom you hadn't known existed. the idea of him lying, out of all things, struck you as profoundly hilarious.
he smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips as his hand, warm and calloused, covered yours on the couch cushion. his thumb traced a slow, hypnotic circle on your skin. it wasn't unpleasant. it was just... there. a sensation.
"y/n, i know you’re unhappy."
unhappiness? that was a concept. right now, there was only the incredibly soft fabric of the couch, the taste of spices on your tongue, the intricate pattern on anna’s rug.
"you deserve so much more," he continued, voice thick and low, "than whatever you’re settling for."
you blinked. his face, so close, seemed to waver, like a reflection in water.
"i want you so bad," a whisper you didn't caught on the movements of his lips, his grip tightening on your hand. "i want to make you happy."
you don't know why he kept making sounds with his mouth. the words drifted past, like smoke. meaningless vibrations in the air. your mind, untethered, floated above them, observing.
then, the world tilted. a wave of warmth, heavy and comforting, washed over you. the trip slowed, the colors blending into a soft, indistinct haze. the universe faded into a gentle lullaby.
୨୧
rough wool blanket against your cheek, smelling faintly of incense and something vaguely sweet, covering you. your eyes fluttered open. the room was bathed in a dim, pre dawn light, a pale grey filtering through the blinds. you blinked, trying to orient yourself. the couch. anna’s couch.
a low snore rumbled from the floor. you peered over the armrest. mark, a lumpy silhouette, was sprawled on a pile of blankets, his mohawk flattened. sally was curled up near him, a splash of fuchsia against the muted tones. anna was nowhere in sight. seonghwa? you scanned the room. no.
dull throb resonated behind your eyes. your mouth felt like sandpaper. you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipping to your lap. the memories of the night were a jumbled mess, like a deck of san's numbers scattered on the floor. flashes of laughter, the taste of tacos, the feeling of warmth. but specific words, specific moments, they were gone, swallowed by the haze.
you fumbled for your purse, slung precariously over the back of the couch. chocolate. a small, dark bar, your emergency comfort. you tore off a piece, the rich, bitter sweetness a welcome shock to your tongue.
you pulled out your phone. three forty seven a.m.
your heart gave a sharp, painful lurch. san. you could almost hear the silence of your apartment, the empty space beside him in bed. a wave of guilt, cold and sharp, washed over you, chasing away the last vestiges of the warm fog.
as careful as you could be, you rose quietly to not disturb the sleeping figures. your movements quiet, deliberate.
the drive home was a blur of streetlights and silent roads. each turn of the wheel felt like a small act of atonement. the city was asleep, a vast, dark canvas. then you finally pulled into your parking spot, the apartment building quiet and imposing.
apartment dark, save for the faint glow from the digital clock on the microwave. you slipped off your shoes, the sink. a plate, crusted with dried sauce, sat precariously on the edge, a half empty mug beside it. san. he had eaten, gone to bed. done.
straight to the bathroom, you stepped under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over your skin. it wasn’t just the smell, but the night itself. the laughter, the forgotten words, the unsettling intimacy. you scrubbed, hard, as if you could scour away the memory, leaving your skin, and your mind, clean and blank once more. you wanted to emerge, refreshed, as if the night had never happened. as if you hadn’t tasted that strange, momentary freedom.
୨୧
the sound pulled at your teeth. tremor in the soles of your new sneakers, premonition of the chaos within. this weekend, anna's apartment building pulsed with an unholy rhythm. this wasn't the hazy, languid hum of last week. this was a beast unleashed.
seonghwa’s band, the ruptured veins or something like that, thrashed in the living room. how they’d squeezed a drum kit, a full amp stack, and three guitarists into the already cramped space remained a mystery. mark, sweat plastering his mohawk to his skull, pounded the drums with a primal ferocity that threatened to crack the plaster. sally contorted over her bass, each pluck a sharp jab to your eardrums. seonghwa, all flailing limbs and guttural shouts was at the center. the sound wasn’t music. it was a wall of noise, an excuse of distorted guitars and ear splitting percussion that clawed at your sanity.
bodies, too many bodies, swayed and thrashed in the dim light, a sea of black leather and ripped denim. you felt like an alien even if you tried dressing in your darkest clothes. a hand, sticky and warm, brushed your arm, offering a glass. you instinctively recoiled, the smell of cheap beer and something cloyingly sweet, making your stomach churn.
seonghwa’s eyes flashed you a grin across the room, a feral baring of teeth, and gave a thumbs up. you forced a weak smile back, the corners of your mouth feeling stiff and unnatural. the volume intensified, a new wave of sound washing over you, drowning out thought, drowning out everything.
a bong, you learned, it's glass bulb milky with smoke, appeared before your face. a girl with tangled dreadlocks and eyes that swam in their sockets pushed it closer.
"hit it, y/n!" she slurred a shout, her voice a gravelly whisper against the roar.
you shook your head, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "no, thanks!"
she shrugged, apathetic, and passed it to the next person. another, a lean guy with a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck, who had earlier complained about the brownies you brought not being the "fun ones."
the words felt like pebbles in your throat. you had enough, you needed quiet, needed to escape the relentless assault on your ears. you navigated the throng, each step a battle against jostling elbows and oblivious revelers. you reached the bathroom and pushed open the door for the now muffled sound to lower, then you saw her.
sprawled on the cracked linoleum, half hidden by a discarded shower curtain, lay a woman. her head rested at an awkward angle against the toilet bowl, a thin stream of saliva tracing a path down her chin. she looked older than the others, perhaps in her early thirties, though the lines etched on her face spoke of a life lived hard, not necessarily long. two distinct scars stood out against her skin. her face, even in repose, held a weary resignation, map of battles fought and lost. she wasn't breathing right. shallow, ragged gasps punctuated the silence, each one a struggle.
panic seized you. you knelt beside her, your fingers fumbling for her pulse, finding a weak, thready beat at her neck.
"hey," you whispered, shaking her shoulder gently. "hey, are you okay?"
no response. her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted. this wasn't a drunken nap. this was something else, something far more sinister.
your hand instinctively went for your phone, pulling it from your pocket. 911. ambulance. you needed to call an ambulance. your fingers, trembling, navigated the screen.
"i wouldn't do that if i were you."
a hand, heavy and surprisingly strong, clamped around your wrist. your breath hitched. you looked up, startled. a man stood over you. he was burly, with a shaved head and a face like hammered iron. his eyes, dark and flat, bore into yours.
"unless you wanna be trouble," his voice cut through the residual band noise. it wasn't a suggestion. it was a command, heavy with unspoken threat.
your heart hammered against your ribs. you tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip was unyielding, almost bruising. "she needs help," you managed barely a squeak. "she’s not breathing right."
mirthless chuckle rumbled in his chest. "she’s fine. just had a little too much fun." his gaze flickered to your phone. "you call anyone, you’ll regret it."
the warning hung thick and menacing. you met his stare, a shiver running down your spine. the flat emptiness in his eyes, the casual cruelty in his tone, left no room for doubt. he meant it.
slowly, reluctantly, you let your hand drop, your phone clattering softly against the tiles. his grip loosened, then released. you scrambled backward, away from him, away from the unconscious woman, from the suffocating threat. he watched you, unsettling smirk playing on his lips, then turned his attention back to the woman, nudging her with his foot.
you burst out of the bathroom, the music now a mocking roar. you needed anna. anna would know what to do. anna would understand. you pushed through the bodies, eyes scanning the faces, a frantic desperation clawing at your throat. "anna!" you shouted, the word swallowed by the sheer volume. "anna!"
no one heard you. no one even seemed to notice your distress. they just continued to push each other, lost in their own discordant revelry. you spotted a doorway, half hidden behind a towering speaker, and instinctively veered towards it, hoping to find a quieter space, a less crowded corner where anna might be.
it led to a short, narrow hallway, mercifully less populated. at the end, another door, slightly ajar, spilled a soft, yellow light onto the floor. you pushed it open, a desperate plea for help forming on your lips.
the room contrasted to the chaos outside. a single, bare bulb cast a warm glow over a small, unmade bed. and there, on the floor, surrounded by a haphazard collection of worn stuffed animals and bright plastic blocks, sat anna, but she wasn't alone. a small figure, no older than five, sat nestled against her side, a book with brightly colored illustrations open in it's lap. the child, a boy with a shock of dark hair and wide, innocent eyes, looked up as you entered.
"mommy, who’s that?" his voice, clear and sweet, pierced the lingering noise in your ears like a needle.
mommy.
the word echoed, reverberated, then shattered something fragile inside you. anna’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. a flicker of something, guilt? embarrassment? crossed her face before she quickly composed herself.
"y/n," she said, her voice lowered as she gently pushed the boy behind her. "everything alright?"
everything alright? the irony tasted heavy. now, a child. her child, in this suffocating place. the realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. this wasn’t just a party. this wasn't just a group of friends messing around. this was a life. a harsh, brutal, unforgiving life that you had no part in. the music, which had been an unpleasant background noise, now felt like a blaring siren, screaming the truth. you didn't belong here. not even close. this wasn't edgy. this wasn't rebellious. this was dangerous. this was real.
you shook your head, unable to speak, your throat tight with unshed tears. the image of the passed out woman, the man’s cold eyes, the innocent child, all swirled in a sickening vortex.
"i..." you started, then stopped, the words catching. you didn’t need to explain. anna, with her sudden shift in demeanor, her protective stance over the child, understood.
you turned, a silent retreat, your feet moving on their own accord. you didn't say goodbye. you didn't look back. the door clicked shut behind you, a soft thud against the relentless thrum of the bass.
you navigated the hallway, then the living room, a ghost moving through the throng. no one noticed your departure. the band still roared, seonghwa still shrieked into the mic as he kicked the audience in the face in a blur of motion. you pushed past the last lingering bodies near the door, the cool night air hitting your face like a lifeline.
the street was alive with a different kind of noise. the band’s sound, though fainter, still pulsed through the asphalt, relentless reminder of what you were leaving behind. a group of figures huddled under a flickering street lamp, their movements jerky, unnatural. as you approached, their eyes, glazed and vacant, fixed on you.
"hey, pretty thing, all alone?" one slurred, his voice hoarse, lewd grin spreading across his face.
"where you going in such a hurry?" another whistled, a long, drawn out sound that made your skin crawl.
you kept walking, pace quickening, eyes fixed straight ahead. don’t look. don’t engage. don’t acknowledge. your heart hammered a frantic drum against your ribs. you felt exposed, vulnerable, felt the harsh reality of the street.
your car door shut like a beacon of safety at the end of the block. you fumbled for your keys, fingers clumsy with fear, gripping the steering wheel with knuckles white the whole drive back home, breath coming in ragged gasps. not daring to glance in the rearview mirror once. you drove faster than necessary.
this was not your world. this was not where you belonged. you would never come back. you promised yourself that, a vow whispered into the empty, echoing space of your car, a promise etched in the raw, aching fear still thrumming beneath your skin.
the click of the lock echoed. inside, the air heavy with scent of instant noodles and something sweet, like canned peaches. a white plastic container sat on the kitchen counter, half-eaten, a pair of chopsticks resting beside it. san had takeout. a cold knot tightened in your stomach. you forgot to make him dinner earlier. another layer to the evening’s sour taste.
san, shirtless, was just shrugging out of his work trousers when you entered the room, his back to you. he paused, one leg still in the pant leg, turning his head at the sound of your entrance. his brown eyes, warm and steady, widened slightly.
"you’re back early," he said, the words a quiet murmur in the hushed room. a flicker of surprise crossed his face. he finished pulling off his pants, tossing them onto the laundry hamper with an easy flick of his wrist.
you managed a weak nod, the muscles in your face protesting the effort, too tired to feign a smile. your gaze slid past him, landing on the bathroom door. escape. you moved towards it.
"y/n." his voice stopped you mid stride. you looked over your shoulder, hand hovering over the cool brass doorknob.
"what’s that smell?"
you didn't turn around, the lie already forming on your tongue, bitter pill. "i... i fell into a puddle earlier."
a beat of silence stretched, taut and thin. you watched him, standing there, his brow furrowed, processing your words. you waited for the follow up, the gentle probing, the concern that used to laced his questions. but it didn’t come.
"oh," he said, the single syllable flat, devoid of inflection. he picked up his shirt from the bed, pulling it over his head, then pulled back the covers.
you finally turned, gaze fixed on his retreating back, already settling in. your eyes traced the strong line of his shoulder, the curve of his neck. he was there, and he wasn't. is that all you’re going to ask? the words hovered on your tongue, sharp and desperate. you wanted him to push, to see through your flimsy lie, to demand more. you wanted him to care enough to unravel the carefully constructed facade. almost, you wanted him to know. to know about the music, the drugs, the woman, the fear, the suffocating loneliness that had driven you there in the first place.
"is that all you’re going to ask?" you heard yourself say.
he paused, his hand reaching for the bedside lamp. "is there something else i should know?'
your heart hammered against your ribs. this was it. the open door. the invitation. a single word, a sigh, a broken sentence, and the truth would spill out. you needed to test the boundaries, to see how far he would go, how deep he would dig.
"no," you said, the lie tasting like ash. your gaze held his, searching for a flicker of doubt, a hint of suspicion, anything that would tell you he wasn’t buying it.
he held your gaze for a moment longer, then his lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "okay then." he reached for the lamp, plunging the room into near darkness. he shifted, settling deeper into the pillows.
a choked sound, a low groan of frustration, escaped your lips. he hadn’t pushed. he hadn’t questioned. he hadn’t cared enough to look beyond the surface. you turned abruptly, stalking towards the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a satisfying thud. the sound echoed, a punctuation mark on your silent fury.
san lay in the sudden darkness, his eyes wide open. the faint aroma of something acrid you brought and he couldn't quite place, still lingered in the air. a puddle, he thought. she fell in a puddle. it sounded plausible enough. you were clumsy sometimes, always lost in your own thoughts. he trusted you. he trusted you completely. a small smile touched his lips. it was good you were out, seeing old friends. you needed that. a small part of him felt a pang of guilt for not being able to provide more excitement, more spontaneity in your life. but he was working for your future, for your stability, to provide for you. he believed that was love, that was care. he rolled onto his side, pulling the duvet up to his chin. he heard the shower running, the sound a soft, comforting hum. he closed his eyes, his mind already drifting to tomorrow's spreadsheets, the complex equations that made perfect sense in a world that often didn't. everything was fine. you were having fun. it was okay if you forgot dinner sometimes. you could always order takeout. he was happy. he assumed you were too.
the next morning, the apartment hummed with the usual rhythm of your routine. you woke before him, the first rays of dawn painting the bedroom walls a soft grey. you made the bed, pulling the sheets taut, plumping the pillows with practiced ease. the scent of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the air, followed by the sizzle of eggs in the pan.
san emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed in his crisp white shirt and specifically tailored pants. he kissed your cheek, a soft brush of lips, and then sat at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone.
it became a monotonous cycle of routine.
you'd have your small talk, watch him eat, his movements precise, efficient, and then he was out the door. then, you'd wander into the bedroom, the perfectly made bed an ironic symbol of your life. you'd pick up your phone, cold blinding glass, and scrolled through social media. endless stream of meaningless shorts of nothing. you'd sink yourself in bed and let the hours melt. youtube videos, a reality show you cared about for two hours, articles about celebrity gossip. anything to fill the void, to drown out the insistent whisper of your own thoughts.
you woke him, prepared his meals, vaguely cleaned what was obvious. but the moments in between stretched, vast and empty. you spent them in bed, phone in hand, the world outside shrinking to the confines of your screen. at night, you wouldn't sleep. every shadow twisted into a threat, every creak of the floorboards a reminder of unspoken dangers. san had simply mentioned you seemed a little tired. you’d blame it on a bad dream, a headache. anything but the truth. the vibrant, productive life you once shared with san, the shared dreams, the late night conversations, they felt like a distant memory, replaced by this quiet, isolated existence.
one evening, san’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, the familiar jingle of his keys preceding his entrance. he walked into the kitchen, his briefcase thudding softly onto the counter. he paused, his eyes scanning the immaculate space. the stovetop was clean, the counters clear. no scent of cooking, no simmering pots.
"i ordered pizza," you said, voice flat, emerging from the living room where you sat on the sofa, scrolling through your phone. the thought of cooking, of meticulously chopping vegetables and stirring pots, felt like an insurmountable task. the effort, the pretense of normalcy, was too much. you simply couldn’t.
"okay," his voice quiet. you couldn't decipher his tone, surprise? confusion? whatever.
for once, he didn't immediately take his laptop. he watched you, his expression unreadable. he picked up a slice, silence punctuated only by the soft chewing sounds.
"i spoke to noeul today," he said, cutting through the quiet.
you froze, a slice of pizza halfway to your mouth. "oh?" you asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but your voice came out a little too sharp.
"she was wondering why you stood her up for lunch," he continued, took another bite of pizza, his eyes still fixed on you.
"i... i wasn't feeling well," you swallowed, the pizza suddenly tasting like cardboard.
he paused, chewing slowing. his dark eyes, usually so placid, held a new depth, a subtle intensity. he studied your face, his gaze searching, probing.
"is everything okay, y/n?" he asked, the question soft, gentle, yet it hit you with the force of a blow. this was the first time in weeks, months even, that he had truly looked at you, truly asked.
you felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you. relief that he was finally seeing, finally asking. fear that he would see too much. anger that it had taken him this long. a desperate, clinging hope that he might actually understand.
you opened your mouth, but what could you say? no, san. everything is not okay. i’m lonely. melancholic. i’m lost. i’ve been hanging out with people who smoke weed and threaten me. i lied to you. i don’t know who i am anymore. the truth felt too vast, too overwhelming, too ugly to articulate.
you closed your mouth, nodding slowly. "yes," you whispered, the lie a refuge. "everything’s fine."
he didn’t push further. he simply nodded, a slow thoughtful movement. he finished his pizza in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking towards you. he didn't know what to do. he thought he was doing everything right, providing stability, working hard. but he felt that something wasn't actually right. he could feel it. and for the first time, the thought that his stability might not be enough began to gnaw at him.
୨୧
"well, well, well," you couldn't see seonghwa's face through the phone but you just knew a smile stretched across his face, all teeth and charm. "look who finally decided to give signs of life."
you took a breath, "i’m sorry about that. i felt a little... overwhelmed."
"overwhelmed?" he chuckled a sound that grated. "we had a blast, though. sally was asking where you went."
a forced light laugh came out of you. "i'm sorry, it's just... don't take this the wrong way but, i don't think it's my scene."
the seconds of silence made you more nervous than you liked to admit. "oh? why’s that? did anna scare you off? she’s all bark, no bite, you know."
"it’s not anna." you walked to the window, staring out at the streets. "it’s just not... it’s not for me." you chose your words carefully.
"not for you, huh... too much for the perfect little housewife?"
you didn't know what to say, or even if you should reply. this is not the way you had wanted to come off.
"come on, y/n. " his tone shifted again, becoming almost playful, seductive. "you can’t just ditch us. we were just getting to know you. and you, me, we had a connection, didn’t we?"
you closed your eyes and sighed. "i appreciate the invitation, seonghwa. but i really don’t think it’s a good idea."
"wait, wait, wait." his voice was quick, slightly desperate. "don’t hang up. this saturday. it’ll be different. i promise."
"different how?"
"no loud music. no... overwhelming crowds." he mimicked your earlier word with annoyance. "it’ll be at my place. daylight. we’ll just chill. listen to some records. maybe sally will bring her new bass. anna her camera, snap some pictures. it’ll be... a real hangout. no pressure. just us."
a day hangout. at his place. no crowds. the thought of seeing anna, of making sure she was okay, flickered. and sally. you’d genuinely liked sally. you chewed on your lip, disappearing without a trace, even from people who were clearly not good for you, felt... rude. you were not rude. you prided yourself on your manners, on leaving things tidily. this would be your last clean exit. a proper goodbye.
"it'll be calm? no substances?" you asked with a small voice.
"yeah. we'll just chill."
you sighed, a long, slow release of air. "fine. but if it gets crazy, i’m leaving."
"deal!" his voice triumphant. "i’ll text you the address. saturday. two o’clock. don’t be late, y/n."
you hung up on him, the silence of the kitchen pressing in on you. a mistake? probably. but you had to make things right. you had to say goodbye. properly.
the next few days were a flurry of quiet preparations. you found a well loved cookbook at a second hand store, it's pages dog eared and stained with flour. sally had seemed genuinely interested in your chicken tacos, you remember her bouncing as she peered over your shoulder. a small childish bunny stuffed animal, soft and grey, caught your eye in a boutique window. anna’s son. he deserved a little softness in a world that seemed so hard. you wrapped the gifts carefully, a futile attempt to infuse them with the warmth you wished you could offer.
saturday afternoon, the sun bright in the sky. you drove, the directions seonghwa had texted leading you through unfamiliar streets, past industrial parks and forgotten warehouses. the address finally brought you to a hidden nook, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated auto shops. a trailer park. a small, unexpected community of metal boxes, each with it's own patch of scraggly grass and faded plastic lawn ornaments. you hadn’t known such a place existed in the heart of the city.
seonghwa’s trailer, a faded blue, stood at the end of a gravel path. your stomach twisted. you clutched the gifts tighter, the paper rustling. you knocked, a soft tap that felt too polite for the setting. the door creaked open, revealing him. his hair looking a little disheveled, as if he’d just woken up. a faint smell of something herbal, not entirely unpleasant, wafted from inside.
"oh, you actually came." he grinned as he rubbed the weariness out of his face.
"i said i would." you offered a small smile, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness that settled between you. "i brought some things." you held up the wrapped gifts.
"oh, for me?" he reached for them, but you pulled back slightly.
"no. for sally and anna’s son."
his hand dropped, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "right. well, come on in. you’re the first one here."
the trailer was small, surprisingly neat but dim. a worn couch, covered in a faded floral sheet, dominated the living area. a small television flickered silently in the corner, displaying a nature documentary. a guitar leaned against the wall. it felt... lived in.
"make yourself at home," he gestured vaguely at the couch. "the others should be here any minute. mark’s always late. sally said she had to pick up some new strings. anna… well, anna’s anna." he laughed, a short, nervous sound.
you sat on the edge of the couch, placing the gifts carefully beside you. the cushions sagged beneath you, smell of old fabric rised to meet you. the silence, punctuated only by the chirping of unseen birds on the television, was deafening. you felt a sudden urge to fill it, to chatter, to ask about his band, about anything. but you couldn't.
"want something to drink?" he asked, already moving towards a small, cluttered kitchenette.
"just water, please." you watched him, his movements surprisingly graceful for someone so wiry. he pulled out two glasses, poured a clear liquid from a plastic bottle into one, and then, to another one that was already sitting on the counter. he didn’t seem to notice your gaze.
a tiny, insistent voice in the back of your mind, screamed. you took the glass, your fingers brushing his, skin rough. you brought the glass to your lips, pretending to take a sip, letting the rim touch your mouth, but not letting any liquid pass.
"so," he said, settling beside you on the couch, much closer than you would have preferred. "how’s... housewifing?"
you stiffened. "it’s good. i like it."
"yeah? seems a little... boring for someone like you." he leaned back, his arm brushing yours. the contact made your skin prickle.
"it’s not boring,”°"you said, maybe a little too quickly. "i like taking care of things. taking care of san."
"san." he said the name slowly, like tasting it. "busy guy, huh?"
"he works hard," you defended automatically. "he provides for us."
"yeah, i bet." he turned his body fully towards you, knee touching yours. his gaze dropping to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. "but does he... pleasure you?"
you looked at him in shock, offended. your cheeks flushed crimson, a wave of heat rushing through you. shock, outrage, and a deep, mortifying embarrassment tangled together. you stared at him, mouth agape, unable to form a single word. the flickering television, the stale air, his proximity, it all coalesced into a suffocating pressure. "what did you just say?"
he didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. his eyes held yours, unwavering. "i mean, you’re bright, y/n. you’re smart. you’ve got this... spark. yet you spend your days fucking, polishing silverware and waiting for some suit to come home. does he ever even make you feel good?"
your heart hammered against your ribs. "i like polishing silverware. i like making a home."
"do you?" he reached out, his fingers tracing a pattern on your arm, just above your elbow. "or do you just tell yourself that because it’s what you think you’re supposed to do?"
you flinched, pulling your arm away. "i don’t appreciate that, seonghwa."
"just being honest. that’s what friends do, right?" he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.
the small, dusty clock on the wall pointed at four, you glanced at it, then at the door, wishing that your eyes could pierce a hole and reveal other people, anyone. yet no one else had arrived. the pit in your stomach deepened. "maybe i should call sally. or anna."
"nah, don’t bother." he waved a dismissive hand. "they probably won't even come. you know how it is." he paused, a predatory glint appeared in his round eyes. "guess it’ll be just us."
the words rang heavy and suffocating. it clicked. a cold, sickening realization washed over you. there was never "others." you had been tricked. the gifts, the polite goodbyes, all of it a naive delusion.
"oh." you stood up abruptly, the movement jarring. "i... i think i should go. maybe i should come back when the others arrive." your mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, anything to get out. you tried to infuse your voice with a calm you didn’t feel, to make it sound like a reasonable suggestion, not a desperate plea.
"don’t be stupid, y/n. you just got here." he stood and pulled you towards him. the close proximity of his body, the insufferable smell of weed making you almost gag. "you’re lonely, aren’t you? i see it in your eyes. the way you just exist and he doesn't even notice."
"i don’t know what you mean." your voice trembled.
"why? you don’t want to admit it?" he leaned closer, breath warm against your ear. his insidious words pricked at the spots. the truth of them, despite the venomous delivery, stung. but the way he was using them, twisting them, made your skin crawl.
you tried to push past him, a surge of adrenaline making you bold. “let me go.”
he grabbed your arm, his fingers tightening around your wrist. "no." he pulled you back, hard, sending you stumbling onto the couch. the gifts clattered to the floor. he pinned you there, his face inches from yours. "i know you don’t love him. you're goddamn pathetic with him and everyone sees it."
you felt a surge of adrenaline, a pumping desperate need to escape. “you don’t know anything about me. or san.” you pulled harder, twisting your body, trying to create distance.
he didn’t let go. instead, his other hand came up, resting on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin. "i know you don't love him. i know you’re unhappy." the accusation, so utterly false, ignited a furious spark within you. "why else would you keep coming back here?"
"you’re wrong!" sharp and venomous, your voice cut through the fear. "you’re completely wrong. i love san. i love him more than anything. and i would never, ever be unfaithful to him. especially not with... with someone like you!" the last words, raw and unfiltered, spilled from your lips. the thought of betraying san, of allowing this man to even suggest such a thing, filled you with a righteous anger.
a vein throbbed in his temple. for a terrifying moment, you thought he might strike you. his face contorted, a mask of rage. primal scream ripped through your mind, though no sound escaped your lips. a sudden, visceral revulsion surged through you, a raw, untamed force you hadn’t known you possessed. you didn’t think, you reacted. with a guttural cry that was more gasp than sound, you twisted your body, yanking your arm free from his grasp with a strength born of pure terror. you stumbled back, tripping over your own feet, but you caught yourself, your eyes wide, fixed on him.
"hey, y/n, calm down. let's talk-" his face a mask of something ugly. he took a step towards you, his hand still outstretched.
"don’t you touch me!" you shrieked, the words finally tearing free holding a fierce conviction.
with a desperate lunge, you pushed past him and found the doorknob, fingers clumsy with terror and heart pounding against your ribs. please, please be unlocked. the knob turned protesting a squeal. a small miracle. you yanked it open, the weak sunlight blinding you for a moment.
you didn’t look back. you ran. the gravel crunched under your shoes, the faded blue trailer shrinking behind you. you didn’t stop until you reached your car, fumbling with the keys, your hands shaking so violently you could barely push the button. you threw yourself inside, locking the doors, lungs burning. the engine roared to life, and you sped away, leaving the trailer park, the sickly rose bush, and the terrifying encounter in a cloud of dust. the gifts lay forgotten on the floor of the trailer, naive hope, now shattered.
୨୧
"i ran into someone today."
"at the market?"
"an old friend. from high school. apparently some of them still hang out and, i was invited."
"that's good, you should go."
"really? you don't mind?"
"why would i mind? it's good for you to see people, you're always here. you should get out more."
"i mean... i haven't seen them in years. since graduation, probably."
"people change, that's okay. it'll be nice to reconnect. you've been cooped up, it's good to have plans."
"i guess so."
knees drawn to your chest, the phone thrown to the cushion next to you. you had to call him, you really had to, and he did leave. cheeks damp, tiny ragged sobs caught in your throat, you barely registered when the door swung open. he stood at the doorway, crisp button down now slightly rumpled, his tie loosened. his eyes scanned the room, then landed on you. he didn't say anything, just kicked the door shut with his heel and moved towards you deliberately.
"san," you choked out a fragile whisper, "i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry i made you come home."
he didn't answer with words, simply sunk onto the couch beside you, the springs protesting faintly. his strong arms wrapped around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into his chest. the clean, subtle cedar scent of his cologne filled your senses, chasing away the lingering stench of smoke and fear. you buried your face in his shirt and let the dam break.
hot and stinging tears streamed down your face, soaking into his shirt. each sob tore through you, tearing sounds you hadn't realized you were holding back. his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you close. he didn't try to stop the tears, didn't offer empty platitudes. he just held you, a silent comforting presence.
"it’s okay," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear, "it's okay, y/n. i'm here."
fingers fisted in his shirt, the fabric stretching taut. the world outside the circle of his arms ceased to exist. there was only the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. time stretched and blurred. you cried until your throat ached, until your eyes felt swollen and raw, until the tremors in your body slowly began to subside.
when the sobs dwindled to quiet sniffles, you pulled back slightly, your head still resting against his shoulder, your gaze fixed on the intricate weave of his shirt. a deep, shuddering breath hitched in your chest.
"i… i need to tell you something," you whispered.
he squeezed your shoulder gently. "take your time."
the silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. you needed to say it, all of it. the truth, ugly and raw, demanded to be set free.
"i haven’t been... i haven’t been doing well, san," you began, your voice still hoarse. "not really. i mean, i love being home. i love our apartment, i love cooking for you, taking care of everything. i really do. but" you carefully searched for the right words, the words that wouldn’t sound like an accusation. "it got... lonely. really lonely."
at his arm tightening around your waist, you glanced up at his face. his brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, quiet concern, but no judgment.
"i know you work hard," you continued, rushing the words out before you could lose your nerve. "i know you do it for us, for our future, and i appreciate it, san, i really do. sometimes, i just... i just want to talk. to someone. about anything. about my day, about a stupid show i watched, about a new recipe i found. just... to talk. and you're not there."
he didn’t interrupt, just listened, his gaze steady on your face.
"and then… i met seonghwa again."
the name plastered, foreign and sharp. san’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.
"seonghwa?" he repeated, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "who is... i thought you said you were meeting anna? your old classmate?"
your heart sank at his innocence, at how you had let him assume with unclear conversations.
"no, anna is... seonghwa’s friend,” you explained, the words tumbling out. "she’s part of his group. he was my classmate in high school. not a close one, but... yeah. he’s the one i ran into at the supermarket."
san’s placid eyes held a hint of something unreadable. he still didn’t speak, just waited.
"i didn’t mean for any of it to happen," you confessed, your voice cracking again. "i just... i just wanted to be included. to feel like i was part of something. they seemed so... free. and easy. and i was so lonely." you paused, drawing a shaky breath, preparing for the hardest part. "at first it seemed harmless. they were just... different than me, something new. but then it escalated. the parties. the noise. the... the smoke.” you hesitated, then forced yourself to say it. "i... i smoked weed, san. once. i know, i know it was stupid. i’m so sorry."
tears welled up again and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for his reaction. but he still didn’t say anything, just held you closer, so you continued and everything spilled. the memories flooding back, sharp and vivid. from the hazy afternoons to the girl, her unnatural stillness and anna's so, so young son yet already involved into such a chaotic world. your voice broke with the image behind eyelids. then today, at seonghwa's. reliving the terror, the helplessness, made you shiver with a torrent of fear and disgust and self reproach.
you dissolved into fresh sobs, the weight of the confession crushing you. you waited for anger, for disappointment, for the distance to grow between you even more. but instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer.
"y/n," he said, his voice deeper than usual, a quiet intensity in his tone. "look at me."
you reluctantly lifted your head, tear streaked face meeting his gaze. his eyes were now clouded with a raw pain that mirrored your own.
"you have nothing to be sorry for," he stated, his voice firm, unwavering. "not for feeling lonely. not for wanting connection. and not for trying to find it." he paused, his thumb stroking your cheek, wiping away a tear. "i’m the one who should be sorry. i let you feel that way. i let you feel so alone that you had to look for it somewhere else. i was so caught up in work, in making sure we had everything we needed, that i forgot to give you what you actually needed. me."
fresh tears pricking your eyes, you shook your head. "no, san. that’s not fair. you work so hard. you provide everything. i should have just told you. i should have talked to you. i just... i didn’t want to cause conflict. i didn’t want to seem ungrateful."
"conflict is part of a relationship, y/n," he countered softly. "it’s how we grow. and you are never ungrateful. i know you. i just... i wasn’t listening. i wasn’t seeing. i was so focused on building a future, i forgot to live in the present. with you." his gaze was intense, full of regret. "i saw you, every morning, making the bed perfectly. i saw the dinners you planned. i saw the baked goods you made, and gave away. i thought... i thought you were happy. i thought that was just you, being you. i didn’t realize it was... a symptom. i thought stability meant happiness. i thought if i provided for everything, you wouldn’t have to worry. i thought that was how i showed you i loved you. but i forgot to show you i loved you with my time. with my presence. with my words."
"but i should have said something," you insisted, your voice still thick with guilt. "i let it fester. i bottled it up. i smoked weed behind your back. that’s not okay, san. that’s not okay."
"and it’s not okay that i left you feeling so emotionally neglected that you felt like you had to," he countered, his voice gentle but firm. "we both made mistakes, y/n. mine was in being absent. yours was in not speaking up. but none of that changes how much i still love you."
he pulled you back into his embrace, holding you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your ear. a comforting, familiar rhythm.
"i love you, y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "more than anything. and i am so, so sorry that you went through all of that. that you were scared. that you were hurt. that you felt alone. i promise you, you will never feel that way again. not with me."
you clung to him, tears still flowing, but these were different. these were tears of relief, of release, of a profound love finally understood. you felt the tension that had been coiled in your chest for months slowly unwind, dissolving into the warmth of his embrace.
"i love you too, san," you sobbed, the words muffled against his shirt. "i love you so much."
held for a long time, the only sounds the quiet sniffles, the soft rustle of clothes, the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in unison. the city outside grew darker, the streetlights casting long, pale shadows through the window. but inside, in the circle of his arms, a fragile light had begun to glow. it wasn’t a solution, not yet. but it was a new beginning.
୨୧
morning rays painted stripes across the duvet. you stirred, the warmth beside you a comforting anchor. san’s arm, heavy and solid, rested across your waist. his breath, slow and even, feathered against your neck. you turned your head, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. the memory of yesterday, the raw vulnerability, the shared tears, a fragile precious thing.
quiet sigh escaping your lips, you stretched with a yawn. the bed felt different today, lighter, like a burden had lifted. you eased yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and padded into the kitchen. the choreography of making coffee began. the gentle hum of the machine, the rich aroma blooming in the air. you poured two mugs, placing san’s on his bedside table before returning to your side of the bed, he still slept.
you traced the line of his jaw with your finger, the slight stubble rough beneath your touch. his eyelashes, thick and dark, rested against his skin. a small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips.
"morning," his voice, deep and gravelly with sleep, startled you. his eyes slowly opened, finding yours.
"morning, sannie," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his temple.
he stretched, his big arms flexing, the muscles taut beneath his skin. he reached for you, pulling you closer until your head rested on his shoulder. "i’m not going to work today."
you blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. "what?"
"i said, i’m not going to work today," he repeated, his thumb stroking the skin of your arm. "or tomorrow. i took the weekend off."
a small, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of you. "you did not. you never take the weekend off. you have that big report due monday."
he shifted, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze steady. "i called lee at like 3 am. he’s covering. the report can wait. we can’t."
your heart gave a small, hopeful flutter. the words, simple and direct, resonated deep within you. you reached up, cupping his cheek. his skin felt warm against your palm.
"really?" you asked thin with emotion.
he nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips, revealing the faint indentations of his dimples. "really."
the weight that had pressed down on your chest for so long began to ease, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. you leaned into him, burying your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a mix of sleep and his subtle leftover cologne.
"what are we going to do?" you murmured, the question laced with a hesitant joy.
he held you tighter. "whatever you want. show me your world, y/n."
a lump formed in your throat. you pulled back, a small, genuine smile blooming on your face. "okay," you breathed. "okay."
the morning unfolded slowly for once, no rush to get ready, no frantic dash for him to find a parking spot. you made a more elaborate breakfast than usual, eggs scrambled with herbs, crisp bacon, and slices of avocado. he watched you, perched on a stool at the kitchen island, his phone conspicuously absent. he simply watched, gaze attentive, as you moved with a quiet efficiency.
he ate with a quiet appreciation, savoring each bite. the silence between you was no longer heavy with unspoken words, but comfortable, filled with the soft clink of forks against plates, the distant chirping of birds.
after breakfast, you led him to the bedroom and demonstrated your bed making routine, movements precise and practiced. he watched, his head tilted, an expression mixed with amusement and curiosity.
the hours melted into a gentle rhythm. you showed him your small rituals. the way you organized the pantry, grouping spices by frequency of use. the careful sorting of laundry, whites, colors, delicates. the methodical scrubbing of the bathroom, each surface gleaming. he followed you, your silent observer, occasionally offering a helping hand.
you found yourself talking more than you had in months, explaining the logic behind your choices, the small satisfactions you found in these mundane tasks. he listened, truly listened, his eyes never leaving your face. it was no longer how are you? but why do you do this that way?
lunch was a rather simple affair, sandwiches and fruit, eaten at the kitchen counter. you found yourself telling him about a new recipe you wanted to try, a complicated japanese stew you’d been researching. he listened, asking questions about the ingredients, the cooking process. it felt like a real conversation, not just a series of perfunctory exchanges.
as dusk began to settle, casting a soft, blue hue through the apartment, you found yourselves in the living room. you moved the large, plush couch, pushing it closer to the wide window that overlooked the street below. the city lights began to twinkle a distant murmur from the streets.
you sat side by side, the comfortable silence settling around you once more. he reached out, his hand slowly finding your arm. his fingers traced a gentle path from your wrist to your elbow, a soft reassuring touch. you leaned your head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear.
the silence stretched, not empty, but full of unspoken emotions, of rediscovered intimacy. you watched the cars pass below, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness.
after a long while, he stirred. his hand tightened on your arm, then he slowly, gently, pulled you onto his lap. your legs tangled with his, your body molding against his hard frame. he shifted, adjusting you until you were nestled perfectly, your back against his chest. his lips found your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss, then moving to the delicate skin of your neck. a shiver ran through you, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips. he kissed the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and a soft giggle bubbled up from your chest.
"you okay? is this okay?" he murmured.
you nodded, your head resting against his shoulder. "more than okay."
he pulled back slightly, turning you so you faced him, his hands resting on your hips. his brown eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch.
"y/n," he began, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "do you... do you ever think about kids?"
୨୧
effortlessly, he laid you gently on the bed, following you down, his body a warm weight against yours. his lips found yours, soft at first, then deepening, hungry desperation underlying the tenderness. your mouth opened beneath his, inviting him in. his tongue tangled with yours, a slow, sensual dance, tasting of coffee and him.
"mine," he murmured against your mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper the word. "you’re mine, y/n. no one else’s."
his hands, large and strong, moved to the hem of your shirt, slowly, deliberately, pulling it up and over your head. the cool air brushed against your skin for a moment before his hands were there, warm and firm, stroking your sides, your ribs, the soft skin of your belly.
you arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your throat. you reached for his shirt, fingers trembling slightly. he helped, peeling the fabric from his broad shoulders, revealing the taut muscles of his chest before he reached around, touch gentle, unfastening the hook of your bra. the lace fell away, revealing your breasts, full and soft in the dim light. he stared, his gaze lingering and before you knew it, he leaned down, lips closing over one nipple, drawing it into his mouth. a jolt of pure pleasure shot through you. he sucked, softly at first, then harder, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. your breath hitched, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him closer. he moved to the other breast, suckling with equal fervor, his free hand stroking your side, making goosebumps rise on your skin.
"so beautiful," he breathed, pulling back to look at your flushed face. "so fucking beautiful."
rough with desire, igniting a fire deep within you. you reached for the button of his jeans, eager to shed the remaining barriers between you, pushing them down his hips, along with his boxers. his cock sprang free, already hard and engorged, glistening in the dim light. you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his heat, stroking the soft skin. he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
"baby," he gasped, his voice strained. "god, y/n."
you continued to stroke him, feeling the pulse of his arousal against your palm. your own desire mounted, a burning ache between your legs. he reached for your shorts, pulling them down with your panties. the cool air kissed your bare skin, a fleeting sensation before his hand was there, warm and knowing, finding the wetness between your thighs.
his fingers parted your folds, gently, slowly, exploring the slickness, the delicate curves of your clit. you gasped, your hips arching instinctively. he dipped a finger inside you, then another, preparing you. you were already so wet, your body aching for him. a soft squelching sound accompanied his movements, a wet, intimate symphony.
"so wet," his voice husky, eyes never leaving yours. "for me."
he watched your face, gauging your reactions, thumb circling your clit, drawing out whimpers and soft cries from deep within your throat. you writhed beneath his touch, your body trembling, on the precipice of release.
"please," you pleaded, your voice hoarse. "san, please."
he shifted, kneeling between your legs. his heavy cock, slick with your wetness, brushed against your opening. you gasped, a desperate sound. he hesitated, looking into your eyes, a possessive fire burning in his gaze.
"say..." he whispered, slightly overwhelmed already. "say you’re mine."
"yours," you choked out, tears stinging your eyes, a heady mix of pleasure and raw emotion. "i’m yours, san. only yours."
he entered you then, slowly, pushing past the soft resistance, filling you completely. a deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried himself within you. you cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. he paused, letting you adjust, letting your body stretch and encompass him. the feeling was overwhelming, profound sense of fullness, of belonging.
he began to move, slow, deliberate rhythm at first, his hips rocking against yours. the friction was exquisite, the sound of your bodies joining, a wet, rhythmic shlicking. he pulled back almost completely, then drove back in, deep and hard, a sigh escaping his lips. your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.
"mine," he repeated, each thrust punctuated by the word. "no one will ever... have you like this, only me."
the pace quickened, becoming more urgent, more primal. he pounded into you, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your core. your nails dug into his back, leaving faint red marks on his tanned skin. your hips rose to meet his, matching his rhythm, your bodies a blur of motion in the dim light. the bed creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion.
he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plundering yours, tasting your desire, your cries muffled against his lips. your climax built, a tight coil in your belly, spreading outwards, consuming you. you bucked against him, your body convulsing around his cock. a guttural cry tore from your throat as you shattered, waves of pure bliss washing over you.
the thrusts got deeper, harder, his own climax building quickly on the heels of yours. groans and bodies tensing, hips slamming into yours one last time as he emptied himself deep inside you. his hot cum flooded you, warm thick rush that made you gasp.
collapsed and slick with sweat, your legs were still wrapped around him, intimately entwined. he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.
"mine," he whispered the promise again. "forever."
fingers tangling in his damp hair, you held him close. the noise outside, the loneliness, the fear, all faded away, replaced by the overwhelming presence of him, of this rediscovered connection. you felt utterly safe, utterly loved, utterly his.
he shifted, pulling back slightly, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes soft, heavy lidded. he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a tender exploration.
"i love you, y/n."
the words, so rarely spoken, so deeply felt, resonated through you. a fresh wave of tears pricked your eyes, but these were tears of joy, of relief, of a profound sense of peace.
"i love you too, san," you whispered back. "more than anything."
a new chapter had begun. a chapter filled with soft reassurances, intentional conversations, and a love that, though tested, had found it's way back home. the question of children lingered, a new seed planted in the fertile ground of your renewed intimacy, a promise of a future you could now, finally, envision together.
each day a thread re-stitched into the fabric of your life together. no longer a frayed edge, but a strengthening seam. the silence shedding it's heavy cloak of unspoken expectation. now, it held the hum of shared understanding, a quiet comfort that didn't demand filling. some days you still spent less time together than you'd wanted, yet, even then, the goodbye no longer felt like a hurried escape.
you learned to speak your needs, not with the tremor of a plea, but with the steady beat of a declaration. he listened, brow furrowing in concentration, his eyes soft with an empathy he’d struggled to articulate before. you saw the effort, the conscious wrestling with words that didn’t come easily to him. it was a language you were both learning, halting at first, then gaining fluency with each shared vulnerability. he’d ask about your day, not as a formality, but with genuine curiosity, sometimes even calling during his lunch break, a rare occurrence that made your heart do a little skip. love rediscovered, a future being built, one honest word, one tender touch, at a time.
your phone still buzzed with notifications from instagram. you scrolled past anna’s stories, a flurry of candid shots from her son’s fifth birthday party. a lopsided cake, sticky fingers, a wide, gap toothed grin. you tapped the little heart icon, then saw sally’s latest transformation, her hair now a vibrant neon green. she’d posted a picture of a sizzling pan, tagged with a question about your secret to perfectly crisp tofu. you sent back a detailed message, outlining marinades and pan temperatures, a smile touching your lips. you knew, and they knew, that the physical space between your worlds had widened, perhaps irrevocably. there was no expectation of meeting up, no casual invitations to late night gigs. seonghwa’s shadow still stretched too long, too dark, across that part of your memory. the thought of stepping back into that haze, even for a moment, made your stomach clench. you had found your way back to the light, and you were fiercely protective of it.
this morning, however, began with no alarms. skin to skin, a perfect fit. he had begged for five more minutes and how could you say no when his mouth was already moving in between your thighs? lazy swipes, you felt your muscles tense slightly, then relax, his hand finding your hip, drawing you closer, before moving your legs over his shoulders. his tongue stroked the soft skin of your pussy, a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
time dissolved. the soft rustle of sheets, the faint thumping of your heart against his. the world outside your bedroom, outside this intimate cocoon, ceased to exist. you were just two bodies, intertwined, rediscovering a forgotten language.
when your third orgasm of that morning alone hit, you pulled your head back, accidentally looking at the clock and freezing, a gasp escaping your lips. he pulled back slightly, his eyes still clouded with passion, then clearing with the dawning realization. a groan, this one of frustration, escaped him.
"shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath. "oh, san. you're going to be late."
a deep sigh, rueful sound laced with disappointment escaped him. you pushed yourself up, pulling the sheet with you, a sudden chill striking your skin. he ran a hand through his hair, dishevelled from sleep and your shared passion. "i know." he sat up, stretching, his muscles rippling, a sight that still made your breath catch. he threw his legs over the side of the bed, the sheet falling away, revealing the strong lines of his back, the curve of his shoulders and his half erect dick.
"go, go," you urged, though a part of you wanted to pull him back, to steal a few more precious minutes. you threw off the covers, padding naked to the closet, already mentally planning his lunch.
he glanced back, a wry smile on his face. "you’re not exactly helping." his eyes lingered on your retreating figure, a spark of lingering desire in them.
"i’m making your lunch. that’s helping." you laughed shyly, a clear sound before pulling out a crisp white shirt, a dark tie, laying them out on the bed for him.
when the sound of the shower starting grounded you, you moved with purpose, opening the fridge, pulling out containers. yesterday’s leftover bulgogi, a side of kimchi, some fresh fruit. you packed it all neatly into his bento box, arranging the colours, making it appealing.
now dressed in his dark suit trousers, he emerged from the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his chest. his hair was damp, slicked back, making him look even more handsome, more put together. he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his solid frame. chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.
"i love you," he murmured, the words no longer feeling forced, but a natural outflow.
you leaned into him, closing your eyes for a moment. "i love you too," you replied, your voice thick with emotion.
he squeezed you gently, then released you, picking up his jacket. you followed him to the doorframe, a familiar ritual, but one that now held a deeper significance. he turned, his eyes searching yours, then he leaned down, his lips finding yours in a deep, lingering kiss. it was a kiss that spoke of hurried passion, of regret for lost time, and of promises for the future. his hand found your butt, giving it an extra, firm squeeze, a playful, intimate gesture that made you giggle.
"sannie, you have to go." you laughed against his lips.
"i know, just let me-"
he pulled you back in, tongues dancing against each other as he opened the door.
"you gotta... go... leave..." despite your protests, you were leaning into the kisses as well.
finally, when he pulled back, a wide grin appeared on his face, those dimples on full display. "i left something for you on the counter." his eyes twinkled.
your eyebrows rose in surprise. "oh?"
he just winked, then stepped out into the hallway. "have a good day," he called over his shoulder, already halfway down the corridor.
"you too." you watched him go with a warmth spreading through you, chasing away the morning chill. your cheeks burned pleasant blush. you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, the echo of his kiss still on your lips.
a curious smile played on your lips. you turned, walking back into the kitchen, your eyes scanning the clean, uncluttered surface. amidst the neatly stacked mail and the fruit bowl, an envelope lay, pristine white, tucked beside the coffee maker.
your heart gave a little flutter. you picked it up, fingers tracing the simple, elegant script of your name. you recognized his handwriting, though it was slightly more rushed than usual, a testament to his morning scramble. you glanced back at the lace box that sat on your dresser. finally, a new companion piece awaited. you carefully tore open the seal, your breath held in anticipation.
you pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded neatly. it wasn’t a thick expensive stationery, but a page torn from a small, spiral bound notebook, perhaps one he kept for jotting down notes at work. the paper felt thin, slightly rough urough under your fingertips. the words were penned in his familiar, slightly cramped hand, some of them a little smudged, as if he’d written it quickly, probably during a stolen moment on his break.
you began to read, a soft smile blooming on your face.
my y/n:
you know how i am with words, they get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. it’s frustrating. for both of us, i know. i think about that first letter i wrote you. it was bad. really bad. i cringed just thinking about it. but i tried, i guess, even if it doesn’t look like it. these past few weeks... they’ve been good, better. i hope it's the same for you. seeing you smile again, truly smile, it’s like the sun coming out after a long winter. i never want that winter to come back. i never want you to feel that coldness again. i was so blind. so stupid. i thought providing was enough but i was wrong. you taught me that. you always teach me things, even when you don’t mean to. i want to be better. for us. for you. i want to learn how to say these things out loud, not just write them down when no one’s looking. i’m sorry for the pain i caused. i’m sorry i let you feel alone. i promise to keep trying. to keep learning. to keep loving you, in all the ways you deserve. you are my home, y/n, my everything, my wife, and i will never ever let another man think they got a mere chance with you, never again. you're mine and i'm yours.
You’ve known each other since diapers—best friends for as long as either of you can remember. But now?
The signs are starting to show. They're there, light and sweet, innocent like an angel and clear as a crystal ball, but did either of you step up to say anything about it? No, not really.
If anything y'all just let it fester and fester and fester....until one day, San stopped pretending.
It started with unwavering eye contact, steady and unbothered, eyes bright with admiration he didn't bother hiding. Shamelessly, he wasn't afraid to check you out, assuring you a dozen times a day that you look beautiful despite your doubts and insecurities.
When you drift off in thought, he’d gently grip your chin to bring you back to him, waiting until your eyes meet his before giving you that small, dimpled smirk that always make your stomach twist.
Small ministrations like flicking a lash from your cheek. Wiping the excess gloss from the corner of your lip. Rubbing at your knee. Buying things that catch your eye. Cooking for you. Taking care of you without any of it being unwarranted made you realize just how attentive he really was.
But physically? He's touch starved king. He doesn't mean to be, but with you? It's kinda hard not.
Light brushes along your fingertips turned into holding hands. Holding hands turned into you looping your arm through his in crowded or unknown places. From wrapping his arm around your shoulder with you curled into him then came the hand at your lower back, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your skin.
At some point, keeping you close led to him holding you possessively, loving the warmth he radiates through your soul.
Late night texts became late night calls. Calls that became him wanting to see your face, hearing your voice, falling asleep to the sound of you breathing. “I wish you were here” became code for cuddles… and maybe a few soft, stolen kisses.
All those small things built into something undeniable, eventually made his feelings slip out naturally—nothing grand, just him asking hypothetical questions that were a little too specific, a little too revealing, all of them rooted in the quiet wants he’d been carrying.
And when he paused to think about your answers, you nudged him with your shoulder and teased, “So… are you gonna ask me out properly or what?”
San smirked, eyes flicking to you. “I don’t know… I have to think about it.”
You stared at him, offended and confused. “What? What do you mean you have to think about it? You ask me all these questions just to say you have to think about it?”
He only laughed, finishing his ice cream cone. After brushing the dust off his hands, he leans back on them. His legs swung lazily off the ledge as he stared off into the distance, city lights shimmering across the way.
“Saaaan~” you whined, impatience creeping in. “Just say it already.”
This time, when he looks at you, the teasing drops. His voice softens and his eyes are sincere.
“Will you go out with me? For real this time?"
“Of course I will.” you answer truthfully.
Silence settled between you for a moment before you asked, quieter, “Why'd it take you so long to say anything?”
He thought about it, then shrugged lightly. “I wanted the timing to feel right. I didn’t want to rush it or make it weird. I wanted it to be… smooth.”
You smiled at his consideration, understanding completely the more you pondered on it. Reaching up, you gently pinched at his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Sannie.” You then leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
When you pulled back, he was all shy smiles, head ducked, grinning like a high school boy who finally confessed to his crush.
“Yeah,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “I know.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ thinking about it - mafia boss!wooyoung and casual intimacy
mafia boss wooyoung who lets you put your hands all over him whenever you want, despite the value he puts into his intimidating appearance.
his fingers drum against the wood of the table, pale and covered in ink.
a few of his men were halfway through a report, a shipping route gone down, another rival captured. its nothing urgent, though it feels as though its been dragging on forever. you were starting to see the twitching in his jaw, despite how deathly still he seemed to sit through these meetings.
you didn't have much reason to be here either. but wooyoung would let you sit in sometimes, something he doesn't try to justify to anyone. he says its good practice for if he ever dies, a joke you have long since told him you don't find funny.
but today you're here, and today its taking far too long.
you can already feel it wearing you down. you pick at your nails for a solid ten minutes, but that isn't enough. at some point, your leg is bouncing unconsciously under the table, a rather terrible combo as you continue to pick at your nails.
you didn't think he'd notice it. infact, he gave no indication that he did, save for the tapping of his finger slowing.
the room is rather silent, and you stop the anxious movements for a moment, lifting to meet wooyoungs gaze. the room is awkward, his men stare at each other for answers, but everyone is smart enough to not say anything.
"are you done yet?"
his voice is flat when he's tired. a little irate, if you didn't know him well. his eyes flicked back and forth between your hand and your leg, a faint exhale leaving through his mouth.
he grabs at your hands, surprisingly warm, closing around the one you'd been picking at.
"can't even sit still for an hour." he grumbles under his breath, signaling for his men to continue. which they do, with the most bizarre looks of confusion and acceptance on their faces.
how awkward it must be for those poor men, you think.
one glances up to gauge the situation, eyes dropping as soon as he meets yours. the other is flipping through his notes as if he hasn't ever seen them before. the rest avoid eye contact, staring at random places when you look their way.
wooyoung is barely interested, running a thumb over your caged hand. he was enjoying it more than he showed.
you stop fidgeting.
instead you weasel out of his grip, grabbing his hand back. you can move your thumb to see the ink better, tracing the ones on his fingers all the way up. you follow it the ink trail to his wrist. he runs his own thumb over your fingers, squeezing to get a reaction.
"thats a better distraction, isn't it?" he mutters, only barely allowing you to catch it.
you do.
mafia boss wooyoung who puts anything he brings onto you immediately, like a dragon hoarding its treasures somewhere safe. somewhere familiar.
wooyoung has a habit of snatching things without realizing, handing off things to you as if expecting you to have any use for them.
it started small, keys, pens, a note, a lighter. he'll come in as he pleases, placing it in your hands to do with as you please. its cute, the kind of junk drawer you have now, full of things he's given you without explanation.
at some point, it stops being the smaller things though.
no, now hes slipping jewelry into your grasp.
you eye his items, and now they're yours to keep for eternity. thats just the way he is.
you eye a chain of his, and suddenly its wrapped around your wrist, wooyoung talking about how you can get it made into a bracelet and how someone owes him a favor, as you and his other men watch him rattle on.
then its one of his lucky cufflinks, claiming he lost the other half as he slips something shiny into his pocket, briefly glinting in the light. you tried to leave it in his night chest but you only find it in your hands the next morning, grip on it so tight you could see the indent of the pattern.
then its a copy of his signet. as much as he would've liked giving you the original signet, his cabinet was rather against it, offering to make, what was in his opinion, a rather subpar copy (something he was not very pleased by).
that too ends up in your hands. you joke he should give you the keys to the city at this point since he's so in love. he seems to consider it seriously for a moment.
you can hear one of his men choke up as he asks you with all the seriousness in the world: "which one?"
mafia boss!wooyoung whos always ready to indulge you in your interests, regardless of whether or not he finds them interesting.
there is not a single word registering in his brain, but he's still watching as you explain something about your favorite cars, pulling up your photos and showing him photos from what felt like years ago.
you're prattling off facts about a supercar you'd seen a couple of weeks ago when he shushes you, dead serious look on your face. for a moment, you think you've done something wrong. but then he grins.
"i remember you telling me about that one car... the valkyrie right?"
you blink.
"i- i think yeah?" by then he's not even listening to you, tapping away on his phone for a brief couple moments. when he's done, he sets it face down, face surprisingly nonchalant as he starts to talk to you.
"say, you wanna go to a car meet again? i know you loved them, and i got an invite from mingi pretty recently, he's having his crew race on the underground street circuits. was thinking of turning it down but if you like it..."
and that isn't even the biggest surprise.
the biggest surprise comes three weeks later, in the form of wooyoung guiding you around his home in a blindfold.
you hit your legs in multiple places, grumbling about bruising but he hushes you, giddiness apparent in his voice. you can almost imagine the look on his face as he leads you into what you know for a fact is the garage, by the sound that reverberates as he closes the door.
"are you ready?" you don't know what to say, so you just nod.
he drops your hand, walking behind you to pull off the blindfold.
in front of you is sitting a aston martin valkyrie. or what you'd assume to be an aston martin valkyrie. you're too shocked to say anything.
"woo, is this-" you choke out, stopping as you turn to him, rubbing your eyes. he's not even looking at the car. he's watching your face, as you've always seen him do.
"the car you kept talking about?" he shrugged, too casually for someone who had a million dollar car right in front of him. you keep blinking, because somewhere in there you think there is a joke being made.
"this doesn't make sense."
"i think it does." he says, getting closer to you.
"no no, listen to me." you turn to him, dead serious. "this isn't the type of car you can just call a dealership up for. they only produced them until 2024. there were only 275." your voice breaks on the number, bewildered.
he's grinning even wider now, almost as if begging you to ask him how he accomplished such a feat.
"wooyoung-" you started, but he held up a hand.
"i just had to call in some favors... well. a lot of favors from people who owed me big time. it wasn't that huge of a deal."
"you can't just do that!"
"i absolutely can."
you look at him.
he looks at the car, then you.
he's dead serious.
"so you just got your hands on the rarest hyper car in the world," you say, turning to him, "because i wouldn't shut up about it?"
he tilts his head head, making a face.
"that sounds a bit excessive?"
"because it is!"
"mhm." he's rolling his eyes at your shock. "you weren't being ungrateful when you saw it."
but you're back to staring down the car when you hear a jingle, turning your head in the direction of the sound.
theres keys dangling from his fingers. his expression is rather soft as he saunters up to you, hand on your lower back as he pushes you towards the car.
"c'mon." he huffs, although you can tell he's anything but annoyed. you stop right in front of the door, and thats when he takes your own hand, pressing the keys into them.
you want to give them back, but you seem to lose your voice when he curls your fingers around them.
"take them. 's not every day you get a car like that, right?" even when you don't respond, he presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, rubbing your shoulder.
"you're overthinking it. go and enjoy your car. someone'll be down in a bit to stay with you or even drive you, if you want that."
mafia boss!wooyoung who never wants to let you be far from him. he would do anything for your attention.
he's always hovering. it's kind of been a thing.
at first it was subtle, showing up to your job with food, flowers being sent, meeting you at your favorite coffee shop.
then you moved in with him.
that's when it got... odd.
if you were moving, he was somehow always near you. he'd follow you around the halls, like a lost puppy. if you were hiding in the library, he'd always find a spot next to you. hell even if you were hiding, he'd find a way to get into the spot, just wanting to be near you.
it was infuriatingly sweet how he'd have everything ready for you, even if it was a bit weird. you let him in for that exact reason.
thats why you notice when its too quiet. he's a creature of habit, and if he's not haunting the hall, then his voice is. but you can't seem to hear that today either.
you're sure you're just imagining it, that he's probably gotten better at hiding. maybe he was at another outing and he just forgot to tell you. you even stopped three or four times, and nothing came of it.
no wooyoung. your stomach tightened at the idea.
you check the places he's usually at out of habit. his library, office, living room are all empty.
the last place you could think of was his bedroom.
you squint when you open the door.
his room is dark, curtains closed, with no light but from what was coming in through the windows in the hall.
"wooyoung? what are you..."
"mmh. headache." his voice sounds exhausted, drained in a way that makes you pause for a moment.
you weren't naive, but you knew from experience headaches could be awful. closing the door behind you, you inched closer to his bedside, confused on what exactly was going on
"since when did it start?" you questioned hesitantly, standing over the side.
"its been here a while." he says after a brief pausing, softly moaning as he uncovered his head to look at you. "the lights were hurting my eyes."
even with the look of pain on his face, you could still see the look in his eyes, as if he was looking for something from you.
"i was looking for you." you mutter in response. "shoulda told me if something was going on."
"were you?" he hummed.
you raised an eyebrow. "i was... is there something i did or..?"
"what? no, never." he replied a little too quickly, earning a huff from you as you got closer to the edge of the bed to pull the blanket off him.
in hindsight, not your smartest idea.
he moves rather fast for a supposedly sick man. his hands grab around your waist, yanking you into bed before you can even say anything.
it's over before you can say anything about it, head settled against your shoulder, arms hugging your waist like he was hugging you. he's comfortable. too comfortable for a man with a headache.
"wooyoung-" you start, and he whines. actually whines like a child being told no. "but my head hurts."
"you said you have a headache."
"well. maybe i did."
"you still do?"
"not anymore."
you blink once. twice. you're still trying to process it when he lets out a happy little sigh, almost as if he's pleased with himself.
"you're quite proud of this, aren't you?" he doesn't say anything, just lazily leaving kisses on your neck. he thought he could distract you.
"you still came back to me. so it worked." his eyes flick to your face for a moment, but its not in a harsh or unforgiving way.
he's being soft about it.
you sigh.
"you're ridiculous."
"i know."
"you also have a meeting with your friends at 6."
"thats gonna get rescheduled anyways."
a/n: first full hc fic thing yipe! keep in mind i do not condone the illegal actions and romanticization of the mafia and any way the ateez memebers are portrayed is not indicative of their true nature!
My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!
Word count: 10,415
Pairing: Dark fairy!Wooyoung x fem reader (eventual dark!fairy reader)
Note: I did not intend for this one to be so long oops. A big thank you to my friend @h3arteyes4mingi for coming up with the title and helping me with ideas! 🖤💜
Potential warnings(?): There’s brief mentions of blood and mildly gory descriptions of body transformation at the end. Proceed with caution if that stuff makes you anxious or uncomfy
They were just flashes; brief flickers of a face and a set of dark iridescent wings. He haunted your dreams—or perhaps they were nightmares. With the way they often left you waking up in a panic, they might as well have been.
You didn't know who he was or why you kept seeing visions of him in your slumber.
Night after night, for weeks, you saw shadowy images of an unknown winged male figure. He never said anything to you and his face was always obscured, which only raised more questions.
You awoke with a start, sucking in a sharp gasp of air. Sweat clung to your hairline and adrenaline coursed through your veins. Another dream about him. Your head fell into your open palms as you pressed them into your eyes with a long and forceful exhale, trying to expel some of the unease in your body.
"Hey." A phantom whisper ghosted past your ear, your head shooting up in response.
"Who said that?" Your voice cracked, eyes frantically searching your dim moonlit bedroom.
Silence. Then, an almost imperceptible utterance of, "Follow me."
The voice was so faint you could barely make out the words. This had to be a dream.
"Follow me."
Driven by an inexplicable feeling, your body turned almost on its own, your legs swinging off the side of your bed. This all felt too real to be a dream; from the erratic pounding of your heart to the cold sweat still clinging to your forehead. In spite of yourself, you got to your feet and slipped on your house shoes, preparing to follow the voice.
Fear and uncertainty gripped every fiber of your being, but the overwhelming desire for an explanation pushed you forward.
The chilly night air nipped at your flesh as you stepped outside, leaving the warmth and safety of your home. Your feet moved quietly across the stones paving the path to your front gate. Your fingers flicked the latch and you stepped towards the forest.
The moon cast long shadows across the dewy grass, your feet stirring up the droplets clinging to the blades, the cold flecks of water hitting your ankles as you progressed.
"This way." The disembodied voice beckoned, guiding you through the maze of slender trees.
The shadows around you seemed to shift unnaturally as you ventured deeper into the darkness, an unseen energy prickling your skin.
Each whisper was everywhere and nowhere all at once, the voice barely brushing past your ears like a soft breeze. It was eerie and sent chills down your spine.
"Almost there." It breathed, making your pulse jump.
A small, but noticeable, clearing laid ahead of you, your feet carrying you towards it. Once you reached the center, every muscle in your body froze, as if some unseen force held you in place. The voice that had been directing you had gone silent. No more whispers of guidance, only the pounding of your heart thudding in your ears.
You looked down, finding yourself standing directly in the center of a circle of mushrooms. The luminescent caps emitted an unnatural glow in the night that pulsed with something otherworldly.
A rustling sounded from somewhere above you, and when you searched for the source of the disturbance, you found a set of purple eyes glowing faintly, staring down at you from a tree branch. You struggled to make out a shape in the shadows, following the vague outline of wings.
A low chuckle emitted from the darkness, followed by a low purr, "Finally."
A gust of wind blew by, carrying foliage with it, swirling around you like a violent cyclone. You instinctively screwed your eyes shut as it became more violent and you were overcome with the sensation of being swept away in a vortex. Your arms wrapped around yourself for some semblance of protection. The gale howled, whipping the fabric of your clothes wildly, leaves and other debris scraping any bit of exposed skin. Then... absolute silence.
Your breathing was shallow and panicked, hands trembling as they stayed firmly in place, your arms coiled around yourself like a shield. No longer were invisible forces holding your feet to the ground, giving you the freedom to move, but you were far too startled to do so.
Slowly, cautiously, you opened your eyes. Everything around you had changed. The sky was an otherworldly hue of purple, a full moon too large to be normal sitting proudly above as clouds drifted languidly across the star-speckled blanket. You stood amidst a wide trail, fog drifting just above the ground. Flanking the road were dark trees, their thick, curved limbs tapering off into spindly, gnarled branches that curled like skeletal fingers. This world wasn't your own.
"Took you long enough."
You startled at the sound of that same male voice that spoke just seconds prior, except now it came from directly behind you. Whirling around on your heel, you came face-to-face with the creature that lured you out.
His angular features were captivating, his strong jawline and long obsidian hair framing his alluring face. His pointed ears peeked out from his long locks, adorned with silver earrings and rich jewels. His feline-like violet eyes, smudged with dark shadow, observed you keenly.
Your gaze drifted to the set of iridescent wings sitting proudly behind him, their faint purple hue and jagged points drawing your attention to them. You'd never forget a set of wings like those.
"You." The single utterance was breathed out in disbelief.
He chuckled darkly. "Hello, little dreamer."
Your voice was caught in your throat.
"Do you know how difficult it was to get you here?"
"What?" You finally found your words.
"For weeks I weaved my way into your dreams." His finger came up to tap at your temple. "But you're a stubborn little human. You took ages to actually follow my calls."
You swallowed thickly, hands still trembling like leaves in a storm.
"Tsk." The fairy tutted. "Such a fragile little thing."
Whatever it was he wanted with you, he'd been planning it for quite some time.
"Where..." Your sentence trailed off into momentary silence. "Where am I?"
"My realm." He responded with a Cheshire grin. "Though I believe your kind call it the Fairy Realm."
Your hyperventilating worsened as you struggled to process why you'd been transported to a completely different plane of existence.
"You fell tight into my trap, little dreamer." The fairy grinned, showing off a set of perfect teeth that were just a little too pointed to be human. "I've been waiting for you."
You took a step back, but his hand shot out to grab your wrist, tugging you forward with a jerk, sending you crashing into his chest.
"Now where do you think you're going?"
You didn't respond, looking at him with wide eyes as he drank in your fear like fine wine.
"You're like a terrified little doe." He mused softly with a tilt of his head. "Where did you think you'd run? You don't know this place."
Helpless. That's exactly how you felt in that moment. How could you be so foolish? You knew better than to follow a strange voice beckoning you to the woods.
"You're not the first human I've lured here."
You stiffened at the implication of there being past victims, wondering what happened to those other humans.
"What are you going to do with me?" You dared to ask.
"Well, I plan to keep you."
You started to shake your head vehemently. You didn't want to be a fairy's plaything.
He chuckled darkly. "You act as if you have a choice."
"You can't just keep me." You spoke up despite the shakiness in your voice. "I'm not an object."
His violet eyes shone with something sinister as he leaned in, keeping you locked against him as his lips brushed your ear. "I could always just eat you instead."
That threat alone made the blood drain from your face.
"Y-you're lying." You stumbled over your words foolishly. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?" He challenged.
His unwavering confidence rattled you to your core and you searched his face for any sign of dishonesty, but he concealed it well, making it impossible to read him.
"You're lying." You repeated, internally wincing at the crack in your voice.
He laughed darkly. "I don't think you realize I'm giving you the freedom to choose your fate."
He wasn't giving you a choice. He was giving you an ultimatum. Be compliant or be eaten. There was a good possibility he was lying about that last part, but one look at his slightly pointed teeth told you he wasn't.
Sucking in a deep breath, you surrendered.
"Okay. Fine."
At least this way you'd be alive and have a chance of escaping.
"I knew you'd make the right choice." He grinned, shifting his hold and sweeping you into his arms, eliciting a startled yelp from you.
You were overcome with a surge of helplessness while being carried into the air, unable to run away or even fight. Being so close to someone so dangerous sent you into an internal panic, but there was nothing you could do. There was no other choice besides compliance.
His deep purple iridescent wings fluttered rapidly as you were carried over the gnarled trees and eerie landscape. When thinking of fairies, most people would imagine green grass and bright sunlight shining down on fully-bloomed plants—this was anything but. The trees lacked their leaves, the ground was overgrown with dark moss and ferns, and there was no sunlight, only the large moon casting shadows across the already darkened landscape.
The fairy swooped down, landing on the doorstep of a towering gothic structure made of smoky concrete, the spires of the building reaching high into the hazy purple sky.
Your feet met the ground once more and you were pulled forward through the large double doors.
A vast sitting room greeted you, a massive chandelier hanging above bathing the space in a dim glow. The interior was just as imposing as the outside, everything carrying an eerie energy that you didn't like. You took in everything from the rich plum-colored velvet furniture to the thick drapes that hung along the walls, their intricate designs hardly discernible in the low lighting.
You did your best to avoid looking at or even in the general direction of your captor, getting chills down your spine every time you met his unnatural violet eyes.
"Pretending I don't exist? That's not very polite." He leaned over to utter his next words in a whisper. "Especially when I'm being so generous by keeping you alive."
You jerked away, your wide eyes snapping over to meet his.
"You never did tell me your name." His head tilted expectantly, his catlike eyes roving over your face.
There was no way you were going to tell a fairy your name. It was dangerous, and in some cases, binding.
He chuckled. "Oh, don't be shy."
"You're forcing me to be your prisoner." Your words were sharp, but your voice wavered, giving away the underlying fear behind it. "I won't tell you my name."
"Prisoner?" He echoed, the silence hanging in the air punctuated by the creature's sharp laugh. "You're much more than that, dearest." His finger moved to tilt your chin up, eyes glowing with something you couldn't name, but his words felt like an implication.
You recoiled at his touch, moving away from it.
His hand instantly shot out to grab your wrist, holding it much tighter than necessary.
"I'd behave if I were you." He murmured lowly, bringing his face to your wrist. His top lip curled back to reveal slightly pointed teeth that were ready to tear into your flesh. "Unless you want to become my dinner."
"Y/n." You panicked, voice trembling. "My name is Y/n."
He grinned sharply, releasing your wrist. "Good girl."
He turned and proceeded down the hallways, his shimmery wings tucked tightly against his back.
"I'm Wooyoung." He introduced himself unprompted.
Wooyoung. You finally had a name for your captor.
"This is where I'll be keeping you."
Sitting before you was a large bedroom decorated similarly to the rest of the lavish home with the same purple color scheme. A sizable bed was situated against the wall with a canopy above, sheer fabrics cascading off the sides. The room was surprisingly nice, filled with luxurious furnishings that looked as if they belonged to royalty.
You expected a cell or even chains, but he was giving you an actual bedroom. There were no metal bars or cold concrete floors, but lush carpet and silk sheets.
Wooyoung noticed the flicker of astonishment that passed across your features.
"Expecting something else?" He questioned with an amused smirk. "As I told you before, you're much more than a prisoner."
You still weren't certain what that meant and you weren't sure you wanted to find out.
"Oh and don't even think about escaping. You won't make it far." He added, sending a fresh wave of fear throughout your body.
"Go on." He nudged your back, making you flinch at the contact and scurry into the room before the door closed behind you, Wooyoung's dark chuckles echoing down the corridor.
As terrifying as a cage would've been, something about the lavish bedroom felt permanent. The space, while intended to exude comfort and luxury, made you feel more uneasy than anything.
Your feet slowly moved, carrying you towards the center of the room, seeing it from a new perspective. Through the panic, your mind was warring between feeling grateful to not be locked in a cold cell and still trying to accept that a fairy had practically taken you hostage. Prisoner or not, you still felt trapped.
The soles of your shoes brushed against the lush carpet as you shuffled across it, your fingertips brushing the handles of a wardrobe before tugging it open. Inside was an array of formalwear. The fabrics shimmered in the low light as you flicked through the garments, their designs unlike like anything you'd seen before. While you should've been in awe, there was a discomfort in your gut. Did Wooyoung have these made for you or did they belong to his previous captives? Would you experience the same fate as they had?
Slamming the wardrobe doors shut, you forced those thoughts out of your mind. You wouldn't allow yourself to end up like the others. Wooyoung's slightly sharpened teeth flashed in your mind and you could only imagine it being the last thing his victims saw before meeting their demise.
You zoned back in and found yourself standing beside the bed, an exhaustion like you'd never felt settling into your bones. It was the middle of the night, or at least it was back in your own realm when you left. Maybe it was all of the emotional and mental turmoil you'd been through finally catching up to you and taking its toll on your body. A yawn spilled from your lips and you kicked your shoes off, slipping through the canopy curtains and crawling underneath the covers.
You didn't feel safe in this massive castle-like mansion, especially with Wooyoung roaming around, but you were so tired. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your eyelids, pulling them down against your will. Despite yourself, you began to drift off into a light slumber.
Your hands clutched the comforter in your sleep, gripping the fabric while flashes of sharp teeth and blazing violet eyes haunted your dreams. Even in slumber you couldn't find peace.
"Wake up."
You gasped, startled awake by a voice. Your eyes snapped open to find Wooyoung standing at the edge of the bed holding the canopy curtains open.
At the sight of him, you shot up and scrambled back against the headboard. He found your reaction amusing, chuckling lowly.
"Sleep well?" He mused, the inquiry feeling like a taunt.
Your eyes were wide like those of a scared animal, darting wildly along Wooyoung's form, gauging his next move. He extended his hand and you flinched instinctively.
He scoffed. "Come on. Get up."
You looked at him, then his hand, debating whether to take it or not. When he further extended his hand with an impatient jerk, you grabbed hold and he pulled you from the bed.
Having any sort of physical contact with Wooyoung made your stomach churn, but you didn't have a choice. If you didn't obey, you'd end up as dinner.
You were brought to a dining room where two plates sat at a table. One at the head, the other at the first seat on the left side. The saucers were piled with an array of freshly-cooked breakfast foods, steam rising and curling into the air. As delicious as the food looked, you didn't have an appetite. The consistent fear that had been running through your body for the last few hours had stripped you of your desire to eat.
Wooyoung brought you to one of the chairs, pulling it out. "Sit."
You obeyed immediately and lowered yourself into the seat. He moved to take his own spot at the head of the table. You wished your seat was at the opposite end, far away from him.
Wooyoung stared expectantly, waiting for you to eat, but you didn't move a muscle.
"You think I poisoned it?"
You stiffened as he practically read your mind, if he was even capable of it.
"If I wanted you dead, I would've done it last night." He stated so casually it made you want to vomit.
When you didn't respond, he spoke again.
"Eat."
The tone of his voice had you reaching for your fork despite yourself, spearing a chunk of scrambled eggs and taking a bite. Your mouth began watering instantly at the taste. They were fluffy and cooked to perfection. You went for a second bite, not realizing how hungry you were. There were various breakfast meats as well as bread and jam that you partook in.
The ambrosial flavors danced on your tongue, filling you with momentary warmth that made you forget where you were.
"You didn't think I'd let you starve, did you?"
Your captor's voice broke through your euphoric bubble, chasing away the fleeting comfort.
You did.
He didn't seem surprised by your silence and started eating his breakfast. As far as you were aware, there were no servants in the mansion, which begged the question—did Wooyoung prepare this meal? The image of a sadistic fairy like him cooking breakfast for someone he'd forcibly taken was hard to imagine.
The silence stretched on, punctuated by the scraping of utensils against porcelain. You eyed Wooyoung, noting his relaxed behavior. He'd kidnapped you and didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with that.
He swallowed his bite of food and took a sip of juice, his violet eyes drifting to you.
"What do you know about fairytales?" He asked.
"That they're stories for children." You answered in a voice weaker than you intended.
"They're lies is what they are. Watered-down and sugar-coated lies. Do you know why that is?"
After meeting Wooyoung, you realized fairytales were far from the truth. That the sweet fairies depicted in stories were nothing like the one seated before you.
"To cover up the truth." You uttered faintly.
"Precisely." He took another sip of juice and licked his lips. "Humans couldn't handle the truth. We're not bright, cheerful beings that frolic in flower fields. We're selfish creatures who lurk in the shadows and take things we like." His eyes seemed to glow a little brighter as he eyed you.
Your fingers curled tightener around the handle of your fork as your stomach churned.
Wooyoung's gaze dropped to your plate. "You should finish your breakfast. It's getting cold."
Despite the unease, you finished what was left of your breakfast, grateful that you at least had an appetite. As soon as your plate was empty, Wooyoung spoke up.
"Get dressed." His demand wasn't sharp and held no malice like most of his words did, but you knew you should listen.
Slowly you got up from the dining table and returned to your room, pulling open the wardrobe that housed the many dresses you were looking at last night.
The thought of possibly putting on a garment worn by someone who was killed by Wooyoung made your skin crawl. You plucked one of the gowns from its hanger, the fabric brushing the floor. It almost felt like you were getting dressed up for him rather than yourself.
The dress left your shoulders bare, the long tulle sleeves cuffed at your wrists, giving the fabric a puffy appearance. The bodice was dotted with tiny sequins that looked like shimmering stars, the skirts made with layers of organza that flowed when you moved. There were no dresses like this one back home, even the most expensive garments didn't come close to it. The gown you wore was fitting for the realm you were currently residing in, looking as if it belonged to a fairy.
Your hands passed over the fabric, noting how it fit you perfectly. Even the shoes lining the bottom of the wardrobe were your size.
Either your assumption about the dresses previously belonging to someone was wrong or Wooyoung had these made for you specifically. And you didn't know which was worse.
"You picked my favorite one."
It was the first thing Wooyoung said to you when he laid eyes on your dress that billowed with each step. The way he looked at you alone was enough to make you regret your outfit choice.
"Follow me." He gave a jerk of his head and strode down a long hallway. "It's time you become familiar with your new home."
The way he said that left a bitter taste in your mouth. This would never be your home.
He came to a door and pushed it open, revealing a library with shelves of books and tomes, the air thick with the aged smell of parchment.
"For entertainment." He said, closing the door and leading you to another room.
You knew right away that library would be one of the places you'd spend most of your time. It seemed quiet and safe.
You lingered a few steps behind Wooyoung, eyeing his back where his iridescent wings were tucked tightly. The idea of walking beside him made you uncomfortable. You'd much rather lag behind to keep an eye on him.
The next room was a private lounge area, a study, and then the kitchen, fully stocked with fresh ingredients. Again, you wondered who'd prepared that delicious breakfast earlier. You didn't think Wooyoung would put so much time into something like that for a person he forcibly captured.
Wooyoung's slender fingers wrapped around the ornate handle of a door at the end of the corridor where your bedroom was located. With a soft click, the entrance was pushed open.
"This is my room." His purple gaze met yours. "If you ever get lonely."
Your features twitched in disgust. Wooyoung's lips curled back into a wicked grin, his dully-pointed, too-white teeth gleaming in the flickering lights lining the walls.
He pulled the door closed and proceeded with the tour without another word, unperturbed by your reaction to his suggestive words.
Two tall engraved double doors were situated at the end of the downstairs hallway. Images of fairies dancing were carved into the dark wood amidst the decorative swirls and patterns.
He took hold of the handles and pushed the heavy doors open, a gust of wind blowing your hair back. Laid before you was a vast ballroom with windows that stretched to the coffered ceilings. The black marble floors were glossy and in pristine condition, as if they had never been stepped on. And perhaps they hadn't. You were in the fairy realm, after all. A grand piano sat on a shallow platform in the corner of the room—a place for a band to perform. It wasn't until you fixed your gaze upon the vast windows that you realized the sky no longer held that hazy purple hue from the night before, but an overcast gray.
"You'll dance for me here." Wooyoung mused, violet gaze fixed on the empty ballroom. "I can see it so clearly."
You didn't miss his wording. For him—not with him. You didn't even want to think about being used as entertainment for other fairies to leer at.
He huffed lightly in amusement and turned on his heel, taking long graceful strides out of the vacant ballroom, his footsteps echoing across the sleek floors. You followed, albeit hesitantly, always keeping that cushion of distance between you and him.
A set of glass doors located in a foyer at the back of the house caught your attention when you left the ballroom. Wooyoung noticed this and redirected himself to the glass panes. You slowly stood beside him to gaze out at the maze of strange plants and flowers beyond the doors. Vines curled in complicated swirls, blooms thrummed with a faint glow that reminded you of the mushrooms in Wooyoung's fairy ring, their pale light visible even in the overcast daylight. It was stunning. There were blossoms in colors you couldn't even put a name to, their petals strange and unfamiliar, but beautiful nonetheless. The sight was a small light in this dark realm.
"That's the garden." Wooyoung's fingers traced the tulle of your sleeves and you fought the urge to flinch away. "I might let you out there if you behave."
His words almost felt like a threat.
"Now," he began. "rules."
He turned to you with violet eyes that bore into yours with an intensity that almost made you feel lightheaded.
"You don't get to wander unless I say so. And right now, you aren't allowed to leave this house" A pause. "Not without me, anyway.”
There it was. He was dangling the promise of liberation in front of you only to yank it away. It seemed you had some freedoms, but not complete independence. You were still a bird trapped in a cage. Even if he were to allow you out without him, you'd no doubt be under constant surveillance. Everything came with strings attached.
You kept your eyes on the garden beyond the glass, trying to stay focused on something that didn't make you feel like there was a pit in your stomach.
"It's yours too if you earn it." Wooyoung added.
The only way to earn it was to be complacent and obey him. That much was obvious.
"And what else here is mine?" You chose to ask.
His expression was neutral as he eyed you for a moment, gaze trailing up and down your form.
"Whatever I allow to be."
There it was. The strings.
"The rooms I showed you are free to roam."
The gesture felt empty. You were free to wander the house, but not leave it. This was another way he had control over you. These privileges you had could easily be taken away the moment you said or did the wrong thing.
"I'll leave you to familiarize yourself with your new home." Wooyoung's voice broke your horrified daze and he sauntered off. "Just don't do anything reckless."
You watched him leave, nausea churning in your gut. You didn't want to familiarize yourself with your new home. You wanted to go back to your real home.
You took a step away from the back doors and slowly made your way to the library, in need of something to distract yourself. Getting lost in a good story would be an escape from this nightmare, and right now you'd take whatever you could get.
There were endless books to choose from, your finger dragging the spines while you browsed the various titles. None of them were from your realm. These were all stories written by fairies. You chose the title that piqued your interest the most, pulling it from the shelf. You dropped down on the cushioned seat at the bay window, cracking open the leather-bound book. You weren't sure what you were getting into at first, but the story pulled you in quickly. It was surprisingly similar to the stories back home, except the characters were fairies.
An unknown amount of time had passed, maybe hours. You couldn't be too sure, but the stiffness in your limbs was an indication. The sound of the doorknob clicking pulled you from the immersive story. Wooyoung poked his head in, a grin forming on his face when he spotted you.
"Ah. There you are. I wondered where you'd run off to."
You didn't respond.
"I should've known you'd be here."
He entered the room and strode over to where you sat tucked in the corner of the bay window.
"What are you reading?" His prying eyes tried to catch a glimpse of the pages and you had the urge to close the book.
"Why does it matter?" You murmured dismissively.
"Just curious. I want to know which story has kept you holed up in here for three hours."
Glancing at the book you realized you were over halfway finished with it.
"You're avoiding me." He mentioned.
You scoffed. "So you noticed."
This boldness seemed to come from nowhere and judging by Wooyoung's expression, he wasn't happy with it.
"Don't forget your place." He reminded, eyes flashing. "You can't avoid me forever."
He was right, you'd only be able to evade him for so long.
He glanced down, noticing your hold on the book had slipped, catching a glimpse of the title.
"That's one of my favorites."
You clutched the book to your chest instinctually.
"Keep reading it if you want."
You watched as he turned and exited the room, leaving you alone to read in peace. His favorite book. This story you were reading was a romance novel, it couldn't be his favorite. Imagining Wooyoung reading something like this and enjoying it was impossible to picture. With a small scoff, you turned your attention back to the book and picked up where you left off.
Two weeks. That's how long it took you to begin going stir crazy. You spent most days in the library getting lost in a good book, which helped keep your distracted, but you couldn't look at the inside of this godforsaken mansion any longer. Every day was the same. Wake up, eat breakfast, hide away in the library, have lunch, hide again, then have dinner. On occasion, Wooyoung would force you to spend time with him. There was never much talking on your end. After all, what could you possibly have to say to him?
Wooyoung said if you behaved you could go to the garden. What a stupid rule. You'd been nothing but complacent since getting trapped here. Two weeks you spent being the obedient captive, cowering away when he threatened you, keeping to yourself, staying out of trouble.
You paced your room, looking at everything around you. Nothing here was yours. Yes, the dresses were given to you, the bed, the room, but they weren't yours—not even your name was yours anymore. You'd given it away so easily, crumbled under Wooyoung's intimidation.
He was good at scaring you, keeping you in place. Part of you feared him, but another part of you wanted to lash out. Not that he would care. A little stunt like that might even have negative repercussions.
Sleep didn't come easily that night. You were restless, tossing and turning, unable to silence your loud thoughts. With a frustrated groan, you sat up and slipped out of bed, shuffling silently through the dim corridors of the mansion. The house, you learned, was illuminated with flameless orbs of light that glowed constantly, most likely running off magic. You wandered downstairs, pausing to stare at the back doors leading to the garden.
It was late. Wooyoung had to be in bed at this hour. You spared a glance at your surroundings and carefully advanced forward. You didn't need Wooyoung's permission to go outside, you decided. You were your own person. Your fingers brushed the silver handle on the door, curling around it before it clicked open softly.
The light gust of fresh air was a welcoming feeling as you took your first steps outside in two weeks. It was liberating.
The soles of your slippers softly scuffed the stone patio as you walked across it and into the garden. It was even more beautiful at night. The large purple-hued moon cast a soft glow over the estate, the bioluminescent flowers emitting their otherworldly gleam, mushrooms similar to the ones in Wooyoung's fairy circle lining the stone pathway that weaved through the garden. Your fingertips brushed the petals of an unfamiliar bloom on a bush, the magical glow getting brighter at your touch.
A small inhale of awe was taken in. This garden was a breath of fresh air, a light in the dark. Now that you were outside and temporarily free from Wooyoung's surveillance, you took the opportunity to examine the array of colorful flora and plants, taking your time with each one. The plants here were nothing like those back home. They intrigued you and took your breath away.
As you caressed the petal of a large blossom, a little orb of pink light drifted in front of you. Your gaze followed it, watching it float about. Then another one floated by.
"Wow." You breathed in awe, watching as more appeared, some of them hovering around you.
A small laugh escaped you. It was the first time you had felt joy since being lured into this realm. One of the pink orbs drifted near you, your eyes following it. They were like fireflies, moving languidly throughout the garden. Something then yanked on your hair, causing a small yelp from you. Another sharp tug from somewhere else.
"Ow!"
Some of the little orbs had grabbed hold of your hair and were pulling sharply at it, sending jolts of pain to your scalp.
"Hey!" You tried to jerk away, but they were strong despite their small size. "Quit that!"
Tiny, high-pitched laughter emitted from the floating orbs and you realized they must be some sort of fairies. Something hit your backside and you cried out in pain, watching as a small rock rolled across the pathway.
"Cut it out!" You demanded, trying to shield yourself from more flying projectiles.
Their taunting giggles filled the air around you, some of them now tugging at your nightclothes. More of these orb-like fairies had appeared from nowhere, joining in on the torment. Another yelp of pain rang through the night air when a barrage of pebbles came flying towards you, pelting your body with a painful sting.
You began swinging your arms wildly, attempting to fend off the pests while you stumbled around to try and get away, but it was futile. There were too many of them.
"Stop!"
Your pleas were met with shrill gleeful giggles and more tugs on your hair and clothes.
A piercing whistle cut through the dewy night air and all the pain and stinging ceased instantly.
"Leave."
You opened your eyes to see Wooyoung standing on the patio, his purple iridescent wings untucked and on display.
The pink orbs scattered as fast as possible, disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye. Your ragged breathing was the only thing you could hear in the silence as Wooyoung's wings fluttered and carried him over to you. His violet eyes thrummed with what could only be described as barely-restrained anger as he took in your disheveled appearance. Your hair was in disarray, small welts on your arms, your nightclothes littered with tiny tears.
"Impish little pests." He hissed under his breath.
You waited for him to grab you, to scold you for sneaking out, or threaten to eat you again.
"Inside." Was all he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Your shoulders slumped and you dragged your feet across the cobblestone path, returning to the manor. Imprisoned again.
"What were those?" You asked.
"Pixies. And you managed to get caught in a whole swarm of them." He eyed you, his gaze roving over your form again. "You're lucky I found you when I did. They bite, y'know."
Your jaw tightened and you rubbed at your arm that still stung from the endless pelting of rocks. "I didn't provoke them if that's what you're thinking."
"They're pixies, they don't need to be provoked. They saw someone new in the garden and decided to have some fun." He took hold of your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. "You know nothing about this realm. I told you not to do anything reckless, did I not?"
You wrapped your arms around yourself, avoiding his burning violet gaze.
"You're a disobedient little thing, aren't you?"
"I'm going crazy in here, Wooyoung." You murmured through gritted teeth.
"Then leave." He responded numbly, releasing your chin. "Go on. Run."
You looked to the door, then back at Wooyoung. Hopelessness gripped your chest. You wouldn't make it out there on your own. You didn't know how to get home. You couldn't even fight off a swarm of tiny pixies.
"There's nowhere to go." You responded with resignation.
He smirked. "Then you know where you belong. How obedient."
"It's not obedience. It's wits."
"Hm." He scoffed softly. "How smart can you be if you ended up here?"
Your jaw ticked in agitation.
"Go wash up and go to bed." Wooyoung dismissed.
To your surprise, he let you off easy. You expected to be chained up as punishment or even threatened with becoming his dinner.
As you stood in the bathroom and washed off, you replayed the scene in the garden, recalling every detail you possibly could. Wooyoung saved you.
An involuntary scoff left you at your own thought.
He was only protecting what he deemed was his property, you told yourself. He didn't care about you as a person.
You went back to your room, changing into a fresh set of nightclothes. Why must your brain start questioning things at this hour? You needed to rest, not analyze Wooyoung's behavior. He was the villain, end of story.
With a resigned huff, you fell back into bed, tugging the thick covers over your body and closing your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.
After the little stunt you pulled sneaking out into the garden, Wooyoung kept a watchful eye on you. You no longer had your alone time in the library anymore. He insisted on staying seated nearby while you read, always watching, which made it hard for you to fully immerse yourself in the story. Even when you tried to have just a moment of peace, he found you. Every. Single. Time. The free-reign you used to have in the manor was now restricted greatly and it was taking a toll on your sanity.
"Bored?" Wooyoung asked when you were pushing food around on your plate.
You lifted your gaze from your half-finished meal to meet his eyes. That smug expression on his face was infuriating. He knew what he'd been doing. He knew how being constantly watched was making you go crazy.
"If you want to go back to the garden, just ask."
The grip on your fork tightened at the way he stared at you expectantly, like he knew you'd break—and you did.
"May I please... go to the garden?" You forced the words out.
"Yes." He responded with arrogant satisfaction. "However, I'm accompanying you."
You clenched your jaw to prevent any retaliatory words from spilling out. Though he hadn't acted on it yet, Wooyoung could still harm you if you didn't play by his rules.
He stood from the dining table and held his hand out for you to take. When you didn't move, he shoved his open palm towards you. Your fingers twitched at his silent demand and you reluctantly placed your hand in his, letting him guide you out of your seat and towards the back doors to the garden.
It was midday and overcast as usual. The grip you had on Wooyoung's hand tightened subconsciously when you saw a cluster of pink orbs drifting over a bush dotted with small blossoms, their little whispers drifting through the air. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but it sent chills down your spine.
Wooyoung noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor and made a small noise of displeasure, his top lip twitching into a little snarl, like he had heard what those pixies were saying. With a simple flick of his wrist, he sent the cluster of orbs flying back with high-pitched squeaks.
"Enough." That single word was laced with authority, leaving no room for argument.
That simple show of power wasn't lost on you.
"They won't hurt you." He said in a lower voice meant for your ears alone.
Your breath hitched quietly, accompanied by an unfamiliar warming sensation in your chest that caught you off guard. No. There was no way you were touched by Wooyoung's gesture. This was just an act, you reminded yourself.
Since your hypothetical shield was with you, the walk in the garden was peaceful. Eventually, the path you walked curved into a grove of flowering trees, their petals fluttering down like snow, getting carried by the gentle breeze. You gasped softly in awe, catching Wooyoung's prideful smirk in your peripherals. You cleared your throat, dropping the awed expression. No matter how enchanting this realm was, it wasn't your home, you needed to remember that. To not get swept away in the wonder of it all.
"Don't stop on my account." He chuckled amusedly. "After all, the garden is mean to be admired."
As much as you tried to be stubborn, you were finally getting to see the lush garden in all its glory. Suppressing your reactions would ruin this moment, but you didn't want to give Wooyoung the satisfaction of seeing you enjoying this place. A pretty garden didn't make up for everything wrong with this realm.
"You like it." Wooyoung observed aloud. "Don't you?"
You chewed the inside of your cheek.
"It's not a crime to admit you like things in my realm." He drawled.
"Don't mistake it as me liking it here."
"Oh, but you do like it here, you just won't admit it."
"I don't." You denied with a hard glare. "I never asked to be dragged here."
"It wasn't all me, you know." He purred. "Part of you wanted to follow my calls because you desired more. Your mundane human world didn't excite you enough."
"Liar. You're just trying to make me believe that."
"Am I?"
That's exactly what he did when you first met. Made you question yourself.
"Yes, you are."
He chuckled lowly. "Oh, you are so fun to mess with, little human. Always so easy to rile up. Though you've gotten quite the attitude lately. I'm starting to miss when you were trembling all the time."
"Maybe I'm just not scared of you anymore."
Wooyoung's eyes flared with something livid.
"Watch it." He warned. "I'm the only thing keeping those little pests from tearing your skin off." His head tilted towards a cluster of pixies hovering at the edge of the garden. "Don't think I won't let them have their fun if you can't behave yourself."
You shifted, subtly moving away from him, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. His hand shot out and he grabbed your wrist, tugging you roughly against his chest. Your heart leapt into your throat.
Your muscles froze and all you could do was stare fearfully at him.
"There's that look I missed so much." He grinned widely, showing off too many sharpened teeth.
He was enchanting up close and you hated yourself for thinking so. The dark smudges of shadow around his eyes made his violet irises stand out and his skin was like honey. If not for his sadistic personality, you might actually fall for him.
Wooyoung's plush lips pulled back into a crooked grin. "You're falling already."
When you started to pull back in response to his wild assumption, his fingers curled tighter around your wrist.
"Ah ah ah." He tutted, examining you for a torturously long moment. "Deny it all you want, but you're becoming comfortable here."
He was wrong, you told yourself that night while trying to sleep. You weren't becoming comfortable. Less afraid, maybe, but certainly not comfortable.
You groaned, rolling onto your side. Thoughts of Wooyoung were plaguing you and you hated it. You hated him. If he wasn't scaring you he was touching you. He grabbed your chin, caressed your arm, and even your waist as he pleased. He truly must've seen you as property with the way he freely grabbed you, not caring how you felt about it. But when he did those things, it made your heart race. And having him scare off the pixies for you was oddly caring.
You shook your head, burying your face into your pillow with a groan. No questioning things. Wooyoung took you against your will. He was evil.
You were eating dinner, shifting in your seat and stretching your back a bit to alleviate the pressure in your spine.
Wooyoung's head tilted slightly, strong brows twitching in curiosity. "Something the matter?"
"My back is a little stiff. I think I slept wrong."
Wooyoung hummed, taking a sip of his wine. "If your mattress is too firm, you're welcome to try mine."
Your top lip twitched as you fought back a grimace. "No thank you."
"Ah. Perhaps a massage then? I'm very good with my hands." The gleam in his eye was anything but innocent.
"I'll pass."
"Suit yourself."
You pushed some food around on your plate, changing the subject before Wooyoung could make any more suggestive comments. "Who makes these meals anyway? I never see anyone else here."
"Who do you think makes them?" He asked, resting his chin on his hand with a smirk.
You blinked.
"Surprised I know how to cook?" He raised a brow.
"Just surprised you put in the effort." is what you wanted to say.
"A little."
"Well, I'm full of surprises." A grin curled at his lips.
Yeah, you walked right into that one.
Finishing off the last few bites of your food, you got to your feet, excusing yourself from the dining area.
"I'm going to read." You said simply.
"Wait." He slowly stood from the table. "Those books keep you away from me."
"That's the point."
"No more books." He said, taking a slow and calculated step towards you. "You're mine today."
One foot moved back when Wooyoung got too close for comfort. He grinned, snatching you by the waist, your back hitting the wall.
You winced at the ache that shot between your shoulder blades. He gave you no time to react before he was tracing his nose up your jaw.
"I'm growing tired of having you hiding away all the time." He murmured.
You tensed, pressing yourself further into the wall. Your mind and body were warring with each other. All the times Wooyoung threatened you and scared you into submission replayed in your head, but so did the moments where he showed a flicker of tenderness. Your body flinched when his hand slid up the exposed portion of your back. The options were limited when it came to your wardrobe. Most of the dresses were backless.
"You're so tense." He whispered against your neck and you failed to suppress the shiver that ran up your spine. "You're fighting this so hard."
The longer Wooyoung had you trapped against the wall, the weaker you became. Lines were blurring and the way you felt towards him was getting hazy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to despise him.
He pulled back to look at you with half-lidded purple eyes that glowed softly. In a moment of weakness, your gaze flickered to his plush lips, briefly wondering what they felt like. He noticed.
"Give in to me." He whispered, his thumb gently caressing your mid back. "I know you want to."
He was persuasive and cunning, using his fairy charms to sway you—and it was working.
In a moment of clarity, you snapped out of it, shoving Wooyoung away with all your might, sending him stumbling back in surprise.
"No." You breathed out, shaking your head.
"No?" He echoed, raising a brow.
"You're messing with my head." You pointed accusingly at him, voice trembling.
Wooyoung merely watched you with an eerily placid expression as your emotional breakdown ensued.
"I don't care what happens to me out there. I have to get out of here. I'm leaving." You turned on your heel to move towards the door, but before you could take the first step, your body halted against your will. Stunned, you tried to move again but to no avail.
"What did you do?" Your attention was on Wooyoung.
He chuckled. It was a chilling sound that struck fear in the pit of your stomach. "You gave me your name. You're mine, sweet human, and you'll do whatever I desire. If I want you to bow at my feet, you'll do it."
The blood drained from your face, sending an icy sensation through your veins. Control. Wooyoung had full control over you this entire time and you were completely oblivious.
"I'm not yours." You uttered in a whisper, your words defiant despite the crack in your voice.
"You were mine the moment you agreed to come to my realm."
The world tilted and you nearly felt like you were going to pass out. Dread and hopelessness hit you like a harsh wave in a tumultuous ocean as your mind struggled to process the fact that you were never going to escape.
"Are you insane?!" You exclaimed, eyes wide and unhinged.
"Darling, I'm a dark fairy. Of course I'm insane."
"Release me." You demanded.
"Not until you've calmed down."
You fought to move even the slightest bit, but your body yielded to Wooyoung's command.
"I took you in, I gave you a place to stay, I haven't hurt you, and you still resent me?"
"You didn't take me in." You denied sharply. "You lured me into your fairy ring and trapped me!"
"When will you stop pretending you weren't curious?"
You hated how he pretended to know everything about you and how he was right. Part of you was curious that night you wandered into the woods, but you didn't think you'd end up trapped in the fairy realm. You only wanted an explanation for your dreams. And you found it, but at what cost?
"Ah. You humans are so easy to read." Wooyoung laughed softly, taking slow torturous strides towards you. "Did you ever stop to think about how I've provided for you?"
Your heart rate spiked. Despite the threats and the fact that he lured you here, you had thought about the things Wooyoung had done. Your room was fully furnished and just as lavish as the rest of the manor, your clothes, while not exactly your style, were beautiful and well-made, and he made sure you ate well, providing you with meals. He even protected you from pixies. And yet, you were still playing a game of tug of war with yourself, unable to decide exactly how you felt about the sadistic fairy that now stood just a couple feet away.
"You threatened to eat me." Was all you could say.
"I did, but have I acted on those threats?" A pause as he surveyed you. "It's almost like I never wanted to eat you at all."
The invisible vice keeping you in place loosened and you stumbled, not realizing your knees had gone weak. It felt as if your world had been turned upside down. Wooyoung kidnapped you, acted as if you were a pet, but he allowed you to roam the manor and read for hours in the library. He never really forced you to do anything besides agree to stay with him.
"That's it." Wooyoung soothed when he could see you silently questioning everything, his arm sliding around your waist.
You tensed for only a second.
"I'm not the bad guy here, Y/n."
Your pulse jumped. It was the first time he used your name since bringing you here.
"You're starting to realize, yes?" He whispered, his breath tickling your ear.
You swallowed thickly, opening your mouth to speak only to snap it shut when Wooyoung's nose brushed your cheek, his warm lips pressing against it a second later.
Any reservations you were still holding onto slipped away the second his lips touched your skin, your breath hitching faintly.
His nimble fingers brushed the underside of your chin, turning it so he could ghost his lips over your own.
"You don't need to fight it anymore."
A shiver rattled your spine at Wooyoung's whispered words, your features twitching as a sharp ache throbbed between your shoulder blades, but you pushed it aside.
The thoughts in your mind went silent the moment Wooyoung's lips pressed against yours, the had on your chin sliding to the nape of your neck. The world narrowed down to just the two of you. Your arms draped around his shoulders, body flush against his own. His hands slid up the exposed portion of your back, then down again to settle at your waist, his thumbs pressing into the silken fabric of your gown.
He hummed against your mouth, playfully nipping your bottom lip with his slightly sharpened teeth. An involuntary noise of surprise escaped you followed by a sigh when he ran his tongue over the area to soothe it.
You briefly wondered if this was something you secretly wanted, but wouldn't admit to yourself. Amidst the array of fuzzy and pleasant feelings in your body, you decided the answer was yes.
Your fingers traveled into Wooyoung's lengthy black hair, the strands like glossy silk between your digits. He smirked into the next kiss, dragging his lips slowly over yours this time, pulling out a small noise from you.
Wooyoung held you tighter and you wore you could feel his firm muscles pressing against you, hidden under dark fabrics. What did he look like underneath all of that?
You shoved the thought aside, letting your palms slide down his chest, traveling around to his back where his wings were tucked in. Unintentionally, your fingers brushed the thin membrane and Wooyoung shuddered.
"Careful, petal." He breathed between kisses. "They're sensitive."
You nearly shivered at that, moving your hands to his lower back instead.
Wooyoung pulled away after a few more blissful moments with sultry, half-lidded eyes, his already full lips looking even more puffy due to the intense kiss. You unconsciously bit your own, craving the feeling of them again.
"That was divine." He whispered hoarsely, brushing a thumb along your cheekbone. "You're enchanting."
Without realizing, you leaned into his touch, his heart-fluttering words making you feel fuzzy inside.
"Do you still want to hide away and read books?"
You shook your head.
"That's right." A slow grin spread across his face. "I'm much better than those silly stories. With me, you don't have to imagine what you're reading, you can experience it."
A few days passed and you were less tense around Wooyoung. His glowing eyes always watching you were no longer bothersome. You didn't go back to the library, opting to be in the same room as Wooyoung on your own volition.
A cup of warm tea rested between your hands while you gazed out the window at the front yard of the estate. The thick clouds drifted along the overcast skies like mist. A small part of you wanted to explore the rest of his realm, but you were reminded of those pesky pixies in the garden. If those little things were too much, there were definitely bigger things out there that could do more damage.
You took a sip of tea, straightening your posture to alleviate the persistent tension ailing you for days.
"Is your back still bothering you?" Wooyoung's voice uttered from behind you, noticing your restless shifting.
You confirmed with a nod, setting your cup aside while trying to reach around to ease some of the tenseness yourself.
"Let me." Wooyoung coaxed gently, and this time you didn't stop him.
His hands were warm, pressing into your skin. A shiver ran down your spine and you gasped when his fingertips pushed directly at the source of your discomfort.
"Here?"
You nodded.
"Hm." He hummed, rubbing circles between your shoulder blades.
A sigh of relief spilled from your lips as the ache dulled under Wooyoung's touch.
"Better?"
"Yes."
"See? I can be nice."
You snorted lightly, eyes falling shut.
When he massaged a particular spot, a sensation shot down your spine and your back arched slightly in response.
"It's tender there." You told him with a wince.
"Is it?" He asked with more amusement than anything, rubbing the source of the pain.
"Ah." You hissed, flinching again as he felt around the area.
He hummed to himself, experimentally prodding at your muscles, sending a sharp pang through your bones this time.
You yelped. "That's starting to hurt."
"It's happening." He whispered so softly you barely heard it, his words tinged with awe.
"What?"
"Those who came before you, they weren't like you." Wooyoung mused. "They were weak. They couldn't survive here. My world was too much for them. It drove them mad."
"What are you getting at?" You asked him, your breathing becoming faster.
He turned you around to face him. "Something incredible is about to happen, petal."
Fear. This was fear you were feeling.
Another twinge racked your spine and you whimpered, trying to reach around and feel where the pain was coming from.
"What's happening?" You panicked.
"You're adapting, my sweet."
Through the increasing agony, you managed to piece together what he had said and that only made your panic rise. Wooyoung caught your hand that tried to claw at your back.
"Don't." He warned. "Let it happen."
You screamed, the raw sound tearing through the room, hunching forward involuntarily. It felt like your spine was being ripped out, something sharp trying to tear through your flesh.
Wooyoung's violet eyes were alight with fascination and excitement. "Incredible." He mused, observing you like some experiment.
A sharp crack emitted from within your body, like things were shifting and changing. Something deep inside was forming and pushing its way to the surface.
"Humans who spend a long time in the fairy realm start to adapt—when they're worthy, anyway." He nuzzled into your hair. "And you are worthy."
You writhed, freeing your hand from Wooyoung's gasp so you could cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. Everything felt as if it was spinning and sweat started collecting on your hairline. The ache in your back spread to your teeth, your temples, and even your legs. It was agonizing and never ending.
Just when you felt the jabbing pain reach an unbearable point, a sickening snap pierced the air. Wooyoung watched with rapt attention as the first wing broke through your flesh, glistening with blood. The next one followed with a similar gut-churning noise as it broke free, shimmering and translucent with a hint of purple.
A weak noise left you, your new wings twitching on their own accord. You hadn't realized your eyes were screwed shut until you slowly opened them. You startled when you caught sight of two sets of glowing purple eyes in the window's reflection instead of one. Your head jerked to look at Wooyoung who was smirking pridefully. He brought a hand up to brush over your ear, staring at it. You reflexively reached up, letting out a gasp when your fingers traced a pointed tip instead of a rounded one.
"You're perfect." Wooyoung breathed.
The throbbing ache you were feeling everywhere had waned, leaving you to deal with what was left in lieu of it. You released a shaky exhale, swallowing thickly while trying to process the transformation that took place. Your very being was forever altered.
Wooyoung's thumb brushed over your lips.
"Let's see those teeth." He purred, pulling down on your bottom lip, his eyes gleaming at what he saw. "Sharp." He mused. "Just like mine."
You pulled back, looking towards the window again, needing to see what you'd become, but it was daytime and all you could see reflected in the pane were your eerie purple irises.
Wooyoung chuckled and took your hand, keeping a firm grip on it while you walked shakily by his side to a large gilded mirror in the sitting room.
At the first sight of your wings you felt like passing out. They were sitting limply behind you, partially folded and streaked with blood.
"I wonder how long until you can use them." Wooyoung wondered aloud, his fingers moving to brush them.
You shifted with his touch, your wings twitching against your will when his fingers brushed the right spot.
"Don't be scared, petal." He pulled his hand away to cup your cheek, cradling it. "How do you feel?"
How did you feel? You were terrified, mind still reeling from all of this. It was too soon to say for certain whether you accepted this or not—but it didn't matter. There was no reversing it.
"I don't know yet." You croaked.
He cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Don't you worry. I'll teach you well. You'll get used to this new you." His eyes drifted over your wings appreciatively. "They'll be so strong." He murmured.
All you could do was stare at your reflection, watching Wooyoung admire you from over your shoulder.
"You're going to love flying." He whispered against the shell of your ear.
The thought of being able to fly was both exciting and daunting, especially because of how weak and fragile your wings were right now. The base of the new growths ached dully from where they broke the skin.
"You're so new and fragile right now, but that'll soon change." Wooyoung took your hand, his thumb caressing your knuckles. "Now, let's get you cleaned up, petal. Your new life starts now."
Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!
DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way
「genre」: fake dating, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, smut
「summary」: after a cruel breakup with your boyfriend seonghwa, your friend wooyoung comes up with a perfect plan for you to get over him. fake dating. you need a date to prove to your ex you’ve moved on; wooyoung needs to convince people he’s capable of a real relationship. months of pretending turn into a feeling that you are no longer wanting to fake
「warnings」: implied drinking, ex bf seonghwa (he cheated), emotional manipulation, crying, mutual pining, jealousy, fboy tendencies, avoidant attachment, kissing, self-sabotage (woo), arguing, breakup, true love making :) , hickies, body worship, crying during foreplay (NOT dacryphilia), nipple play, licking, nipple sucking, clit stimulation, fingering, woo is literally so caring it needs its own warning, oral (f receiving), edging(?), bigdick!woo agenda, unprotected sex, possessiveness, missionary, cowgirl, pull-out method, aftercare, pet names including baby, darling, and others. ENJOY
「author's note」: guys this has been months in the making, and i hope it was worth the wait. it was all inspired by this request, so thank you.
SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING
You attempt to let the music of Mingi’s apartment drown out your thoughts. You shouldn't have come, you knew that, but San insisted, and Hongjoong promised your ex wouldn't be here. You foolishly believed both of them.
Except he was there.
Seonghwa stood in the kitchen with a red solo cup in his hand, laughing at something the girl next to him said. She was undeniably beautiful, and you hated that. She has a confident smile that you were never quite able to pull off, and her hand rested on his arm so casually. The sight of it made your stomach twist into knots.
It had been a few months since you found his messages with another girl. Messages consisting of ‘I can't wait to see you again,’ and ‘I will break up with her soon.’ When you found out, he'd stammered out excuses that all boiled down to the same thing: you weren't good enough. You hated him, yet you still felt like you couldn't breathe when you saw him.
"You okay?" San appeared at your elbow, concern creasing his features as he followed your gaze across the room.
You tore your eyes away, forcing a smile that felt like shattered glass in your mouth. "Fine. I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." San's voice was gentle, the kind of gentle that made you want to cry. "We can leave. Hongjoong will understand-"
"No." The word came out sharper than you intended, and you softened it with another brittle smile. "No, I'm not letting him chase me out of my friend's birthday party. I'm fine, really."
Before you can even realize, the emotions hit you all at once. "I need some air," you mumbled, not waiting for San or Hongjoong to respond before you were pushing through the crowd toward the apartment door.
-
The hallway outside was quiet, the bass now just a muffled thump through the walls. You leaned back against the cold concrete, closing your eyes and trying to remember how to breathe normally. This was pathetic.
"Rough night?"
Your eyes snapped open to find Wooyoung leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. You hadn't even heard him come out.
He was in your Sociology class last year. Charming, funny, and always had a new girl on his arm. Somehow, despite being in completely different social circles, you'd ended up as friends.
You'd never really figured out how it happened. Wooyoung collected people often. But he'd stuck around even after the semester ended, and even now, you sometimes felt like you were waiting for him to realize you weren't interesting enough to keep around.
"I'm fine," you said automatically, then winced at how many times you'd said that tonight. "Just needed a break from the noise."
Wooyoung pushed off the wall, moving closer with that easy grace he always seemed to have. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
"I'm not lying-"
"You've been staring at Seonghwa like a kicked puppy." His voice was not cruel, but it still made you flinch. "San and Hongjoong look ready to fight someone for you. And now you're out here looking like you're about to cry."
"I'm not going to cry." Your voice was defensive. "And I wasn't staring."
"Right." Wooyoung stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, the same warm scent from your study sessions. "Look, I get it. Breakups suck. But that guy?" He motioned his thumb toward the apartment door. "Not worth it."
You wanted to argue, to defend Seonghwa or yourself or the relationship you had. Instead, you felt your eyes burning with the tears you'd been holding back all night. "He cheated on me."
Wooyoung's expression switched. "Yeah, I know. Which is why I'm saying he's not worth the time you're giving him."
"I know that." Deep down you knew Seonghwa wasn't worth crying over. "I know he's not worth it, but I can't just... stop feeling things. I can't just turn it off."
"I'm not saying you should." Wooyoung's voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm just saying you deserve better than spending Mingi's birthday hiding in a hallway."
"I'm not hiding-"
"You're definitely hiding."
"Okay, maybe I'm hiding a little."
Wooyoung was quiet for a moment, studying you with an expression you couldn't quite read. Then he tilted his head toward the elevator. "Come on. Let me take you home."
"You don't have to."
"I get it." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You shouldn't be alone right now. And before you say you're fine-" He held up a hand to stop you. "-I’m sure you are. But you don't have to be fine by yourself."
The words hit something tender in your chest, and you found yourself nodding. "Okay."
The walk to his car was quiet, the night air cool on your cheeks. Wooyoung opened the passenger door for you, something he'd never done before, and you slid in, grateful for the privacy. As soon as he started the engine, the tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"Sorry," you choked out, wiping at your face. "I'm sorry, I don't know why-"
"Hey." Wooyoung's hand found yours, squeezing gently. "Don't apologize. You're allowed to cry."
"I just feel so stupid." The words tumbled out. "It's been months. I should be over this by now. I should be over him. But every time I see him with someone else, I just... I feel like there was something wrong with me that made him-"
"Stop." Wooyoung's voice was sharp enough to cut through your spiral. "There's nothing wrong with you. He cheated because he's a selfish asshole, not because you weren't enough."
"But maybe if I had been more-"
"More what? More fun? More exciting? More whatever the hell he was looking for?" Wooyoung's grip on your hand tightened. "You could have been perfect and he still would have cheated, because that's who he is. It was never about you not being enough. It was about him being too much of a coward to end things properly."
You looked down at your joined hands, at the way his thumb was tracing small circles on your skin. "I just wish I could stop caring. I wish I could see him happy and not feel like I'm drowning."
"I understand." Wooyoung's voice was softer now. "But you will. Eventually. It just takes time."
"How much time?" The question came out small.
"I don't know. But in the meantime..." He paused, and you could feel him watching you. "You could at least pretend. Make him think you're over it, even if you're not."
You let out a hollow laugh. "I'm a terrible liar. You said so yourself."
"Not if you had help." There was something careful in his tone now, like he was testing the waters. "Not if you had someone to back up your story."
You turned to look at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Wooyoung was staring straight ahead at the road, jaw tightening as he chose his words carefully. "I mean... what if you weren't alone at these parties? What if you showed up with someone who made it very clear you'd moved on?"
Your heart skipped. "Wooyoung."
"Just think about it." He glanced at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "You want to prove you're over him. I want to prove I'm capable of committing to someone. We could help each other."
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not suggesting anything tonight. You're upset, and this isn't the right time." He squeezed your hand once more before releasing it to shift gears. "But maybe we could talk about it. When you're feeling better. When you're ready."
Your mind was already racing, imagining walking into a party on Wooyoung's arm, Seonghwa seeing you happy, and the freedom of not having to feel pathetic anymore.
"Why would you want to help me?" you asked quietly.
Wooyoung was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, vulnerable. "Because you're my friend. And because..." He hesitated. "Because everyone already assumes the worst about me. That I'm incapable of anything real, that I'm just some player who doesn't care about anyone. And I'm tired of it - of my family asking when I'm going to settle down, of my friends making jokes about my commitment issues. I'm tired of people treating me like I don't have feelings."
You'd never heard him talk like this before. You'd always assumed Wooyoung didn't care what people thought, and that his confidence was unshakeable.
"I didn't know you felt that way," you said softly.
"Yeah, well." He let out a laugh. "I'm good at hiding it and pretending it doesn't bother me. But it does."
"We'd both be getting what we need." He pulled up in front of your building but didn't unlock the doors yet. Instead, he turned to face you fully. "Look, I'm not trying to pressure you. And tonight's not the night to decide anything. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I just want you to know that you don't have to keep feeling like this. There are options. Ways to take back some control."
"Can I think about it?" you asked.
"Of course." He reached over and unlocked your door. "Take all the time you need. And if you decide it's a terrible idea, we'll never talk about it again."
You nodded, opening the door but hesitating before getting out. "Wooyoung?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For listening and not making me feel stupid."
His expression softened. "You're not stupid. You're just human. And humans take time to heal."
You climbed out of the car, but before closing the door, you leaned back in. "I'll text you. About... about everything."
"I'll be waiting." He offered a small smile. "Now go get some sleep. You look exhausted."
"Such a charmer," you said, but you were smiling as you closed the door.
You watched him drive away, his tail lights disappearing around the corner, and something felt strange. The idea he'd planted was taking root, the possibility stuck in your mind.
What if you didn't have to feel this way anymore?
As you got ready for bed, your phone buzzed.
Wooyoung: Made it home safe. Get some rest.
You stared at the message, warmth blooming in your chest. Then you typed back:
You: Thanks, Woo. For everything. Let's talk tomorrow?
Wooyoung: Tomorrow. I'll buy you food.
You: It's a date.
You sent it before you could overthink it, then immediately panicked. But his response came quickly:
Wooyoung: 😏
Ugh, that emoji. You fell asleep that night thinking about possibilities, about pretending, about Wooyoung's hand in yours and the way he'd looked at you like you mattered.
Maybe it would blow up in your face. But maybe it was what you both needed.
The restaurant Wooyoung chose was small and kinda secluded from campus. It was the kind of place that you would always see, but never go inside. When you stepped in, you could already see him sitting at a table in the corner, so you made your way over.
He glanced up as you approached, "Hey. You found it okay?"
"Yeah." You slid into the seat across from him, suddenly aware of all the people who could be watching.
"So I've been thinking," Wooyoung said once you'd both ordered. "We should probably establish some ground rules before we start this whole thing."
You pulled out your phone, opening your notes app. "Okay. What did you have in mind?"
"Well, first - and most important - no real feelings." He said firmly. "This only works if we both remember it's fake. The second someone catches actual feelings, we end it. Agreed?"
The words stung more than it should have. "Agreed."
"Good." He seemed to relax slightly. "Second, we need to figure out how we're going to act in public. Like, what's acceptable and what's off limits."
You considered. "Hand holding is probably necessary. Maybe arms around each other?"
"Kissing?" The word stuck between you, suddenly making you feel kind of flustered.
Your cheeks heated. "I mean... couples kiss. People would think it was weird if we never did."
"So kissing is allowed." Wooyoung's voice was neutral. "But only when necessary. When people are watching."
"Right. Only when necessary."
"What about when we're alone?" He was watching you closely now. "Do we drop the act completely, or...?"
"I think we should stay in character sometimes," you said slowly, thinking it through. "To practice. So it looks natural in public."
"Makes sense." He nodded. "Okay, what about social media? That's gonna be the most important part of this."
"Soft launch?" you suggested. "Like, subtle photos where we're together but not obviously dating. Then after a week or two, we can make it ‘official’?"
"Smart." Wooyoung was typing notes into his own phone. "We should probably go through each other's social media, make sure we know what we each usually post. And we need to get our story straight, like how we got together, when we started dating, all that."
The food arrived, and you both paused to eat. It was really good, and you found yourself relaxing into the comfort of Wooyoung's presence. This was still weird, but it was also kind of exciting.
"So," Wooyoung said around a bite of pasta. "Our story. How did we fall for each other?"
You thought about it. "We've been friends for a year. We could say... it just kind of happened naturally? We were spending time together, and we realized there was something more there?"
"That is way too vague. We need specifics in case anyone asks." He leaned back, considering. "What about this: you know how I took you home after Mingi's party last night?" he pauses to take a bite. “What if that was our turning point? You were upset, I comforted you, and we both realized we had feelings for each other."
It was close enough to the truth to be believable. "Okay. So we will be secretly dating for a little bit, and then we ‘go public’?"
"Exactly." Wooyoung looked pleased. "That gives us a backstory and explains why no one's seen it coming."
You added it to your notes. "What about the end date? How long are we doing this?"
"Two months minimum," he said. "Long enough to be convincing. We can reassess after that, see if we need to keep going or if we've both gotten what we need out of it."
"And either of us can end it at any time?"
"Either of us can end it at any time," he confirmed. "No questions asked."
You looked down at your notes, at the rules and boundaries you'd constructed. Could you really fake a relationship like this?
"You're overthinking it," Wooyoung said, reading your expression with the ease of someone who knew you well. "We'll be fine. We're already friends. This is just friendship with some hand-holding and the occasional kiss."
"Right." You forced a smile. "Just friendship with fake benefits."
"Exactly." He grinned. "Now, let's talk logistics. We should probably start spending more time together in public. Study dates, coffee runs, that kind of thing. Ease people into seeing us together."
"We already do that stuff."
"Yeah, but now we'll be doing it with intent. Sitting closer, more casual touches, looking at each other like we're..." He paused. "Like we're in love."
That word felt… weird. "How do you look at someone like you're in love with them?"
"You've never been in love?" He seemed surprised.
"I thought I was. With Seonghwa. But obviously, I was wrong about that." The bitterness crept into your voice before you could stop it.
Wooyoung's expression softened. "Hey. Just because he was an idiot doesn't mean what you felt wasn't real."
"Yeah, well. Real or not, it didn't matter in the end." You pushed your pasta around your plate. "So how do we do it? The ‘looking like we're in love’ thing?"
"I don't know." He looked genuinely thoughtful. "I guess... you just look at the person like they're the only one in the room?
"Have you ever looked at someone like that?"
"No." The admission came quickly, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. "Told you I'm bad at this stuff."
"But you've dated lots of people."
"Dating and being in love are different things." He met your eyes. "I've never let anyone get close enough for love."
He was clearly being vulnerable, and you found yourself asking, "Why not?"
He looked up at you. "I think you can be friends with someone of the gender you're attracted to, but if you spend enough time together, if you get close enough, eventually attraction develops. And once that happens, the friendship is basically over because someone always wants more."
You frowned. “But what if they both end up wanting more?”
"Maybe. But I've seen it happen over and over. Someone catches feelings, confesses, and then everything gets weird. The friendship ends, or it becomes this awkward thing where one person is always wanting more than the other can give." He shrugged. "So I keep things casual. I date people, but I don't let them get too close. That way no one gets hurt."
"Except all the people you've dated who wanted something more," you pointed out.
"I'm honest with them from the start." But he looked uncomfortable. "I tell them I'm not looking for anything serious."
"And they think they can change your mind."
"That's not my fault."
"I didn't say it was." You studied him across the table. "But maybe... your theory is wrong? Maybe men and women can be close friends without attraction ruining everything?"
"Can they?" His gaze was intense suddenly. "Really think about it. Your close guy friends. Have you ever been attracted to any of them? Even a little?"
You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it. You thought about your friendships, about the guys you'd gotten close to over the years. And if you were honest... "Okay, maybe there's been some attraction. But that doesn't mean the friendship ends."
"Doesn't it?" Wooyoung leaned forward. "Be honest. Those friendships where there was attraction - are you still as close with those people?"
You wanted to argue, but you couldn't. He had a point. "So what, you're saying you and I can't be friends because we might eventually be attracted to each other?"
"We're already friends," he said. "And I plan to keep it that way. Which is why this fake dating thing is perfect. We get to be close, we get what we need out of it, and then we go back to being regular friends before anything complicated happens."
There was a flaw in his logic somewhere, you were sure of it. But you couldn't quite put your finger on it. "What if we're the exception? What if we prove your theory wrong?"
"Then we'll both be pleasantly surprised." But he didn't sound like he believed it.
The conversation changed to lighter topics after that - like planning your first official appearance as a couple, deciding on pet names (he voted for "babe," you threatened to call him "woowoo" in front of everyone if he did), figuring out how to handle questions from friends.
By the time you left the restaurant, you had pages of notes and a decent plan. Wooyoung walked you home. "Might as well start practicing," he'd said with a grin, wrapping his arm over your shoulder.
"So we're really doing this," you said as you reached your building.
"We're really doing this." He held out his hand, pinky extended. "Pinky promise? Two months, or until we both get what we need. No real feelings, no drama, and we stay friends when it's over."
You hesitated for just a moment, looking at his offered pinky. This was insane. This was going to end terribly somehow. But Wooyoung was looking at you with that mix of hope and mischief that you'd never been able to resist, and you found yourself hooking your pinky with his.
"Pinky promise."
His fingers squeezed yours gently, and for a moment, you were both just standing there, pinkies linked, looking at each other in the glow of the streetlight.
Then Wooyoung grinned again and pulled his hand away. "Okay, girlfriend. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodbye, boyfriend," you said, testing out the word. It felt weird in your mouth.
You watched him walk away, hands in his pockets, and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. This was fine. This was going to be fine.
You were just helping each other out. What could possibly go wrong?
The past few weeks were surprisingly easier than you anticipated. Meeting up to do some homework in the library, the occasional surprise breakfast before class. Hell, you even babysitted his cat for a few days when he went to visit his parents.
Today was a group dinner that was planned by Hongjoong for everyone to have the chance to catch up in the midst of the busy semester. When you found out Seonghwa would be there, Hongjoong offered to uninvite him, but you assured him it was fine,
The restaurant was louder than expected. It should have made you nervous, all these people, all these eyes potentially watching, but Wooyoung's presence beside you was surprisingly grounding.
"So," Mingi said, leaning forward with a grin that was entirely too knowing. "When were you two going to tell us?"
"Tell you what?" Wooyoung asked innocently, but his thumb was tracing circles on the back of your hand under the table.
"Oh, please." Mingi gestured between you. "You two show up together, you're practically glued to each other, and you think we haven't noticed?"
"How long?" Hongjoong asked, though something in his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"About three weeks," Wooyoung said smoothly. "We wanted to make sure it was real before we told everyone."
"Three weeks?" Jongho looked skeptical. "You kept it secret for three weeks?"
"We're good at secrets." Wooyoung's implication made several people laugh. You just rolled your eyes.
Pretending felt awkward, but Wooyoung made it easy. His hand never left yours, his attention consistently returning to you even as he joked with the group. It felt natural in a way that surprised you.
"I have to say," San said, catching your eye with a smile, "you look happy. Happier than I've seen you in a while."
The observation caught you off guard, mostly because it was true. You were happy. Maybe it was the relief of finally having a plan, of taking some control back. Or maybe it was just Wooyoung, the smooth comfort of his presence.
"I am happy," you said, and meant it.
Seonghwa shifted in his seat, and you could feel his eyes on you, but you didn't look at him. You'd spent months drowning in the weight of his gaze, of his pity or his judgment or whatever it had been. You were done with that.
-
The conversation turned more casual, talking about class and free time.
"You're teaching her to dance?" Hongjoong looked delighted. "I need to see this."
"Absolutely not," you said quickly. "I do not have any rhythm."
"She's better than she thinks," Wooyoung said, and there was genuine affection in his voice that made your heart skip. "She just needs confidence."
Seonghwa finally spoke up, his voice annoyed. "Since when do you dance, Wooyoung? I thought you said it was 'too much commitment' to take on dancing."
The table went silent. The tension could be cut with a pair of scissors, but Woo’s response was quick. "I said organized dance was too much commitment. Dancing with my girlfriend is different." He looked at Seonghwa directly, his smile pleasant but his eyes hard. "It's not a commitment when you actually want to do it."
The implication was there: unlike you, who made everything feel like an obligation. You saw Seonghwa's jaw clench, saw the flash of anger in his eyes.
"Okay!" San said brightly, clearly trying to settle the tension. "Who wants to split dessert?"
The conversation moved on, but all you could pay attention to was Wooyoung beside you, the protective way he angled his body toward yours, of the thumb still tracing patterns on your thigh. When you glanced at him, he leaned in close again.
"You okay?" he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear.
You nodded, throat tight with an emotion you couldn't name.
"Good." His hand squeezed your thigh gently. "Because you're doing great. He can't stop looking at you, and you haven't looked at him once."
Right. This was the plan. Make Seonghwa see that you'd moved on. Prove you were happy. It was working exactly as intended.
So why did your chest ache when Wooyoung pulled away?
-
Partway through dessert, you'd ended up sharing a chocolate lava cake with Wooyoung, feeding each other bites while your friends made exaggerated gagging noises. You excused yourself to the bathroom.
For some reason, Seonghwa left the table shortly after.
He appeared behind you in the hallway. He ran a hand through his hair, that nervous gesture you used to find endearing. Now it just makes you tired. "I needed to talk to you. Alone."
"We don't have anything to talk about.” As hard as you tried to shut him out of your brain, you couldn't help but hope that he would somehow say the right thing.
"We don’t?" He stepped closer, and you turned to face him. "You and Wooyoung? Really?"
Well that is not what you wanted to hear at all.
"What about it?"
"Come on." Seonghwa's voice dropped with a pleading undertone. "You know his reputation. He's going to hurt you."
The audacity of it stole your breath. "Like you hurt me?"
He flinched. "That's not… I made a mistake, okay? I know I did. But Wooyoung?. He's just going to use you and move on like he does with everyone else."
"You don't know anything about him." The words came out sharper than intended, defensive in a way that surprised you. "And even if you did, it's none of your business who I date."
"I still care about you."
"You lost the right to care about me when you cheated." Your voice was steady and cold. "And you definitely lost the right to have opinions about my relationship."
"I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
"Then you should have thought about that before you hurt me yourself. I loved you. And you told me you loved me too."
Seonghwa looked like you'd slapped him. "That's not fair."
"No," you agreed. "It's not. But neither was what you did to me."
You looked down at his hand on your arm, then up at his face. A few months ago, this moment would have meant everything. The concern in his eyes, the attention, the clear jealousy in the way he spoke. You would have read into it, hoped it meant something, maybe even considered giving him another chance.
Now? You didnt really feel anything.
"Let go of me," you said quietly.
He did, immediately, and you saw slight fear on his face.
You left him standing there, your heart pounding but your head clear. When you walked past him, Wooyoung was waiting at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with casualness that didn't really hide the tension in his shoulders.
"You okay?" he asked immediately. "I saw him follow you-"
"I'm fine." And you were. You were more than fine. "He just wanted to share his opinions about our relationship."
"And?"
"And I told him where he could shove those opinions." You smiled genuine. "Can we go?"
Wooyoung's look shifted into something proud, almost awed. "Yeah. Yeah, we can go." He held out his hand, and you took it without hesitation.
The group was disappointed but understanding when you announced you were leaving. San hugged you tight, whispering "I'm proud of you" in your ear in a way that made your throat tight. Hongjoong just had a knowing look on his face the whole time, but he didn't say anything. Those two could definitely see right through you.
Seonghwa returned to the table just as you were leaving, and you didn't miss the way his eyes tracked to your hand in Wooyoung's, to the way Wooyoung helped you into your jacket, to the casual kiss he pressed to your temple as you walked out.
The air was cool, clearing the remaining tension from your shoulders. Wooyoung kept his arm around you all the way to the car, and when he opened your door, he paused.
"That was..." He seemed to be searching for words. "That went really well. Better than I expected."
"Yeah." You slid into the passenger seat. "It did."
The drive back to your place was quiet. Wooyoung's hand found yours across the center console, and you let yourself enjoy the warmth, the casual intimacy, the illusion of being wanted.
When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved to get out immediately.
"So," Wooyoung said finally. "First official appearance: success?"
"Definite success." You turned to look at him. "Thank you. For everything. For defending me, for being perfect, for-"
"Hey." He squeezed your hand. "That's what boyfriends do, right?"
Right. Boyfriends. Fake boyfriends.
"Right," you echoed.
There was a moment of hesitation where you both just looked at each other. Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, then back up, and your breath caught. Was he going to…
He leaned in, and your heart stopped. But instead of your lips, his mouth pressed against your forehead, soft and lingering.
"Goodnight," he murmured against your skin.
"Night," you managed, voice barely a whisper.
You practically floated up to your apartment, touching your forehead where his lips had been. This was fake. This was all fake.
But why were you starting to wish it were real?
Week One
The library was your usual haunt, the area by the window where the sun created the perfect reading light. You were hunched over your laptop, supposedly working on an essay, but mostly you were thinking about Wooyoung beside you.
It had been three days since San's birthday dinner, and you'd seen him every single one of those days. Study sessions, he'd said. Got to keep up appearances.
But right now, with his leg pressed against yours under the table and his hand occasionally reaching over to steal your highlighter, it felt less like an appearance and more like... something else.
"You're not even reading that," Wooyoung said, not looking up from his own textbook.
"Yes, I am."
"You've been on the same page for ten minutes. I can see your screen."
You scowled and scrolled down, but he wasn't wrong. You'd been distracted by the way he bit his lip when he concentrated, by the furrow between his brows, by the way he'd draped his jacket over the back of your chair like he was marking territory.
Your phone buzzed, and you glanced down to see a notification from Instagram. Someone had tagged you in a post. It was a photo from dinner, you and Wooyoung caught mid-laugh, his hand on your face, both of you looking stupidly happy.
The comments were already rolling in. Cutest couple ever. I KNEW IT! Finally! And, from San: Called it 😏
"We're official on social media," you said, showing Wooyoung the screen.
He leaned closer to look, his shoulder pressing against yours. "Damn, we look good together."
"It's a nice photo."
"It's not just the photo." His voice was quieter, more serious. "We look happy."
You did. That was the strange part. In the photo, there was no acting, no visible performance. You just looked like two people who genuinely enjoyed each other.
"Wooyoung!" A girl's voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see one of his classmates, Minjeong, you thought her name was - approaching the table with a bright smile. "I heard about you and..." Her eyes landed on you. "Oh. Hi."
"Hi," you said, aware of the way Wooyoung's hand had automatically moved to rest on your thigh under the table.
"I just wanted to say congratulations," She continued, though something in her smile had dimmed. "I never thought I'd see the day Wooyoung settled down."
"Yeah, well." Wooyoung's thumb traced an absent pattern on your leg. "Sometimes you meet the right person."
Minjeong's eyes flickered between you, and you could see her trying to figure out what made you special, what you had that dozens of other girls hadn't. The attention made you squirm.
After she left, you turned to Wooyoung. "Does that bother you? Everyone being surprised?"
"That I'm in a relationship?" He shrugged, but there was stiffness in his posture. "I'm used to people assuming the worst about me. At least now they have to reconsider."
"It's not the worst, thinking you prefer to keep things casual."
He met your eyes. "When it means everyone thinks you're incapable of real feelings? They think I am heartless and only care about myself."
The hurt in his voice made your chest ache. Without thinking, you reached out and laced your fingers through his. "You're not heartless."
"You're the only one who seems to think so."
"Then everyone else is an idiot."
He laughed, surprised, and the tension broke. His hand tightened around yours. "Thanks, girlfriend."
"Anytime, boyfriend."
You stayed like that, hands linked on top of the table, and went back to your work. When a notification lit up your phone twenty minutes later, you glanced down to see Wooyoung had texted you.
Wooyoung: this is nice
You looked up. He was still focused on his textbook, but there was a small smile on his face. You typed back with one hand, not letting go of him with the other.
You: what is?
Wooyoung: this. studying together. holding hands. being close.
You: we've always studied together
Wooyoung: yeah but now I get to hold your hand while we do it 😏
You bit back a smile.
You: smooth
Wooyoung: you like it
You did. God help you, you really did.
-
That night, after you'd parted ways, your phone buzzed again.
Wooyoung: get home safe?
You: just walked in. you?
Wooyoung: been home for like 10 minutes
Wooyoung: was waiting to make sure you texted
Something warm bloomed inside you..
You: you don't have to do that
Wooyoung: I know
Wooyoung: I wanted to
Wooyoung: goodnight. dream about me 😉
You fell asleep smiling at your phone like a fool.
Week Two
"You're terrible at this," Wooyoung said, laughing as you stepped on his foot for the third time.
"I told you I can't dance!" You tried to pull away, but he held firm, hands on your waist in the middle of his living room.
"You're not trying. Here, feel the rhythm." He pulled you closer, so close you could feel his heartbeat. "It's like a game. You wouldn't button-mash your way through a boss fight, would you?"
"That's completely different-"
"It's not. You're overthinking it. Just..." He started swaying, gentle, and you had no choice but to follow. "There. See? You're doing it."
You were barely moving, just a soft rocking back and forth, but he was right. You were doing it. And more importantly, you were pressed against him, his hands warm on your waist, his breath stirring your hair.
"This isn't really dancing," you said, voice softer than intended.
"It's close enough." He hummed something under his breath, a melody you didn't recognize, and guided you in a slow circle. "Besides, couples dance like this all the time."
"At wedding receptions."
"Exactly. We're just practicing for future wedding receptions."
You paused for a second, trying to not over think what he just said.
"Your turn," he said suddenly, pulling back. "Teach me one of your games."
"Really?"
"Really. Fair is fair."
You ended up showing him a co-op game that you usually play with randoms online, but this time you actually got to play with someone you knew. Wooyoung was terrible at it - his character kept running off cliffs - but he was laughing, genuine and bright, and you couldn't remember the last time you'd had this much fun.
"How are you so bad at this?" you teased as he died for the fifth time.
"I'm used to dance games! These are different."
"Dance games are so much harder-"
"Are not."
You started playfully bickering, and somewhere in the moment, Wooyoung's arm ended up around your shoulders, your head found its way to his chest, and when you finally beat the level, you both cheered and he kissed the top of your head without seeming to think about it.
The kiss froze you both.
"Sorry," Wooyoung said quickly. "I wasn't thinking.."
"It's fine." You forced yourself to relax back against him, even though your heart was racing. "We're practicing, right? For when people are around?"
"Right. Practicing."
But his arm stayed around you for the rest of the night, and when you left, he hugged you at the door longer than necessary.
Week Three
The restaurant was busy, Friday night crowds filling every table, and you'd somehow ended up in a small booth clearly meant for couples, with candlelight flickering between you.
"This feels like a real date," you said, then immediately wanted to take it back.
But Wooyoung just smiled. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"
"Yeah. The point."
Conversation flowed easily, like it always did with him. You talked about classes and complained about professors and debated topics that randomly came up. At some point, your feet tangled under the table, and neither of you moved to separate them.
"Can I ask you something?" Wooyoung said during dessert.
"Sure."
"Do you still think about him? Seonghwa?"
The question surprised you. You'd barely thought about your ex all week. "Not really. Sometimes, but not like before."
"What's different?"
You considered, taking a bite of the cake you were sharing. "Before, I'd see him and it would hurt. Like a physical pain. But now..." You shrugged. "Now I just feel kind of indifferent. Like he's someone I used to know."
"That's good, right? That's what you wanted?"
"Yeah." You met his eyes. "It's exactly what I wanted. This whole thing-" You gestured between you. "-it's working."
Something flashed across Wooyoung's face, there then gone, too quickly to identify. "Good. I'm glad."
When he walked you home that night - he always walked you home now, even though it was out of his way - you lingered at your door.
"Thanks for dinner," you said.
"Anytime." He was standing close, hands in his pockets, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. "I had fun."
"Me too."
Neither of you moved. The space between you felt thick, Wooyoung's eyes dropped to your lips, and you stopped breathing.
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away. But you didn't. You couldn't.
His lips brushed your forehead and you felt the loss of what could have been a real kiss.
"Goodnight," he murmured.
"Night," you whispered back.
That night, you couldn't sleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the past three weeks. Every touch, every smile, every time he'd made your heart race.
This was supposed to be fake. You'd agreed on rules. No real feelings.
But somewhere between the practice dates and the touches and the way he looked at you like you mattered, you'd broken the most important rule.
You'd fallen for him.
Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your spiral.
Wooyoung: you awake?
You: yeah. can't sleep
Wooyoung: me neither
Wooyoung: been thinking about tonight
Your heart stuttered.
You: yeah?
Wooyoung: yeah
Wooyoung: I think we're getting really good at this
Wooyoung: the whole fake dating thing
Wooyoung: it barely feels fake anymore
You stared at the message, reading it over and over. Did he mean...?
You: yeah. barely fake.
Wooyoung: goodnight. for real this time
You: night, woo
You fell asleep with your phone clutched in your hand, his words replaying in your mind.
It barely feels fake anymore.
No, you thought. It doesn't feel fake at all.
The text came on a random Tuesday afternoon, three simple words that made you feel… indifferent: Can we talk?
You stared at Seonghwa’s name on your screen, trying to figure out what he could possibly have to say to you now. It had been a while since you’ve broken up, more than a month since you’d started “dating” Wooyoung. What could he possibly want?
You: About what?
The reply came quickly.
Seonghwa: Us. What happened. I just want to talk, please. Coffee tomorrow?
You should have deleted the message and moved on. But some part of you - the part that still remembered loving him, even if you didn’t anymore - couldn’t quite let it go without closure.
You: Fine. 3pm at the cafe on Main.
You told Wooyoung about it that night during your regular phone call - when had nightly phone calls become regular? - and his response was immediate.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Woo, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His voice was firm. “He doesn’t get to ask you to meet alone. I’ll wait outside or something, but I’m coming.”
The protectiveness in his voice made your chest happy. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Always.”
-
The next day, Wooyoung picked you up early, and you could see the tightness in his jaw as he drove.
“You okay?” you asked.
“I should be asking you that.” He glanced over. “Are you nervous?”
“A little. I don’t know what he wants to say.”
“Whatever it is, you don’t owe him anything. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
His hand found yours across the console. “And if he says anything that upsets you, I’m coming in there.”
You squeezed his hand, grateful. “My knight in shining armor.”
“Damn right.”
The place was quiet when you arrived, and Seonghwa was already there, sitting at a table with two coffees in front of him. He stood when he saw you, and you noticed he looked tired, shadows under his eyes.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for coming.”
“What did you want to talk about?” You didn’t sit yet, keeping your guard up.
“Please, just… sit? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
You glanced out the window where Wooyoung was leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching. He gave you a small nod, and you felt braver.
You sat.
“I got you your usual,” Seonghwa said, sliding one of the cups toward you. “Mocha latte, extra whip.”
You didn’t touch it. “What do you want, Seonghwa?”
He took a breath, and you could see him gathering courage. “I made a mistake. Making you break up with me. Cheating. All of it. I was an idiot, and I’ve been miserable ever since.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Seeing you with Wooyoung these past few weeks…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been killing me. Seeing you happy, seeing you with someone else. It made me realize what I lost.”
“So you want me back.” Your voice was flat.
“I want a chance to fix this. Or at least try to prove that I can be better.” He reached across the table, trying to take your hand, but you pulled back. “Please. We were good together. We can be good again.”
You looked at him, the boy you’d spent years with, the one you’d planned a future with, the one who’d broken your heart so thoroughly you’d thought you’d never recover.
And you felt… nothing.
No anger, no longing, no pain. Just a distant sort of pity.
“We weren’t good together, Seonghwa.” Your voice was firm. “We were comfortable. There’s a difference.”
“That’s not true…”
“It is.” You met his eyes steadily. “You cheated on me because you weren’t happy. And honestly? I wasn’t either. I was just too afraid to admit it.”
“But we could try again.”
“No.” The word came out stronger than you intended. “We can’t. Because I’ve moved on. I’m happy now. Actually happy.”
“With Wooyoung.” His voice turned bitter. “You really think he’s going to stick around? Everyone knows his reputation.”
“Everyone knew your reputation too,” you said quietly. “The good guy. The loyal boyfriend. And look how that turned out.”
He flinched.
“Wooyoung treats me better in one day than you did in two years,” you continued, and realized with a start that it was true. “He listens to me. He remembers things I say. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I matter.”
“I made you feel like you mattered-”
“You made me feel like an obligation.” The truth spilled out. “Like something you kept around because it was easier than being alone. And I let you, because I thought that was the best I could get.”
Seonghwa was staring at you like he didn’t recognize you.
You stood, leaving the coffee untouched.
“I forgive you,” you said. “For the cheating, for the lying, for all of it. But I don’t want you back. I hope you find someone who makes you happy. But it’s not going to be me.”
You walked out without looking back, and the moment you stepped outside, Wooyoung was there.
“You okay?” His hands came up to cup your face, searching your expression.
“I’m perfect.” And you were. You felt lighter than you had in months, like you’d finally closed a door that had been left open for too long. “Can we go?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” His arm came around your shoulders, solid and sure, and you leaned into him as you walked to the car.
You didn’t realize you were crying until you were in the passenger seat and Wooyoung was wiping your tears with his thumb.
“Hey, what’s wrong? What did he say?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” You laughed wetly. “He said he wanted me back.”
His expression darkened. “And?”
“And I told him no.” You looked up at him, at the concern in his eyes, at the gentle way he was touching you. “I told him I’d moved on. That I was happy.”
“Are you?” His voice was quiet. “Happy?”
“Yeah.” You reached up, covering his hand with yours. “I am.”
His expression changed. It was something vulnerable and hopeful and scared all at once. He leaned forward, and for a heart-stopping moment you thought he was going to kiss you. Really kiss you.
But then he pulled back, clearing his throat. “Good. That’s… that’s good. I’m glad.”
He started the car, and you tried to ignore the disappointment curling in your stomach.
As he drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand finding yours, you stared out the window and tried not to think about how much you’d meant every word you’d said to Seonghwa.
About how Wooyoung made you feel wanted.
And about how you’d fallen completely in love with your fake boyfriend.
You couldn’t sleep.
It was 2 AM, and you’d been lying in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the past month. Every touch, every smile, every time Wooyoung had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
The forehead kisses. The hand-holding. The protective way he’d shown up for you today.
When had it stopped being an act?
Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and your heart leaped when you saw his name.
Wooyoung: you awake?
You: unfortunately. you?
Wooyoung: can’t stop thinking about today
Wooyoung: are you really okay?
You stared at the messages, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You could lie. Keep up the act that this was all still fake and manageable.
You: I’m okay. Better than okay, actually.
You: I meant what I said to him. I’ve moved on.
Wooyoung: good. he doesn’t deserve you anyway
You: woo…
Wooyoung: yeah?
You typed and deleted three different messages before settling on:
You: thank you for being there today
Wooyoung: always. that’s what boyfriends do, right? 😏
There was a long pause. Then:
Wooyoung: doesn’t feel very fake anymore, does it?
Your breath caught. You stared at the message, reading it over and over.
You: no. it doesn’t.
Wooyoung: is that a bad thing?
Was it? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you were in too deep, and there was no way out that didn’t end in heartbreak.
You: i don’t know. is it?
Wooyoung: I don’t know either
Wooyoung: goodnight. we should talk soon. actually talk.
You: goodnight woo
You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, his words echoing in your mind.
Doesn’t feel very fake anymore.
-
The next morning across campus, Wooyoung was having a crisis.
He’d been staring at his phone for twenty minutes, reading and rereading your text conversation from last night. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. What had he been thinking, sending that? He might as well have just confessed outright.
“You look like you’re having an existential crisis,” San said, dropping his stuff into the seat next to him.
“I am having an existential crisis.”
Hongjoong appeared on his other side. “Does this crisis have anything to do with your girlfriend?”
“Fake girlfriend,” Wooyoung corrected automatically, but the words felt wrong in his mouth.
“Is she still fake?” Hongjoong asked. “Because to me, you two look pretty real.”
Wooyoung groaned, letting his head fall onto the table. “I fucked up.”
“What did you do?” San asked.
“I caught feelings. For someone I’m supposed to be fake dating.” He lifted his head, looking between his friends. “How did this happen? We had rules. It was supposed to be simple.”
“Feelings are never simple,” Hongjoong said.
“Especially not when you’re spending all your time with someone you’re pretending to date,” San added. “Kind of unavoidable."
“That’s exactly the problem!” Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “This is exactly what I said would happen. And now I’ve proven myself right, and I hate it.”
“Why do you hate being right?” San asked.
“It means I can’t be close to someone without fucking it up with feelings. It means-” He broke off, his fear finally surfacing. “It means I’m going to lose her.”
“Why would you lose her?” Hongjoong looked genuinely confused.
“Because that’s what happens. Someone catches feelings, things get weird, and the friendship ends.”
“Or,” San said slowly, “someone catches feelings, the other person feels the same way, and they end up together. Did you ever consider that?”
Wooyoung stared at him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
“Are you serious right now?” Hongjoong laughed. “Woo, she looks at you like you hung the moon. I’ve never seen two people more obviously in love while claiming to be ‘fake-dating’.”
“You think she feels the same way?”
“I think you’re both idiots who need to talk to each other,” San said bluntly. “But yes, I think she’s just as gone for you as you are for her.”
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted quietly.
“You talk to her,” San said firmly. “You tell her the truth. And you figure it out together.”
Wooyoung pulled out his phone, looking at your last text exchange. Doesn’t feel very fake anymore. No. It doesn’t.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending.
-
That evening, you were at home trying to study when your phone rang. Wooyoung’s name flashed on the screen, and your heart jumped.
“Hey,” you answered.
“Hey.” His voice sounded strange. “Are you busy?”
“Just studying. Why?”
“Can I come over? I think we need to talk.”
Your stomach dropped. This was it. He was going to end the arrangement. Tell you he couldn’t do this anymore. You’d broken the rules by catching feelings, and now…
“Yeah,” you heard yourself say. “Yeah, come over.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
He hung up, and you stared at your phone, panic rising in your chest. You had ten minutes to prepare yourself for heartbreak.
You spent those ten minutes pacing your apartment, trying to figure out what you’d say. How you’d react. Whether you should tell him the truth or keep lying.
When the knock came, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
Wooyoung stood in your doorway, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it, eyes dark with something, you couldn’t tell what it was.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
You stood there for a second, just looking at each other. Then Wooyoung stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
“We need to talk about this,” he said, motioning between you two. “About us.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might break through your ribs. “Okay.”
“I’ve been thinking about what I said last night. About how this doesn’t feel fake anymore.” He took a step closer. “And it doesn’t. At least not for me.”
You couldn’t breathe. “Woo…”
“Let me finish. Please.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know we had rules. I know we said no real feelings. But somewhere along the way, I broke that rule. And I’ve been terrified to tell you because I thought it would ruin everything.”
“What are you saying?” Your voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m saying I have feelings for you.” He was looking at you with such intensity you felt pinned in place. “I can’t tell the difference between pretending and reality anymore because when I’m with you, it all feels real. The hand-holding, the dates, the way I want to kiss you for real instead of just your forehead - all of it.”
Your breath caught. “You want to kiss me?”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks,” he admitted. “But I was scared.” He pauses. “But then I realized,” he continued, stepping closer, “maybe my theory was wrong. Not about the attraction part - I think I was right about that. But about what it means.” He reached out, taking your hand. “Maybe the point isn’t that attraction ruins friendships. Maybe the point is that the best relationships start as friendships. And maybe sometimes, falling for your friend isn’t the end of the friendship - it’s the beginning of something better.”
Tears were streaming down your face, and you didn’t even care. “Wooyoung-”
“I think I am in love with you,” he said, the words froze in the air between you. “I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you. And I know that wasn’t part of the plan, and I know we said this would be temporary, but I don’t want temporary. I want real. I want you. Even when we met in class, I felt something for you. It has always been there.”
You were crying in earnest now, your free hand coming up to cover your mouth.
“Please say something,” Wooyoung said, and you could hear the fear in his voice. “Tell me I didn’t just ruin everything. Tell me-”
“I think I love you too,” you said, the words tumbling out. “I’ve been in love with you for weeks, and I was so scared to tell you because I thought you’d think I broke the rules, and I didn’t want to lose you…”
You didn’t get to finish because Wooyoung was kissing you.
And for once, it wasn’t a forehead kiss. It was a real kiss.
His hands cupped your face, and his lips were soft and desperate against yours, and it felt like coming home. You kissed him back with everything you had, months of pent-up longing pouring into this one moment.
When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“We’re idiots,” you said, laughing through your tears.
“Complete idiots,” he agreed. “We could have been doing this for weeks.”
“We had rules-”
“Fuck the rules.” He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less sweet. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want this to be real.”
“It already is real,” you said. “It’s been real for a long time.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah, it has.”
You kissed him again, and again, making up for lost time. And when you finally pulled back, breathless and giddy, Wooyoung took your hand.
“So,” he said. “Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?”
“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, I want that.”
“Good.” He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you. “Because I’m not letting you go.”
You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek.
This was real. And for the first time in months, you felt perfectly happy.
Everything should have been perfect.
You were actually together. No more pretending, no more rules. Just you and Wooyoung.
Except something was wrong.
It started small. A cancelled study date here, a shorter text conversation there. Wooyoung said he was busy with dance practice, with family stuff, with a big project for class. All reasonable excuses.
But it had been almost a week since your confession, and you’d barely seen him.
You: miss you. when can I see you?
Wooyoung: sorry, got a lot going on. maybe this weekend?
Maybe. Not definitely. Maybe.
You tried not to read into it, tried to tell yourself he was just actually busy. But the familiar doubt crept in anyway.
Had you been wrong? Had he changed his mind? Had the reality of actually being together scared him off?
When you finally did see him - at a group hangout at Mingi’s place on Friday - he was different. Still affectionate, still attentive, but there was a distance in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Like part of him was somewhere else.
“You okay?” you asked quietly when you had a moment alone.
“Yeah, fine. Just tired.” He kissed your forehead, but it felt forced.
And then you saw it later.
Wooyoung, across the room, laughing with a girl you didn’t recognize. His hand on her arm, that devastating smile turned on her full force. The same charm he used to use on everyone before you.
Your stomach twisted.
“That’s Yuna,” San said, appearing at your elbow. “She’s in Wooyoung’s contemporary dance class.”
“Oh.” You tried to sound casual. “They seem friendly.”
San gave you a look. “Don’t read into it. He’s probably just being nice.”
But you couldn’t help but read into it. Couldn’t help noticing how easily he made her laugh, how she touched his arm back, how he didn’t pull away.
When Wooyoung finally came back over, you were ready to leave.
“Already?” He looked surprised. “It’s early.”
“I have an early morning tomorrow.” The lie came easily. “I should go.”
“Oh. Okay.” He walked you out, but he didn’t offer to drive you home like he usually did. “Text me when you get back safe?”
“Sure.”
You waited for him to kiss you goodbye. He kissed your forehead.
Always your forehead. Never your lips. Not since that first night when you’d confessed your feelings to each other.
“Goodnight,” he said.
You walked home alone, feeling the distance between you growing with every step.
-
By the second week, the distance had become unbearable.
Wooyoung barely texted. He cancelled more plans than he kept. When you did see him, he was distracted and distant. The easy affection had been replaced by something controlled.
You tried to talk to him about it, but he deflected every time.
“I’m just stressed about midterms.”
“I’m fine, really. Just need some space to focus.”
“You’re overthinking it.”
But you weren’t overthinking it. You could feel him pulling away, could see him reverting to his old patterns. The fuckboy who never let anyone get too close and kept everything surface-level.
The breaking point came at Yunho’s place.
You’d come with Wooyoung, but within an hour, he’d disappeared into the crowd. You found him in the kitchen, and your heart sank.
He was flirting with Yuna again. Not just friendly conversation. It was actual flirting. The smile, the eyes, the casual touches. All the things he used to do with you before it became real.
“Having fun?” The words came out colder than you intended.
Wooyoung turned, and something flickered across his face. Guilt? “Hey. Yeah, just talking to Yuna.”
“I can see that.”
Yuna looked between you, clearly sensing the tension. “I should go find Yeosang. Nice talking to you, Wooyoung.” She left quickly.
You and Wooyoung stood in uncomfortable silence.
“What’s going on with you?” you finally asked.
“Nothing. I was just talking to someone-”
“You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks.” Your voice cracked despite your best efforts. “Ever since we made it official, you’ve been pulling away. And now you’re flirting with other girls right in front of me?”
“I wasn’t flirting…”
“Don’t lie to me.” Tears were burning in your eyes. “I know you, and I know what flirting looks like. I watched you do it for months before we got together.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightened. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you got what you wanted. Prove you could commit, made your family happy, and now you’re ready to move on. Just like you do with everyone else.”
“That’s not fair.”
“How so?” You were starting to get upset, but you were past the point of caring. “You said you loved me. You said you wanted this to be real. But the second it actually became real, you started running.”
“I’m not running.”
“Then what do you call this?” You gestured between you. “You barely talk to me. You cancel our plans. You avoid me at parties. And when you do see me, you act like I’m someone you’re obligated to spend time with, not someone you claim to love.”
“I do love you.” His voice rose, frustration showing through. “That’s the whole fucking problem.”
You stopped, stunned. “What?”
Wooyoung ran his hands through his hair, and you could see him warring with himself. “I love you. And that terrifies me. Because we were friends, and now we’re not, because we caught feelings.”
“We’re not friends anymore because we’re together-”
“But that’s temporary too, isn’t it?” His voice was harsh, almost desperate. “Relationships end. People leave. And when this falls apart - because it will fall apart, they always do - I won’t just lose my girlfriend. I’ll lose my best friend.”
Your breath caught. “You think we’re going to fall apart?”
“I think I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t know how to treat you the way you deserve.”
“So you thought the best thing to do was to push me away and make me wonder what I did wrong?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You are sabotaging us before we even gave it a try.”
You wanted to comfort him, to tell him he was wrong and that you weren’t going anywhere. But you were too hurt.
“So instead of taking the risk, you choose to end us before it even started?” Your voice was broken. “You’re proving yourself right by making sure we fail?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted. “I just know I’m scared.”
“Well, I’m scared too.” You wiped your eyes. “I’m terrified. But I’m not running away. I’m not flirting with other people to make myself feel safe. I’m choosing to trust this. To trust you.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
The words landed like a blow. You stared at him, at the boy you’d fallen in love with, and realized he wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he never would be.
“Then what are we doing?” you asked quietly. “If you can’t trust this, can’t trust me, then what’s the point?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” You laughed, but it came out bitter. “You told me you wanted this to be real. But the first time it gets hard, you act like caring about someone is a weakness instead of a strength.”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
You waited, hoping he’d say something. Anything. But he just stood there, looking miserable and lost, and you realized you couldn’t do this anymore.
“I need space,” you said. “Real space. To figure out if this is worth fighting for when you’re not willing to fight for it too. I am not doing the whole ‘not being good enough’ thing again.”
“Don’t-” His voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”
“You’re the one doing this,” you said.
You left before he could respond, pushing through the party and out into the cold night air. You made it two blocks before you had to stop, leaning against a building as sobs took over your body.
You’d fallen in love with someone who was too afraid to love you back.
And you didn’t know how to fix it.
The next two weeks were hell.
Sitting next to him at group dinners, feeling the tension between. Holding his hand because people expected it, feeling his fingers tight and desperate around yours. Catching his eyes across the room and seeing the same misery you felt reflected back.
But the second you were alone, the distance returned. He’d drop your hand like it burned. Make excuses to leave. Avoid any real conversation.
Your friends weren’t blind.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Hongjoong asked one afternoon when Wooyoung had left yet another hangout early.
“Nothing. He’s just busy.”
“Bullshit.” San leaned forward. “You two have been weird for weeks. Did something happen?”
You wanted to lie, but you were so tired of pretending.
“We’re fighting,” you admitted. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”
“What happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was tender.
“He’s scared. Of commitment, of getting hurt, of losing me. So he’s pushing me away before I can leave him.” You laughed hollowly. “Classic self-sabotage.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“I tried. He won’t really talk to me.” You felt tears threatening again. “I don’t know what to do. I love him, but I can’t make him not be afraid. And I can’t keep putting myself through this.”
San and Hongjoong exchanged a look.
“We’ll talk to him,” San said.
“Don’t. Please.” You shook your head. “He needs to figure this out himself. Either he wants this or he doesn’t. But I can’t force him to choose me.”
“He does choose you,” Hongjoong said firmly. “He’s just a dumbass who doesn’t know how to handle anything.”
“Then he needs to learn. Quickly.” You stood up. “I need to go. I have studying to do.”
You left before they could see you cry again.
-
The next couple’s appearance was Mingi’s movie night. Everyone would be there, which meant you and Wooyoung had to show up together and act normal.
You met him outside the building, and the sight of him made your chest ache. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, hair unstyled. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well either.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hi.”
The walk to Mingi’s apartment was awkward. When Wooyoung reached for your hand, you let him take it, but it felt wrong. Like you were both just going through the motions.
Inside, your friends were already sprawled across Mingi’s living room, arguing about what movie to watch. You and Wooyoung ended up on the couch, sitting close because that’s what couples did, but the space between your bodies felt like a canyon.
Halfway through the movie - some action film you weren’t really watching - he shifted closer. His arm came around your shoulders, and you stiffened.
“Relax,” he murmured, quiet enough that only you could hear. “People are watching.”
Right. You were performing. Like you had been from the beginning.
Except now it hurt so much more, because you knew what it felt like when it was real.
You leaned into him because you had to, resting your head on his shoulder. His hand came up to play with your hair, an absent gesture that used to make you feel cherished. Now it just felt empty.
“I miss you,” he whispered against your hair.
The words made your eyes burn. “I’m right here.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
You knew what he meant. You missed him too. Missed the version of you two that had been happy, that had been hopeful. Missed the boy who had looked at you like you were his whole world.
After the movie ended, and after some of the others had left, you excused yourself to Mingi’s patio. You leaned against the railing, allowing yourself to take in the fresh air of the cold night. You hear the sliding glass door open behind you.
“Hey.”
You spun around. Wooyoung stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking uncertain.
“Hi,” you managed.
“Can I…” He gestured to the balcony. “Can I join you?”
You nodded, and he stepped outside, the door closing behind him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You both just stared out, at the lights of the buildings in the distance.
“You look beautiful,” Wooyoung said finally.
“Thanks.” Your voice was cold. “You look nice too.”
More silence.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what you said. About how I’ve been sabotaging us.”
You didn’t respond, waiting for him to continue.
“You were right. About all of it.” He turned to face you. “I was so scared of losing you that I started pulling away. And I didn’t even realize I was doing it until you pointed it out.”
“And?” You kept your eyes on the horizon, not trusting yourself to look at him.
“And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracked. “I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus. All I do is think about you and how badly I fucked everything up.”
“Woo-”
“I love you,” he said desperately. “I love you so much it scares me. And I know I handled that fear in the worst possible way. I know I hurt you. But please… please give me another chance.”
You finally looked at him, and the raw emotion on his face made your chest tight. “I don’t know if I can do this again. I can’t keep putting myself through this cycle of you pulling away every time you get scared.”
“I know. I know I don’t deserve another chance. But I swear, I’m done running. I’m done sabotaging us. I want this, I want you, and I’m ready to fight for it.”
“Are you?” The question came out sharp.
“I can’t promise I won’t be scared,” he admitted. “But I can promise I won’t run. I’ll talk to you instead. I’ll let you in instead of shutting you out.”
You wanted to believe him. God, you wanted to believe him so badly.
“When I saw you,” you said quietly. “Flirting with Yuna, a part of me wondered if you would ever change.”
He flinched. “I wasn’t flirting - okay, maybe I was. But it wasn’t about her. It was about trying to prove to myself that I could still be that person. The one who doesn’t get attached.”
“Why would you want to be that person?”
“Because that person doesn’t get hurt.” His voice had a hint of frustration. “That person doesn’t lie awake at night terrified of losing the most important thing in his life. That person is safe.”
“That person is lonely,” you said. “And I know you, Wooyoung. You don’t actually want to be him anymore.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I don’t. I’d rather be terrified and with you than safe and alone.”
“Then prove it.” You finally met his eyes fully. “Stop running. Stop trying to protect yourself from getting hurt by hurting me first. Just… be with me. Actually be with me.”
“I will.” He took a step closer. “I swear I will. Just please, give me one more chance. Let me show you I can do better.”
You studied his face, looking for any sign of doubt or fear. But all you saw was desperate sincerity.
“One chance,” you said finally. “But if you pull away again, if you start reverting to your old stuff, we’re done. For real this time.”
“I understand.” He reached out tentatively, and when you didn’t pull away, he took your hand. “Thank you. I won’t screw this up again.”
“You better not.”
He pulled you closer, and you let yourself lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent. His arms came around you, solid and warm, and you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying for weeks finally ease.
“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too.” You pulled back to look at him. “But we need to actually talk about this. About your fear, about your patterns. We can’t just sweep it under the rug.”
“I know. And we will. I’ll tell you everything.” He cupped your face gently. “But first… can I kiss you?”
Your heart skipped. “Please kiss me.”
He leaned in slowly, giving you time to change your mind. But you didn’t want to. You’d been wanting this too.
When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and sweet and perfect, his hands soothing on your face, your fingers curling into his jacket. You kissed him like you’d been waiting forever.
When you finally broke apart, you were both smiling.
His eyes gleamed with the shine of the light through the glass and he kissed you again, quick and happy. “Let me take you home.”
-
You both head back inside with your fingers intertwined, and the remaining members of your friend group were pleasantly surprised at how your demeanor towards each other suddenly changed.
“We’re heading out.” Wooyoung announced to them as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.
“Okay, love birds.” San said playfully.
The walk to his car was quiet, though it didn’t feel like anything needed to be said in the moment.
He opened the car door for you and gestured towards it. “M’lady.”
“Oh my god you are so weird,” you couldn’t help but to laugh at him.
You slid into his passenger seat, a feeling all too familiar.
The drive to your apartment was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet than the painful silences of the past two weeks. This was comfortable. Wooyoung’s hand found yours across the console almost immediately, his thumb tracing those familiar circles that made your heart race.
“I talked to my dad,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “After we fought. I called him and told him everything.”
You turned to look at him, surprised. “What did he say?”
“He told me I was being an idiot.” Wooyoung’s lips quirked into a self-deprecating smile.
“Your dad sounds wise.”
“He has his moments.” His hand tightened around yours. “He also said that love isn’t about protecting yourself from pain. It’s about finding someone worth being vulnerable for.”
Your throat felt tight.
“You’re worth it,” he said quietly, glancing at you before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re worth every moment of fear, every risk, everything. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that I was ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just squeezed his hand, blinking back tears.
When he pulled up outside your building, neither of you moved immediately. The car idled, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.
“Do you want to come up?” The words tumbled out before you could second-guess them. “We could… talk more. About everything.”
Wooyoung turned to look at you, and something in his expression made your breath catch. His eyes were dark, intense in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He turned off the engine, and the sudden silence felt deafening. You both got out of the car, and Wooyoung’s hand found the small of your back as you walked to your building, a touch that felt both protective and possessive.
The elevator ride up to your floor was torture. You were hyperaware of him beside you - the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne, the way his eyes kept flicking to you and then away, like he was holding himself back from something.
When you finally reached your door, your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped your keys. Wooyoung’s hand covered yours, steadying them, and the touch sent shivers through your entire body.
“Breathe,” he murmured, so close you could feel his breath against your ear.
You managed to unlock the door and step inside, Wooyoung following close behind. The moment the door closed, the air between you became heavier.
You turned to face him, and the look in his eyes made your knees weak.
“We should talk,” you said, but your voice came out breathy.
“We should,” he agreed. He was moving closer, backing you delicately against the door. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“So many things,” you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering under your palm, as fast as yours.
“Like how I’m going to spend every day proving I’m worth your trust,” he said, his hands coming up to frame your face. “How I’m going to show you that I’m all in. That I’m not going anywhere.”
“Wooyoung…”
“Like how I’ve been thinking about really kissing,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “Not just forehead kisses. Not just quick pecks. Actually kissing you the way I’ve wanted to since the night we confessed.”
Your breath hitched. “We kissed that night.”
“Yeah.” His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you felt it everywhere. “And then I got scared and pulled away. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Then don’t pull away this time,” you said, your fingers curling into his shirt.
He snapped. His mouth crashed against yours, and this kiss was nothing like the sweet one on the balcony. This was desperate, hungry, the emotion of your time apart poured into the connection of your lips.
You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body feel like it was on fire. Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling him closer.
He groaned - actually groaned - and the sound sent heat straight through you. His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“I’ve wanted this,” he breathed against your lips, trailing kisses along your jaw, “wanted you, for so long.”
“Me too,” you managed, tilting your head to give him better access as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear. “God, me too.”
His hands slid under your shirt, just slightly, his fingers splaying against the bare skin of your waist, and you melted into the contact.
“Is this okay?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide.
“Yes,” you said immediately. “Yes, this is okay. More than okay.”
He smiled that devastating smile that had always made your heart skip, and kissed you again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands stayed where they were, warm against your skin.
You tugged at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and he helped you, shrugging out of it without breaking the kiss. It fell to the floor forgotten.
Your heart was racing so fast you thought it might burst. “Bedroom.”
He pulled back, taking your hand, and let you lead him through your apartment. The walk to your bedroom felt like it took forever. When you finally reached your room, you turned to face him, suddenly nervous despite everything.
Wooyoung seemed to sense your hesitation. He stepped closer, cupping your face gently, his thumb stroking your jaw line tenderly.
“We can stop,” he said softly. “We can just talk, or watch a movie, or…”
“I don’t want to stop,” you interrupted. “I just… I want this to mean something. I want it to be real.”
“It is real,” he said, his voice fierce. “This is the realest thing I’ve ever felt.”
He kissed you again, serene this time, pouring emotion into it rather than just heat. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered. “So much. And I’m going to spend every day showing you that.”
“I love you too,” you said, your hands sliding up his chest to loop around his neck. “Show me.”
His eyes darkened again, and he walked you backwards toward the bed.. When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you sat, and he followed you down, hovering over you with his arms braced on either side of your head.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking down at you with such intensity it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “How did I get this lucky?”
“Woo…”
He kissed you again, and you pulled him closer, your hands exploring the planes of his back through his shirt. He made that sound again - that groan that drove you crazy - and his hand slid up your side, his touch reverent.
“Can I…” His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt.
“Yes,” you breathed.
He sat back slightly, helping you sit up so slowly it was almost torture, pulled your shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, and the heat in his gaze made you feel desired in a way you’d never felt before.
“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice rough.
Your hands went to his shirt, and he helped you remove it, tossing it aside. And then you were skin to skin, his chest pressed against yours, and it felt so natural.
His hands mapped your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every dip, every place that made you gasp. You did the same, learning the feel of him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his breath caught when you ran your fingers down his spine.
“I want you,” you whispered against his lips. “Please, I want all of you.”
“You have me,” he said, pulling back to look at you with such raw emotion it made your heart ache. “You’ve always had me, baby”
His hands cup each side of your face as he notices the tears threatening to break from your eyes. “Don’t cry, darling. I’m right here. I got you.”
He leans down to kiss you again, trying to drown out your emotions with something happier. He reaches around you to release the tension of your bra, each clasp he undoes exposes more of your skin: the swell of your breasts, the delicate dip of your collarbone. He pauses after each hook to press kisses along the new flesh, his lips soft like a worship, sending electricity pulsing across your body.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes against your sternum, his voice thick, with a hint of disbelief. "Every inch of you.”
He runs his hands over each mound, massaging deliberately in the hopes to relax you a little more. The nipple hardens instantly under his touch, and he doesn't hesitate. He gently rolls them between his thumb and pointer finger, as the remaining space of his hands cup your breasts. He wets his tongue, sliding it from the top of your navel, up to your neck, where he begins to leave messy, open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave a mark by morning. Only quiet, broken breaths can escape your mouth.
His mouth descends, capturing the peak between his lips. He sucks softly at first, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. The sensation shoots arrows straight to your core, a slick heat blooming between your thighs as arousal soaks your panties. His tongue moves slowly, so slowly that it makes your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve some tension.
Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as your desperation grows."Wooyoung," you gasp breathlessly. His eyes lift to meet yours, and your expression was enough for him to sense what you wanted him to do next.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, meeting your eyes once again, just to make sure it was okay. You nod, and he pulls them down as you lift up your hips.
Now with the first barrier discarded, he lowers his head between your legs. Gentle kisses peppered along the flesh of your inner thighs. Once he got closer to your core, he kissed over the cotton of your already soaked panties, and the skin between the fabric and your thighs. There was no rush in his pace. He’s making sure he savors the moment for as long as possible.
The fake dates that blurred into real ones, the nights you spent pretending not to notice how his hand lingered on yours a second too long, the heartbreak when you thought it might all unravel. But here, in this moment, it's all laid bare. You love him, and from the way his eyes lock onto yours, you know he feels it too.
His fingers brush over the damp fabric of your panties, teasing the outline of your folds. You arch into him, a whimper escaping your lips when he finally pushes the material aside. His touch is deliberate, two fingers gliding through your slickness, coating themselves before circling your clit with just the right pressure.
Wooyoung's thumb presses firmer against your clit, rolling in small circles while his fingers tease your entrance. “You're so wet for me,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.” His free hand cups your face, thumb brushing your lower lip, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your tongues tangle, tasting the salt of your skin on him, and you moan into his mouth as he finally slides one finger inside you.
The stretch is perfect. He curls it upward, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You break the kiss to gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More,” you plead, hips rocking against his hand. “Wooyoungie, please... I need your fingers.” The words tumble out with the desperation that's built over weeks.
He slides in another finger, making sure to brush across your spongy spot. All you can do is grip your fingers tighter into his biceps in reaction to the increased pleasure. You can feel yourself clenching around him, the feeling overwhelming - how he knows your body like it's an extension of his own, how he's memorized every gasp you make.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, not from pain or hurt this time. Wooyoung notices, of course, he always does. He slows his movements, fingers still buried deep but no longer pumping, instead stroking that sensitive inner wall with light pressure.
“It's just us now. Let me show you.” He withdraws his fingers, earning a whine of protest from you, but then he's shifting down your body, settling between your thighs. His hands grip your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kneels on the floor. You prop yourself on your elbows, watching with bated breath as he hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them off, exposing you completely.
Wooyoung's eyes drink you in. “Beautiful,” he breathes, before leaning in. His tongue flattens against your core, licking a long, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. The direct contact makes you cry out, your head falling back as pleasure sparks through every nerve. He doesn't rush - his licks are languid, savoring you like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. He laps at your folds, gathering your wetness on his tongue, then circles your clit with the tip, flicking it lightly.
Your hands find his hair again, tugging gently as you guide him. He hums in approval, the vibration sending pleasure straight through you. One hand leaves your hip to join his mouth, fingers sliding back inside you, three this time, stretching you fuller as his tongue works your clit without mercy. The combination is devastating. You feel yourself tightening, your peak approaching fast. But Wooyoung senses it, pulling back just enough to keep you wanting more.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, lips glistening with you. “I want to feel you come around my cock. Want to be inside you when you fall apart.” He stands, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes. His cock springs free, hard and thick, and a lot bigger than you had expected.
You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, stroking from base to tip. Your hand could barely even fit around the girth of it. He groans, hips bucking into your touch. You use your thumb to spread the bead of pre-cum across the head, massaging the sensitive spot below the tip.
Without hesitation, Wooyoung climbs back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He lines up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, but he pauses, searching your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, even though you both know the answer. The vulnerability in his voice - the fear of rejection after everything - makes your heart ache.
“Yes,” you say, cupping his face. “God, I want it so bad, Wooyoung.” With that, he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely. The stretch burns so good, your walls fluttering around him as he bottoms out. You both moan, bodies connecting in the most emotional way. He stills for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours again.
“I love how you feel,” he confesses, voice strained. “Like you were made for me.” Then he starts moving, shallow thrusts at first, grinding his hips against yours to hit your clit with every roll. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your heels digging into his back. The pace builds gradually, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over.
Sweat beads on his skin, dripping onto your chest as he leans down to capture your lips. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, mirroring the way he's fucking you now - harder, faster, but the emotions still obvious. You can feel the love in every thrust, the way he angles his hips to give you maximum pleasure, how his hand slips between you to rub your clit in tight circles.
His hand tightens on your thigh, holding you in place. “You're mine,” he growls softly, not possessive but affirming. He continues to roll his hips deliciously as you feel your climax start to build up again. Soft grunts escape him as he finds his motion within you.
He slides out, leaving you empty and wanting more.
You place your hand on his chest to guide him to lay against the mattress. You swing your leg over his hips, straddling him. You grabbed the base of his cock and glided his tip between your folds before sinking down onto his length. His hands guide your hips, encouraging you to ride him. You do, slowly at first, savoring the slide of every vein dragging inside of you.
This time, it's you setting the pace - grinding down to take him deep, circling your hips to feel every ridge. Wooyoung's hands roam your body, sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they're pebbled again.
You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and he sits up to meet you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You’re face-to-face, intimate, his breath mingling with yours as you rock together. “I can never get enough of you,” he admits.
The words fuel your movements; you bounce faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. His cock hits deeper from this position, brushing your cervix with each downward thrust. Your pleasure keeps building, coiling tighter, and you can feel him swelling inside you.
Wooyoung's mouth finds your neck, sucking marks into your skin - marks that say you're his. One hand slips between you again, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with your rhythm. It's too much, the dual sensations pushing you towards your orgasm.
“Come with me,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. It doesn't take much more for you to be pushed over the edge. You grip on to his chest muscles tighter, as you cry out in pleasure. You throw your head back while you grind down on him. His movements became more uncontrolled beneath you. “Fuuuuuck, I’m gonna cum,” he urges your thighs up. When his length slips free, you rest your weight on your knees, your hand quickly meeting with his cock to milk it out. Cum spurts out in ropes, painting both of your tummies white. “Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans as you start to slow down your strokes.
As the high fades, Wooyoung eases you off him gently. You collapse together, limbs entangled with each other. He reaches up, cupping your face in his palm, thumb brushing away a stray tear of overwhelming emotion that had slipped down your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice husky and tender, “you okay? That was... you were incredible.”
You nod, a small smile curving your lips as you lean into his touch, your body still humming with aftershocks. Slowly, you shift off his lap, your thighs quivering, and settling beside him on the rumpled sheets. His arm wraps around your waist immediately, pulling you close so your side presses against his, skin sticking slightly where his release has smeared between you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just lie there, hearts pounding in unison, listening to the rhythm of each other's breathing as it gradually evens out. Wooyoung's fingers trace idle patterns along your hip. You turn your head to look at him, taking in the flush on his cheeks, the way his dark hair clings to his forehead with sweat, and the vulnerability in his gaze that mirrors your own.
He eases out from the bed and grabs a warm cloth from the bathroom, cleaning you up with care, his touches lingering. He tosses the cloth aside and joins you under the covers. You cuddle your head onto his chest with your hand resting on his abdomen.
“I can't believe we're here,” you whisper finally, your voice thick with the weight of everything. “After all that pretending... it feels like a dream.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. “Not a dream. It’s as real as it gets.” His hand moves up to tangle in your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. “I kept thinking, during those early 'dates,' how much I wanted to just grab you and kiss you for real. Not for show. But I was scared you'd pull away.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow, gazing down at him. “I was scared too. Scared of feeling this much after what happened before. But you... you make me feel safe. Like I can let go.”
He covers your hand with his, guiding it to rest over his heart. “You do the same for me. Every time you smile at one of my dumb jokes, or when you lean into me during those movie nights... it chipped away at my walls.” He pauses, his expression turning serious, eyes searching yours. “I love you. Not the version we pretended to be. The real you - the one who overthinks everything, who always puts others before herself, who makes my world brighter just by being in it.”
Tears well up again, but they're happy ones, spilling over as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's not heated like before; it's gentle, tasting of salt and devotion. When you pull back, he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, his touch like a feather. “No more tears unless they're from laughing at me,” he teases lightly.
You laugh, a soft, watery sound, and settle back down, your head finding its place on his shoulder. The sheets are cool against your overheated skin now. Wooyoung shifts slightly, reaching for the edge of the comforter and pulling it up over both of you, cocooning you in warmth. But he doesn't rush into full cuddling yet - instead, he rolls onto his side to face you fully, one leg draping over yours in a lazy tangle.
“Tell me something,” he says, his fingers now exploring the curve of your spine, dipping into the dimples at the base of your back. “What's your favorite memory from us? The real ones, I mean.”
You think for a moment, your hand mirroring his, stroking along his side, feeling the rise and fall of his ribs. “That night at San's, after the games. We were all pretending everything was fine, but when you pulled me aside in the kitchen... you didn't say much, just held my hand and squeezed it.”
His eyes soften, and he nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I remember. You looked so tired, but strong. I wanted to hold you right there, tell everyone to leave so I could take care of you.” His hand pauses its tracing, resting flat against your lower back, pulling you closer. “Mine's the drive home after we confronted Seonghwa. You were quiet, staring out the window, and I thought I'd lost you. But then you turned to me, smiled that small smile, and said, 'Thanks for being my fake boyfriend.' I almost crashed the car laughing.”
Minutes stretch as you talk, voices low, bodies gradually relaxing into each other. You watch him, heart swelling at the tenderness, the way he meets your eyes every few seconds as if to check if you're comfortable. “You're too good to me,” you say softly, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.
He smiles. “Just getting started.” Crawling back under the covers, he draws you into his arms properly now, your head cuddling onto his chest, hand resting on his abdomen. The transition feels so natural.
“Stay with me tonight,” you say, nuzzling closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him.
“Every night,” he echoes, his arms tightening around you, fingers resuming their lazy traces over the skin on your back. The steady beat of his heart lulls you, as sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness.
You're in love with your coworker Hongjoong. Sort of. Not really. But, you like him, and your friends, San, Jongho, and Yunho, they hate him. They really hate him. He lives in a constant repetitive pursuit of stringing you along just to drop you all over again. When a company gala is announced, you're certain he'll ask you... Until you catch him with another girl. Again. Summer in the city, your friends form a plan, a fake boyfriend plan to make Hongjoong jealous, leaving you and Yunho to trudge around Manhattan under the sun to make it believable. Unspoken boundaries set in place six years ago get tested. Are you making it out of this with your best friend?
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ yunho x fem!reader - {30.8k words} don't read the warnings if you don't want spoilers! fake dating, idiots friends to lovers, enormous sweet tooth rotting plot, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, cussing, dirty talk, some of these guys are kind of mean at work, yunho's a sweetie, san and jongho are funny, smut warnings; p in v, oral if you squint, biting, spit if you squint, dom!jyh, cum inside, nip play, accidental exhibitionism, unprotected (do not do!)
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ happy valentines day mon! ✿ it's me, your secret valentine fic giver! i had so much fun writing this piece, and i had so much fun secretly learning about you (totally not creepy). you inspire originality, and i hope i conveyed a tiny bit of what you inspire others to invoke within themselves. you're so cool! (you'll get this after you read hehe). i'm so grateful to have become moots, friends, and to experience your art, your writing. you're truly an artist, and you bring so much joy here to the tumble community, i hope you never forget how loved and wanted you are here! hugs & kisses cool kid ✿ @03jyh23
thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for putting this event together ✿
✿ this is also a love letter to my favorite series created by my best friend @minkieater ✿ the city holds a very special place in my heart for a plethora of reasons i'll take up too much text space trying to explain. some of her characters pop up here, please go check out their story! i highly recommend it and all of it's mini spin off shotties. ily, t.
yun: JUST CAME ON.. I think the lady next to me on the subway can hear it ‘cause I turned it up all the way and she gave me this crazy look.. This music though.. Maybe it’ll help you feel better about your meeting.. Good luck……… See you at Dante’s later
*yun sent a song*
[ I Melt with You - Modern English ]
Finishing your hair in the foot long mirror above your bathroom sink, you tapped on the song with your pinky and tucked one more pin into the bun on your head. Whimsey filled the quiet where the only sound to be heard was the lullaby of the city outside of the cracked bathroom window. Open barely three inches, as far as it allowed, fresh summer air blew in with the pop of a siren, a car horn, people chattering below on the streets, above on their balcony.
Wiping your fingers under your eyes, settling on light makeup for the work day, your hips rocked to the beat, a poppy type song dipped in something angsty, teenage rebellion. You’ve heard this before, in some movie, you think, the two of you probably watched at some point which is how it came to circle through his music library.
A song for every mood, a song for every occasion, a song no matter the cause- Yunho had one for everything. You could see him now, headphones covering his ears, wrapping over his head, the wire tangling with his leather bag that hung over his shoulder and sat on his lap, a bag too frail and too old, but one he won’t rid of because it’s from the seventies.
Listen, Shug, you don’t get it…
He worked downtown at a record store part time when he wasn’t on the clock and running errands for his big named producer boss, Jag, the coolest, the raddest, most amazing Jag. After sorting records and analyzing set lists for local bands big and small, Yunho answered Jag’s calls, his messages, his damn pages, and disappeared for a few hours, returning with insane lore drops on the latest albums close to release, and who he caught kissing who in the lounge of Republic Records.
Capping the mascara tube, twisting it shut, you blinked at yourself in the mirror just as old as Yunho’s bag and groaned. Pursing your lips, longing to paint on a fun color, one the company you worked for wouldn’t allow, you took a deep breath and blew a raspberry.
Yunho could wear whatever he wanted. Yunho could dress like himself, he could wear the patterned sweaters you thrifted together, the crappy sneakers he’s certain John Lennon owned, ripped denim, silky slacks, he could wear it all and accessorize the crap out of himself. Earrings, layered necklaces, leather or braided bracelets, unique glasses changing each day, a hat or two somewhere in the rotation.
Trudging into your bedroom, not even two feet from the bathroom door, you reached into your shoebox of a closet and pulled out a grey pantsuit, one that hugged you in all the right places but killed the part of you that longed to wrap yourself in color.
Bopping your head to the song that repeated from the edge of the bathroom sink, you hummed along to the lyrics you half knew while you dressed yourself, ignoring the belts hanging around the bed post, or the funky sunglasses you bought several pairs of from a street festival last summer with Yunho and San.
Grey corduroy slacks, a white button down, and a grey vest concealing your chest. Fastening each button, securing the details in place, not that there were many, you twisted side to side in the full-length mirror you found on the street leaning against a mailbox, one San hung up for you, and loosed a breath.
“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” you sang to yourself, quietly, not wanting your neighbor to bang on his wall again, and picked up your phone.
Tapping out a message, letting your knees bounce to the music, a smile pricked onto your bare lips.
you: I know this song??? How am I singing this right now???
yun: It was in Valley Girl
Giving yourself a look in the mirror, you rolled your eyes and typed back.
you: That movie sucked, Yunho
He answered quick.
yun: ‘Cause you don’t have taste, Shug
you: I know the song!!!!!!
yun: Doesn’t count, you hate Valley Girl, grow a pair and watch it again, this time we’ll drink, then you’ll love it..
Pocketing your phone, the clock up in the corner taunting you as it ticked down to the minute you had to part with your sanctuary, you slipped into black heels two inches tall and slung your work appropriate purse over your shoulder, one that matched the olive of another suit you could’ve worn, the only color they’ve allowed you to toy with.
“There’s nothing you and I won’t do,” you sang, pulling a lip gloss from the pocket on the side, slicking it on while you bounced a bit more. Capping it, feeling your phone vibrate, you exchanged the lip gloss for your cell.
yun: Did it help.. The song..
Your smile grew.
you: Yes… it did, thank you
yun: :) :) :) :) :) :) the future’s open wide
A giggle escaped you, reading the lyrics he sent just as they came out of your phone. Swiping out of open apps, you silenced your phone and popped it back into your pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, the slightest bit of nerves making themselves known in your stomach, you hummed to yourself, the song he’d sent, the one you just shut off.
Every morning song he’s sent you, you’ve had to turn it off before leaving the apartment, to not disturb your neighbors, to not be a nuisance on the street though every corner came with at least three. You tucked him into your pocket, with your cell phone, with the song, and you became someone else entirely, someone he didn’t know, someone he didn’t get to see. A girl who wouldn’t listen to the songs he sent, and certainly not a girl who would enjoy them.
You became one he’d look at. One that he’d shoot subtle smirks at when the boss tripped over a word or two. A girl that laughed at every joke he told, even if it fell flat with whoever else stood around you. Hongjoong, he worked in the office beside yours, an assistant to a manager who worked beside a manager you assisted. Too often, since starting, the two of you had been assigned the same task at the same time. A coffee run, a folder to file, an exchange of documents for the others’ boss to look over.
From day one, Hongjoong in black, his slicked back hair, his perfectly pristine suits ironed and hung daily… You liked him. With his shoulders rolled backward, his posture uptight, he oozed charisma, a confidence that would certainly skyrocket him forward in no time. Graduating from NYU, pursuing post-grad degrees, some you didn’t understand, he walked and talked with a gust incomparable to most. A boss. A leader. The type of guy to lower his brows, soften his eyes, give you a reassuring smile and shake of the shoulder, and suddenly you’d feel as though you could take on the world as well.
Career wise, you knew it’d be best to keep him on your side, however…
With the mess of time and endless hours you spent together, you didn’t account that falling for the guy would ever become a possibility.
Yet here you were, wearing pantsuits you had to take a loan out to afford, and pinning your hair back in ways you’ve only seen older women in movies pull off. Another corporate daisy in the garden that was the office he frolicked about, dancing his fingers over the edges, the petals of each one, appeasing them all with that god damned wicked smile that came out with a wink.
Accidentally. Sometimes. You think. You hoped.
He drank champagne at corporate parties. A pocket watch hung from his slacks, and he’d sling his jacket over his shoulder to reveal what he’d been wearing was a tailored three piece he copped from Rodeo on vacation with his sister and her car company owning husband. With a pinky in the air he laughed in singular syllables as the department heads cracked their jokes you didn’t understand, most likely a guy thing, and he made sure to compliment every woman that breezed past him.
The kind of girls that had legs miles long, hair blown out and bouncing at their shoulders or below, low cut dresses front and back, diamonds dripping in the plunges front and back. They’d give a tight lipped smile, one you’ve practiced in the mirror before feeling utterly ridiculous, and he’d end up coercing one into the back of a car with a driver provided by the company. A car you arrived in together. A car you’ve never been the girl to go home in after the party was over.
You’d catch a cab, tipsy and groveling, and meet up with Yunho and San at Dante NYC, your favorite bar on MacDougal, the street of all things food and drinks. The owner knew the three of you, you’ve frequented Dante’s since your days at Columbia, escaping back down to the Village once the classes in Harlem were through.
Small, as places in the city were, Dante’s had a vibe none other could replicate. Tiny plates of just enough food to each order on your own and pass around to share, bartenders on shift before they scurried off to audition for a Broadway show that worked and lived for tips, offering heavy pours if you offered up your cash, an old Italian energy, a type of culture that Manhattan yearned to hold onto. It’s where you were off to tonight, Yunho and San in attendance, along with Jongho, another co-worker of yours, if you could convince him.
One of the last times he ended up at Dante’s with you three he drank his body weight in whiskey and sang a Celine Dion duet with the bartender, stripping down to his undershirt beneath his button down. San has the videos to prove it, and he isn’t afraid to use them if Jongho is acting snippy in the groupchat.
You’d be there in mere hours, drinking and singing along to the music Yunho would be in charge of, ordering plate after plate of whatever the chef felt like cooking up, hanging off of San’s broad shoulders and groaning about your boss with Jongho. You just had to make it through this mandatory meeting your entire branch was required to attend.
Slipping into a cab headed uptown, city sights whizzing by the window in the blink of an eye, you’re dropped off in front of a skyscraper, one unlabeled, but drilling into the fluffy summer clouds. Swiping your card, bidding your driver a good day, you stepped onto the concrete and smoothed out your shirt. Just as you were headed to grab the golden door handle that stretched across half the glass, a beefy bicep hooked into your elbow and yanked you backward.
“Ladies should never open the door for themselves,” his melodic voice tickled your skin.
Shooting him a tight smile, a slight roll of your eyes, you met his milk chocolate gaze and said, “Jongho, you are much too kind.”
Pulling the door open for you, he leaned down to mutter, “Just showing you how a gentleman should act towards a lady.” Guiding you inside, he ushered you through the lobby, throwing an inconspicuous wave toward the receptionist you’re pretty sure he’s slept with. “Holding doors, never letting them navigate uncharted territory on their own.”
“Pretty sure I’ve worked here for two and a half years,” you giggled, nodding toward a group of employees chatting by the elevators.
Heels clicking on the tiled floor, the sound echoing up into the tall ceilings carved with marble and painted like the sistine chapel, you took in everyone's appearance, them having done pretty much the same as you, taking themselves a bit more seriously this morning.
“This meeting is uncharted territory,” you mumbled, meeting eyes with a few colleagues plagued with tunnel vision. Jongho sighed, glancing about the room.
“I haven’t seen anyone this paranoid since- Ah! Mr. Song,” he cut himself off as the two of you turned a corner, running into a man in a tuxedo fit for a royal wedding. Bending in half some, a bow of sorts, you panicked and copied him, having no idea how to act in front of the man who traveled across the country to speak with your company.
Mr. Song gave you both a light smile, acknowledging the way Jongho held onto you, the way he escorted you through the building. Giving him a short look, one with a bit of pride, he said, “Good morning. I’ll see you soon.”
Jongho beamed. “Prompt as usual, Mr. Song.”
The older man flickered his gaze toward you, his eyes glazing over your body, ending on your hair. His smile had somewhat faded, and he didn’t give you as much as a sigh before he turned to continue his pursuit over the tile.
Scoffing to yourself, so Jongho could hear you, you shot him a glare as he slipped his arm out of yours. “Did you know he was going to be down here?” He nibbled the insides of his cheeks. “You asshole, you used me.” Situating your purse over your shoulder, you shoved him like a child and bounded ahead of him, straight for the stairs.
“Hey,” he spat, hurrying after you. Long strides brought you far, but he was quicker, catching onto the strap of your purse with the curl of a finger. “Hey, Shug,” he teased, pulling you to a complete stop.
Whirling around, you narrowed your eyes. “You can’t call me that.”
He smiled. “What’s it even mean? I’ve listened to him call you that for a year.”
Shrugging, you jiggled your head around. “Shug, like sugar, I dunno, you know him, it’s vintage,” you drug out in a deep voice to mimic Yunho’s.
Jongho eyed you curiously, how you fidgeted with your bag, how you glanced around like you were sharing a secret. “Okay,” he said softly with the smallest nod, gesturing toward the stairwell, “After you, y/n.”
“And after these are filed, we have to get those into his mailbox, and then Seonghwa has to sign these for you, I’ll get Wooyoung to sign these for me, and then we’re set,” Hongjoong flashed a dazzling smile your way, buckling your knees. He oozed charisma. He smelled of something musky and dark, something you yearned to taste on his smooth skin adorned with silver jewelry hanging off of him.
Taking the folder from his nimble fingers he wore rings on, you smirked. “And then we have to sit through that meeting.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes and leaned forward on the counter, dipping his shoulder toward you to nudge you. “Did you get a look at Mr. Song? I don't know whether or not to expect anything good from this.”
Inching closer to him, you narrowed your eyes. “You think we’re all fired? Forever?”
Matching your energy, a wickedness flashed in his eyes. “We’re gonna have to work the corners, he’ll rip everything away from us.”
“In that suit, with that attitude, he will,” you said, and he laughed.
He tapped you with a fist, sliding over more papers across the counter before reaching for two coffee cups. “We’re gonna be fine,” he mumbled, shaking his head as his smile softened, “I have an in.” Wiggling his brows, he flashed you a wink.
Gulping, keeping the heat that longed to rise to your cheeks at bay, you tilted your head. “Of course you do, Joong, I expected nothing less.”
He laughed again, filling up the cups in front of him. “It’s gonna be good, I was just messing with you.” Raising his gaze, intense and disarming, he winked again. “Hope you’ve got a dress that drips off of you like those pants, y/n.”
Jaw popping open, blinking entirely flustered, you took the coffee cup he held out for you as he passed by, and didn’t say much else aside from, “I-I do,” and you watched him strut away wearing that goddamn smirk. I do?
You thought to yourself, tearing through your closet in your brain. Dresses you owned, sure, but nothing compared to what you wore today– bland, grey, itchy fabric. A dress? You were going to need a dress? After today's meeting?
“Shit,” you whispered, collecting yourself, bounding for your boss’s office.
For hours you worked beside Seonghwa, Mr. Park, a tall man with broad yet slender shoulders and clean cut black hair pushed backward off of his forehead. In a sleek black suit, his jacket hanging on the back of his door, he wore the top two buttons of his shirt undone, giving you a peek of the chain that hung beneath the collar. Utterly stunning, but too old for you, you adored watching him subdue clients that sat in the chairs in front of his desk, both women and men falling under his spell, dazed by his beauty.
He treated you fairly, like anyone else in the office. Though you were his assistant, and you answered to his commands, you were his equal in a sense, and you felt nothing but comfortable in his presence.
Wooyoung on the other hand, Hongjoong's boss, he’s one to watch out for. Handsy after a glass of whiskey, married for what seems like a billion years, his wandering eyes have caught you in quiet hallways on the way back from the restroom more than once.
“Tell me, y/n,” Seonghwa sang from his chair, sitting back against the leather, tapping his hundred dollar pen on his desk, “What keeps you at this company?”
You puttered about his office, straightening books, organizing filing cabinets. Glancing at him over your shoulder, his gaze locked in on yours, curious, you hummed and brushed your hands against your pants. Itchy fabric.
“Pay is good,” you said, and he let out a loose laugh. Stepping toward his desk, you leaned over the back of one of the two chairs facing him. Eyes drawing over the nameplate in front of him, you smiled. “The people are fun.”
Seonghwa lowered his brows. “Are they?”
“Why do you ask?” Twisting your fingers together, you copied his face.
He sucked in a breath and let out a guttural sigh, surprising you. Standing to his feet, you stood up straight as well. “I’ve been thinking some thoughts.”
“As one does,” you joked, watching him pace along the back part of his office, staring out the floor length windows.
Turning to you, he sat down on the edge of a cabinet and flicked the pen between his fingers. “You don’t think some of them are too egotistical?” Pressing your hands to the front of your hips, your lips parted with a thought you weren’t sure you should say. Seonghwa noticed, dropping his chin. “You can tell me. Your secret is safe with me, they always are.”
Wooyoung popped into your head. The nights spent at company parties watching Hongjoong act like Mr. Big Dick popped in right next to him. Passing by Mr. Song on the first floor, the way he looked at you, looked down at you, popped next to him.
Seonghwa’s lips curled into a smile. “I can see it,” he sang, pointing at you with his pen, “You’re thinking it.”
“I am,” you whispered, scrunching your face up. “Am I going to get fired?”
He chuckled and walked around his desk, pushing off of the cabinet with his foot. “I’d never fire you, you’re much too good at what you do, and you don’t act like these… assholes.”
Your gasp made him snicker. “Mr. Park,” you teased.
“Please,” he shot you a look, “What do I say about that.”
You crossed your arms over your chest and lowered your chin. “Mr. Park, what do I say about that?”
Rolling his eyes, he walked by you to the other side of his office. In a silly voice, he mocked, “It’s not professional.”
“It’s not,” you said, tone stern, “Now sit down and think about what you’ve done.”
Seonghwa whirled himself around with a smile and listened to you. Plopping back into his chair after his circle around his space, he pulled himself under his desk and placed his elbows on it.
“After today's meeting,” he said quietly like the walls could talk, “We need to talk.”
Nerves struck through you. “Do you know what it’s about?”
Perking a brow, he shook his head.
“Hongjoong said he knows,” you said, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes more dramatically than before.
Splaying backward in his chair, he exclaimed, “Of course he does– see, this is what I mean!” Jolting forward with a wave of his hand, he groaned. “What did he tell you?”
Glancing at your feet, your cheeks flushed. Setting aside how your heart stuttered at the thought of his words, you mumbled, “That I’ll need a dress, or something.”
Seonghwa paused. Resting his hands over the wood of his desk, he cocked his head aside. “You still have a crush on him?”
“Seonghwa!” Heat blasted through your cheeks, the hot and cold too much to handle.
Your boss smiled. “Just checking. Is that why you won’t agree with me, that they’re assholes?”
Admitting it made it true, and you didn’t want it to be true.
Under his gaze, Hongjoong’s, you’ve never felt more valuable, like the work you did here mattered, like the punishing of yourself daily while you readied yourself in the morning was worth something. One day you’d be the girl climbing into the back of the car with him. One day he’d place his hand on the small of your back instead, he’d waltz you around hotel lobby’s, through ballrooms, he’d introduce you to men with big names you can’t pronounce…
“Y/n,” Seonghwa cooed.
You blinked. “Sorry, I just…”
He drug his tongue over his teeth, taking a deep breath. “What have I told you before?”
Your fingers curled under the vest you wore. Dropping your eyes to his desk, you muttered, “That good guys don’t work here.”
Seonghwa followed your eyes and dropped his to the desk. Tapping his pen a few times, he clicked his tongue and said, “Why don’t you break until we have to go sit in that room full of testosterone?”
Perking up a bit, you breathed, “Really?”
He huffed a laugh, gesturing to your purse hanging up on the wall. “Please. Go get a drink before we have to subject ourselves to nonsense.”
Taking yourself across his office, you slung your bag over your shoulder and rifled around in it for your cell phone. Giving him a crazy look, you said, “No drinking on the clock, it’s-”
“Unprofessional,” he said at the same time as you, bobbing his head. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
you: And then he said, do i own a dress that drips off of me like the pants i’m wearing
sannie: bro wants you, what the hell
yun: Gross.. objectifying you per usual, i’m not surprised in the slightest
you: not objectifying, thats wooyoung, hongjoong has never put his hands on me
sannie: but you want him toooooooooooooo
you: I do, god, he’s so smiley today too……….
yun: Are we still going to Dante’s or what..
you: Yes and Jongho is coming, he just doesn’t know it yet
sannie: FUCK YES
sannie: tonight we get him to sing whitney houston
you: ANNNND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
sannie: EEEE-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WILL ALLLLWAYS
you: LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU-WHOOOOOOOO
yun: Classic
“Typing a mile a minute,” his voice struck your skin like he doused you like ice cold water, “What’s so funny?” A flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale and long exhale. Cigarette smoke washed over you where you sat on the concrete bench of the corner park across the street from the company.
Dropping your phone face down in your lap, you folded your arms over yourself and shot him a look. “None-ya.”
Hongjoong grinned, sitting on the edge of the bench beside you. “Oh really,” he teased with a wiggle of his brow. “Texting your little boyfriend?”
Now ice cold water did wash over you. Sitting up a little straighter, you shook your head in a convincing way that hid the fact that you were desperate for him to know that you were very much single. “Not my boyfriend,” you moaned, “My friends.” Putting emphasis on the S, you reached for his cigarette.
Giving it up, he eyed your lips as they wrapped around the tip. “Insane.”
Blowing out the smoke, handing it back over to him, you crunched your brows in question.
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers and gave you half of a shrug. “That you’re single, that’s all.”
You wanted to squirm with how his eyes fell over you. You wanted to wriggle around, get a little friction between your legs by the seam of your pants, and then straddle him and get a public indecency charge. It sucked he could read it all over your body.
With a smirk, he took a drag of his smoke and met your eyes. “You got a dress or what?”
“I do,” you said.
You don’t, but you will.
“Good,” he crooned, sucking down another hit of his cigarette. “You ever been to a company gala before?”
Company gala. A Gala. Excitement bubbled within you. Asking you if you had a dress, asking you if you’ve ever attended a company gala…
“We started around the same time, Joong, do you think I ever have?” Teasing him, you snatched the cigarette from him and finished it, jabbing it into the concrete of the bench before flicking it into a nearby garbage can. “You’ve been to plenty, Mr. Mayor, okay?”
He laughed. Apparently you were funny today.
Crossing his legs, bouncing his foot, he shook his head as his smile grew. “I just know how to work them, sweetheart,” he crooned, and your insides did a cartwheel, “You could too if you’d just give it up.”
Your phone vibrated on your lap. Picking it up, you opened the message and smiled at it. “Give it up?” you asked, half paying attention. Typing back to Yunho, you giggled to yourself and pressed send.
Hongjoong, quicker than you, reached for your phone and pulled it from your hands before you had the chance to lock it.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, scooting toward him, scrambling for it, “Give that back.” Fighting you off with his elbow in your gut, he skimmed the message and laughed. This time instead of him laughing with you, you could feel it in your gut, he laughed at you.
“What the hell is a Shoog,” he curled his lip up, reading the text aloud. “Shoog, I don’t know about you but that song is stuck in my head, we can get Jongho to sing that one later instead, that’d be really funny.”
“It’s Shug,” you huffed, pushing at him, trying to reach for the cell he gripped, “It means sugar.”
Leaning into you, almost onto your chest entirely, his smile rested in a way you’ve never seen. Devious, but a little enticing. “Sounds like a boyfriend to me.”
“He’s not,” you almost shouted, catching your phone as he tossed it into your lap. Hongjoong used his body weight to rock onto his feet, brushing off his thighs from the concrete. “You have a problem if he is?”
Pursing his lips, cinching his brow, he scoffed. “The fuck you take me for, sweetheart? I don’t care who’s in your pants and who’s not.” Pointing at your phone, he jerked his head. “Loverboy has a nicer suit than me?”
Exclaiming aloud, shock evident on your face, you pressed your fingers between your brows. “What is going on?” Dropping your hands, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a sultry smirk. “Joong, what are you getting at here?”
He straightened his suit jacket, cocking his chin. “Nothing,” he said simply, nodding toward the building across the street. “I’ll see you inside. Meetings in ten.”
Without a response from you he left, strutting across the street and over the steps into the lobby. Sighing roughly, letting the sound regulate your nervous system from whatever that was, you picked up your phone.
yun: Shug I don’t know about you but that song is STUCK in my head.. We can get Jongho to sing that one later instead.. That’d be really funny..
A smile graced your lips.
you: I'd love that, I have been singing it all day… About to go into the meeting… wish me luck
yun: The store is dead.. You should skip it and come hang out with me..
yun: Kidding, good luck corporate candy, don’t let them eat you..
Men flooded the room. Whenever the company filed into the conference like this, bodies upon bodies, the realization that with more than one company across the country that there were more men just like this to crowd rooms…
The women were far and few between, in tight black dresses and high heels, with their hair on their heads like crowns. Make up done to the nines, their jewelry glittering underneath the harsh overhead lighting, they clung to their supervisors, the men they assisted, some of them arm in arm, waltzing through the conference room doors with their sharp jaws and pointed noses turned up.
You waddled beside Seonghwa, like a little duck, following the man that stood six foot tall around the room, smiling politely as he shook hands and introduced you to men who spared you a glance for no more than three seconds. After each round Seonghwa leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Assholes.”
He says your name properly, he doesn’t introduce you as his assistant, he introduces you as his colleague, his second, his right hand, a partner in crime of sorts, though most of the men didn’t find that one too funny. But, it made you laugh. And, to Seonghwa, that’s what he cared about.
He prefaced this meeting letting you know that he knows how it feels to be a little fish in a corporate ocean, let alone be a woman in a predominantly male field, to which he told you he doesn’t know, but he takes the time to understand. He had your back, he always has and he always will, which is why he favored your opinion on where to sit.
There were open seats beside higher ups visiting for the day, the ones that weren’t onstage. Some were beside the charismatic mouths that most tried to steal the attention of, beside Wooyoung and Hongjoong who laughed louder than all the mouths you could try to count.
Jongho sat toward the back, his chin tipped down, focused on his phone. On his own, his keeper elsewhere, he pressed his phone to his ear and babbled a mile a minute, letting his eyes scan the crowd. Meeting yours, he lit up, and his hand shot in the air. Giving him a meek wave, keeping your cool in front of your office's CEO that Seonghwa discussed matters with, you waited for him to finish, and then just as Mister Boss turned his back, you pointed at Jongho.
“Seats,” you offered.
Seonghwa gave you his soft smile, lifting his eyes to Jongho flinging his arm about. A gentle laugh pushed through his lips. “Sure.”
He would’ve sprawled across the chairs next to him if you didn’t hightail it over there. Weaving through men in suits, some side eyeing you but shaking Seonghwa’s hand, your smile grew as you got closer to Jongho.
“No, I gotta go,” he said into his phone, standing up to throw an arm around your back like the two of you didn’t bump into one another that morning, “I gotta go! San, she’s here, let me go.”
Gasping, you tore his phone out of his hand and pressed it to your ear. “Saaannie,” you sang, heart warming at the giggle that answered you, “Why are you not wooorking?”
Seonghwa shook Jongho's hand and slipped behind you into the seats, leaving one open in the middle for you. He greeted the man on the other side of him and fell into conversation.
San’s warm voice melted through the phone, “I’m on my way to go see Yuuunho.”
“Lucky, we just got into our meeting,” you huffed, plopping down next to Jongho who slung an arm around the back of your chair. “It’s full of men. Old men.” Seonghwa whipped his head of black hair around to give you a look. “Sorry,” you smiled, and laughed as his lip curled.
“Seonghwa’s there?” San sighed, “He’s so hot- Love your jacket! …No, you! …No, you!”
Crossing your legs, you sat backward against the seat cushion and Jongho’s arm. Sharing a glance with him, you muttered, “He’s making friends again.”
Jongho rolled his eyes, flicking his bangs from his forehead. “When is he not?”
You moved the phone between your ears, Jongho leaning in to have a listen. “It’s a store on Broadway… Broadway and 12th… By Ribalta… The Italian place! You’ve never been? …You have to go!”
“San,” Jongho said.
The men took their place onstage, squabbling with one another about who gets to sit where and who will speak first. Mr. Song, Mingi, the man who looked down on you this morning, with his chin held high he waltzed about the stage, like a celebrity, waving to those who were worthy.
“It’s really good, I swear… Ugh, I know, it’s like sometimes they try too hard to be authentic, trust me, babe, this one is worth it…”
“San,” you said.
Seonghwa and the man beside him focused forward as the room began to fall quiet.
“...It’s right next to it… The store… Yeah, but they’re limited to what they carry, so they might not have it in season right now–”
You and Jongho both sneered, “San!”
“What!”
“We have to go,” you breathed, wanting to laugh, but the pressure of the men above you literally and physically ate you alive. Putting the phone back in Jongho’s possession, you sucked in a breath and settled in your seat.
Jongho whispered into his phone, “Yes, yes, I’ll see you later… Dante’s? No, she didn’t tell me, but I’ll be there… Okay, okay… I will not sleepover… I don’t care what happened last time, I’m not– Goodbye!”
Mingi tapped on the mic connected to the podium, stepping up with a grin and thunderous applause. Your hands stayed folded on your lap. As did Jongho’s. As did Seonghwa’s.
You glanced at Jongho with a perked brow. “Last time?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Let it go.”
“You owe me for this morning,” you narrowed your eyes, and he copied you. “No, no, tell me, Mr. Misogyny.”
“Not Mr. Misogyny, fine,” he groaned, shifting in his seat to face you a bit more. The applause died down as he leaned into you, whispering, “The last time we went to Dante’s and I got shit faced, San was supposed to take me home.”
Furrowing your brow, not listening to Mingi’s opening greeting, you whispered, “Did he not take you home?”
Jongho’s eyes widened. “Oh, he took me home. And he stayed.”
Gasping internally, your smile spreading over your cheeks, you gripped his knee, digging your nails into his slacks. “Gay.”
He shot you a glare. “Bi.”
Rolling your eyes, you whispered, “San is gay, you are a typical bisexual New Yorker, you’re not special, we’re all bi here.”
He took a hand to his chest, clutching nonexistent pearls. “Ouch?”
Glancing to his hand that screamed gay, you popped your brows. “Mr. Misogyny.”
He threw his other hand toward you, whacking your arm. “Shut up!”
“Shut up, you shut-”
“Children,” Seonghwa scolded with a smile, breathing through a laugh at how you and Jongho froze to look at him, arms tangled, faces scrunched up.
Pulling yourselves into your own seats like toddlers, you set your focus forward and pursed your lips. Mr. Song went on and on about the success of his company, how proud he is of how his success has spread nationwide, that he’s grateful to have such strong men like himself working beneath him, for him. You could hear how Seonghwa’s eyes rolled. You couldn’t wait to tell Yunho all of this.
Scanning the room, the lot of bald men and those with receding hairlines eating up every word though it all came out extremely backhanded, your eyes land on Hongjoong, snickering with Wooyoung, the two acting as though Mingi spoke directly to them.
Hongjoong sat at the end of the row, on the section opposite of yours. His legs were crossed, his slacks rising above his ankle to flash his designer socks. He wore no suit jacket, just his button down, a statement to the men around him, that he didn’t need to act or present himself like they did, that he was better than them. He sat here with ease, a relaxed posture, both him and Wooyoung simply waiting for the words to be said, and once they were, he sat forward with a gust of excitement, celebrating with the rest of them. But, then he turned over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on you like he’d kept tabs on where you were sitting.
Mingi announced, “That’s why we’ll be throwing a Harmony Foundation Gala, for all of our branches, right here in Manhattan. You’re all invited. Open bars, the finest catering, exquisite music, hours upon hours of not working,” he added coyly, and the room lost their minds, “And you will all receive a plus one.”
Seonghwa muttered to the man beside him, not surprised in the slightest that something of the sort would occur. Neither of them seemed to be excited, unlike the rest of the men who started a riot, shouting across the room to one another, elbowing each other in the guts with grins on their faces.
Jongho sighed heavily. “Well, this should be fun.”
“It should,” you mumbled, staring back at Hongjoong who shot you a wink. “This is why I need a dress.”
“Huh?” he asked, resting an elbow on your shoulder, following your eyeline to Hongjoong who turned away once he’d been caught. Jongho groaned, “Oh no.”
“He told me I need a dress,” you almost whispered. “I think he’s gonna ask me to the gala.”
Jongho sucked in a breath, one he didn’t seem to release. Glancing between you and the back of Hongjong's head, he stuttered, “Uh, really? How do you know? We just found out.”
“He knew about it,” you shook your head, “He fucking knew about it.”
Seonghwa tapped you with the back of his hand. “You were right.”
“I was,” you whispered. “He was.” Your belly bubbled with excitement, your heart beating three times faster than normal. You needed a dress, a good one, a gorgeous one. You had to schedule a hair appointment, a nail appointment, a facial, or something, whatever else it is that these other girls did before these kinds of parties, a wax, a bikini wax, Brazilian wax! And your eyebrows, you needed those done too, and maybe your face, just in case, you haven’t checked out those details in a while–
“New shoes,” you uttered out loud, and Jongho laughed.
Snapping your neck to look at him, he nearly leapt backward. “Christ,” he gasped, his hand reaching up for those non-gay pearls once again, “What just happened?”
You stood up abruptly, grasping the bottom of your vest. “I have so much to do.”
Seonghwa hooked a finger in the back of your vest by the collar of your shirt and pulled you back down. “He’s not done, you can buy your dress later.”
“And then he turned around,” you shouted over the music, hands splaying across the wooden table littered with empty drinks. San leaned forward, his broad chest bumping the table, rattling the glasses. Jongho sat beside him sucking on a straw making an awful sound. Yunho sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, his face upturned. “And he looked at me.”
San threw himself backward with a gasp, his biceps rippling under the short sleeves of the tight black t-shirt. “No he did not,” he squawked, slapping a hand to Jongho’s shoulder, making the straw pop out of his mouth and his eyebrows skyrocket.
“He did,” he teased, rolling his eyes, setting the cup down on the table with a clang. Putting his elbows on the wood, he put his chin in his hands and eyed Yunho. “What do you make of all this?”
Kicking his foot around, the one crossed over his knee, he shrugged. “I think he’s a dick.” He held a finger up toward you just as a whine almost slipped out of you. Giving you a look from behind grey thin rimmed glasses, he said, “You deserve better, I don’t know why you’re chasing him.”
San, rubbing the back of his neck, slinging an arm around Jongho’s chair, muttered, “Mr. Big Dick…”
Yunho groaned, “Oh, great.” Jongho scoffed, nudging San as Yunho sat forward for his empty cup and knocked back the little bit at the bottom, and a few ice chips. Pushing them around with his tongue, he shook his head and leaned into you. “You can do better, Shug.”
Jongho kicked your leg under the table.
“Ugh,” groaning aloud, you shot a hand toward San, “You get it, don’t you?”
He picked the cherry out of his glass and popped it between his teeth. “I do, trust me, he’s packin’, but…” His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging over to Yunho.
Looking at him, then looking back at San, you swatted two hands at Yunho and groaned again. “But, what!”
“Nothing,” he shouted, twisting his lips into a smile. “We need another round, Jongho’s not drunk enough.” Yunho threw a hand in the air to call over the waitress who has served you more than once.
Jongho tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. “Why me? Why me.”
San slung himself around the boy in a hoodie much too heavy for the summer heat. “Because, pretty boy, we like to hear you sing.”
“I can’t sing.” About half the bar stopped to glare at him, even the waitress who took Yunho’s order.
Grabbing his cheeks, San squished them and brought his lips dangerously close. “So humble, so cute.”
“Enough,” Jongho shrugged him off, poking a finger into his bicep to push him away with a hysterical glare.
San’s eyes dropped to the hoodie. “That’s coming off in an hour.”
Sliding your hand across the table, you raised a pinky for him to hook with his. “I’ll take that bet.”
Exchanging wicked grins, San shook your hand around. “Loser has to let the winner take him home.” Jongho sighed, then smiled up at the waitress who clicked her pen.
“Bet,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose.
“Thanks so much,” Yunho smized, the girl waltzing away with a pep in her step. Facing the table, he pushed his hair back off of his forehead and released a breath. “You guys are nuts.” Pouting, you propped an elbow on his bare shoulder exposed by the cut off tee he wore. He set his jaw in place, narrowed his eyes, and took his time looking at you, before he flickered his eyes over to San, then Jongho. “I give it a half hour.”
San, cracking a laugh, grabbed onto Jongho once again and shook him around, the two getting into a minor fistfight as San tried to take the hoodie off of him now.
Giggling, letting your bodyweight tip more onto Yunho, you caught his eye and gave him a small smile. Nodding toward where the waitress plugged in your order, you mumbled, “She was cute.”
He didn’t have to look at who you were talking about to know. Locked in on you, he smirked. “She’s taken.”
“How do you know that? You asked her already, didn’t you?”
He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Breaking his gaze from yours, he nodded toward the corner of the bar where a scrawny boy with blonde hair to his shoulders sat, one too pretty to even be a boy, so maybe he wasn’t. Dressed in a large white t-shirt and jeans way too big for his hips, he stared out the window with wide brown eyes as he guzzled his drink. Oblivious, almost, until the waitress popped in front of him and his cheeks broke out with the widest smile and most perfect teeth.
“Cute,” you whispered, and Yunho looked at you. You watched as the boy took the girl's hands and pulled her closer, his eyes full of galaxies as he listened to her speak. He asked her a question and she blushed, glancing over her shoulder with a laugh as if to see if anyone else had heard him. “Really cute. They look young.”
Yunho considered it, tilting his head. “Not much younger than us.”
You met his eyes. “You aren’t even looking at them.”
“I don’t have to,” he said quietly. Not even the way Jongho laughed at San could break his gaze. “Do you really like Hongjoong?” He wore a singular necklace today, it hung over the old band shirt he wore, shaped like a star, or some sort of sun. Reaching for it, you pulled your lips to the side and messed with the points hanging on the chain.
“I think I do,” you said.
“You think you do?”
Looking at him, you said, “I do.”
He flashed you a lazy smile. “You sure?” Tossing his necklace at his chest, ignoring how it bounced off, you shoved away from him with a huff. He twisted in his chair, following you, leaning into you instead. “No, no, I’m just asking. Are you sure?” One of his elbows rested on the back of his chair, the other on the edge of the table. He caged you in, his size incredible.
Folding your arms around yourself, now wearing a cropped tank and ripped jeans, you blinked up at him and shrugged. “I think so.”
“Well,” he breathed through a laugh, “As long as you think so.”
“Stop,” you whined, nudging him.
“No, I get it,” he nodded, tipping his chin up, “Mr. Big Dick, I’d like him too, he’s a hot shot.”
“You’re dumb,” you mumbled, facing the table, turning a shoulder toward him. He took that as an invitation to lean in and prop his elbow on it. “Get off’a me-”
“Shug,” he said just above a whisper, stopping you from pushing him away. He had your arm in his grip, gentle, but strong. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, you’ve told us so much about him, Jongho doesn’t like him, he doesn’t seem like a good guy, that’s all.”
“What do you know?” Shrugging again, he let you go, but then grabbed your ankle with his feet and trapped it. Glaring at him, he smiled back.
“I know you,” he said, “And I know that you’d rather share a cigarette with a stranger and then buy a beer for a bum on the street, clink your glasses together and talk about the ways of the world, rather than become a CEO’s wife.” Averting your gaze to his chest, his necklace, you listened to him. “You think he’d wanna come here and see how long it takes for Jongho to strip?”
“Hey,” Jongho whined, giving you both a mere glance before San took his attention back.
“You think he’d wanna sit here and try every drink on the menu? Will he tip our waitress too much ‘cause he knows what it's like to struggle? Will he think it's funny that you have to jump once on the floorboard by the lightswitch in your kitchen otherwise the light won’t turn on?”
Blinking up at him, you muttered, “Why the lesson?”
He shrugged, glancing around the bar before he said, “I just don’t want you to forget who you are. I’ve known you for six years, Shug. This crush is growing, I don’t want you to lose yourself in the process. If you wanna sleep with him, sleep with him,” you both laughed, “Just don’t get attached ‘cause he doesn’t seem like the guy to hold onto a girl.”
You twisted around to face him again, pulling your leg free from his hold, though now your knees were nestled between his. Closing them in, capturing you, he flashed you a smile.
Perking a brow, you glanced behind him, though you could barely see over his shoulders. “And you should sleep with the waitress.”
Yunho turned around briefly, the sight of the waitress and the blonde boy making eyes at each other making him hum his disapproval. “Think that little guy does just fine,” he said, turning back toward you.
Comfortably letting life occur around you, you and Yunho shared a smile, one that faded as your eyes danced over the other's face. Six years you’ve shared, one of the first friends you made after your move to Manhattan, the cool guy in the record store you stumbled into looking for new wall decor.
San was a bonus, his roommate, a packaged deal those two. You guys clicked in an instant, sharing interests, music taste, a love for the city and all that it offered. By your third visit into the store he was inviting you out for drinks that weekend. Surprised when you asked San to join, he stuttered a few times, but agreed, mumbling something about you all getting to know one another better. Six years and a Jongho later, here you were.
Pulling your eyes off of him, you notice that the next round of drinks had been dropped off and that San and Jongho were halfway done theirs, staring at you two. Sucking in a breath, you swiveled around in your chair, and Yunho did the same, ignoring how the boys ping ponged their stare between either of you.
“What?” you snapped, reaching for your drink. Yunho pinched his brow and sipped his beer. San seemed to say something to him telepathically, but everyone refused to acknowledge it.
“Anyways,” Yunho cleared his throat, cocking his chin at Jongho and his hoodie, “Off, Choi.”
With one arm wrapped around your shoulders, Yunho kicked his feet in front of him with each step, laughing while he sang aloud and you kicked your feet with him. Smiles wide, drunken laughter bouncing off of the hot concrete into the night sky, San swaggered a few steps in front of you with Jongho under his arm.
Tossing a hand in the air, swaying into your side, throwing you off balance, Yunho sang, “I’ll stop the world-”
“And melt with you!” Jongho slurred, trying to escape San’s hold, but if he did he’d stumble over his own feet and almost fall on his face like he did five minutes ago.
“You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time,” San’s voice was muffled, Jongho grabbed him as soon as his mouth opened and tried to kiss him.
Yunho, throwing his head back with a laugh that echoed down Bleeker Street, he squeezed you into him and sang, “There’s nothing you and I won’t do!” Hitting you with a grin, he groaned. “It’s so good, it’s so good.”
Bumping his hip with yours as the four of you came to a stop at the corner of 6th Avenue, your tipsy smile made him laugh. “This’ll be your song for the entire next week.”
Dipping down, his nose almost touched yours. “Until-”
“Something makes me feel better than this,” you said at the same time as him, widening your eyes.
Leaning into his hold, letting him balance you, you released a ragged sigh. “I needed this,” you yawned, snaking an arm around his waist for stability. Your several drinks had caught up to you, you needed your sweatpants and your bed. “I needed you.”
He smiled, meeting your gaze, his eyes heavy from the liquor, deeper than ever. “You did?”
Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his bare side, you smiled something lazy and giggled. Then, you giggled again as Jongho almost tripped up the curb across the street. “I did,” you said with a sure nod, following close behind the boys heading up Bleeker.
Yunho snapped his head up and pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile.
Nudging him, you asked, “What?”
He shook his head, popping out his bottom lip. “Nothing.”
Your laugh projected down the street, “What!?”
“Nothing!”
Digging a finger up into his armpit he clamped down with a cackle, you dug your finger into his sides, in the cut outs of his shirt, bellowing with cries of success as he wriggled around and bent in half. “Tell me! Tell me!” San and Jongho were several steps ahead now, San raking his fingers through Jongho’s hair where his head sat on his shoulder.
Yunho lifted a knee, his whines and rampant giggles a white flag, and he tried to push you off of him. Clamping yourself to his front, your chests pressed together, both hands in the cut outs of his shirt, you had him. His weakness.
“C’mon,” you teased, grabbing him, messing with him, tickling him, all too funny really. “Tell me, tell me, tell me–”
He snapped straight up and grabbed onto your shoulders, pulling you into him as his face wiped clean. “Christ,” he muttered, spinning to the side. His arms slid around your back, holding you tight. Fear shooting through you, you grabbed onto his biceps and whipped your head around, searching for the source of his worry. Behind you, a door to a restaurant had swung open, one that would’ve hit you if Yunho didn’t have several inches on you and hadn’t seen the people coming.
“Excuse us,” a familiar voice slurred. Jung Wooyoung.
Which meant there was the possibility that–
“Hey, sweetheart.” Hongjoong.
Shit. Shit.
Heart lodging in your throat, you shoved Yunho away and brushed your hands over your front. In a cropped tee and ripped jeans you couldn’t believe you were running into him right now, while you looked like this, after several drinks. Crooked hair on your head, a necklace that had spun around the wrong way, the makeup you had put on after work that was now smeared, your lipstick worn in the middle. Yunho stumbled back a step, you didn’t have much power to move him, but your shove threw him off. Clamping his hands to his stomach, he tangled his brows and glared at you.
“Oh,” Hongjoong crooned, looking at Yunho before he smirked at you, “Sorry, I mean, Shug.” He wore what he had on in the office today, black slacks and his white button down that now had more buttons undone. Wherever his suit jacket had gone, you didn’t want to know. The bare skin of his chest made your mouth water.
A woman stepped out of the restaurant in tall heels and a short dress, complaining about the service, or the hostess, or the bathrooms, you couldn’t make much out over the heat of Hongjoong's stare. She tucked herself into Wooyoung's arm that he held out for her, a cigarette now hanging from his lips, one she reached around in his front pocket for a lighter to light it for him. She was handsy, grabbing something else with a smile before she fished the lighter out. Looking up at them, Wooyoung perked a brow, staring at you, catching you watching them.
“What’d you call her?” Yunho asked Hongjoong, cocking his head aside.
That wicked fucking smile. “Shug,” fell from his lips as smooth as the liquor you’re certain they serve inside this five star joint, “That a problem?”
Yunho narrowed his eyes. “What’s your problem?”
By the time you ripped your eyes off of Wooyoung and his girl you had tuned back into what you stood in the middle of.
“My problem?” Hongjoong laughed, “I don’t have a problem, Stilts.”
Yunho scoffed, making the face he made before his anger overcame him. It never usually happened this fast. This was weird.
Yunho took a step toward him, toward you. “Walk away, Shrimp.”
Holding up a hand, pressing it to his chest, you screwed your brows up and gave them both a look. “Stilts, Shrimp… Grow up, what fucking year is it?”
Hongjoong, surprised, snickered, “What a mouth, Shug!”
“Shut up,” Yunho lunged, but you held him back.
“C’mon,” Hongjoong sized, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “You like that old-timey shit don’t you? Play along, Doll, we could have some fun, go to the hop and shake a leg before we have a shag–”
Yunho moved you aside in a blink, lunging for Hongjoong, pushing at his chest with both hands, sending him backward a few steps. “Walk away.”
“Watch yourself,” Wooyoung said, voice steady. He had his phone in his hand already dialed to 911. All he had to do was push the button.
Shoving yourself through the middle of the boys, you swatted at his wrist. “Okay, too far.”
He winked at you, puffing on his cigarette. “He taking you home?” he asked, nodding at Yunho.
Giving his girl a look, she didn’t seem to care. Muttering, “Oh my god,” you turned around and grabbed onto Yunho’s arm, tugging him away from Hongjoong. “Let it go, let’s just leave.” Glancing over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes at Hongjoong who still challenged Yunho. “Leave.”
His eyes glazed over to you, up and down your body, his tongue dragging over the flash of his white teeth. “Not your boyfriend,” he nodded, his eyes fluttering closed for all of two seconds, “Right. See you on Monday, y/n.” The three skipped across the street in the opposite direction. Hongjoong didn’t give you another look, but Wooyoung did, his smirk evident.
Shivering in the summer heat, his eyes making your skin crawl, you wrapped your arms around yourself and started down the sidewalk, following Jongho and San who were long gone.
“Hey,” Yunho breathed, hurrying after you, your pace quick. He reached for your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “Hey,” he said, louder, “You mad at me?”
Bounding over a cross street, flicking your head in both directions, you didn’t bother to look at him. “No,” you spat, then shook your head, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You sped up, your feet powered by your stomach that turned in cartwheels, and not the good kind. “I don’t know, Yunho.”
He grabbed onto your shoulder again, and this time you reached a hand up to pull him off, spinning on your heels to face him. Distraught, his face screwed up, he shook his head and tossed his hands out at his sides. “What’d I do?”
You let out one laugh. “Are you kidding me?” Barely moving, all he did was shake his head about. “Oh my god,” you groaned, twisting around to continue your race home.
“No,” he huffed, grabbing onto you to spin you back around, “What’d I do?”
For the last time, you swatted him away. “You really had to put your hands on him?” Yunho rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “I get you don’t like him, but we just talked about this, I do.”
“Even after what he said,” Yunho grumbled, eyeing the buildings on the street behind you, “Sure, you still like him.”
“He was kidding,” you said matter-of-factly, holding up a hand.
“Sure he was,” he said, raising both of his brows, “His boss was too, right? Kidding just like he was at the holiday party this past Christmas when he grabbed your ass?”
“He was drunk, he was–”
Yunho threw his hands up, his voice echoing down the street, “You’re making shit excuses for them, Shug!”
“It’s not excuses, it’s–”
“It’s what,” he slouched, tucking his hands behind his back, knitting his brows together over his eyes, “Tell me what it is. These guys taking advantage of you, for what? You tell Mr. Park they do all this? Speak to you like this? Put their hands on you? What would he say? What would he do?” He’d have them all fired. Or, he’d try.
He even asked you earlier today, if you thought they were all assholes, if you had an issue with them, as if he knew everything already and had been waiting for you to admit it. Even if he tried to help you, the higher ups wouldn’t do a thing. Shrinking into yourself, pulling fistfuls of denim into your hands, you stared at the concrete under your boots.
Gorgeous he was. Hongjoong. Even when filthy words came out of his mouth, you wanted nothing more than for him to follow through. Everything he had given you all day, the closest you’ve come to him giving you the attention you’ve always wanted from him, he seemed to confirm it all in the filthy words he just said to you. Go to the hop and shake a leg before you have a shag. Cringe worthy, entirely. You wanted to laugh and groan and never hear them again, but what if they were true?
The company gala announced at the meeting was a month away. All of his cohort nagging of get a dress, do you have a dress, and his hints of asking you if you’ve ever been to a gala, or if you had a boyfriend. Even the way he looked at you after the announcement…
He was going to ask you. There was no way in hell that he was not asking you. But with how Yunho just acted like he had to protect you from him, it could’ve screwed everything up.
Lifting your chin, meeting his gaze, you gulped and shook your head. “Let it go,” you mumbled, and his posture admitted defeat. Though it hurt your heart, you said, “I like him, and I want to go to this gala with him. I know, I see it, I hear it, but I just… Maybe I need actual rejection to get over him, I don’t know, but I… I like him. Let me do this.”
Yunho clenched his jaw. Averting his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. Starting down the street, Yunho kept in time with your steps. After a minute or two of quiet, you looked up at him and asked, “You staying over?”
He didn’t smile, but he looked as if he wanted to. “Course.”
Rejection came sooner than expected. Standing at the coffee counter with two cups in your hands, at a bright nine thirty seven in the morning, you watched Hongjoong push a blonde against the wall down a hallway. Curling a finger beneath her chin, tipping her up to look down at her, his lips curled, and they spoke slowly, and she ate it up. Her slow blinks, her pouty lips parting, the lusty nods of her head.
He kissed her. Their hands slipped lower, exploring parts of them they’ve already seemed to touch, like their kiss. One practiced, one rehearsed, for a long time. An extended period of time. The way her hands roamed his back, over the curve of his ass, his hips, his thighs, up the front of his belly and down to his– Nah.
Placing both cups down, you straightened the crisp blouse you had pulled on this morning, one that you thought emphasized your curves like the dress on that blonde, and darted back into Seonghwa’s office, pressing your back to the door after slamming it shut. It hurt. It shouldn’t hurt, you’ve watched him do this with several other girls before, yet your heart had been pierced with something sharp.
Seonghwa sat at his desk, twirling his pen between his fingers. With one leg crossed, he sat backward on the leather, eyeing you curiously. “You do not look happy,” he said. Throat tightening, you shook your head. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “You feel okay? I can get through today alone if you need to go home.” You shook your head again, and he laughed to himself. “What happened out there that got you glued to our door?”
“Nothing,” you squeaked.
Unconvinced, he smiled. “One of these days you’re going to tell me the truth,” he said, “Or, I’m hiring you a body guard.”
“No,” you sighed, pushing off the door, stepping closer to his desk. “That hasn’t happened since–” Cutting yourself off, his brows skyrocketed.
“Continue,” he gasped, “Since?”
Raising a finger, you calculated your words, and sighed once more. “I’ll tell you later.”
Seonghwa studied you, his soft eyes sharp, analyzing you from tone to body language. “I’ll go get our coffee,” he said, knowing you didn’t want to go back out there, “Then we can discuss. Get comfy.”
“Wait,” you almost shouted as he grasped the armrests of his chair to stand up, “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
Settling back down, he tilted his head. “Apology not needed,” he said gently, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Just… needed a breather.”
Seonghwa asked, “From?”
Four knocks sounded on the door. Sharing a look with your boss, he gave a tentative, “Come in,” and when the door swung open, your heart sank to your knees.
Holding onto two coffee cups, the cups you left behind, Hongjoong, with a grin across his face, stepped inside and held them up. “You left these behind,” he said, breezing past you to pop them on Seonghwa’s desk.
“Thanks,” Seonghwa said through his teeth.
Hongjoong held a hand toward him. “Don’t mention it, please,” he chortled, adjusting the collar of his shirt. There was lipstick on it. Facing you, he cocked his chin up. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You good?”
Thinning your lips, unable to look at him for longer than a second, you hummed, “Mhm.”
“Think she might be coming down with something,” he pouted, glancing at Seonghwa, “She was out partying with her boys all weekend.”
Scoffing aloud, jaw falling open, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a curve of his lips. Seonghwa sighed, reaching for his cup of coffee, not entertaining him.
On his way to the door, Hongjoong leaned into you. “Might want to find a date to that gala soon, Shug,” he sneered. “There’s not many left.”
“There’s not many left.”
San threw himself forward into the table, glasses rattling. “No.”
Copying him, eyes widening, you shouted, “Yes!”
“Asshole,” Jongho stated, hands palms up on the table.
Yunho, pressed to the back of his chair beside you, drug his fingers over his face, rubbing his eyes before he uttered a quiet, “Yeah.”
Knocking back the rest of your drink, slamming it to the wood, you threw a hand over the glasses graveyard before you and your friends and shook your head violently. “He’s… a jerk! That’s it. He sucks!” San, Jongho, and Yunho, they shared a glance before they turned toward you slowly. Squeezing your eyes shut, tightening your hand into a fist, you sighed heavily. “I mean it.”
Jongho asked, “Do you?”
“No,” you breathed, slumping over. Opening your eyes, you drug your hands over your cheeks. “I like him. Damn!” You pounded your fist on the table, glasses rattling again. Yunho rolled his eyes. “But, he sucks.”
“We’ve been trying to–”
“Yunho,” you snapped, pointing your eyes toward him, “I know.”
He screwed up his face and held open his arms in a shrug, his oversized t-shirt dripping off of him like water. “I’m just saying. It’s been all this time, and he’s done this to you so many times.”
Sucking in a breath, one big and dramatic, you leaned back in your chair and smoothed your hands over your thighs to grip your knees. “He has,” you mumbled, recounting the numerous times Hongjoong has flaunted a woman in front of you. “I just… I thought this time… He meant it.”
San downed the rest of his drink and popped his brows. “The bar is low.”
Jongho curled his lip. “The bar is in hell.”
Yunho stared at the table. “Satan is using the bar to hang his laundry.”
Groaning aloud, tipping your chin back, you eased the ache between your lungs with another deep breath.
He meant it. He had to have meant it. You were different from any of the other women he entertained, you were you. Insanely more fun, and interesting, and far from plastic, far from a giggle at every joke kind of girl just because he has money. He had to have meant it, all these insinuations toward the gala, toward taking you, and making sure you were prepared, and had a dress, and a date. You had him. Until…
Snapping your head forward, you twisted in your chair, toward Yunho, who shot you the world's weirdest look. Jongho furrowed his brows and swatted at San’s hand that tried to swipe his half full beer, San who also stared at the two of you, curious. Yunho stared at you, into your eyes, focused, analyzing. An attempt to read your mind, you think.
And then it clicked.
He erupted, hands flying, voice raising. “Oh no,” he shouted, flinging himself around in his chair to face you, “No, no, no! No! I did not do this! This did not happen ‘cause of what I did, Shug, don’t you dare.”
San and Jongho both shouted, “What did you do?”
Gritting your teeth, you whined, then said, “He touched him.”
San gasped. Jongho, slightly alarmed, slightly disgusted, muttered a quiet, “Whaaa–”
Yunho glared at him. “Not like that.”
“Then how?” San asked, successfully grabbing Jongho’s beer, guzzling it down.
Placing your hands flat on the table, you sat up straight and parted your lips, though Yunho begged you not to. “Friday night, when we all left, you two made it back to your apartment first, you left us behind, and we just so happened to run into Hongjoong.”
“And Wooyoung, and his wife,” Yunho added, his tone flat and unamused.
“Not important,” you brushed off.
Yunho’s eyes shot open wide. “Yes important, he would’ve abducted you if I wasn’t there.”
“Hongjoong or Wooyoung?” Jongho asked.
Yunho said, “Wooyoung.”
San elbowed Jongho. “She wants Hongjoong to abduct her.”
“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”
Jongho’s jaw popped open. San pulled his lips together before hiding behind his beer, sipping it as his eyes drew over to you.
Cocking your head to the side, you narrowed your eyes. Yunho dropped his hands and looked at you, the face of normal, of patience. Glancing at the table, at the empty glasses in front of him, counting one, two, three, four… Okay.
“You’re drunk,” you said, facing the table and San and Jongho’s disappointment. “He was making jokes, Hongjoong, and he just so happened to get in our way, and between us, and–”
“And I wasn’t having it,” Yunho swung a hand about, “He acted like he had some major claim over you or something, I wasn’t gonna take that.”
Squinting at him, you asked, “And, what? You have ownership over me?”
He snipped, “What?” Facing you, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Sounds like it,” you huffed, giving a look to San. “You heard my whole thing about him that night, how it was possible he wanted to go to the gala with me, and I told you, I like him, and when we run into him, you ruin it.”
“He ruined it himself,” Yunho argued, his hands flying, “If he didn’t get jealous and try to piss on you to claim his territory, I would’ve never snapped. You’re not an object to be won, that’s how they look at women, that’s not you.”
Opening your mouth to fight back, Jongho sat forward and slung a hand between you. “Hang on,” he said quickly, taking his time to look at each of you.
Silence fell, though the bar moved around you, tables getting their orders, the blonde boy and the waitress whispering on barstools, faint music pumping in the background. Jongho exchanged something with San, a look that spoke to only them, and in seconds San broke out into a toothy grin.
Jongho said to you, “Hongjoong said something fucked up to you.” The three of them waited, anticipation on their tongues.
Shrugging, you muttered, “I mean, yeah, I guess it was fucked up.”
San continued before Yunho could air his grievances, “And when Yunho stood up for you, it pissed Hongjoong off?”
Giving your best friend the tiniest of glances, you shrugged again. “Yeah?”
San and Jongho both snickered and faced one another, slapping their hands together. “It’ll work,” they muttered to one another, “It’s going to work. It’s perfect, isn’t it? How did we not see this before? He’s so stupid, he won’t see it coming, he’ll be so pissed, he’ll–”
Yunho waved a hand in front of them. “Hello!?” The boys whirled around, taking in your shared confusion.
“What’s going on?” you asked as the waitress appeared at the end of your table, ready for the four of you to order another round.
San smized, mischief in his eyes, his gaze flickering from Yunho, to you. “You’re gonna win this. We’re gonna play his game.”
Four knocks sounded at your door. Timid knocks. Knocks he’s never made before. Usually they’re loud, and obnoxious, and a little excited, like the introduction to a Led Zeppelin song. This time they were any John Denver song ever to exist. Stomping through your apartment in wedged strappy sandals, you grumbled to yourself and yanked the door open, unable to believe he wasn’t going to pretend to be happy about this predicament when he’s the one who got himself here in the first place.
“We won’t have to do this,” is the first thing to leave his mouth before you get a word in. Dressed in denim torn to shreds showcasing his knobby knees and the length of his legs, the cropped black t-shirt he had pulled over his head hung just at the belt, if he had worn one. Tiny chains wrapped around the base of his neck, various golds and silvers wound together in mismatched plaits. His hair hung over his eyes, a bit shaggy today, wavy and natural.
“I don’t, but you do,” you said with disdain.
Following you into your apartment, pushing the door shut, Yunho heaved a dramatic sigh. “But, if you’re not comfortable…”
Uncapping a lipstick, you wandered into the bathroom to glide it over your lips, a shade of pink to go with the stripes on your mini skirt. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?”
He appeared in the doorway, just as tall as it, leaning against the frame. Stretching one arm over his head, he made a sound while he thought, and opted to say, “I dunno, cause it’s me?”
Smacking your lips together, dropping the lipstick into the makeup bag on the shelf over the toilet, you shot him a look through the mirror. “It’s you because of what you did.” He rolled his eyes. Turning to face him, you pressed a finger to his chest, his hard, broad, sturdy chest. “This could easily be San, or even Jongho, that’d be the easiest, but this is how you’re going to make that night up to me.”
He dropped his chin, a smirk pulling at his lips. “My penance is being your fake boyfriend, even though Hongjoong thinking I am your boyfriend is what got you into this mess.”
“Us,” you corrected, standing to your tip toes in your sandals, missing his nose with yours by an inch. Pushing by him, he followed you, two steps into the kitchen.
“I was defending you, Shug, you can’t be mad at me for this,” his volume raised, and you held up a finger. “Sorry,” he huffed, slapping his hands on his thighs, dropping his tone, “Yeosang still giving you problems?”
Putting together a purse, a little leather one, you wiggled your brows, fishing your keys off the counter. “Not as of late, but I got something on him now, so if he ever does have some more shit to say, I’ll just tell him all about how I heard him going at it with his boss’s wife.”
Yunho gasped, a smile finally painting onto his face and yours. “You’re kidding me.”
Slinging the purse over your bare shoulder, your strapless top clinging tight to your middle, you pursed your lips and shook your head with pride. “Not at all,” you said, moving for the door. Yunho clung to your tail. “He’s a freak, who woulda thought?”
Stepping out into the hall, giving you space to lock up, Yunho glanced at the neighbors door and started putting puzzle pieces together. “Like… how?”
“Well,” you started, slipping your keys away, “This was last weekend, and yanno, it kinda made me realize these walls are paper thin, so I don’t think I can be too mad at him getting mad at us?” You started down the hallway, Yunho in tow. “Anyway,” you laughed, throwing your hands up, glancing up at him walking beside you, “I heard them come home and fumble with the keys in the door, they were giggling and shit, and he was hushing her. I was paralyzed at the kitchen table doomscrolling through clips of Maneskin’s last tour–”
Yunho squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his chin back. “Will we ever get them again?”
“One can dream,” you muttered with a groan. “I heard them over La Fine, okay? Vic was killing it, her tits were out, it was great, and I heard them.” Yunho held the door to the stairwell open for you. “He was telling her what a bad girl she was,” you amped up the act, walking backward down the stairs, to put on a show for him, “You shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Yunho grinned, a laugh caught between his teeth.
“What will he think? What will they say?” You held up a hand to signal the character switch. “She says, “Fuck what they say!”
“No!” Yunho shouted, reaching out to grab you as you tripped over your feet and laughed. “Turn around.”
“Yes,” you confirmed, listening to him, facing forward, grabbing onto the railing. “I don’t even think they made it out of the kitchen. I’ve seen his apartment, that wall is shared with the one in my bedroom, they fucked in the kitchen.”
“Damn,” Yunho sighed, pushing open the door to your building, ushering you out onto the summer street of New York City. “Quiet boy has game, who woulda thought.”
Catching him off guard, you spun around and grabbed onto his biceps. Pushing him back against the brick wall of your building, you flipped your brows over all sappy and sweet, and whined, “Take me, Yeo, take me!” Shaking your hair around, you giggled. “Do what he can’t, love me like he can’t!”
Yunho’s shoulders rose, eating his ears as you shook him. Wide eyed, he smiled at your words, at the exasperated way you shouted them, mimicking Yeosang's boss’s wife, but then you gazed up at him, lips pursed, eyes soft, cheeks pouty, and he swore he stopped breathing.
Squeezing his arms in your hands tighter, you fluttered your lashes as you blinked, putting on an act, making fun of the way the woman many years older than Yeosang spoke to him. Fingers pressing into the meat of his biceps, realizing you surprised him, and that he wasn’t prepared to hear you do this in front of him, no matter the context… You gulped and wiped your face clean of emotion.
The summer air grew thicker, your cheeks flushed, your stomach sunk a little– And you weren’t sure why. It’s not the first time jokes like this had been made, your friends always moaned a bit, they were boys for fucks sake, the occasional flirt sneaked out, this wasn’t new. As you gazed up into his sappy brown eyes that weren’t ready to experience this, how it seemed like a part of him was listening, paying attention, you audibly expressed your apologies with a groan and pulled away from him, hands dropping to your side.
“Yeah, it was…” you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair, “It was wild, anyways, should we go? I dunno what time they close, and San said that if we don’t make it there before six then the woman will–”
Yunho pushed off the building and hooked his arm in yours, a smile growing on his pink lips as he pulled you down the street. “Let’s go,” he said, entirely normal, keeping things normal, as normal as normal can be. Looking down at you, he said, “Gonna need you to recreate that for San and Jongho though, that was hysterical.”
Wedging your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded. “Can’t believe I never told you guys.”
“That Yeosang gets chicks? And that he fucks?” He huffed a laugh, “Can’t believe you never told us either. I thought–”
Jumping in your sandals at the street corner cutting him off, you unhooked your arms and gasped. “Wait, if we’re gonna practice this, shouldn’t we hold hands instead?”
Yunho tugged at the hem of his cropped tee. “Waffle or pancake?”
Oh, how you yearned to lose your shit, fall to the concrete, and laugh at him. Instead, you deadpanned, and said, “You did not just ask me that.”
Holding up your hand for him to take, he scrunched up his face and gave you a look. “Shut up. C’mere, Shug.”
Reaching around your back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, yanking you into his side, the warmth of his hold engulfing you entirely. Wiggling his fingers to ask for your hand, guiding you with subtle nods of his head and small smiles, he laced his fingers with yours, the hand hanging from your shoulder, then gestured to your other hand wedged between your bodies.
“Sixteen Candles, c’mon,” he mumbled, meeting your eyes with a humor in his.
Furrowing your brows, you scoffed. “Yeah, sure Jan.”
He rolled his eyes. The people waiting at the corner moved on, leaving the two of you alone until a few stragglers flew by with papers in their hands or headphones on their ears. Everyone dressed for summer, tanks, shorts, dresses, crop tops, their variations of outfits mixed and matched yet impressively cohesive– Your neighborhood the neighborhood of color, of originality, thrifted clothes and bright colored hair. Artists, musicians, bohemian spirits.
“I am not Sixteen Candles-ing you,” you giggled, and he clicked his tongue.
“You have to,” he joked with a solemn shake of his head. “I’m sure as hell not doing it to you, I’d rather you do it to me. It’ll be cute, do it.”
“But, there’s no one even around to–”
Yunho used his free hand to grab onto yours, pulling it behind his back as far as he could, allowing you to do the rest. Sliding it into his back pocket.
By the grace of the gods, the heavens, the angels, whoever you believed in, his denim hung off of him loose enough that you weren’t necessarily holding on to anything specific. Until you started walking. His proud smile guided you across the street and across a few more blocks like this, and your palm brushed over him repeatedly.
It felt weird, to feel like this wasn’t right, or that this was crossing a line, even though you’ve smacked him on his ass plenty of times before, mainly after a few drinks. This was intimate. A scene in an old movie you watched together, a scene in a newer movie you watched together… Where the girl needs the boy to do these things, and the boy agrees to make his old girl jealous…
Looking up at him, his brain at work putting pieces of the city together, admiring the streets that didn’t mirror the financial district in the slightest, you supposed this was fine. This was the purpose. Technically, it’s his duty, to help you make Hongjoong jealous, or, more jealous than he already appeared to be. And plus, it was Yunho.
Like you said, this was his way of making that night up to you. Though, at the end of the day, you’d rather be doing this with him than anyone else. Too intimate or not… It felt right.
“What do you mean you don’t have a dress yet?” The woman in jorts and a frilly blouse with big chunky boots on her feet stared at you in disbelief. Standing in front of a mirror in silver high heels, you stared back in shock. Yunho sat behind you on a stool with his hands on his knees, and confusion on his face. Her deep brown hair was tied up in a tight bun, with bangs hanging on her forehead. “How are you buying shoes without owning a dress?”
Shrugging, you parted your lips to answer her, but no sound came out.
“Insane,” she spat, her lips curling, “Every girl knows, you buy the dress first, then you buy the shoes. How do you expect the dress to fit right, or lay right, or fall right at your feet if you’re buying the shoes first? You get a dress, then shoes, how do you know you can even wear the heels? Do you even like these ones? You’ve tried on several pairs, no wonder it’s taking you forever, you don’t have a damn dress.”
Biting your tongue, you sucked down a breath to steady your heart rate and your skin that burned. “This is the one store I can afford, my friends and I are thrift lovers, I’ve never done this before, so I–”
“Great,” she berated, “So I get to deal with the inexperience, wonderful, where did you say you worked?”
“Harmony Foundation–”
Her lined eyes widened. “And this is all you can afford?”
Pressing your hands to your belly, you shook your head fervently, feeling your throat tighten like how it would just before tears slipped down your cheeks. “I-I guess I don’t know, I mean, I’ve never done this, I don’t like to dress like this–”
“Great!” She shouted, and the few other customers in the store turned to seek out the noise. “You don’t even like it, why am I wasting my time, you might as well–”
“We’re done here.” Yunho leapt to his feet, snatching your wrist in his hand, pulling you behind him. The woman screwed her face up as she tipped her chin back to glare at him. “Don’t start. This was a waste of our time. My girlfriend works hard, she deserves this night. Fuck you for making her feel less than. Our best friend sent us here, he’s obsessed with you guys actually. I can’t wait to tell him how disgusting this whole visit has been.” Glancing at her name tag, he scoffed, “Have a nice day, Mina.”
Keeping his grip on you tight, he moved you away from the mirror, away from the lady who started out sweet as pie, and sat you down on another stool across the store. Crouching in front of you, he propped one foot up on his knee and started working his fingers at the buckle, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your smooth skin.
He clenched his jaw tight, eyes pointed at your foot and shoe he slipped off of you. Moving with persistence, you could see the figurative smoke bellowing out of his ears, the gears that grinded behind his eyes. Switching feet, he slipped the shoe off gently, his actions rough, but the way he touched you– Soft. He put you back into your sandals, his whole hand wrapping around your ankles to move you around, his touch entirely distracting you from the menace Mina had been. Strapped into your shoes, he blinked up at you and sighed heavily.
“My girlfriend,” you teased under your breath, and he sighed again.
“Don’t start, I’m pissed off, Shug. Let’s go.”
He held your hand this time, really tight. Fingers intertwined, the grip he had on you almost made you want to peel his hand off ‘cause it was so tight.
“Yunho, it’s fine,” you breathed, trailing behind him as he bounded down the street, dodging bodies that crowded now that it was past six o’clock. “I’ll find something later, we don’t have to go anywhere else, I’m over this today.”
The shake of his head told you plenty. “Me too.”
Dropping your hand, setting you free, he crossed his arms over his chest and stopped behind a group of people waiting for the cars to finish whizzing by to trudge across the street. His jaw tightened, and he wouldn’t look at you.
“I’m fine,” you assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you off. “Yunho?” The cars stopped. The bodies moved. You scurried along beside him, keeping up with the long strides of his legs. “Yunho,” you groaned playfully, elbowing him a couple times. It wasn’t until you were at the next block that he opened his mouth.
“That’s how it feels when Hongjoong speaks to you the way he does,” he said, turning toward you. “And I’ve only experienced it in person maybe twice? But, even when I have to hear about it, or whenever you talk about him, that’s how it feels.”
Glancing away from him, to the traffic, the unique people around you, you go numb for a moment hearing his name. Tilting your head, you asked, “Being degraded in the middle of a store by a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in years?”
He shot you a look. “What do you think Hongjoong does?”
“But, he gets laid all the time.”
Yunho drug his hands through his hair, arching his back in a stretch with an obnoxious whine. “Oh my god, Shug, nevermind, you’ll never get it.”
Pedestrian traffic moved, pushing you both along the current. Store doors swung open with chimes, music played underneath the awnings of eateries and restaurants with outdoor seating, delicious smells wafted through the cultured air.
“Hang on,” you groaned, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, “I want to get it. I don’t see what you see, I’m sorry, okay?”
He, again, shrugged you off of him. “It’s really going to take you getting together with him, getting cheated on, heartbroken, and disposed of, to realize it.”
You grabbed onto him again, your hands pulling at his shoulders. He paid attention for you, his eyes on alert, scanning the crowds, the streets, it’s what he always did. Never once did you have to worry while you were out with him, he became your brain, your thoughts, your safety. Even now, while in the middle of some sort of argument, he pulled you out of the way of deranged tourists who think they have the right of way.
“I’m trying, okay?” Begging him to slow down, to look at you, to take a break, to understand you, you said, “I want to see what you see.”
His glare hardened. The crowd dissolved some. Turning into you, he smoothed his hands over your shoulders and pushed you up against the corner wall of a vacant store front. Leaning into you, his forehead millimeters from yours, he softened his eyes, his words not matching the tone he spoke in.
“If you wanted to see what I see, you’d try a little harder,” he nearly whispered. Flickering his eyes between both of yours, letting them flicker over your face, he smirked. “If you really cared that bad, to understand, to listen to me, to us, then we wouldn’t be doing this little experiment, would we?” His gaze glazed over your lips. His smirk deepened. You were holding your breath.
“Fake dating,” he mumbled with a Broadway worthy roll of his eyes. Chills ran down your spine as one of his hands slid up your neck, his palm cupping your chin, his fingertips brushing your hair. “To get his attention, to make him jealous, to play his game. Since when do you care about fitting in with people, Shug? Becoming one of them?”
You barely shook your head, whispering, “I don’t.”
Yunho narrowed his eyes. “Then, why are we doing this?”
“Because…”
“Because,” he repeated, mimicking the slight whine in your tone. “Use your words, you’re a big girl.” His thumb danced over your cheekbone, his words made your knees buckle. “I love to listen to you talk, it might be my favorite thing in the world. Tell me, why are we going to do this? Act like a couple, like we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, like we’re in love, like we share the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves with one another at three in the morning entangled in a mess of sweaty sheets.”
You weren’t holding your breath, you couldn’t breathe. The depth of his eyes made it impossible to look away, impossible to pretend like his words dripping with sweet melted sugar weren't affecting you. He was close, so close, his body heat hotter than the sun that procrastinated setting.
“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”
Gulping, your voice shook as you whispered, “About what?”
He broke out into another smirk, his perfect teeth peeking through his heart shaped lips. “No,” he mumbled, a quiet laugh coming out of him, one that rumbled in his chest so deeply you could feel the bass, “I don’t wanna sound like him.”
“Say it,” you whispered, fast, and he bit his lip.
“Yeah?” Questioning you with a raise of a brow, he stood up straighter, chin cocking back.
You gazed up at him through your lashes, and you swore this newfound persona of his faltered. “Please.”
His other hand slid up the other side of your neck. He tipped your chin back, both of his thumbs on your cheeks, his fingers in your hair. Shared air filtered between you, he was that close. Eyes on your lips, on the shade of lipstick he watched you layer on, he whispered. “It’s filthy.”
“What did you think about, Yunho?” Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, and he sucked in a breath.
Taking one thumb to your bottom lip, he tugged at it gently before pressing the pad to both of your lips, smirking as your lips seemed to instinctively kiss it. “Thought about how pretty they’d look wrapped around the tip of my…”
Your jaw fell open, your lips parting with a stifled sigh. Pressing your thighs together, his eyes widened some. It took him three seconds to move, out of your space, many steps from the wall.
Letting a laugh loose, he swiped the thumb covered in your lipstick over his lips and winked at you. “Bet San or Jongho wouldn’t do that, huh?”
Catching your breath, utterly blindsided, you situated your clothes that felt like he had ripped them off of you and thrown them back on even though he hadn’t touched them, and you pushed off of the wall. Trying to laugh, feeling as though you’d been doused with a bucket of ice water, you took a deep breath and shook your head. “No, they wouldn’t,” you forced your laughter, “Good one. That’s believable, how’d I do?”
Yunho rubbed a hand over his bare middle, his shirt lifting to show off his toned stomach. Bobbing his head, his eyes unreadable, he shrugged. “Don’t think you’re winning an Oscar any time soon. Your impression of Yeosang’s sugar mommy was way better.”
Smacking your lips, you laughed for real and rolled your eyes. “Not fair,” you muttered.
“You’re gonna have to try a little harder if you want us to be taken seriously,” he teased with a sarcastic huff, holding out his elbow for you to hook yours in.
Swallowing, hard, your heart finally beating steadily, you rubbed your lips together, your lipstick that he looked at, again, and said, “Guess we’ll have to practice some more.”
The clock ticked on the wall, the halls silent enough the only sound to be heard were the hands counting down to five o’clock. Standing at a counter, waiting for the receptionist on your floor to return with several files Seonghwa needed to finish a sale with one of his loyal clients of many years, you had your elbow propped up on the edge and your chin sitting on your fist.
It was the morning after your failed shopping date with Yunho, last night ending with stacked jokes on the way to San’s apartment, where you met Jongho there and spent the night shoveling take out into your mouths and playing guess that artist with Yunho until you all grew tired enough and fell asleep on the sofa’s mumbling about what new tattoos you all should get.
Snoozing on Yunho’s shoulder, you’d be lying if you said what he’d done to you didn’t stick with you. Pushing you up against a wall like you had done to him, except instead of mimicking a neighbor's hookup, he spoke real words to you. Words that sounded true. Words that felt true. Words you think… you wanted to be true. You’ve never heard him speak that way, his voice low and gravely, the things he said, dirty and hot.
Thinking back to the flings he’s had here and there, your mind wandered to the possibilities of what he said to them, how he treated them, an entire side of him you never once thought to ever explore. He turned you on, your body reacted to him, you wanted him to keep going, to say more, to maybe even do more than just touch his thumb to your lips like he wished it really was the tip of his…
“Hey, Shug.” A chill ran down your spine, your skin erupting in a blazing fire. Jolting upright, slapping your hand to the counter top, you whirled around and met Hongjoong’s smile, a stack of papers in his hand. He occupied the space beside you, stepping into your field of energy, placing the stack right next to your hand.
“Please don’t call me that,” you said with the release of a breath.
Hongjoong leaned against the desk and crossed one foot over the other. Glancing around the stranded lobby, he smiled before he pointed his eyes at you. “Find a date to the gala yet?”
Okay, straight to the point, damn. Time to lock in. Your stomach sank.
“Yes,” you squeaked, voice high pitched and nervous.
He perked a brow, his eyes drawing your body and the outfit you had thrown together this morning after running home from San’s with a half hour to spare. You were almost late this morning, and your oversized button down and wrinkled slacks let everyone know.
The corners of his lips perked up. “Wild night?”
“No,” you pushed through your lips.
Hongjoong met your eyes and laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Look at you. That your boyfriend's shirt?” Scoffing, you looked down at yourself, and he laughed again. It was in fact Yunho’s shirt, one he didn’t use anymore, a white button down that would fit his chest snugly. It hung off of you, but this wasn’t the first time you had worn it.
“This is mine,” you stated with a point of your finger to your belly.
Hongjoong furrowed his brows, but his smile remained. “You sure you didn’t pick it up off his floor this morning?”
“No, Joong, it’s mine.”
“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” he snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk. “Smooth talker, huh?”
Your blood ran cold. “What?”
Hongjoong laughed. “You let him talk dirty to you? I know you like a filthy mouth.”
Eyes bugging, you laughed with him, nervously, and knitted your hands together. “I-I-I don’t know what you’re… what you’re talking about, what are you…”
“I saw you,” he said, plainly, giving you a look. “On the corner of 7th, he had you pinned to the wall, his hands on you, talking all quiet.” He popped his brows and swung his hand about as he spoke. “I’ve never seen you look the way you did, all doe eyed, like he held your consciousness in his hands, so submissive–”
“Shut up,” you snapped.
He raised a brow, his lazy smile wicked. “Tell me again how the shirt isn’t his, how you weren’t letting him defile you last night, go ahead.”
“I didn’t, it’s not–”
He kept going. “Thought you’d let him take you right there on the street corner, I mean, damn, how long have you been in love with this guy, I would’ve thought you had something for me if I didn’t catch you two like that, does he know what a flirt you can be?” Leaning toward you, he popped his lips as he mumbled, “A brat?”
“Oh my god,” you muttered, pressing your front to the desk, knitting your fingers in your hair, staring at the linoleum. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.” Willing the receptionist back in whispers, Hongjoong heard, and fucking laughed.
“He probably gets off on it, right? Knowing you’ve got a little game going with me, he probably loves to hear all about it so he can fuck it out of you. Claim you.”
“Hongjoong, shut up. Leave me alone.”
He took a step closer to you, dipping his chin down. “No, I want you to be able to run home to have the fuck of your life after you tell him about this. Let him know that when I saw you over here all alone in his shirt, I envisioned what it’d be like to rip it off of you and spread you open on Ms. Kim’s desk, and how I wouldn’t care if she came back and caught us.”
Pressing your hands to your face, shaking your head, you sucked air in through your lips, and for the first time, you wished Yunho were here to stop him.
“Matter of fact, Wooyoung likes to watch,” he smirked, “He’d love a show. Would probably get a raise,” his fingers touched your shoulder, gently, but with purpose, piercing through the fabric of your shirt, “Just gotta make sure he can see your tits, so he can–”
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice echoed off the ceiling, booming through the empty space. Clenching your jaw, tears welling up in your eyes, you clawed at your scalp. He tore his hand off of you, moving faster than you’ve ever witnessed. “What am I hearing?”
A sigh came out of him as he took a step away from you, his hands folding on the desk. “Please, she likes it.”
Seonghwa scoffed. “I guarantee you, she does not. Y/n?”
Peeling your hands away from your face, you pushed your hair back and turned to look at him. With a face full of sorrow, he waved a hand toward him, coercing you closer. “Go into my office and wait for me there. We’ll file a report together, but I’d like to personally hand his ass to him face to face.”
Only able to give him a nod, you wrapped your arms around yourself and hurried down the hall, straight into Seonghwa’s office, though you longed to linger and listen to what your boss had to say.
you: It worked..... He's pissed off or something..
yun: What happened.
you: I get what you guys mean now.. How he talks..
yun: Call me. Now.
you: I’ll tell you later….. Do you have to see Jag????? You haven’t mentioned him
yun: He hasn’t needed me.. I’m yours tonight.
Outside of a store with gowns on mannequins in the windows, you and Yunho stood elbow to elbow against the glass, appreciating the bustle of the people on this side of a neighborhood you longed to spend more time in. Similar to your own, this one had more structure to its freedom, like the people here knew exactly what they wanted and what they brought to table. It filled you with a sort of peace, clarity, like your dreams were right in front of you, and you could snatch them without remorse.
“Don’t say I told you so,” you muttered, and Yunho hummed.
“Never,” he said flatly, eyes scanning the heads that passed by. “I’m sorry that happened. He’s a dick.”
Looking up at him, you pinched your brows. “That’s all?”
He glanced back in shock. “Well, I can’t exactly go and kick his ass can I? If I do, you’ll lock me up and force me to marry you and have several kids, live a suburban life, I dunno.”
Laughing, throwing your head back, you gasped, “What!?”
Yunho held up his hands, his wide eyed expression growing tenfold. “Are those not your conditions for me putting my hands on him? I pushed him, so we have to date, what do you think you’ll make me do if I beat him up?”
“Sign a prenup,” you giggled, shoving him with your elbow. His obnoxious nod and the unintelligible sound he made answered for him. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, leaning your head against his arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t do the dating thing, maybe you just come with me to the gala as my bodyguard.”
“It makes me sad that you even have to think that way,” he mumbled.
Glancing up at him, your cheek squished on his bare arm, he looked down and smiled. “Seonghwa will be there, you don’t even have to come if you don’t want to, I don’t wanna subject you to hanging around these kinds of guys for hours on end.”
Squinting, he said, “I’d rather be with you to save you from having to hang around those guys for hours on end. I’m coming to the gala whether you like it or not, Shug.”
“Shug,” a woman’s voice parroted, one a little rough, a little grungey. “You really do call her that.” Yunho broke out into a grin, tossing his head back bashfully, trying hard as hell to negate all accusations as you pushed off the window to greet his friend.
Stunning didn’t cut it. Ki, her name as sharp as she was, but not as simple. Covered in tattoos, doused in silver jewelry and piercings, her hair styled like she’d had it professionally done, you couldn’t help but let your jaw drop. Another girl stood with her, as close to her as you stood to Yunho, looking nothing like Ki. A little more indie, maybe bohemian, whereas Ki bled straight rock ‘n roll.
Her smile smacked you in the face, perfect and dazzling. Holding out her hand amidst Yunho’s rebuttals, she introduced herself. “You’re exactly like he described,” she shook her head, giving you a onceover, “I’m Ki, this is Riley,” she said giving a nod to her friend who smiled and gave you a wave of her fingers. “Hope it’s okay you deal with both of us, you seem to fit right in between our vibe, I figured we could both give you a hand.” Her eyes flickered up at Yunho. “He’s not gonna know what he’s doing. You need girlfriends.”
Giggling, you looked up at him and he shrugged shamefully.
“You’re lucky he called,” Ki breathed, taking your wrist in her hand and Riley’s in the other. Giving Yunho a glare, she muttered, “You’re lucky Jag has let you have so much time off.”
“Time off?” you asked, bouncing back and forth between them. “You said he hasn’t needed you,” you said to Yunho, whose eyes widened.
Ki pursed her lips, her saccharine smile enough to woo you, you’re not sure how Yunho hasn’t been woo’ed yet. He said something back to her, with his eyes, an implication he didn’t want to speak further, a white flag of sorts. You aren’t sure how much time they spent together at Republic, though her name has come up plenty of times– Comparing the two of you.
“Let’s go, Shug,” Ki joked, tugging you and Riley along, into the store, leaving Yunho to trudge behind. “I’ll take the left side, Ri you take the right, Miss Sugar can take the middle.”
Yunho let the door swing shut behind him. “What about me? Do I get a say?”
Riley gave him a small smile. “If the boyfriend shopping thing is universal, I suggest you sit this one out.”
Ki seemed to know what she was talking about with the way she laughed and nudged her shoulder, her bright smile and confident laugh bouncing around the racks of dresses. “He’s not her boyfriend, but still, sit this one out,” she said to both of them before the group broke into four.
With a sheepish shrug, Riley pulled her lips together and turned on her heels. Ki tossed her hair off of the shoulder of her lace tank and bolted for a black dress on a mannequin in the window. Yunho, he smiled at you when you turned to him, and waved you away to follow the girls.
“She’s cool,” you whispered, flickering your eyes over to Ki.
Yunho narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, whispering, “I knew you’d say that.” Smiling back at him, for too long, feeling your insides fill with warmth, a sort of comfort knowing he’d do something like this for you, he glanced at both of the girls on either side of the store and shooed you away.
You took to Riley first, who was already looking your way with her hands on a dress. Painting a smile onto your lips, you approached her in her oversized vintage Screen Actors Guild tee and clasped your hands together. Before you had the chance to open your mouth, she cut you off.
“This one’s gorgeous,” she mumbled, holding the emerald dress up in front of you, pressing it to your chest like she’s known you for ages. “I think this really goes with your skintone, but I’m not loving the straps, I think you should– Wait, how are you doing your hair?” Her eyes narrowed, studying you, drawing all over the bare skin you exposed today. “You’re fun, aren’t you? How many tattoo’s do you have?”
“I got a few when I’d been drinking honestly, my friends know this guy who does them underground, yanno, so I have to have at least–”
“So cool,” she said without letting you finish, “I love tattoo’s, but I have to keep them hidden.”
“How come?” you asked, watching as she hung up the emerald dress and pulled out a few others, giving you glances over her shoulder.
“Broadway,” she said with utter nonchalance. “But, my boyfriend and I, we both have a matching one on our– Oh my god,” she sighed, turning toward you, grabbing your wrists, “I’m so sorry, by the way, for implying that Yunho’s your boyfriend.”
Giggling, you shook your head. “Don’t worry about it, I know how it looks, it’s really–”
“I’m sorry, though,” she said with a pout, “I have chronic foot in mouth disease, it’s severe, just ask Ki, or don’t, I don’t need this getting worse. I’m not good at this. I have a lot of guy friends.”
Shifting your hands around, grabbing onto hers that held onto you, you comforted her with a smile and shook your head. “So do I, I understand.”
“Hey, Glucose!” Ki shouted from across the store, waving her hand in the air, her bracelets jingling.
Yunho picked his head up from where he rifled through suit jackets, almost shrieking within a laugh, “Glucose!”
Riley let go of you and gave you a gentle push on your back. By the time you made it to Ki she had already sent Yunho back into his silenced role, giving you the tiniest of smiles as you were subdued to more dresses being held up in front of you. Shooting him a wink, one he made a face of disgust at, you giggled, and Ki paused.
“He’s something, huh?” she asked, tearing her eyes from yours when you looked at her. The black dress she held had lace on the bodice, like her tank, and it was tight fitted, all the way to the bottom. “You might not be able to move in this, but I like black for you, what do you think?”
“I love black, sure.”
Pulling at the fabric, her eyes on the dress she held up, she muttered, “I meant Yunho.” Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”
“Oh,” you breathed, half following. She hung up the tight dress and pulled out another, one dark blue and Cinderella-esque. You both crunched your noses before she could even bring it in front of you. “How about that one?” Pointing to a black dress with long sleeves, she listened and held it up.
Tilting her head to the side, her striking eyes drinking in your form, she continued quietly, “Hope it’s okay I brought Riley, I didn’t want to be third wheel. Plus, I haven’t spent time with her in a bit. I like this one– Yunho!” He scurried over to her side, accepting the dress she tossed him. “Trying this one on,” she said and waved him off, “Shoo.”
Flashing you a smile, his face telling you he was just happy to be here, he returned to where he came from.
“You spend a lot of time at work, right?” Following her, like a shadow, you eyed her tattooed fingers as they grazed over satins and velvets before snatching one. “Yunho says you’re like… Really important.”
Her lips perked up. Holding up a velvet grey a-line, it didn’t make it two inches in front of you before she swapped it for a strapless black satin floor length thing. “I guess I am. He’s sweet,” she took a breath, “But, yeah, I spend a lot of time at work, I travel a shit ton, and Ri lives here in the city. I do too, but…”
“But?” you questioned, and she shrugged it off.
“A story for another time,” she smiled.
“Uh, Riley told me she has a boyfriend, are you, uh, seeing anyone?”
She gave you a look over her shoulder. “Why, interested?”
Bushing, you pushed a breath through your lips and stepped in a tiny circle. “You’re gorgeous, but no,” you laughed, “I’m into someone else.” She glanced at Yunho, and you rolled your eyes. “No, he’s… just a friend.”
“Does he know that?” she asked, flicking through the dresses.
“Yes,” you said definitively, brows going awry.
Ki nodded, slowly, pulling out a black gown she didn’t bother to hold up in front of you. “Yunho!” Like clockwork, he appeared, with several more dresses in tow.
“Who gave you these?” Ki asked.
Yunho blinked. “Riley.”
Taking in the dresses of various colors and lengths, Ki mumbled, “Damn thespian.”
“We need options!” Riley shouted across the store.
“She heard you,” you laughed, and Ki smirked.
“Quiet isn’t my specialty.” She tossed the dress over Yunho’s arms, and as he disappeared she asked, “Who are we into, Miss Sugar? If it’s not that hunk of alt sweetness the girlies eat up at the label.”
The girlies. Turning to find where he disappeared to, you found him at Riley’s side, the girl shorter than you, craning her neck back to look up at him. Her smile, soft, but her giggle, loud. Ki followed your line of sight and scoffed.
“He’s too tall for her, trust me,” she muttered, lower this time, “Plus, she’s like, locked in with her man. Trust me.”
“Is she?” you asked within a whisper.
Ki gave you a look, raising a brow. “Quiet isn’t her specialty. They’re crazy theatre kids, they’re… gross. One time I saw them–”
“And what about you?”
She rolled her eyes, enormously long. The breath she let out was just as long. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t wanna hear what it’s like being caught between two guys, one perfect for you, who knows everything about you, your secrets, your shadows, but then the other is capable of satiating a hunger you didn’t know you had.”
“What happened? After… the… satiating. I assume he wasn’t good for you?”
Ki held up a dress and pursed her lips. Shifting from the dress to your face, she released a breath and shrugged. “I was still hungry.” This dress she held onto herself. “Listen, he didn’t put me up to this, but I know about this other guy you’re into. Take it from me, as someone who’s been involved with a colleague. You have this fucking amazing guy right here,” she said, gesturing behind her toward Yunho who trailed behind Riley like a puppy. You almost spoke, but she cut you off. “I know, you’re friends. But, let him be an example. Of the types of guys you should be looking for.”
“Damn,” you uttered, lowering your chin with a snicker.
Ki furrowed her brows. “What?”
Giving her a look, you shook your head. “He didn’t update you about what happened today, I guess. You don’t have to give me the speech, I’m not Hongjoong’s biggest fan anymore. I know it’s been his obsession to rid me of him, I’m sorry he pulled you into this, but I’m good. Thanks for coming to help me, but I don’t need a pep talk.”
She tried to stop you, but you pushed past her, towards the fitting rooms. Holding a hand in the air to signal Yunho, she pointed at the back of you and shrugged. “I dunno what I did, that’s all you.”
Ignoring the worker who asked you if you needed any help, you stepped into a fitting room empty handed and let the door swing shut, pressing your back against the wall. Tears brimming your eyes, you took a shaky breath and released it all at once.
Everything cycled through your head, memories flashing all at once, from Hongjoong’s almost invitation to the gala, to the night Yunho pushed him, to yesterday when Yunho had you on the corner questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship.
Why were you questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship? You never have before, this wasn’t normal. He was Yunho, your best friend Yunho.
Comfort is all that it is. Familiarity.
You’ve just perhaps reached a point in your friendship where you care too deeply, because you know so much, because you’ve spent all this time with him, and now that it’s at a point where the lines seem to be starting to blur because you’re going to have to pretend to date him, it’s confusing.
That’s what it is. You couldn’t think that again if you tried. You wouldn’t even be able to say those words out loud. Did it make sense? You shouldn’t be spiraling about this, you should be spiraling about the fact that Hongjoong made some serious threats to you today, if you could even call them threats. You didn’t want to call it what it was, but Seonghwa sure did, and he had no shame in doing so.
Work tomorrow should be a blast, if he’s even there. The gala is right around the corner, would he even be allowed to attend after this? Groaning through a cry, you tipped your chin back and shook your head. Of course he’d still be allowed to attend, these men got away with everything. He’d be able to do what he said he’d do and he wouldn’t–
“Shug?” Three gentle taps to the fitting room door.
“I need a minute,” you steadied your voice as best as you could.
“I have your dresses,” he said softly. “Wanna try them on while you take your minute?”
Reaching for the door handle, you pulled it open and met his eyes, taking the pile from him. “Thanks,” you sniffled.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
“No,” he whispered. “What happened?”
Hardening your glare, you mumbled, “Go talk to Riley.”
He blinked, confused. “What?”
“Or Ki, maybe that’s better,” you huffed, “She seems to know so much already, go tell her some more.”
You threw the door shut, but he caught it. “Hang on, what are you talking about?”
“Leave me alone,” you said, hanging the dresses up. Pushing on the door to push him out, it was silly of you to forget he was much, much stronger than you. Bumping the handle as he fumbled his way in, there was an audible click as the door slammed shut and his back pressed to it. The already small room grew smaller. Two bodies and a stack of at least thirteen dresses in one tiny New York space, one of those bodies over six feet tall. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into him. “I have to try these on, get out of here,” you muttered.
His jaw tensed. Staring at you for all of three seconds, he took a deep breath and spun around, facing the door, away from you.
“Yunho–”
“Someone’s gotta zipper you.”
Sighing, losing this fight, you said, “Don’t turn around.”
“You already know I wouldn’t do that.”
Even this felt weird, and it shouldn’t. You’ve changed in front of him before, you’ve been half naked and drunk in front of each other, you’ve seen him in his boxers, he’s seen you in a bathing suit, this shouldn’t be so vulnerable, so… intimate.
Ki implied, several times, that Yunho, quite possibly, maybe, cared about you too much. Maybe in a sense that you haven’t been able to pick up on until now. Pulling your shirt over your head, you tossed it over his shoulder, smiling at the inaudible laugh he heaved. Even though yesterday on the street, where he said some things you never imagined would ever leave his lips, when he pulled away, he acted as though it was for the gala. That you guys were practicing. Come to find out Hongjoong had seen you. Hongjoong had seen you.
Slipping out of your shorts, kicking off your shoes, you tossed the denim over his other shoulder. “Yunho?”
“Yeah?”
You took a blue dress off a hanger and stepped into it. “Yesterday,” you started, shimmying the tight fabric over your hips, slinging the spaghetti straps over your shoulders, “Did you see Hongjoong?”
His head tilted to the side, reluctantly asking, “When?”
“Zip me?”
He turned, and his eyes softened at the sight of you in the mirror. The bodice hugged your chest, blue satin cascading down your form to the floor so that you could so wear those silver heels with this. The fabric was bound over your middle, in three ripples slipping over your right hip and around the back like a waterfall.
“Wow,” he breathed before snapping out of it, tearing his eyes off of your curves and onto the zipper at the middle of your back. Sliding it up, careful to not let his fingers graze your skin, he stepped back against the door and waited for your consensus.
Gliding your hands over the satin, over the chest, you pouted your lips and shook your head. “I like this,” you said, taking your hands to your hips. Yunho’s eyes followed. “But, I don’t like this,” you said, grabbing fistfuls of your tits. Yunho’s eyes followed.
“I do,” he whispered without thinking. Meeting his glare in the mirror, shock evident on both of your faces, you let out a laugh, and he let out a groan. “Oh my god?” Rolling his eyes at himself, he vigorously shook his head and reached for the zipper, freeing you before he spun around and banged his head against the door. He snatched your clothes off of his shoulders and hung them over the door, huffing to himself.
“It’s okay,” you said, sliding the dress off, opting for a black one Ki had set aside. “Practice, right?”
Yunho hung his head, shaking it like he had. “That wasn’t cool, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you whispered, stepping into the lace.
“You look pretty today,” he whispered. “You always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,” he shook his head, “Couldn’t not think about… it.”
Sliding it up your body, this one strapless, you held it tight to your chest and felt along your back that the zipper laid right over the curve of your ass. Glancing behind you in the mirror at his broad shoulders, wider than you, you took a second to admire how much larger than you he actually was. Gentle giant.
Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. “I got the story, y/n. He actually wouldn’t shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so… worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy who’s like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?”
Except when it came to you.
“I do not want him to abduct me,” you spat. “Yunho pushed him.”
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, “He said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldn’t not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I don’t care who you are, you’re in my face, you’re talking shit to my girl, I’m gonna do something.”
“Yunho,” you whispered, and he turned, his cheeks growing pink. “Zip me?”
Eyeing you in the mirror, how the lace clung to you, contouring your curves where the satin accentuated your form. Laying on top of you like it was a part of you, it hung from your thighs to the floor, the fabric free for you to move about, to dance, to walk comfortably. The chest, corset like, heartshaped and detailed with lace, it held you perfectly, every part of you. He couldn’t help himself. He stared.
You watched him have to manually tell himself to stop, to focus on what you asked him to do, but when he saw where the zipper laid, he lost it again. Eyes blinking a million times, he took a step closer to you, careful to not stand on the puddle the lace left around your feet. He blushed with color, his cheeks to his ears, as pink as can be, his hands acting just the same.
A little nervous, if you had to describe it. His fingers brushed over your skin, the small of your back, and you shuddered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. “Sorry,” he whispered, pulling back abruptly, not looking up at you in the glass.
“S’okay,” you whispered with a gentle nod. “Your fingers are cold.”
He shook his head once, squinting at the dress. “I-I think I have to… pull it up from the inside. I can get Ki–”
“No,” you sighed, stopping him from stepping away from you. “You do it,” you said, your gazes eating one another up. You forced through your lips, “Practice, right?”
His miniscule shift in expression made your heart swell. The slight tweak of his brows, the plumping of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, all too tiny to be made out to be something, but you knew him.
Standing closer to you, your back nearly pressed to his front, he took in a breath and held it, taking the zipper between his fingers. Using his other hand to pinch the bottom, he slowly pulled up, his middle knuckle gliding up your spine, the act so gentle, so improbably erotic that you cursed yourself for how your breath hitched in your throat and the bottom of your belly clenched. It didn’t help that he stood close enough that the warm air that slipped through his parted lips grazed over your skin, your bare shoulders, your bare back. Radiating heat, his own breath uneven, once the zipper reached its peak, he paused.
Neither of you moved. He gazed down at the dress, and you blazed a fire in his eyes through the mirror he refused to look at you through.
“Coulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,” Hongjoong snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk.
You wondered if he could feel it. The tension disgustingly thick you could cut it with a knife. His large, strong hands, what would they feel like if he slid them down your hips in this lace? His lips, parted and dousing your skin in goosebumps with the hot air he exuded, what would it feel like if he dropped a bit lower and pressed them to your skin, the valley of your neck, the expanse of your exposed chest? Heat swelled in your belly, dropping lower, your thighs aching to squeeze together, but you wouldn’t. Not now. Now you were aware.
“Yunho,” you whispered desperately.
“I did see him,” he uttered quietly, finally meeting your gaze in the mirror. You wanted to melt to the floor at the sight of how lust had overcome him and he actively fought back. “I did what I did so you wouldn’t see him. I’m not proud of it. Especially now with what he did to you.”
“Not proud of it, what do you…”
He sighed, standing up straight, keeping his eyes on yours. “I didn’t want to do what I did,” he shrugged. “You were already getting upset with me, I knew that if you saw him it would push you over the edge, so I had to distract you, and nothing I would normally do would work. So, I made something up.”
Dropping your hands to your side, you gaped and spun around. “Made something up?”
Huffing, he screwed his brows up. “You thought what I said was real?”
Taken aback, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Uh, of course not, why the hell would you say something like that to me?”
Narrowing his eyes, he bobbed his head and poked his tongue in his cheek. “Right,” he muttered after a few seconds. “Right.”
Spinning around, almost bumping you with his elbow, he turned the doorknob and yanked. It didn’t budge. Trying again, he yanked. He yanked, again. The walls shook.
“How do I unlock this,” he mumbled, messing with the knob every way he could think of.
Sighing, you wedged yourself around him and tried to pull his hands off the gold, but he swatted at you. “Let me help,” you grumbled, “I don’t want you in here anymore.”
“I don’t want to be in here anymore,” he countered, tugging at your hands.
“Good, I want you to leave.”
“I want to leave.”
You threw the mindless bickers at one another for what felt like forever, until it got to the point of tears. Yours.
“You’ve been no help, I can’t believe San and Jongho came up with this, this is so stupid!”
“Stupid?” Yunho pressed a hand to his chest. “You said it yourself, I’m the one you want to do this with! Ki!” He banged a fist on the door. “This wasn’t supposed to turn into this, Shug, we were just supposed to go to the stupid gala.”
“Don’t call me that,” you huffed, reaching behind you for the zipper of your dress to free yourself. “You’re done calling me that.”
Groaning, he swatted at your hands. “Let me do it, you’ll rip it.”
“No,” you shouted, swinging your body away from him, tugging at the lace, “I got it. I’ll do it alone, like I’ll do the gala alone!”
“You’re not doing the gala alone,” he said, in a fistfight with your fingers. Let… go!”
“Hands off of me, Yunho.”
“You’re going to tear it, you like this one, this is it, don’t tear it!”
Fighting back, clawing at the fabric, you finally kicked a foot back against his knees and sent him stumbling backward, but the space was too tiny so he fell into you, and before he could catch himself, you were twisted sideways, and the lace tore down your back in one long, loud rip. Hands trapped behind you where your back pressed to the wall, you gasped and froze. Yunho hung over you, both of his hands pressed to the wall above you, his body hovering on top of you.
“Fuck,” you whispered.
“Why the fuck would you kick me?”
Glaring up at him, your noses almost touching, you sneered, “Why the fuck would you keep trying when I told you to leave?”
“I can’t leave, the door’s locked!”
“Fuck this,” you said, reaching up for handfuls of his shirt. Pushing off of the wall, taking him with you, your dress slipped down as you pressed him to the opposite wall. “You are going to climb out of here, either under or over that door, I don’t care, just get–” The door swung open.
“Whoa!” Ki shouted, eyes wide, pulling the door shut in a hurry.
“No!” You and Yunho both shouted, and her face went crazy.
“I don’t wanna watch!”
Yunho glanced down at what this looked like, the way you gripped him and how your dress fell off your body. You had him pushed up a wall for fucks sake. Not to mention, if you had tried anything else with lace he’d find himself in a very awkward predicament. At least he could hide what it was for now.
“I’m done,” he said, reaching for your hands, making you release him. With one more look, he shook his head, and he left, not before murmuring to Ki, “Stay out here, that door locks from the inside, help her out.”
As soon as the door shut you sunk to the floor and let the tears spill.
Sipping your drink, the bubbles dancing over your tongue, you laid your head back on the cushion of the sofa you sat in front of. Jongho laid over a lounge chair, a beer can in his hand hanging off the edge, his legs over one armrest, his head over the other. Faint music played in the background, something off of his phone. You didn’t dare ask who made the playlist.
“It ripped,” you said with a flick of your hand, “It ripped right down the back, and I paid for it, because I ripped it, even though the woman says she’s not sure if she’ll be able to fix it.”
Jongho turned his head to give you a pout. “Damn, I’m sorry.”
“It’s whatever, I guess,” you took a swig of your drink, “I’m not meant to be at this stupid thing anyway. I need to just call Yunho, tell him it’s off, and then let Seonghwa know I won’t be going.”
“Nooo,” he sang, shifting to lay on his side, tucking his knees into his massive chest. You frowned and he copied you. “I don’t want to go without you.”
“You’ll have San,” you muttered with a shrug, “You won’t miss me.”
“Yes, I will,” he whispered. Sharing a look with him, one that said a trillion things about leaving a friend behind at a work event where they’d need you because you get it, he said, “San won’t get my jokes.”
A smile graced your lips. “He’ll learn.”
“You can’t just break it off with Yunho and come without him?”
“There’s nothing to break off,” you said, voice growing stern, “We are friends, that is it. I don’t want to go to the gala, not anymore, not when I know Hongjoong will be there… And Wooyoung. I’m done with men.”
He sighed. “I get it.”
Screwing your face up, you shifted to your knees. “I mean, you should’ve seen his face, acting like I’m the one who messed this up, when he’s the one who said that shit to me. He’s the one who made me believe him, I totally thought that what he said was real. It felt real.”
Jongho marinated in silence, the gentle nods of his head encouraging you to go on.
“What do you take it as? ‘Cause I took that all as real,” you huffed, not giving him time to answer you. “You don’t say stuff like that, not to a friend. Especially not a guy friend to a girl friend, because that’s… that’s just…”
Crinkling his can in his hand, he shifted his lips to the side in thought. Eyes pointing from his beer, to you, he offered, “He made you feel something.”
“Yes,” you hissed without a second thought, “And that’s messed up.”
“Is it?”
Shooting him daggers, you shouted, “Yes!”
Jongho didn’t move. He didn’t even react. He simply asked, “Why?”
“I don’t… I don’t know,” you whispered, sitting back against the couch, planting a hand to your forehead. You downed the rest of your drink, your third of the night, and sat the empty can on his coffee table.
“Did he make you feel like Hongjoong makes you feel?” Jongho asked.
Rubbing your fingers over your bare eyes, your bare face, you shook your head. “No,” you answered honestly.
“How’d he make you feel?”
Giving him a look, he laughed.
“Tell me,” he teased, “I won’t judge.”
Taking a long, deep breath, you folded your arms over your front, your cozy hoodie, and released the air with a heavy sigh, one gravely and rough, a groan of sorts. Looking away from him, whether out of embarrassment or bashfulness, you lifted your shoulders and teetered your head side to side. “I wanted him to keep going,” you said, shifting your eyes over to him to see if he reacted. He didn’t. “I wanted… to know what else he would say. I wanted him to finish his sentence, and tell me what he really wanted.”
“That’s not bad at all,” he said quietly, finishing his beer.
The music changed into a softer song, one from the nineties. You recognized it, Yunho’s played it before, a one hit wonder gone rogue, never heard from again. You thought about him and how his brain worked, how passionate he felt about music, the joy it brought him, how it changed his mood in a snap, the way he’s devoted so much of his life to the art. No limits, that’s what he’d say music made him feel, immortal, everlasting, whole.
The songs he would send you in the morning when he knew you had a long day ahead of you, or when he knew the day would be a hard day, they always worked. As if he could feel what you were feeling, the tunes he prescribed cured you, in every which way. He cared. Deeply. San and Jongho didn’t get the songs. You did. And you haven’t gotten one in over a week.
Shifting onto all fours you crawled over to Jongho and wiggled his phone out of his pocket. Swiping open to his music, ignoring the dirty message from San on his home screen, you typed a title into the search bar, and you tapped on it. Turning the volume up, the song crashed through the speakers, bright and excited and invigorating, like Yunho himself burst through the door and lit up the room. The first verse led you into a story, a love song in disguise, one unlike any other, hidden behind a facade of futuristic melodies. And then the chorus hit, and your heart swelled.
‘I’ll stop the world and melt with you… You’ve seen the difference, and it’s getting better all the time… There’s nothing you and I won’t do…’
Haunted by memories, becoming a cage for them to flutter about in, you curled around your knees you tucked into your chest and buried your face in your arms.
All of the nights he’s walked you home from Dante’s, all of the nights he’s stayed, falling asleep either on your couch or in your bed on top of the covers still in your clothes from the bar. The days he’d swing by the office to drop off a new album find he thought you’d like, or bring you a coffee, or offer to take you to lunch, or to grab you something on his way to the label. This entire week, how he’s blown off work, or called out, or told Jag he’s not coming in, so that he can take you around the city and shop for a god damn company gala he agreed to fake date you at just to make your work crush jealous.
The way he looked at you the very first time you stepped into the record store, in a distressed denim jacket over top a short black dress that hugged your thighs, one that matched the boots on your feet– Boots you’ve since retired because they cannot handle the lengths you have to walk through the city. His eyes, they lit up. Half slumped over the counter with his chin in his hands watching the tourists flit about the rows of records just to not buy anything, when he saw you, he knew his luck had changed.
It was when he used to load his lobes with earrings, one of the first things you noticed, how he didn’t care how insane he may look to others. After picking up The Runaways Queens of Noise cassette, you slid it across the counter, shoved your hands in your pockets, and told him, “You’re cool.”
His slender knobby fingers grabbed the tape. Unable to take his eyes off of you, the style of your makeup, the grown out bright pink color at the tips of your hair, how confident you were in how you smiled at him. He stuttered, a lot, scanning the tape, typing something into the register, mumbling his thanks, and how he thought you looked pretty cool too… You laughed at him, you can remember laughing at him. With him. The sweetest, kindest, cutest New Yorker you’ve run into since your move.
Just before you stepped out onto the street, he called after you, “We’ve got new stuff coming in this weekend,” he gulped as you spun to smile at him, “We’re the only store that gets the good stuff, the real stuff, so… If you’re interested.” Any chance to see that face again.
“I’ll be here,” you’d smiled.
He’d given you a nod, some sort of relief washing over him. “Cool.”
“Cool.”
Leaping off of Jongho’s floor, tossing his phone onto his chest where he laid, you ran your hands through your hair and hurried for your shoes at the door. He sprung off the couch as you bustled about.
“What are you doing?”
Shaking your head, really fast, you slipped into your sandals and waved him away. “I have to go,” you sniffled. “I’ll call you later. Thanks for drinks.” Leaning into him to press a kiss to his cheek, you left him dumbfounded in his doorway.
“I’ll walk you, it’s late,” he shouted down his hallway.
Turning over your shoulder, you tried to smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Springing down three flights of stairs, you wiped your sleeves over your cheeks to dry them, and stepped out onto the street. Past nine o’clock, the New York nightlife bled onto the gravel, the stretches of concrete, balancing on curbs, weaving through cars, a favorite pastime of yours. And Yunho’s. Raw dogging the walk, no music, no phone checking, no one to talk to, you held your focus forward, your pace just as pointed, focused, brisk.
Cancel it all. The thought circled like a vulture in the hot summer sun. The gala, the fake dating, the crush on Hongjoong– Cancel it all. Get rid of it. None of this would happen, everything would go back to normal, and you wouldn’t be overthinking your feelings for Yunho. You already haven’t talked to him in three days, the dressing room incident having happened over seventy two hours ago. His hands touching you like you were the most delicate thing to exist. The way your bodies both reached for one another. How he told you everything he said wasn’t real.
“Not real my ass,” you muttered to yourself, stopping at a corner.
You crossed before the light turned, the tourists around you wide eyed and curious that a Do Not Cross didn’t stop you. They followed you, and you knew what they felt within them, the first time you darted across a street with the possibility of traffic incoming, little to nothing compared to that feeling. Doing everything for the first time in the city, the freedom, the anonymity, no limits, as if you were immortal, everlasting, whole. New York was your music.
‘The future’s open wide…’
Yunho was your music.
Summer air whipped through your hair, breezed over your skin, a type of fresh laced with a grunge you could taste, grit, determination, the opportunity to restart day after day, to become someone new, to step into who you were meant to be. Even alone on the street, strangers passed by, most you didn’t mind, they lived the life you envied, the life you came here to pursue, you had no fear. Somewhere he was here.
Yunho, a summer night on 32nd street, barreling up and down the sidewalks mouthing off, daring one another to go up to the karaoke bars, to flirt with the bartenders for free drinks, to climb the scaffolding and scream from the top of your lungs, just to fall into one another in fits of laughter before plopping down on a curb on the corner of 33rd and 5th Avenue to admire the Empire State Building. Dozing off on his shoulder as the liquor and rumble of the streets sung you to sleep. Having wandered too far from home, faced with an hour's walk back to your apartment… He tucked you under his arm, kept you awake by making you guess the songs he would sing, and he got you both on the subway and home before you realized you had to be up for work in three hours.
Faced with dirty looks from others as you pushed through a crowded street corner, you eyed the lights, the crosswalk, and the moment the lights changed and the cars stopped, you ran. Even after you hit the curb, you kept running, skipping sideways through groups of girls in tiny party dresses, rounding men with trash cans by the curbs, dodging doors that swung open onto the street. You ran until his building came into view.
Sucking down air like it was your job, you stepped into the vestibule and pressed 323. Pressing a hand over your heart that pounded, you waited. He didn’t answer.
“C’mon,” you gasped, pressing it again. It buzzed. You waited. He didn’t answer.
“Fuck,” you cursed, pulling your phone out. Swiping to his number, you tapped it, pressing your phone to your ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon… Pick up.”
“Your call has been forwarded to an automated–”
“Fuck!”
Leaning into the keypad, you pressed 323 eight times, quickly, before giving up with a groan. Kicking the wall, you staggered backward and sunk against the wall, staring at his apartment number like you’d be able to open it with your eyes. You tried his phone again, but he didn’t answer.
He should be home by now, he never stayed at the label this late. Unless he was making up for all the time he lost dealing with you, he never worked past eight, and usually got back by eight thirty. He could be with San, if you weren’t all out together, those two sometimes went out on their own, but it was Sunday.
About to tap his number again, or maybe Jongho, the inside door to the building pushed open, a woman in a knee length dress with curled hair holding it open for you. “Oh, here you go,” she said sweetly, her deep purple colored lips twisting into a smile. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Thank you,” you breathed, taking the door from her hands. Making sure it closed, you glared up the stairs and shook your head. “Six,” you spat. Go.
By floor three you were already winded. By floor five you propelled yourself up with your hands, slapping the concrete of the next step like it was your bitch. By floor six, you had to stop at the top and catch your breath. Several years in the city and the stairs were still your kryptonite.
He better fucking be here.
Trudging down the hallway of concrete floor and old brown walls, you stopped in front of 323 and held up a fist, freezing before you could pound on it.
What were you going to say? Would you apologize? Would he apologize? Neither of you had anything to apologize for, this was… dumb. Did you think you would show up at his door and tell him… that you don’t know what you’re feeling? That you’re confused, that you think you might like him, that your feelings may be deeper than you thought, that you screwed up six years ago and friendzoned him and he was too sweet to act further? To take it further? Even though the way he pressed his thumb to your lips, the way he had his hands in your hair, your thoughts on the backburner, and his heart in your hands, your knees trembling–
“Shug?”
Your heart sunk to your knees, your stomach leapt up into your throat.
Whirling around, fist still in the air, you released a sigh. “Yunho.”
Wearing sweats, an unlikely outfit for him to be out and about in, accessoryless with a baseball cap on his head, he carried a garment bag folded in half and another bag slung over his shoulder, his leather bag. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping in front of you to unlock his door.
Scrambling back to give him some space, you gaped, a fish out of water. “I-I was… I tried calling you, but I…”
“I left my phone here,” he muttered, pushing the door open. Looking at you over his shoulder, his face unreadable, he asked, “You coming in?”
Stepping over the threshold, following him onto the hardwood of his kitchen, you folded your hands over your belly and bit down on your tongue before blabbing, “I’m here to apologize.”
Setting the bags down on the kitchen table he and San share, he creased his forehead and moved to hang up his hat on the handle of a kitchen cabinet. Popping the fridge open, he eyed the shelves. “Apologize for what?”
“For…” You took a breath and spun in a little circle, almost catching your ankles together. “For–”
Facing him, he waited patiently, holding out a water bottle for you to take. Reaching for it tentatively, he shoved it into your palm. “You smell like alcohol.”
“I was at Jongho’s,” you muttered, all emotion leaving your face. He grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, his t-shirt lifting underneath, flashing you his middle. His toned, golden skinned middle. Averting your gaze, you faced away from him and sipped from the water.
Dressed down, entirely bare aside from the cotton that hung off of him, your apparent new attraction grew tenfold. His shirt was huge, his sweats were huge, but they were tight. They were tight in the–
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Snapping your eyes to his, you widened yours and nodded. “Yes,” you breathed, then screwed your eyes shut, “I mean, no, no, I’m not.”
“How did you get here?” He moved around his kitchen, searching for snacks in the cabinet. He was going to try to feed you. Hurrying to his side, you closed the doors he opened, and he gave you a crazed look.
“I ran,” you said.
He froze. Hands in the air hovering in front of a handle, he laughed aloud once, then turned to press his backside to the counters. “You ran,” he parroted, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps rippled under the loose sleeves. The veins on his forearms, they ran through his elbow to his fingertips. His fingers, they… “Shug.”
“Yeah,” you sighed breathlessly, fluttering your lashes as you looked up at him.
His brown eyes narrowed. “What is up?” Whether your movements were liquor fueled or entirely not your own, you reached for his arms, smoothing your hands over his skin. Face faltering, his eyes shot open as you stepped in front of him, your knees parting around his where they stuck out. “You’re drunk,” he said.
“I’m really not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Then catch up,” you whispered, pressing your fingertips into his skin.
“What are you here for?”
You glanced at the fridge. “Have a drink first.”
Groaning, getting nowhere with you, he gently moved you out of the way and scoured his fridge for a beer while you rifled through the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a bottle of vodka.
“Oh no,” he snickered, “I don’t think so. Put it back.”
Giving him a small smile, you acquired two shot glasses from their resting place. Placing the bottle and the glasses on the counter with a rattle of the glass, you poured out two and knocked one back. “You tell the truth when you’re drinking,” you cringed, nudging his shot closer to him.
The confusion that lived in his eyes since he came up the stairs somewhat subsided, but was still present. Downing half of his beer at once, typical male, he reached for the shotglass with his other hand and shook his head before taking it. Smacking it to the counter top with a groan and a gasp, he said, “I’m gonna hate you tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe,” you said, small and quiet.
“What is going on?” He finished his beer and crunched the can in one hand, throwing it into the kitchen sink with a clang. Pouring two more shots, you held up the glass for him to clink his with yours, and you took them at the same time. “Fuck,” he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Coughing once, you managed, “We’re not going to the gala.”
Eyes shooting open, he cocked his head aside and he poured two more shots. “You’re not serious, we’re good, so what, we argued, we’ve done that before, we’ll–”
“Not like that,” you said, and he frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Clinking your glasses, you both took your third shot and exclaimed aloud. Swallowing thickly, you pointed at him, leaning over the counter he stood on the opposite of. “We’ve never argued… like that.”
Yunho shrugged, pointing his eyes at the glasses. “Whatever.”
Slamming a hand to the counter, you laughed. “That’s all you have to say? Whatever? You’re agreeing with me.”
“Am not,” he spat, giving you a crazed look. “You were bugging out over what happened with that fuckass asshole, and you decided to take it all out on me!”
Scoffing, laughing, maybe both at once, you sprung up and held out your hands. “Would you like me to tell you I wasn’t even thinking about him at all?”
Yunho sneered, “Bullshit, you’re always thinking about him. Him and that god awful attitude, cocky son of a bitch–”
“I was thinking about you,” you shouted, pouring two more shots.
Yunho pushed off the counter and gripped his chin, pulling at his lips. Parading around the kitchen with one hand on his hip. “He’s horrible, he’s horrible, and the shit that he says, and the way he says it, like it’s okay. He talks to all women like that, not just you, but it’s worse because it is you, and I–”
“Yunho,” you raised your voice, moving around the counter to grab onto his arms again, shaking him. “Did you hear me?”
Shaking his head, still lost in his thoughts, he tensed his jaw. “I didn’t, I’m so angry, he pisses me the fuck off.”
“Don’t let him,” you said softly, dragging your hands over his biceps, his forearms, his hands. “He’s not worth it.”
His ragged sigh washed over you. “He’s not, but fuck, he really gets under your skin, how did you put up with him for so long, I just…”
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, answering him between his rambles, “But, I’m done. I’m over it.” Your fingers tangled with his briefly, his distracted mind subconsciously grabbing onto them, letting you do whatever it is you wanted to do to him in this moment.
“He needs to be fired, he needs to be reported and fired…”
“Seonghwa’s taking care of it, I don’t think he’ll get fired.” Sliding your hands from his arms to his middle, you step closer to him and drug them under his shirt, your fingertips finally grazing his middle, his core, his toned belly. He didn’t even realize, he just let you.
“Even if he doesn’t, there needs to be something done with the CEO’s or something, shit, I don’t even know what they’re even called, I don’t know how this shit works, I just know it’s fucked up, and you’ve been subjected to it for so long…”
Placing your palms over his belly, your breath hitching in your chest as you gazed up at him while you felt him, how his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, how his abs clenched with every bite of a word, your blood ran red hot. His lips, moving a mile a minute, you don’t remember when you stopped listening, you wanted to listen, but all you could think about was how they felt, what they’d feel like on yours, wrapped around your…
“Shug.” His voice was quiet.
Looking up at him, how close the two of you had gotten, how he had backed up against the kitchen cabinets, how you were pressing yourself to him. Your hands got greedy, you were gripping him with a vengeance, feeling him up from his belly to his chest, your fingers were peeking out of the neck of his shirt. “Yunho,” you whispered, shameless.
Blinking heavily in the dim light of his kitchen, he dropped his chin, your noses millimeters apart. “Did you say… You’re over it?”
Both hands slid over his chest and up to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the muscles. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you took a breath in time with him and nodded, slowly, whispering, “I did.”
A curse pushed through his lips, one you couldn’t make out in the slur of the liquor. “What are you thinking about right now?”
You dropped your hands lower, your fingertips grazing his nipples on purpose before you gripped his belly. Proud of how he hissed and flinched, you smiled. “You,” you said, blinking up at him. “What you said to me, and how you said it… How it made me feel.”
Breathless, he sighed, “How did it make you feel?”
“Like,” you gulped, using all liquid courage to make these words work, “Like, I wanted… Wanted you to…”
“Fuck,” he whispered, then seemed to remember what he had done, what he said, what he made you feel, what he so obviously realized that he made you feel. Taking his hands to your chin, thumbs pressing into your cheeks, he tipped your head back and lowered his. Eyes burning into yours, his voice rumbled so low you could feel him in your core. “Words. Big girl, remember?”
“Take me,” you whispered, and he held back a smirk. “Take me, show me, do it to me, touch me, fuck me.” His lips parted with a sigh, his brows pinching in the center. “Do what he can’t, what he’ll never get the chance to do, love me.”
His eyes fluttered shut, his vodka laced breath grew uneven. “Hang on.. W-Wait…”
“Yunho,” you whined, and his eyes shot open. “I don’t care about what you’re gonna tell me, about how this s’gonna ruin something, it’s not gonna happen. I hate knowing there’s girls looking at you.”
“Girls looking at me,” he said an inside thought out loud.
“Ki told me,” you grumbled, sliding your hands around his back, leaning on his chest, “The girlies at the label love you.”
He squinted. “What girlies?”
“I dunno,” you said, loud, making him jump, “Maybe it’s Ki and Riley, I dunno, Yunho, do you hear me? I’m over this Hongjoong thing, I just told you to fuck me, and you’re standing here talking to me–”
His strong hands tipped you further back, his frame caging you in against his chest. Tilting his head, he curled his lip with a curse before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss burning hot, a mess of teeth, a mess of tongues, nothing perfect, just a total hot, wet mess. Gasping for air whenever your lips parted, you took your hands out of his shirt and threw them around his neck, lifting your knees to climb onto him. Grunting through clenched teeth as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you higher, he groaned as your fingers knitted through his hair, giving him the gentlest tug.
“You can pull harder than that,” he muttered, and you smiled within the kiss.
“Jeong Yunho,” you teased, head tilting as his lips trailed down the side of your neck. He took two steps forward and sat you down on the counter beside the vodka. Tugging again, harder, he groaned, a sound trapped within his chest. “This s’gon be fun,” you breathed.
Tongue lobbing out to lick stripes under your jaw, he nipped the skin of your neck and hummed, the noise vibrating through you. “Wha’s that,” he slurred, his hands gripping the curve of your waist, shamelessly sliding over your ass to squeeze.
“Figuring out what you like… What we like… Together.”
Connecting his lips with yours, he hummed here, smushing your noses together as he mumbled, “Let me do it.”
“Hm,” you hummed back, dipping your tongue out to swipe over his lips. Nipping at it with his teeth, his heavy eyes drank in your lips, already swollen and pink.
“Let me do it,” he whispered, knees buckling as he tried to kiss you. Holding him by his hair, Yunho entirely leaned over you, his eyes drunk on you, his body drunk on the liquor, he licked his lips and shook his head. “You won’t have to do a thing,” his lower register struck through you, you needed your sweats off, now. “You won’t have to move, you won’t have to think.” Your lips parted and your eyes softened, and he smirked. “Let me do it.”
“Shit,” you hushed, grabbing onto his shirt, yanking it over his head. “Please.” He did the same with your hoodie, pulling it off of you, pleased to find nothing beneath it. He didn’t miss a second. Kissing down your neck, his tongue teasing you in all the right places, he slid his hands down your thighs and pressed them open. Afraid that you soaked through the cotton, your suspicions became true when he grinned up at you. Pulling your legs closed, he forced them back open.
“Don’t,” he whispered, kissing up the valley between your tits, wrapping his lip around your nipple, sucking at it harshly. The first moan fell from your lips, and he nearly crumbled. Fingers digging into your thighs, he muttered, “So fucking perfect.”
Tugging at his hair, the strands a complete tangle now that you’ve mussed them up, your head dropped back with another cry as he kissed the other, using his fingers to tease the perky bud he left a slick mess. “Yunho–”
“God, so perfect,” he groaned, grabbing handfuls of your tits as he stood up to press an open mouthed kiss to your lips, tongues in a tangle, whines intertwining. “Wanna play with you forever.”
“Please, please–”
“Please, what?” Against your lips, he snickered, quietly, proud of what he’s done to you already.
“Touch me,” you whispered, sucking in a gasp as he slid his hands higher on your thighs, up to the curve of your hips, into the dips.
His smile against your lips made your breath shake. “Can I?”
“Yunho,” you whined, trying to grind onto him, but he stood an inch too far.
Glancing between you, he huffed a laugh. “Did I really work you up like this?”
Pulling at his hair, tugging him closer, your noses touched as you muttered, “I wanted you to dick me down on 7th Avenue, asshole.”
“Damn,” he pulled his brows together, “Really?” Rolling your eyes, he snickered. “There’s my girl.” You clenched around nothing, your jaw dropping open with a gasp. He dipped his thumbs over your clothed, wet, center. “Oh, that’s what you like, huh?” Writhing as his thumbs pressed into you, your moan made him pout. “Oh, babe,” he cooed, dragging them up and down, slowly, on purpose. “Feel good?”
Your fingers loosened in his hair. Limbs growing gooey, you smiled something ditzy and let your eyes close. “So good,” you whispered.
His lips ghosted your cheek, his nose pressing there instead. Rocking with you, he said, “I’m barely touching you. My girl’s needy, huh? Kept you waiting so long.”
“Why did you?” Breath irregular, you peeked at him and whined as he grazed over your sweet spot. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Touching the tip of his nose to yours, he gave you a gentle kiss, one that lingered, and whispered, “I was scared.”
“Don’t be,” you shook your head, feeling his thumbs still. The look in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before, one he’s kept hidden for too long, and you his mirror.
He took a hand to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I still am.”
“Let me prove this to you,” you whispered, “That this is real.” Squishing his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him and he laughed. “Let me do what you said you want me to do, let me–”
“No,” he said quickly, standing up straight, still taller than you even with you sitting on the countertop. “You have nothing to prove, nothing you owe, no task to fulfill. I had guy brain, and you don’t deserve guy brain.” Drinking in every word, you bobbed your head. “You really want me?”
Whispering, you smiled, “Since I met you.”
“Since you… Fuck, Shug,” he tried to push away from you, but you pulled him back in, engulfing his lips in a kiss, grabbing onto his shoulders, climbing on top of him. Clinging to his front, the feel of him holding you, carrying you, so secure, you wanted him to fall to the floor and let you defile him as you pleased, but he didn’t stay in the kitchen. Lips locked, he bumped into the skinny walls of the apartment as he stumbled into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
The idea that San could come home at any minute didn’t come to either of you, you left your shirts on the kitchen floor.
Splaying you onto his mattress, climbing over you, he gripped the waist of your sweats and pulled them off, doing the same with his own, wasting little to no time. Mouths working overtime, stifled moans swapped with the spit, he cradled the back of your knees and pushed your thighs against your chest. Parting from you, lips smacking, you caught your breath as he sat back and gazed down at you spread open for him. Shaking his head, taking in how your chest heaved, how your hair was thrown so sexily, so messy, how you glistened for him, all for him.
He did this to you, made you a panting, sweaty, whiney mess. You were in his bed, naked in his bed, he kissed you, he touched you, he was about to… Fuck. Looking between you, at how he sucked down hungry air, how he gazed at your body in disbelief, how your legs were spread, how his heavy, leaking cock would not be able to fit inside of you…
“Yunho,” you whispered, or gasped, it sounded the same.
He gulped and gave you a shake of his head. “Trust me?”
“You’re so big,” you said without a second thought, and he held in his smile. “What the fuck, you… You’ve just been hiding this?”
“Would’ve let you see it if you asked me nicely,” he teased before his eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on your expression. “Trust me?”
Letting your head fall back on the mattress, you whispered, “Always.”
Bending in half, keeping his knees under your legs, he settled on top of you, soothing your racing heart with a soft kiss to your chest before he trailed up your neck to kiss your lips. His fingers smoothed down your belly and slipped between your legs, the first real feel of him touching you, teasing your clit, twisting his fingers in long, gentle circles to work you up, though it felt like he did this for his own enjoyment.
Smiling as he felt your lips part and your arms wrap around his back, he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, groaning with you as you moaned for him with little to no regard for the neighbors. Vulnerable, sensitive, intimate, he thinks he could live right here forever and devote the rest of his life to bringing you pleasure. He grew harder, if that were possible, he thinks he’ll finish untouched, until you finally beg.
“Wanna feel you, wan’ you inside,” you pushed out through gusts of breath, “Please, Yunho, need you, need you.”
“Sound so pretty,” he mumbled through kisses to your skin, “Gotta help me, baby, okay?”
Your whine echoed through his room as you cried, “Okay.” Brows twisting, body burning, you arched off his bed as he slid two long, slender, curved fingers inside of you.
“Damn, Shug,” he said through his teeth, scissoring his fingers as he slid them out of you before he pushed them back in. “Tight little thing, you gonna take all of me?”
“Yes,” you cried, melting into his touch, the slip of his fingers.
“Don’t be an overachiever,” he cooed, nudging your nose with his, the tips of your lips brushing together.
Jaw clenching, you stilled your breath, choked back a moan as he pressed his fingers up, finding that spot with ease, and managed to say, “I could go fuck Hongjoong instead.”
Yunho saw red. You broke out into a grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Pulling his fingers out of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them over your head. Connecting his hips with yours, his cock slipping through your arousal, over your clit, he laughed as you whined, and he held you tighter, your legs, your body, folded in half.
“You’d think I’d see this coming,” he groveled, pressing his nose to your cheek. Angling his hips so his tip caught your entrance, he bared his teeth and spat, “My girl’s a brat.” The pressure between your hips grew as he pushed himself into you, inch by inch, slowly, lips parting as you sucked him in, both of you. “You want him?” His voice shook, his stomach tensed, his grip on your wrists grew even tighter.
Through a breath, you cried, “Yunho,” back arching into his chest, arms and legs writhing in ecstasy, the shock subsiding leaving you completely and utterly cockdrunk.
“Moanin’ my name, but telling me y’want him,” he snapped, testing the waters with a slow drag of his hips. Using one hand to hold both your wrists, he took the other between your legs, playing with you. “Who knew my girl was so messy, huh? You feel this?” The tip of his middle finger swirled over your clit, your body trembling. “So wet,” he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear, “Let me right in, baby, you don’t want him. You’re just a needy little cockslut who’ll say anything to get what she wants, huh?”
Pleasure shot through your middle. “H’my god,” you moaned as he moved again, each gentle thrust of his hips rendering you thoughtless. “Your mouth.”
“My mouth?” He thrust again, harder this time. You nodded and parted your lips to speak, but he slid his finger in, the one he touched you with, spreading your own sweetness over your tongue. “Talk about yours.” Lips wrapping around the digit, you sucked as he pushed it towards the back of your throat, seeing stars as he pushed into you, harder, getting faster as he felt you relax further.
“Saying his name,” he snapped, pulling his finger out with a pop to your dismay. You whined and he shook his head. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, do you hear yourself?” Both of his hands held onto your wrists again. Shifting over you, pressing down on your hands, propping himself up on his knees, lifting your hips in the debauched act, he smirked. “You’re mine.”
Insatiable, starved, entirely feral, he pistoled into you, your foreheads pressed together, your lips bumping with every other moan, every other smack of his hips against yours.
“You’re mine,” he growled again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, his breath rough and ragged. Enthralled with how you writhed, how you cried out his name, how no other word seemed to come to mind, he smiled wickedly, and you clenched around him. “Squeezin’ me already, you like to hear that? That you’re mine?”
“Yes,” you whispered, your lungs filling with air that didn’t seem to release, “Say it, say it.”
He let go of your hands and groaned, sliding them beneath your body, holding onto you. Burying his face in your neck, he latched his teeth to your skin as he rutted into you and moaned, “Mine. No one else can fucking touch you,” he pushed himself up to his elbows to kiss you messily, “I do have a claim on you, fuck anyone else who tries. You belong to me.”
Hands clasping around his back, your nails dug into his skin, scrambled pink lines drawing over the expanse of his golden skin. Your body, gleaming with a sheen that matched his, clung to him. So full, so complete, you didn’t want him to let go. You’d spend eternity getting rocked senseless by Jeong Yunho.
The press of his lips to your skin, the clench of your belly as he pushed himself inside you to the hilt, his hands clinging to you like you were the last strain of sanity in the world–
“I love you,” you whispered, feeling your throat tighten. Tears welled in your eyes as he picked up his head in shock, his eyes wide, his hips slowing.
Mid-breath with parted lips, he brought his hands to your cheeks and held you.
“God, don’t stop,” you whined, half laughing as your tears spilled, “Keep going.”
Yunho, heart thundering in his chest, breath racking through his lungs, he shook his head and drug his thumbs under your eyes to wipe them clean. It took him eight seconds, but he whispered, “I love you too.”
Gazing up at him, trembling in ecstasy and through tears, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss him, hard and soft, all at once. Within it he groaned and grabbed onto you, wrapping himself around you, hitting that pace from before, hard and soft, all at once.
Minutes passed, several sweaty, disgusting, erotic minutes of skin on skin, becoming a part of one another. His bed had shifted, it banged into the wall, the frames of old records already shaking from the noise alone. You were too wrapped up in one another to notice, to care, to give a shit. From mewls, to moans, to giggles, to filthy words, neither of you wanted this to end, but with an ending came a promise of again.
High pitched and entirely deranged, you cried out for him, your vision searing white hot, your body doused in him, clenching around his cock, shaking in his hold, giving him the most vulnerable part of you, allowing him to drive you here, to hold you through it, to talk you through it. His swift mumbles of, “Good girl, oh fuck… Feels so good, I know, did so good… I’m right here, right here– Fuck, where do you want it?”
“Inside,” you whispered, voice broken, only able to hold onto him, your nose pressed to his cheek. “Inside.”
The creak beneath you was obscene as he sped up, focused on his own high, spiraling you into overstim. Head going dizzy as he took you, and used you for what he wanted, what he needed, you moaned with him as he spilled into you, his teeth pressing into your shoulder as he came.
Everything went still, aside from the rise and fall of your chests. Everything went quiet, aside from the gentle noises slipping through your lips.
Lifting his head, his lids heavy, his lips swollen, he gazed down at your fucked out eyes and flushed cheeks and sighed. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered, pushing hair from your face, planting a kiss to your cheek. Blinking up at him, you could only manage a small smile. “Was this your plan? When I found you at my door?”
Shaking your head, you moved at a snail's pace, taking your hands to his cheeks, your body exhausted and trembling. “No,” you whispered, smoothing your thumbs under his lashes, “Just wanted the truth.”
Yunho pursed his lips, his brows curious under his messy hair. “The truth?”
“Yeah,” you smiled, “You do love me.”
“I have since I met you,” he confessed, dragging the backs of his fingers along the edge of your jaw.
“I think I have, too,” you whispered. “I was just…”
Yunho shut his eyes for a second. “Scared.”
“Yeah, scared.”
He started to smile. “Are you still?”
“Not with you,” you whispered, “Never with you. Why do you think I had the balls to say it?”
Laughing, he shifted over you and your bodies parted. Admiring how your lips popped open at the feel, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your bottom lip. “I love you,” he said quietly, like someone would hear him, someone like you.
Cheeks going pink, you smiled. “I love you too.”
“Come shower with me,” he whispered against your dewy skin.
“You might have to carry me, you’re a wild animal.”
His smile pierced through your heart and stirred your belly, swimming in the leftover pleasure he’d brought you to mere minutes ago. “Anything for you, Shug.”
Crawling off of you, he helped you up and wrapped an arm around your back. Pulling open his door a crack, he peered out into the shared space and listened.
Swatting at his chest, you giggled, “You really think he came home?”
Shrugging, he shot you a sarcastic look, “Wouldn’t be able to hear him if he did, you’re really loud.”
“Yunho,” you gasped, bumping him with your hip.
“Look’s like your strength is back,” he teased, “Guess you can walk to the bathroom alone.” His grin grew as he slid his arm off of you, laughing as you grabbed onto him and clung to his side.
“Don’t be a jerk.”
Smoothing a hand over your hair, he hushed you and shook his head, “I’m sorry, I’m kidding, I’d never. C’mon.”
Taking you out toward the kitchen, the bathroom on San’s side of the apartment, you tiptoed over the hardwood, and you both paused.
Your hoodie and his shirt, they were folded neatly and placed on the counter beside the bottle of vodka that had been capped, the shot glasses arranged nicely next to it.
“Uh, we didn’t do that, did we?” he asked, sharing a just as confused look with you.
Thinning your lips, you felt your cheeks flush of all color as you looked up at him. “Nope.”
“Ah, shit,” he grumbled, “Where’s my phone?”
Glancing around, letting yourself slip away from him, you searched for yours as well. Finding it on the other counter, again placed nicely, surprised he didn’t also plug it into a charger for you, you swiped it open and drafted a text to Seonghwa, one you sent with an apology for the late hour.
Yunho groaned from behind you, swiping his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. “Well,” he trailed off, stepping to your side, showing you his screen and his text from San.
UR BROTHER: jongho and i are going to dante’s, glad you idiots worked this shit out IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME… meet us here when you’re done, i want details, jongho doesn’t, please help me torture him… sounds like your doing a good job though!!!
Your shoulders rose to eat your ears.
Yunho bent his knees and leaned into you, popping a kiss to your cheek. “Loud.”
“Stop!” Whining, you shoved him, and he staggered back with a laugh.
“It’s hot,” he shrugged, reaching for you to pull you into the bathroom, “I like it that way. We gonna go get a drink?”
Leaning against the doorframe, watching him turn the hot water on, you admired his bare body and smirked. “If we’re sure that San’ll go home with Jongho.”
Whipping himself around, he took one stride toward you and looped his arms around your neck, pulling you into him. “He always goes home with Jongho, and you’re coming back here with me.”
Biting down on your bottom lip, you smized. “You serious?”
He curled his lip and dropped his chin down to kiss you rough, whispering, “Deadly. Now get in here and let me see if I can make you cum in five minutes.”
“Yunho,” you laughed, having blushed more in your time with him this evening than ever in your life. He whisked you beneath the hot water and pushed you up against the wall, kissing you.
Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a deep breath. “I don’t wanna go to the gala.” A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, growing until you almost doubled over in laughter. “Whaaat,” he whined, laughing with you, the sound contagious.
Gripping his cheeks you shook him a bit. “Don’t worry about that, we’re not going. I just told Seonghwa.”
“Oh,” he sighed, relieved, “Okay, good, that’s okay?”
“More than okay,” you rolled your eyes, “I didn’t wanna go either.”
Pulling his lips to the side, he said, “I got your dress fixed.” Taking your wide eyes for an answer, he added, “I went back to the store to get it, San knows someone really good at this kind of stuff.”
“Who is she?”
“He. A drag queen in Greenwich.”
Huffing through a laugh, you shook your head. “You know sometimes they prefer it if you call them she.”
Yunho furrowed his brows. “His name was Brian.”
Tilting your head, you squinted. “Huh… Why are they all named Brian?”
“Don’t know…” His voice trailed off, leaving you both in thought until he dropped down to his knees and spread your thighs apart with his chin. Laughing at how you shrieked, he wiggled his way between them and kissed the inside of your hips.
Your fingers tangled with his hair. Laying your head on the wall, you laughed breathlessly, “Five minutes.”
He smirked and poked out his tongue. “Starting now.”
you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.
☾ Pairing: Witch hunter! Seonghwa x Witch! f! Reader x Witch hunter! Wooyoung
☾ Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, witch au, M for mature
☾ Warnings: Mentions of violence, light violence, mentions of death, brief description of death, weapons
☾ Word count: 9398
☾ Summary: Witch hunters aren't meant to care for you. And yet, here you are, drawn to two unlikely hunters who show you that safety and warmth will always be possible.
This is for @lapydiaries Witch Hunt Anniversary Event! It was a doozy to write, and even now there is so much more I wanted to add to this. The prompt chosen was "A witch was wronged by other witches, and hides among hunters to get their revenge {Agate Prompt}" and I hope I did it justice!
Also I beg, please tell me of any typos. I was using Microsoft Word and i haven't touched that in literal years so I am very unused to it :(
No beta we die like men (i went through it briefly for spelling errors)
You wake to the smell of iron and smoke.
For a moment, you think you’re still running—boots pounding behind you, spells crackling too close to your spine—but the pain is different now. It’s like someone has wrapped it carefully instead of letting it bleed. And judging from the bandages around your waist, someone has.
You try to sit up, but strong hands stop you immediately.
“Don’t,” a voice says. Calm, low, and unbothered. “You’ll reopen it.”
You freeze, opening your eyes. At first, all you see is firelight and stone. You blink quickly, shaking away the shadows when a narrow room comes into focus. A sword leans against the wall, polished and close enough to reach. There’s a mark of witch hunters branded into the heavy iron.
A mix of fear and relief churns in your stomach. You’re not dead, so they don’t know that you’re a witch yet. But you know what you’ve done will soon spread. Then their kindness will not matter. The bandages are bound tightly, clean and precise. Someone knew what they were doing, and you need their skill to heal properly. The metal bullets that tore through your skin bind your magic still.
The man beside you notices the way you overthink and pulls his hands away. “I won’t touch you,” he promises, voice soft. “You’re safe. For now.”
That’s when you see him properly.
He looks like a hunter in all the obvious ways. Dark clothes, disciplined posture, the kind of stillness that comes with years of practice. But his eyes are not what you’re used to from the humans. They’re too gentle, too understanding, like he’s already decided something.
“Why?” you whisper. Your throat burns.
He considers the question, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he offers you a knowing smile. You don’t pry. You don’t dare to. And before you can say anything else, the door creaks open.
“Oh. She’s awake.” The second voice is brighter, but sharper. A little too casual. Another man steps out, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. His gaze flicks from your face to the bandages and back again. “Are we keeping the stray?”
The man beside you doesn’t look away. “Wooyoung.”
“I’m just saying,” Wooyoung continues, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside. He moves gracefully, but you can tell from his gait that he never truly learned how to be still. “Most people who lay bleeding in the forest tend to be what we don’t want in our houses.”
Your pulse spikes. Before you can stop it, heat curls in your chest, magic stirring instinctually to protect-
Wooyoung sees the glow in your chest and his smile vanishes. The air changes. “…Oh,” he breathes out. “That kind of stray.”
The shout is usually what follows after the revelation. Or the blade.
It never comes.
Instead, the man beside you exhales, slow and measured, like he expected this. “She’s injured and frightened. That’s all that matters.”
Wooyoung scoffs. “You say that like that’s all we need.”
“It’s enough,” the man replies. There’s something you sense in his voice that tells you it’s all he’s willing to say on the topic anymore.
Wooyoung studies him for a long moment. Then his gaze slides back to you, sharp and unreadable. “You got a name?”
You hesitate. “You don’t have to answer,” the man beside you reassures. That, more than anything, breaks you.
Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them, and you turn your face away, ashamed of the weakness. But no one presses.
Wooyoung just clicks his tongue and looks up at the ceiling, the long line of his neck smooth and unmarred. “Great,” he mutters. “Now I feel like an asshole.”
The hunter beside you finally stands, tall and imposing. He adjusts the blanket around you with meticulous care, still not touching skin. “My name is Seonghwa,” he says, “You’ll stay here tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do next.”
Wooyoung hovers near the door, watching you like a lit fuse he hasn’t decided whether to cut or not. “Get some rest, witch,” he adds, quieter than before. “You’re not dead yet.”
When the door closes and the fire crackles low, you stare at the empty space. You don’t know why they’re helping you, or what they’ll do once they know exactly what you’ve done. But for the first time in a very long time, no one is asking you to explain yourself.
And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous mercy of all.
-
The next morning, you’re awoken by the creak of the door opening to reveal a shadowy figure looming in the light. You don’t know when you fell asleep, and you hardly remember last night, your magic flaring in your chest before you remember and it dies down. The hunter—Seonghwa—watches with thinly-veiled amusement, his eyebrows rising. “Short term memory loss is a sign of a concussion.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice. “We can get that checked.”
You shake your head quickly, ignoring the dizziness that follows. “I don’t have a concussion,” you decide, wanting to avoid any poking and prodding. “Everything is superficial.”
He regards you a bit more seriously this time. In the morning light, you see him a bit better. He’s handsome, almost impossibly so. But there’s a smattering of scarring around his eyes. Silver. Magic burns.
“If you were hurt by witches, why have you helped me?” The question springs out of your mouth unbidden. You cringe back, ready for a bullet through your heart, but Seonghwa just chuckles, as if he’s likened you to a kitten who is learning to hiss.
“You were already hurt,” he says simply. “Leaving you like that wasn’t an option.”
“Even for Wooyoung?” you pry a little more. “He didn’t seem exactly thrilled to have me here.”
Seonghwa just smiles slightly wider, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him. I won’t pretend to know what goes on in his head.” He takes a small step forward. “Now, let’s take a look at your wounds. I wrapped them with salve, but I’d like to make sure they’re not infected.”
You can’t decline in your state, but even if you could, you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you shift over to give him easy access to your ribs. Slender fingers skirt along your sides, and you hold back your squirming.
“No infection just yet,” Seonghwa says softly. “Looks like you’ll just need some rest. Thankfully.”
You nod, tugging your tunic back on before shying away from his presence. “You’re a strange hunter,” you mumble.
“He really is.” You jump and whip your head around to see Wooyoung grinning at you like a cat that swallowed a canary. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t look very sorry at all.
Wooyoung steps closer, assessing you with a sharp eye. “So, now that you’re all patched up and Seonghwa yelled at me for scaring you, why don’t you tell us how you ended up bleeding out on our doorstep?”
Immediately, you freeze. If you tell them the truth, they’re sure to kill you. But even if you lie, news will spread like wildfire.
Neither Wooyoung or Seonghwa push you to answer, however, and instead wait patiently for you to gather your thoughts. And it’s that specifically that makes you spill your guts. “My coven betrayed me,” you say softly. “Maybe I deserved it. I saved a hunter. But it quickly spiralled out of control. It was…horrific. I don’t know how I survived.”
You shudder at the memory, and Seonghwa rests his hand on your lower back in an attempt to comfort. And somehow, it works. “…It’s not your fault,” Wooyoung murmurs so softly that you almost miss it. “How were you supposed to know your choice, your kindness would cost you?”
The two hunters exchange silent looks. The silence is palpable, and you shift nervously as you wait to hear the outcome of your future. And then, Seonghwa speaks.
“You can say,” he speaks slowly but surely. “You’re not a threat. And…and we understand your situation more than you’d expect.” They don’t explain, but you know when prying is ill-advised.
“Just…don’t use magic. For now,” Wooyoung adds. “They leave residue. Hunters will track it down. Especially if they already know your signature.”
All you do is thank them and hope your past doesn’t come to bite you in the ass.
-
You’ve been at the hunter’s home for a while. Although the hunters warn you against going outside without them, you find plenty to do inside. You organise their kitchen, cook warm meals when they come back late and reeking of blood and magic, and you make sure the fire stays lit and the paper wards posted around the house remain strong. It feels almost like home, but each time you settle in, you immediately pull away again. It’s not right to carve out your place in a house in which you don’t belong.
Even if they let you have your own room. Even if Seonghwa smiles and lets you do what you wish. Even if Wooyoung seems to know exactly what you want before you even say it. And in return, you learn about them.
You know how Seonghwa organises the herbs, makes sure everything is in its place. You especially know how his eyes shine when he’s happy, and the way his voice stutters when he’s trying hard not to laugh at Wooyoung’s antics. He’s fiercely protective, but reserved, and you admire him for the way he is able to keep a clear head.
And Wooyoung…he always has a retort on the tip of his tongue. He gets into more trouble than he’s worth, Seonghwa always says, and yet there’s nothing Wooyoung wouldn’t do to make sure the both of you are smiling. Even you, the outsider. He cares more than he lets on.
One evening, you elect to eat dinner with them, rather than in your room. The stew was too hot, and you burned your tongue, but you didn’t even mind. It was the first time in days that you’d eaten until you’re full, without listening for footsteps between every bite. The cabin smelled like herbs and smoke and comfort. Safety.
Wooyoung sat across from you, chair tipped back slightly, watching you over the rim of the cup. “You eat like someone’s going to steal it from you.”
You frown. “You don’t?”
Wooyoung grins and winks. “Not anymore.”
Seonghwa shoots him a look over his shoulder from where he was cleaning a knife at the counter. “Don’t tease her.”
“I’m doing none of the sort,” Wooyoung protests. “I’m observing.”
“You’re hovering,” the taller hunter corrects, lips pulling up into a smile.
Pointedly, Wooyoung ignores him and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Tell me, are you always this quiet? Or are we just not worthy of conversation yet?”
You huff a quiet laugh. Both men freeze. “…What?” you ask tentatively, your smile fading slightly.
“Nothing,” Seonghwa says gently, something warm in his eyes. “Just that it’s nice to hear you relax.”
Cheeks warm for no reason you want to examine, you duck your head and stir your bowl shyly. The fire crackles softly, the cabin feeling small in the best way. Your shoulders are no longer tense, your hands no longer trembling. You take another bite and swallow, before lifting your head to speak.
Wooyoung’s chair legs hit the floor, hard, the sound cracking though the room. Your brows furrow. He isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring at the wall behind you—no—past it. Through it. His posture changes in an instant, easy slouch gone, body pulled taught like a wire. Seonghwa stops and follows his gaze, the knife in his hands still.
“What?” you ask. And then you feel it.
The air shifts.
You almost didn’t notice it at first. The fire grew still, the atmosphere heavy and thick. A faint tremor ran through you, not quite fear.
Wooyoung stands slowly, his posture too straight. “Probably nothing,” he says, but his voice has lost its warmth.
Seonghwa sets the knife down with too much care. “I’ll check the perimeter.” He glances at you. “The traps.”
He begins to move towards the door, where Wooyoung already is with his hand braced against the wood and head tilted like he is listening to something far away.
You swallow hard. “I don’t like this…”
Wooyoung glances back at you, his expression softening slightly. “Hey, you’re fine,” he reassures weakly, his hand curled into a fist.
He pulls the door open slightly, and the temperature in the room drops despite the summer heat. You feel it immediately. Pressure, like invisible threads pulled tight. The two hunters step outside, peering around the tree line. Seonghwa’s fingers twitch. A small motion, a flick of the fingers, like brushing ash away.
Then the pressure snapped. Gone.
You can see the way Wooyoung’s form relaxes, his breath being let out. “See? Nothing,” he says lightly as Seonghwa files back in and shuts the door.
“It didn’t feel like nothing,” you counter, the furrow between your brows deepening slightly.
Seonghwa moves back to the counter, picking up the knife again. “The woods change often. Sound carries. Animals move through.”
You stare at them. They’re lying. Pretending so well it almost words. But you know what magic feels like. Something- someone was in those woods. Your skin still buzzes like you were in the middle of a ritual circle.
But why would they lie?
-
The thought wouldn’t leave you, weeks later.
It sat at the back of your mind all morning, quiet but persistent, like a splinter under skin.
They were too calm, too aware. Too fast.
You remember that night well. The way Wooyoung had reacted before anything happened. How Seonghwa stilled at the same time. The way the air around the house shifted before you noticed it.
You tried to shake it off, but your instincts had kept you alive this long.
Something is wrong.
Seonghwa is at the table, repairing a leather strap with steady hands. Wooyoung is on the floor nearby, back against the wall, carving something into a small piece of wood. It’s an act, and you watch it for far longer than you mean to.
Wooyoung notices first. Of course he does. His eyes flick up mid-carve. “You okay?”
You nod, stilted. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t believe you. And neither does Seonghwa.
“You’ve been quiet recently,” he pries gently.
The words are thick in your throat, and you swallow hard. “Can I ask something?”
They both turn slowly to face you, and you almost back out. “That night,” you say, forcing the words out, “when we heard something outside…you weren’t surprised. Alert, sure. But you were ready for it.”
Wooyoung snorts. “We live here. We’re used to it.”
“That’s not what I mean. I know what it feels like when magic is nearby. I’m a witch.”
Wooyoung’s expression shifts. A flicker of something you can’t place. Seonghwa holds your gaze. “Then you’d know if we were the same.” His words are certain, grounded, and you falter.
“But—”
There’s a loud crash, then a heavy metal snap from outside, and you flinch hard. Wooyoung jumps to his feet instantly. “Damn it,” he mutters, heading for the door as he pulls his jacket on.
Seonghwa grabs a bow from the wall before following. “Stay inside,” he directs you, but when he exits, you rush to the porch anyway.
A deer had gotten tangled in a snare near the edge of the clearing. It thrashes weakly, rope twisted around its leg. Wooyoung swears under his breath and runs towards it, Seonghwa following at a slower pace. They murmur nonsense the whole time Seonghwa works the rope loose.
The moment the deer pulls free, it bolts, and Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath, falling backwards into the dirt. You let out a startled laugh, and Wooyoung glares from his place on the ground. “You making fun of me?”
“You’re fine,” you call back, a smile on your face. Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head as he helps Wooyoung up.
They look normal. Breathing heavy, mud on their clothes. Just two men in the woods dealing with a stupid snare. Your chest loosens. You’re just projecting. Letting fear twist everything, too scared of your past repeating itself. You’re a witch. You’d know if they were too.
You have more important things to worry about, anyway.
-
“Why do you always look like that?”
One late evening, Seonghwa had made a trip to town, and Wooyoung stayed to keep you company. Or keep an eye on you. Maybe both. You turn your face towards where he sits at the heart, poking at the fire with the poker. “What do you mean?” you ask tentatively, moving to sit in the armchair.
“You always look like something- someone is going to burst through the door and everything that is good will end.” His words give you pause. They’re true. And he knows it. “What made you run?” Wooyoung asks after a moment’s hesitation.
“Everyone runs from something,” you reply lightly.
“I’m not asking everyone.”
Your foot twitches. Maybe you are about to bolt. But something about the way he speaks—clean, not hidden behind an easy smile and a joke—makes you want to answer. “I made a mistake,” you say slowly. “One you don’t get to undo.”
Wooyoung’s jaw tightens. “Did someone hurt you?”
Your lips twitch into a melancholy smile. “Something like that.”
He exhales through his nose, frustrated, but he nods. Accepts it, for the most part. “You don’t trust us.” It’s not an accusation, just a statement.
You meet his eyes. “I don’t trust anyone.” This time, it’s the truth. “It doesn’t come easy to me anymore. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”
Wooyoung frowns. “But you stayed,” he says quietly. “If someone comes looking for you…”
“They usually do,” you shrug like it’s a well-known fact.
A short laugh escapes Wooyoung’s lips, mirthless. He looks at you like…like you matter. You ignore it. “You won’t be alone,” he finishes softly, his hand clenching into a fist before he forces it to relax.
You tilt your head. “That’s a bold promise.”
“Yeah. I know.” Wooyoung’s gaze remains serious, and then the playful smile returns. “When have I never kept my promise?”
You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he wants you to say. “Well, there was that time you told Seonghwa you would go to town and get some ingredients but forgot. And then there was that time…”
-
After that day, things change. They stop watching you like you’re about to bolt, and you no longer look around your surroundings like you want to bolt. You no longer feel the need to notice every little whisper of wind that passes by, especially when you have other things to notice now.
You wake one morning early, earlier than usual, feeling the urge to make tea. The sun still hadn’t risen while you sit in the kitchen, watching the clouds move across the sky. Then you hear them chatter.
Seonghwa is crouched beside Wooyoung, leaning close over a small scrap of parchment. His fingers brush against Wooyoung’s hand lightly, so gentle it made your chest tighten. Wooyoung’s eyes soften, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’re not sure whether to interrupt or look away.
A soft laugh escapes Wooyoung. Quiet, almost shy, quite unlike how you know him, and Seonghwa tilts his head, meeting his gaze with a small, patient smile. You blink, your stomach doing a little flip. They care about each other, clear as day. Really care.
The realisation hit. They move together so naturally, it makes you ache in longing. It wasn’t just friendship, but love. True, unequivocal love.
As if drawn to it, you shift towards them, and the floorboard creaks. Their heads snap up, eyes wide as they both freeze. Seonghwa’s hand lingers mid-air, like he had been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Wooyoung’s smile falters, and the calculating glint you are used to returns to his eyes, despite the flush creeping over his cheeks.
You clear your throat, setting aside the intimacy you noticed and instead giving them the space they deserve. “Tea,” you explain, gesturing to the kettle that has just begun to boil. “Want some?”
Both men straighten instantly. The gentle tension vanished, replaced by normalcy, but your heart had already noted the truth. You couldn’t unsee it. And as they took seats on either side of you, you told yourself it was nothing. But the tiny, quiet ache in your chest said otherwise.
They love each other. And you wish you had it.
-
The home is quiet in the late evening, fire low, dishes done, the world outside reduced to the wind blowing through the trees.
You sit on the floor, back against the couch, mending a tear in your sleeve with clumsy, uneven stitches. Your tongue peeks through your lips in concentration. Wooyoung notices first, his lips twitching as he holds back a smile. He’s sprawled on the rug on his stomach, chin resting in his hands as he watches you like it’s a show.
“That’s tragic,” he says. “You’re practically committing crimes against fabric.”
Seonghwa sighs from the couch, but there’s a smile in it. “Don’t bully her.”
“I’m not bullying her. I’m witnessing.”
You huff, glaring at him with no real heat behind it. “I didn’t exactly have a peaceful, domestic upbringing, okay? No one taught me how to sew properly.”
That makes them both go quiet for half a second. Not laced with pity. Just a new awareness.
Wooyoung rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. “Okay, c’mere.”
Frowning, you shuffle closer on your knees, holding up the sleeve. He takes it gently from your hands, fingers brushing against yours. Warm.
“Don’t yank the thread like that,” he mutters, focused now. “You’re making it pucker.”
Seonghwa leans forward from the couch, watching the two of you. His gaze is soft, directed not just towards Wooyoung, but at you too. “You’ve never had anyone do this with you?” he asks quietly, not willing to just drop it.
You shrug, watching Wooyoung with your chin on your knees. “Nah. I manage.”
Wooyoung clicks his tongue and finishes a few neat stitches. When he hands the sleeve back, his other hand reaches out to grasp your wrist gently. As if he’s making sure you’re still there. “You don’t always have to manage alone,” he says lightly, but he doesn’t look at you when he says it.
Brushing it off, you laugh. “I’m not helpless.”
“We know,” Seonghwa says softly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t let people take care of you. That’s just life.”
His eyes are on you in a quiet, searching way. You smile, a little crooked as you try and lighten the atmosphere. “You sound like an old married couple giving advice.”
Wooyoung grins. “We are very wise and experienced in the art of existing.”
Seonghwa reaches down absentmindedly and smooths a wrinkle from your shoulder where your shirt twisted. His touch is brief, natural. You lean into it automatically. “You deserve gentleness too,” he says, almost under his breath.
“Yeah. Maybe someday,” you hum, mind wandering to a day where you can smile freely.
Wooyoung breathes out through his nose, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Next time, just ask, okay? For help. For anything.”
Returning his smile, you nod. “Okay,” you say easily. “I will.”
-
You don’t worry about anything for a long time. Nothing happens, and you feel comfortable. You manage to sleep through nights, laugh with Wooyoung, and poke fun at Seonghwa. Soon, you feel safe enough to go out with them, gathering herbs and sticking protective charms on the trees.
Today is one of those times. You’re halfway down the path, Wooyoung and Seonghwa on either side of you, when you notice the silence. The birds have stopped singing.
“…Okay. That’s not my favourite thing,” Wooyoung mutters, trying to make light but his hands drift towards the dagger in his belt.
Seonghwa doesn’t react outwardly, but you see the shift. Shoulders straighten, eyes scanning the tree line. Slowly, you turn around and start the slow walk back to the safehouse. Running is not an option. Running means fear.
You feel it in your ribs. That crawling feeling you hadn’t had since before you found the hunters. You hate that it’s back.
“Seonghwa…” you murmur.
He glances at you. “I know.”
Wooyoung clears his throat, keeping his voice level. “Probably just a boar or something, right?” But he’s already moving closer to you.
You don’t look at them when you say it. “The other hunters…it’s the same feeling right before they found me.”
Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the haze in your mind, calm but firmer now. “We’re almost back.”
You take a few more steps when a twig snaps behind you. You shouldn’t have, but your head snaps back. Nothing there. Just trees. But the air tastes metallic. Burnt. Magical residue. You know the charm well. Marking patterns, testing distance.
Wooyoung’s hand brushes yours briefly. “We’ll take the long way,” he murmurs, guiding you to turn away in a different direction.
Seonghwa casts a quick glance back, his mouth moving around silent syllables. And for the first time since the deer, you don’t tell yourself you imagined it.
That night, you can’t sleep. The feeling hasn’t left.
You sit up quietly, running your hands through your hair before you realise Seonghwa is already awake. He sits at the table, a candle burning low behind him as he pours over old maps and ancient books in languages you don’t know. You get up, stepping closer.
“You don’t sleep much.”
He doesn’t startle, just turns to look at you. “Yes, I do.”
You raise a brow, and he almost smiles.
You sit across from him, pushing aside an errant book to make room to lean on the table. “Something’s wrong,” you say after a long silence. “And you knew before today. And you knew they were close, and have been.”
Seonghwa pauses, letting out a breath. “Yes.” There’s no denial in his voice.
“You don’t feel like a hunter.”
There’s another drawn-out silence, a space where the truth could fall. His eyes lift to meet your gaze. “Then what do I feel like?”
You swallow hard. “Like…someone who is making himself become one.”
The candle flickers. You can see the gears turning in his head. The point where he could tell you the truth. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. And then Seonghwa turns his face away. “We should reinforce the perimeter tomorrow.”
You nod and stand. “Good night, Seonghwa.”
The unspoken truth hangs between you like breath in cold air.
-
They attack without warning. They never do.
The wind hesitates one evening, and your stomach tightens. Seonghwa notices at the same time, setting his cup down slowly. Wooyoung is mid-sentence, complaining about something trivial, when his mouth snaps shut with an audible click of his teeth. “You feel that too, right?”
You’re already standing. “Someone’s here.”
Seonghwa moves towards the wall where the weapons hang. Calm, measured. “You stay inside.”
You almost laugh. “I’m not hiding.”
A branch snaps in the woods. Then another. They’re no longer trying to be quiet.
Wooyoung reaches for a blade, his eyes flicking to you. The door bursts open before anyone reaches it.
Hunters flood in. Their weapons are trained in on you, etched with sigils you recognise too well. Your blood goes cold. The very same clan as the one hunter you saved what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Behind me.” Seonghwa’s voice is tight, but controlled. A hunter lunges for you, but you spin away from his grasp at the last second. Wooyoung rushes forward.
You try your best to assist, but your magic isn’t careful enough to target the hunters in such an enclosed space. And though you try your hardest, you are untrained in the art of a blade, and you wield a sharp dagger stolen from the wall clumsily.
Wooyoung manages to bring a handful of hunters down, but he can’t hold them all back, and Seonghwa is across the room from you. One, or maybe two, grab your wrist and wrench you off balance. Pain shoots up your shoulder as they slam you into the wall.
The wind is knocked out of you, and you fall to the floor. “YN!” Wooyoung’s desperate cry echoes in the house’s walls, but you barely register it, eyes trained in on the silver blade positioned above you.
“Got her—”
The words don’t finish. The air tightens, and you stare as the hunter’s neck, and then face, turn red, then purple, then lifeless as his eyes roll back and the blade falls uselessly from his fingers.
Silence falls over the room. No one moves a muscle. You turn your head, meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. He’s not holding a weapon, his hand is just slightly raised. And the space around him is wrong. Not dramatic.
Just…bent. Bent around his form, his entire being.
Another hunter rushes forward with a yell, blade raised. You open your mouth to scream, but there is no need. The man hits an invisible wall and is thrown back hard enough to crack his skull.
Wooyoung stares, his blade lowered. You stare, your mind whirring. Because Seonghwa’s expression hasn’t changed. Not rage, not panic, just deadly, quiet focus.
The hunters turn their attentions towards him, but it’s no use. Seonghwa’s fingers flex, and every counter sigil in sight burns out mid-air. Magic fills the air, suffocating everything in its path. It’s not wild like yours. It’s ancient magic, precise and practised.
The hunters fall one by one, and their bodies disintegrate to ash when the light in the eyes of the last one standing leaves. And silence crashes down.
The room feels too big now, the pressure gone. Seonghwa’s hand drops. For the first time since you met him, he looks….unsure. His eyes find yours, wide and finally filled with fear. He’s scared not of the hunters, but of how you will react.
His gaze flicks to Wooyoung, who is frozen in the doorway, staring at Seonghwa like he’s seeing him for the first time too. But in the end, Seonghwa’s eyes move back to you. “I didn’t—” His voice is quiet now. Human again. “I couldn’t let them touch you.”
No excuses, no denial. Just a simple explanation. You take a small step forward. “I…I know.” You offer a weak smile. “And you know I knew.”
Seonghwa lets out a breath. “Yes.”
“Did you?” You turn to Wooyoung, your tone not accusing, just curious.
Wooyoung nods, stilted. He looks away. “It wasn’t my place to say,” he mutters.
You laugh softly, breathlessly. “No. I understand. Some things take time.” The fire pops. “I’ve hidden worse.”
Seonghwa crosses the room, summoning a blanket which he adjusts around your shoulders like he’s done a dozen times before. Careful, warm, and close. “Thank you,” he says softly, his eyes shining with something unguarded.
You don’t need to reply. You just pull him into a tight embrace, reaching out a hand for Wooyoung, who joins without another moment. And it’s all you need for this moment.
-
Much later, when it’s quiet, you tiptoe out to the porch. The tension is gone, left with a fragile peace. The safe house no longer reeks of dangerous magic, the fireplace is reduced to a warm orange glow that glints on the windowpanes. Seonghwa joins you a moment later.
The silence grows thick between you two before you finally break it. “You used magic without thinking. For me. In the open. You could have hidden it. Why didn’t you?”
His hands, fidgeting with a stray thread on his tunic, shake slightly. “You…you had enough to deal with.” You reach out to grasp his fingers, stilling the nervous movement, and you both know it’s time to explain.
“I grew up in a coven that believed control was love,” he says quietly, and you don’t interrupt. “If someone struggled, they weren’t helped. They were corrected. Containment. Binding. Silence.”
His mouth tightens when you suck in a breath. It’s the worst fate one could wish on a witch. To bind their magic, to force them to contain it. Magic naturally flows out of every living thing, and to force it to stop means a long, slow, destruction. A burning from the inside out. But still, you say nothing else.
“There was someone. Bright, emotional, not quite what the elders approved,” he continues. You know how this ends. You can feel it. “They lost control one night. No one was hurt. But the coven decided they were dangerous, and ordered a binding.
“It was the first time I argued against them. I insisted we could teach them. Help them stabilise.” He smiles, a faint, sad one. “They ordered me to perform it. They condemned my sister, and then ordered me to carry out the punishment.”
The words sit between you. “I refused. And so, I was exiled. And branded so I could never return. I couldn’t save them.” The scars laid over his eye glint in the light, and something twists in your gut.
“So you became a hunter.”
Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head and letting stray hairs fall in his eyes. “I don’t hunt witches specifically,” he says quietly. “I stop harm where I can. Sometimes that includes magic. Sometimes it includes humans.”
You swallow. “Why tell me?”
Seonghwa finally pulls a hand away, but only so he can brush his hair back again. Perfect, pristine, careful. “Because you look at yourself like you regret your kindness. The way I looked at my sister the last time I saw her.” Your breath catches. “It wasn’t. Not for her, and not for you.”
The fire inside dies, but the air between you two remains warm. “I couldn’t protect someone who needed me once,” he adds, almost too quiet to hear. “I couldn’t make that mistake again.”
And it’s not a promise spoken like a hero. It’s a vow from someone who had failed once and is terrified of doing it twice.
-
The next few days pass in silence. Fresh off the attack, and with the new knowledge of Seonghwa, tension is high. Seonghwa double-checks, triple-checks the wards, sets up fresh and clean traps. Busies himself with cleaning until not even a spider remains. Wooyoung is the exact opposite. He’s still, for once. Spends his time looking out the window, watching for any sort of movement. Sometimes, he falls asleep at the sill, and before either of you can wake him, he jerks upright and resumes his watch.
But you. You don’t know what to do. The knowledge that you’re no longer the only witch leaves you with some comfort, that you’re not alone. But it also makes
The fire is low again. You didn’t mean to talk this much tonight. It just…happened. The quiet was too much for you to handle, the weight of your story heavy. You already told them about the hunter. About healing him. But you hadn’t said the part that matters most.
“I thought,” you murmur, staring into the embers like they hold all the answers for you, “if one of them lived because of a witch, maybe the story would change.”
Wooyoung goes rigid beside you. Seonghwa slowly lifts his head to look at you.
“I didn’t see him leave. Didn’t know he marked the paths. Counted our wards.,” you continue. Your voice is distant, as if retelling someone else’s tragedy. “They came back at dawn. With him leading them.”
Seonghwa’s hand reaches out but stops half-way to your arm. But Wooyoung…Wooyoung isn’t breathing right. But you press on, like you always have.
“They burned the outer homes first,” you say. “So we’d run inward. Trapped us.”
A sharp, painful laugh escapes you. “My coven didn’t even try to defend me once they found out. They said I brought it upon us. That mercy was weakness. That I’d chosen humans over my own.” You hesitate before saying the part that hurts the most, that doesn’t feel real. “And they handed me over.”
A sharp intake of breath draws your attention, and you glance sideways and stop. Wooyoung is staring at the floor like it’s opened beneath him. His voice comes out hoarse. “You said…before. That you made a mistake. That was it?”
For some reason, he looks like he’s the one remembering smoke in his lungs. “I made a bad choice,” you say simply.
He lets out a quote, wrecked laugh. “You helped someone who was dying.”
“And he repaid it by slaughtering people who trusted me.”
Wooyoung’s head snaps up. “That wasn’t your fault. Kindness isn’t a crime.”
Shaking your head, you look down. “Sometimes it is.” You regret the words when you hear Seonghwa sigh softly.
But there is no other reply, and you look up to see the way Wooyoung’s jaw clenches so hard you can see it tremble. Something in his gaze makes your heart ache. Hurt. Unsurety. He presses a hand to his mouth, lips drawn tight. Seonghwa looks at him with understanding. And you know you won’t get to share that until Wooyoung chooses to let you.
“You were brave.” Wooyoung’s words make you freeze, your throat tightening. He looks away quickly, pressing his hands to his eyes. “You don’t get to decide you’re the villain just because you had faith in humanity.”
His hand finds yours on the floor between you. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate. “I’m glad you made that mistake,” he says quietly. “Because if you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
Seonghwa nods sagely. “People chose violence. That wasn’t you.” He moves closer, just a little, his shoulder fully against yours now. Warm, solid. Careful. “If kindness is a crime, then the world’s already doomed.”
You don’t say anything else. You can’t bring yourself to. But it’s a breath of fresh air, and you know the house has changed, and will change. For the better.
-
Change comes slowly. But you appreciate it. You still need to be careful, keep your magic under wraps, but with the comfort of knowing Seonghwa understands you entirely. You finally feel like you could, just maybe, call this place home.
One summer night, you sit on the bottom step of the staircase, chin resting on your knees, watching the fire in the hearth burn low. The light flickers along the walls, warm and steady. You’re just resting. Not listening. Not watching. Not longing.
Across the room, Seonghwa sits on the floor with his back against the couch. A book rests open in his lap, but his eyes scan the same page over and over. Wooyoung is half-sprawled beside him, head tipped sideways against Seonghwa’s shoulder. His eyes are closed, breathing slow, one hand loosely interlaced with Seonghwa’s.
Neither of them have moved for a long time.
Your chest feels strange. Too full. Too quiet. And you look away. That kind of closeness is something you deserve in another life. Something other people get in this one. People who weren’t—
You swallow, pushing that thought to the back of your mind. Instead, you focus on how they fit together naturally. Like they don’t have to flinch when being touched. You wonder what that must be like. To lean your weight against someone and not expect them to move away. What it must be like to be reached out to first.
Wanting things like that makes you stupid. You can’t afford to wish. Your throat tightens, and you tuck the feeling away where the others go. Under your ribs, behind your teeth. But you can’t stop your eyes from drifting back.
“You two are…good together.” Your voice comes out quieter than you mean.
Seonghwa looks up, his eyes softening when he sees you. Wooyoung stirs, blinking sleepily as he turns his gaze towards you. “Hm?”
“Nothing,” you say quickly. “Just. You two match.”
Wooyoung smiles lazily. “We know.” He shifts, sitting up a little. “Come here.”
Your whole body goes still. “What?” You shake your head too fast. “I’m good here.”
Seonghwa closes his book, setting it aside. “It’s warmer here.”
You force your lips to move up in a smile, hoping it looks convincing. “I don’t— I’m okay. Really.”
Wooyoung’s lips turn down, a little crease appearing between his brows. You want to smooth it out with your lips. “You don’t have to sit alone…”
A laugh falls out of your lips, light, dismissive. “I like it. Don’t worry.” Your gaze shifts back to the fire, telling yourself that the ache in your chest is just leftover fear. Not longing. Not hope. Not love.
And across the room, their gaze does not leave you.
-
The rain hasn’t stopped all evening. It taps softly against the cabin windows, steady and calming. The fire crackles low, painting everything in warm gold.
You sit cross-legged on the floor between them, a map spread out in front of you. The edges curl every time the wind pushes through the chimney draft.
“So if we go around the ridge,” you say, tracing a line with your finger, “we can avoid the main patrol routes.”
“We could also take the river path,” Seonghwa adds.
Before you can reply, Wooyoung suddenly leans sideways and drops his head directly into your lap, his dark hair spread out. You jolt. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking,” he mumbles, face pressed against your thigh.
You look helplessly at Seonghwa. “That’s not a thinking position! Why is he like this?”
Seonghwa sips his tea, a twinkle in his eye. “He’s comfortable.”
Wooyoung turns his face slightly, cheek pressing up further against you. His hand comes up, loosely grasping the fabric of your sleeve like he’s anchoring himself there. You freeze for half a second, then awkwardly, you pat his hair.
Seonghwa quickly turns away, holding back a laugh. Wooyoung slowly lifts his head, staring up at you in disbelief. “Did you just…pet me?”
You tilt your head, smile tugging at your lips. “You seemed to want reassurance.”
He springs up so fast, his eyes narrowed at your pleasant expression. “I want you to realise that I am—”
Seonghwa kicks him lightly in the side, and Wooyoung wheezes. The older witch smiles pleasantly at you. “He’s being dramatic. Ignore him.”
Wooyoung flops back down into your lap, defeated. “Unbelievable.”
You absentmindedly start running your fingers through his hair now, working out the small tangles. “You’re very clingy today,” you state softly as you turn your attention back to the map.
Seonghwa chuckles. “You seem to be doing fine,” he teases, moving closer to join you in stroking his hair.
He closes his eyes immediately, melting. “Mmh. I wonder why.” He sighs again, but this time it’s more relaxed, almost content. “I can’t live like this.”
And you sit there between them, fingers in Wooyoung’s hair, Seonghwa’s knee pressed lightly against yours. And the longing grows stronger.
-
The next day, you don’t leave your room until midday when your stomach growls. You can’t face their early-morning tenderness. Not without breaking down.
Only Wooyoung is in the main room, seated at the table, marking one of the maps. You brush past him, humming a good morning when he lifts his head. He returns it by reaching out and squeezing your fingers gently. You ignore the flutter in your chest.
Breakfast is an easy task, one you can focus on. You start the kettle, brew some tea, and prepare some toast. But when you turn to grab the honey, it’s not in it’s usual spot. It takes you some time to find it, the glass jar on the top shelf.
With an exasperated sigh, you stand on your toes, stretching out your arm. “I swear this house moves things just to mess with me,” you mutter. Your fingers brush the jar but you can’t quite get it.
There’s a soft sound behind you. The jar slides forward right into your hand. You blink. “Thanks, Seonghwa,” you call automatically, but there’s no response. You turn around.
Seonghwa isn’t there. But Wooyoung is leaning on the table with one elbow, his other hand raised slightly, fingers relaxed like he’s just set something down. Your eyes move from his hand to his face. He doesn’t smile.
“…You?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
You wait for a punch line, for Seonghwa to step out from the shadows. It doesn’t come. “You—” you tilt your head. “You too?”
Wooyoung’s eyes soften. “I didn’t want to hide from you anymore.” His words are quiet, more so than you ever heard from him. “I…are you mad?”
Something in your heart pinches. “Never. Never at you.”
Relief floods his face so fast it almost looks painful. “Good,” he murmurs, and you smile.
“Guess I have two house witches now,” you chuckle. Wooyoung laughs along shakily.
“You’re not going to ask why?”
You tilt your head at him. “Only if you want to share.”
He fidgets a little, hands restless. He doesn’t meet your eyes at first, then he nods. “My coven…” he takes a deep breath. “They weren’t like Seonghwa’s. We— they were chaotic. Messy. They took what they needed. Protected themselves first. It didn’t matter who got hurt as long as they were alive.
“One night,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “Another witch faction came. Territorial dispute. They killed my people off. I was the only one left. Somehow. And…I became exactly what I had hated. I hunted the witches. I justified it because I thought that’s what survival meant.”
You reach out, but he jerks slightly, as if afraid of your touch. Then, he relaxes and lets you take his hand. “I’m not clean,” he admits softly, voice thick. “I’ve done terrible things that I can’t justify. And I was— I am scared that you’ll run. That you’d see me the way I see myself.”
Heart aching, you squeeze his hand. “Wooyoung,” you whisper. “You can’t fix the mast. But…you can be here now.”
His breath leaves him shakily, as if that tiny acknowledgment is all he’s been waiting for. And in the firelight, you realise this is the first time he’s admitted he’s scared, broken, and desperate. But also that he wants to be something more than the mistakes he’s made.
And when Seonghwa comes in, Wooyoung enchants the fire to burn just a bit warmer, and smiles at the oldest witch. “She knows.”
-
It’s afternoon. Sunlight through the windows.
You’re sitting on the couch for once, not your usual spot on the floor, as you read through the spellbooks Seonghwa kept. Seonghwa is watching the stew simmer. Wooyoung is watching you.
Too obviously.
“What?” you ask without looking up.
“Nothing.”
You squint at a diagram, tracing the lines. “You’ve said that each of the four time’s I’ve asked.”
Wooyoung groans, sliding off the kitchen stool he sits on and crumpling onto the floor, dramatic sigh and all. “You’re unbelievable.”
You gasp in mock offense. “Uh, rude?”
Wooyoung rolls his eyes. You know it without even looking at him. “Oblivious.”
A pause. “About what?”
This time, you look at him. Wooyoung gestures vaguely at everything. The house. The room. Himself. Seonghwa stops stirring but doesn’t look up, already anticipating chaos. “You know why we fixed the attic insulation?” he asks.
“Completely irrelevant, but okay.” You miss Wooyoung’s second eye roll. “So we wouldn’t freeze.”
“So you wouldn’t.”
You mak`e a face. “We all live here.”
This time, Wooyoung full-out groans, covering his face with his hand. “You see this?” he directs to Seonghwa.
Seonghwa hides his smile behind the ladle. “I see.”
Wooyoung keeps going. “The tea you like never runs out? The blanket that’s always on your chair? The fire that is always the perfect temperature you like?”
Brows furrowed, you tilt your head. “What, am I your stray cat?”
A strangled sound escapes Wooyoung’s throat. Seonghwa finally walks over, poking his knee with his foot. “Enough.”
“No, because—” Wooyoung runs his hands through his hair. “You think we just do this stuff for fun? Do you really think we’d let just anyone stay? Read our books, cook for us, know exactly where we keep all our traps and wards?”
You close the book. “I thought you just felt bad,” you admit. The look Wooyoung gives you is half heartbreak, half disbelief. Seonghwa’s expression shifts too, to something sadder.
“I’m going to lose my mind,” Wooyoung breathes out, falling back onto the floor dramatically.
“Don’t bully her.”
“I’m not bullying! I’m trying to educate!”
You look between the two of them, confused. “Did I miss something?”
The answer comes from both of them, at the same time. “Yes.” Wooyoung is exasperated, Seonghwa fond.
You laugh nervously. “Okay, but no one’s explaining. So I’m going to assume this is a normal occurrence.”
Wooyoung covers his face with his arm, and Seonghwa chuckles, squatting next to him to thread his fingers through Wooyoung’s. They whisper to each other, and you go back to your book, but your heart beats strangely fast for reasons you don’t know.
Or you refuse to examine.
-
The house is now too quiet. It’s evening now. You’re sitting at the table, chin in your hand, watching Seonghwa and Wooyoung move around the kitchen. They aren’t talking much, but they keep glancing at each other like they’re having a conversation you can’t hear.
“Okay,” you say finally. “What.”
Wooyoung freezes mid-step. “What, what?”
“You’re both being weird. You have been, for the past couple days.” You hear Wooyoung say under his breath ‘just days?’ but you ignore it. “Like a…’something happened’ weird, and it’s like I wasn’t invited.” You squint at the two of them, trying to see into their brains. Seonghwa turns back to the stove.
“Nothing happened,” he says smoothly.
Exasperated, you throw your hands up into the air. “Then why does it feel like I’m about to be sat down for a life talk?”
Wooyoung mutters, “Oh, trust me, I want to.”
Seonghwa elbows him lightly, and you drop your head on the table. “I knew it.”
A teacup is set beside your hand. Your favourite blend. You notice the way Seonghwa straightens the cup and adds a teaspoon of honey, just how you like it. You always notice. You just don’t like to think about it.
“Did I do something wrong?” you finally voice out after a moment, your heart in your throat.
Both of them look at you immediately. “No, never,” Wooyoung breathes out, face softening. They share a look again, something unspoken and heavy. Your stomach twists.
“Okay, seriously. You’re scaring me.” You try and keep your voice level, cheerful, but it falls flat.
“Hwa,” he mutters. Seonghwa closes his eyes briefly, nods almost imperceptibly. Wooyoung stands, and you follow.
“I don’t understand why you’re both acting weird,” you say, hands clenched into the fabric of your sleeves. “You said I didn’t do anything.”
Wooyoung slow turns to stare at you like you personally offended him. “You didn’t do anything,” he repeats, his voice tight. You stare at him blankly. “You know what? No. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Every second, your confusion and frustration just grow and grow.
“This.” He gestures wildly between the three of you. “You’re walking around like we’re—like we’re just roommates.”
“We are roommates,” you counter.
Wooyoung makes another strangled noise. “Wooyoung—” Seonghwa tries to interrupt, but Wooyoung whirls around to face him.
“No, because she’s going to live here until she dies and still think we just have a strong sense of community,” he stresses, and you blink.
“Woah, woah, what’s all this about me dying?”
“Not. The. Point,” Wooyoung grits out. He walks towards you and stops right in front of you, too close. Your heart skips a beat. “Do you think we do all this because we’re nice?”
“…Yes?”
He blanches like you slapped him. Seonghwa closes his eyes briefly like he saw this coming centuries ago. Then Wooyoung reaches out and grabs your wrist. Gently, but firmly. “This is it,” he snaps, but not at you. More inwardly. “This is the most obvious thing I can do for you.”
And he drags you outside.
-
It’s chilly, but not unpleasant. The kind of night where the air is clear and every star looks close enough to touch. The best kind of night for witches.
You follow Wooyoung up the hill, brows furrowed. “Why are we out here now?” you ask.
“Trust me.”
The forest stretches dark and endless below. The sky above is massive. And Wooyoung steps in front of you, and he’s the only thing you see now. His eyes are determined, but nervous. “Just watch,” he whispers. “Please.”
He raises his hand. The air shifts.
Soft light spills from his fingertips. Gold and silver threads burst out, weaving into the night like fireflies being born. They lift into the sky, curling between the stars, forming slow-moving constellations that don’t exist. Shapes that shift and breathe. A fox made of stardust. A bunny that follows after. Flowering branches of light. Shooting sparks that dissolve into glitter.
It’s courtship magic. Used to say ‘Look what I can make for you. Look what I want to share.’
Your eyes shine. “This is beautiful.” Wooyoung breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s like…festival magic.” Your automatic defence mechanism.
Wooyoung blinks. “What?”
“Like solstice celebrations. The decorative kind.”
His eye twitches. He makes the lights shift again. Even softer, drifting down around you like glowing petals. One lands on your sleeve and dissolves into warmth.
You smile, a little tight around the corners. “You’re talented.”
“YN.” Wooyoung takes a long, deep breath. “This is a courting display. For you.”
You look at the sky, bright and colourful. Then you look at him. “Oh.” Your heart yearns to say yes. And maybe it shows in your eyes, because Wooyoung steps forward, cupping your face with cold hands. He waits just a second, and you don’t move away.
He kisses you.
It’s not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just warm, certain, and maybe a little desperate, like he’s been holding it in for weeks.
When he pulls back, breathless, he says, “I have been flirting with you for a geological era.”
You stare at him, stunned. “That…that long?”
His eye twitches again. “Do you remember the sewing?”
You frown. “Sewing?”
“The sleeve. You were butchering that poor piece of clothing like it wronged your entire bloodline,” he says.
“I said I wasn’t good at it,” you squawk, flushed.
Wooyoung rolls his eyes, this time decidedly fonder. “Again, that’s not the point. Remember? We told you. People are allowed to take care of each other. And you said?”
You swallow, embarrassment flooding your stomach. “Maybe someday…” Wooyoung look over at Seonghwa, who joined you two silently a few minutes ago, then back at you like you’re the most ridiculous, precious thing he’s ever seen. Your stomach drops. “Oh. Both of you?”
Seonghwa steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your sleeve. “We’ve been trying to show you. For a while.”
“And you thought we were just being nice,” Wooyoung chuckles.
“I—” your voice comes out small. “I didn’t want to believe it. Not in something this good."
Both of them still, something devastated flickering in their eyes. “It’s here,” Seonghwa says softly, leaning in to brush his lips against your temple. Then your cheek. Then, after you nod, your lips. A gentle caress.
“I didn’t know…” you whisper into his mouth, and Seonghwa smiles.
“You weren’t meant to figure it out alone,” he says gently.
Wooyoung makes an affronted noise. “You were the one who insisted she should realise by herself.”
Seonghwa pulls back, his smile widening. “It was funny.”
You look at both of them, their faces shining from the residual magic in the night sky. “I think,” you say, heart pounding, “that I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
And the way they look at you then—not surprised, not triumphant, just relieved—tells you that this was never a question of if. Just when you’d finally see what was already yours.
prince!yunho x princess!reader, prince!hongjoong x princess!reader
royal au
genres and warning: established relationship with yunho, strict restrictions regarding pre-marital relationships, slow burnnn, lots of angst and lots of fluff, cheating (kind of? i call it testing the waters (don't do this irl pls)), suggestive, mentions of violence and blood, etc.
word count: 30.8k
synopsis: you did not know that your heart could be split equally in two until you find yourself in a push-and-pull game with prince yunho of utopia-- your best friend, and prince hongjoong of utopia. you risk breaking the sacred tradition that prohibits pre-marital relationships and driving the princes apart who are closer than brothers. could you chose one of them over the other?
a/n: we are so (kinda) back! special thanks to @eightmakesonebraincell and @sungbeam for supporting me all the way through :')) no taglist this time bc the current one was old and had too many accounts to tag, i'll prob release a new one or ditch the idea entirely.
The Kingdom of Wonderland always gets festive towards the end of the year.
The castle gets adorned with colours– in the flowers that line the walls, in the banners that wrap around the towers, and definitely in the ornaments made specifically in the celebration of the New Year’s approaching.
Then there is the food. The chefs and the bakers level up for the holidays. They bring out the most exquisite-looking desserts and spice up the savoury dishes. The aroma of the food seems to linger in the air permanently, providing a sense of warmth and comfort in the otherwise cold weather.
But the real festivity begins when one of the kingdoms in the continent hosts a year-end ball. It is not just a night for dance and games. It is a weeks-long celebration that involves welcoming the neighbours, making connections and sometimes, making matches. It is a time when everyone lets loose a little and takes great joy in the celebrations.
It is your favourite time of the year. This year, it feels special because your kingdom is hosting the year-end ball. As the princess of Wonderland, you are in top shape to welcome the guests.
This year, you did not mind when your attendings dragged you to the adornment chamber and worked on your skin until it was smooth as butter. They took great care of your hair, making it look luscious and healthy. They made you soak in warm water filled with petals that seemed to have flushed your skin permanently. Your cheeks were full of life and you were glowing.
You were ready to welcome Prince Yunho of Eden. Your best friend. Your greatest ally, and… the person you imagined a future with.
The creak of the gates opening and the distinct chimes of the bells reserved for Eden pleased your ears infinitely. You rushed to greet the guests, laughing when your handmaids held you back so they could fuss over your appearance one last time, making sure everything was in shape– your freshly curled hair tucked perfectly in a half bun, your deep purple gown unstained and flowy, your lips and cheeks dyed just right. After earning their approval, they accompanied you to the Great Hall.
Your parents, the King and the Queen, and your younger brother Prince Jeongin were already present. Your mother was a perfectionist and was still commanding the servants from her seat. Your father was currently chuckling at something Jeongin said. Your brother spotted you and muttered something like ‘finally!’ and made his way towards where you stood by the door.
“Excited?”
“Nervous,” you admitted. “I’m just glad the first guests are our friends and not one of those royalties that seem to have something stuck in their–”
“Language,” your younger brother reminded you. That was his way of letting you know that you need not finish the sentence. “Remember to stay proper, like mother always says, and not involve yourself in impropriety– like, mother! I’m only seventeen. I’m currently more invested in perfecting my horse-riding than catching someone’s eye. Odd, I know, from someone my age, but what can I even do if I like someone? Respect your traditions. Do you wonder if the other kingdoms think that we are the ones with something stuck in our–”
“Jeongin!” You laughed. “You’re rambling. Mother is right. We must respect our traditions and make sure we do not engage in improper behaviour– oh, here they come!”
Forget traditions. You were going to greet your best friend with the hug that he deserved. Since it was only your parents and your court in the room, you did not care for any judgement or criticism. As soon as you spotted your tall friend, you clutched the edges of your gown and made your way towards him.
When the prince spotted you, his lips spread in a wide grin and he basically hopped the rest of the way, laughing as he scooped you up. You could hear the laughter of your father and the stern voice of your mother scolding you, but you knew that they would dismiss it just this once. Yunho twirled you once before settling you down, and then he decided to greet you properly with a kiss on your knuckles.
“You look beautiful, Princess,” he said, kissing your hand again before letting it go. “And I missed you, dear friend.”
“I missed you too!” you sighed, scanning him. “You’ve changed.”
Yunho smiled in agreement. Oh, he had changed a great deal. His shoulders were much broader now and he seemed to have grown even taller since you last saw him some five months ago. His hair was also longer– a warm shade of deep brown tucked loosely back, threatening to cover his beautifully carved face.
“Let me greet the rest,” he said, a silent promise to be right back. You watched him hug Jeongin next and ask about his progress with horse-riding, but your attention went to the older prince– Prince Hongjoong.
If Yunho was the sun personified, Hongjoong was the moon. He was shorter, colder but with an incredible personality. Even though he was much more relaxed in his demeanour than the perfectionist that Yunho was, Hongjoong was sharper and had a natural talent for leadership and wit. He was not related to Yunho, but they were closer than brothers.
“Princess,” he greeted with a restrained smirk. “Miss me?”
“Hmm… not really,” you said and when he narrowed your eyes, you grinned. He relaxed instantly, ignoring your outstretched hand and instead kissing you on your temple as a greeting, followed by a forehead flick that had you scowling.
“Do you have to do this?” You complained as you rubbed the pain away. He ignored that, moving towards the end of the hall where your mother and father were seated. Yunho was still deep in discussion with Jeongin so you decided to let them be, following the older prince.
“You’ve grown even more handsome,” your mother complimented. Hongjoong humbly thanked her, asking about her health. He had always been closer to your mother, while Yunho was your father’s favourite. They claimed that they did not have favourites but to you, it was painfully obvious. It was also painfully confusing because naturewise, Yunho and your mother were much more similar, and Hongjoong and your father were.
You looked towards Hongjoong. He had definitely gotten more handsome. His kind of beauty was a deadly one– pulling you in, threatening to never let go. He was all sharp angles, carved with great detail. His hair was a lighter shade of brown than Yunho’s and also longer than it had ever been.
Hongjoong caught you staring and raised a brow. You shook your head and asked him to take a seat. Jeongin went to greet the older prince, apologising for not doing that earlier while Yunho went to greet your parents. Hongjoong only ruffled Jeongin’s hair and soon, they were deep in conversation.
Yunho took a seat towards your left shortly after, excited to hear about what he had missed since the last time that you met. You started to brief him– a little something that you always do with him. At some point, Hongjoong started to listen and comment too, and Jeongin would add little bits of his life.
Then the bells for the Kingdom of Mist rang and you all got up again to welcome Prince Wooyoung, another close friend of yours.
Just like that, the day got busy welcoming guests from all over the continent– princes and princesses that had grown up with you. You saw them all at least once a year, so you were all close to a certain degree. The princes were tightly knit and so were the princesses, though fewer in number as most of them had now been married off and had duties to perform in their new homes.
This year, you only had Princess Sieun of the Kingdom of Hala and Princess Minjeong of Ascella, and the two were fast friends being younger than you. There were the Choi brothers, the princes from The Kingdom of Kiji, and they were close to Wooyoung.
You did not mind. You had Yunho.
You and Yunho had always been attached by the hip. The Kingdoms of Wonderland and Eden were very close. Your father was good friends with Yunho’s father and Hongjoong’s father as well. Oftentimes, you ended up accompanying your father whenever he made trips to the kingdom next to yours.
You and Yunho became friends naturally. He was a great listener and he made you laugh. As children, you played a lot but at some point, you both became aware that you had grown up. Your friendship shifted, monitored by the adults, but you still remained close. After some time, the adult grew tired of monitoring too closely.
It was Yunho. He could win over anyone, and he was the most respectable and responsible person you knew.
“You look like you need a drink,” a voice called. You turned to find Hongjoong with a pair of whiskey glasses in his hands and you gladly took one, almost slumping in relief. “I saw you slowly crawling away from the princesses. Are you feeling left out?”
“Not left out,” you shook your head. “But… They're very different from me. I don’t get along as well as I do with you and Yunho, or Wooyoung, or the princesses that are no longer here.”
Hongjoong nodded in understanding, probably overwhelmed by the crowd too. If there was one department you both had common footing on, it was your social energy– or lack thereof. Or maybe, you both were the normal ones because Yunho hardly ever seemed to run out of energy. He was always the life in the room, surrounded by people. You liked it that way. You did not intend to dim his light.
You had Hongjoong to keep you company in the dark.
Hongjoong has always been a part of your life. Where there was Yunho, there was Hongjoong– sometimes near, sometimes at a distance, but an unwavering presence. He did not try to get between you and Yunho, but his presence was much appreciated by you both so he always kept close. He knew things about you that Yunho did not, just like Yunho knew parts of you that Hongjoong did not.
“You may not be here much longer as well,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Your mother seems to have decided that your time has come.”
“Well…” you took a sip of the whiskey, suddenly conscious of yourself. “I am of age. I intend to settle soon.”
“How lovely,” Hongjoong’s comment didn’t match his tone. “Got eyes on someone?”
You looked at Hongjoong. “Are you pretending that you do not know that Yunho and I are interested in each other?”
“I mean…” Hongjoong shrugged. “You two are awfully uptight about your traditions. To me, you still look like friends.”
“Those traditions are sacred, Joong,” you reminded the prince. “They are meant to preserve sanctity and reverence–”
“Yeah, yeah. No need to quote lines from school,” Hongjoong dismissed. “I’m just saying that maybe you both need to stop tiptoeing around those manmade rules and think for once.”
“What’s it to you?” You scoffed, grabbing a scone from the table and offering one to Hongjoong. He denied. “I’ll take my sweet time. I intend to respect and uphold these traditions. You know that very well.”
Hongjoong shook his head. “You haven’t changed one bit, dear.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you smiled, taking a big bite. “That’s delicious.”
While you were busy observing the scone, Hongjoong was fixated on the little crumb near your lips. Almost casually, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb.
“Hongjoong!”
He rolled his eyes. “No one is going to hang me for making sure you don’t make a mess of yourself. Stop making a big deal out of it.”
“Whatever,” you tried to ignore how your heart rate casually went up. “I’m going to find Yunho. Come along– Wooyoung probably needs to eat someone’s ears off. He’s been at it with the Choi brothers. I’ll offer you as his next target before it’s my turn.”
Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea but he followed anyway. That was Wooyoung’s charm– he could talk for hours and you would enjoy it all the same. You, however, intended to find Yunho and free him from the hoards of guests.
The ghost of Hongjoong’s finger still remained on your lips, though. You caught your mother’s eye– had she seen that? Even if she had not, you would probably receive a reminder of what was at stake anyway.
Honour. A woman’s honour, specifically, which was more fragile than a man’s, but almost equally as reverent.
There were many names for the said tradition– never written in the books as the law, but regarded with the same importance. The Doctrine of Chaste Union. The Covenant of Purity. It sounded too complicated, but it was simple enough to understand.
A man and woman must not engage in improper, intimate or dishonourable behaviour. For a man and woman intending to marry, they must still uphold these etiquettes to protect the sanctity of the royal bloodline and dignity of the crown.
It was not just a tradition. The royal bloodline served as role models to its subjects. The people of the kingdom looked up to you, the princess. You were always under observation, and your behaviour and appearance was a reflection of your values and morals. Young girls strived to be like you. You could not let your subjects down. You had to be perfect and show them how to live as a proper woman and as a moral human being in this society.
The same rules applied to the princes. Yunho was perhaps the one doing justice to this tradition. He was a natural– he had the best etiquettes and he had perfected the balance between being friendly and open to being reserved and chaste. He respected the tradition as much as you.
He promised to pursue you the right way when he made his intentions clear at the year-end festivities last year. Since then, it had been a dream. He sends butterflies in your stomach with a mere look, makes your skin tingle with a mere touch and melts your heart with his words alone.
“Yunho!” You whispered when you got close and he lit up at the sight of you. Pardoning himself from the crowd, he squeezed your hand and you led him away from the crowd.
“Tired yet?” You asked.
“Fancy a retreat?”
“You read my mind,” you grinned and you both made way to the abandoned balcony attached to the old music room which was your hideout. Your handmaids were already stationed there, knowing that you liked to spend time there with Yunho. They were wholly aware of how Yunho would never compromise your honour so they let you both be alone on the condition that you keep the door slightly open to avoid a scandal.
Scandals spread like wildfire here. You understood their concerns.
Yunho traced his fingers across the dusty piano, creating music in the process. You fixed the lapels of his navy blue royal uniform.
“Did I ever tell you blue is your colour?”
“You told me white was the last time we met, but okay. I’ll pretend I forgot,” he grinned.
“You look good in everything. It’s unfair,” you pouted. Yunho pinched your cheeks, making you giggle.
“How come you get more adorable every time I see you? That’s unfair.”
“Me? Adorable?” You curled a strand of your hair deviously between your fingers. “Don’t toot my horn, Yunho. I’ll be insufferable.”
Yunho leaned down, suddenly close to your face. “You know I love that side of you.”
You were positive your cheeks flushed. Yunho remained that way, scanning your face while you fixated on the freckles littering his face, illuminated by the moonlight and the candles. Oh, how you wished to trace them and draw constellations. His lips parted slightly, his gaze heavy.
“God, y/n. You’re beautiful.”
“Stop,” your pout deepened and he couldn’t resist to run the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, patting your cheek before straightening. You could tell he wished to do something about the pout but he had immense restraint, though his eyes held such raw yearning that it made you weak.
“We must stay proper,” you teased and he laughed, agreeing. He held your hands and kissed the back of your right hand.
“This much I can do,” he said.
“You can do more…”
Yunho broke into a smile. Giving in, he cupped your face and kissed your forehead– a tender, lingering kiss. Then a kiss on your temple, and a final innocent peck to the corner of your lips. You gasped, looking towards the door but you were unmonitored. “Jeong Yunho!”
“It’s been 5 months since I did that,” his voice was low. “I’m human too, love.”
“I know, but…” you bit your lips. “Step away from me before I compromise your honour.”
Yunho could barely keep from bursting into loud laughter. You joined and he reminded you of the time you made a similar threat. You continued to tease each other while recalling the memories, soft intimate touches passed between you two. A knock on the door alerted you to come out– it had been too long since you had disappeared inside.
You spent the rest of the night conversing with the other guests, but your eyes kept finding Yunho. Yet… you were wholly aware of Hongjoong the whole time as well.
Hongjoong was still a problem, it seemed. One that you could not put a name to, one that you could not ignore. One that occupied your last thoughts before sleep, even though your heart sang out to someone else.
The ball– the main event of the year-end festivities– was to take place two days after the arrival of the guests, allowing them a period of rest. However, for most of the princes and princesses, time was short and they intended to make the most of it.
That meant that you spent basically every waking moment together. From breakfast in the Great Hall, unsupervised by the king and the queen so that you could all let loose a little, to lounging in the studies or music rooms, snacking endlessly while stressing about staying in shape for the dance, to the best part.
The late night chit chats.
“So I told Soojin that she needs to do something about that husband of hers,” Wooyoung announced as a matter-of-factly. “That man is too controlling, and while a wife is supposed to respect her husband, she is still a human first and foremost, and she has needs. The husband needs to respect his wife too.”
“Thank you,” you sighed in agreement, horrified to hear about how your best friend, Princess Soojin of Utopia, was already having trouble in her marriage. You had attended her wedding about 7 months ago. She had been married to a duke’s son in Mist so Wooyoung was well-aware of her relationship status. You were glad that Soojin had someone like Wooyoung at her side, at a time like this. You wished you could be there for her too.
“I warned her that her man is an arse, but she was charmed, and I don’t blame her,” Minjeong said. “That man is known for his talent in wooing ladies. He doesn’t care about the traditions much.”
“Why would Soojin marry someone like him?” Sieun wondered. As the youngest, she probably found the situation ridiculous.
“These relations are usually decided upon by the elders,” Yunho reminded gently. “As a princess, it would have been Soojin’s duty to obey an order from her parents.”
“She could have said no,” Hongjoong commented casually, eyes fixated on the book that he had picked up. He sat in the corner by the fire, slightly away from where the rest of you were crowded at the sofas. “But like Minjeong said, she must have fallen prey to his wooing. If she can bend the traditions, she could have certainly done a little more by saying no.”
“I suppose it’s tough for girls,” San, the elder prince of the Choi brothers, added. “I know how tough it was for our sister when it was her time.”
“I agree,” you said. “If you grow up learning how important it is to respect your customs and traditions, it’s hard to do anything otherwise,” you intentionally stared at Hongjoong. He looked up from his book and matched your stare. “Wonder how you can say these things so easily.”
“It’s because these traditions are not law. They are manmade in the end, made by senile old men,” Jongho concluded and Hongjoong sent him a grateful smile. Even though Jongho was the most reserved person you knew, he was like Hongjoong in the sense that no tradition or law would hold him back from doing what he thought was right. “Some practices should change with time. You’re telling me that us sitting and conversing like this might be considered improper just because the sun has set? What’s the sun got to do with anything?”
“Real men sin in the daylight!” San said loudly and jokingly and Wooyoung clapped, unable to contain his laugh. Soon, the conversation took a humorous turn, almost becoming a finger-pointing session.
One by one, the princes and princesses said their farewell for the night. The ball was tomorrow night and some needed to catch up on sleep while the others still had to worry about matching this year’s theme of masquerade. It must have been around 10 when you were left with Yunho and Hongjoong.
You were discussing your mask designs with Yunho, but you could see from the corner of your eye that Hongjoong had stopped reading and was watching the two of you. Yunho was perhaps unaware of his gaze and he continued to tell you about the last masquerade ball that he attended in some other kingdom. While he recalled his adventures there, you mustered up courage to look at Hongjoong questioningly.
Except he wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. He acted as if you were the one making him uncomfortable, refusing to look away.
“Ah, there you both go again,” Yunho commented, looking between you two. He shook his head in amusement. “What’s wrong this time?”
“He’s staring,” you pointed.
“She’s staring. I didn’t start it.”
“Hongjoong, you were literally looking at me like this–” you mimicked his facial expressions and Yunho curled inwards as he laughed silently. “What was I supposed to do when you looked like I killed your cat?”
“I must have zoned out!” Hongjoong’s voice raised slightly. “So technically, I didn’t start it. You did. You could have waved at me and I would have broken out of my trance and went to my book. Instead, you had to–”
This time, Hongjoong mimicked you and Yunho stifled his laugh only because you looked at him in warning, daring him to make a sound. Yunho pretended to zip his lips, thoroughly enjoying the banter. As usual.
While Hongjoong complained to Yunho about your behaviour, you smiled to yourself as you recalled a memory from a couple of years ago.
“You tend to stare into the distance a lot,” You commented when you found Hongjoong’s eyes fixed at the reflection of the moon in his garden’s pond. “Why do you do that?”
“Sometimes, I find something beautiful. I look at it and get lost thinking about it,” Hongjoong admitted. Yunho, who was sitting nearby, tossed a pebble into the pond, making the moon’s reflection ripple. “See? Still beautiful.”
“You do that to people too, though,” you had noticed. “Sometimes, I catch you staring at me, but you’re not staring– you just zone out.”
“I must find you beautiful then,” Hongjoong thought, and instantly pretended to choke on his words, making Yunho laugh. You folded your arms in horror.
“Kim Hongjoong! That is very rude!”
“I jest, my dear,” Hongjoong grinned. “You are a beautiful little thing, but only when you shut that mouth.”
“Oh,” Yunho gasped scandalously. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“I can’t tell,” you were devastated.
“I’ll let you ponder over it,” Hongjoong said.
“Look at her!” Hongjoong’s loud voice pulled you out of your trance. “Now she’s zoning out, smiling like that. It looks weird!”
“That’s exactly how it felt to me,” you cried out, sinking further down into the sofa.
Did Hongjoong really find you beautiful?
You shook your head, ridding yourself of the thought and asked, “What are your plans for the masquerade, Joong?”
“Well…” the elder prince folded his arms. “The usual, I suppose. Stick to the corner and hover like a bat, praying no one notices me.”
“But you’re an incredible dancer– not better than Yunho, of course,” you said and Yunho straightened proudly. “But you have a way with your dances. I just know that the girls would love to have a dance with you. Are you planning to let them down?”
“Of course I am,” Hongjoong looked appalled at the idea. “You know how much I despise it.”
It wasn’t dancing or the girls he despised. It was the watchful eyes of the adults that irked him to death. Slightly wrong hand placement would earn him an earful, so he would rather not dance at all.
“Well, good thing that this ball is a masquerade. I hope your mask does well hiding your identity.”
“Ah… I forgot…” Hongjoong relaxed, his scheming face on. “I suppose I could have a little fun then. I’m going to make sure the elders have enough gossip to last them the entire year.”
“Hongjoong!” This time, Yunho was the one calling his friend out. “Don’t try anything stupid.”
“Stupid? Me?” Hongjoong looked at you deviously. “Never.”
“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” you declared and Yunho agreed. “What do you plan to do, Yunho? Monitor Joong like the elders? Or are you gonna let loose?”
“One of us letting loose is enough,” Yunho sighed. “I’ll do the monitoring.”
“Don’t let it take the fun out of the night, though. I expect to be exhausted to death dancing tomorrow night, and I expect that I will be able to blame you for that.”
“Ah, of course,” Yunho gleamed. “You bet.”
That was a challenge, and Yunho was a man of his word. You knew this was coming, so you had prepared your best heels for the night– black to match the gems on your emerald gown, comfortable enough to give the entire tour of the premises in them.
Your mask covered everything except the area around your lips and your chin. Your lashes peeked through the black net borders of the mask and paired with the earthy tones of your lips, it left a deep impression. You did not want to be recognised tonight. You simply wanted to have fun.
Your guards accompanied you to the ballroom before the guests arrived. You made sure that everything was in place– the tables lining the walls of the ballroom decorated with refreshments and drinks, the musicians at the corner of the room ready, and guards at the entrance to confirm everyone’s identity. Since this was a masquerade, there was a chance of an intruder sneaking in. It wouldn’t be new, for the year-end parties were susceptible to attacks. It was the perfect opportunity to strike multiple birds with one stone.
The guests were starting to arrive, filling the ballroom slowly. They stuck to their partners or if they recognised each other, they formed groups, admiring each other’s outfits for the night. You did not greet anyone just yet– you would surprise them later.
The King and the Queen arrived next, taking their place at the second level of the ballroom so that they could peer down. From their spot, the entire ballroom was in their vision and they could monitor anyone they wanted to. You hoped that instead of watching you, they would simply gossip and have fun. Coming up with an idea, you found the court members and asked them to keep your mother and father entertained. That translated to sending the dukes and marquesses and anyone of importance in their direction. Hopefully they would keep them busy enough for you to disappear out of their sight.
For a second, you paused. Why did you wish to remain unmonitored tonight? All that was happening tonight was dances and good conversation. You would be dancing with Yunho mostly, and he was the most gentlemanly. Even if your mother would be watching you, she wouldn’t find any reason to reprimand you. Yunho wouldn’t let that happen.
Was it just because your mother was too watchful? You knew your limits. She was wholly aware that you respected the sacred tradition very much and you never engaged in improper behaviour. You did not wish to cross any boundaries with Yunho– he was someone who deeply respected this tradition too. He liked you, and he would wait for you. You could do the same.
At that moment, your attention was caught by a man in all-black outfit. Hongjoong. It had to be him. You would recognise that relaxed gait anywhere. Besides, his mask hardly concealed his elfish features.
Hongjoong’s eyes found you in a matter of seconds and he started to walk towards you. You looked behind you and with a startle, you realised that he had recognised you. From so far away.
“Planning to hide for the entirety of the event?” Hongjoong asked, grabbing a cherry from the waiter that zoomed past you.
“Am I very recognisable despite the mask?” You drew it lower on your face.
“Not sure. Tell me who to avoid tonight.”
“Hmm…” you folded your arms and stood next to him, eyes scanning the crowd. “The duke’s niece– the one in orange next to the tall man. She’s aiming to score a prince and while that is not a bad thing, I’m sure you’ll only break her heart before she even gets to try. Then there’s the count’s daughter, next to the piano in that pink dress. Oh, that dress is so pretty… anyways, she is talkative and I know you don’t really like that.”
“You’re the most talkative person I know,” Hongjoong commented.
“Yes, but I’m me. You’ve known me since we were kids, so it doesn’t count. Besides, we’re not pursuing each other romantically, so even if you tell me that I’m talkative, I wouldn’t care.”
“And if Yunho tells you that you talk too much?”
“He would never,” you gasped at his audacity. “Where is he anyway?”
“Stressing about one thing or another, I suppose. I think it was his shoes this time…”
“Isn’t that usually your job? You arrived earlier than usual tonight.”
“Fashionably late only when I’m not hiding behind a mask,” Hongjoong winked. “No one cares tonight.”
“I do,” you said and he looked at you. “I mean… you’re talking too much. You should have taken some more time fixing your hair or whatever keeps you in your room for so long.”
“I’m talking too much?” Hongjoong shook his head. “There comes your prince.”
“Ah, how handsome,” you said dreamily at the sight of your tall prince dressed in all white with accents of gold. “Did you both do black and white on purpose?”
“Purely coincidental.”
“It suits you,” you said and Hongjoong could tell that you meant it. You ran your gaze over him slowly. “The black… it suits you very much, Joong.”
Hongjoong’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He opened his mouth to thank you, but decided against it.
You only smiled, waiting for Yunho to spot you. However, his eyes ran past you and he continued to look around as if waiting for you to spot him. For a second, you found it funny that he missed you until you recalled that Hongjoong had spotted you from even further.
Naturally, you turned to Hongjoong. Unbelievable, you thought, that he had pinned you from so far away while Yunho was still struggling to find you. As if Hongjoong had read your mind, his eyes grew just a little wide.
You looked away, waiting, praying for Yunho to recognise you. It wasn’t until he walked a few steps in your direction that he almost looked past you and did a double-take. Did he recognise you, or did he recognise Hongjoong first? You would not dare to ask.
“Princess!” He sprinted towards you, grinning in apology. “Apologies for my tardiness.”
“Forget that. You were having trouble finding me,” you decided to address the elephant between you and Hongjoong.
“Apologies for that too, I was still in panic mode. I was stopped three times for chit-chat before I made it here, and I thought that you would be mad that I’m late…” Yunho extended his hand and you placed your hand in his, rolling your eyes. He kissed your knuckles softly.
“Apologies accepted.”
Yunho grinned, turning towards Hongjoong. “Looking for a partner tonight?”
“No thanks,” he muttered. “My partner is cherries and whiskey.”
“Come, now,” Yunho said. “At least participate in the main dance.”
“You must, or else mother will be cross,” you pointed at the Queen, finding her already looking at you. She waved at the three of you and the princes bowed in respect. “She’s going to be watching us all night.”
“And I can’t disappoint her,” Hongjoong groaned. “Fine. Just the main dance, and then you both let me hover in a corner. Don’t stop having fun on my account.”
“Deal,” Yunho said. “Now… shall we dance?”
You grinned and took his hand, letting him steer you to the dance floor. The music playing right now was a playful beat, meant to make the participants let loose and do their warm-ups before the highlight.
The highlight was a circular formation dance. Initially, everyone is paired with their partner for the night, but the dance lasts almost half an hour, sometimes more. The duration depends on the number of pairs so that every pairing gets equal time. Each person takes turns switching their partners.
You and Yunho practised for the highlight just like everyone else. The dance seemed to be ingrained into Yunho and it came very naturally to him. He reminded you of how to manage your steps if paired with someone as tall as him, or with someone shorter. A slight difference in your movements could make your dance appear more graceful.
“You look stunning tonight, by the way,” Yunho told you. “The emerald dress…”
“Do you remember?” You asked. He nodded, his eyes glazed with fondness.
It was a memory from the last time you met. You and Yunho sneaked out with just your handmaid and a guard and took to the markets under a disguise. You went to a fabrics shop and tested so many colours that you lost count. However, it was the emerald that had Yunho look like a lovesick puppy.
“It makes me want to confess again,” Yunho referred to that memory. “Remind you that I can’t take my eyes off you, no matter where we are or what we are doing. I adore you, y/n. You’re my best friend and I’m absolutely honoured that you are giving me a chance.”
Similar to the confession he made that time. His words were molten honey and they sent warmth coursing throughout your entire body.
“I could say the same,” you said. “I… I really can’t imagine a life without you, Yunho. Don’t you ever leave me.”
“Never,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss on top of your head. “Even if you decide, for some reason, that you cannot take me as yours… I’ll always be your friend.”
“That won’t happen. Whatever reason would I ever have to reject you? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Thank you,” Yunho sounded genuine. “I wish I could sink to my knees and propose to you right now, but you know why I have to wait. My intentions are sincere, though.”
“Yunho!” You scolded, smacking his chest. “I have only one complaint and it is that you talk as if your words don’t have an effect on me!”
Yunho laughed almost sadistically. He leaned in to whisper in your ear. “I do enjoy it when you get riled up.”
“Mother’s watching,” you warned. He grinned in response. “But to address your reasons, I’m aware. Neither you nor Hongjoong can announce an engagement before the matter of the crown is sorted.”
“Our fathers are working it out. It’s not everyday you have a kingdom where two kings have ruled and produced heirs to the throne.”
“And it’s certainly not everyday that they share such deep love and respect for each other that they are willing to give up the crown to the other,” you sighed happily. “People go as far as killing blood, yet here you are.”
“Here we are,” Yunho’s eyes scanned the crowd, finding Hongjoong and sharing a nod. “The elder prince willing to give up the crown to the younger if he proves himself worthy, and the younger prince refusing to take it.”
“Even though he is worthy,” you added. “You’re both equally worthy of the crown. I pray every night that your love for each other never wavers.”
Yunho nodded. He prayed the same.
The music started to change to a deeper, more melodic tune, signalling the young royals and everyone of importance to move and take formation. Yunho led you to your position and you stood by his side, waiting for the rest to join you.
From here, it was easy to spot each other. Wooyoung was dashing in red, paired with the talkative daughter of the count that you had mentioned to Hongjoong earlier. Jongho and Sieun seemed to have picked each other for the dance. Minjeong was paired with the duke’s youngest son. San was with someone you couldn't recognise. You scanned the pairs one by one until you found Hongjoong and almost sighed in relief.
He stood right across you, paired with the duke’s daughter, his hand holding hers. A wave of something hot struck you in the chest, threatening to suffocate you, but before you could deal with it, the music changed and Yunho squeezed your hand. “It’s time.”
You nodded and rested your hand on Yunho’s shoulder, the other clasped in his. His hand rested on your waist, steady and warm. You decided to address your feelings later and simply enjoy the dance.
And how could you not, when Yunho’s eyes dripped with love? He did not need to look around to make sure that he did not bump into anyone else– he was effortless with his moves, his attention solely devoted to you.
Your smile widened and you returned his gaze. From Yunho, you did not shy away. Not when his love was so innocent. Not when it came so naturally.
You continued to twirl in his hold, rotate and dip slightly, a performance worthy of the grandiose in which it was taking place. The masks must make the performance even better to the audience– the push and pull between the pairs, the moves when your faces were so close that they almost touched. The masks added a layer of excitement and curiosity.
And when Yunho drew close, although he was taller, he leaned down. He leaned just a bit so that his lips would brush against your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You giggled and he joined, letting you know that it was intentional.
He was sweet like that, only daring to tease occasionally, but when he did tease, oh, he could be a menace. The next brush of his lips was more than that. It was a kiss. You gasped and Yunho winked. “Act normal, love.”
“What’s got you all playful tonight?” You questioned. “In front of all these eyes!”
“Just a token of my love before I part with you,” Yunho said and before you could respond, he let go of your hand and you got pulled in by your next partner.
“Ah, here you are,” Wooyoung gleamed. “You look pretty tonight.”
“Thank you, I love your outfit!” You said while matching his steps. “Red is a daring choice.”
“And no one but me would take it,” he looked proud. “What do you think about my eyes?”
“Oh!” You laughed when you realised that he was wearing makeup and it was not just a shadow casted on his eyelids. “That is a brave choice and a very sensible one.”
Wooyoung agreed. He continued to tell you about his process regarding his costume and you shared yours. Just like that, you got shifted to the next partner who was a stranger. You exchanged pleasantries and danced silently. San had much to share and you both talked the whole time– gossip, or intel that he had gathered during his recent stay in Mist.
It took another partner before you got sent into Hongjoong’s arms. He moved with a fluidity that you were eager to match and once you both synced, you relaxed.
“Enjoying the night?” He asked.
“Very much,” you admitted. “How about you?”
“It’s not bad,” he admitted. You nodded– that was certainly acknowledgement from him. He twirled you once and smoothly had you in his arms again, making you smile.
“How do you and Yunho both dance so incredibly well?” You asked.
“That’s what happens when you are bored and decide to partner with each other,” Hongjoong said and you held back a laugh. His gaze shifted to your right and you hummed in confusion.
“You’ve got a loose curl,” Hongjoong said. “Mind if I fix that?”
“Can you?” You asked.
You had to pay attention to the dance to make sure you made no mistake, but to Hongjoong, dance was something he could do with his eyes closed. He didn’t answer you. He simply inserted the curl inside one of the pins with deft fingers and then tucked some hair behind your ear.
Then his eyes found yours, and he rested his hand on your shoulder. Slowly, painfully slow so that perhaps, it would go unnoticed, he slid his hand down your bare arm. When his hand found purchase back on the dip of your waist, you could not decide if you wished to complain about the lack of touch on your bare skin or thank him for bringing his hand back to your waist, the absence of which had left your skin feeling hollow despite the lack of touch.
“Comfortable?” Hongjoong asked. You nodded.
His hand slid upwards just a fraction. His thumb caressed the fabric of the dress, sending a hot trail of fire in its wake until it paused dangerously close to the curve of your breast.
“Now?” He asked, voice lower than before.
“I… I’m good,” you assured him.
You were comfortable, yes, but you were not good. Yunho’s hands were big enough to assume the same position and that had sent butterflies in your stomach. However, Hongjoong’s intentional placement set your skin on fire. Whenever you pulled away from each other, his hands would find their place back exactly there, never missing. His gaze was heavy as if he had too much to drink. When he moved closer to assume the intimate dance position, his lips parted and face dipped as if he wanted to capture something between his lips, yet…
Yet he refused to let his lips touch you. Somehow, that vexed you, and then you were wondering again of the reasons behind such feelings.
When he pulled you close, his hand squeezed the skin on your waist. Your breath hitched and his nose brushed with yours in the slightest. Before any of you could make another move or address the ones already made, you were changing partners.
It wasn’t until you were back to Yunho for the final bit that you stopped thinking about the way your heads had tilted to accommodate each other for something more, something dangerous, right before you had to switch partners.
Though Yunho kept you thoroughly entertained throughout the rest of the event, one thing was clear.
There was something between you and Hongjoong. Something electric, dangerous but real.
You could not stay away from each other. You had never been able to. Hongjoong always found you, and you always found him. You could not stop testing boundaries– touching each other casually until it was not very casual, just like he had tonight at the dance. Just like you let him kiss you on the cheek or on your temple whenever he wanted without complaining.
The thing was that what you and Yunho had was just as real, if not more. You were positive that your love for Yunho was a romantic one. You yearned to hold him, touch him without any watchful eyes, and kiss him stupid. You wished to spend the rest of your life in his arms– that is the idea that you fell asleep to every night. Your restraint and his was simply out of respect for each other, but that did not mean that you did not love each other. You loved him.
So then what was it that you felt for Hongjoong? You loved him as a friend, just like you loved the rest of your friends– no, you definitely loved him more than the rest of your friends. However… did your love change shape at some point? When did that happen?
Was it the time he found you crying alone and wiped your tears? Was it because he always found you when Yunho got stolen away so that you were never alone? Was it when he told you that you were beautiful, as if he had every right to use that word for you?
So many memories that you had made with him, yet you were unable to pinpoint a single one that could hint at the beginning of this shift.
Did Hongjoong feel as restless as you, or was this all in your head?
Since the main event of the year-end festivities was over, you were back to prioritising your royal duties before any recreational activities, though you still made time for horse-riding yesterday and archery in the morning. The guests would be here for another two weeks so you supposed you could spare some time later.
For now, you needed to address the security concerns arising because of the trade-conflict between Wonderland and Neverland. There was also the matter of Neverland’s refusal to join this year’s celebrations– was it because they were hosted at Wonderland? Were they trying to make an enemy out of your kingdom?
The trade-conflict has been going on for about 6 months now. Since the only way to reach Neverland was a sea route and the storms had been deadly this season, the sailors from Wonderland were being cautious or refusing to make this journey. The King allowed reprieve but Neverland sent a message, clearly angry about the delay and refusing to understand your reasons.
Not joining this year was a clear message, but they were also refusing to break the trade contract since it was the easiest to get their cotton from Wonderland. For Wonderland, they could make a land route to Kiji to make up for their machinery that they otherwise got from Neverland,, even though it would be of a lower quality, but Neverland seemed to have no other choice.
You wouldn’t be surprised if Neverland took a big, wrong step. This morning, the guards had arrested bandits trying to enter the grounds. The bandits were claiming to be from Neverland. It would only be a matter of time before a more deadly group made an attack.
Was it wise for Wonderland to send the guests back at a time like this? They were safer inside. What if they got compromised during their journey? Wonderland would not be able to recover from such a damage.
However, if someone got attacked inside the castle, that would be equally as worse, if not more. You were getting exhausted but you had to share your input tonight.
A knock sounded and Yunho entered the study, dressed in a casual outfit of black slacks and white shirt. He waved and you straightened, failing to stifle a yawn. You stretched your arms and Yunho laughed, coming behind your chair and massaging your shoulders.
“You’ve been holed up here all afternoon,” Yunho said. “Anything I can help with?”
“Hmmm… security concerns, mainly,” you offered, wondering if it would be wise to share with him. Yunho was one of the best strategists of your time.
“Neverland?” Yunho guessed. You looked up at him but he shrugged. “They didn’t attend. I think it’s obvious why.”
“Take a seat,” you said and he brought his chair near you so that you could show him the map. “We wish to be prepared in case of an attack. Bandits were arrested this morning, claiming to be trade workers from Neverland who were running low on money. We’ve stationed more guards here,” you pointed at the wall nearest to the guest chambers, “and strengthened security near the forest.”
Yunho nodded. “I suppose you could station more guards inside too, near the chambers.”
“It might worry the guests.”
“Better safe than sorry. You can make up an excuse about being careful, but it’s better not to compromise their security.”
“Do you think it’s better if the guests leave?” You relaxed back in your chair and asked. “I’m worried about the guests exiting Wonderland safely, but I’m also worried about an attack inside the grounds. What if they wish to leave but we cannot let them go? The conflict will blow up.”
Yunho folded his arms, thinking for a few moments. “Do you suppose you could arrange more recreational activities? Something to keep the guests engaged until a clear, safe route is arranged for their departure?”
“I reckon we could,” you agreed. “We just have to make sure the guests are not bored, right?”
“Yes,” Yunho said. “In case someone has to leave early, have the royal guards create a distraction. They could pretend to accompany someone of importance while the actual guest leaves casually through a busy route. A busy, slightly unsafe route is better than a safe but empty route.”
“True,” you clapped. “Jeong Yunho. You’re brilliant.”
Yunho’s lips drooped in a shy smile. “Come on. I’m sure you would have come up with it too.”
“Yeah, after another all-nighter,” you laughed. “What are the rest up to?”
“Hongjoong is holed up in his room too. I think he came up with a few designs and he really wanted to note them down,” Yunho said. “The rest are in the garden having tea and playing ball.”
“It’s been a while since I heard of his hobby,” you referred to Hongjoong. “Does he still do that?”
“Not very often, but when he does, it’s great work. He must have been inspired after seeing all the fancy gowns and suits at the ball.”
You nodded. “And you? Missing me?”
“Very much so,” Yunho leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and looking at you lovingly. “I wanted to… talk.”
“Go ahead,” you said, mirroring his position.
“You’re aware that I wish to marry you,” he began and you nodded. “And that I’m only delaying because I cannot bring you into the current political mess at my place. You should not have to deal with it.”
“Yunho,” you placed your hand on his arm. “I can deal with anything as long as I am with you.”
“I wish to make you my wife,” Yunho’s voice was low and sweet, his eyes dripping with love. “But I also want it to be clear if you would be just a princess for the rest of your life or a queen in the future. You deserve to make our choice after factoring that.”
“I do not care if you are a prince, a king or exiled,” you said and Yunho narrowed his eyes, the two of you sharing a laugh. “I only need you by my side. My status doesn’t matter. Being a princess… it’s not all that. Being a queen of a nation… it’s a job that demands the utmost perfection and I’m scared of that title.”
“But you would be so perfect, my love,” Yunho squeezed your hand. “You deserve to be a queen more than anyone else.”
“Thank you,” you meant it. “I don’t mind waiting. My parents are not pressuring me about marriage right now. They know that we wish to be together, and they would also rather wait until the situation is clear, so stop apologising for making me wait. Every moment that I wait makes our time together even more beautiful.”
Yunho smiled warmly at that, kissing your palm and lingering there. “You’re perfect. My family, and Hongjoong’s… we can’t wait to have you with us.”
Your smile must have fallen just a bit, but Yunho was a very sensitive person. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing at all,” you said but Yunho shook his head.
“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” Yunho scanned your face. “I would never judge you.”
“I know,” you assured. “I guess it’s just overwhelming. Hongjoong… has he ever addressed our relationship?”
“Well… he knows that we intend to marry,” Yunho took a deep breath. “We haven’t talked about you like that, though. He knows that I’m waiting for the situation to solve before I officially propose. He adores you, you know.”
“He does?”
“Of course he does,” Yunho said. “I thought it was clear?”
“I mean…” the weight of Yunho’s hand on yours was starting to feel heavy. “We usually just argue about this and that. Unserious arguments.”
“He’s always looking out for you,” Yunho smiled. “I know because I’ve seen him. His eyes always find you. I think he is very fond of you, y/n.”
“That’s… a relief, I suppose,” you laughed nervously. “How’s your mother? Is she okay with us?”
“More than okay,” Yunho grinned. “She’s your biggest fan.”
“That’s lovely,” you grinned and Yunho kissed your hand again, his gaze honey with a hint of darkness that you hadn’t seen before.
“What are you thinking?” You whispered.
“That I can’t wait to make you mine,” Yunho said in a low voice, sparing a glance at the slightly open door. “That I can’t wait to kiss those soft lips of yours.”
“Yunho!”
“Stop pouting,” he warned, “I’m just a man.”
“Well…” you cleared your throat, attempting to pull your hand away but he held on, his eyes stuck on your lips. “Jeong Yunho. Respect your traditions and stop looking at me as if you want to eat me alive.”
Yunho chuckled deeply. “Ah… the things I wish I could do to you. It’s a shame that I have to wait,” he said and got up, cupping your face and kissing your forehead. “Join us for dinner. Don’t skip your meals.”
“I’m too tired to socialise,” you pouted again and Yunho swiped his thumb over your lower lip, raising his brow in a warning. You immediately straightened, but a part of you was tempted to find if he would cross the line.
“Join me and Hongjoong then,” Yunho offered. “We’ll be in our chamber.”
“That… I can do,” you agreed. Yunho nodded, taking one final look at you, almost struggling to part from you but he did eventually, and you were left breathless from his mere gaze, wishing he could have done more.
Damn the traditions, a voice in your head said. You shook those thoughts away.
~
Accompanied by your guard and handmaid, you arrived at the guest chambers, hoping you would not run into anyone else. You really were tired tonight, but you could not reject Yunho’s offer to dine with him.
And Hongjoong. To dine with them both.
You could convince yourself that it was just because you wanted some time alone with your boys– it had been so long since the three of you had spent time together, and time together was always well-spent and memorable. You could convince yourself that it was for old times’ sake, but you could not deny that you wanted to see Hongjoong and really feel him out.
What Yunho had said about Hongjoong stuck with you. He adores you. His eyes always find you. You had not noticed that, no. Perhaps, you had been too busy looking at Yunho all this time to care for someone else.
But he is Hongjoong, your heart sang.
You still do not need to care about anyone else, your head retorted.
The guard knocked on their door and Yunho opened, welcoming you inside. Your handmaid entered with you, acting as your chaperone but she let you be, opting to rest in the study while the three of you dined in private. She would have company there with Yunho and Hongjoong’s maids and they would dine together.
“Let me call Hongjoong– he refuses to come out of his room,” Yunho said apologetically and you shook your head. The table was set so you took a seat, waiting.
It looked like it took some convincing for Hongjoong to finally come out. Your eyes slightly widened at his appearance– buttons of his shirt undone revealing his finely toned chest, hair a mess and sticking in every direction and eyes tired.
“How many meals have you missed?” You asked, filling a plate for him and making sure it was without vegetables– he really wasn’t a fan of them.
“Just… lunch. And breakfast. I did eat an apple, though… I think?”
Yunho looked at you helplessly and you motioned for him to take a seat too. You passed Hongjoong his plate and ordered him to eat. He shot you a glare.
“I’m working on something, and it is imperative that I finish before I lose my thought train,” Hongjoong said, the fork in his hand hovering mid-air. “I don’t have the luxury to dine and chat right now.”
“Then eat and leave,” you simply said. “I won’t disturb you.”
Yunho chuckled at the interaction, realising that you were right– you both really did argue a lot. He served you some more baked potatoes and started coming up with recreational activities for the next week. You left Hongjoong to eat in silence but it was clear that he didn’t mind the company while he ate, even though he wasn’t contributing.
His presence was enough for you both.
Yunho had almost finished his meal when a guard knocked on the door and let him know that the King wished to discuss some matter regarding his father. Yunho looked at you, apologising for leaving when he himself had invited you.
“It’s okay, you should go. I know father has been wanting to talk,” you said. “I’ll finish and leave.”
“Make sure Hongjoong stops playing with his food too, please,” Yunho said and Hongjoong scowled at the younger prince, making him chuckle as he left.
Then it was just the two of you. Unchaperoned. You could feel heat rush to your cheeks but you managed to finish the rest of your meal in silence. Hongjoong was slower, though, deep in thought.
“Hongjoong,” you called softly. “I think you should rest. You look tired.”
“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, speeding up a little. “Just visualising some details so I don’t lose them.”
“Can I ask what you’re working on?”
Hongjoong looked at you. There you were– the same curious little child that used to sneak up on him and watch him draw in silence, sometimes so silent that you would scare him. He smiled.
“Just some gowns,” he said, wondering what to say next. “Playing with colours and fabric.”
“Can I see?”
Could Hongjoong say no when you asked so sweetly? “I suppose you could… but only what I allow you to,” he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare try to get sneaky.”
“Won’t promise,” you grinned. “You know how curious I can get. Come on, since when do you hide your designs from me?”
“I can do whatever I want,” Hongjoong finished his meal. “Gotta teach you that curiosity can kill the cat.”
“But satisfaction brings it back,” you grinned, following him to his room.
“Good lord,” you looked around. There was fabric and pages everywhere, no place to step without crushing something. “Can I at least sort this mess?”
“Do not touch anything,” Hongjoong scolded, almost tripping as he hopped towards the desk. “I know where everything is.”
“But Joong,” you cried out. “If I organise it, it will be easier and less time consuming for you to reach for a fabric or for the stones. You know I’m good at it.”
“I know, but I can manage–”
“Shut up and get to work,” you folded your arms. “I’ll take care of this.”
Hongjoong immediately straightened, internally scared of your raging need for organisation. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good.”
Hongjoong watched you for a bit but eventually decided to resume working on his designs. You were as silent as you could be, occasionally calling to tell him your organisation method and where to reach to grab something. The fabrics were stacked in rows, the pages all spread on his bed and finally, it was time to collect the pearls and beads that were scattered across the room.
When you were done collecting them in little boxes, you set them on his desk. He didn’t look up, currently bent over his diary and drawing something. You perched yourself on his desk, trying to sneak a peek.
When he was done, he relaxed back, almost jumping in his chair when he spotted you. “Goodness. Can’t you make some noise?”
“I was breathing,” you said. “I assumed that would be loud enough for you… hey, that looks like the gown I wore to the ball.”
“It is,” he admitted. “I’m altering it. I thought that a different shade of green would compliment your skin tone more, and if we added some pearls and net details…”
Hongjoong continued to ramble, going about how he also took inspiration from Minjeong’s dress. While he talked, you grabbed his diary and started to go through it.
Sketches upon sketches of the most beautifully designed dresses, often with fabrics and beads glued or sewn into the thick pages for reference. However, the model or the muse seemed to be the same, no matter what. It always featured the same curls that you often wore, or the little scar on your back–
Hongjoong stopped talking. “I told you not to go through it.”
You looked at him. “You still remember this scar?”
Hongjoong remained silent. You were both thinking about the same memory from about two years ago in Eden when you had all gone hunting and you had gotten lost when you couldn’t find your way back to the rest due to heavy rain. Hongjoong had managed to find you, but the storm got worse so you both took refuge inside a cave.
Since it was incredibly cold and you were drenched and shivering, Hongjoong could only offer his arms as a relief. You sat wedged between his legs, embraced by him. He rested his head on top of yours, murmuring about how relieved he was that you were safe. You clung to his arms, both scared and relieved.
Your dress was torn a little at your upper back when a branch got stuck in your clothes. Hongjoong spotted the fresh wound then, the shape of a bow. He asked you about it and through chattering teeth you told him that you must have received this when you fell tumbling down a path a few moments before he found you. You thought you felt Hongjoong’s fingertip trace the wound but you didn’t say anything. You only shut your eyes, waiting for the storm to subside so you could go back.
A part of you had wished that the storm did not subside so soon, so that you could feel his strong arms embrace you for a little longer, so that he could continue to touch your skin with his fingers, so that he would continue to murmur sweet nothings into your ear.
It seemed like he had not forgotten that memory. Whenever he sketched your back in his diary, the scar made a feature too.
“Am I your muse, Kim Hongjoong?” You tilted your head. He looked up at you, the moonlight casting shadows under his cheekbones.
“Maybe you are,” he said almost casually. “Do you mind?”
“I don’t think so…” you admitted, taking a deep breath. “As long as I get to wear one of your designs someday.”
“A wedding dress… can I design your wedding gown, my dear?”
You frowned. While the thought of him designing your wedding dress was extremely enticing, some other thoughts were plaguing your mind. “Do you wish to see me as a bride that badly?”
“I… I wish to see you as a bride, yes,” Hongjoong leaned forward. “I imagine you as a bride, dressed in the softest shade of white that you can get in the highest quality of silk that we have in Eden– one that glimmers under the sun.”
Hongjoong stood up, scanning your body. You suddenly felt exposed but you didn’t move.
“I imagine pearls as your complementary choice of jewellery. The pearls from Neverland– they have this distinct shade of blue to them that would go very well with your undertones. I imagine the pearls to be a part of the dress– here,” he pressed his thumb against your collarbone without hesitation, a designer and not a prince right now. “A neckline that exposes your collarbones and shoulders, since you have a beautiful shoulder cut. The dress would hug your bodice but I suppose we could make the back deeper. Would you mind exposing your scar?”
“I– I don’t know,” you admitted, too distracted by his fingertips against your sternum right now.
“I suppose we could adjust the back depending on that. A dip of your neckline here, and then…” he traced his hands against your thighs. “The fabric would hug your curves beautifully and modestly, just like you prefer. I suppose it could be more flowy towards the knees,” he continued to trace his hand down all the way to your ankles and you gasped when his hands made contact with your bare ankles. “I think a pearl outline to the first layer of the dress would look heavenly. Paired with your pearl jewellery and the pearl-embedded crown of Eden, a net veil with zircons scattered over it…
“Y/n, you would make the most beautiful bride,” Hongjoong finished, breathing and finally realising that he was holding your ankles. With you perched on the desk, he was almost eye-level and you could see his pupils dilate.
“You would design such a beautiful gown for my wedding? I’m not your bride,” you reminded him.
“It would both be the greatest honour,” he whispered, tracing your cheekbone, looking as if he was drugged. “And the cruelest punishment for me.”
“Cruelest punishment?” You echoed. “Do you hate me?”
“Hate?” Hongjoong’s brows furrowed. “Do you think that I could ever hate you?”
“Then what is this, Hongjoong?” You clasped his hand, gulping but letting it remain there so he could cradle your jaw. “What are you doing when you clearly know that I’m basically betrothed to Yunho?”
“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighed, trying to bring himself out of this trance. “I respect Yunho a lot. I would never do something to disappoint him and risk our friendship. I respect you too, y/n. I…” he pulled his hand away from your face but you held on, making sure not to let him go. You wanted him to finish saying whatever he was thinking. “I respect the fact that you both value your traditions but good heavens, dear. If it were up to me, I would…”
“Say it,” you commanded after a few moments of silence. You simply could not take the look in his eyes anymore.
Hongjoong shook his head, attempting to pull his hand but you grabbed his other hand too, pulling him towards you. Closer. So close that you could feel his breath caress your face.
“I’m not so innocent even though I practise restraint, so say whatever you are thinking. Forget about Yunho for a moment.”
Hongjoong’s gaze darkened. “Do you even realise what you’re asking for?”
“Your heart,” you nodded. “I wish to learn what you think about me, however… unfiltered that may be. You… you’re confusing me, occupying my thoughts and my heart and I need to make sense of it before I make a mistake, Joong. I love Yunho, don’t get me wrong, but I… I need to hear what you think of me, or else it will kill me.”
“Y/n,” Hongjoong squeezed your hands. “Go back. You need to leave.”
“No.”
Hongjoong took a deep breath. “If you learn what I would do to you if you were mine, if I… if I speak my mind about what I wish I could do to you right now…” Hongjoong looked away for a moment, collecting the last shreds of his sanity. “They would crucify me, love. So leave. What I think about you does not matter. You are Yunho’s.”
This time, you didn’t fight back when he pulled away from you. He went to the window, staring outside, the muscles in his face taut from tension.
“I’ve spent most of my life with Yunho,” you said, standing up and getting ready to leave. “It was easy to fall in love with him. He’s everything that I have ever wanted, and he has always been there, but Hongjoong… so have you. You have always been present with me and Yunho, watching and waiting, sometimes offering solace while other times, offering silence. If you had asked me to be yours before Yunho did, I would have said yes to you because no matter how much I think, I feel like my heart has always been split into two.”
“What do you mean?” Hongjoong looked at you, distraught.
“Make of that what you will,” you said, tired. “I’m done for the night, and I’m done explaining myself.” You left his room and made your way outside, your handmaid scurrying to accompany you.
Outside Hongjoong’s room hidden in a corner, a tall shadow stood for a few moments before disappearing elsewhere.
If there was one thing that the prince and princesses of your generation enjoyed, it was a good debate. Hence, the idea to have a few sessions where everyone would represent a kingdom that was not theirs was proposed by you. You could all shuffle the kingdoms or choose the one that you would like to represent. Since Neverland was not attending, Hongjoong decided to represent Neverland.
Yunho was representing your kingdom, Wonderland, and you were representing Eden since you were very familiar with the way they ran their kingdom. Wooyoung, San and Sieun switched among themselves. Jongho decided to act as a moderator since he was incredibly skilled at that.
Minjeong was opting to watch instead of participate– she was from a big family and not very involved in running the kingdom. Minjeong was going to score everyone based on how good their argument was and deduct points if someone crossed the line. Lastly, Jeongin was acting as the law– representing the crime courts of the land and navy.
A few days were spent with everyone gathering at the library to study about their assigned kingdoms and catch up with their latest trends directly with the actual nationals of those kingdoms. Jongho would join a group and make sure that the discussion would be unbiased since he was very well-versed with the current political climate.
It was only Hongjoong who had no one to discuss Neverland with. You and Yunho were spending most of the time together, exchanging information and debate points but though Hongjoong claimed to be okay, you knew that he was not aware of the recent trouble between your kingdom and Neverland.
You wondered if this was a good opportunity to let Hongjoong know. If he could raise the points about the trade-conflict in his discussion, you could observe and see if another kingdom was aware of this conflict and pretending otherwise. Perhaps, a kingdom could step up and offer an alliance. You discussed it with Yunho and he thought that it was wise to let Hongjoong know too.
However, he was busy coaching Jeongin tonight. The debates were starting tomorrow and you had no choice but to talk about this matter to Hongjoong directly. How would you face him now after basically confessing to each other that night in his room?
You were treading on such dangerous waters. This situation– the shift in the relationship between you two was so fragile. One wrong move and you could lose your title.
“Can’t you catch up with Hongjoong later tonight?” You begged Yunho one last time. He watched you with mild amusement.
“I told you that he has been going to bed early. I don’t know how long my session with Jeongin will take, but I have to help him out. It’s important for tomorrow,” Yunho patted your cheek. “Go talk to Hongjoong in private. It’ll be okay.”
“But…”
“Is there a reason you’re so queasy about meeting him?” Yunho raised a brow.
“Not really…” you faltered. “I’m just tired, I guess?”
Yunho scanned your eyes. “I’ll let Hongjoong know that you wish to talk to him. I feel like he has been giving you the cold shoulder lately. Did something happen between you two?”
“Nothing,” you shrugged. “Just teased him about his designs. Bet he’s salty about that.”
Yunho chuckled. “He’ll forgive you. He always does. I’ll be right back.”
You remained sitting at the desk in the library, palms growing sweaty with each passing moment while Yunho let Hongjoong know that you needed to discuss something important before tomorrow’s debate. You accidentally met eyes with Hongjoong and looked away in a flash, stifling a groan. How embarrassing.
Yunho came back and let you know that Hongjoong would be spending some time in the abandoned music room tonight. You could join him there.
You intended to. However, you intended to join him unsupervised. You could not risk guards or handmaids monitoring you.
And why not? Were you planning to do something that no one could see?
You were not. You simply wished to talk, however, you wanted to talk without eyes and ears around you. The matter of Neverland was sensitive. But… there was another matter just as sensitive.
Creating a distraction for the guards was easy enough. You asked them to accompany you to the adornment chamber, claiming that you would be spending quite a while there receiving massages and a long bath. However, you had ordered the handmaids there to clear the room earlier, claiming that you wished to bathe in private.
There was a secret passage in that room that connected to a few different rooms but eventually served as safe exits in case of a raid. You used that to access the music room. All you had to do was knock and wait.
Hongjoong opened the door behind the tapestry after a few moments, his sword pointed at you. He instantly relaxed when he realised that you were the intruder and he tossed the sword away. It was clearly not his and he must have searched for a weapon and found the decoratory sword.
“Whyever would you access the music room through this passage, Princess, and not that door over there?” Hongjoong stood with his hands on his hips, unrelenting.
“Privacy reasons,” you shrugged and moved past him.
“Privacy?” Hongjoong echoed, shocked. “Why would you want privacy here? We’re only discussing Neverland, not planning a coup. Besides, what would your mother say about coming here unchaperoned?”
“She is probably in her bed, reading a book and getting ready to sleep,” you twirled around to further tease the very pissed prince. “Relaxing. Maybe you should take a seat and relax too before we talk.”
“Y/n,” Hongjoong warned. “I’ll ask the guard to station himself inside–”
“Joong,” you called softly. “Just… sit. Relax. I know what I risk being here, but I trust you.”
“You trust me when I don’t trust myself around you,” Hongjoong said. You perched yourself on top of the piano, patting the space next to you. He ignored it. You ignored his statement.
“Neverland might attack Wonderland in the coming days,” you began. “I need you to learn about the conflict between us before our debate tomorrow and help me find if another kingdom is making alliances with Neverland to push against us.”
That immediately had Hongjoong’s attention. While you briefed him, he sat on the piano chair, occasionally playing some notes to let the guards know outside that he was still present and breathing. Hongjoong absorbed all information, his eyes narrowing as he schemed.
“I suppose I should poke everyone in the room. Especially those with strong ties to Neverland. They are all our friends, though. If they’re hiding an alliance with Neverland and scheming against Wonderland, it would be quite surprising.”
“Friendships change,” you reminded him. “Do you remember Junho? He was such a good friend until your kingdom had a conflict with theirs, and then he started to act like a solid ten years of friendship means nothing in the face of a petty conflict that can be solved through words.”
Hongjoong agreed. He straightened his legs and stretched his arms. “Friendships… do change. I just don’t like it when it happens. It leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth even years later.”
You patted the space next to you again. This time, Hongjoong did sit next to you, though maintaining a distance and opting to stare at his boots.
“Our friendship… it has changed, hasn’t it?” You asked. “Does it leave a bad aftertaste too?”
“Not at all,” Hongjoong replied immediately. “It’s just… suffocating.”
Your heart hurt to hear those words. “Is there anything I can offer to make it better?”
“Then can you tell me how to deal with this suffocation?” You asked and Hongjoong looked at you. “Because every time I look at you, I wish to never look away. Every time we touch, I wish we never part. How do I deal with the suffocation of performing restraint?”
“Do you feel the same with Yunho?” Hongjoong asked.
“I do,” you admitted. “A couple of nights ago, he told me that he wanted to kiss me. It took every cell in my body to not make his wish come true, because we promised to respect the traditions.”
Hongjoong was silent for a few moments before he spoke. “You love Yunho and you want to be with him as soon as possible. I’m sorry that our political climate is delaying your wedding, but… what if you’re confused because you cannot be with Yunho right now? What if your feelings for me are just a product of your anger and exhaustion?”
His words struck like a whip at you. Your breath quickened and you clenched your jaw. Hongjoong noticed and he tried to take your hand in his but you pulled away as if his touch had burned you, aware of the hurt flashing in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare tell me how I feel about you, Joong,” you said in a low, warning tone. “When I have spent all my life searching for you in crowded rooms just as you have. When my eyes always find yours, just like yours find mine. Don’t you dare tell me when you do not know how much my heart yearns for you.”
“I… I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong’s voice was wet and he took your hand in both of his, peppering kisses. “I’m sorry to make assumptions, my love, but you have to be clear about what exactly you want. You can’t keep pulling me towards you when you don’t intend to keep me. I get hurt too.”
Your eyes immediately softened. “What are we going to do, Joong?”
“We can’t do this to Yunho. You know that… right?” Hongjoong slid closer, caressing your cheekbone. “As much as I love you, I can’t compromise my relationship with Yunho just because I was a coward who didn’t take my chance. I can’t compromise your honour just because I wish to learn what your lips… what you taste like before you leave me forever.”
Your heart swooped dangerously but you leaned closer, pausing.
This was not why you came here unchaperoned… right?
It didn’t matter. The traditions that you had respected all your life, you were willing to break. The sacred, silent vows to protect your chastity. Your mother’s warning to not engage in improper behaviour, your father’s gentle reminders… all down the drain, just to grant Hongjoong’s innocent wish.
“Are we really doomed?” You whispered. “If I… if I touch you now, are we dooming ourselves?”
“Probably,” Hongjoong breathed, his forehead joining with yours. As soon as the tip of his nose brushed with yours, you became molten in his touch, your mouth parting, waiting for more. Hongjoong parted gently, brows furrowed as if he was in physical pain. The corners of his lips drooped as he observed you.
The desire in your eyes for him… how could he have missed that?
Your hands went to clutch at his shirt near his collar and he groaned internally, unable to resist. He joined your foreheads again, only to plant a sweet kiss near your mouth, one that had you shivering uncontrollably in both anticipation and nervousness. He trailed his lips along your jaw, occasionally stopping to kiss or suck at your skin and your back arched against him, breathing becoming heavier with each passing second.
Hongjoong buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his lips planting a soft kiss on your collarbone too. He remained there for a long, long time, weighing the odds of his decision and gathering strength in his body to finally part from you.
“Hongjoong,” you called when he pulled away. He only shook his head.
“We can’t do this to Yunho,” he reminded you. His words slashed like a knife at your heart. “We owe him that much.”
He was right. Yunho had never questioned your and Hongjoong’s relationship because he trusted you both. You could not betray his trust like this.
Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, Hongjoong was not going to wipe them. He backed away slowly though every step hurt him.
“We are going to pretend that these intimate moments never happened between us,” Hongjoong steeled himself. “It’s best that you forget about me, love. I will continue to be your friend, or if you wish for me to give you space, I will do that, but let’s not betray our closest friend like this.”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Tears streamed down your face.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Hongjoong shook his head, assuring you gently. “These feelings will fade. You have a life with Yunho ahead, and my biggest mission in life is to protect Yunho from any threat. I cannot be a threat to him. You understand, don’t you?”
“I do,” you nodded.
“Then go back to your room,” Hongjoong smiled, his own eyes glazed. “Tomorrow, when we meet, we will be just two friends who love to bicker. I will continue to be your shadow.”
“And I will continue to be your secretkeeper,” you completed and he nodded.
“I’m proud of you, my dear,” he smiled again. “I hope you know that.”
With that, he left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of your feelings. You struggled to breathe, wiping your tears away hastily.
You needed to find Yunho.
Oh, you had been the most awful to him, even though he did not know what the two of you had been up to in the shadows. You needed to touch him because he was what was real.
Hongjoong would not be going up to his room. He would probably take to the gardens to get some fresh air. Yunho might be back in his chambers. You decided to go to his chambers, not minding if anyone saw you.
Damned be the traditions. Whoever decided that these manmade traditions were as sacred as the law itself?
The guards let you inside and the servants inside offered to call Yunho, but you asked them to give you some privacy, saying there was an urgent political matter you needed to discuss with him. You would only take a few moments, you assured. Since they trusted you and Yunho, they went back to rest.
You knocked at Yunho’s room and he opened the door, surprised to find you. It looked like he was in the process of changing– the buttons of his shirt were undone and he wasn’t wearing his jacket that he had been earlier.
“Y/n? What are you doing here–”
You entered and shut the door behind you, throwing yourself at him in an embrace. Surprised, he hugged you back, rubbing your back. “Is something the matter?” He asked, worry lacing his tone.
“I…” you breathed, inhaling his scent. He smelled like the ocean and fresh flowers. It was your favourite scent in the world– even better than Hongjoong’s musk and vanilla scent. “Please, let me stay like this for a moment. I need to feel that you are real.”
“I am real, love,” Yunho laughed anxiously, rubbing your back. “Take your time.”
You did. Feeling his heartbeat synchronise with yours was satisfying enough but nowhere near enough after what Hongjoong had done. You needed more.
“Yunho,” you drew back, cradling his face and struggling to look up at the tall prince. “I need you to kiss me.”
“What?”
“I need you to kiss me,” you repeated, gaze stuck on his lips.
“Y/n,” Yunho called gently. “I cannot compromise your honour. We made a promise to respect the traditions, didn’t we?”
“Forget about the traditions for once, forget about stupid manmade concepts of honour and reverence of the throne,” you almost spat. “I need you to kiss me and remind me that you love me–”
“If you say it like this,” Yunho’s brows furrowed. He looked as if he was fighting an internal battle. “I’ll have no choice but to obey, but y/n, my love…” Yunho squeezed your sides. “Are you sure about this?”
“Did I ask for too much?” You sighed, looking for any signs of disappointment in his eyes but finding only curiosity. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry. I–”
To your surprise, Yunho didn’t let you finish. He leaned in and captured your lips in an experimental kiss, moving his lips along yours.
It was your first kiss. It was his first too. He moved his lips, alternating between soft pecks and deep, open-mouthed kisses. As soon as he got the hang of it, he groaned and picked you up, a surprised sound escaping your mouth. He steered you both to the bed where he sat with you in his lap, one hand resting on the dip of your waist while the other tangled in your hair.
“You need to tell me when to stop,” his eyes were laden with the desire that you had only ever read about in books. “I’m going to kiss you until you stop me. God help me, love, ” he sighed, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. “I can’t stop.”
Almost immediately, you were kissing again, this time deep and passionate. Your heart and your head all belonged to Yunho, your body responding to his touch and moving accordingly. You cupped his face, tangled your fingers through the soft strands of his hair and ran your hands across the smooth panels of his chest, all the while his lips refused to leave yours. He nipped at your lips, teased them with his tongue and explored the cavity of your mouth, swallowing all your moans. When you finally drew back for breath, he seemed to come back to his senses, his eyes widening slightly.
“I…” he began, still refusing to let you go. “We should not have done that, but good heavens.”
You laughed, caressing his face affectionately. “I’m sorry for demanding something so unreasonable.”
“No, I’ve wanted to do this since forever, but… I really thought we were going to wait until marriage,” he stifled a grin.
“I thought so too, but apparently, I’m desperate,” you pouted. “I came begging for a kiss. It should have been the other way round.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Yunho pecked your lips. “As long as we both get what we want.”
You nodded, smoothening his hair away from his face. “I’m still sorry, though. I… I just wanted to– I,”
“You don’t have to explain your reasons,” Yunho held your hands in his. “But we should definitely stop here.”
“I agree,” you said. “But do you think other people sneak in kisses or something more before their weddings too?”
Yunho laughed heartily and your heart warmed. This really was the man that you loved and wished to spend the rest of your life with. “I suppose they do. Should we ask your father?”
“Shut up,” you scowled, pulling away from his lap. You stood on your feet but he didn’t let go of your hands. “A goodnight kiss?”
“Stop testing my limits, Princess,” Yunho warned but pulled you in for one last kiss, forehead joined and noses brushing. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” you confessed. “More than you can imagine.”
Yunho smiled. “How did your meeting with Hongjoong go?”
You did your best to keep your smile from falling. “He understands. He is probably scheming somewhere right now.”
“That’s good,” Yunho watched you. “Don’t let him learn that we broke the tradition. He’ll be insufferable about it.”
“Of course,” you shook your head. “We are the most chaste people in the entire kingdom. Let’s not forget that.”
Yunho smirked darkly, getting up and fixing your hair. You went back to your room, convincing yourself that what had happened with Hongjoong was just your anger and exhaustion, like he had said.
You could definitely try to forget it and move on. For Yunho, you could do that. You owed him that much.
You didn’t think the debates would be so serious until you found Wooyoung, Sieun and Hongjoong in a heated argument, with Jongho snacking on peanuts and letting the chaos unfold before him, and Jeongin over the clouds because everyone was addressing him as ‘Your Honour’.
You folded your arms and scoffed at your little brother. He was gloating. Apparently, being called Your Highness wasn’t enough for him. He liked the other title more.
“Your Honour,” Wooyoung called and Jeongin straightened, his eyes curved in a foxy grin. “The Kingdom of Hala has a known reputation of violating treaties. Year 1941 when the kingdom broke a treaty with Eden over baseless speculations, and year 1962 when the kingdom almost broke the treaty again but then the matter was sorted by amending the treaty. But…”
Wooyoung looked towards Sieun with a smirk growing on his face. As Hala’s princess, Sieun was fuming but also awaiting how Wooyoung would defend his representative kingdom.
“It’s understandable if the neighbouring kingdoms see the Kingdom of Hala as a nation governed by people who cannot keep their word, but in this specific instance of whether Hala has violated international land laws, I confirm that Hala has not. Just because we don’t respect our treaties does not mean we don’t respect international law.”
Sieun settled down in defeat, though she was still slightly confused if her own kingdom had been represented correctly. She lightly shrugged and Wooyoung took it as a sign of approval.
“Very well,” Jeongin cleared his throat. “The Kingdom of Neverland may now argue whether creating alliances when there is a clear sign of conflict between any two kingdoms is disrespecting the international law, especially when some of the war routes fall in the territory of geographical points protected by the international law.”
“Remember,” Jongho reminded everyone, “To stay respectful during the arguments since this is a made-up debate.”
Hongjoong nodded and stood up, meeting eyes with you and Yunho. You both passed subtle nods. The plan was to bait the people present into admitting whether they were aware of the current navy conflict between Neverland and Wonderland.
“I would begin by providing the past instances of similar events where Neverland either decided not to participate in conflicts because of the fear of violating international laws and being held accountable. Years 1864, 1875 and 1925 when Neverland abstained from any such conflicts,” Hongjoong scanned his notes and then looked at Jeongin. “Year 1951 when a conflict with The Kingdom of Hala had us sailing our ships and almost violating the international navy law.”
“I wonder why you weren’t held accountable,” Wooyoung pointed out.
“Maybe because Hala was hell-bent on escalating the war?” Hongjoong answered smoothly. “Neverland had a duty to protect its people. If we just stood by, we would watch Hala violate the international navy law and sail to us with the sole purpose to fight–”
“Hala would never do that!” Sieun stood up, slamming her hands on the desk. “Neverland has been breaking navy laws even in the present time and no one holds them accountable!”
While Jongho rebuked Sieun for breaking character and Minjeong deducted her score, you and Yunho straightened.
“Let’s relax,” Yunho whispered after a moment. “Hongjoong will figure it out. Let’s pretend we don’t know what just happened.”
You nodded. Hongjoong was trying hard to contain his smirk.
“The Kingdom of Hala,” Hongjoong raised his brow at Sieun but then shifted his eyes to Wooyoung who was supposed to answer in Sieun’s stead, “is known for violating treaties, like you said, Wooyoung. What’s to say that it wouldn’t violate the navy law? After all, the navy law is trickier, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the topic of today’s debate,” Wooyoung said before Jongho could.
“Your Honour,” Hongjoong looked at Jeongin. “I would still like further explanation from Hala’s representatives about their baseless accusation of Neverland violating navy laws in the present time, if you would allow.”
Jeongin discussed it with Jongho. You were sure that Jeongin would decide against it– that was a real time conflict and this was supposed to be a recreational activity, not a debate on current events.
That is exactly what Jongho and Jeongin decided. The topic steered back to the original made-up conflict and the tension in the room slowly dissipated. The debate ended on a good note with Yunho emerging as the winner with leading points.
Hongjoong found you both when you were on the way to the hall for refreshments. “I guess the young princess is not as politically unaware as she pretends to be.”
“Right?” Your eyes subconsciously darted towards Sieun. She appeared very relaxed, sitting in a corner with Minjeong and probably discussing the debate. “If she is aware about Neverland and Wonderland’s conflict, she’s doing a damned good job at pretending otherwise.”
“Which makes me wonder if the other kingdoms are aware as well,” Yunho added. “I gauged everyone’s reactions earlier and I’m sure Jongho knows something.”
“What should we do?” You turned towards the princes. “Interrogate Sieun or feel out Jongho?”
“What do you mean interrogate?” Hongjoong let out a short laugh. “You’re gonna tie her up and play prosecution?”
You glared at Hongjoong while Yunho stifled his smile. “I think it’s wiser to ask Jongho. He’s a close friend and if he knows something, he’ll be honest.”
You let out a huff but obeyed. Yunho smiled in response and got you both drinks. When he noticed Jongho hanging out alone in a corner, he said that he would be right back.
Leaving you and Hongjoong alone at your table.
You silently ate your croissant while you watched Yunho. You caught Hongjoong staring moments later.
“Good job today at the debate,” you acknowledged. “You handled it very well.”
“It was nothing,” Hongjoong dismissed. “You did well too. Second place is basically the first when Yunho is the permanent first place.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Yunho really doesn’t know how to lose.”
“He has always been a winner,” Hongjoong said with a deep sigh. Something in his voice told you that his words held a deeper meaning. The ache in your heart told you that you knew exactly what he meant, but you ignored it.
You were just friends now. Nothing more.
Yunho joined you with news that he had fixed a meeting with Jongho to discuss the Neverland conflict with Wonderland, you all cheered silently. When Yunho offered to take you to your room, Hongjoong excused himself smoothly and disappeared from the hall.
Just like he always did. You watched him until he was out of your sight before you said yes to Yunho, catching him looking at you with a strange expression– one that you hadn’t seen in his eyes before. “What?”
“Nothing,” Yunho smiled knowingly. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Of course I am,” you felt your cheeks flush. “What’s there to not feel alright about?”
“Just making sure,” Yunho took your hand and started to walk.
“Is something funny, Yunho?”
“Not at all,” he assured. “Just thinking about last night.”
“Jeong Yunho!” You scolded, looking around you. Of course, there was no one in the empty corridors and no guards nearby. Yunho wasn’t foolish enough to say something suspicious like this in the open.
However, he was a fool in love, and fools in love did things like steal an innocent peck before taking the turn towards your chambers where the security started to tighten. You smacked his chest repeatedly until he couldn’t breathe from laughing so much and warned him not to do that again, even though your own cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.
“Can I come inside?” Yunho asked when you reached the door. “I wanted to discuss a few things about… our lives.”
“Sure,” you welcomed him inside and you took a seat near the fireplace. Your maids sat at the far end of the room, watching but unable to hear your conversation, giving you a certain level of privacy to talk freely.
“I’ve been thinking about our… future,” Yunho looked at you with expectant eyes and you met his gaze when he seated himself across from you. With the fire illuminating one half of his face while casting shadows on the other, he looked every bit the man and the prince that he had become.
Your future husband.
“I have been thinking,” Yunho inhaled deeply. “And… I know that we planned to talk about marriage to your parents on this visit, but I think that we should delay it.”
Your heart sank. “Why? Is everything alright?”
“Of course,” he assured. “I would like to ask for your hand officially after I secure a title as the second prince or the crown prince. That gives us all enough time to… sort out whatever needs sorting.”
“If you’re doing this because you are unsure of whether my parents would approve, Yunho,” you looked at him fondly. “They adore you. They love you and you’re everything they could have ever wished for, for me. They understand your circumstances– I mean, they are aware that we’re interested in each other, but they would accept you no matter your future title.”
“I know, love,” Yunho smiled. “It’s not that.”
Your smile fell. “Are you… sure about us? Do you need time to think about things–”
“Y/n,” Yunho looked like he wanted to hold you but his eyes darted towards the maid. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life but you. You are the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with, and… now that we’re talking about it, I want you to reconsider everything before you agree to my proposal. Do you wish to spend the rest of your life with me?”
“Of course I do,” you said without a doubt in your voice or your heart. “Do you think that I played with fire because I wasn’t sure?”
“Not at all,” Yunho confirmed. He was sure that you didn’t ask him to kiss you just to make sure that he really was the one. Your friendship and your love wasn’t that shallow. “Just needed to make sure. If you ever… if there is ever someone else in your life, someone else in your heart… I want you to know that you can still trust me and confide in me.”
“What does that mean?” You straightened, heart pounding right between your ears this time.
“It means,” Yunho said lightheartedly, grinning. “That I’m your best friend first. If there is ever someone else that you would like to marry, I’ll understand. I only wish the best for you and I wouldn’t want you to bind yourself to me out of compulsion.”
“Does that mean that you would not fight for me?” You narrowed your eyes and folded your arms. “Didn’t peg you as the loser sort.”
“Of course I would fight for you,” Yunho shook his head. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, ever. I would rather watch you happy with someone else than unhappy with me.”
“Yunho,” you whispered, fighting back tears. “That’s… very honourable of you to offer, but you are unfortunately still the person that I wish to marry. And… I would like to offer you the same. That’s the least I can do, but don’t expect me to be as understanding as you.”
Yunho nodded and you wished that your eyes conveyed what your heart felt in that moment– that you loved him infinitely, even though you couldn’t say it out loud right now.
The next few days were a breeze.
You found out that Jongho was aware of Wonderland’s conflict with Neverland and was willing to offer help in any way that he could– the Kingdom of Kiji and its two Choi princes would always side with Wonderland. That left preparing strategies for departure of the guests to their homelands and tightening security.
However, you noticed how Sieun appeared distant and disconnected from the rest of your group. You all had been spending a lot of time together playing games, studying, strategising and whatnot. Even Hongjoong was back to normal with his near-constant teasing and jabs that gave Wooyoung a run for his game.
You wondered if you were only noticing Sieun’s unusual behaviour now that she gave herself away during that debate, or if something fishy was going on.
Which was why when you saw her alone in the corridors near the guest chambers, you secretly started to follow her. You hid behind a wall when she stopped and started to converse with an unknown person.
You tried to strain your hearing. If you could get just a whisper of their conversation–
“Love… what do you think you’re doing?”
Your bones nearly jumped out of your skin. You glared at the perpetrator– Hongjoong– and motioned for him to seal his mouth.
Hongjoong was not amused. He found you hiding your figure behind a wall on his way to his room and decided to inspect. Hongjoong pressed your head down to make you tuck your knees further and allow him some space to crane his head over your crouched figure so that he could take a peek himself.
“Sieun… and?” Hongjoong asked in the lightest whisper. “Who is she exchanging the letter with?”
“I don’t know,” you answered. “Does he look familiar?”
“Do you think it’s a romantic scandal or a political one?” Hongjoong asked, not recognising the figure. Maybe one of the prince or princess’ guards?
“Everything feels political to me these days,” you answered, straightening when the two disappeared. “I’m not very interested in Sieun’s romantic escapades.”
“I thought you were a strict person when it came to traditions,” Hongjoong straightened the fabric at the waist of your gown.
“Do you think I would be the kind to turn someone in just because I disagree with their take on ‘manmade’ traditions?” You asked with a scoff, reminding Hongjoong of his own words. Manmade traditions.
“I suppose not,” Hongjoong shrugged, looking you in the eyes. “Considering… everything.”
“I’ll pretend I don’t know what that means,” you muttered. “I’m going to follow Sieun. Shall we split? You go follow the man.”
“It could be dangerous,” Hongjoong shook his head. “Sieun is probably going to her room. Let’s follow the man. I don’t want to leave you behind.”
You agreed– splitting was probably a bad idea, especially if this took a wrong turn. While you both walked a good distance behind the figure, sticking close to the walls, Hongjoong asked what you were doing in this part of the castle. This was near the guest chambers and the library and he had just been in the library taking a nap.
“I was going to see Yunho,” you admitted.
“Unchaperoned?” Hongjoong was almost teasing. “Where are your guards or handmaids?”
“I asked them to stay back.”
“Are they always this obedient? I should speak to your mother about enforcing security measures–”
You grabbed Hongjoong by the arm and pulled him instinctively in a wedge between the walls when the figure turned, probably alarmed by the noise. Hongjoong was tense, eyes wide and figure unmoving.
“We’re dead if we get found out now,” Hongjoong reminded you of every way that this could go wrong– the figure could be someone dangerous. If it was someone you both knew…
You were suddenly very aware of the lack of distance between you two. It was almost as if you were about to hug. You could see the twinkle in his eyes despite the low candle lights casting a shadow over his face. Your hand still gripped his arm out of fear and he held yours out of protection.
You could hear the footsteps getting closer. The wedge was small and Hongjoong almost lost his footing and tripped but you held him steady and allowed him to brace himself against the wall that you rested your back to. You were enveloped in his scent– deep, earthy and manly. It felt like home.
Home. The same jab in your heart at the thought because Yunho’s scent of freshness and ocean felt the same to you.
You could not do this. You could not spend another minute so close to Hongjoong and not lose your entire sense of self and crumble to the ground in ashes–
Hongjoong probably noticed your breathing getting quicker. He tucked your head in his chest and you clutched at his side. He must think that you were doing this out of fear, but fear was the last thing on your mind right now. It was… the lack of it that was making you tremble right now. That despite being moments away from being discovered and possibly held responsible for ‘breaking the traditions and engaging in improper behaviour’, you did not care.
All that mattered was Hongjoong and his fingers tangling in your hair, his protective embrace, his breath caressing your temple, him and only him–
“Hey!” An unfamiliar distant voice sounded. “Report to the station! Time to change shifts!”
The footsteps stopped. The man said something in response and then the footsteps started to fade away until they were no longer, and the only sound around you was the one of two beating hearts.
Hongjoong did not dare move. He did not move a muscle. He didn’t dare breathe in relief. He was slowly realising why you were holding on to him like this.
At some point, your breaths synchronised. Your chests rose and fell in rhythm. It was intimate like nothing else– the feeling of being one. One time, you had hugged Yunho long enough to experience that too. That time, you felt as giddy as a child.
This time… it was different.
It was always different with Hongjoong.
You soaked up every bit of his warmth and then mustered every bit of your courage to let him go. You could not face him now– not after making all those promises about being friends and nothing more, not after he had dismissed your feelings as anger and exhaustion. You let him go and in a flash, you started to walk away.
Except this time, Hongjoong was following.
“Princess,” he called, pain lacing his voice. “Please, look at me–”
“Leave me alone,” you declared, taking a sharp turn to the right to the abandoned part of the castle. You needed to be alone with your thoughts right now, away from all prying eyes.
“Just… wait–” Hongjoong grabbed your hand right when you were about to turn and you let out a shriek, a stinging sensation growing in your arm–
“Oh, saints,” Hongjoong cried out when you finally stopped. He looked at the wall. There was a nail sticking out and him pulling you so rashly resulted in a long gash across your wrist.
You hissed in pain when you drew the fabric of your sleeve away, revealing the damage. It didn’t look deep, but it was still painful and bleeding. Hongjoong drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to tie it around your wrist.
With trembling hands.
“I– I’m so sorry,” he whispered, dabbing at your arm with the edge of his sleeve to wipe the blood around your wound. With both shaking hands, he cradled your wrist with worry in his eyes. “Princess… your wrist– this could leave a scar–”
“Hongjoong,” you shook your head. “It’s okay. It will heal. It wasn’t your fault.”
“It is,” he almost looked offended to hear that. “You shouldn’t have so many scars on your body. You are the princess and the future queen–”
“I’m just a human, like you,” you corrected. “We bleed all the same.”
Hongjoong wasn’t having any of it. He was almost shaking. He looked at you and you thought that there were tears in his eyes.
“You always get hurt because of me,” his voice was also trembling now. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Hongjoong,” you sighed, pulling him towards the nearest room. All the rooms in this part of the castle were empty and if you were lucky, unsupervised, at least for a few minutes since the shift change was happening. You scanned the room– it appeared to be a study room with chairs scattered everywhere.
Now that you had better light, Hongjoong finished tying the handkerchief around your wrist properly, his hands shaking awfully.
“When you got that scar on your back… that was my fault too,” Hongjoong admitted in a small voice. “I was the one who challenged you to hunt at new grounds, even though I knew the storm was coming.”
“You were also the one who found me,” you reminded him. “I might have died of the cold otherwise,” you said with a laugh.
“Don’t say that,” Hongjoong’s gaze was fierce but his eyes…
Oh, he looked heartbroken.
“That was not your fault,” you said softly, your hand shaking slightly now, more from the heartache than the pain. Hongjoong inspected your hand closely. “This isn’t either–”
With his still shaking hands, he brought your hand to his lips and started to kiss your fingers one by one, muttering apologies. You could do nothing but watch. He gently seated you on a chair nearby and sank to the ground, kissing your palm and resting his head on your knees.
This was the strongest man you knew, reduced to this. On his knees, apologising for the things he had no control over and kissing your hands as if that could make things better, as if that could patch you right up.
“Joong,” you called, overwhelmed. “Joong, look at me.”
He did and your resolve crumbled. You cupped his face with your free hand and lowered yourself to meet his lips, a sigh of relief escaping the both of you as soon as your lips brushed.
Hongjoong remained unmoving. He let you kiss his lips for a few moments before he almost whimpered and answered with everything in him. He craned his neck up and met your lips and your tongue in a frenzy as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening.
You couldn’t either. This couldn’t be real– the butterflies in your stomach, the heat coursing throughout your body begging you to never let him go. You pulled him up, tired, and spread your legs so he could wedge his left knee between them to balance himself. Now that he was towering over you, you saw the darkness in his eyes before he devoured your lips.
This was nothing like the kiss with Yunho. That had been experimental, restrained yet loving, but this?
This was pure, raw desire. The need to be with one another, the need to be one, to mold yourself with the other. Hongjoong’s hands shifted from your neck to your shoulders, pushing the sleeves away and swiftly unbuttoning the top few buttons so that he could run his hands along the expanse of your collarbones. He explored the cavity of your mouth and you sank lower, giving yourself entirely to him and gasping when his knee made contact with your core.
Hongjoong didn’t stop. He let you catch your breath while he kissed and licked at your skin, pecked along your collarbone and then crouched to inspect the scar on your back that was now visible.
He traced it with his fingertips and you bent slightly to give him a better view. To your surprise, he kissed it tenderly. Before you could respond, he was back and kissing your earlobe, tracing his lips along your jaw and you gladly met his lips again, slow and meaningful, your hands clutching at his collar.
This time when he drew away, he found your eyes wet with tears and his own blurry. Oh, you both had made a big, big mistake. Hongjoong bent down and kissed both your eyelids and tasted your tears on his lips. He wiped your cheeks and looked at you, utterly broken.
“You own my mind and my soul,” Hongjoong confessed, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. “How will I ever recover from this?”
“How will I?” You asked, almost pleading.
“You have Yunho,” he reminded you.
“But…” you cradled his jaw, drinking in his features. “He’s not you. He’s different.”
“He’s meant for you,” Hongjoong gently reminded you. “As you are meant for him.”
“If we’re not meant for each other, then why does it feel like parting from you would kill me?” You asked, tilting your head, your noses brushing. “Don’t you feel the same?”
Your lips brushed. None of you pulled away yet none of you dared to take another step.
“Maybe in another life,” Hongjoong mused with a sad smile. “Maybe in another world, we are together. In this one, I’m just grateful that I got to taste your lips and feel your love, Princess. I cannot be selfish. You’re not mine to keep.”
He drew back with immense struggle and you held his wrist. He didn’t pull away. He helped you stand up and after deliberation, decided to hug you one last time.
“I think we need some distance and some time… away. From each other,” Hongjoong said, his hands tangling in your hair and his body molding into yours.
You knew that his words made sense, but you couldn’t help the sobs that wracked throughout your body. “Hush, now. I…”
His voice trembled and he cleared his throat, drawing away and wiping your tears again. This time, he affectionately kissed your forehead. “Let’s go get your hand treated, love. There are already enough scars on your body.”
“Just the one,” you laughed through tears. “And now a big, big one–”
“I’m sorry–”
“On my heart,” you corrected and he sighed. “How are we going to treat that?”
Hongjoong smiled sadly. He didn’t have an answer. As soon as you were ready to step out, he held your unhurt hand and led you out.
The two of you walked in silence towards the medical wing but on your way, it was Yunho who encountered you, confused for a moment before he spotted your bleeding wrist.
“Good heavens, are you alright?” Yunho asked and inspected your hand. You and Hongjoong shared a look before Hongjoong straightened.
“Caught her sneaking around in dark corridors. Unguarded,” he sent his trademark glare in your direction. You were surprised that he could act right now. You were tired enough to not respond at all. “I was taking her to the medical wing. Can you take over?”
Yunho observed Hongjoong for a moment too long. He didn't miss the wetness in his eyes. Hongjoong was a great actor but some emotions, even he could not hide.
Yunho nodded sombrely and Hongjoong said something about being late for a meeting with Wooyoung. Yunho took your hand and led you silently to the medical wing.
The nurse treated your hand, letting you know that the wound wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. She gave you a pill for pain after finding you holding back tears and when she went, Yunho smiled and pressed the pout on your lips with his thumb.
“Does it hurt that much?” He asked. “I thought you were a strong girl, Princess.”
“I was,” you cried. “But… it hurts so, so much.”
Yunho brought you in for a hug and let you cry your heart out. You were unable to control the tears and you were too tired to think of an explanation to give to Yunho right now. You simply sobbed until you got tired and shut your eyes.
Yunho caressed your hair and let you be, occupied with his own thoughts.
He was sure now– there was something between you and Hongjoong. He had hardly ever seen Hongjoong with tear-stained eyes, and both occasions had to do something with you. The last time he saw Hongjoong like that was when he found you in the storm after you got lost hunting. At that time, he figured that Hongjoong had been overwhelmed with the idea of something happening to you, which was understandable– Yunho himself had felt the same.
But this time… it was undeniable. He was aware that your tears tonight were not because of the wound on your hand but the one in your heart.
You looked up at Yunho after resting a bit and found him watching you with a faint smile. He asked if you felt better and you thanked him for tolerating the mess that you had become. He only smiled and accompanied you to your chamber, making sure your maids gave you something warm to drink before leaving with an affectionate kiss to your forehead.
You settled down in your bed and played every moment you had spent with Yunho just now. Even after everything with Hongjoong, you still viewed Yunho just the same– your love, a piece of your heart. Your soulmate, you used to call him. You stood by it now too. Your feelings for the young prince had not changed one bit.
But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, kissing Hongjoong only made you more sure that your heart was equally divided for both the princes. Choosing one over the other would break something in you that would never heal. You could not live the rest of your life with Yunho while watching Hongjoong from the sidelines, or spend the rest of your life with Hongjoong after breaking Yunho’s heart. It would be the cruelest punishment to one or the other.
If you could not have them both… you would prefer to have none of them. That would be your punishment for being so selfish and letting your heart yearn for both the sun and the moon when there should only be a place for one.
Hongjoong had decided to leave early for his home, claiming that there were some ‘urgent matters’ that he needed to address.
However, Yunho was aware that there were no such matters. As Hongjoong checked to see if he had all of his belongings, Yunho stood by his door with folded arms, watching.
“Are you really going to give me the silent treatment?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong had been avoiding eye contact since Yunho found him accompanying you to the hospital wing two days ago. “Both of you?”
“What do you mean?” Hongjoong asked, still not looking at the younger prince.
“Our princess is pretending to be too busy with ‘work’,” Yunho scoffed. “Care to share what transpired between the two of you that night?”
Hongjoong finally looked at Yunho. “Nothing happened. She was spying at Sieun and I saved her from what could have been a dangerous incident, and she got hurt in the process.”
“Is that why she cried in my arms the whole night?” Yunho looked hurt now, and it broke Hongjoong’s heart. “Come on. Talk to me, Joong. You know that you are my best friend and I trust you.”
Trust. Hongjoong wanted to laugh. He had played with Yunho’s trust. He had compromised your chastity. How would Yunho react if he learned that Hongjoong had touched you in places that he hadn’t either?
“Thank you for trusting me,” Hongjoong’s voice was thick with tension. “There is no explanation that I can offer you right now. Ask the princess about her emotions– I’m not answerable for what she feels.”
“But you are answerable for your own feelings,” Yunho stressed. “So tell me what you feel about y/n.”
Hongjoong stopped in his tracks. He was glad that his back was facing Yunho right now. Composing himself, he turned around. “Whatever do you mean by that?”
Yunho was smiling knowingly now. “You can pretend that you are not in love with her, but I am no stranger to that look in your eyes when you see her. You, my friend, are bewitched by her. Your eyes… they always search for her. The way you look at her makes me wonder if I love her as much as you do.”
Hongjoong appeared stricken. “That is not true.”
“I would believe you,” Yunho sighed deeply, his expressions turning to stone, “if y/n did not look at you the same way.”
For a few moments, the princes watched each other. For Hongjoong, he was recalling every moment that he had spent with Yunho– never had they disagreed on something. They hardly ever argued and even though they did not always see eye to eye, they wished the best for each other. They loved and respected the other more than their own self.
For Yunho… he was trying to gauge Hongjoong’s reactions. Hongjoong was good at hiding his emotions, but he could not hide his feelings. Yunho was confused about many things, and he thought that he could certainly begin by confirming Hongjoong’s feelings for you.
“She does not look at me like you think she does,” Hongjoong shook his head. “She loves you. She wants to marry you. I’m nothing to her–”
“That’s a lie,” Yunho said calmly. “Just… just tell me what you feel about her, Hongjoong. I need to hear it from your mouth– I promise that it wouldn’t affect my relationship with the princess. I know that she loves me very much and wishes to marry me, but I am not a fool and I also know that she has some feelings for you too. I would never hurt her, so just… tell me. Please.”
“And what good would learning about my feelings do any of us?” Hongjoong scoffed. “Except break your heart and break my resolve?”
Yunho took a deep breath. He took a step towards Hongjoong but the elder prince retracted. Yunho paused, unsure how to convince him.
“If I tell you that I love her… with all of my heart and my soul,” Hongjoong began, voice guarded. “If I tell you that every moment I spend away from her, knowing that she will never be mine, kills me… if I tell you that now that I–”
Yunho urged Hongjoong to carry on. Perhaps, it was the accepting eyes or the fact that Yunho was Yunho, Hongjoong’s other half, that made Hongjoong surrender and give the truth away.
“If I tell you that now that I have had a taste of her lips and her skin… would that be enough for you to give her up?”
Yunho’s eyes flashed for a second. His jaw clenched and unclenched but he quickly guarded himself.
You, the princess, were not an object. You were not Yunho’s, or Hongjoong’s. Yunho had no right to get angry at what you both did when he himself had done the same. He had no right to reprimand Hongjoong, except for the fact that he did it knowing that you and Yunho intended to marry, but… could he blame him?
“I would not give her up,” Yunho announced. “Because if I did, that would mean that I never loved her enough in the first place.”
Hongjoong smiled. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear. You’re a lucky man, Yunho. The princess… she’ll forget about me one day. I will try not to interfere between you two anymore and stay in the background after you get married. The less she sees me, the better it is.”
With that, Hongjoong picked his bag. He stood in front of Yunho and met his eyes, a fallen soldier. “Take care of her, Yunho. And… I’m sorry for my actions. I really am.”
Hongjoong patted Yunho’s arm and was about to leave the room when Yunho finally found the right words.
“So I guess you do not love her enough to fight for her.”
Hongjoong froze in his tracks. He turned, expecting to see Yunho angry but he had a deadly calm look on his face and it irked him very much. “What did you say?”
“That is your philosophy, right?” Yunho challenged. “If you give up, that means that you never loved her enough in the first place. So I take it that you never really loved y/n that much, huh? Did you get inside her head just to mess with her?”
Hongjoong was a raging animal– he dropped his bag and was at Yunho’s throat in a second.
“Do not make light of my feelings,” Hongjoong growled, fisting Yunho’s collar. “I’m giving up out of respect for you, for our bond, because I do not wish to break your heart and take your love away from you.”
“Does that make you a bigger person?” Yunho questioned and Hongjoong let him go, catching his breath.
“What… what exactly do you want to hear, Yunho?” Hongjoong asked, confused. “Are you looking for a fight?”
“I’m looking for a solution,” Yunho cried out, taking a deep breath. “You think I care about manmade traditions of chastity anymore? You think that confessing that you kissed the princess would make us fight? Did you think that you could go home bloody and battered and it would solve everything?”
Yunho sighed deeply, taking a seat and calming himself. Hongjoong waited for him to continue and when he finally looked at him, Hongjoong braced himself.
“For all these talks about us respecting the traditions,” Yunho said with a light laugh. “We broke it too, Joong. We kissed too. You’re not special.”
“Ouch,” Hongjoong retorted, sitting at the edge of the bed near Yunho. “Didn’t peg you as the rebellious type, Yunho.”
“I didn’t either,” Yunho smiled. “Just tell me that you love her as much as I do.”
“I do,” Hongjoong confessed. “Just as much, if not more.”
“Then we can leave the decision to the princess,” Yunho mused.
“She will choose you. She has to,” Hongjoong looked pained. “You’re the future king. I will not snatch that away from her just because of my selfishness.”
“I don’t have to be the future king–”
“You will take no such steps,” this time, Hongjoong took the reins. “I am going back to solve the matter of our hierarchy once and for all. As soon as you earn the title of the Crown Prince, I will send a proposal to y/n’s parents on your behalf. You will get married to her and live happily ever after.”
“Then what about you?” Yunho looked equally as hurt. “You love her. You always have.”
“And I will continue to do so, silently,” Hongjoong confirmed. “But I will not be selfish. That’s not me. As long as you two are happy, that would mean the world to me.”
“But–”
“Stop looking for solutions when they don’t exist,” Hongjoong got up. “You and y/n will get married. That’s final.”
Hongjoong didn’t wait to hear what Yunho had to offer. He left the room, feeling considerably content. Now that he did not have to hide anything from Yunho, he felt as light as a feather. He hadn’t realised how much betraying Yunho and hiding his feelings from him had weighed him down.
But in his carriage, on his way to exit the Kingdom of Wonderland, he kept thinking about what Yunho had said. How Yunho had acted. He had to be imagining things, but why was Yunho not mad at him for what he had done? Why was he still worried about Hongjoong and how he would cope with the heartbreak?
Yunho could have beaten him to a pulp just for touching you. Yunho was far stronger. Hongjoong would have let him– he had no right to fight back. Instead, Yunho was looking for a solution. Did Yunho think that all three of you could have a happily ever after? That was not possible.
Hongjoong decided that he had to move on– for you, and more importantly, for Yunho. He would have you both marry each other– it would genuinely make him the happiest. If you were marrying someone else, he would have fought for you valiantly, but because this was Yunho, he would lay down his arms with a smile, for it didn’t hurt very much to imagine you and him together. It only hurt because he could no longer be with you.
Hongjoong was about to shut his eyes and take a nap when his carriage came to a halt abruptly and he heard the sound of his guards yell and load their guns and unsheathe their swords. His heart sank in his feet but he quickly bent to retract his own gun from under his seat, awaiting his bodyguard’s orders.
“An ambush?” Hongjoong asked in a low voice. “We dispatched a decoy too, didn’t we?”
“There must be someone on the inside who betrayed us,” the guard said. How ironic. “Your Highness, please wait inside while I inspect the matter–”
Except his bodyguard got shot right in the head, the bullet barely escaping Hongjoong. Hongjoong was surprised for a few moments but he quickly gathered himself, saying a silent prayer and straightening his shoulders.
Then he exited the carriage with a deadly look in his eyes.
“If you soldiers value your lives, we will talk and negotiate,” Hongjoong announced. “Otherwise, I cannot promise that we will make it out alive.”
You and Yunho were in the dining hall, chatting after everyone had left, when Jeongin came running, out of breath, with news that Hongjoong’s carriage– not the decoy, but the actual carriage– was found empty and bloodstained, all the soldiers and guards accompanying him dead with more bodies of the enemy found but no signs of the prince.
For a moment, your vision blackened and you couldn’t hear anything. You could tell that someone was calling your name and someone was shaking you and tapping your cheek but you could only think of one thing–
Hongjoong. How he had left– without saying goodbye. How the last things he had said to you were about his love for you and his regret for leaving you.
“I– I’m okay,” you managed after a few moments, Yunho and Jeongin crowding over you with concern in their eyes. You took a few sips of water, reminding yourself that this was not about you and that you had to think.
You took Yunho’s hand and squeezed it, letting him be vulnerable for a few moments too. You looked at Jeongin. “Who else knows?”
“Father and mother, and their advisors,” Jeongin said. “The three of us.”
“Good,” you pursed your lips. “How are we proceeding?”
“A search party is being arranged and sent right away. I think we have to wait and look for a trail– if there is not a body, that means he must be alive and either taken hostage or on the run. Father said that we will wait until we have a lead.”
“Can we trust our soldiers?” You asked out loud. Yunho was probably thinking the same considering how he nodded. “The decoy is safe while the actual carriage was attacked. Someone inside the castle has betrayed us, I… I’m so sorry, Yunho.”
“It’s not your fault,” he insisted. “Can I suggest something?”
“Of course,” you and Jeongin said simultaneously.
“I would like to personally go and search for Hongjoong,” Yunho said and you and Jeongin looked at each other, conflicted. You were both aware that even though it was very dangerous for Yunho to step out, especially from a political point of view, Yunho would not stop on anyone’s orders. “The enemy is probably the rebel groups from Neverland who might use Hongjoong as a means to negotiate. There isn’t anyone else who would do this, right?”
“Not in our knowledge,” Jeongin said and you confirmed. “Anyone that might have ill feelings for your kingdom or Hongjoong personally?”
“Not that I know of,” Yunho thought about it, the tension apparent on his face. “I have a suggestion that we make this public. If this really is Neverland’s doing, the public backlash– especially because the other royals need to go home soon– will pressurise the enemy to reveal themselves. I think this is our best bet right now.”
“And once they learn that most of the kingdoms are siding with yours in search of Hongjoong,” you continued. “If we play this right…”
Yunho nodded. “While I search for Hongjoong, will you look into who the insider could be?”
“Let me come with you. I can fight–”
“Princess,” Yunho said softly, clasping your hands. “No.”
You looked at Yunho helplessly. He did not need to explain himself. His tone was final. He simply was not going to risk your life while searching for Hongjoong.
“I will go in your stead–”
“You’re too young, Jeongin,” Yunho smiled gently at him. “Instead, I have another task for you. I need you to look into the insider with y/n and prepare to confront anyone who dares to become an obstacle. Use your authority as the crown prince if your sister’s message does not get across. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Jeongin nodded, sure.
“And in case… In case things go wrong…”
“Yunho,” you called but he shook his head, taking a moment to brace himself.
“Take care in case things go wrong.”
You were both about to respond but Wooyoung, San and Jongho came rushing inside, looking stricken with worry.
“We just heard,” Wooyoung started, out of breath. “Let us know how we can help.”
~
It was going to do you no good to simply sit and wait to hear back from the princes. Each one of them had split up with their own search teams despite your father warning them about how this could go very, very wrong. Each of them had also sent a letter to their home– that in case they got hurt, it would be their own fault and no one else’s, for they could not leave a friend behind.
You supposed the princes were very tightly knit. Meeting each other annually and living together for weeks, or sometimes even months did that. They were all out there risking their lives for Hongjoong, and you were not going to be idle. You decided to confront Sieun.
“It’s just a crazy coincidence to me,” you said in a deadly calm voice while Sieun sat by the fire in her room, growing paler by each second. “Hongjoong and I witness you exchanging a letter with some stranger after you admit that you know about Neverland’s conflict with us. We follow the stranger and almost get caught. Next thing we know, Hongjoong is on his way home and gets attacked.”
“I– I would never do something like that,” Sieun said weakly. “I respect Prince Hongjoong very much. He’s like a big brother to me, just like you are a big sister to me.”
“That’s why I am here asking you, Sieun,” you pleaded, this time softly. “This doesn’t have to end badly with secrets and lies. I promise that I will keep your privacy and not hurt you in any way. I… I thought it could be a letter between lovers–”
“No, I– the traditions–”
“Just hear me out,” you sat closer to her this time and took her hands. “If I suspected something like that, I would have let it go. It’s not my place to hold you accountable, though as a big sister, I could maybe offer you advice to be careful. But I suspected that this was political, which is why I invaded your privacy and followed that stranger. Hongjoong just happened to be there– he was not involved.. So can you help me? Help us?”
Sieun sniffed and wiped her tears. She thought about it for a few moments and straightened. “How can I do that?”
“You can start by letting me know if that man is involved with Neverland in any way,” you said. “If he is not, our discussion ends right here. I will pretend that we never had this chat.”
Sieun sighed deeply. She was younger than you yet right now, she looked much older– as if she had seen or heard too much. Her eyes appeared sunken and her hair unkempt.
“That man is just one of the guards here,” Sieun finally admitted. “He is friends with a man in the Neverland embassy who sends letters to Neverland on my behalf.”
So Sieun was involved, and there was an insider. This was getting complicated. “Can I ask what business you have with Neverland? If it involves Wonderland or Eden in any way? And… can I ask who the recipient of the letter is?”
“Wonderland and Eden are not involved, but I can see in hindsight now that I may have made some errors and talked too much,” Sieun was fidgeting anxiously now. “The recipient is Prince Jiwoong. We… we grew close during his last visit to my kingdom and we have been exchanging letters since.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” you smiled. “I will keep your secret, but you have to tell me if the prince ever mentions Wonderland or Eden.”
“Not Eden,” Sieun admitted. “He asked about who was attending. You know a few ships do depart to Neverland on regular intervals despite the weather conditions so that is how I get my correspondences to happen quickly. The reason your sailors refuse to take trade material in this weather is because they aren’t as good of sailors as Neverland ones. For the people of Neverland, sailing is a necessity.”
“Right,” you agreed. “And?”
“I thought it was strange, but over the course of our… correspondences, Prince Jiwoong has been asking for updates on Wonderland. I thought he was interested in you first but it became clear that he was fishing for some information. I didn’t give much to him, but I think my error is that not long ago, I told him that Wonderland was concerned about an attack on the guests during their stay here. I’m so sorry, Princess. I did not know that it would turn out to be this bad and dangerous–”
“It’s okay,” you assured, caressing Sieun’s head. “Jiwoong could have guessed that either way. I think he just needed a target, and I’m sure there was not enough time for you or someone else to report to Jiwoong that Hongjoong was the first to leave, and for Jiwoong to arrange this attack. At least not this one– Hongjoong decided to leave only two days ago, so.”
“Does that mean that I’ll be safe?” Sieun asked.
“No,” you shook your head. “You need extra security now. I’m worried Jiwoong or the Neverland soldiers will take it out on you. I’ll make sure you'll be safe, just… try not to correspond right now?”
“I can do that,” Sieun agreed.
“Thank you for trusting me, Sieun,” you smiled affectionately. “It means a lot.”
“I can’t believe Jiwoong would do something like this…” Sieun bit her lips. “Will Hongjoong be okay?”
You looked at the young princess. She was as worried as everyone else, and perhaps the fact that she might have endangered Hongjoong would bother her until Hongjoong came back safely.
If he came back safely.
“Let’s all pray that he is,” you muttered, shaking your head and clenching your fists. “I’m going to make sure that he is. Don’t go out alone anymore, okay? You have to stay safe too.”
Sieun nodded and you left her room, accompanied by your guards to your own room.
Sleep did not come that night. With the princes out, you did not even bother getting into bed. You stayed on the couch, tossing and turning, waiting to hear back.
The first message you received was that they had found a trail of sorts. It appeared like Hongjoong had either gone somewhere or was taken by force– he had left something of his in the entire course of his path. Buttons from his dress, his ring, his jewellery– small, unnoticeable belongings. Yunho had followed it until it came to a stop at a certain location. The princes were going to search in the vicinity of that last spot now.
Either Hongjoong had run out of things to leave behind, or he had been unable to. You prayed that the former was the case.
Later that evening, you finally received a message. Hongjoong was being held hostage by a rebel group that Neverland was claiming to have no knowledge of. However, it was Sieun’s admission that had you thinking differently. Neverland– at least the embassy members here and not the royalty itself, in this case– definitely had everything to do with it.
Your parents were going to play safe because they were not aware. However, you were not going to sit still anymore.
“Princess,” your mother scolded. “It is dangerous for you to step outside. Hongjoong is Yunho’s responsibility now– I am sure that he will take care of it.”
“We are equally as responsible, if not more, mother,” you argued. Your father grunted in agreement or disapproval, you did not know. “I have information that the person who leaked the news of Hongjoong’s departure is a guard right here, in this castle. My source can recognise them. Do you understand the gravity of the situation now?”
“Then we pin it on the guard,” your father said. “If we shift the blame to Neverland, it is going to end badly, dear.”
“But Neverland is at fault, father,” you cried out. “The guard reported to the embassy. The embassy is Neverland’s representative here.”
“Royal involvement,” your father clarified. “There is no direct royal involvement.”
“But there is a political motive,” you reminded him. “Father… we have to threaten Neverland if we wish to get Hongjoong out of this alive. I… I cannot bear the thought of something happening to him. Please.”
Your mother inspected you closely while you fought back tears. By this point, your head hurt and your heart felt numb after aching for so long.
“I thought you liked Yunho,” she commented. “Was I wrong?”
“You were not,” you sighed. “This is not about who I like. This is a life, mother. The prince of Eden. Yunho’s closest friend. My best friend. He… he is my everything, please. Let me save him. Let me perform my duties.”
“If this goes wrong…”
“Then I will take responsibility,” you straightened, meeting eyes with the King. “I promise.”
“Go,” your mother said first, to your surprise. “But don’t do anything stupid, and keep Yunho by your side.”
“Okay, thank you– oh, goodness,” you cried out in relief. “Thank you.”
~
The Neverland embassy was situated not far from the castle, towards the east near the sea. It was an ideal location– close to the port to correspond with the Neverland natives who travelled back and forth regularly, to monitor trade and to conduct business with the royals and politicians of Wonderland.
You had visited here a few times, accompanying your father and your brother for meetings. Never did you think you would march here with soldiers and Yunho by your side, a black flag raised to indicate the severity of the matter.
The embassy members did not seem surprised. The foreign affairs minister of Neverland, Mr. Lee, welcomed you and Yunho with a restrained smile. You thought there was a knowing glint behind his eyes. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one involved– he was notorious for being a manipulative dealer, always extorting something beneficial even from the worst exchanges on the cost of anything but his own compromise or sacrifice.
“Tea?” He offered as he led you inside. You motioned the soldiers to stand by the door and you and Yunho did not take seats. You were to remain standing.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” you started. “Prince Kim Hongjoong of Eden is being held hostage by your embassy members.”
“A bold statement, Your Highness,” Mr. Lee commented. “Careful of your words– you never know when they will be used against you.”
“I have a message for Prince Jiwoong,” you ignored him and continued. This time, he paused while in the middle of pouring himself tea. It was just for a second, but enough for Yunho to notice and look at you in approval. “Tell the prince that if Prince Hongjoong is not returned to us unhurt within three days, there will be consequences.”
“Please, take a seat,” Mr. Lee said politely this time. Yunho urged you to accept his offer and you both sat yourselves across from him.
“You speak of consequences,” Mr. Lee commented.
“Well… The princes from Mist and Kiji are searching for their friend right now. The princess of the Kingdom of Hala is in my custody, safe. We have allies. I’m not sure Neverland has those right now.”
“From my understanding,” Mr. Lee began, “Prince Hongjoong left the castle two days ago, with a decoy. Is it not one of your guards then, that should be held accountable? Why would you assume that Neverland has something to do with it?”
“Come on, Mr. Lee,” Yunho smiled dangerously. “Let’s not pretend that Neverland is not antsy because of the recent trade conflict, and let’s not act like one of the royal guards was not a messenger delivering letters to someone here, who delivered those letters to Prince Jiwoong.”
Mr. Lee clenched his jaw, thinking. “It takes our sailors three days to make a one-way trip to Neverland. That’s too short a time frame that you demand.”
“We know that you have the best sailors,” you smirked. “From your words, if memory serves me right, your sailors can cross the waters in the worst conditions within a day and a half, right?”
By now, Mr. Lee was flushed heavily. He sipped his tea, unable to meet eyes.
“Then I suppose three days sounds about right. I’ll let the time touch the fourth day, if need be, as long as the prince is safe, but I swear that if I see a scratch on him–”
Yunho rested his hand over yours and you shut your mouth, seething. “He better be safe and sound, Mr. Lee. If I was you, I would be running to make sure nobody touches a hair on his body.”
With that, you and Yunho got up and left. You did not relax until you were back at the castle. The others had returned too– there was no point of a search party anymore. All you had to do was wait for Mr. Lee to arrange Hongjoong’s safe return.
You sat in Yunho’s arms, finally in privacy. Your maids and guards all left you alone tonight. They knew you needed each other, and they were not going to interfere.
“I have to do something,” Yunho sighed, caressing your arm. “I can’t just rely on Mr. Lee.”
“You have searched everywhere,” you reminded him. “Get some sleep tonight. You can leave early in the morning– make sure you eat something.”
“I don’t know,” Yunho sighed, tired. “I… do you know why Hongjoong was going back all of a sudden?”
Your heart sank but Yunho continued, his arms embracing you just a fraction tighter. “He was going to solve the matter of our hierarchy. He insisted that he would pass the crown to me. He said… he said that you deserved to be a queen and not just a princess.”
“Why does he think that I care about that?” You sniffed. “I just need you both alive and happy, like you always have been. It doesn’t matter who the king is.”
“That’s what I said, but he wouldn’t take a no for an answer,” Yunho said with a laugh. “He can be stubborn like that. He believes that I will make a great king, but he does not know how incredible of a leader he is. How selfless he is. I was going to pass the crown to him, but he decided to rush and beat me to it.”
“He should take this situation as a sign,” you joked. Yunho chuckled, agreeing.
You drew back, looking at Yunho properly. There were circles under his eyes and a scratch on his neck, perhaps from his search in the forest. You caressed his jaw lightly and moved to kiss his lips slowly, to offer some relief to him. He took it, his grip around you loose and undemanding.
“Hongjoong will return safely,” you assured after parting. “I believe it. You have to as well.”
“I believe it,” Yunho nodded. You smiled and kissed him some more before resting back in his arms.
At some point, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, drained. You were woken up by sharp knocks and your guard came rushing inside.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Prince, Princess,” he bowed. You shook your head, assuring him that he didn’t interrupt anything. “Mr. Lee has sent a message. They are releasing Prince Hongjoong. He asked you both to come to the embassy to retrieve the prince. He’s alive and well, Mr. Lee claims.”
You and Yunho looked at each other in surprise, sighing in relief and hugging each other, shedding tears of happiness. The guard watched you both fondly with a smile before dismissing himself.
“That was quicker than I expected,” Yunho kissed your forehead. “You certainly know how to play the game, Princess. Your threats worked.”
You sighed happily, getting up and reminding him that he should get ready as soon as possible. Within a matter of minutes, you both were on the way to the embassy, bracing yourselves for every possible situation. Things could still go wrong. You would not let your guard down until Hongjoong would return back to the castle.
Mr. Lee welcomed you both sombrely this time– none of his attitude in sight. You both marched inside and as soon as Yunho spotted Hongjoong, he was crushing him in a hug. You kept your emotions in check and stood watching with a mere hint of a smile on your face, your attention focused on Mr. Lee and alert for any suspicious activity from the guards.
“What about the people who attacked the prince?” You inquired.
“On the way to the court,” Mr. Lee assured. “I am sorry for the trouble, Princess. It appears that I should have kept my men in check, but I assure you that the royal family is not involved.”
You stifled a scoff. Like hell they weren’t.
“Ask your prince to clear his schedule and come for a meeting so that we can solve our conflicts once and for all,” you looked at Mr. Lee. “Prince Jiwoong is a friend. If he really is not involved in any of this, I will expect his presence soon.”
“Noted, Your Highness.”
You turned to look at the duo. Yunho was inspecting Hongjoong carefully while Hongjoong assured him that he was fine. He met eyes with you and you passed only a nod.
This was not the place for anything else.
Your way back was silent. Hongjoong rode with Yunho in one carriage, you with your guards in another. As soon as you entered the castle walls, he was bombarded with hugs and kisses and everything in between from the princes and princesses. You smiled at their interaction and excused yourself to report to your parents after which you went to your room.
You excused all your servants and stood by the window with tears in your eyes. Tears of relief, of happiness, everything. Hongjoong was safe.
He was okay. You saved him– you all did.
A knock sounded and you opened the door, surprised to find Yunho there.
“Is everything okay?” You asked. “Is Hongjoong okay? Did he get a medical checkup–”
“He’s fine,” Yunho assured you with a laugh. “I’m here to make sure that you are okay.”
“I… I am,” you said, sniffing. Your nose was still runny from all the crying earlier. Yunho raised a brow.
“Are you going to lie to my face now?”
“No… okay, I may have cried tears of happiness because Hongjoong made it back safely. A girl can cry, right?” You laughed lightly. Yunho wasn’t having any of it, though.
“Then how come you haven’t even said hello to him?”
You pursed your lips guiltily while Yunho folded his arms.
“How long are you going to avoid him?” Yunho asked. “How long are you going to pretend that you don’t love him?”
Someone must have snatched the ground from under your feet because you almost stumbled. “Yunho–”
“I’m not asking for an explanation,” Yunho shook his head. “Just… he’s here. Let him inside, my love. Stop creating walls around yourself– I don’t like you like this.”
Yunho did not wait for an answer. He motioned to who you assumed was Hongjoong. You turned before you could see him because you were sure that your eyes would give you away. Did Yunho know everything?
“I’m going to be in the study,” Yunho said after you heard the door close. “Take your time, and please… for the love of god, stop avoiding each other and stop avoiding your feelings.”
You heard Hongjoong grunt uncomfortably but Yunho left with a wink thrown in your direction. You were thoroughly confused.
“Hongjoong?” You whispered.
“I’m here,” he confirmed, moving closer behind you. “I’m sorry for making you so worried, my dear.”
“Don’t be,” you said, placing your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob. The tears were enough. You stood with your arms folded, unable to face the prince, unable to say anything. You had to get a grip, but it was too much–
Except that when you felt Hongjoong’s arms wrap around your waist, it was suddenly all okay. Your mind cleared and you sighed in relief, letting him embrace you. He rested his cheek against your head, his lips ghosting over your temple.
“I’m still sorry for parting like that,” Hongjoong said, nudging your cheek with the tip of his nose. Your back arched and you shut your eyes, drinking in every moment of this proximity. “It was reckless of me. That could have been our last conversation.”
“Don’t say that,” your voice was laced with pain. “Don’t you ever leave me like that, Joong.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, rocking you both back and forth for a few moments. “Won’t you look at me, love?”
It took immense effort to part. You turned in his embrace to face him and Hongjoong caressed your face lovingly. “You look like you were the hostage,” he teased. “I seem to be in a better condition than you.”
“Shut up,” you muttered. Hongjoong grinned, kissing your forehead affectionately. “Did they… did they hurt you?”
“It was a bloody mess at first,” Hongjoong told you. “But just a couple of bruises. They only meant to strike a deal using me but that clearly didn’t work because the princess decided to play smart.”
You observed Hongjoong closely. He did appear just fine– a bruise peeking on his chest, one on his wrist, probably some more covered by his clothes but he was fine. He was alive, safe, back in your arms.
You belonged here.
“You have no idea how scared I was,” you muttered. Now it was the anger speaking and Hongjoong’s smile fell. Your voice started to grow louder. “Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that, Kim Hongjoong. I swear to god that I will never speak to you if you leave me like this again– I… I could not sleep a wink! The thought of something happening to you– it would have been my fault, did you know that?”
“Princess–”
“Don’t you princess me!” You scolded him. From your peripheral, you could make out the distant figure of Yunho, probably stepping out to see if everything was alright. Hongjoong gripped you tighter while you tried to struggle away.
“You,” you smacked Hongjoong’s chest. “If something happened to you, I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life. Did you have to leave so soon? Was sharing the same space with me that difficult?”
“Of course not,” Hongjoong looked hurt. “I was being selfish.”
“Yes!” You smacked his chest again, hard, the corners of your lips drooping. “You’re a selfish, stupid man, Kim Hongjoong. Going to your kingdom to crown Yunho the king and make me the queen at what cost? At the cost of your life? At the cost of my love? I don’t need that title, Joong. I’m fine being stripped of all luxuries if that means you are alive and happy, did you realise that?”
“My dear–”
“How would I… how would I have lived with myself?” You finally sobbed and Hongjoong held back his own tears. “I gave my heart to you and Yunho, split perfectly in two. How would I have lived with only half of my heart? If you can’t love me back, you should have never made me miserable like this. I feel like a sinner everyday,” you sobbed, Yunho closer now, also overwhelmed by your confession. “I feel like a sinner. I’m undeserving and selfish because I decided that if I can’t have you both, I… I would have none of you. It will kill me.”
You sobbed violently now, tired. There seemed to be no end to this pain, to the steps your heart had taken. Hongjoong looked at Yunho, helpless. Yunho smiled sadly, urging Hongjoong to hold you so he did. He wrapped you in his embrace and sank to the ground, letting you cry your heart out until you passed out in his arms from exhaustion, showered by kisses and pecks from both the princes who had huddled close to you.
“I did not realise how painful this was for her,” Hongjoong spoke in a low volume, caressing your hair. You were sound asleep now– apparently, you had not slept this whole time save for the few hours with Yunho this morning. “I am a foolish man, it seems.”
“Now you see why I search for a solution,” Yunho was warming your hands. He kissed your fingertips softly. “I can’t let her go. I know you can’t either. I know that she will not let either of us go.”
“There is no solution,” Hongjoong looked at Yunho. “You both marry each other, while I watch from the sidelines.”
“But… what if we change that?”
Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “I know that look in your eyes. Scheming.”
“Listen,” Yunho shook his head. “I read probably every book and record in the library, searching for an instance like this. The only recorded ones are of kings with their several mistresses. If there was an instance of a queen or a princess having more than one partner, it is never mentioned.”
“For good reasons,” Hongjoong reminded the younger prince. “The world is cruel enough to women as it is.”
Yunho nodded. “If y/n is willing and if you are… I am open to a relationship like this, Joong.”
“Like what?”
“This,” Yunho motioned between them. The princes’ legs were almost tangled while you nested between them. “I really don’t mind such a relationship since it’s you.”
Hongjoong’s cheeks flushed at the possibility. He watched you and Yunho for a long time– how you held his hands subconsciously even in your sleep.
“This is… surprising, to say the least,” Hongjoong started. “I’ve known you as a relatively reserved person, Yunho. Someone who respected the traditions of chastity and whatnot. Do you understand the implications of your offer? If word gets out, we might be stripped of our titles. All of us.”
“I understand,” Yunho assured. “I think it’s high time we put an end to this stupid tradition. When you become the king, you can do that.”
“I will not become the king–”
“You will,” Yunho shook his head. “Everything aside, there is no better leader for the Kingdom of Eden. It has to be you.”
“They will ask me to marry,” Hongjoong reminded him. “They will ask for offsprings.”
“She can decide who she would like to marry, and if she would ever like to have children,” Yunho kissed your hands again. “But I will let her know that I’m open to this kind of a relationship for the rest of my life. If she accepts… we will work out the technicals later.”
“I don’t know if you’re being gracious or being stupid,” Hongjoong scoffed. “This… this is reckless.”
“Neither,” Yunho almost smirked. “You know I hate to lose.”
Hongjoong raised a brow. “This is not funny.”
Yunho took a deep breath. “I would hate to lose either of you, okay?” He admitted. “I don’t want to part from her. I know she won’t part from me either. If this was anyone else, I would have fought back, but it’s you. I can’t lose you either. I know that if we decide to marry, you will create a wall and I will finally lose when I fail to break it or climb past it. I…”
Yunho took Hongjoong’s hand this time. Hongjoong looked at him in surprise.
“You are my best friend, and I love you dearly,” Yunho confessed. “You are my soulmate. You get me like no one else. You accept me for who I am. I cannot live without you, and I cannot live with the idea of you being so close yet so far away. I will give you anything you ask me to. If you asked me to give y/n up, I would have genuinely considered it. The decision is still hers– if she decides to leave me for you, I will accept it wholly, but if she decides to be with both of us, then there’s nothing better for me. I trust you with my heart and my soul, Joong.”
Hongjoong was overwhelmed. He squeezed Yunho’s hand after a moment, conveying everything that he could not with his eyes. Yunho smiled and shifted so that he was on the floor, his head resting on Hongjoong’s lap with you in his arms between them.
“Isn’t this nice?” Yunho asked. Hongjoong rested his back against the couch, finally chuckling. “We could spend the rest of our lives like this, the three of us. Think about it while I sleep. I haven’t really slept either.”
While Yunho closed his eyes and immediately passed out, Hongjoong watched him for a long time, caressing his hair now. His other half. That is who Yunho was.
Could this be possible? For the three of you to spend the rest of your lives in each other's arms?
At some point, Yunho and Hongjoong left the room. It would have been unwise to stay. However, the two had a talk with you the very next day and Yunho offered you something almost unbelievable.
The two were going to leave soon, with the rest of the guests. Now that Neverland had accepted Wonderland’s demands to put a temporary halt on trade out of pure fear, things had finally calmed down. Hongjoong personally thanked Sieun for helping him out and you could tell that the weight was off her shoulders now. There was a celebration party and for the first time in a while, you had fun without worrying about anyone else.
It was a memory you would remember forever. Hongjoong and Yunho dancing with each other in the most silly manner, Wooyoung and you in a tango laughing your heads off, San and Minjeong making fun of Jongho’s charade while Jeongin and Sieun gave more ideas. Drinks circulated around and music filled everyone’s hearts. The adults let you all be, though you were sure that after tonight, they would be keeping an eye on San and Minjeong. There was certainly something going on there.
The farewell was a happy one. They all left within the same day at different times. You were appreciated for your hospitality and for your courage. You were invited everywhere and you promised everyone that you would definitely visit soon. They had offered their assistance while searching for Hongjoong and you would be forever grateful for that. You decided to personally visit everyone with gifts and thank them over the course of the next few months.
Yunho and Hongjoong gave you 4 months time to think. One of them would become the crown prince within 2 months, though they would not descend the throne until the current King gave away his crown or passed away. None of them were in a rush, but the crown prince had to be decided. They allowed you to choose your partner after that.
Partner. Or partners.
You had a choice to choose them both without judgement.
It was daunting. Yunho and Hongjoong explained to you in depth what it would entail. The discussion took place in a good few sittings so that everyone would be clear of the dynamics if you decided to accept them both.
If Hongjoong was the next king, which he seemed to finally come to terms with– you suspected Yunho had threatened him with something but really, Hongjoong was the one for the role– he would be required to have children, but there were exceptions. Hongjoong could pass the crown to Yunho at any point in his life, or one of Yunho’s children, if any.
Yunho and Hongjoong were both adamant that they would not marry or have more partners in case that you decided to have them both as partners. You argued that they could change their mind but the look in their eyes, the sincerity… it made you think otherwise.
In any case, you would have to marry one of them. If you marry Hongjoong, you would be obligated to have his child. If you married Yunho, you would not be obligated to have children. You told them that you did intend to have a family in future. You did not intend to let the royal bloodline of Eden die like this– this was risking a lot. If the people of Eden saw that there were no heirs anymore, it could get bad.
So you made them promise that in case you were not able to bear children, the unmarried one would get married for the sake of a family. They would look for love, marry and have children. Though they hated the idea of it right now, you told them that if they could accept you with two partners, you could certainly do the same– for the sake of their kingdom. For the sake of a peaceful life.
Now, it was time for you to decide who to marry.
It took a lot of thinking to get to a decision. If you married Hongjoong, Yunho would be left with neither the title nor a wife. That seemed unfair to Yunho, especially after all your promises to marry him. Hongjoong had talked to you in private and urged you to marry Yunho if you really did not care for the title of the queen after all.
So when you made the decision, you sent two letters. One addressed to Yunho, and one addressed to Hongjoong, both containing just two words.
I do.
It was a chaotic start to the big day of Hongjoong’s coronation as the next king of the Kingdom of Eden.
The three of you could hardly get any sleep. Hongjoong’s restlessness was valid but Yunho and you both were perhaps as nervous as him, and heaps more excited. Yunho was extremely happy to see Hongjoong become the king. He insisted that Hongjoong was a natural leader and that he would make a far better ruler than Yunho ever could. Hongjoong insisted otherwise. You agreed with both– the two had full potential to become great kings, but even to you, Hongjoong’s coronation felt very natural.
The three of you spent the night in each other’s arms. Hongjoong shared his worries and anxieties about the future and how the weight of the crown felt heavy already. Yunho promised to share his burden, create a bond like their fathers who had shared the crown as well. You spent hours caressing Hongjoong’s hair to comfort him.
This was becoming a routine– spending the night together, the three of you. After your marriage to Yunho, this was your new home, right between the two of them. Your chamber was designed by Hongjoong to be between his and Yunho’s, with a door in your bedroom opening to your husband’s for convenience.
A door in your study opened to Hongjoong’s study. As his personal advisor, this was also for convenience, though it served another purpose– Hongjoong sharing your bed.
It took you a while to get used to these new dynamics. After spending your whole life believing that being reserved and suppressing your desires was the acceptable way to live, especially as a royal figure, breaking the old tradition was not an easy feat. Simply kissing Yunho and being with Hongjoong had felt like a sin earlier. It took you a while to learn that being with the both of them was okay.
Sure, you had to be careful. For the public, Yunho was your husband and it was going to stay that way. You had no desire to explain yourself to anyone. Yunho and Hongjoong both wanted you. You all wanted each other. That was enough to last you a lifetime.
Anyone who thought that there was something between you and Hongjoong would easily dismiss their thoughts since Yunho was so obviously in love with you. His eyes dripped with unfiltered affection whenever he looked at you, especially now that you were his wife. He was proud of you and flaunted you publicly. And he loved Hongjoong dearly too. The public may have been curious about the relationship between the three of you at first but now, they just believed what you made them see– that the three of you were tightly knit and loved and respected each other.
It was out of that respect and love that Yunho urged Hongjoong to take the crown. Even after your deal of marrying Yunho so that Hongjoong could be the king, Hongjoong was unsure. He insisted that he did not need the crown and that he would spend a happy life as the second prince to Yunho. Yunho, however, was not going to rest until Hongjoong became king. It was possible that he felt obligated to give Hongjoong something– after all, he had taken you as his wife. He would not be selfish and take the crown too.
Hongjoong joked that if he never had children, the crown would be going back to Yunho’s bloodline, but that was a later problem. Right now, Hongjoong needed to become the next king of Eden. His parents wanted to crown him in their lifetime, and Yunho’s parents wished to see a coronation in their lifetime too.
It was no wonder that Yunho and Hongjoong were the way they were– so full of love. Their parents were very close. It was rare to have such a bond when rivalry arose even among siblings. You vowed to yourself that if Hongjoong ever married someone, especially with the intention of having his own children, that you would love and accept them as the princes accepted you despite your unusual desire to have them both.
This was the first step towards crowning Hongjoong. He would become king– was he not a king already, you wondered? His thoughts and words were meticulous, his steps grand and his demeanour composed. He called you ‘my queen’. In your heart, he had always been the king.
You smiled at the thought and then realised that you were zoning out again. Yeosang, Yunho’s Right Hand, waited for a moment before calling your name.
“I think you need to find Prince Hongjoong,” he started, looking around. “He needs to wait in the next room– the event is about to start.”
“He’s probably hiding in one of his spots again,” Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s Right Hand, said with a sigh. “I need to welcome the foreign guests. Do you mind searching for him, Princess? Or should I send one of the guards?”
“No, I’ll go,” you assured him. You and Seonghwa both knew that Hongjoong did not like to be interrupted when he went into ‘hiding’. Sending a guard might spoil his mood, especially when he was so sensitive these days. “I just need to find Mingi, greet the guests that have arrived, make sure the king and the queen are seated, find Yunho’s parents–”
“Relax,” Mingi interrupted with a laugh and you sighed happily.
“That’s one thing off my list.”
“You can greet the guests later– get Hongjoong. And maybe find Yunho too,” Mingi sighed. “What am I the advisor for when he never takes my advice?”
“Never is an overstatement,” you winked at Mingi. “I’ll give him an earful.”
Mingi bowed sarcastically and you took off, gathering the fabric of your burgundy velvet gown in your hands and speed-walking towards his private library. That is probably where Hongjoong would be–
Except the library was empty. The roof, maybe? You thought and sent one of the guards ahead to ask the guards stationed at the roof’s entrance and confirm if the crown prince was there. A no came for an answer and you stood thinking.
These were two of his favourite spots to be alone at. The third was in a corner of the garden but you reckoned that he wouldn’t be there today.
Was he in his room then?
With unsure steps, you walked towards the section of the castle where all three of you had your chambers, next to each other. Hongjoong had contributed to many architectural changes over the course of the years but this one was probably his most thoughtful work. He had corresponded with you a lot to make sure you had everything you needed.
You told him that you simply needed the two of them by your sides, and he made that happen.
You went to your chamber. It was empty save for the guards outside. You decided to access Hongjoong’s chamber through the door that connected your studies, but a shadow in the corner of your eye caught your attention–
Someone was in your room.
You walked with guarded steps this time, relaxing instantly when you saw that it was Hongjoong. He was standing in front of your mirror, fixing his clothes and attempting to straighten his collar but struggling.
“Here,” you called gently, moving to fix it for him. He was caught by surprise but allowed you to smoothen his clothes. You ran your hands over the expanse of his chest when you were done, looking him in the eyes.
“Everyone’s trying to find you,” you said. “Yet you’re here in my room. I looked for you in your usual spots.”
“They didn’t feel comfortable today,” Hongjoong admitted, looking at himself in the mirror again. “This room… it’s warm. It is like a cocoon. I feel like I can hide here and be myself.”
Your heart melted at his words. For your room to feel like his safe space… you sighed happily.
“Are you very nervous?” You asked the obvious and a small smile tugged at his lips. “What’s taking you so long this time? I thought you would steel your nerves and be present beforehand.”
Hongjoong took a deep breath. “I just keep wondering if I’m really fit to be the king. I… I am not like anyone of my predecessors, y/n. I will make changes to the kingdom, its laws and its traditions that my subjects might not like. What if I… what if I let everyone down?”
You cradled Hongjoong’s jaw and kissed his lips gently.
“I am sure of one thing, and that is that you strive to make this kingdom feel like a safe space for all of your subjects,” you said. “That makes you the most empathetic king in history already.”
Hongjoong chuckled. You heard shuffling and soon, Yunho joined the two of you, leaning against the doorframe and watching you both with adoration.
“Tell him that he is going to be a great king,” you urged Yunho.
“He knows it, and that is what scares him,” Yunho commented and Hongjoong gave him a look. You supposed that Yunho got that right. “To achieve great things, you must be prepared for some amount of pushback. Isn’t that what you always said to me?”
Hongjoong nodded. You watched him struggle with his internal conflict for a few moments, his hands in yours clenching and unclenching as he caught his breath.
“I guess I’m just overwhelmed…” Hongjoong admitted, looking between you two. “I’m afraid to disappoint the two of you the most.”
“Oh, Hongjoong,” you sighed, looking helplessly at Yunho. Yunho appeared surprised to hear that too.
“You’ve never disappointed me, Hongjoong. Not even once, you hear me?” Yunho assured, a fire in his eyes. “I don’t like that you think that. You know that I am with you every step of the way. You really aren’t alone in this, Joong.”
“The title is heavy,” you agreed with Hongjoong, “but we are both with you to share the burden. You won’t be alone. You will always, always have us. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”
“Always?” Hongjoong looked at you, the most vulnerable you had seen him.
You nodded. He looked at Yunho and he nodded as well, stepping closer.
Hongjoong sank to one knee in front of you, taking your hands and kissing both of them.
“You will forever be my queen,” Hongjoong reminded you. “Just because I wear the crown does not mean that there will be distance between us.”
“Of course,” your heart fluttered at his words. He looked up at you with a smile and then looked at Yunho.
“And you…” Hongjoong took a deep breath, reaching out for him. Yunho sat down in front of him, now at eye-level. “You will always be my king, Yunho. I may be everyone else’s king but you… you will be mine.”
Yunho was awestruck. He shook his head in disbelief and Hongjoong set his hands on his shoulders firmly. You patted Yunho’s back, letting your hand rest there in comfort.
“It’s that simple, Yunho,” Hongjoong smiled. “I’m grateful to you for a lot of things–”
“Please,” Yunho’s voice was thick with emotions. “You need to stop using such words as grateful.”
“You know that I’ll always be, because the two of you didn’t leave me alone,” Hongjoong confessed and you felt an ache in your heart. You wished to comfort him and tell him that it wasn’t something he needed to be grateful for. You both loved him, it was just that. “I always imagined watching you both from the sidelines. Allow me some time to come to terms with the fact that you both wanted me in your life as much as I wanted you both in mine.”
Yunho nodded. Time… he could give him that, if only it meant that Hongjoong would stop acting like he owed him his life.
“If I was alone and became the next king, it would have crushed me,” Hongjoong admitted. “But now… I can go and walk with my shoulders straight, knowing that you two have my back.”
“That’s enough,” Yunho chuckled uncomfortably, not used to such compliments from Hongjoong even after all this time. “I get it. You love us.”
The three of you laughed and Hongjoong shook his head. “Yeah, I suppose that it sums everything up. I love you both.”
Yunho smiled. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hongjoong’s in a long, meaningful kiss. They joined foreheads and remained like that for a few moments, each of them holding your hands as you settled next to them.
“Are you ready to bear the crown, Hongjoong?” You asked.
Seeing the switch in his eyes when he confirmed that he was ready was one thing, but watching him walk in the coronation hall with his posture straight and head held high was something else entirely. You and Yunho waited for him at the front. The current king, Hongjoong’s father, recited the vows as Hongjoong walked. Once he was at the front, he turned and bowed to everyone.
“Are you ready to bear the crown, Kim Hongjoong?” His father asked.
“I am ready,” Hongjoong responded, voice unwavering.
“Then step up and receive the crown.”
Hongjoong bowed deeply to his father. He stepped on the podium and walked to the two of you. Yunho went first, putting his father’s ring on Hongjoong’s index finger– a family heirloom. You went next, putting on the king’s cloak on his shoulder, Yunho helping with the lapels.
Once you were done, you met his eyes. You shared a nod and he went to the queen next, receiving a motherly kiss before going to his father.
The audience seemed to hold their breath as the king took off his crown and put it on Hongjoong’s head. Unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly.
“Kneel to your subjects, King Kim Hongjoong of the Kingdom of Eden. This is the first and the last time you will ever kneel to your subjects.”
Hongjoong took to the centre and bent down, kneeling on the ground and bowing with his head. Just like that, the coronation was complete. The audience cheered enthusiastically– long live the king.
Hongjoong stood up and found the two of you again, going into the middle and taking your hands and squeezing. You both smiled at him and Hongjoong was finally able to breathe.
Soon, you were joined by the princes and princesses from all over the continent. All of your friends were present– Wooyoung, San and Jongho, Minjeong and Sieun, even Jiwoong from Neverland. Jeongin and your family, as well as the royals that left their kingdoms in pursuit of love. Surrounded by your people, you felt at ease. Hongjoong felt the same, loosening up once the boys started to joke around about him being the first friend to be crowned king.
The night ended on a festive note, but it wasn’t truly complete until the three of you got comfortable in your true home– in each other’s arms.
a/n: there is a deleted smut scene this time but due to lack of space in this post, i couldn't post it and i did not want to split this into two parts. if you want to read it, you'll have to lmk ;) it's ft. both yunho and hongjoong so um best of both worlds ig jkfgdg
Thinking of Hot Nerd!Yunho being obsessed with a girl in their friend group who likes pissed and possessive men.
➽──────────────❥
You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But Yeosang had pointed the empty soju bottle at you like it was a weapon of truth, Wooyoung was already grinning like he knew every secret you’d ever had, and San was chanting “TRUTH, TRUTH, TRUTH” while draped across your lap like a cat with abandonment issues.
Which exactly what he was.
So of course you ended up blurting it out.
“I think—” you paused, grabbed a handful of chips, shoved them in your mouth for courage, “—guys who get pissed and… possessive are kinda hot.”
Silence. The kind that makes you instantly want to walk into the ocean.
Hongjoong blinked. Seonghwa choked on his beer. Mingi froze mid-sip. Jongho looked scandalized. Wooyoung fist-pumped the air like he’d just won a bet.
And Yunho…He didn’t move.
He just stared at you through his round glasses, jaw ticking, the controller still in his hands even though the game on the screen had gone idle.
He looked calm. He always looked calm.
But you knew that little vein in his neck only popped when he was two seconds away from snapping at someone. Usually you.
You expected a snarky comment. Something like, “Wow, shocking. The girl who reads morally questionable romance likes toxic behavior. Who could’ve guessed?”
But he didn’t say that.
He just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said, low, almost annoyed.
“…Why would you find that hot?”
It wasn’t the usual Yunho annoyance.
This one was deeper. Rougher. Like you’d said something you shouldn’t have said. Like you just handed him a secret you didn’t know he’d been dying for.
Before you could answer, Wooyoung ruined the tension. of course, classic woo.
“Bro she means you,” he cackled.
You whipped your head around, scandalized.
“I DO NOT—!”
“Oh yeah?” Wooyoung grinned. “Then why do you blush every time Yunho tells you to get off his desk?”
“That’s because he says it like he’s scolding a naughty toddler!”
“Or a naughty girl,” San sang with absolutely no shame.
You were going to strangle all of them one of these days. Probably today. Yeah, today was a good day for murder, you could pencil it in.
But when you risked a glance at Yunho, ready for him to look disgusted or irritated…
He wasn’t.
His eyes were on your mouth, your lips specifically. His grip on the controller had gone white-knuckled. And he looked like he was one inhale away from doing something reckless.
He stood up suddenly.
“I’m going to the kitchen,” he said, way too sharp, way too controlled. “(Y/N). Come here.”
“Why—?”
“Did I stutter?”
Wooyoung let out a strangled gasp that was way too excited.
Your pulse tripped.
That tone. That command. That audacity.
Yeah… you were in trouble and Yunho looked like he planned on enjoying every second of it.
You followed him.
You didn’t mean to. You also didn’t understand why your legs were moving like they belonged to someone else.
Maybe it was habit. Yunho tells you to do something and your dumb little brain just said go do. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe you had a death wish. And he was hot.
Halfway across the living room, you stopped dead and hissed under your breath, “Wait—why the heck did I listen to you?”
From the couch, Wooyoung snorted so hard he wheezed. San started clapping like you just delivered a punchline. Jongho muttered, “Honestly? I wondered the same thing.”
Yunho didn’t even turn around.
“(Y/N). Don’t make me ask twice.”, He just said, voice low but slicing clean through the noise.
Oh.
Oh that tone again. That audacity again!
Your brain: leave
Your body: haha no <3
You grumbled, “This is peer pressure.”
“It’s literally not,” Mingi said helpfully. “This is just you being weak.”
“Shut UP.”
But you still moved.
By the time you slipped into the kitchen after him, the door swung shut behind them with a quiet click that sounded way too ominous.
Yunho was leaning against the counter, hands gripping the edge like he needed something to hold onto. He was facing the wall, shoulders tense, his glasses reflecting the fridge light.
He didn’t look at you.
He didn’t have to. The air was already too thick.
You cleared your throat, trying to look brave. You were not.
“Okay. What? Why am I here? Why are we—” you waved vaguely, “—kitchen-ing?”
He exhaled, slow, annoyed.
“Why would you say something like that in front of them?”
“I was answering a game!”
“You could’ve lied.”
“You dared Mingi to lick the ceiling fan last round. We’re not exactly in a ‘lie-friendly environment.’”
Silence. The thick tension kind.
Then Yunho finally turned toward you.
And wow.
His eyes were dark behind his glasses, his jaw clenched, that calm mask cracked right down the middle.
You threw your hands up. “Not like—serial killer level! Just—hot in fiction, okay? Like… spicy! Attractive! Not—actual life problems!”
He took one step toward you. You took one back.
He took another. You ran into the counter.
Fantastic. Super fucking tastic!
“Yunho, what are you—”
He put a hand on the counter beside your hip, caging you in without touching you.
His voice dropped a full octave.
“Then why do you listen to me?”
Your breath caught. “W-What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes flicked down to your lips and back. “Why do you listen to me every time I tell you to do something?”
“I don’t—!”
“You do.”
Your pulse thudded in your ears. Your voice dropped without your permission.
“Maybe I just… don’t want to fight with you.”
He leaned in, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek.
“Or maybe,” he murmured, “you like when I sound like that.”
You swallowed. Hard. “I—no—maybe—SHUT UP—”
He smirked. Actually smirked. Like a cocky bastard that finally got what he wanted. The glasses. The sharp jaw. That smug little curl of his lip.
You were doomed.
“You shouldn’t say things like that, Princess,” he said softly. “Not if you don’t want someone…”
His gaze dropped, lingering on her mouth again,
“…to give you exactly what you’re asking for.”
Your knees nearly gave out.
➽──────────────❥
You were late.
Okay, fine. Late was generous.
You were dodging the whole friend group. Like an Olympic-level avoider. Like “I can’t deal with the fact I almost melted into Yunho’s glasses-wearing chest last night” avoider.
But the boys? They did not allow peace. What is peace? Who is she?
Their group chat had been a violent battlefield all morning.
SAN:
Tiny where are u
WOOYOUNG:
did you die???
HONGJOONG:
answer before these idiots do something stupid
YEOSANG:
I’m calling the police
JONGHO:
they told me to call the police
SEONGHWA:
for my sanity please answer
MINGI:
WHY ARE YOU IGNORING US DO YOU HATE US NOW
YUNHO:
Princess. Pick up.
It was that last one that made you fling yourself out of your apartment door.
So now here you were: standing in front of their living room doorway with three bags of Japanese takeout hoisted like you were carrying sacred offerings to a nest of hungry dragons.
You walked in, cleared your throat dramatically, and announced, “I come bearing peace offerings. Please don’t kill me.”
Seven sets of eyes snapped towards you. Every single one reacted differently.
Wooyoung gasped. “SUSHI?? You brought sushi???”
Mingi was already reaching for a bag like a starving toddler.
San actually pouted. “I thought you hated us.”
Hongjoong, looking exhausted, “Thank god. They’ve been loud for an hour.”
Seonghwa gave you a soft, knowing smile. “We’re glad you’re here.”
Yeosang nodded in approval like you were finally making rational life choices. Feeding them.
Jongho simply held out a hand for the food like the polite little menace he was.
And then there was Yunho.
He was on the couch, controller in hand, glasses on, hood up, looking very much like he wasn’t paying attention.
Except his eyes tracked you from the second you entered.
His expression unreadable. Body still.
Jaw tight. Stefan Salvatore level brooding.
You swallowed and put the takeout on the coffee table.
“I didn’t ignore you,” you said quickly. “I was… busy.”
“Liar,” San said cheerfully.
“Avoiding us,” Wooyoung sang.
“Avoiding someone in particular,” Hongjoong muttered without looking up from his phone.
You froze. Your cheeks warmed.
You didn’t look at Yunho.
You refused. Absolutely refused. No way in hell. Never.
But he didn’t make it easy.
Because he finally spoke, voice low and mild, “You could’ve just said you needed space.”
Space.
You needed space.
You absolutely did.
But then he continued—soft, almost dangerous, “Running away never works on us.”
Your pulse stuttered.
Wooyoung, of course, ruined your life again. At this point? It’s his hobby.
He leaned across the couch toward you, grinning like the devil. “Hey, pretty. Did you run away because of the kitchen?”
You almost face-planted into the sushi. Nooo, your California rolls…
“I—WHAT—NO—THE KITCHEN WAS—NOTHING HAPPENED—”
“Ohhh,” Mingi said, eyes sparkling. “So something DID happen!”
“There was proximity involved,” Seonghwa observed calmly, sipping tea like this was a documentary.
“Yunho looks proud,” Jongho pointed out.
You choked on said California roll. You whipped toward Yunho, ready to deny, deflect, or combust. And he wasn’t looking proud.
He was looking at you like you were prey who wandered willingly back into the lion’s den.
Slowly, he tilted his head and said, “Eat first.” Then he paused before adding more quietly, “We’ll talk later.”
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
You should’ve brought more peace offerings. Wine next time. Or money.
The boys were already halfway through the food when you plopped onto the armchair, trying to be small, invisible, forgettable and failing spectacularly because Wooyoung immediately leaned over the back of the couch like a nosy crow.
“So, princess, what book did you sink your paws into this week?”
You perked up instantly, your traitorous little bookworm heart in full bloom.
“Oh! It’s a spicy dark romance,” you beamed, practically glowing. “All that masked men shit. You know, the mysterious, pissed, morally questionable ones—”
Every single man in the room turned towards you like you just confessed to a crime.
San dropped his chopsticks. Yeosang blinked at you slowly, judgment softly radiating.
Jongho made the sign of the cross. Mingi nudging him, “Aren’t you an atheist?”
“After that? I think i believe in God.”
Hongjoong muttered, “Why do you read this stuff?”
Wooyoung looked DELIGHTED.
“Ohhh no wonder you looked like you were gonna pass out when Yunho cornered you in the kitchen.”
You kicked him. He yelped. Worth it.
But the worst part?
Yunho didn’t react at first.
He just took a slow sip of his drink, eyes on the TV, expression calm.
Then he glanced at you over the rim of his can. It was a tiny look. Barely a second. But it held EXACTLY the kind of energy you were describing.
Mask. Mystery. Heat simmering under a quiet surface.
Your cheeks exploded into flames.
San pointed at you dramatically. “YOU’RE BLUSHING! SHE’S BLUSHING AGAIN!”
“Fraud,” Yeosang declared. “She claims she doesn’t like him like that and yet—”
“I DON’T—” you began.
“—she melts like cheese on a grill every time he breathes in her direction,” Wooyoung finished.
You grabbed a pillow and launched it.
“Anyway!” Hongjoong cut in before murder occurred. “Let her read what she wants. At least she’s not into those weird billionaire books—”
“Oh no, I love those too,” you said cheerfully, “I love rich possessive men.”
Seven men groaned in unison.
But Yunho… he just set down his drink.
“Of course you do,” he murmured.
And there it was again—that tone. Quiet, deep, mocking but not… mean. More like he was deciphering you. Peeling you open.
The teasing continued for another hour:
Wooyoung reenacting your kitchen panic. San showing “dramatic reenactments of your blushing condition”. Mingi suggesting they all wear masks to see who you’d fall in love with. Jongho preventing that with the authority of an exasperated dad
But through all of it…
Yunho kept watching you.
Not constantly. Deliberately.
Just enough for you to feel it slide under your skin each time.
Eventually, the food ran out, the teasing fizzled into a movie, and one by one the boys drifted off to other rooms.
You stayed in the armchair, curled up, pretending to scroll your phone. Hoping he forgot about the “talk later.”
He didn’t.
Yunho finally stood and nodded toward the hallway.
“Come here.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your phone screen dimmed.
Your heart said: bad idea
Your legs said: okay daddy
You followed him down the hall to his room, which he closed with a soft click.
Great. Enclosed space. Forced proximity. Zero witnesses. This was a way for you to go. And Yunho looking like every quiet man in every dark romance you ever read.
Fuck. What in the Killian Carson? You only knew Jeong Yunho.
He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, gaze steady.
“Princess.”
“…yes?” You squeaked.
“You were avoiding me.”
“That is a wild accusation—”
“Princess.”
You winced. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
Because I almost kissed you.
Because you looked at me like you wanted to bite me.
Because I might want that.
Because my knees turned into jelly when you called me out.
But your mouth said?
“I just didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Awkward,” he repeated slowly. “You think that’s awkward?”
You tugged your sleeve anxiously. “It wasn’t—NOT awkward—just… a lot.”
Yunho stepped closer.
“You’re scared of me?”
“What? No! I’m not scared—”
“Then why run?”
You swallowed.
“…because you get all—” you gestured helplessly. “—bossy and intense.”
His lips twitched.
“Does that bother you?”
Yes.
No.
Maybe.
Absolutely not in a real-world-danger way but definitely in a my-brain-goes-dumb way—
You whispered, “I don’t know.”
Yunho reached up slowly, giving you every chance to move and tugged lightly on your sleeve.
Just a brush. Barely a touch.
But you still froze.
His voice dropped to that dangerous whisper again.
“You said you like possessive men, princess.” A tiny pause.
“You ever wonder why that got to me?”
Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded against your ribs.
“…why?” You whispered.
And he, mr. calm, controlled Yunho finally let something slip.
“Because I’ve been trying really damn hard not to be that way with you.”
Silence. Thick, electric, inevitable.
“Jagiya,” he murmured, eyes darkening, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you.”
Your knees buckled.
He caught you by the wrist. Gentle yet firm enough to make you feel every word he wasn’t saying.
“You ran once,” he said softly. “Don’t run now.”
➽──────────────❥
You had made the grave mistake of running ahead of the boys to grab a table at their favorite diner.
In theory, harmless.
In practice? Catastrophic.
Because when you slowed down near the entrance to check the menu posted outside, a tall guy—maybe college-age, cute in a golden retriever way—smiled at her and said something.
And you—sweet, polite, non-confrontational you smiled back.
That’s it.
That was the spark. The match. The atom bomb.
By the time the boys caught up, they froze as one organism, staring at the sight in front of them like they were witnessing the beginning of the end.
“Oh look,” Wooyoung whispered loudly enough for people inside the diner to hear, “our kitty is talking to a guy.”
San glared daggers. “Pretty doesn’t talk to guys. She talks to us.”
Hongjoong sighed like a stressed father. “She is allowed to talk to people.”
Yeosang hummed. “He’s smiling too much. I don’t trust that.”
“She said she was going to the bathroom—this is not the bathroom!”, Mingi whined.
Poor Seonghwa, tried to be the rational one among the eight, “She’s just being polite.”
“She’s too polite. That’s the problem.”, Jongho deadpanned, crossing his arms.
And then… we have Yunho. He stepped forward. Slow. Dead quiet. His hands in hoodie pockets. His jaw clenched so tight you could hear it creak.
The others instantly straightened like their unofficial wolf had arrived.
Wooyoung whispered, “Uh oh.”
San nodded. “He’s in murder mode.”
Mingi hid behind Seonghwa. Jongho actually crossed himself again.
“Dude, you are not a catholic!”
“Times like this, you need God!”
Yunho didn’t all of that background noise. Because Yunho didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at the guy.
Stared. Hard. If looks could kill? That guy would’ve been escorted to the morgue.
Then… finally he said something.
“My princess,” he said calmly. It was soft. Almost conversational. Like it was fact. Which to him? It was.
But the boys all choked on their oxygen like this was the most intimate declaration ever heard.
And you. Poor, unsuspecting you, who was mid-laugh at something the guy said, blinked and turned around.
“Yunho? What are you—?”
He stepped beside you, just close enough to bump your shoulder with his arm like it was an accident, then looked the stranger up and down.
“Not right now,” he said to the guy, voice still terrifyingly polite.
“She’s not.”
The man blinked. “Uh—sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Yunho cut him off with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“She’s taken.”
You sputtered. “EXCUSE ME—???”
Wooyoung whooped. San fist-pumped. Mingi looked ready to cry with excitement. Hongjoong dragged a hand down his face. Yeosang whispered, “Bold move, but I respect it.”
The guy backed up slowly, hands raised. “My bad, man—I was just asking for directions—”
“No,” Yunho replied, still smiling, “you weren’t.”
“YUNHO—” You hissed.
He turned his head slightly, eyes flicking down to you.
“Inside,” he told you softly. “Now.”
San screamed internally.
Wooyoung screamed externally.
You stomped toward the door, face blazing, but you followed. Of course you followed.
Your brain: No
Your legs: as you wish, sir
Yunho walked in right behind you, hand hovering at your lower back like he so badly wanted to touch you and was using seventy percent of his self-control not to.
The seven idiots poured in after them, vibrating with gossip energy.
The waitress hadn’t even brought menus before Wooyoung leaned across the table.
“Sooooo,” he started, wicked grin spreading, “Yunho. ‘My princess’? ‘She’s taken’? You wanna explain that? For science?”
You buried your face into your hands. “I want to leave this planet.”
Yunho didn’t blink. “He was flirting.”
“He asked for directions,” you groaned.
“Same thing,” Mingi whispered.
San nodded sagely. “If a man breathes in Ari’s direction, it’s flirting.”
Yeosang added, “He shouldn’t have smiled that wide.”
Hongjoong muttered, “You’re all insane.”
Jongho bought a milkshake like this was a front-row seat to drama.
You turned to Yunho, ready to scold him, but he was already looking at you.
Not smug. No, although you expected Not apologetic. Yeah, since when he felt apologetic?Just… intense. Quiet, simmering, razor-focused.
“You were ignoring us,” he said simply. “Then you smiled at him.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t like that.”
Your pulse skipped. At this point, your heart was doing a workout.
“Princess.”
His voice dropped. Soft. Firm. Unmistakably possessive.
“I’ll be honest with you if you want me to.”
The table went dead silent.
San mouthed oh my god.
Wooyoung mouthed KISS??
Hongjoong mouthed stop. both of you.
You swallowed, heart kicking up. “…Okay,” you whispered. “Be honest.”
Yunho leaned in slightly, gaze locked on yours.
“That wasn’t jealousy,” he murmured. “That was restraint.”
Your breath caught.
Then he added, quieter, “And trust me… you haven’t seen me jealous yet.”
The entire table combusted. Jongho signed a cross again.
“DUDE YOU ARE AN ATHEIST!”
“TIMES LIKE THIS NEED GOD!”
➽──────────────❥
The boys planned a full-day hangout at their place, the usual movies, snacks, gaming, the usual chaos.
You arrived perfectly normal. Smiled at everyone.
Hugged Mingi. High-fived Jongho. Let San put you in a headlock-hug. Even sat next to Wooyoung so he could drape himself across your shoulders like a human scarf.
Completely normal.
Except for one very intentional thing: you didn’t look at Yunho.
Not once.
Not when you greeted everyone.
Not when you plopped onto the couch between Wooyoung and San.
Not even when he walked into the room, hoodie sleeves pushed up, glasses sliding down his nose, the picture of effortless “dangerously handsome nerd.”
You just… pretended he didn’t exist.
It was a bold strategy. A brave strategy. A strategy that had Wooyoung’s eyes widening with scandal immediately.
San leaned close, whispering, “What are you doing? He’s going to explode.”
“That’s the point,” you whispered back, sipping your drink with innocent eyes.
Across the room, Yunho paused mid-step.
He saw you.
Saw you sitting comfortably between two of the most clingy men in their friend group.
Saw Wooyoung leaning his head on your shoulder.
Saw San playfully nudging your knee with his.
And he waited. Just a second. Expecting you to wave at him, smile at him, acknowledge him—
Nothing.
You looked right past him.
The entire room felt it.
Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. Mingi bit his knuckle. Jongho put his drink down like, oh this is gonna be good. Hongjoong muttered, “Well. He’s going to take this personally.”
And Yunho…? He didn’t say a word. This was personal.
He walked past the couch, calmly, too calmly, and sat in the armchair across from you.
Not the one next to you. Not the one at an angle. Directly across. Where he had the perfect view of you.
You felt it instantly—his stare digging into you like a thousand quiet questions:
What are you doing?
Who told you to sit there?
Why are they touching you?
Why aren’t you looking at me?
Do you think I’m going to let this slide?
You lifted your drink and took another sip. Still didn’t look at him. You were being brave. This was definitely not a death wish.
Wooyoung leaned in, whispering, “This is the hottest shit you’ve ever done.”
San whispered, “He’s psychically screaming.”
The movie started.
You laughed at San’s dumb commentary.
You threw popcorn at Wooyoung.
You leaned your head back on the couch and relaxed like you were finally having a Yunho-free moment.
But every few minutes, you felt it. Yunho’s stare.
Unblinking. Unrelenting. Possessive in silent, simmering waves.
Halfway through the movie, Seonghwa paused it.
“Bathroom break.”
Everyone stood, except Yunho.
And except you.
Because you were pretending you needed to text someone.
Wooyoung passed behind you, whispering, “He’s about to snap.”
San whispered, “I’ll pray for you.”
“You are an atheist!”
“Shut it Hojong and move.”
When they finally stumbled out of the room, leaving just the two of them, the door clicked shut.
You kept your eyes glued to your phone like you didn’t feel the heat from his stare cooking you alive.
Then Yunho spoke. His voice was soft. Too calm for simmering tension.
“Princess.”
You didn’t look up. “Mm?”
“Jagi.”
Your heartbeat fluttered. “What?”
“Come here.”
You smirked behind your phone.
“Busy.”
A beat.
Then the armchair creaked.
He stood. Slow footsteps towards you.
You finally looked up just in time for him to reach your side of the couch and lean down, one hand on the cushion beside your hip, the other braced on the back of the couch, trapping you between his arms.
His voice was a low whisper, brushing her ear, “You’re done testing me.”
Your breath caught. Gotcha.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
His nose grazed your temple.
“You ignored me for three hours. You let them touch you.”, His breath warmed your cheek.
“And you know exactly what that does to me.”
Your pulse kicked.
“You’re overreacting,” you whispered.
He gave a soft, humorless laugh.
“No, princess.”
His fingers curled lightly into the cushion near your hip—just shy of touching you.
“You’re playing with fire.”
“And you like it,” you breathed.
Finally he turned your face toward him with the gentlest touch of his knuckles.
“I’d like it more,” he murmured, eyes dark, “if you did it alone with me. Not as a show for everyone else.”
You swallowed.
“…Maybe I wanted you to react.”
He leaned even closer.
“Oh, I reacted.”
He leaned closer to your lips, inches apart, “You want to keep playing these games? Fine. But I promise…”
His voice dropped to a whisper that curled straight down your spine.
“…I’ll always win.”
The door burst open. San yelled, “ARE YOU TWO—OH MY GOD THEY’RE SO CLOSE—”
You shoved Yunho back so fast he actually stumbled.
He just smiled.
Not smug. Not mocking. Just satisfied. Like a winner. Like the predator who finally learned his prey bites back.
➽──────────────❥
After the “testing him” incident on the couch, Yunho didn’t confront you again.
He didn’t need to.
He just… shifted. Subtly, quietly but deadly effective.
And you… brave, foolish, deliciously curious you — kept noticing every new possessive habit with a flutter of your pulse you would never admit out loud.
He started choosing where you sat.
A pair of fingers brushing her elbow. A quiet “Here.” A soft tap on the spot beside him. Or just near him.
Not a command. Not exactly.
But your body obeyed every time.
Then he started to intercept touches.
If Wooyoung threw his arm around your shoulders, Yunho would “adjust” the blanket so you had to sit straighter, subtly breaking the contact.
If San leaned into your side, Yunho would slide between them under the excuse of “I can’t see the screen.”
If anyone hugged you a little too long?
A hand would settle on the small of your back. Barely there.
But enough to say: That’s close enough.
Then it escalated just a bit. He always knew where you were.
Not clingy. Not loud. That’s not Jeong Yunho’s style.
Just—aware.
You would get up to grab water and he’d appear behind you in the kitchen, opening the cabinet before you reached for it.
You would walk down the hall and he’d step out of a room at the exact same moment, brushing past your shoulder like gravitational pull.
The nicknames started. Soft. Dangerous. Very claiming.
It started with one slip.
“Move your feet, Tiny.”
Then it was, “Watch your step, sweetheart.”
Then one evening, low enough for only her, “Baby, pass me the remote.”
You froze. The room froze.
He didn’t.
He just took the remote from your limp hand without a blink like he’d been calling you that for years.
To be fair, he did. In his head. In his room. His fist wrapped around his—
Okay too far too far, this is a PG 15 story!
➽──────────────❥
So you, clever little menace, decided to poke the bear again.
Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you wanted to see if his control had limits. Maybe you liked watching him crack.
During game night, you sat on the floor between Mingi’s legs, leaning back against his chest because he was warm and comfy and absolutely harmless.
The rest of the boys didn’t think much of it. But Yunho?
He went still. Not angry. Yet. Not outwardly jealous. Yet.
Still. And quiet. And calculating.
Wooyoung whispered, “Oh no. She’s dead.”
San whispered, “We’re witnessing a historic mistake.”
Yeosang whispered, “I’m not saving her.”
“You never save her. You just stare.”
You pretended you didn’t notice. Liar.
You laughed at something Mingi whispered. Tilted your head onto his knee. Even reached back to poke his cheek.
Yunho’s knuckles turned white on the controller.
Then, in the softest, most dangerous tone you ever heard from him.
“Baby…”
The room froze.
Your breath hitched.
Yunho set his controller down. Carefully. Too carefully. Then leaned forward from the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on yours.
“That’s enough playing, sweetheart.”
Mingi backed up instantly, hands raised. He didn’t want to be murdered by his best friend today.
“I surrender—please don’t kill me.”
You lifted your chin like a brat. “I wasn’t playing anything.”
“(Y/N).”
Just your name. A low warning that was hot enough to melt the air.
Your pulse fluttered.
“What? You said we were just friends.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose. “And you believe that?”
You shrugged. “Maybe.”
Yunho stood.
And the room that was full of seven grown men, scattered like scared pigeons.
“Not today, bitch!”
“I AM NOT DYING TODAY! SORRY TINY!”
“WE LOVE YOU THOUGH!”
He walked toward you slowly, steps controlled, expression unreadable.
“Jagi,” he murmured, standing over her now. “Come here.”
You throat tightened. “No.”
His jaw flexed. “Sweetheart.”
You whispered, “Make me.”
The smallest smirk flickered across his lips, a dangerous, relieved, hungry one.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, reaching down.
“Gladly.”
He didn’t yank or grab you.
He simply slid a hand under yours, lifted you off the floor with ridiculous ease, and walked you backward until your back met the wall.
Your breath hitched. Oh now, you’re fucked.
His arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in without even needing to touch you.
“You want to test me?” he whispered.
You swallowed. “Maybe.”
His forehead pressed to yours. “You want to see how far I’ll go?”
Your voice trembled. “Yes.”
His nose brushed hers. “You want to know what I’m holding back?”
Your hands curled into his hoodie. “Yes.”
His lips hovered over yours, barely a breath away.
“I’m done holding it back.”
He kissed you. Hard. Deep. Months of restraint breaking in a single, devastating moment.
You gasped against him. He swallowed the sound.
Your fingers fisted in his hoodie.
His hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him like you were something he had waited forever to touch. Which you were. He wanted you so damn bad.
When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, “You keep testing me like that…”
His thumb brushed your lower lip, swollen from his kiss.
“…and I’ll never let you go.”
You whispered, dizzy, “Who said I wanted you to?”
His smile was slow. Dangerous. Relieved.
“You better not.”
He pulled back only because he needed to see your face. Needed to confirm you weren’t going to run again.
“Princess…” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You didn’t answer.
Instead, you grabbed the front of his hoodie, yanked him down, and kissed him like you meant to erase every doubt he’d ever had.
Soft was gone. Careful was gone.
This was hungry. Desperate.
Your fingers slid into his hair. Your lips pressed harder than his, stealing his next breath before he could take it.
He groaned, quiet, surprised, unable to stop it.
And that sound made you kiss him even deeper.
Yunho wasn’t prepared. Not for you to be the one who broke him.
But he caught up fast.
His hand slid under your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to tilt your head exactly how he liked. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, lifting you slightly off the floor without breaking the kiss.
You only tightened your grip on him, kissing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
He whispered against your mouth, “Baby—slow down—”
“No,” you breathed, biting his lower lip.
And Yunho—calm, rational, quiet Yunho—let out a low, unfiltered sound that made your knees go weak.
He kissed you again, deeper, until you felt dizzy, dazed. Your mind going blank.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested your forehead against hers.
“Don’t ever run from me again,” he said softly.
You whispered, “Then don’t make me want to.”
“Oh,” he murmured, “I’ll give you plenty of reasons to stay.”
I’m a simple gal and I LIVE for a nice childhood best friend to lovers trope, especially with mingi. I don’t know if you already had something with this trope in mind but I think you should give it a thought, and since you’re like the queen of slow burn I think you would eat and leave no crumbs 🙂↕️🙂↕️
OMG this is SO cute!! 🥹 Thank you for sending your request <3 Childhood best friends to lovers? Yesss, if it’s not slow burn, it’s not worth it 😉 Hopefully it reaches your expectations… hope you enjoy every second! 💛
Back to Camp - Mingi x Reader
They’ve been friends since they were six, sharing summers at music camp. After drifting apart, they somehow find their way back again. But how much can really stay the same?
Pairing: nonIdol!Mingi x Fem!Reader
Tropes: Childhood friends to Lovers, Slow Burn
Genre: Fluff, basically toe-curling Sweetness.
Warnings: nothing really, just too much fluff… with a tiny dash of jealousy and angst because, honestly, who am I if I don’t sneak in a little sadness with the sweet? Also, inappropriate touching (not Mingi) and some hinted violence (Mingi allegedly punches someone, but it’s all very implied.)
Word Count: 7.3k
tiny a/n: Mingi has me in a chokehold, not gonna lie. Also… you probably notice how many kids I sneak into my stories (I love them). It helps me imagine the boys as dads... tell me Mingi wouldn’t be the BEST dad ever 😭
masterlist
Summer of 05.
The camp smells like dust and crayons and something warm you can’t name yet.
The classroom is too bright, sunlight spilling through the open windows in lazy stripes. Dust floats in it, slow and golden, like it has nowhere else to be.
Cheap plastic chairs scrape loudly against the tile floor as kids shuffle around, the sound sharp enough to make you flinch. Somewhere to your left, a recorder lets out a sound so wrong it makes the teacher sigh.
Cicadas buzz outside, steady and loud, like they’re part of the lesson.
You hover near the wall, recorder clutched tight to your chest. It’s smooth and cold in your hands, your fingers wrapped around it like it might disappear if you let go. You don’t know anyone. Everyone else seems louder, faster, already talking with someone they recognize.
You try to make yourself smaller.
Across the room, there’s a boy doing the same thing.
He’s big for six. Too tall, limbs a little too long, legs swinging nonstop as he sits at the edge of his chair. His sneakers don’t quite touch the floor. He keeps glancing around like he’s worried someone might ask him something he doesn’t know how to answer.
The teacher claps her hands once.
“Okay, partners.”
Your stomach drops.
Names are read out. Chairs scrape again. Kids move, laughing, bumping into each other. You stay still, hoping somehow you’ll be forgotten.
Then you hear your name.
And his.
He looks at you first, eyes wide, like he’s checking to see if you heard it too. You nod, small and careful. He stands up too fast, chair legs screeching, and winces like he’s already in trouble.
He walks over, stops a little too far away. Hesitates.
You stare at the floor.
Then he nudges a chair closer to yours. Just an inch. Maybe two. Like it happened by accident. Like he didn’t mean it at all.
He leans in, voice low, like you’re sharing a secret instead of sitting in a classroom full of kids who can’t play recorder to save their lives.
“Do you know how to play?”
You swallow. Shake your head. Your voice comes out quiet, but honest.
“…No. But I can pretend really well.”
For a second, he just looks at you.
Then he grins.
It’s not loud or confident. It’s crooked. Relieved. Like you just saved him from something terrible.
“Okay,” he whispers back. “Let’s pretend together.”
Something settles between you then. Not big. Not dramatic. Just… right.
You both lift your recorders at the same time. Both mess up. Both squeak. When the teacher frowns in your direction, you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. He doesn’t even try. His shoulders shake, quiet giggles puffing out of him until he has to duck his head.
You get scolded together.
You sit closer after that. Close enough that your elbows touch. Close enough that when he breathes, you feel it.
When it’s time to line up, he waits for you without thinking. When you drop your recorder, he picks it up and hands it back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
By the end of the day, you don’t remember when being alone stopped feeling scary.
You don’t have words for it yet. You don’t know what it means. You just know that when you leave the classroom, sunlight still warm on your skin, cicadas still singing, you look for him automatically.
And he’s already looking for you too.
Something has started, but neither of you knows it yet.
You grow up like this.
Side by side.
Never quite touching the center of the thing.
Summer music camp becomes the axis your year spins around. Everything else is just waiting. School, seasons, birthdays. Placeholders. You mark time by how long until you get to see him again.
By eleven, you know the shape of him. How his voice drops when he’s tired. How he chews on pencils when he’s thinking. How he always sits close enough to make leaving feel optional.
A rainy afternoon keeps the campers inside. You’re sitting on the floor of the rec hall, knees pulled up, trying not to cry because you miss home. The hum of practice rooms, muffled laughter, and the smell of wet pine through the open windows fills the air.
He finds you like he always does.
He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t crouch in front of you. He just drops down beside you, legs stretched out, hands resting awkwardly on his thighs like he’s afraid to scare you off.
Minutes pass. Maybe more.
Eventually, he leans just a little. Shoulder to shoulder. Careful. Testing.
You lean back.
Your breathing syncs without either of you trying. In. Out. In. Out.
That’s how it always is.
At fourteen, you’re all elbows and growth spurts and feelings that buzz under your skin like live wires. End-of-day rehearsal. The sun dips. The air cools.
You’re kneeling beside a younger camper, tuning a small instrument, when a shiver runs up your spine. You tug at your long sleeves, but it doesn’t help.
He notices, of course he notices — he always does. Without a word, he unzips his hoodie and drapes it over your shoulders.
You freeze, shy, the fabric engulfing you and somehow making you feel both protected and exposed.
It smells faintly of lakewater and grass, after he’s been running around with his friends all afternoon. The scent curls under your nose, mingling with something uniquely him, and you inhale it a second too long. Your heart stutters.
“Here.”
You blink at him, cheeks warming. “You’ll be cold.”
“I’ll survive,” he says easily, shrugging like it’s nothing, though you know he notices everything. He’s always watching, just in case you need him.
You hand it back afterward, warm, smelling faintly of crayon, soap, and you.
“You forgot this,” you murmur, teasing, though your chest tightens in that way only he can make it.
“I didn’t,” he replies with effortless ease, eyes flicking over you like he’s memorizing every detail.
You keep it. And wear it to sleep, because for some reason, knowing it’s his makes you rest better.
At seventeen, the cabin’s practice room is empty, the other campers long gone. You sit side by side on the floor, sheet music spread around like confetti, pencils tapping the staves.
He insists on walking you back to your cabin afterward, even though the sun has barely dipped behind the treeline, even though you’ve done it alone countless times.
“It’s no big deal,” he says, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, voice casual but steady.
You let him anyway.
The wooden boardwalk creaks under your steps. He keeps close, his shoulder brushing yours more than necessary. Then your hand accidentally grazes his, and for a half-second, everything freezes — just the two of you and the soft buzz of crickets.
Neither of you pulls away. Neither says a word. The night smells like pine and lakewater, thick with unsaid things.
At nineteen, the end-of-camp party is louder than expected. Music thumps, laughter carries too close. Someone says something they shouldn’t have. Someone touches where they shouldn’t.
Everything tilts.
You step outside and call him without even checking the time.
Ten minutes later, Mingi is at the cabin doorway, broad shoulders framed by lantern light. His eyes sweep over you once, assessing, steady, and there’s no question what’s wrong.
“You okay?” he asks, calm, careful.
“Yeah,” you murmur, voice tight.
“Okay,” he says, already walking you away from the cabin. “Let’s get you back.”
He doesn’t ask what happened. He doesn’t need to. You don’t tell him. He just knows.
The next morning, you catch sight of that camper at breakfast. He’s nursing a purple eye, the proud edge of his ego clearly bruised. You can’t help but smirk, a quiet satisfaction curling under your ribs, because Mingi already handled it — like he always does.
Years stack up like this. Small moments. Quiet loyalty. A gravity that keeps pulling you back together no matter how far you drift during the rest of the year.
You don’t call it love.
You don’t call it anything.
It’s just him.
It’s just you.
Something precious.
Something fragile.
Something you protect by never naming it out loud.
The shift is so subtle you almost miss it.
One summer, you arrive at camp brimming with excitement, eager to see him again. But he isn’t there.
That year, the cabins feel smaller, the lake quieter. You smile, you laugh, you join activities — but the joy feels hollow, the camp a little dimmer without him. You pretend it’s fun, but every familiar corner whispers memories you can’t quite chase away.
The years continue. Sometimes you hear about him through mutual friends, or the occasional texts he sends, but the shared afternoons, the stolen glances, the laughter echoing across the porch — those are gone. The camp moves on. So do you.
Early twenties arrive without ceremony. Life fills up. Not with drama. With routine.
Jobs that drain you in quiet ways. Commutes that eat whole afternoons. Sleep that never quite feels like enough. You learn the weight of being tired in your bones.
At first, nothing really changes.
You still text. Still send each other stupid little things. A photo of something that reminded you of him. A voice note recorded half-asleep, his voice low and warm in your ear like a habit you haven’t learned to quit yet.
“You alive?”
“Barely.”
“Eat something.”
“You too.”
Then schedules start to slip past each other.
Your calls turn into voice notes because there’s not time anymore. Voice notes turn into check-ins. Check-ins turn into “sorry, just saw this.” Those turn into “let’s catch up soon.”
Soon becomes a concept. Not a plan.
There’s no argument. No betrayal. No sharp moment you can point to and say this is where it broke.
Because it doesn’t break.
It thins.
You tell yourself this is adulthood. That this is what happens when you grow up. That closeness naturally fades when life demands more space.
You tell yourself what you had belonged to a different version of you. Younger. Lighter. Less tired.
Mingi still writes.
You know because sometimes he sends you a voice memo at three in the morning. Thirty seconds of guitar. A hummed melody. No explanation.
You listen with your phone pressed to your chest, eyes closed, breathing shallow like if you move too much the moment will vanish.
You never ask what it’s about.
He never tells you.
He writes songs he never sends. Lyrics that stay folded in notebooks. Melodies that live and die in the privacy of his room.
And you… you catch yourself reaching for your phone more often than you’d like.
You’ll be in the middle of something ordinary. Cooking. Waiting for a bus. Standing in line for coffee. And the urge hits you sharp and familiar.
I should tell him about this.
He’d laugh at this.
He’d get it.
Your thumb hovers.
Then you stop.
Not because you don’t want to talk to him. But because you don’t want to be the one always reaching first. Because you don’t want to feel like you’re pulling on something that’s already slipping through your fingers.
So you put the phone down.
You still see each other. Sometimes.
Coffee when schedules miraculously align. Birthdays, where the hug lasts a second longer than it should. Breakups, where you’re still each other’s first call even if weeks have passed since the last real conversation.
There’s comfort, yes. Familiarity. But there’s also something unspoken sitting between you now. A distance that hums softly, like static.
You don’t talk about it.
You talk about work. About deadlines. About how tired you are. About how weird it is that everyone’s getting married now.
You never say I miss you. I think about you all the time. I don’t know where to put this feeling anymore.
The ache is quiet.
That’s what makes it worse.
It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t demand attention. It just sits there, steady and patient, weaving itself into the background of your life.
You learn to live with it.
And somewhere, without realizing it, you both start believing that this is just how things are now.
Not gone.
Just… less.
You come back to the camp almost by accident.
It’s meant to be temporary. A summer contract. A favor to an old coordinator who remembers you as the quiet kid who always stayed late to help stack chairs and tune guitars. You tell yourself it’ll be good for you. A pause. Fresh air. Something that isn’t fluorescent lights and inboxes that never empty.
You don’t tell yourself it’s because this place still feels like home.
The drive up is familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. The road curves the same way it always did. Trees crowd closer, taller than you remember, their leaves stitching the sky into patches of green and blue. The air changes before you even park. Cooler. Cleaner. Like it knows you.
You unload your bags alone.
Cabins line up like quiet witnesses. Wood worn smooth by decades of summers. The lake glints through the trees, smaller than memory but just as steady. Somewhere, a squirrel skitters along a railing. Somewhere, kids are laughing, voices bright and unselfconscious.
You inhale.
You’re here as a mentor now. A monitor. A teacher. Someone the kids will look up to the way you once did to the adults who seemed impossibly calm and sure of themselves.
You feel none of those things.
You set your bag down in the staff cabin, fingers brushing over the familiar grain of the bunk bed frame. The room smells like sun-warmed wood and detergent. You tell yourself to focus. To ground. To remember why you came.
Then you hear it.
Laughter.
Not just any laughter. His.
It carries across the clearing, rich and unguarded, the same sound that used to pull you out of rooms when you were sixteen and pretending not to look for him. The same sound that lived in your phone at three a.m. in voice notes you replayed more times than you’d ever admit.
Your body reacts before your mind does.
You turn.
He’s standing near the main hall, surrounded by kids already, because of course he is. He’s even taller now. Broader. His shoulders stretch his shirt in a way that makes your throat go dry. There’s an ease in the way he moves, a confidence that wasn’t there before, not like this.
But the gentleness is the same.
The way he crouches to talk to a kid at eye level. The way his smile softens when he listens. The way his hands move, careful even when he’s laughing.
Mingi.
The name settles in your chest like it never left.
For a moment, the years fold in on themselves. Twenty summers collapse into one heartbeat. Every version of you that has ever existed recognizes him at once.
His gaze lifts.
It takes half a second. That’s all. Half a second for his eyes to land on you and widen just slightly, like he’s not sure he’s seeing right.
Then his smile changes.
You walk toward each other without saying anything, feet moving on instinct. The space between you shrinks too fast, too slow.
Then something inside him moves before his brain can catch up. His arms wrap around you almost instinctively. You freeze for a heartbeat — then melt. Your body fits against his like it’s remembered every contour, every warmth, every heartbeat from years ago.
The hug is awkward at first. Arms unsure. Bodies recalibrating. Then something gives. He pulls you in, firm and familiar, and you sink into it like your body has been waiting years for permission.
It lasts too long.
Long enough for the world to fade. Long enough for you to notice the heat of him, solid and grounding. Long enough for his hand to flex slightly at your back, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.
Neither of you lets go when you should.
When you finally do, you’re both smiling, breath a little uneven. His eyes don’t leave your face. Not for a second.
“Hi,” he whispers. Soft, warm, his voice raspier than you remember.
“Hi,” you answer. Your voice sounds steadier than you feel.
Then he blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Wait… what are you doing here?”
You lift an eyebrow, smirking despite the flutter in your chest. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’ve been teaching here for a couple years,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Composition, mostly. You know… keeping the kids from breaking instruments.”
You laugh softly. “I’m helping out the coordinator. The one who always paired us in lyricism lessons. Figured I owed her a favor.”
He grins, but it falters just a little under the weight of everything you both feel.
The days that follow settle into a rhythm that feels dangerous in its familiarity.
Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just… easy.
Too easy.
Morning bells. Breakfast chaos. The scrape of benches on gravel. Kids spilling out of cabins with tangled hair and boundless energy. You and Mingi fall into your roles like you never left, like your bodies remember this place even if your lives moved on without it.
He becomes a magnet.
A gentle giant in a plaid shirt that clings to his shoulders, sleeves rolled up without thinking. He carries instrument cases like they weigh nothing, slings backpacks over one arm, hoists kids onto his shoulders when they get tired halfway down the trail.
He kneels to eye level when someone’s upset. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, nodding slowly, like whatever they’re saying matters more than the schedule.
And he laughs. Loud. Easy. The kind of laughter that makes kids feel safe just by existing near it.
They trust him instantly.
You watch it happen over and over again, something warm and aching blooming behind your ribs every time.
You have your own gravity.
You notice things before they’re said. The kid who lingers at the edge of the group. The one whose smile doesn’t quite reach their eyes after lunch. The girl who suddenly misses her parents when the sun starts dipping and the lake turns quiet.
You braid hair on the porch, fingers careful and patient, parting strands gently, tying ribbons with practiced ease. You sit beside kids instead of in front of them. Match their breathing without meaning to.
Sometimes you don’t say anything at all.
Sometimes that’s exactly what they need.
Across the yard, Mingi runs past with a boy on his shoulders, laughter bright and unfiltered. The kid squeals, gripping his hair, fearless. Mingi steadies him with one hand, the other raised in mock victory like he’s won something monumental.
Your eyes meet.
You smile without thinking.
He grins back, wide and boyish, like he’s been caught doing something he enjoys too much.
Later, a kid storms off after messing up a chord progression, frustration written all over her face. You’re mid-conversation with another camper when you hear Mingi’s voice shift, softening.
“Hey. It’s okay. Wanna try again together?”
He plucks the wrong chord on purpose. Makes a face. She laughs despite herself.
You watch his hands move on the guitar, sure and gentle, and think, distantly, that you’ve always known exactly what kind of man he would grow into.
You move without words.
When he’s surrounded, you step in. When you’re tied up, he appears at your elbow with water, with sunscreen, with a quiet “I got this” that feels intimate in a way you’re trying not to examine too closely.
You finish each other’s sentences.
You reach for the same marker, the same clipboard, the same kid at the same time.
It’s seamless, but the kids notice immediately. They always do.
“Are you married?”
The question drops like a pebble into still water.
You’re mid-sip of the coffee Mingi brought you earlier. You choke.
Mingi freezes like he’s been caught stealing.
“No,” he says too quickly. “No, we’re not.”
You cough, laugh, wave a hand. “What? No.”
The kid squints. Unconvinced. “Why do you sit together then?”
You glance at Mingi. He glances at you. Neither of you has a good answer.
Another kid pipes up, mouth sticky with jam. “You’d be good parents.”
You feel heat crawl up your neck.
Mingi turns red all the way to his ears. “We’re just good friends.”
“That’s what my mom said before she married my dad,” the kid replies cheerfully.
You snort despite yourself.
Mingi groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You kids are brutal.”
They scatter, laughing, entirely pleased with themselves.
You’re left standing there, the echo of their words hanging heavy and ridiculous between you.
“Married energy,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.
He hears it anyway.
“Don’t,” he says, laughing nervously. “Please don’t say it like that.”
“You’re the one who blushes like a teenager,” you tease, arching a brow.
He opens his mouth, closes it, rubs the back of his neck. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He points at you. “You braid hair like someone’s already done this for your own kids.”
You falter.
Just for a second.
He notices. Of course he does.
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “That was—”
“It’s okay,” you interrupt, softer now. “You’re not wrong.”
The air shifts. Something tender passes between you. Something unspoken and startlingly domestic.
Later that afternoon, you sit side by side on the steps of the main hall, watching the kids run wild with chalk and bubbles.
A squirrel darts across the railing. A few kids gasp like it’s a miracle.
Mingi leans back on his hands, stretching his long legs out. The sun catches in his hair. You realize you’ve been cataloguing these details unconsciously all day.
“You always do that,” he says suddenly.
“Do what?”
“Notice everything.” He glances at you, eyes warm. “Even when you think no one’s watching.”
You shrug. “Someone has to.”
He hums, thoughtful. “I always liked that about you.”
The words land heavier than they should.
You swallow. “You always liked a lot of things about me.”
He laughs, a little breathless. “Yeah. I did.”
Silence settles. Comfortable. Charged.
At dinner, a kid wedges herself between you at the table without asking. Another follows suit. Before you know it, you’re surrounded, sharing food, passing napkins, answering a dozen questions at once.
“Why don’t you sit over there?” one asks Mingi, pointing to the teachers table.
He glances at you, then back at the kid. “Because she’s sitting here.”
Simple. Unthinking.
Your chest tightens around the word she.
That night, the fire is already burning low when the kids settle in.
Logs dragged closer. Blankets piled haphazardly over shoulders. Someone pokes the embers with a stick and gets scolded immediately. Crickets stitch the dark together, steady and soft, and the lake breathes somewhere beyond the trees.
Mingi sits on an overturned crate with his guitar resting against his thigh.
The sight alone does something to you.
He looks relaxed in a way he rarely does during the day. Hoodie loose, sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes every time he tilts his head down to tune. Firelight paints his skin gold, softens the angles of his face, turns him into something almost unreal.
A kid leans against your side, sleepy and warm.
“Is he gonna play?” she whispers.
“Yeah,” you murmur back. “He is.”
Mingi glances up, catches your eye and smiles.
It’s small. Familiar. A private moment that never needed words.
He starts strumming.
The song is light. Easy chords. Something meant to be sung outdoors, meant to float. The kids sway without realizing it, some humming along, some already half-asleep with heads drooping against shoulders.
It’s not a love song.
At least, it doesn’t try to be.
But the way he sings it… that’s different.
His voice is warm, unguarded, carrying across the fire like an open hand. He closes his eyes on certain lines. Smiles to himself on others. There’s a softness threaded through it that makes your chest ache, because you know him well enough to hear what’s underneath.
Home. Familiarity. Missing someone quietly.
You don’t mean to listen this closely.
You don’t mean to imagine the song turning toward you.
But it does.
Every note feels like a memory. Like sitting too close on a porch step. Like shared earbuds. Like silence that never needed filling.
Your throat tightens.
You look away, focus on the kids instead. On the way one of them mouths the words wrong. On the way another leans against Mingi’s knee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
When the song ends, applause erupts. A few cheers. Someone yells his name too loudly.
Mingi laughs, ducking his head, embarrassed. He strums one last chord and lets the guitar rest.
You clap with the others, smiling, heart doing something reckless in your chest.
That’s when it happens.
Another monitor steps in before you can.
She’s laughing, bright and easy, says something you can’t hear over the crackle of the fire. She touches his arm when she does it. Brief. Casual. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t matter.
Mingi laughs back.
Turns his body toward her without thinking.
You feel it immediately.
A sharp, stupid sting right under your ribs.
It’s ridiculous. You know that. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re seeing. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that should twist your stomach the way it does.
But it does anyway.
You stand up too quickly.
“Okay,” you announce to the kids, voice a little too bright. “S’mores time.”
They cheer, suddenly alert.
You focus on the task like it’s the most important thing in the world. Crackers. Chocolate. Marshmallows. Your hands move faster than usual, movements clipped, precise.
Someone notices.
They always do.
“You’re sad,” a kid says bluntly, tilting her head at you.
“I’m not,” you reply automatically, sliding a marshmallow onto a stick.
She squints. “You are.”
Another kid leans in conspiratorially. “It’s about him.”
You snort, sharper than you mean to. “No, it’s not.”
“It is!” a third adds, completely confident. “You look like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like when my mom says she’s fine,” he answers. “But she’s not.”
You huff a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You guys watch too much.”
They exchange looks. The kind that says they know exactly what they’re doing.
“You should tell him,” the girl from earlier says gently, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.
You hand her a finished s’more. “Eat your dessert.”
She takes it, then grins. “After.”
You roll your eyes, but the tension in your shoulders eases just a fraction.
Mingi glances over from across the fire and catches you mid-laugh. His smile softens. His eyes linger.
The sting flares again.
You turn back to the kids, breathing in sugar and smoke and summer night.
“I don’t need to tell him anything,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to them.
They don’t argue.
They just sit closer.
One kid hugs your side. Another bumps your knee with hers. Someone passes you a slightly burnt marshmallow like it’s a peace offering.
You laugh, helpless and warm despite everything.
“Don’t look at him,” one whispers, stage-whisper loud.
“I’m not,” you whisper back.
“You are,” another giggles.
You bite into your s’more, chocolate melting onto your fingers, and finally let yourself glance over.
Mingi’s still talking to the other monitor, but his attention drifts. His gaze finds you again, brows knitting just slightly, like he’s noticed the shift and doesn’t understand it.
Concern flickers across his face.
Your heart trips.
You look away first.
The fire crackles louder. The night presses in, intimate and full. Kids yawn. Someone rests his head on your lap. You stroke his hair without thinking, fingers gentle, grounding yourself in the motion.
“Hey,” a small voice murmurs. “You okay?”
You smile down at him. Softer this time. Real. “Yeah.”
He studies you for a long second, then nods like he’s made a decision. “Okay.”
Another beat passes.
Then, like a secret being passed along a line, one of them whispers, “We can help.”
You blink. “Help with what?”
They all grin.
The idea settles in your chest, quiet but insistent.
You don’t say yes.
You don’t say no.
But as the fire burns down and the kids are herded off to their cabins, you catch Mingi looking at you again, concern deepening, steps slowing like he wants to come over and doesn’t know how.
And for the first time in years, the thought doesn’t scare you.
Maybe… you should say something.
Maybe pretending has finally started to hurt more than the risk of telling the truth.
The next morning arrives bright and merciless.
Sun already warm on your shoulders. The lake glittering like it’s got something to prove. Kids scatter across the clearing with the same relentless energy they always have, laughter bouncing off cabin walls.
You volunteer for instrument duty mostly because it gives your hands something to do.
Guitars need tuning. Cases need moving. The storage room needs reorganizing after someone yesterday decided chaos was an acceptable filing system.
You hoist a stack of cases against your hip and start across the yard.
You don’t notice the way a few kids stop mid-game.
Don’t catch the glances they exchange. The silent communication. The decision made without words.
One of them bolts.
Then another.
They sprint like it’s a relay race, bare feet pounding against dirt and grass, laughter bubbling up despite their attempt at seriousness.
They find Mingi near the outdoor tables, bent over a clipboard, supervising an activity with the same monitor from last night. She’s explaining something animatedly, gesturing with both hands.
Mingi nods, attentive as always.
A kid skids to a stop in front of him, hands on knees, panting theatrically.
“She needs you,” he blurts out.
Mingi straightens instantly. “Who?”
“Her!” another says, pointing vaguely in the direction of the storage building. “Like. Right now.”
Mingi doesn’t ask what kind of help.
Doesn’t question why.
He’s already moving.
“Sorry,” he says to the other monitor, quick and genuine. “I’ll be right back.”
She barely has time to respond before he’s handing off the clipboard and jogging across the yard.
The kids watch him go, grinning like they’ve just pulled off a heist.
“Operation Dino Nugget,” one whispers.
They dissolve into giggles and scatter back to their activities, entirely pleased with themselves.
The storage room feels smaller than it has any right to be.
Wooden shelves climb the walls, stacked with guitar cases and drums scarred by years of stickers and careless summers. A box of tangled cables sits open on the floor like it gave up trying. The air smells like dust and old strings and lemony polish. One bare bulb hums softly overhead, casting everything in a warm, uneven glow.
You’re setting a guitar case down a little harder than necessary, when the door swings open.
Mingi steps in, breath slightly uneven, hair already falling into his eyes.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you okay? The kids said yo—”
He stops.
You turn, startled. “What are you doing here?”
He blinks, confusion flickering across his face. “They said you needed help. Urgently.”
Silence stretches.
It clicks for both of you at the same time.
You laugh first, breathless and helpless. “They set us up.”
He exhales a quiet laugh of his own, shoulders dropping. “Yeah. Seem like it.”
The sound of it eases something tight in your chest. For a moment, it’s easy again. Familiar. Like being six and sharing a joke no one else understands.
“Well,” he says, rocking back on his heels, eyes darting briefly around the room like he’s looking for an exit. “I should probably—”
He turns toward the door.
You move without thinking.
Your fingers close around his hand.
“…Wait.”
The word comes out smaller than you meant it to.
He stops instantly.
Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t turn around right away either. Just freezes, like he’s afraid that if he moves too fast, this will vanish.
Slowly, he turns back to you.
The room seems to shrink another inch.
Your hand is still wrapped around his. Warm. Solid. Familiar in a way that makes your throat ache.
You swallow.
“This is stupid,” you start, then huff out a breath. “No, it’s not. I just— I need to say it before I chicken out.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Nods once, encouraging. Gentle. He’s always gentle with you.
You look at his chest instead of his eyes.
“It never stopped,” you start quietly. “Whatever this is. Whatever I feel about you.”
His brows knit together.
“The distance didn’t help,” you continue, words tumbling faster now. “If anything, it made it worse. Because I kept thinking I’d grow out of it, that it would fade, and it didn’t. It just… waited. For you.”
You finally look up at him.
“Seeing you again hurts worse than missing you,” you admit, voice wavering. “Because you’re right there. And I can’t pretend you’re just a memory anymore. I missed you. So much.”
For a beat, he just stares at you.
Then he laughs.
It’s soft, breathless, edged with disbelief. “You’re messing with me.”
The words land wrong.
Your fingers loosen around his hand before you realize you’re letting go. Your shoulders draw inward, chin dipping, like your body is already bracing for impact.
Oh.
Of course.
You swallow, heat crawling up your neck, humiliation sharp and sudden. You step back half a pace, putting space where hope just was.
“I wouldn’t joke about this,” you say quietly. “Not with you.”
Your eyes drop to the floor. To the scuffed wood. To anything but his face.
You nod once, stiff. Like you’re accepting a verdict you already expected.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “I shouldn’t have— I just thought—”
You stop yourself before your voice can break.
For half a second, the room is painfully still.
Then his laugh dies.
Completely.
You don’t see it, but his smile falls apart the moment he registers your face. The way you’ve folded in on yourself. The way you look like you’re already mourning something.
“Hey,” he says, too fast. “No, wait.”
You don’t look up in time to see him move.
He doesn’t give himself time to think.
He just grabs you.
Hard. Sudden. One hand cups your face, thumb pressing warm into your cheek, the other hooks firmly at your waist, pulling you flush against him like he’s afraid space itself might steal you away.
Then his mouth is on yours.
It’s not gentle. Not hesitant. It’s pressure and heat and want, years of restraint snapping all at once. Your lips meet with a soft, startled sound, breath knocked loose, your mind scrambling to catch up.
You freeze.
Heart racing. Hands hovering uselessly at his chest, fingers curled but unmoving, like your body forgot its next instruction.
He kisses you like he’s been holding this in since you were kids. Like he’s done wondering, done being careful. His mouth moves against yours with clumsy devotion, more intent on keeping you close than doing anything right. His grip tightens, grounding, insistent, as if he’s trying to convince himself this is real.
When he pulls back, it’s only because he has to breathe.
His forehead rests against yours. His breaths come uneven, almost shaky. His eyes are bright, disbelieving.
You’re still stunned. Still silent.
And then he smiles. Wide. Boyish. A little unhinged with joy. Like someone who just realized the impossible thing he’s wanted forever just kissed him back.
“You—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, a shaky laugh spilling out of him. “I thought I imagined it. Or wanted it so bad my brain made it up.”
You blink at him, stunned. Still dizzy. Still held tight.
“What?”
“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids,” he blurts, the words tripping over each other now that the door is open. “I just figured… I figured you didn’t feel it. That I was the only idiot who never moved on.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. Your brain lags behind your heart, still trying to catch up.
He doesn’t wait.
He leans in again.
This kiss is different.
Slower, but heavier. His mouth fits to yours with intent now, unhurried but sure, like he finally knows he’s allowed. His hand slides up, fingers threading into your hair, cradling the back of your head. The other settles at your neck, thumb warm against your pulse, feeling it race.
You make a small sound, barely there, and that’s all it takes.
He presses closer, body moving forward without thinking, until you’re backed into the shelf behind you. The contact makes you stumble, just a little, balance slipping. Instinctively, your hands clutch at his shirt, fist curling tight in the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
He notices immediately.
His grip tightens. Protective. Certain. One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him, anchoring you there like nothing could move you now. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. Solid and safe.
His mouth opens to yours, tongue brushing, tentative at first, then bolder when you don’t pull away. When you kiss him back.
The world narrows to heat and breath and the quiet, messy sound of you learning each other again. His breathing turns heavy, uneven, puffing softly against your lips between kisses. Yours follows, breath hitching every time his hand shifts, every time his thumb strokes at your neck like he’s memorizing you.
You smile into his mouth without meaning to.
A soft, disbelieving giggle escapes you, breathless and bright and completely uncontrollable.
He feels it.
He laughs against your lips, low and stunned and so happy it borders on delirious. The sound vibrates through you. He pulls you closer, forehead dipping to yours for half a second before he kisses you again, still smiling, like he can’t quite believe he gets to do this.
When you finally part, it’s only because you have to breathe.
Foreheads pressed together. Noses brushing. Both of you panting quietly, the air thick and warm between you. His hands stay where they are. In your hair. At your waist. Like letting go is not an option.
Your fingers are still knotted in his shirt.
You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “You never said anything.”
His breath ghosts your lips as he smiles again, softer this time, awe lingering in his eyes.
He laughs again, almost hysterical. “Neither did you.”
And for a moment, you’re not adults in a storage room.
You’re just two kids who finally learned the language for what they’ve been holding all along.
You stare at each other for a second.
Then you laugh too. It comes out soft and broken and so relieved it almost hurts.
“We’re so dumb,” you murmur.
He steps even closer without realizing he’s doing it, like gravity is doing the work for him. The heat of him surrounds you, solid and grounding.
“I was scared,” he admits, voice dropping. “Scared of you looking at me like I’d crossed some line.”
You tilt your head up, eyes meeting his.
“I was scared of being wrong, of being too much. Of losing you,” you say simply. “Turns out that was the worst part.”
He swallows hard.
His thumb brushes your cheek, reverent now, like he’s finally allowed to touch you. He kisses you again. A soft, quick peck, unable to let you go now that he finally got a taste of you.
And somewhere deep in his chest, something settles.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Noses still touching. Breaths still uneven. The storage room feels warmer now, closer, like the walls leaned in to listen and decided to keep the secret.
He lets out a quiet laugh, disbelieving, the sound puffing against your lips.
“Wow,” he whispers. “Okay. Okay.”
You smile, small and shy, heart still racing. Your nose brushes his when you nod.
“This is real,” you murmur, half to yourself.
He hums in agreement, eyes closed. His thumb keeps tracing the same spot on your cheek, like he’s afraid if he stops, you’ll vanish.
“I never thought you could,” he admits softly. “Love me like that.”
The words are careful. Vulnerable. Stripped bare.
Your chest tightens.
“I always have,” you say. No drama. No grand speech. Just truth. “I just… thought you didn’t want me to.”
He lets out another breathy laugh, this one almost a sigh.
“We’re unbelievable,” he says, kissing your forehead sweetly. “All those years. All that time.”
You shrug lightly, trying to play it off, but your voice wobbles anyway.
“At least we’re stupid together.”
That earns you a smile so wide it almost hurts to look at. The kind that crinkles his eyes. The kind that makes him look six again, arms too long, heart too big.
He leans in and kisses you once more. Gentle. Lingering. Like a promise.
When you finally pull away, it’s only because reality comes knocking. Distant laughter. A kid yelling something incomprehensible across the camp. The world, waiting.
He threads his fingers through yours without asking.
“Ready?” he murmurs.
You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”
Walking back feels surreal.
Sunlight drifts through the trees, warm on your shoulders. A faint breeze carries the scent of lakewater and pine. Birds chirp, kids laugh and run across the yard, and somewhere, a guitar hums a lazy, playful melody across the camp.
Your hands stay laced the whole way.
You don’t say much. You don’t need to, but the kids see you before you see them.
There’s a beat. A collective pause.
Then—
“YES!”
“FINALLY!”
“I TOLD YOU!”
Cheers erupt like fireworks. Clapping. Whooping. Someone actually bows at your feet.
Your face burns instantly. You hide it against Mingi’s arm, mortified, laughing despite yourself.
“Oh my god,” you groan. “They’re never letting this go.”
Mingi, on the other hand, throws his free arm in the air like he just won something monumental.
“I KNEW YOU GUYS WERE SMART,” he announces, grinning ear to ear. “I TRUSTED YOUR VISION.”
The kids swarm him, chanting, celebrating, absolutely vindicated.
You peek up at him, heart full to bursting.
He looks so happy. Open. Uncontained.
When his eyes find yours again, the world shrinks to just the two of you. Hearts still thundering, you can feel every year, every memory, every unspoken word finally settling in the space between you.
He leans close, whispering just to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I might have… told the kids about you.”
You blink at him, incredulous. “Mingi! You what?”
“They’re very nosy,” he says, shrugging, cheeky. “I told them we’ve known each other since we were kids. That we were inseparable. That I’ve loved you forever. Even back then. They figured out the rest on their own.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “You told them it was me?”
“Nope,” he admits, grinning. “Didn’t need to. They’re quick. They put two and two together… probably started plotting without us even knowing.”
You shake your head, smiling. “They’ve spent too much time with you… now they think like you.”
He squeezes your hand, grinning like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Maybe. But I swear… I’m never letting go this time. Not you. Not this.”
You laugh softly, breathless, leaning into him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
He presses a quick, playful kiss to your temple, eyes sparkling. “See? Camp’s good for something besides teaching kids music. It brought me back to you. I’m… thankful for that.”
You shake your head, smiling. “I’m the lucky one.”
He nudges your shoulder, cheeky and proud. “Nope. Definitely me. But I guess we both won.”
Around you, the faint echoes of the lake, the cabins, the kids laughing in the distance — all of it feels like home. Music drifting, warm night air, the smell of pine and campfire smoke. Perfectly ordinary and completely magical.
You squeeze his hand again. “Home, Mingi.”
“Home, baby” he echoes, grinning boyishly, and drags you toward the porch, ready for whatever comes next.
i got a story to tell, you know that i cherish thee... 18+
SONG MINGI HAD NEVER KNOWN LOVE.
By age eleven, Mingi knew the shoes he had to fill were much larger than his adolescent mind could comprehend. He had heard the line ‘One day, all of this will be yours’ so often he began to think it was his middle name; his mother, his father, his aunts and uncles, to have the last name Song was a privilege.
An empire, that’s what his father owned. Real estate for pleasure to commercial properties, land, islands. Businesses, so many Mingi could barely keep up at age sixteen, stocks, bonds, investments in startups— not to mention the assets they kept in their home. Collectibles, fine art, vehicles, jewelry, home was for viewing, to appreciate; not to play, to laugh, to smile. Look, but never touch.
Being the heir of an empire drew attention in all the wrong ways, especially when the internet was a growing nebula of incrimination, even if he attended the most prestigious private school overseas— making true friends continuously proved difficult. Song Mingi learned privacy before he learned the name of each business his father owned. By eighteen, back at home, learning how to be the spine of a conglomerate, Mingi couldn’t say he’d surrounded himself with many.
It didn’t affect his ability to be a businessman, though, to perform. He learned how to speak, what language to use, how to stand, posture that demands respect, how to shake a hand, what grip his palm should hold, how to negotiate, each and every skill was engraved into his very bones. By twenty, Mingi was a walking, talking mannequin— his entire life laid out before him, chosen for him, his brain was wired to function, not to live.
Until twenty-five, two years after his father suddenly passed, when the empire was finally recognized throughout countries as a possession of Song Mingi. By twenty-seven, he had done more for the Song name than generations upon generations before him. Mingi wasn’t just a businessman anymore, Mingi was a fucking star.
His childhood wasn’t warm. An absent father, a mother that only cared about molding him to his father’s standards, Mingi didn’t have many things that brought him genuine, unbridled joy.
Memories of school were blurred. Strict, routine. He doesn’t remember a time when life had color— he had small things he possessed, baseball cards, stamps, books, but those were for collecting, for making money, according to his mother, his nanny. His second nanny. His third.
He did sell them, yes. The ones he chose to. But there were ones he kept close; characters and stories he lost himself in, other worlds he wished he could transport his consciousness to, baseball cards he found himself attached to and stamps that were too beautiful to be in someone else’s hands. His mother, three nannies, thought his attachment to such small, meaningless things pointless. A flaw.
They were still in his drawer at twenty-eight, when he owned the world and it thanked him in return. Fear is a beautiful thing, an opportunity for growth, for overcoming, self-improvement, unless the thing you fear is human. A six-foot industrialist that owned everything, as much as the world looked to Song Mingi he was, above all, someone to be fucking terrified of.
There’s beauty in fear, it might be the first thing Song Mingi ever fell in love with. The second— the first time he’s cracked his chest open and had a woman drink the carnage from her palms. When a man stands above the world, there are plenty of men who wish to stand beside him, but none who dare.
Song Mingi never thought his undoing would be a woman. A company dinner, a gala, his mother hosted it yearly. She laid out a list of appropriate, single women for the twenty-eight year old man, the country’s most eligible bachelor; none he wanted. It was a list of titles, of baggage, at the age where he should be thinking of marriage, of a future, of love, Mingi wanted his life to fucking start. He wanted to live.
A private club, one of many he owned, this one was his favorite. Red velvet and black leather surrounded the space, the music low, the patrons wealthy— he didn’t care what the walls looked like, what booth he sat in, how they always kept his glass topped off. He cared about you, in your black satin dress and skinny red pumps his eyes always glued to.
He cared about how you didn’t care about him. He saw you monthly, always on the arm of another man like a prized possession. He knew your real name and your social security number the first day he laid eyes on you, he knew what you were, he knew what you cost.
A check he didn’t send until his mother sent him a list of names, and it dawned on him you were the opposite of every single bullet point. An idea that made his heart race. A thought that felt like rebellion, for the first time in his twenty-eight years of life.
He didn’t speak a word to you until he was parked outside of your apartment building in a blacked out limo he never used for any occasion. The driver opened the door for you and it was as if you knew how long you drifted through Mingi’s mind as a risk, an opportunity he would never dare take. But Mingi’s a man who gets everything he wants, by the snap of his fingers or the wave of his hand, and to be a businessman is to take risks without the security of a certain outcome.
At twenty-eight years old, the biggest risk he’d ever taken was inviting you in his limousine. He’s invested in what many would never think to, he's torn down other empires with his bare hands, he’s put himself in the spotlight for the world to see everything. But it felt like opening the drawer in his bedroom, a lazy grin on his lips, a hand outstretched to help you inside the limousine, the moment he smelled you he couldn’t believe he’s withstood life without you.
“Mr. Song,” you nodded your head politely, dark gown blanketing over the black leather seats. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Mingi,” he corrected, the corner of his lips curled, “thank you for joining me.”
Your dress, your heels, your face, your smell, your posture— everything about you screamed wealth. Power, but submission. How is it that he could buy your time, your companionship, and his heart is lurching in his chest? Had he bought this feeling, too?
He’s had women, so many fucking women at his private school overseas, in his penthouse, the one he used for that very reason, entertainment and pleasure, he’s had them in the backseat of his Escalade. He’s had women everywhere, yet never once has he felt his heart dance beneath his ribs.
You’re funny— in the way that businessmen’s eyes widen and a choked laugh falls from their lips, because there’s no way you’d speak those words aloud, on Mingi’s hip. You knew how to speak, you were fluent in the language of business and hierarchy and wealth.
You’re intelligent. Observant, you could tell who Mingi’s allies are, who’s a competitor, who searched for details to exploit. Mingi supposed one Forbes article could have relayed the information, but in his bones he knew you were reading them, everyone, their body language, microaggressions beneath the lines of sweet words, silent insults behind pearly white teeth.
Built for this world, but only with your toes touching the shore. You’d never attended an event of this stature, that Mingi knew from the file on his desk at home, yet you behaved like this was just another Saturday, like you knew these people just as well as Mingi, as if he briefed you for a week beforehand.
His mother wasn’t as outraged as he would have liked. A woman with no title, with no wealth, no father to make a deal with— small discrepancies that no longer mattered, because if she liked you, you, somehow it felt better. Somehow he was proud.
There was no time to be curious. Only stunned, satisfied, glad. He likes you. He likes you. He knew he would. But to like you this much, without knowing anything else than what lived in a manila folder on his oakwood desk, fear sank its claws into Mingi’s heart, and he encouraged it to sink deeper. He loved the way it felt.
Tabloids ate it up, every picture of the two of you together sold for thousands. The first time Mingi was seen in public with a woman, fingers intertwined, a smile on his face, the country seemed to go through a grieving period.
This Just In: Song Mingi Seen with Mystery Woman!
Does the Song Empire Finally Have its Empress?
The World’s Favorite Bachelor is Taken!
Song Mingi With Unknown Woman: What Does She Have That We Don’t?
Mingi never particularly enjoyed speculation on his love life, especially when it was broadcast to the world— but this he could get behind. He liked how he looked next to you, his smile looked genuine. He doesn’t remember the last time it was.
Another sum wired to your account, within a week he had you on his arm again. A conservative bodycon dress on your body, closed-toe heels on your feet, hair styled, makeup done, you looked born of importance. A business dinner with the Choi empire’s son, a networking event, not that Mingi needed to network. He just needed to show face.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Choi,” you smiled sweetly, not even blinking as Jongho brought your knuckles to his lips. Mingi’s hand pressed a little harder to the small of your back.
Jongho’s eyes slid to Mingi as his lips made contact, a challenge in the flare of his pupils. A flirt, he’s always been, tabloids made millions off of Choi Jongho’s excursions since he was a mere fifteen years old, parties, drinking, drugs, women, men. A billionaire’s son he was, at his core, no rules and no laws could touch him. He took advantage of the notion daily.
Mingi swallowed down his irritation, keeping his eyes neutral, shaking the younger man’s hand next. Jongho smirked, a corner of his mouth lifting at the lack of reaction from Mingi. Jongho tilted his head, jet black hair set with so much gel it didn’t move a millimeter, “Where’d you find her, hm?”
“You wouldn’t know it,” you replied before Mingi could take a breath. “Invite only.”
Your tone, so intriguing, how you can say so much without saying anything. You wouldn’t know it, it’s too prestigious for you. Invite only, you aren’t nearly important enough. Mingi’s grin was utterly cheshire.
Jongho’s smirk wilted, lips a flat heart between his nose and chin. He nodded once, “Well.” Looking between you, searching for words in his mind, “I look forward to seeing more of you, and Mingi, I look forward to the proposal my father mentioned.”
Ah, the proposal. He knew there was something important tonight. At the head of the dinner table, naturally, a spot he’d forever wield. He kept his eyes on you during his speech, a monologue he pulled straight from his ass, one that had the table floored. The Choi corporation certainly wouldn’t be pleased when the fine print reached their hands— but each and every attendee worked like dogs, grins on their faces, eyes glazed over like they’d seen God.
You, on the other hand, hands in your lap, polite smile on your face. Mingi assumed you didn’t understand a word until you’d reached his Escalade after dessert.
“The proposal,” you turned your head toward him, a single crinkle between your brows. “It’ll tear down the Choi’s, will it not?”
Mingi stretched his neck from side to side, unfastening the cuff links on his wrists. He should be more surprised you understood the severity of the deal, especially without reading the fine print, even more so that Mingi presented it like a gift. Somehow it felt natural that you knew what you weren’t supposed to.
“In time,” he hummed, “maybe.”
Your head turned to the window again. He watched you for a moment, how your hair bounced as they drove over gravel, your hands still politely in your lap as if you’d get scolded if they moved. Mingi, so soft it was almost a whisper, “What are you doing tonight?”
Your neck craned to him, eyes wide like you weren’t expecting anything but being dropped off before your building. Mingi’s lips pulled upward, “Do you want to come back to mine for drinks? Maybe talk over the proposal a little more.”
Stars would cower at the sight of your smile, he’d never seen anything so bright in his twenty-eight years. It made a pit form in his gut, made the length trapped his boxers present. Fear kissed his spine, but it only aided in his excitement.
Your head didn’t stop moving from the moment you stepped foot in his penthouse, really when you stepped foot in the building, through the glass revolving door in the lobby, you watched every movement like a kid in a candy store. Amazement, Mingi thinks, danced in your eyes all the way up to the top floor, so much so he let you open the door with his key.
“Beautiful,” awe soaked your tone, you whispered the word as you walked into the space, heels clicking against the tiled floor. Mingi couldn’t stop smiling, excitement lighting up each and every one of his veins, he pulled off his blazer the moment he stepped inside.
“I had an interior designer take over,” still smiling, he hung his blazer, bringing you past the foyer to the living room. “I’m not much of a decorator.”
You laughed— it was the first time he heard it, and it took his fucking breath away. The sweetest, most innocent giggle, he didn’t think such an incredible sound had blessed this place since he bought it. You followed him to the bar, eyes still searching every wall, every nook and cranny of the room, the act so cute Mingi wasn’t sure how he’d hold himself back.
“I’ll wire you first thing in the morning,” he said as he stepped behind the bar, while you sat in one of the upholstered chairs that made up the conversation area. “I know this wasn’t a part of the deal.”
“No need,” you shook your head, one knee crossing over the other, “I’m off the clock, if that’s okay with you.”
He lifted his brows in amusement, pouring whiskey neat into two glasses, he’d never been more okay with anything in his life. “Even if we’re still talking business?”
“Do you really want to talk business?” Lips curling at the corner, head tilting, tendrils of hair kissing your collarbone, the sight made his stomach tumble.
He did— for some reason, he trusted the walls of his penthouse, the woman that stood between them. Just to amuse himself, he asked, “Can I trust your judgement?”
“You can trust my honesty,” your eyes followed him as he rounded the corner of the bar, placing your glass on the table that separated you on two black velvet chairs.
He took a long sip of whiskey, letting himself feel the burn of it licking down his throat. He sat with his knees spread, two arms lazily thrown over his thighs, one hand fingering the circular rim of his glass.
“Let me ask you a question, then,” his voice thick, lowered, gravelly in the way that he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear what came next. But you nodded, as he knew you would, so he asked, “What do you think of me?”
You shuffled in your seat, making yourself more comfortable. Back sunken lower into the velvet, two palms cradling the glass in your lap, knee still thrown over the other. “I think you’re strong,” you began with a steady breath, and for a moment Mingi thought you would stop there. You didn’t.
“I think… you’re adolescent. I think you’ve never gotten a taste of what life is, what it could be. You were Song Mingi, heir of an empire, heir of the world. Now you’re Song Mingi, the man who stands behind the curtain, puppets dangling from his strings. You appear as a symbol of strength, wealth, control, but have you ever had anything ripped from your palms? From your heart?”
Mingi’s jaw clenched, his ears danced beside the fade of his haircut. He eyed your uneven chest, despite your calm eyes, he could tell the words spilled from your lips without intent. Honesty you promised, it cut like a blade to his perfect, well-kempt skin, you asked him questions you already knew the answer to.
“And what could my life be? If I was a different man,” his head tilted backwards, staring beneath thick brows. Your posture doesn’t change.
“Fun,” you tried a smile, a curve to your painted lips, “it could be fun.”
“Does my life not seem fun?” He popped a brow, amused all over again. “Women and money, anything I could ever want at my fingertips—”
“—And yet you don’t take advantage,” your smile turned sly, cunning. Eyes feline, you saw too much of him. Things that he kept hidden. “Do you?”
Mingi shrugged, what was he doing right now? “I do. Enough so.”
You shook your head slowly, taking a sip from your glass. Licking your lips, Mingi watched as the liquor poured down your throat. So fucking beautiful, an action so common, so small, having you before him has been the most fun he’s had.
You leaned forward, the glass landing on the table between you, the clinking sound reverberated throughout the penthouse. “Not enough,” you said, voice lowered, sultry. “But I’m here.”
His brows raised, head straightened, unexpecting of your forwardness. Swallowing down saliva and remnants of liquor on his tongue, his voice came out breathier than he wanted, “And?”
“You paid for my time,” you sat back in your seat, arms blanketing the armrests, casual, comfortable. “You don’t have to anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
“I want to know you, Song Mingi. I want to show you.”
It felt like a love confession to Mingi. He’d never heard those words in his life— everyone wants money, power, they want the Mingi they answered to. Not the man beneath the mask, the man who laid at the bottomless pit of power, the man who dreamed of what his life would be if he wasn’t Song Mingi.
It's easy to get lost in power, in strength, in control. To peer inside and not recognize who you see, to realize that’s all you’ve ever been, that there’s nothing beneath the mask. Hollow, a shell, a robot whose organs swam in blood.
He took you to bed that night, two glasses of whiskey left half-drank on the table in his bar room. Even sex felt different, new, he’d never thought a connection between himself and his partner would make it better, his finishing point stronger. He thought your face beautiful, your words elegant, but your body was something he could only imagine.
Perfection, every inch of you. And you could feel it in his fingers, in his tongue, in his body that carried you past the finish line over and over. Mingi embraced his fear, in the way he always had— he relished in the way you lacked it. Raw, unbridled, you appeared to him as yourself, no sugarcoating, no acting.
You saw him for him, and he saw you for you. An eye for an eye, in a way.
In the months to follow, he saw you often. Mingi never frequented the penthouse as often as he’d been, almost permanent residence, with you by his side each and every time. Each and every day.
His business grew stronger, his mind sharper. You in his ear, your smarts, your wit, growing up Mingi never saw his mother with his father the way he kept you by his side. A lucky charm, or a new set of eyes to see the things he couldn’t, you’d become vital in a few months’ time.
The tabloids went rampant. Your face on the front page more often than not, no one knew who you were, none would find out. It didn’t seem to bother you, nor did it bother Mingi, he was falling headfirst into something he never expected, and proudly so. Seeing you in the club, satin dress, red pumps, he never thought he’d love your mind more than anything else. He never saw farther than the gala.
Other than his business, his mind, you made good on your promise; Mingi’s life has never been more fun. Public appearances were a joy instead of a chore, with you on his arm, with back rooms and closets and that sharp tongue he’s come to adore. Clubs filled with alcohol served to him in bottles and blow on a silver platter, at twenty eight he learned how to party. He especially learned it never really needed to stop.
Most of all, you showed him love. A feeling that comes naturally, one he’s never felt before, in the months he’s known you, you’ve taught him empathy. Compassion, emotion, connection, you helped him talk through his heart twisting in his chest, his stomach so tight he feared he’d spill its contents onto the floor, just from looking at you. Talking deep into morning hours, about anything, everything— your past, his own, your future.
It turned domestic before he’d realized, before he’d meant to put a label on anything. Naturally, on its own, who was he to fight what’s meant to be?
Waking up next to you, peppering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, your stomach until his tongue met between your thighs, it was heaven to him. Each and every morning, waking you up until your thighs shook around his head, just to push inside you until they shook around his hips. Natural. Routine.
“I want to show you something,” still inside you, chest heaving, lips ghosting your cheekbone. “Later tonight. Pack a bag.”
Your brows raised on your perfect, flushed, fucked-out face. “A bag? Where are we going?”
“Outside the city,” he placed a kiss to your brow, “it’s special. No one else has seen it, ever.”
You giggled, and his stomach tumbled the way it always did. The way it always will. You gasped as he pulled out, whining at the emptiness, the spillage onto sheets that’d be changed while he’s gone.
“You trust me that much, hm?” You asked with a twinkle in your eye as he peeled off of you, off the bed, headed for the bathroom.
He looked over his shoulder to give you a look, “Is that even a question?”
You smiled at him like you loved him. Like if he said those three, pretty little words, you’d say them back in a heartbeat. Confidence, acceptance rushed through his veins.
You met him in the shower for him to bully into you all over again. Pebbled nipples pressed into the tile wall, one of his arms splayed over your stomach, holding you upright. Growling hungry words into your ear, he drank up your moans like they were dessert.
After getting dressed, suit and tie, he searched the bedroom again with his thick brows knitted together. “Baby, have you seen my wallet? My checkbook?”
With your arms in a dress, you presented your back to him to zip you up, one hand holding your ponytail to the left. “You can’t find them?”
He zips you up, two hands on your waist, planting a wet kiss to your cheek. “Haven’t seen them since yesterday.”
You spin around, hands on his blazer, laying them down flatter with painted fingertips. Eyes meeting his, still sparkling, “Did you leave them at the office?”
“Maybe,” he scrunches his lips to one side, “probably. I can’t believe I didn't notice.”
You pull him in by his lapels, pressing your lips to his softly, a long, sweet kiss. “You’re Song Mingi, baby. I don’t think anyone expects you to throw down your black card or write them a check, you have people to do that for you.”
“Come on,” his grin spreads wide, “you know better than that. I’ll check the office when I get there.”
“What time should I be ready?” You ask as he turns on his heel.
Walking out of the bedroom to put his feet in the dress shoes he left at the front door last night, “Eight, please. I’ll have Hiro pick you up.”
One more kiss to your pretty lips, and he’s off, giddy as ever. He doesn’t remember to search for his wallet when he gets to the office, nor his checkbook. Both are lost on him, his mind filled with thoughts of later, what he’ll show you, how much it means to him that you’ll see it.
Eight rolls around fast— the two of you in the backseat of his blacked out Escalade, fingers intertwined, driving an hour outside the city to a small cottage. A small, suburban house, baby blue, the interior something out of a movie, as if he’d stepped back in time.
He carries your bags inside with one hand, the other on the small of your back. “I spent a lot of time here growing up,” he said as you entered the house, and just like the first time in his penthouse, your eyes danced as you took in every detail.
“My first nanny’s house. She passed a while back, left it to me. It’s technically my main residence, well, this is home.”
You had tears in your eyes as you took in the space. Fingertips riding along dusty shelves, the mantle of the fireplace, the crickety kitchen table that had seen too many years of use.
“She left it to you?” Was all you asked, stunned, in awe of the gem he kept hidden away.
He stood in the foyer, watching you learn his memories, his childhood. He took his first steps here, said his first words here, this was home before his parents’ home. Not that he could remember any of it, much too young to take in the weight of what his first nanny did for him. Too young to understand the love she had for him, how she treated Mingi like her own.
“I don’t have any memories, the walls hold them more than my mind does. But I can feel it when I’m here, how she loved me, took care of me. When I was moved to my parent’s, she and two others took care of me there. I didn’t know this place existed until it was mine.”
Tears had slipped down your cheeks by the time you met Mingi’s eye again. “I can feel it too,” you whispered, breath shaky, walking towards him on soft steps, “it feels special here. Like home.”
He pressed a kiss to your lips after you swung your arms around his neck. “I wanted to show you because it’s special to me, like you’re special to me.”
“Do you think we’ll live here?” You looked down at his chest while you asked the question, the first time he’s ever seen you coy. You look up again, eyes glassy, “Will this be home for us one day?”
His heart pounded against his chest, eyes searching your face for something other than truth. This meant more than I love you, the three, pretty little words he kept locked up beneath his ribs.
“Yes,” he whispered, swift, eyes wide and pulsing. “Yes, it’ll be home for us. It's yours now, as much as it’s mine.”
More tears spilled down your perfect cheeks, dripping down into the smile that’d stolen your face. “I love you,” you said, words strong, no room to hear them incorrectly.
Mingi swallowed, searching your face again, breath stolen from his chest. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. “I love you too,” he said, whispered, coated in disbelief. You meant it. You love him. You love him and he fucking loves you. “I love you,” he repeats again, assuredly, confidence in his voice, earnest and true.
You kiss him, and kiss him and kiss him until his clothes are thrown to the floor of the living room, yours on the floor of the bedroom.
He pushed into you slowly, fingers twisted above your head, tongue licking into your mouth while he made your body new. His and his only, from now until death do you part, Mingi would never let you go. Those pretty, three little words moaned, uttered, whispered, over and over— in his ear, in his skin, while he emptied himself inside you, while you pulsed around his length. This was love. In the place his life began, with the person it would end beside.
Still cuddled in the queen sized bed, crocheted comforter thrown over your sweaty bodies, his fingers massaged your scalp as you laid over his chest. “I have one more thing to show you,” he said, voice low, tired.
You looked up at him through your raised brows, silently asking what?
You whined when he untangled himself from your body, the loss of warmth. He smiled as he opened the top left drawer on the dresser, excitement nipping at his nerve endings. You crawled to the foot of the bed, comforter still covering your naked body as Mingi pulled the contents from the drawer.
His baseball cards, his stamps, the book he’s held close to him since he was a child. “These,” he laid them out on the comforter before you, “are my prized possessions. Nothing in this world, until you, have meant what these mean to me.”
You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, “Tell me about them.”
He told you everything. From the meaning of the book, to why he needed the escape, to the baseball cards and the stamps and how they’ve left a mark on his very soul. He laid himself bare for you, the most vulnerable thing he could ever do, the very essence of his being fleshed out on a crocheted comforter.
You listened to every detail, touched them carefully, looking to him for permission with every movement of your fingertips. You didn’t need his permission— not anymore. What’s his is yours. He’d rip his heart out and hand it to you on a platter, if you asked.
He slept better than he’d ever slept in his life that night. Body curled into you, falling asleep to your breathing, he woke up to you by his side and he realized in that moment, this is everything he’s ever wanted. This is what he’s been waiting for, all this time.
Eight months into your relationship and he had a diamond ring in that same top left dresser drawer. When you know, you know, he told himself, he told his business partners, he told his staff, he told anyone that would fucking listen to the book he could write about how much he loves you. He needs you— it’s more than love, it’s more than companionship. It's a soul tie, and how fucking lucky is he that he’s found you? That he has you?
Eight months into your relationship and this was the first weekend you’d spend apart. He paid for the plane ticket to Cancun, a weekend trip with your girlfriends, all of the ones he’s met and done background checks on. He could never be too sure, not when it came to you.
Hiro dropped you off at the airport, Mingi wrapped up in meetings, you assured him the night before he didn’t have to hold your hand all the way to your gate, promising him with your lips wrapped around his cock. Returning the favor in the morning, he let you go not without a fight, but you won nonetheless, as you always do.
Waving goodbye to Hiro at the airport, you watched him drive away, turning the corner to get back on the highway— a smile crept onto your cheeks as his black Escalade pulled into view.
The driver packed your luggage in the pull-up trunk as the door was opened for you, a trickle of adrenaline kissed your bones, the base of your spine, it’s been so long since you’ve seen him.
“Baby,” he greeted, black hair gelled back, smirk already on his lips, suit painted onto his body. You nearly drooled.
Your eyes widened, reality settling in that he’s real and he’s here. Heart pounding in your chest, “Yunho!” You squealed, hauling yourself in the backseat of the SUV, immediately crawling onto his lap, knees bent on the leather seats.
His lips taste like home. Pressing yourself against him was the closest thing to heaven you’d ever felt; it was too long, a relationship only over the phone, unable to feel his touch, his lips pressed to yours. Only a few times over the last eight months had you been able to steal a glimpse, a quick kiss, your life had become too public, too quick, Yunho pushed to the shadows.
“I missed you,” his grin is wide, pearly white teeth on display, a flush to the apples of his cheeks. His hands landed on your hips, giving you a possessive squeeze, “You did so good, my love.”
You curled your hair around your ear, biting your lip. “You think so?” Heat floods you as the praise leaves his lips.
“One more and you’re done,” he pulls you toward him for another kiss. “Go over it for me.”
“Forty first street, two-one-three Ashland street. Baby blue house, spare key under a brown rock, small and circular, directly to the right of the welcome mat. I have a spare key to the penthouse, the code for the elevator is twelve ninety-seven.”
Yunho raises his brows, pride in his eyes. “Twelve ninety-seven? Your birth month and year?”
You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, you tilt your head with a bashful smile. “What can I say? He loves me.”
Large palms find your cheeks, pulling you in for another quick kiss, “I fucking love you.”
“I love you,” you’re smiling against his lips as the car is put into drive, pulling away from the drop-off lane. “Three baseball cards, a storybook, and a binder of stamps, in the top left drawer of the dresser in the bedroom. There’s also a ring in there, if you want that, too.”
He leans back until he’s flat against the backseat, eyes blown wide. “He was gonna propose?”
“Still is,” you shrug, “probably when I get home from ‘Cancun.’”
The smile that spreads across Yunho’s cheeks would be terrifying if you were anyone else. If you didn’t know him down to his very bones. He groans, head tipping back against the leather seat, “I’d fuck you right here, right now if we weren’t in this fucking car.”
Your smile mirrors his, eyes lowering as your finger reaches upward, pressing the button in the center of three on the ceiling. You hear the faint hum of the partition closing, severing the front seat from the back seat, and the chuckle that leaves Yunho’s mouth has your thighs tightening around him.
“For good luck,” you press a kiss to his lips, one he deepens immediately, “before you take everything he’s ever loved.”
► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - king!San x fem!reader ◄
► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - historical and royalty au, cursed trope, angst, slow burn, tension, San is cold and a bit mean but only in the beginning, magic, generalised dark themes, not-so forced proximity, engagement, sacrifice, power imbalance, San got so darn sweet here it was driving me insane, downbad!San (stand up, my guy) ◄
► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! vomiting (San was unwell), slight mentions of blood (from injuries) , kinky smut, possessive!San, making out, nipple play, exhibitionism, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, cum on mouth and face, cum play, choking on cum, standing up sex, cowgirl, missionary, breeding kink, clothed sex, dacryphilia, degradation, marking kink, slight sadism and masochism (just squint), creampie, unprotected sex, (DO NOT DO THIS) ◄
► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 30.8K words (sorry Topaz) ◄
► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - San ruled a kingdom buried in snow, rumoured to be cursed, where people cannot leave once entered. The snow was harsh, unforgiving, never melted, and it only took but never gave. He was cursed king with a cursed land, and you were engaged to him not out of love, but to steady the crown that nobody respected due to fear. He treated you with coldness and formality, reinforcing the rumours that he was incapable of warmth, let alone affection. But as the truth of the curse unraveled, so did your understanding of the man you were meant to marry, and now one question remained - is San the cursed one or was he the one who cursed the land? ◄
► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - This is my submission for the KSS Frost & Fire Exchange event for @sanjoongie (surprise!) who made that beautiful moodboard and wrote me a fic in return. I really tried my best here and I'm sorry it got so long, your moodboard looked a little too good to not have crazy plot in there. I genuinely hope you like this, I'm actually terrified ah.◄
► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen @lovebuggjoy @mingiblossoms @crybabydollette @mustardmilkshake @asesinas @minyunsan-kitten ◄
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones.
At least, that’s what they all said. An eye isn’t an eye because you look at it - it’s an eye because it looks back at you and we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.
“What of the other kingdoms?” His voice traversed the vast hall, echoing against the stone walls of the Great Halls. He was impassive, nonchalant, but make no mistake, for his presence blanketed the entire expanse of the room.
You stood obediently off to the far side of his throne, almost unseen, but there nonetheless, just patiently waiting until the meeting was done. It was hard not to stare at the enigma that was Choi San. It wasn’t that he called for everyone’s attention just because he was the king, rather, he demanded it.
He didn’t need it either. He just had it. Even a sliver of his shadow had everyone’s attention. Hell, even his footsteps sounded different from the rest. San wasn’t domineering nor commanding because he wore a crown. He was dominant because the air bent around for him.
“Word travels fast, my liege. I reckon it’s already reached the kingdoms up north like that of Wonderland and Horizon,” Park Seonghwa reported, reverence in his tone as he addressed his King. “I could send the troops to check out their militia and perhaps where their loyalties lie.”
Your eyes momentarily fleeted towards Seonghwa. The High Marshal was an honourable and proper leader, a skilled military man who led the kingdom’s armies in multiple battles and wars not many have had the guts to, and you knew he had San’s utmost respect. As if sensing eyes on him, he briefly met eyes with you, smiling in courtesy, before training them at San once more.
“No need,” San droned, raising one hand, halting motion that meant to stop even your inner thoughts. Such was the power he wielded. “The risk is too high for so little reward.”
He paused, tilting his head to the side, looking out the large window that overlooked the vast majority of the castlegrounds that were covered in nothing but thick snow. Melancholy was clear in his eyes, though he tried to cover it up with something steely.
He stood up from his throne slowly, deliberately as his eyes scanned the entirety of the room, leaving no space from anyone to breathe under his suffocating gaze. His fur-lined cloak that draped over his shoulders shifted with him, following his every movement as he began to walk off, the finality of his steps leaving no room for anyone to argue with him.
“Rest up, Seonghwa,” he said, the words low but echoing, as if the castle itself carried his voice forward for him. “The troops as well. You’ve done me well.”
Seonghwa blinked before inhaling sharply. He trudged forward, brows furrowed. “Your Grace—”
“I said,” San murmured, barely audible, but it was there. Everyone heard it, and the air shifted into something sharp as his voice tilted into a quiet warning. “Rest up.”
You gritted your teeth, composing yourself to stop the shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. This…you will never get used to this - to him. His words drifted through the Great Halls and they held weight enough to crush whatever protest Seonghwa thought he could muster.
San continued forward, not bothering to look back as his footsteps got closer and closer until he was almost in front of you. Immediately, you bowed, bunching your dress up in your fists as you lowered your head slightly.
One would expect that as the king’s betrothed that he’d give you the same curtsy, or at least acknowledge you, but the way he completely ignored your existence was what you got. You were used to it. You had anticipated it, even. What a pity on your end, really.
As San passed you to walk away, his eyes briefly met yours, and by God, were they cold and indifferent. His gaze was earth-dark, not empty and not grounding, like land that dried up anything that grew on it.
What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to stop halfway to address you. You tensed, this has never happened before. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t. You couldn’t stand the way he stared at you because it always made you flinch. It was dark and dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” San questioned tersely, voice carrying a hint of irritation he tried to hide with courtesy. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Hongjoong was your guard. “Your Majesty,” you mumbled through the intimidation. “Forgive my impudence. I was merely wondering if I could invite you for a cup of tea—”
“Answer my question,” he interrrupted, cutting you off cleanly like a blade that just hit fresh grass. His eyes were narrowed, unblinking and unyielding.
“My King,” Choi Jongho, the King’s royal advisor, whispered subtly. “Perhaps we ought to calm down, the people are looking our way—”
San lifted one finger, effectively silencing his own advisor with a subtle threat that carried the promise of ruin as if he’d already planned his end if he let one more word out. All while his eyes were still on you. “Hongjoong,” he repeated. “Where is he?”
You swallowed, your tongue suddenly heavy. “Hongjoong didn’t need to accompany me,” you said carefully. “I was on my way to see you, Your Majesty, so I dismissed him.”
San stilled, and so did you. He wasn’t pleased with your answer, but he didn’t look the least surprised by it. In fact, he didn’t even care. “I see,” was all he said, and the way he uttered it sounded more like an afterthought rather than an acknowledgement.
Then, he started walking past you again. It wasn’t dramatic, he had just already decided you were not worth another second of his attention. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to bow to him once more as heat and shame traveled to your face at his blatant dismissal of you.
It wasn’t because you feared him. You stopped fearing him a long time ago, and if you were being honest, you never had any reason to fear him or be intimidated by him to begin with simply because he barely acknowledged your presence, anyway.
“Do not loiter around the Great Halls,” he spoke, cold and uncaring. “Next time, send a message if you have something you wish to tell me. You serve no purpose being idle around here.”
You were used to his disdain he reserved solely for you, but still, that stung more than you let on. It was the way he said it, too, that made you feel worse. It was meant to haunt your thoughts, the kind that followed you even after he was gone.
You stood there, hands clasped, head bowed, letting the echo of his footsteps fade down the corridor. You felt a hand to your shoulder and it was Jongho. He gave you a tight-lipped smile that was meant to comfort you, squeezing your shoulder once as his eyes shone with that familiar pity that everyone also gave you when the king talked down on you like he always did.
“Don’t take it to heart,” he said with a small sigh, eyes on the corridor that San had turned. “He’s…it’s not like that, he didn’t mean it like that.”
You hummed, nodding out of courtesy. “I suppose,” you mumbled, barely audible. “Just like the tens of thousands of times he’s done it.”
Because you did try, you always did. You tried doing your part to get along with the man you were going to spend your earthly years with in this castle, and you had hoped foolishly that he'd meet you halfway all the time, but all you’ve been getting was contempt. Mingi stayed silent, for even he cannot deny that you were right.
“Let me accompany you to your chambers, my lady,” he kindly offered. “Supper will commence shortly. I would suppose you’d like to rest for a bit before then.”
“There is no need,” you mumbled quietly, smiling softly. “I can find my way back. And I’m going to have to decline supper for tonight, my appetite has gone away. Would you be so kind to send our dear chef my regards? Yeosang’s food is always splendid, just not tonight, I’m afraid.”
Jongho frowned, hesitant, before sighing. “As you wish, my lady. I bid you a good night.”
You curtsied quickly, turning the other direction to walk away. However, instead of going to your chambers, you chose to turn to another hallway, opting to take a walk to clear your head and your muddled thoughts.
The massive window at the end of the corridors always fascinated you. It was where you went when you had to think and today was no exception. You glanced outside, watching as endless snow fell from the sky. The hallways felt colder to you. San felt colder. Much colder.
A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t even dare dream stepping inside a palace, much less the one that San ruled. You still remember the first time you arrived and the first time you laid eyes on the man you were about to wed, but always put a wall in between you.
Poverty and famine had struck the lands where you were born and raised. You were used to it - born into it - but at least there was once a time where you lived on a quaint farm with your parents. But alas, famine chooses no one. It takes and takes, and your parents were no exception to that fate.
And you tried to sustain the farm, tried your very best to make the best of yourself under the dire circumstances you were handed, but it wasn’t enough. Drought had struck the land, crops died, and plague had seemingly struck what little poultry and bovine you raised. It was painful, but you had to leave your farm and village all together. You weren’t going to die along with it.
It wasn’t easy; none of it was. You had just lost both of your parents and your hometown all in the span of a month and you were a lone traveling girl looking for the next best thing without falling prey to thieves and vagabonds looking for their next victim.
But there was only so much you can take. Food was scarce, begging wasn’t an option any longer, and the streets weren’t the most conducive place to sleep most nights. Winter was coming and the chills weren’t helping your sore feet and empty stomach.
Giving up wasn’t so terrible back then because at least, you could tell your maker that you had at least tried to survive - that you were a fighter who was just given a bad hand in life.
If you were going to perish from fatigue and hunger, though, you at least wanted to go where the air wasn’t thick with grief and suffering. If this was the end, you wanted it to be somewhere that at least looked like peace, even if you’d never quite managed to feel it.
And then, you remembered that there was a nearby kingdom that was rumoured to be surrounded with so much snow, it was impossible to see through it. You’ve never seen snow before. With your remaining money, you bought a horse and settled for the journey onto this unknown kingdom.
“Just a moment,” the man you bought the horse from stopped you just as you were about to leave. “Where did you say you were going again?”
You hesitated, not because you were keeping your journey a secret, but the look in this man’s face seemed to tell you that he knew and was just confirming if he heard you right. “That kingdom that’s nearby here,” you finally answered. “The one in the snow.”
His eyes widened in shock before they drooped with something akin to alarm and trepidation all at once. “Oh, dear child, must you go? Are you not privy to the curse that lay in that land?”
The Kingdom of Utopia, but nobody called it that; they say that if you utter even the kingdom’s name, then the curse that befell there would be placed upon you. Such a beautiful name for a place no one can speak out loud.
Such a contradictory name for something that was anything but utopia.
Because the snow never melted. Not in the summer, not under the brightest suns. Snow covered the entire expanse of the land and it made inhabiting it near impossible. Some believed that the snow swallowed flames, and some believed the kingdom had been punished by the heavens themselves. No one knew the truth, and no one dared to go and find out.
“If that is the case,” you wondered out loud as you loaded what little of your belongings on your newly purchased horse. “Then why don’t the people just leave if it was so cursed?”
“Because they can’t,” the man answered, shivering slightly, though not because of the breeze that passed. “Once you get in, there is no way out. The snow is so thick and harsh that your soul would be gone from your body way before your foot can even attempt to step out. The people are trapped in there, my dear. I suggest traveling somewhere else.”
You were startled out of your memories when you heard a cough behind you. You turned around, expecting to find a servant who was wondering what the future queen was doing loitering around the halls, but you sighed in relief when you saw who it was instead.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Wooyoung chuckled, bowing his head slightly in curtsy. “Sir Hongjoong was a tad bit worried when you didn't come back to your chambers, my lady.”
You smiled in fondness. “I just wanted a bit of space, is all,” you said with a small shrug. “I needed time to think about certain things.”
A certain someone, you didn’t want to say, but Wooyoung already knew. His smile dropped slightly, eyes shining with sadness only you knew what for. “I know you’ve heard this all before,” he began. “But you have to extend a bit of understanding towards His Majesty. He’s…been through a lot, my lady. I implore you to forgive him.”
“I am far from angry at him,” you softly replied with a sigh. “I…just wish he’d drop his walls with me once in a while. It was my fault, I was the one who bothered him.”
“Nonsense, my lady,” Wooyoung quickly spoke, shaking his head vigorously. “You are his betrothed, you are allowed to bother him. Worry not, it’ll get better in time.” He extends a hand to you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers, then?”
You nodded, putting your hand on top of his. Everyone always rushed to defend San whenever events like earlier happen, and you get it, Utopia did have its reputation and rumours after all.
But that’s all there was to it - rumours. Tales that are passed through taverns and alleyways to spook or entertain a wandering traveler. It wasn’t to frighten you. You’ve experienced the true horrors of what an actual curse is, and it took away everything you loved and held dear.
These were the thoughts that you couldn’t help but think the entire time Wooyoung led you to your room; your journey where it all began and why sometimes, you couldn’t even be mad at San whenever he deliberately dismissed you.
The entire journey, you were beginning to doubt everything. The biting chill of the snowstorm that hit your skin was almost painful . You’d think that the cold would’ve numbed you by now, but no. The more you traversed the land and the nearer you got, the more prickling it felt. It was like the snow was slowly sloughing your skin off until it reached your bones.
The kingdom was near enough where you didn’t have to stop and camp, but it was too late to go back by then. Grief and stubbornness lead you to where you were, knee deep in so much snow, your poor horse had a hard time crossing through it. Your fingers throbbed, your jaw ached, and your eyes watered from the sting of air that wished to carve itself into you.
Maybe they were right, because this was no ordinary weather - this was the land, itself, warning you. Coldness like this was meant to resent anybody that dared challenge it, and you were the fool who looked it in the eye and took it, anyway.
By a long shot of miracle, somehow, you managed to make it, though you were barely hanging on to the fact that you at least wanted to see if you could find a place for your horse to stay. It was your fault that it was put in this situation anyway. If not for your foolishness, it would have still been in another kingdom where it was warmer.
You were falling apart, you could tell, your senses were beginning to dull, and your already weakened state wasn’t helping at all. You found an empty alleyway, and the moment you hit the wall, your knees gave out, puffs of visible breath leaving out your mouth.
This was the end, you could feel it. You took this time to actually look at your surroundings now that you’re not moving. It was hard to regret it now that you’re here. Snow was beautiful, there was no other way to describe it. The texture of it felt funny in your hand, too. You were expecting it to feel fluffier. Still, it didn’t diminish its beauty and you didn’t mind.
You could see the castle walls from where you slumped, the pale outline of it through the white haze, where it housed the darker side of the rumours you’ve been told right before you traveled.
It was the king. Choi San. He was the centre of the rumours right where it all began, the very reason why they say Utopia was cursed. Some say that he was a demon who brought on the snow to isolate his kingdom. Most believed that the land that the castle was built upon was sacred and that the Choi clan did not heed the warnings and sent this was the punishment - that the snow itself was the everlasting famine destined to freeze everyone in it.
But the cruelest rumour of them all was that San, himself, might have been the source of the curse. People say that he sold his soul for eternal youth and immense power so long as the kingdom around him froze.
You didn’t care, not anymore. All you wanted was to see something pretty before you went and this was more than enough for you. “Go on, pretty girl,” you whispered back then, patting the horse and encouraging it to find shelter. “You don’t belong out here. Go before you freeze.”
You shivered, feeling the cold even in your memories as Wooyoung opened the door for you with the practiced elegance of someone born to serve royalty. He helped you unfasten the heavier layers of your gown, and laid out your nightgown with gentle efficiency.
He turned away as you changed, always respectful and always giving you space, and when you slipped beneath the thick fur-lined blankets, he moved around the room to tidy what the maids had missed.
You watched him idly, noticing the flowers he was fixing in the embellished vase on your nightstand. Winter heathers. You knew of them from the occasional winters that hit your old village, the soft lilac bells that bloomed in spite of the frost that covered them and survived.
Something in the sight of them warmed you. This was one of the few things that made this cold kingdom bearable - there was always a different arrangement of flowers each night that Wooyoung fixed for you. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”
Wooyoung stilled for a heartbeat before offering you a soft smile. “I only arrange them, my lady,” he said lightly, brushing a petal with the tip of his finger. “I do not choose them.”
You lifted your gaze toward him, curiosity sparking. “Rest well, my lady,” he dipped into a graceful bow, opening the door to depart. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
You lay still, the soft weight of the blankets warming skin that had once been thinned by cold wind and hunger. It was strange to experience all the good things that life was now offering you. Back then, you were ready to close your eyes for the last time; content with surrendering because fighting had simply become exhausting.
But fate, as always, had a way of intervening before you took even one more step toward surrender. You remembered watching as the horse trotted away. Satisfied, you tried to close your eyes, but you were confused when you saw a figure standing where your horse was.
And you were even more confused when they started bundling you up with multiple layers of clothing that felt heavy on your tired body, like the luxurious blankets covering you right now. It wasn’t enough to stop your teeth from chattering, but it was enough to keep you at bay for now.
“You’re not supposed to be out here. You’re almost at death’s door,” they mumbled, tucking the thick wool coat snugly on your body, sympathy lining their voice. “Where is your home? I will take you there. The storm is about to turn into a blizzard soon.”
You peeled your eyes open, realising that the person talking to you was a man. He was tall, decently good-looking, with eyes that naturally radiated tenderness as he stared at your pitiful form. And even in your state, you could sense that he was no ordinary man.
“A mage. Who would’ve thought?” You laughed to yourself feebly, staring into his surprised eyes. “And I’ve no home. I am but a wandering traveler who has given up on life.”
He paused, pity in his eyes that observed your face for any signs of jest and deceit. He sighed deeply, dropping down to a squat to meet your gaze. “Though I am curious as to why you’d choose to be in our lands, it doesn’t have to be like that. I can help you.”
You hummed, shaking your head. “I’m going to have to decline, kind Sir,” you sincerely declined. “If you want to help, maybe help my horse. I would hate for her to freeze in your lands.”
It was then where his face completely fell into utter despair at your words. He took his fur-lined head covering, gently putting it on you. Your heartstrings tugged seeing this random stranger’s act of kindness towards someone like you.
“Oh, you poor child,” he clicked his tongue, pursing his lips, his calculating eyes turning just a tad bit sharper. “Even in dire circumstances, you care about an animal rather than yourself. You’re something special. I’ll help your horse if you let me help you.”
“What’s the catch?”
He tilted his head, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Smart girl,” he chuckled. “I have a proposition for you. We are desperate for help, you see, and I believe you’re the perfect person for it.”
He gets up, dusting the snow that had begun to line his pants, offering his hand to you. “Just know that even if you say no, I will still help you find food and shelter. Contrary to what the outsiders say…we’re not heartless monsters. How far would you go?”
You stared at his outstretched hand. Your heart was divided. This man didn’t give off any malicious aura and something deep in you told you to walk into the light he was offering. “Anything,” you said. “You’re asking a person who has nothing and everything to lose.”
His brows lifted with respect, a flicker of impressed astonishment softened the sharpness of his gaze. “Anything?” He repeated, quieter this time.
You nodded once. “Anything,” you confirmed. “Why me?”
His expression warmed, the corners of his mouth lifting with a kind of earnest admiration. “When I touched you earlier, I saw a small glimpse of your past,” he said, his eyes glowing unnaturally golden and fiery that it felt like looking straight into the flames of the sun, surprising you. “You’ve lost everything, yet you still chose to fight. That tells me everything I need to know about you.”
He extended his hand a little nearer. “One condition,” you said, taking his hand without hesitation. “What might be the name of the mage who decided to help a poor soul like mine?”
“You may call me Yunho,” his smile deepened with a touch of relief as he wrapped his bigger hand around yours, warmth instantly flooding your body. “Now, shall we change your fate?”
After a warm meal and even warmer clothes, you were all set. What you didn’t expect was for Yunho to take you inside the castle, leading you directly where you knew the ruler of the land would be. You stiffened and Yunho took great notice of this.
“I know this might be surprising, but I promise you, no harm will come to you. Not while I’m here,” he gently explained. “And I know that the rumours about My Majesty don't really help, but please believe me, none of them hold any merit. He’s not like that.”
But you didn’t have time to think about it, because Yunho was already opening the ornate doors of the throne room, his hand on your lower back as he led you inside. You wanted to ogle at the glory and beauty of the room, but your world stilled at the sight before you.
San.
He was seated upon his throne, looking every bit the ruler whispered about in fearful legends. The way he sat - still and predatory - gave the unsettling impression that he saw far more than what lay before him. His throne was illuminated with torches, yet somehow, he shone far more.
Your breath caught in your throat, not with fear, but with awe. He was enormous, both physically and imposingly so, his broad shoulders wrapped with wool and fur that was so white, it looked like he made it out of the very snow that covered his entire kingdom. His long legs were crossed, one elbow leaned on the armrest, a finger to his temple as he stared on.
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink nor shift his posture when you and Yunho entered. And he was unfairly handsome. With his sculpted jaw and high cheekbones that complimented the way his raven hair was pulled away from his face, he was the epitome of royalty. And his eyes - God, those eyes - they were dark and unreadable.
It was then that it hit you - you thought that storm outside was cold, but it was nothing compared to the man sitting before you.
“Jeong Yunho,” he said, his voice monotonous yet a lot more melodious than you thought. Such a juxtaposition, it was difficult to explain. “What is the meaning of this?”
He gazed at you once, but didn’t bother to greet nor acknowledge you, and you were completely fine with that. You didn’t know how you’d respond. Yunho bowed his head slightly. “I believe I have found the solution to our plight, San,” he gestures to you. “This is Y/N, she will help us.”
You raised a brow not only at the lack of title when Yunho referred to San but also at the mention of your name you knew for a fact you didn’t tell him. Silence enveloped the room before San spoke again. “She is not of this land,” he scrutinised flatly. “Why should she?”
The air tightened around you. You had no idea how he knew you weren’t from here. San uncrossed his legs, the gesture itself regal in all its glory, placing both his elbows on his knees before leaning forward. “Does she even know,” he continued, his gaze lingering on you for another second still devoid of warmth. “What she’s helping for, Yunho?”
He wasn’t challenging you, nor was he doubting you. He simply found your presence illogical and out of place, like you weren’t even supposed to be entertaining any of this. You fisted your dress, side-eyeing Yunho with nervousness because the king wasn’t wrong - you actually had no idea what you were doing here. God, you were such an idiot.
But what made it worse was San's indifference. You weren’t the only one surprised - he was too, it seemed. You weren’t the only one who’s given up every possibility out there.
Because San needed a bride, a queen to rule beside him. Not out of romance or even lineage, but more for desperation and legitimacy. San sat on the throne, yes, but he was but a king in title only. No other kingdoms wanted to acknowledge a king and a kingdom without a queen.
It was an ancient law older than the snow that blanketed the land, and the surrounding nations used that as justification to dismiss Utopia entirely, and used San’s half-recognised reign as a shield to reject him. They needed allies, an alliance, treaties, aid when the need arose, trade routes to sustain the people and their living - and they needed a queen to make it happen.
Yunho knew this. Everyone in the castle knew this. And it wasn’t like they didn’t try, because they did. They searched high and low both in and out of the kingdom and even the country as a whole just for that missing key to make San completely legitimate.
The problem lay in San’s complete isolation and rumoured reign. Princesses from neighbouring countries outright rejected the offer, noble daughters chose to flee to distant relatives, even regular people of foreign countries didn’t bother with a reply, and they all said the same thing - no one wanted to associate themselves with the cursed king and his frozen kingdom.
But there was one type of cruelty that cut deeper than the rest, because even the people of Utopia refused to marry him. Not the nobles, not the merchants, not the commoners. They simply didn’t want to share the fate of a king rumoured to be the heart of the snow.
And you - you who had simply wanted to find a beautiful resting place - you were never meant to be an option. Yet, here you were, standing before a king whose crown was true and real, but whose authority was hollow without any respect.
“You will be taken care of, treated fair and just with all the respect you deserve to have,” Yunho calmly explained albeit the hidden desperation that lined his eyes. “Please, Y/N, we really need your help. The lack of allies will always pose a danger to our people and the snow…our food supply can only rotate so much because we have no functioning farms.”
You bit your lip, thinking. Hours ago, you had completely resigned to your fate and now, you were being offered a second chance in life you would have completely leapt at had it been given to you weeks prior. It wasn’t even because you were chosen, it was because you were the only one who stepped willingly into the snow when everyone else fled from it.
But, at what cost and to what extent? On one hand, you meant what you said earlier - you had absolutely nothing to lose, but this time, you had everything to gain. But at the same time, you were about to bind yourself to a king nobody wanted to associate themselves with.
You lifted your eyes to look at the said king, almost jumping out of your skin when you saw that he was already staring back at you. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even particularly expressive. He was simply looking; assessing and measuring something only he understood.
Though the intensity of it spiked anxiety in you, you found it fascinating. He was being handed the solution to his problems as a king on a silver platter and yet, he wasn’t the least bothered by it. Like he had truly given up and didn’t care for what was to come anymore. Exactly like you.
Your spine straightened before you even realized it. “Alright,” you whispered. “I’ll do it.”
Relief washed over Yunho’s features so strongly he almost looked emotional. “Thank you,” he breathed out, grabbing your hands. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much this means to us and the people of Utopia. We will be forever in your debt.”
He turned to San, practically pleading for approval with his eyes, but the latter didn’t move. He didn’t even look like he was breathing - he just stared at you.
And stared. And stared some more. He stared at you so long that the air completely became awkward and your legs actually started to ache from how long you were stared at. He stared at you long after the sun had started to sink into the horizon. It was long enough that Yunho started to fidget uncomfortably, letting out an uncomfortable laugh to break the silence. “Uhm, San—”
“Silence,” San muttered. It wasn’t even loud. In fact, he said it so flatly that it was almost astounding. “I’m thinking.”
You tried to swallow down the uncomfortable knot forming in your throat. You had no idea what he was thinking about, or why it took so long, or what he saw when he looked at you. But eventually, after one final, unreadable sweep of his eyes over you, San spoke.
“Once you stay here,” he said. “You can never leave. Literally. The snow will prevent you. Are you sure you want to surrender yourself to me?”
To me. The way he said it made your pulse spike. He wasn’t threatening you, by all means - in fact, it even sounds like he was giving you a way out. He simply stated it as an inevitable truth, as if stepping into his world meant stepping into his possession by default. You were about to belong to him, body and soul, and something about that made your insides feel hot and heavy.
“Does this mean I’ll never see what lies outside this kingdom anymore?” You asked, throat dry.
San’s eyes clouded with the first emotion you’ve seen in him ever since meeting him - hesitance, and dare you say, perhaps a little of hope somewhere in there. But, it only lasted for a second before his eyes flashed back to that indifference.
“You won’t survive it,” he said plainly, turning his head a little to stare at the never-ending snow that fell from the darkening sky. “No one does, and believe me, people have tried.”
Your chest tightened at the insinuation. The people have tried to flee and fail. Still, you have made up your mind. “I am willing.”
He leaned back on his seat, face unreadable, before settling into that stance where he was staring at you again. And after a terrifying heartbeat, he nods stiffly. “Very well,” was he all said before you were dismissed.
And true to his words, you were welcomed. Quite warmly, if you may say so, compared to the harsh winters that the kingdom enveloped you in. You were treated fairly like you belonged here, just as Yunho had said, given your own chambers and even your own personal attendant, Jung Wooyoung - a male since unfortunately, not one family wanted to send their daughters to even work in the palace, but that's alright for you. You loved Wooyoung, and he loved you.
You were even assigned a personal guard, Kim Hongjoong, a valiant man who had sworn his life serving you. A good man, a genuinely good one. A feast was held in your name, of the woman who had finally agreed to marry into the frozen kingdom. The chef, Kang Yeosang, personally made sure to serve your favourite dishes, which you appreciated.
Indeed, you were treated like a future queen. Or the woman destined to be cursed with the one and only Choi San.
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones. The irony of it all lay in what everybody believed in, because we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are. San wore a crown, but he was no king in his people’s eyes.
Except for his closest confidants and the ones who lived in the palace, the people who saw San saw differently. They followed but you can see the fear in their eyes. They have been so conditioned to believe that the reason the snow never stopped and why they can never leave was because of their own king, and that’s what they choose to see.
And as for San, you barely saw him, never really spending time with him other than talking about diplomacy and Utopia’s upcoming legitimacy as a kingdom. There were no gentle introductions and no attempts at familiarity with one another.
San never sought you out for anything beyond what was politically required. Every meeting he held with you was purposeful, efficient, and centered only on matters of state, and every time he did talk, he never really did look you in the eye, voice always teetering on that formal and clipped tone as if you were nothing more than an ally - which in hindsight, you were.
“You may do the wedding planning in whatever way you wish, including the theme if that pleases you,” San explained one afternoon, hands clasped behind his back as he stood near a window. “I do not expect you to be the perfect queen right on the get go, and that is fine.”
He stated it like a transaction, not a life-altering commitment. “Yes, Your Highness,” you mumbled, discomfort crawling under your skin at how stiff this entire exchange was.
Another time, he spoke to you about Utopia’s fragile diplomatic standing. “You will help stabilize the kingdom by simply existing by my side,” he said without malice, just pointedly, eyes on political letters he’s yet to send. He slides one to you, handing you a quill. “Sign this.”
You swallowed, grabbing the quill from his hand, freezing right after. Usually, he’d go back to whatever he was doing after making you do something politically inclined. That and he always kept you at a careful and deliberate distance every time, anyway.
However, this time, you took such a long time doing what he told you to do that he paused, gazing up at you with those sharp eyes. “Is there something the matter?” He asked, tone courteous and polite, but hollow and impersonal. “Something not to your liking?”
You avoided eye contact, not out of fear, but of shame, cheeks reddening against your will. “That’s not it, Your Majesty,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “I-I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to write. I never had the opportunity to practice. My parents needed help with our farm back then.”
There was something so incredibly embarrassing and belittling about admitting your illiteracy in general, let alone in front of somebody as articulate and well-spoken as San. You sighed, rolling on your bed, the shame still fresh in your memory. It was a stark reminder of who you really were before Yunho found you in that alleyway - a peasant who struck gold.
San did not respond at first, only staring at you, arms crossing over his chest, shoulders sinking back into his chair. Then, he turns his head slightly to his left, to Jongho who you forgot was with you back then. “Call Mingi,” he instructed flatly. “Effective immediately.”
Jongho comes back with another man in tow, someone you’ve seen with San once in a while during his meetings. San gestured vaguely in your direction. “I have a task for you,” he said. “Teach her basic literacy, and teach her well. Include the laws of the land if you must and other foundational studies.”
It was said so bluntly that you felt heat rush up your neck. But it wasn’t his tone that bothered you the most, it was the way he spoke as if you weren’t even in the room, as though you weren’t standing right there. Then he added, “A queen must at least be able to sign her own name.”
You gritted your teeth, reaching over to touch the winter heathers on your nightstand gently to forget how San made that sound so harsh. “You are dismissed,” he ordered, flicking his fingers at you, already turning back to his documents, already forgetting the sting he didn’t even know he imparted at you.
You followed Mingi out into the hall, quiet and a little stiff. “Don’t take it to heart, my lady,” he murmured with sympathy as he guided you down the corridor. “His Majesty has a way with words that makes everything sound harsher than they actually are.”
You let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I noticed.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Mingi continued gently. “He simply didn’t know how to soften his words…especially around you. That doesn’t mean he sees you as lesser.”
That, you believed in. You still do. You didn’t take it personally then, and you still didn’t take it personally now. You couldn’t because he was right - this was simply how San was. However, one thing he never did, no matter how standoffish he was, was belittle you.
San was the type of man who matched your pace but kept a respectful gap, enough that your sleeves never brushed whenever you walked beside him, always keeping you at arm’s length.
There were times where Yunho would try to leave you alone with him to build rapport, but San would just squint his eyes as if he had just been told something so insulting. “Unnecessary,” he would dismiss with a cold edge that cut deep. “No need to deceive ourselves into thinking this union would be more than anything but political. I have better things to do.”
He was brash, that much was true. And yet, despite all that, he never treated you poorly. He never raised his voice, never belittled your inexperience or mocked your illiteracy and never crossed any boundary you hadn’t explicitly offered.
None of this was meant to be romantic, and you reminded yourself of that often. Still, there were moments where his distance stung in ways you hadn’t prepared for. As cold as the kingdom was, there was something even colder about being wanted only for what you could fix.
You sighed, blowing out the candles plunging the room into darkness, the soft scent of winter heather relaxing your senses as you sank deeper into the pillows, your thoughts drifting away as your eyes started to slowly close.
You tried your best to fit in, but sometimes, it was hard to offer warmth to a man who was determined to stay frozen.
You supposed that Wooyoung mentioned that tomorrow was going to be a long day, because he was absolutely right in that regard.
You had made up your mind to stay and read in your chambers all day, but imagine your surprise when Jongho delivered a letter to you, the surprise growing bigger when you realised that San personally wrote it, almost passing out in ultimate shock when you read it and saw that San was inviting you for supper.
There you were, not knowing how to fully react as you sat at the end of the long table directly across San, who sat on the other end. You’ve never had a meal with San alone. Meals usually composed of you along with other nobles to discuss politics and diplomacy issues regarding the kingdom, but never like this.
You cleared your throat. “Your Majesty.”
His gaze lifted, sharp and immediate, like he had been waiting for you to speak all along. “Yes?”
You faltered, already shrinking under the weight of his gaze on you. “I would like to thank you for your generosity,” you said, sounding small in the vast dining hall. “I wasn’t expecting a summon, is all.”
San set down his silverware. He didn’t seem offended, it was more like he was choosing what not to say. “Should I assume,” he began, tone neutral, yet biting. “That a simple supper with me is too much to ask of you?”
Visible shock fills your features, your eyes widening slightly before controlling them just like Wooyoung and Mingi had taught you. “That is not what I mean, Your Grace,” you tried to explain, but he didn’t relent.
“We are to be bound together soon,” he huffed, not softening a bit. “I would like to reduce the unfamiliarity at least even though this is nothing out of necessity. Nothing more.”
Your chest tightened at the bluntness, at the clinical way he spoke his words. Everyone’s words suddenly echoed in your head - that San never intended cruelty, that he simply spoke sharply naturally, but sometimes, it was difficult to grasp. It was difficult to not let the words sting you.
A sigh left your lips, picking up your fork to resume eating. But before you could do so, you saw him pick up a plate that was in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist that was far too sharp to be gentle, pushed it towards you. It stopped directly in front of you and all you could do was stare at it confused before you lifted your gaze towards him.
“Well?” San raised a brow as if daring you to waste his time by not moving. “The food isn’t going to serve itself. Eat.”
You stiffened. The sentence sounded harsh, unnecessarily so, and it was so him. But then, so quietly you almost missed it, you heard him mumble under his breath, “The fish is still warm. I am sure it will please you.”
He didn’t look at you after saying it. He simply resumed eating while all you could do was stare at him, not knowing exactly what to feel. Hesitant, you took a piece of the fish, not expecting much, but the moment it touched your tongue, your breath stilled.
Because it was perfect. You didn’t mean it was perfectly seasoned or cooked, but because it was cooked and tasted exactly the way it was made back in your village before disaster struck. You never thought you’d ever experience this again and you didn’t know what to make of it.
A strange, aching warmth bloomed in your chest, so vivid you almost forgot where you were and who you were with. “How? This is…” you trailed off before you could stop yourself. Home, your mind automatically supplied, this tasted like home.
You gazed back at him, heart leaping when you saw he was already staring at you. His lips were pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed as if you were bothering him by asking. “Jongho had mentioned once that your village had plenty of fish,” he stated flatly.
You lowered your gaze to the plate again, heart thudding. “It’s very thoughtful of you,” you murmured absentmindedly, confused because you would have never mentioned something that personal to Jongho. You clearly remembered telling Wooyoung, though.
San scoffed under his breath, his dark eyes sharply lingering a moment longer on you than usual before he started eating again, effectively ending the conversation, leaving you wondering if he was uncomfortable rather than indifferent about the whole marriage aspect between you.
Nothing eventful happened the entire supper. There was no warmth, but there wasn’t any coldness either, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did feel a little too hollow for your liking. The only thing in the air was the clinking of utensils and their scraping every time they hit the plate.
Dinner ended quietly just like you expected it to. “Thank you for the meal, Your Grace,” you stood, bowing your head politely at him. “I will be taking my leave now. I bid you good night. ”
You were about to make your way towards the door, careful not to step on your heavy lace-lined dress, when San’s voice rang through the hall. “Wait.”
You froze, not expecting it. The command cut cleanly through the room, it wasn’t loud nor urgent, but it sounded firm and absolute that your body halted by itself before your mind could catch up. You looked back at him, startled at the sudden call.
San hadn’t moved far; he stood with one hand resting on the back of his chair, posture regal even in stillness. His chin lifted imperceptibly toward the center of the table. “Take those,” he said.
You blinked, confused. He sighed, brows furrowing as he moved his hand this time to gesture towards the table again, perhaps irritated at the aspect of having to repeat himself. “The flowers,” he insisted, annoyed. “Take them. The arrangement, take all of them.”
You slowly turned your head, your eyes training to what he was pointing out. You raised your brows in mild surprise. Lenten roses. You didn’t even notice them earlier, too focused on San and the fish you ate with all delight.
“They will wilt if they are left here, and they would have been plucked out for nothing,” he spoke bluntly with that clinical precision you’ve come to know him for as if everything was nothing but a trivial matter. “If you appreciate them, take them. Otherwise they serve no purpose.”
You walked back to the table, trying not to flinch at San watching your every movement. You couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers lightly touched the edge of each petal. You’ve always loved flowers, especially here where everything was white and barren. The flowers brought colour and joy.
You lifted the vase carefully, gathering the flowers in your arms. “T-Thank you, I will take care of them,” you whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t reply. He only gestured one curt nod, already returning his gaze to the falling snow outside the window. There was something in his eyes then, something you couldn’t fully gauge, but before you could think about it, he was already walking away, closing the door behind him, leaving you to think about what you thought you heard him whisper before he left.
“I am sure you will.”
You left the dining hall with the lenten roses cradled gently against your chest, their subtle fragrance following you down the corridor, smiling to yourself, careful not to tug on the petals as they brushed against the material of your dress.
It was how Hongjoong saw you, the gallant knight beaming as he approached you. “My, what seems to make my lady smile like this?” His eyes looked at the flowers in your hands, eyes twinkling with understanding. “Those are beautiful. May I hold them for you while I escort you to your chambers?”
You smiled wider, appreciating the kind words. Hongjoong was one of the first people you met when you settled in Utopia. He was gentle, reliable, fiercely protective, and you found yourself being attached to him quickly. “How was supper with His Majesty?” He asked.
“It was good, thank you,” you answered truthfully. “A little stiff, and he’s…well, he’s him.”
Hongjoong nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean,” he exhaled, pausing a little in thought before he continued. “My Majesty…he’s carrying a lot. I would lay my life on the line for him. I know it’s hard to believe, my lady, but I can assure you he means well. He’s a good man.”
“It’s quite alright, Sir Hongjoong, I understand,” you said, pursing your lips. “I am here for one purpose only and I will fulfill it. What Your Majesty and I have is nothing short of political. He’s very decent to me so far, and I suppose he’s not required to go beyond that decency.”
But as you put the roses on your nightstand, replacing the winter heathers that have started to wilt, sometimes, you couldn’t help but imagine a different scenario; one where San’s eyes weren’t shrouded in frost, one where he might be that warmth in the midst of the snowstorm.
The thought of it made the tips of your ears red, heat spreading through your cheeks down to your neck. Snap out of it, you thought. The king was good-looking, devastatingly so, and admittedly, had the situation been different, he was actually your type.
Unfortunately, the lenten roses have also started to wilt. You would never admit that you noticed each stage of it, that every morning you checked the vase before you checked the mirror. You wouldn’t admit that it bothered you. Enough time had passed where you noticed that something had changed, both for good and bad reasons.
“I know it might not seem like it because, well, the snow,” Wooyoung chuckled weakly one morning, looking at the window with worry. “But Christmas always seems to bring out the best in people and we tend to celebrate it the best we can. I promise you’ll love it, my lady.”
The snow began to fall harder; harder than you’ve seen it. Christmas time apparently always brought the harshest storms, but it didn’t stop everyone from decorating the entire castle with the familiar hollies and tapestries that brought a little colour and life in the usually grey castle.
“I believe it,” you smiled, hanging some ivy and a couple of ribbons in your chambers, which Jongho had so kindly brought. “Do you…think the king will let me decorate his chambers?”
Both Jongho and Wooyoung froze, looking at each in worry before the latter cleared his throat. “Best to avoid His Highness during this time, my lady,” he said quietly. “His mood is particularly…delicate at this time of the year, especially.”
You raised a brow. Apparently, the storms weren’t the only thing that was harsh during Christmas. “What? Why? Does he not like Christmas?”
“It’s not that. He’s just crankier and unapproachable, that’s all,” Jongho admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Best not to test him, my lady.”
You tried to celebrate with everyone, noticing that everyone seemed to look forward to your presence every time you went around the castle. The servants seemed to be brighter in spirit, more than the usual, their smiles wider, the merry tunes of Christmas filling in the hallways that actually made you forget about your worries. You were actually happy for once.
“It is because Christmas actually gives the people a reason to like the snow,” Mingi patiently explained one day in the middle of your lessons. “And the queen’s presence gives the people strength, a pillar to look up on in the king’s absence.”
You weren’t good with reading and writing yet, but you were getting there. Christmas wasn’t an exception for you to skip out on your studies. Not that you minded, Mingi was a wonderful mentor and you genuinely did enjoy learning from the knowledgeable man.
“May I know the reason why His Majesty is to be avoided during this time?” You asked, holding your quill just like he taught you. “Everyone seems to refuse to talk about it.”
Mingi turns silent. After a while, he gently grabs your quill, handing you a book instead. “Shall we move on to economics, my lady?” He suggested, changing the topic, his eyes silently begging you to let the conversation go.
You faltered, mildly surprised at the blatant avoidance of the topic. You tried, you really did, not to think about San and respect what everyone kept saying, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the elephant in the room. You nodded slowly, taking the book, and that was that.
Of course you’ve noticed that San was nowhere to be seen. The throne room was avoided like it contained the plague, itself. His study was left untouched and even Seonghwa didn’t dare enter it even for more military planning. The servants paled, pretending they had urgent business elsewhere, which always prompted either Yeosang or Jongho to personally deliver his meals.
Nobody was telling you anything. Whether it was because you were an outsider or they were doing it for your protection, you didn’t know. You were left in the middle of it and you couldn’t help but feel something twist deep in your guts.
Because this wasn’t normal avoidance. This was fear. It wasn’t the terrified kind, no, but the quiet, heavy, and trained kind - the kind that people develop after years of knowing exactly what triggers a man, and what doesn’t. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.
And of course, this was when you found yourself thinking of him even more. You asked yourself multiple times what happened to him and what made him dislike Christmas. At first, you thought it was because the snow fell harder on the already cursed, snow-covered land that people blamed on him, but seeing how the people acted, it was more than that.
Sure, San had always been especially cold and distant, his walls high and impenetrable, but he was never cruel and never raised his voice at anyone. He had always been intimidating, but you genuinely didn’t understand why this time was different.
What could make an entire palace walk on eggshells around their king? Why did everyone act like Christmas turned him into something dangerous?
Oh, how you wished you knew the answer to this before you started roaming around the castle, hugging your arms to yourself, absentmindedly walking aimlessly with all these thoughts.
Was it the storm that was making San hot-tempered, or was it San’s temper that was bringing on the storm and making it worse?
A heavy gust of wind rattled the castle walls and the frames that were hooked on them, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately. You looked around in worry, realising that you had ventured a bit too far in your absentmindedness.
Your anxiety rose when you also realised that you were near the currently forbidden area - San’s chambers. You’ve never even been in this section of the castle before and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now. Panicking, you quickly turned around to leave.
It wasn’t until you heard it, something spine-chilling enough that it made you stop in your tracks not to listen, but out of surprise and horror. You didn’t have to think hard or even turn around to know that the sound was coming from San’s room.
“Fuck. Fuck. M-Make it stop, please…”
Moans and grunts of pure, raw pain were to be heard all over the corridors, the sound of it echoing ghastly around the walls and bouncing in its agony. You paled, caught off guard, not knowing exactly how to react at what you were hearing.
You jumped up when a loud crash followed by a deep, menacing growl on top of pitiful whimpers resounded after. It was horrifying to listen to. You couldn’t help but put your trembling hands on your mouth, eyes widening at the prospect of San hurt, or worse, someone hurting him in the privacy of his own chambers. He sounded like he was getting tortured.
Panic arose in your head, but even then, you had to force yourself to think. What were you going to do? You had absolutely no idea what was happening behind that door and that, alone, terrified you.
Not the sounds, but the idea of it. What could bring a man like San - the controlled and measured king you knew, the one with walls so high, you couldn’t see through it, the man who barely blinked at his adversaries - down to something feral and desperate?
Do you run? Do you get Jongho? Seonghwa? Yunho? Anyone who knows what to do? And you were going to do exactly that. You pulled your skirts up, ready to sprint for help, but once again, you heard a noise. Something about the primal emotions in his tone tugged at your heartstrings. He was choking, the sound of it wet, low, and trembling.
But most of all, he sounded alone. He sounded terrified. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this. So against your better judgment, against every warning, against everybody who swore you shouldn’t even think about approaching San, and against the fear stuck in your throat, you moved towards his door, your hand already pushing it open.
Nothing could ever prepare you for the destruction that lay all over the room the moment you entered. Everything was in shambles and disarray. Your heart almost wanted to leap out of your chest as you inspected the room, trying to look for the reason why you were even here.
You didn’t see San. But you could hear him. You tried to follow his pained grunts, your feet moving to what you assumed was the bathroom, your insides turning upside down when you realised that he wasn’t just groaning - he was wretching his guts out.
The closer you got, the more distinct the awful, guttural noises became. Your fingertips brushed the doorframe, almost whispering to announce your presence so as to not startle him, but you stopped halfway when you dared to look inside.
San was on his knees, trembling and bracing himself on one arm, his head lurched forward as he gurgled out the contents of his stomach, or the lack thereof. Your heart squeezed painfully seeing the great, cold king of Utopia reduced to such a state.
His usually prim appearance was nowhere to be seen, his hair disheveled and sticking to his skin, damp with sweat, his shirt open to reveal his sculpted chest that convulsed violently as he heaved and coughed so hard that you thought that something inside him was about to break. His other hand clutched the locket he always wore so tight, veins started to pop from his arm.
But that wasn’t the thing that bothered you as much as it worried you. It was his eyes. They were wild, red, and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days - like he hadn’t been himself in days. Your heart cracked, not being able to stop the whimper that crawled up your throat.
His neck snapped up in your direction so quickly, you were terrified for a second, and he froze, eyes widening at the sight of you trembling uselessly by the doorway. For a split second, you saw something in those eyes other than coldness. You were the last person he expected to see.
And he tried to say something to you. You saw his lips part and you saw him process that you were here, in a place you absolutely shouldn’t be, but before he could do so, his body seized again, bending forward brutally to clutch his chest, shoulders curling inward against the pain.
You watched him stand up, feebly supporting himself by gripping the edge of the sink as his quivering legs tried to support his weight. He stared at you with those hazy eyes, almost glaring, using the back of his hands to wipe his mouth. “What are you doing here?” He snarled. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Your body seemed to snap into action, step forward to try and help him. “Your Majesty—”
He slaps your hand away, but it was more of a poor attempt at it, limping past you with great effort. “I asked you a question,” he barked, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, slightly making you flinch. “You shouldn’t be here, didn’t anybody in this godforsaken castle tell you?”
He said it with such contempt, looked at you with so much scorn and disdain that you almost ran away with your tail between your legs, but when his trembling intensified, breath stuttering like his lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe, you made the split decision to surge forward, anyway, gripping his arm to help him walk.
“You’re not well, Your Grace,” you whispered, almost pleading. “Please, let me help.”
A small gasp leaves your lips as your hands wrapped around his bicep. He was warm, warmer than you expected, like sitting in front of a hearth to seek comfort. And he paused, staring at you. Truly staring with something unreadable in his eyes before he shoved you, or tried to.
“Don’t,” he tried to shove you again, his palm weakly trying to rip your hands away from him. His breath hitched, body swaying dangerously to the side before he leaned on the doorframe, eyes boring onto you sharply. “Leave,” he growled, jaw clenched, rage evident in his tone. “Just leave. You’re useless to me.”
It stung that even in his state, he was still pushing you away. You didn’t understand what was happening, and you had a feeling that you still won’t anytime soon, but when he started to stagger forward, you lunged forward to try and catch him before he hit his head on instinct. You didn’t need to know for now. San needed your help.
“Your Majesty, I’m begging you,” you pleaded desperately, pushing up on him and pulling him slightly to help him out of the bathroom. “Stop fighting me, please.”
“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” His hand fisted weakly in the front of your sleeve, as if to shove you away again. Instead, it simply trembled there, powerless.
You didn’t answer, grunting as you guided him towards his disheveled bed. He relents, albeit begrudgingly, sinking onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion. You immediately get to work, finding something to use to wipe his sweaty skin and grimy face to relieve some of the tension that was troubling him.
The bed sank under your weight, and for a second, you hesitated a bit, but when you saw San breaking out in more sweat, the hesitation left. Gently, you dabbed the damp towel all over his skin. You stared from his temples, smoothing his hair out, wiping the residue off his lips as well, down to his neck, careful not to irritate him with the temperature.
You got all the way down to his chest, finally looking at it up close and being mildly surprised at the dark lines that littered all over it. They were black in colour, resembling tree branches that covered his entire torso. They didn’t look natural. Rather, they looked infected and cursed.
It was when San seemed to realise that you were looking at them. You flinched when he suddenly grabbed a blanket to cover his chest, harshly snatching the towel away from your hands to brutally throw it across the room.
It was a sudden burst of fury that seemed to sap all the remaining energy out of him. “Get out,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. His hand flew to the locket around his neck, one that you always thought was just a trinket or an heirloom. “Yunho,” his voice cracked. The moment he mentioned the mage’s name, the locket glowed brightly, pulsing with unnatural energy that made your skin prickle. “Yunho.”
It was magic. You knew it was. Nothing natural glowed like that. And the lines that were strewn all over San’s skin…those weren’t natural either. But they weren’t the angelic magic Yunho had.
Yunho burst in through the doors not even a minute after, panting and looking like he ran a marathon just to get here. His eyes widened in horror the moment they landed on the way San convulsed and shook under the sheets.
“San? Good Lord, San, what—” he began, eyes dropping into something that resembled agony, pity lining his features at the sight of his king suffering under whatever was happening to him. He was about to rush forward, but immediately halted when he saw you.
His eyes went even wider, horror and disbelief flooding every inch of his face. “Y/N, my lady,” he exhaled in utter shock, not even expecting to even see anybody, much less you of all people, to be sitting on San’s bed. “W-Why are you here?”
San grunted in pain once more, prompting Yunho to rush forward, assessing his king and the damage that he endured. Yunho’s face crumpled. “My lady,” he said over his shoulder without looking at you, tone gentle but firm. “Please. You must leave. Now.”
If there was anyone who knew what to do, it was Yunho. You watched him for a moment, watched his hands hover over the king’s body as they glowed blue, the magic flowing from his veins to transfer them to San. He was healing him, you reckoned.
“You must not speak of this to anyone, my lady,” Yunho said quietly, looking at you briefly before his eyes glowed into that familiar fiery light you remembered from when you first met. “And I know you have questions, questions I’m afraid I cannot give you right now, but for now…”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly got up, hastily walking towards the door to let Yunho do his work in peace, but before looking back at San for one last time before leaving. He looked a bit better. His face was still ashen and pale, but at least he was now sleeping.
And it hurt. It was the precise way that Yunho knew what to do - it meant that this was a regular occurrence for San. This happened year by year. And you weren’t privy to what he was trying to tell you.
Pretend you didn’t see anything.
Days passed in a daze, long nights where you lay wide awake on your bed where sleep refused to visit you, hours spent where you did exactly the opposite of what Yunho expected of you - to forget what you saw in San’s chambers that day, all of the grizzly parts of it.
It just wasn’t possible. How could you just erase what fear you felt when you saw him on the floor? How could you forget the way his bloodshot eyes looked at you like you were the anomaly for finding him in that pitiful position? The way they widened in disbelief when he saw you just before gagging helplessly again?
And when you weren’t seeing him in your head, you were hearing him amidst the silence of your room. The sound of him vomiting was wet and brutal, the unpleasant hacking and heaving of his stomach as he retched out was all you could hear. You could never forget it.
And the only thing louder than the awful sound was the realization that San had been suffering like this alone.
He was all you could think about, and frankly, you were worried. You couldn’t concentrate on your duties and studies, your mind often flying towards the king you swore your life to, wondering if he was eating, worried if he was still in pain or if he was sleeping well.
A gentle cough startles you out of your stupor and you look up, finding Seonghwa’s gentle eyes trained on you. “My lady? Are you still there?” He asked. “You seem to be…distracted. We could always continue this discussion next time.”
You blinked, shame crossing your features. You were currently with the marshal, who took time off to discuss basic tactics to you as per San’s request for additional knowledge. Redness creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you were wasting Seonghwa’s very limited time.
“I am terribly sorry, Sir Seonghwa,” you sincerely apologised, bowing your head slightly. “I must be in a doozy. I’m afraid that my mind is elsewhere.”
He immediately waves his hands in flustered protest. “Please don’t bow to me, my lady. And this might be impudent, but,” he paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear, his voice dropping into a faint whisper. “Would this happen to be about what happened to His Majesty a week prior?”
Your brows raised in surprise. “You know.”
He sighed, deep from within his chest, before getting up to lock the door. He, then, gives a grim nod. “Only those closest to him do,” he admitted, crossing his arms, jaw tightening. “Including Wooyoung. He was His Majesty’s favourite scribe before he was assigned to you.”
You stared at him, having more questions than answers. And he knew this. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I was the one who had to haul Yunho out after he was done healing him,” he explained with another sigh. “It takes a lot out of him, you see. Magic has to come from somewhere, and mages usually use their own energy.”
“Then, what is going on with him?” You pressed, unable to hide the urgency in your voice.
But Seonghwa only exhaled, long and pained, and shook his head. You could see it that he wanted to tell you. His heart was far too gentle, too earnest for secrecy, but the loyalty he bore to San was carved into him more deeply than any oath. “If I were permitted to speak of it, my lady,” he said softly, “I would tell you everything I know. It’s not my place.”
There was one question that was bothering you the most, however. One where you were afraid of the answer. The question left your lips before you could stop it. “Is he sick?”
He shook his head with confidence without a hint of doubt or hesitation. “No,” he refused immediately. “It is not a disease…at least not the type you’re thinking of.”
Your stomach turned, not liking that answer at all. Seonghwa paused, leaning closer, his eyes filled with genuine worry. “You may not be queen yet, but I have already sworn my life to you, my lady, and I am saying this out of pure love and concern for you as your loyal servant. For your sake, do not return to his chambers.”
His voice dropped into something more hushed and it sent shivers prickling down your spine. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Do not go back there.”
The snow started to let up after a few days, if only a little bit. While the kingdom was still covered in a white haze, the storm had subsided enough that everyone could at least walk out, including yourself.
“How curious,” you pondered while out and about on the castle grounds, hugging the fur-lined coat closer to your body. “I’ve been told that the storm was going to last another week or so. Today is a beautiful day, though, don’t you think so, dear Wooyoung?”
Utopia was a very beautiful kingdom even though the entirety of it was only white. “Yes,” Wooyoung replied, the corners of his lips lifted up tightly with what seemed more like force than mirth. “How curious, indeed.”
His eyes didn’t match the smile. They dropped almost immediately, dimming with a soft, far-off melancholy, his mind clearly somewhere else in thought. By the time you looked fully at him, he had already blinked it away, the tight smile still lingering. “Shall we go to your classes, my lady?”
You nodded, letting him lead the way. Today, you were determined to do well, but the moment you got in the library, you were met with a sight you were not expecting.
Because there was San currently in a deep conversation with Jongho. There were times that Mingi wasn’t available, so Jongho would substitute him more often than not, and once a week or so, San would supervise your progress. Today was supposed to be one of those days.
This was the first time you’ve seen San out and about, both since he’d secluded himself and since that day you accidentally walked by his chambers. You felt your heart going haywire at the sight of him. Both men haven’t noticed your arrival and you took this time to observe your king.
It was almost unfair how striking San looked when he was fully focused on something, especially whenever he held a quill to write something or handle paperwork. The sharp downturn of his brows, the lean line of his jaw, or the way his lips pursed into a small pout.
But it was unjustly unfair for him to still look this handsome even while clearly still recovering. And just like that, any attraction towards him went in the back of your head for now. He was pale, his eyes lined with bags that were purplish and almost black in colour, lips lacking in colour that made you worry. He was rigid, obviously trying to stand a little straighter than usual.
So much so that you were tempted to walk up to him to ask him if he was doing alright, but you knew better. Just then, as if sensing eyes on him, Jongho lifted his head and gave you a soft, pleased smile. “Ah, my lady, just. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you were here.”
San paused for a split second, jaw tightening, before ultimately deciding not to lift his head to greet you in acknowledgement, his attention solely on the paperwork as if you weren’t even in the room.
The entire lesson went by like that. It was the most awkward session of your life so far because while San didn’t acknowledge you in general, this was different. Usually, he would chip in a thought or two, ask you random questions that pertained to the subject, but this time, he was silent. You wouldn’t even know he was there if you didn’t see him earlier.
After half an hour, he got up and left. That in itself wasn’t unusual either, San never stayed the entire lesson anyway, but at least every time he left, he would politely, albeit stiffly, say his goodbyes to you or pass a small comment about you doing well on your studies.
And despite everything - your fear, your confusion, your unanswered questions - you felt your chest tighten. You watched him walk away, your spirits dampening at each step he took. Jongho took notice of this. “Did you want to run after him?” He asked. “He’s…well.”
You shook your head. But it didn’t stop there. Unfortunately, this continued for days. You would see him in his office, in the throne room, just him doing his regular kingsley duties like nothing ever happened, but he never acknowledged you. Not once. He didn’t speak to you nor even looked your way. You were like a ghost at this point, worse than strangers.
He was deliberately ignoring you, you soon realised. San was avoiding you like the plague, and of course, you knew why, but this didn’t stop you from thinking about him anyway. The more the days passed, the paler and more sickly he looked, and you couldn’t help but worry.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to check up on him. It was how you found yourself standing by his chambers again, knocking lightly on the door, whispering your arrival. When nobody answered, you breathed in, pushing the door open and hoping for the best.
Thankfully, there were no retching sounds to be heard. But unfortunately, the sight that met you was worse than you could have imagined.
There was San seated on his bed, shivering and trembling violently, one hand fisting the sheets he used to cover his entire body, while his other hand was pressed against his face, but it did nothing to hide the sight that made your stomach turn and your knees almost buckle down.
Thick streaks of red seeped from his fingers as blood seemed to spill from his nose, staining the smooth expanse of his pale cheeks. His breath came out in sharp, ragged wheezes, teeth clacking against each other to fight the cold tremors that plagued his body, and every breath he took, blood trickled from the corner of his lips, down the sheets.
Globs of red covered the sheets that it was hard to imagine that it was once white. You had never seen anything so grotesque in your life. “S-Sire?” You choked out, barely able to breathe.
He jerked at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head and your hands numbed, because his eyes weren’t just bloodshot - the white parts had entirely become red, like they were tinted with blood. For a moment, he didn’t even recognize you.
But the moment he did, it was like something primal in him came alive. “What the hell are you d-doing here?” He roared, feral, so loudly, you felt your bones rattle. You gasped at the intensity of it, caught off guard. “Get out.”
You closed the door behind you. “Your Maje—”
“Get out! Fucking hell, just get the fuck out!” His voice boomed. It felt like cold water was splashed on you. The expression he held on his face was one of delirium and ferality, and this was the first time you’ve actually heard San lose his temper like this or even raise his voice.
He lurched forward, body spasming, getting up to charge at you, the rage on him impalpable. Blood dripped onto the floor in steady beats from his nose. “I told you to stay the hell away from me,” he snarled, shoulder rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Why must you—”
Everything happened so fast. His arms gave out entirely, body pitching forward. You rushed to catch him before he hit the ground, hands sliding under his shoulders. “Please, you’re hurt and you’re bleeding,” you gasped despite every instinct screaming that you should run. “I can’t—”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He lashed out, swinging his arms. You yelped when he accidentally hit your shoulders, making you stagger backwards. “You stupid, stupid girl,” he spat. “Are you deaf or just highly incompetent? How foolish could you be? What part of…” he trailed off, wincing in pain. “What part of leave do you not understand?”
And maybe he was right. Maybe you were stupid. But it didn’t stop you from limping towards him anyway. “Please,” you whispered, hands up in surrender. “I want to help—”
“I said don’t come near me!” He barked, grabbing another nearby vase and throwing it on the floor in sheer anger. “You just never listen, do you? You think barging in here in a place where you’re explicitly forbidden makes you brave? No, it makes you a burden, you reckless—”
He cut himself off with a guttural groan, one hand flying to his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. That was it for you, you weren’t going to just simply watch. You surged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Enough,” you breathed, voice trembling with resolve. “Just…stop.”
His arm jerked up to push you away, but it was no use. “The nerve of you, I am your king—”
You narrowed your eyes, not even letting him finish his nonsense. You grabbed his shoulders and with one pull, you hauled him forward with practiced force. Even through the haze, you saw his eyes widen with surprise, genuinely stunned at the show of strength as you dragged him towards the bed and laid him down whether he liked it or not.
“You are forgetting who I was before all of this,” you murmured calmly, trying to ease him onto the sheets. “I am a farm girl. I grew up carrying heavy sacks of grain and meat, Your Majesty. It was all I knew. You would’ve known how calloused my hands were if you touched them more.”
He wanted to argue, you could tell, but more than that, there was a look in his eyes that made you pause. He looked at your hands, then back at your eyes with a brow raised, and there was something in there. He looked mildly offended. Now, you didn’t want to assume, but if you were being honest, his eyes were clearly telling you he did, in fact, know.
You looked away, turning around to stop the butterflies in your stomach. You worked quickly, grabbing a basin and some towels and putting them on his nightstand and of course, he tried to resist at first, but eventually, the fight in him left and he went still, surrendering to your help simply because he had no strength left to give.
You wiped the blood from his eyes and cheeks, cleaned the streaks along his neck, cool cloth brushing over heated skin and every so often, he twitched or groaned. You urged him to sit up, finding the first shirt you found in his dresser to change his bloodied shirt, careful not to look at the dark lines that marred his chest for fear of him lashing out on you again.
You had to replace the water in the basin three times, spilling the now reddened water over and over again until his skin was free of blood and water no longer stained red. He stared at you the entire time you worked, emotionless, not saying anything.
“Are you comfortable, Your Highness?” You whispered, gently smoothing his damp hair away from his face.
He hummed hoarsely, nodding subtly, but he didn’t look away. He watched you with those hollow eyes you were used to and usually, it unsettled you, but instead, your stomach fluttered. He was too handsome for someone who had nearly collapsed in your arms. It wasn’t fair.
Suddenly, he grimaced, seizing as his entire body began to spasm, shivering even though it was pretty warm inside his chambers. You didn’t know what to do, so you didn’t. Instead, you quickly sat on the bed, gently positioning his head on your chest to let him borrow your warmth even though you weren’t sure it was going to help, holding him tight.
He stiffened, but gave up the fight once again once he probably realised how warm you were, how gentle you cradled his feeble body as your hands steadied his head. An uncalled memory striked your head. This reminded you of how your mother would comfort you when you were ill.
Without thinking, as if on instinct, you fingers began to comb his hair, swaying your shoulders to rock him tenderly like your mother used to do to soothe you. “It’s alright,” you hushed, finding the right rhythm to rock his quivering body. “I-I got you…”
You didn't know when the stinging behind your own eyes started, but you continued to rock him, anyway, hoping he didn’t feel the tears that fell from your eyes on his skin, or the way your voice cracked once in a while as you hummed a soft lullaby to accompany the soothing motion. You really didn’t know. All you knew was that it hurt to see him like this.
Eventually, the tremors eased, and finally, San went still, his head growing heavy on your chest as sleep finally caught up to him. His light snores filled your ears as whatever was causing all this loosened its grip on him temporarily to let him rest.
And you didn’t move, not until you were sure he was truly asleep. You didn’t want to anyway. And in the stillness that followed, your heart tugged painfully. This was the closest you’ve ever been to San and it was unfortunate that it had to be in these circumstances.
You didn’t realise how long you’d been sitting there, lost in your own thoughts, staring at his sleeping face. You were exhausted, your body was also becoming a little weary as the adrenaline came crashing down on you. You needed air.
You shifted, carefully lowering his head on his pillow so you could get up and let him have this rare moment of peace, but before you could get up, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. Your breath stilled, mouth opening slightly in surprise.
And if that wasn’t enough, he tugged on it, too. It was weak and clumsy, but you felt it, anyway. He didn’t open his eyes, but his brows furrowed. “Stay,” he rasped, barely a whisper, voice rough with sleep, raw with excess use and fatigue.
Your breath came out ragged as you stared at his hand around your wrist, holding onto it as if you were his lifeline. And by God, you felt something then. Your chest fluttered warmly at first, before turning into heat that was too dangerous for your own good. You could barely breathe, it was like he had your heart in his hand, squeezing it slightly instead of your wrist.
You bit your lip, hesitant. Was he even coherent enough to know what he was asking for? You didn’t want to take advantage of it, but the thing was, you couldn’t bear to leave this room knowing that you were going to worry about him the entire night, anyway.
It was when he opened his eyes, barely halfway, but enough where you could see the familiar sharpness in them. “Stay,” he repeated, firmer this time. He wasn’t asking you, he was demanding you.
You nodded, lifting the covers and sitting back down on the bed, and the moment you did, he shifted instinctively towards your warmth, making your heart flip. Not even a minute later, his breathing evened out again and you let these warm, fuzzy feelings lull you to sleep.
But the next morning, all those feelings died. You were startled awake by someone shaking you violently. At first, you didn’t realise where you were, the unfamiliar setting of the room sending your head into a frenzy, but all of it came back to you when you saw San staring at you.
He looked somewhat better - better than you’ve seen him in a while, really. In fact, he was already in his royal attire. And he looked angry. Maybe that’s why his brows were furrowed together, face reddened in a way that only unbridled fury could bring.
You quickly got up, ready to tend to him in case he was still feeling unwell, your eyes automatically checking if there were specks of blood to be found on his shirt, relieved to see that there wasn’t any. “Your Highness,” you began, voice still thick with sleep. “Did you need—”
“Not another word. I don’t want to hear you, and I don’t want to see your face, you hear me?” San spoke with calm, deliberate venom, not giving you a chance to even finish your sentence. “Do you understand me? Or are you perhaps too stupid to?”
You were stunned into silence. His words landed like a slap to your face, each one of them precise and intentional. “P-Pardon?” You couldn’t help but let out, genuinely surprised at how scathing he sounded and it stung worse than anything last night.
He scoffed, tilting his head in mock fashion, a derisive smirk on his face. “You think you’re exceptional now that you’ve stayed here?” He seethed, eyes snapping to you with such lethal coldness, it halted the air in your lungs. “What, you think tending to me makes you important?”
This time, you were actually shocked, hurt filling your chest as you stood up to try and explain yourself. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” you breathed out. “I was just trying to help.”
“Oh, please, spare me,” he scoffed, eyes like cold glass. “You deliberately refused to listen to me when I told you to get out and not come back. You were like a stray animal that refused to get kicked out.”
He enunciated his words clearly, ensuring each word landed exactly where it would do the most damage. And he succeeded. You blinked, hurt prickling your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you said. “I was genuinely worried for your well-being. You know that’s not true.”
“No? Tell me, then. What do you call throwing yourself at me during my weakest moments?” He kept trudging forward and you kept staggering backwards, stopping when your back hit the wall, San effectively trapping you. “Or maybe you were just that desperate, crawling into my bed like some pathetic little thing.”
The words hit like a slap, You knew he was a little cruel in ways he didn’t mean, but this time, it was different. He meant every single thing. Of all the things he did and didn’t do, this was the one that genuinely hurt you the most. You shook your head quickly, eyes stinging, not even knowing what to say to that one.
You could have any other insults any time of the day, but being accused of being a desperate whore will be one you will never, ever accept. You grew up with absolutely nothing, almost gave up your life with less, but the one thing you refused to let go and get trampled upon was your dignity and integrity.
Bile rose from your throat as you tried to breathe through the pain in your chest, the pain so physical that you wanted to fold in on yourself. You looked up, ready to excuse yourself, but when you looked at San, his eyes were wide, mouth open, expression aghast with regret.
You realised, then, that you had already started to cry, hot tears falling in torrential streaks down your eyes, You choked, getting dizzy at the whiplash at the speed of how your mind caught up and it was when an agonised whimper left your throat before you could stop it.
“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” he backed up, raising his hand in an attempt to touch you but stopped himself at the last minute when he realised how deeply he shattered you. “Oh, God, I did not mean any of that, I did not mean to diminish your integrity like this—oh, God.”
But the damage was done. You hadn’t even realized you’d spoken those words aloud. All colour drained from San’s face and he looked so frightened by his mistake that it hurt to look at because he wasn’t even this frightened when he was bleeding out from his eyes and mouth.
“Y/N, stop, don’t cry, don’t, please,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean those, I swear to you. Listen to me, I am so—”
You flinched at the sound of his voice, and that alone made him visibly flinch in return. You shook your head again, because you couldn’t hear this. Not right now. Not when his words were still ringing in your ears like a fresh wound.
You were determined to get away, but he held onto your wrist. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, raw and guilty. You tried to free yourself, but he held on. “Y/N, please,” he swallowed. “I won’t keep you, but let me call someone to send you back. You can’t…just wait, please.”
He held onto the same locket on his neck, the heirloom glowing slightly as San whispered to it, his hand never letting go of your wrist, not even when Hongjoong came in, eyes widening in concern at the scene he witnessed.
San’s hand finally loosened around your wrist, fingers trembling as they slipped away from your skin. “Take her,” he ordered the knight. “Use the hidden passage and let Wooyoung tend to her.”
He didn’t look at you as Hongjoong led you out. He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the floor as if it physically pained him to lift them and you didn’t look back as you walked out of the room he had shattered you in, letting the door close between you like a final, heavy blow.
To say that you were still upset until the next day would be an understatement. Because how dare he? How dare he just say those words like he had every right to? Oh, you were mad. And it wasn’t even because you were looking for any sort of thanks for what you did; it wasn’t your fault you were worried about him.
You touched your chest as you brooded in front of your vanity mirror. It was, however, your fault for feeling something there. Something you didn’t want to think about when he held your wrist and told you to stay.
You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, just in time to hear gentle knocking on your door. You sighed, pursing your lips, turning around to see a sheepish looking Wooyoung standing by the door, his hands behind his back. “I told you I did not want to be disturbed today,” you said.
“I know, my lady, but it is of utmost importance that I am here,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I have something for you.”
Your frown turned into pleasant surprise when he finally brought his hands in front of him, a smile spreading across your face when you saw what he held. In his hands was the most gorgeous bouquet of purple hyacinths wrapped together with a thin strip of ribbon and lace.
“Oh, how lovely,” you gasped, excitedly taking them from him, bringing them closer to you and breathing them in. “They’re particularly difficult to find around, how did you acquire them?”
“I didn’t. They’re not from me. His Majesty had them curated especially for you, my lady,” Wooyoung replied softly.
Your fingers stilled around the stems of the hyacinths, the smile on your lips faltering, your expression of joy slowly being replaced to that of visible shock. “What?” You murmured before you could stop yourself. “He did? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lady. He personally gave them to me for you. He even instructed me to arrange them properly,” he said, his expression softening, all traces of mischief gone. “He would’ve come personally, but didn’t think you would want to see him. Not after yesterday.”
Just when you thought that San couldn’t send your mind into shambles even further. Your mind spun, refusing to comprehend that the cold king of Utopia would even do something like this. You brought the flowers to your chest without realizing it, pressing them lightly against your heart as if to steady it.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “I’ll put them in the vase, myself.”
Wooyoung exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t even realise he was holding. When he turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. It was relief, tinged with sadness.
As you put the delicate flowers in the vase, it was hard to miss how carefully they were picked just for you. Each petal was perfect, free from bruising or any kind of marring. But more than that, why had he sent them anyway?
You had a vague idea. Behind all the walls he was putting up, was proof that San was actually capable of feeling regret. Somehow, that just hurt as much as the words he said because he knew what he said was wrong, yet, he chose to hurt you at the moment.
You reached out and brushed your fingers against the petals of the hyacinths. You weren’t completely ready to forgive him, but for the first time since yesterday, your anger wavered.
The next day, you woke up with a brand new bouquet that was even bigger than the one the day before. This time, they were forget-me-nots, which was fascinating to see in a bunch considering how tiny they were.
“Again?” You murmured, fingers hovering before gently touching one bloom. Wooyoung can only shrug, turning around before you see him smile.
San must be more remorseful than I thought, you pondered. You put them with the hyacinths, the anger in your chest still not subsiding, but simmering at least. And you thought that was that, but no, the flowers did not stop there, because San kept sending flowers for one week straight.
By the third day, they were white tulips. You stared at the pure and pristine blossoms, biting your lips, no longer just surprised, because there was something else accompanying it that made your chest oddly tight. You were flustered, and not just that, you couldn’t help the heat on your face that stayed for what felt like hours after receiving the brand new bouquet.
And you wanted to stay angry, you really did, because no matter how many flowers he sends, the words he said can never be undone anymore, but how were you supposed to do that when he sends avalanche lilies the fourth day so plenty, they spilled all over the place? The other flowers haven’t even wilted yet and here you were with new ones.
You stood in the middle of your chambers, struggling to find a place to put the vase that was overflowing with so much of the lilies. You turned around, helpless looking at a smirking Hongjoong who held another vase of the lillies. “I’m running out of places,” you laughed under your breath, equal parts overwhelmed and intimidated by how many flowers there were.
By now, the servants had stopped pretending not to notice. News had spread that the stoic and impassive king had been sending his would-be queen flowers everyday. The giggles and murmurs brought life to the castle and it was ridiculous how all of this had you smiling like you were a teenager all over again.
“These are lovely,” Mingi commented, laughing at the overwhelming amount of flowers in your chambers when he came for your usual classes. “Well, I have a delivery,” he handed you another bouquet, mischief in his eyes. “More to add to this garden of yours, I suppose.”
You felt your face warm up at his teasing remark. “I have no idea what you mean,” you mumbled, feeling your body buzzing with excitement as you took the bouquet of snowdrops from him. You held onto them the entire class and never let them go.
By the sixth day, you were awoken to the calming scent of lavender. You smiled without realizing it, opening your eyes to see Wooyoung and Jongho giggling to each other as they arranged the lavender all over your chambers, not knowing you were already awake - not knowing that you had begun to look forward to each flower that San sent your way.
Then, the seventh day came and this one was delivered a little differently. It had been nighttime by then and you were already starting to feel disheartened since there were no flowers yet, but as you were reading your book, Yeosang came in carrying a tray of food that had you salivating.
Not only that, they were generous heapings of food that you could tell were your favourites, and Seonghwa was hot on his tail carrying a modest but breathtaking bouquet of pink camelias. Yeosang laid all the dishes properly, not-so-subtly wiggling his brows at you playfully.
“His Majesty specifically asked for today’s supper to be special,” Yeosang said, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. “Catered to you, my lady. I hope the fish is to your liking, His Highness said you enjoyed it the last time you had it.”
Seonghwa placed the bouquet on your lap. “Looks scrumptious,” he commented, gesturing to the food. “His Highness was especially pleased when we told him we discovered a river that had trout in them while we were roaming the area. Immediately thought of you, my lady.”
Your throat tightened. You looked at the bouquet, fingers brushing all over the pink petals and they felt tender and more earnest than the other flowers he sent you, somehow more personal than the rest.
And then you stared at the feast for a little while longer when the two men excused themselves, tears threatening to fall from your eyes before you dug in, heart warm and as full as your chambers that were overflowing with flowers. You had to think about it at first, why this particular bouquet seemed to tug at your heartstrings the most more than the other ones.
The simplicity of it made it your favourite, but it wasn’t because of that - it was because all along, it seemed that San had been paying attention to you.
Seven different flowers for seven days straight, and not a single word. You wondered if this was San’s way of speaking when words failed him.
But that wasn’t how you usually handled things. No, you were the confrontational type. The very next day, you made up your mind to seek San, yourself. You didn’t want to let things fester, but the truth was, you wanted to see for yourself if the flowers meant something to him.
You found San in his study where you knew he usually was at this time of the day. You took a deep breath in, that little fear in the back of your head overtaking you, a bit scared that he was going to push you away, and rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, you opened it slightly, peeking your head in before entering.
San didn’t even notice you, let alone hear your knock, busy with his paperwork. Your heart lurched as you stared at him. He looked better, the colours on his cheeks and lips were back. You cleared your throat to catch his attention.
San looked up, shock flickering briefly across his features before he schooled them back into neutrality. Still, he set his pen aside immediately. “Y/N—my lady,” he whispered breathily, standing up from his chair. “Please, come in. I’d hate for you to not feel welcome,” he paused, a slight frown marring his handsome face. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
“I’m alone,” you do as told, carefully closing the door behind you. “I wanted to thank you,” you said, straight to the point, voice steady despite the way your heart fluttered. “For the flowers.”
For a moment, he said nothing, most likely not expecting you to bring it up. “Were they to your liking?” San asked, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it though his face still retained that sharpness you’ve come to know him for.
You nodded with an affirming hum. “I did,” you replied with genuine sincerity. “They were very beautiful, all of them.”
His gaze dropped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he audibly swallowed. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied, low and careful. Gone was the flatness in his tone, replaced by something just a little warmer. “Very pleased.”
“I will be cherishing them, Your Grace,” you smiled softly.
That earned you a look from him that lingered and remained unguarded. His eyes softened in a way that felt almost dangerous, one that had you holding your breath because you have never seen San’s eyes be this expressive not only towards you, but in general. And now that you knew he was capable of doing such a thing, you didn’t know what to do.
You broke eye contact first, not being able to take the intensity of his gaze. “W-Well, I’m afraid I have taken too much of your time,” you cleared your throat, lowering your head to hide the redness of your cheeks. “I shall be taking my leave—”
“Wait,” he stopped you, startling you a bit and apparently even himself. There was a long pause and you could only blink in anticipation. Finally, he exhaled. “About that night,” he began and your breath hitched. He noticed and his eyes glazed but only for a bit before going back to being impassive again. “The words I spoke were cruel, words I should have never said to you.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away, forcing himself to look you in the eye even though this was taking a lot out of him. “And for that, I am very sorry. I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies.”
And when he bowed low, that was all you needed to see. It wasn’t flowery and it wasn’t anything grand. But it was San, a king who was so used to being bowed to instead of the other way around. You felt the weight of his apology settle deeply in your chest.
“Also,” he continued when he stood up straight again. “Thank you for taking care of me the way you did, especially for staying and cleaning me up even though I gave you every reason not to. It was wrong of me to intentionally hurt you after all those.”
“I forgive you,” you reassured him. “Though I was very much hurt, everyone deserves a second chance. You do, too.”
Another silence fell, but this one was different. It was a little awkward because you’ve never really been alone with San without the entire exchange being political, but at least it wasn’t cold or heavy. Rather, you found yourself not minding it much. The silence was comfortable.
When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened further, almost hesitant. “It’s a lovely day outside the castle grounds,” he turns his head towards the windows before training them back on you, eyes fainltly dubious but fairly hopeful. “Would you do me the honours of walking with me and lending me your time, my lady?
You were stunned into silence. The way he asked it, the way his gaze lingered as though he were bracing himself for rejection. Your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up. “I would love to, my king. ”
There was a very faint curve that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was very subtle, almost invisible but it was there, as he exhaled a soft sigh of relief. Then, he extended his hand, not breaking eye contact, and how can you reject him when he was actually offering and not demanding?
You began to lift your hand, but you stopped midair when you realised that you had no gloves on. San remained quiet, though you can see it on his face as realisation dawned. Your hands weren’t soft and dainty, all traces of femininity gone from all the years of farming.
“May I?” he asked gently, his voice lowered as though the moment itself deserved reverence.
At your nod, he gingerly reaches for your hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting at the lightest of contact. He hummed under his breath, stealing yours when he brushed his thumbs over the thick callouses of your skin and something burst inside your ribs.
“You have beautiful hands that have been through a lot,” he murmured. “You should be very proud of them. As I am.”
Your heart swelled painfully, emotion rushing in far too fast when he stilled his thumb, pressing them on your skin and that’s when you felt it - his own scars. Callouses met callouses, strength met strength, and instead of shame, you felt seen. He shifted closer and with an ease that felt almost intimate, linked his arm with yours.
If you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted to scream. Your face was as red as a tomato - probably even redder - trying your best not to be too stiff as San adjusted his pace to match yours as you began to walk through the snowy grounds of the castle.
And by God, he was trying his best. San still felt rigid beside you, his steps a little measured and deliberate, but not because of duty, but because of consideration for you. This was the same man who always kept space between you, who never so much as let your sleeves touch during formal walks, and now he was walking with you like you were equals.
“I know I should have asked this before,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking your way, and you just had to blush - one because the way the sun hit the high points of his face made him look ethereal, and two, he was really, really trying and it was endearing. “But how are you liking Utopia? I…know there’s not much here. You can be honest—oh, wait.”
You frowned when he slowed. It was when you noticed that you were about to pass a narrow path, and not only that, the wind also started to pick up, the bite of it hitting your face rather painfully. Without saying anything, he angled himself to shield you from both the wind and the path so your dress wouldn’t be caught in the dirt.
You stared at him in awe, your cheeks warm and your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with trepidation. He gazed at you, shoulders tense as he waited for your answer. “It’s quiet and the snow doesn’t pretend to be king, and I think that’s why I like it. Utopia doesn’t promise warmth. It promises survival, if you’re willing to stay and try.”
San stopped walking, turning fully to you, actually staring at you as if it was the first time he’s actually seeing you. Respect further softened his eyes, awe flickering in them. “I see,” he drawled, throat bobbing when he swallowed. “Yunho was right all along. Thank you.”
You wanted to ask him what that meant, but he continued walking then, aimlessly with no ending point in mind. He asked you more questions, like the books you read or what you did in your free time. He didn’t speak a lot, but when he did, he was very gentle with his words, very regal and proper. You reckoned that this was just how he was in general as a person.
And he listened to everything you said, never interrupting nor dismissing you. The walls were still there, unmistakable and tall, but you could see where he was pressing against them from the inside, trying to make room for you.
“And your lessons?” He asked earnestly. “Are they too difficult? I’m afraid I might have put too much pressure on you.”
“They are,” you admitted. “But nothing I cannot handle—”
“Your Majesty.”
You both turned around, not expecting to see Jongho whose voice cut through the moment. His brows were both slightly raised, eyes pleased as he inspected the both of you and San - walking side by side, arms linked - head nodding in approval, though it is replaced by sheepishness when he realised what he just walked into and interrupted.
San stilled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at his advisor. The tenderness he had didn’t just disappear, it completely snapped out of existence as if the gentle man you were with the entire time was just an illusion. His body snapped into rigidity, face dropping into that impassive and unreadable coldness you were so used to seeing in him.
“Yes?” San gritted his teeth, tone sharp and clipped. It wasn’t apprehension–inducing, rather, the immediate change fascinated you.
“We have a budgetary meeting to be held half an hour from now, Your Highness,” Jongho meekly replied.
San sighed, mumbling quietly under his breath. “Send all the heralds. I shall be there,” he nodded, ever the king he was.
He turned, releasing your hand with visible reluctance. You didn’t think that the change in him could be more startling, but you were wrong. The hardness melted away, eyes warming, voice dropping into something gentle and almost apologetic when he started to speak to you.
“I apologise,” he pursed his lips. “It slipped my mind that I had prior commitments before this.”
You shook your head. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness. You have priorities you can’t ignore.”
“I hope that I may ask for your time again,” he added, and in a drastic turn of events, he lifted your hand to his lips, planting a brief, innocent kiss to it before he let go. “Soon.”
And that’s how he left you, standing still with your heart racing with cheeks so red, it would’ve been enough to melt the snow around you. You realised, then, that Choi San might have been far more dangerous like this compared to when he was much colder.
So maybe you were curious about San. You wanted to know the things he liked, what he did in his free time, and what made him tick. You chalked it up to boredom on your end, however, there was genuinely one thing you wished to know more than anything.
“Oh, hello, Y/N,” Yunho greeted with the warmest of smiles the moment you entered San’s study, lowering his glasses and setting aside the notes he held. “I’m afraid San isn’t here today. He’s currently with Seonghwa to inspect some disturbance up north of the territory.”
Now that you think about it, maybe this was the best case scenario. Yunho was easier to talk to than San, and from what you’ve seen, the two seemed to go way back. Maybe he could answer your questions better.
“You would be correct,” Yunho chuckled, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I’ve been with the Choi clan before San’s grandfather was even born, so you could definitely say we go way back.”
It was your turn to raise your brows. You raised them so high, you wouldn’t be surprised if they reached up your hairline. “First of all, you could read minds,” you blurted out stupidly before you could stop yourself. “And second, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.“
At that, he laughs heartily, his entire body rattling as the melodious sound of his contagious laughter bounced around the study. “So I have been told,” he chortled. “And you caught me at the most opportune time, too. Well, since you’re here, I could try to explain some things to you since there seems to be a lot in your mind.”
Yunho reached for a piece of paper, crumpling it into a small ball in his hand. At his touch, it began to glow, and when he opened his hand, tiny silver butterflies fluttered lazily in the air. He smiled when you gasped in awe, then at the flick of his wrist, they disappeared, a light drizzle of glitter left in their wake as proof of temporary life.
“Is this the same power you use to heal San that night?” You asked bravely, not sure if you were even supposed to ask but decided to go for it anyway.
Yunho hummed, eyes dropping at what you were trying to ask. “Very clever way of prying information out of me, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled. “But yes, you could say that.”
And just like that, the air turned a little more serious. You hesitated for a little bit before asking again. “His Highness…what was that that night?”
Yunho exhaled slowly, the lightness draining from his expression as he turned fully toward you. “You weren’t meant to see that,” he said quietly. “You weren’t meant to be there at all.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, bracing yourself. “What you witnessed,” he continued, choosing his words with care. “Is something that predates you, me, even this kingdom as it stands.”
Your heart dropped then and there. Not because of fear, but because you were hoping to hear something else that did not confirm the fact that, indeed, was suffering all this time. “So,” you started, trying to steady your voice. “The rumours about him being cursed...”
“You saw the markings on his chest,” he said instead, eyes steady on yours.
Your breath hitched. He didn’t deny it. “How it began and what caused it,” he continued, turning his head to stare at the light snow falling from the sky through the window. “That is San’s story to tell. What I can tell you is that we’re trying our best to stall it. I would use my powers and San would lend me his energy since it takes a lot out of me to do this.”
Your shoulders slumped before you could stop yourself. “But today…?”
“Just me,” Yunho said gently, and then smiled knowingly. “You look disappointed.”
You flushed instantly. “I-I was just curious.”
“Right,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “Well, a little birdie told me that you two were getting cosy the other day walking around the castle grounds.”
“We are to be married soon,” you defended yourself weakly. “Surely, it’s fairly normal to familiarise with each other before then, don’t you think?”
“Mhhm. And surely, San didn’t have to send you different flowers everyday and make a show about it,” he laughed. “They were quite difficult to find, too. He was so adamant about them.”
You pouted, cheeks burning. “He was being remorseful. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”
“Sure, but what about the ones before those?”
You paused, caught off guard. That definitely caught your attention, because unless you were remembering wrong, you were positive you’ve never received anything from San before. And Yunho, it took him a minute, but his eyes widened in genuine surprise when he saw that you had no idea what he was talking about.
“He’s been giving you flowers long before the recent ones, Y/N,” Yunho carefully explained. “Do you not remember? Wooyoung would either arrange them for you or you’d already have them before you woke up. I know because I’d make them and transport them in your chambers.”
The room spun before you. Of course you remember those flowers, they were the only source of happiness and comfort you had for the longest time since they were the only colour you’d see in contrast to the greyness of your surroundings. And to think that San has been sending them to you all along had you dizzy.
“I-I had no idea,” you breathed out. “I genuinely had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Yunho sighed. “But it’s not your fault, he’s not a very showy person, as you can already tell,” he paused, locking eyes with you firmly. “San is a good man, just a little more reserved and closed off especially with what he’s been through. Here, take this.”
He proceeds to pluck a book from the shelf behind him and give it to you. “Read it when you’re alone, but for now, just know that that man you saw that night was not and will never be a representation of who San is as a person.”
You remembered the blood, the tremors, the way his voice had broken despite all that fury. Your throat burned. “I know,” you said. “I just genuinely wanted to help him, that’s all.”
“And he knows that,” he replied softly. “But you have to understand, he hates being seen like that because that’s not him. He has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean because he’s so used to enduring things alone simply because he’s long forgotten how to ask for help. Like that morning when he made you cry.”
You cringed internally, not wanting to remember the hurtful things he had said, but waiting to see where Yunho was going with this. “There’s no excuse, and he’s already tormented himself for it, but the reason why he was angry…tell me, did you go through a secret passage?”
You raised a brow in mild surprise, nodding in confirmation. “Right. You had basically spent the night with him. Unmarried. He didn’t want the nobles seeing you and shaming you for it.”
You froze, the realisation striking you harder than you expected, but Yunho wasn’t done yet. “Unfortunately, fear can look like cruelty sometimes,” he smiled, forlorn. “You’d be surprised at how soft San actually is if you paid attention. Him assigning Hongjoong to you was probably the biggest telltale sign, Y/N.”
You were torn between knowing and not because you were terrified that once you knew, this would forever change the way your heart beat. Still, you looked up anyway, listening.
“Hongjoong was Seonghwa’s lieutenant,” Yunho gently explained. “His best fighter. San trusts very few people with his life. By placing Hongjoong at your side, he didn’t just give you protection, he created a hole in his own defenses.”
Suddenly, memories clicked into place with painful clarity. San’s sharp tone whenever Hongjoong wasn’t with you like that one morning when you asked him for tea. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. “I-I don’t understand.”
“He’s not angry when he sees you alone without Hongjoong guarding you. Never was,” he said, gauging your reaction carefully. “He’s worried you’ll get lost. Terrified, even, that you’d lose your way and accidentally find yourself out in the snow and freeze to death.”
Silence followed. You only hoped that Yunho couldn’t hear how your heart betrayed you by beating too loud inside your chest. “Pay attention to him next time, yes? Pay attention to his eyes. He’s got that look in them he doesn’t even know he has when he’s staring at you.”
The moment you got out of there, you quickly ran to your chambers, opening the book that Yunho gave you. At first, you were confused because there was nothing but illustrations of flowers and their names, but when you looked closely, your blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a book - Yunho handed you a floriography book. The study of flowers and their meanings.
You swallowed, knowing exactly what Yunho was trying to tell you without outwardly speaking of it. You turned the pages of the book, racking your head for flowers that San had given you prior to the recent ones. And then you remembered the winter heathers. Your fingers quickly scanned the book, until you found them.
Winter heathers, known to thrive where other plants cannot. Symbolises independence and self-reliance. When given, it is meant to say: Your beauty stands out even in the coldest times.
You almost dropped the book with what you just read, fumbling it clumsily in your hands. You couldn’t believe it, was that how San looked at you even back then? And, then you remembered the lenten roses he made you take that one dinner.
Lenten roses carry quiet strength, consolation, and comfort with every petal. When given, it is meant to say: Your strength endures even in the deepest winter.
San made them seem like an afterthought back then, something whose potential he did not want to waste. You turned the page with a shaky exhale, desperate to find more meaning in the all flowers he’d given you.
The first one was the purple hyacinths. You will never forget that one because that was the first of many that he gave you.
Purple hyacinths: I bloom with remorse and I ask for your forgiveness.
A breathy exhale leaves your throat. The flowers were his way of speaking to you when words failed him. Your fingers lingered on the illustration longer than necessary, a dull ache spreading through you before you turned the page again.
Forget-me-nots: I cannot forget the hurt I put onto you.White tulips: I ask for forgiveness and hope we can begin again.
It was unsettling, how the sincere meanings of the flowers were earnestly making their way into your way, inching earnestly in every corner. You were about to turn the pages again when your eyes narrowed at the small text at the bottom.
Oftentimes, different flower combinations convey messages. For example, purple hyacinths, forget-me-nots, and white tulips together mean: I know I hurt you, I haven’t forgotten, I’m sorry.
By now, breathing was lost on you and each page you turned made it difficult to do so. You were so confused because the Choi San you had in mind was someone who viewed you as a person he needed for his kingdom’s legitimacy - someone dispensable and someone he didn’t need to get to know as a person even though you were going to spend your life with him.
Avalanche Lily: I bow in humility for my mistake.
Snowdrop: I hope for a new beginning with you by my side.
Lavender: I can’t stop thinking about you, near or far.
Pink Camellia: I long for you tenderly, and I long to be near you again.
Or so you thought. Now, you didn’t know what to think. You thought you knew who San was. A hollow laugh left your throat because all this time, you had mistaken his walls for apathy. San had never been cold - he’d been soft all along. You just haven’t learned how to read between the lines yet.
You pressed your lips together, but the sting only grew worse, creeping into the corners of your eyes. You blinked once; twice too late. A tear slipped free, landing on the page. You sucked in a shaky breath, hastily wiping at your face with the back of your hand.
You shut the book, setting it aside to do something you’ve never done before - embroidery. That night, you spent the majority of it embroidering San’s initials on a small handkerchief, taking the time to be precise and make it look at least decent considering it was your first time doing it.
You didn’t know what possessed you. All you knew, the more you sewed, your fondness for San kept growing tenfold. By the time you were done, you had probably pricked your fingers a thousand times, but you smiled, proud of what you’ve done, hoping he’d see the beauty in what you’ve created, just like he saw the beauty in you when you couldn’t even see it in yourself.
You had been contemplating on how you were going to give San the handkerchief that you embroidered. The adrenaline had worn off then and now the thought of giving it to him had you embarrassed all over, anxious whether giving it to him will be too forward.
But you didn’t have to think too hard. You were about to head out for a walk when a knock on your doors interrupted your plans. “Y-Your Highness,” you breathed out, surprised to see San on the other side. “What brings you here?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, just staring at you like he couldn’t believe that you actually opened the door for him. His composure was perfect, face emotionless and almost cold, but after that conversation with Yunho, you noticed something immediately - it was the way his gaze flicked away before settling back on you.
You wanted to melt into a puddle of endearment then and there especially with how red the tips of his ears were. Oh my goodness, you thought with quiet astonishment. He’s shy. He’s so shy and he’s trying to make himself look like he’s not.
“I was wondering,” he cleared his throat. “Hoping, if I can ask you for your time again? I would like it if you joined me for tea.”
Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. For a moment, you hesitated, your mind reminding you of that one time you tried to invite him for tea and coldly rejected you. But this time, as you stared at his hopeful face, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your tummy. He was trying, he really was, and you could feel it.
“Lead the way, Your Grace,” you smiled before you could second guess yourself.
You felt the butterflies multiply when you linked arms with him again as he led you through the halls to one of the smaller dining rooms, opening the door for you before you could reach for them, stopping shortly by the door in awe at what you saw.
The table was beautifully set, but what caught your attention was the large array of tea laid out in neat rows. You looked at him, brows lifting in quiet disbelief.
San cleared his throat, gaze immediately dropping to the floor as if it held something fascinating. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred,” he said, straightening his back in an attempt to save face even though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “So I asked for all of them.”
You had to purse your lips together tightly in order to not laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. “I see,” you chose to say, pulling the chair so you could sit down. “Thank you, Your High—”
“No, wait, allow me,” he stopped you, gently prying your hand away from the chair so he could pull it for you to sit down. Your cheeks were redder than his by this point. “San.”
“P-Pardon?”
He sat across you. “Please, call me San,” he repeated, eyes soft, tone warm. "This might be too much to ask, but will you please do me the honours of letting me hear my name from you?"
He was right - it was too much to ask because you didn’t know how to say his name without giving your true feelings away. But his gaze never wavered and he waited patiently like he’d wait forever to hear it from you without demanding it.
“San,” you said at last, softly, as though speaking it too loudly might break something fragile between you.
The effect was immediate. He tilted his head as he stared at you, face still that same cold, indifferent king that had people trembling with fear at the mere sight of it, but his eyes told a different story. They twinkled, bright and sincere with genuine contentment.
You broke eye contact, afraid you might explode on the spot with how hot you felt, reaching for a random tea blend without even looking to give your hands something to do to distract yourself. You were about to lift the teapot when you felt San’s hand lightly stop you.
“Let me do it,” he offered, grabbing the pot to serve the both of you. Your eyes widened, aghast at what you were witnessing. He was the king, for God’s sake. You were about to protest when he shook his head. “I insist. Please, I want to do this for you.”
“You truly didn’t need to do all this,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.
“I want to,” San replied simply. “If it brings you even a moment of comfort, then it was worth it to me.”
As if that wasn’t enough, you watched as he put a small dollop of honey in the tea instead of the usual sugar cube. You wanted to cry. Yunho was right all along, San did pay attention more than you thought because you did prefer honey in your tea over sugar. He slid the cup towards you with both hands, watching as you took a sip.
“Is it good?” He asked expectantly. “I hope it’s warm enough and not too sweet.”
You smiled, taking another sip, not missing the way his eyes shone. “It’s perfect.”
The conversation naturally flowed from there, especially now that you knew a little more about San. Whenever he noticed that your plate was almost empty or you were almost done with your cup, he would take it upon himself to refill them for you, all without looking away from you as you talked.
And he listened, truly listened to everything you said as if the words you uttered were the gospel, itself. He was empathetic, too, eyes dropping into something somber when you mentioned the plague that took your parents from you, transforming into respect when you told him how you endured alone before settling your way into Utopia.
“I used to enjoy tea with my parents,” you said absentmindedly. “Do you enjoy tea?”
He stared at you, opting not to reply, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakably there. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it’s like his true goal in life was to leave you breathless. You suddenly remembered what you had in your hand the entire time. Your finger tightened around the handkerchief anxiously. “San,” you murmured. “I have something for you.”
His brows knit together as you placed the folded handkerchief into his palm. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning his initials, tracing them as if they were sacred. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth when he touched the tiny detail you sewed next to it.
He narrowed his eyes to inspect what it was, and when he did, he looked up, eyes wide. Not exactly startled, but in disbelief yet soft and warm in a way you’ve never seen before. “An edelweiss flower,” he murmured. “Do you know what it means?”
You nodded, a serene smile gracing your face. Of course you knew what an edelweiss meant. You had spent countless hours looking for a flower whose meaning you wanted to convey; spent an exorbitant amount of time studying it so you could embroider it neatly onto the cloth.
My feelings match yours and I will brave the cold with you.
For a while, he did nothing, staring at the handkerchief with unreadable eyes, hands tightening around it once or twice as his mind traveled elsewhere. But then, he smiled fully and openly, unable to stop himself. That was probably the moment the world stopped for you, because that smile…you will never forget it for as long as Utopia stood on its grounds.
Without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand, warm and sure, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like it belonged there. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, as a genuine, helpless smile reached his eyes.
You didn’t need to say anything either as your fingers laced with his. You’ve already told him everything you needed to as the both of you sat quietly in the room, letting the tea grow cold, the snow falling gently outside bearing witness upon you two.
Things went back to normal after that, but at the same time, some things have definitely changed between you and San especially after that afternoon tea session.
For one, you had tea with him at least three times a week, most of it because he would literally clear his schedule out just to make time for you. Secondly, and probably that made your heart beat wildly, the flowers never stopped. San would still send one every single day without fail.
You had no idea how he was acquiring them, especially because he had sent some flowers that you knew could not survive the harsh snow of the kingdom, though Yunho’s exhausted demeanor and tired, sunken eyes should have been an indicator to you.
There were some things whose change was gradual, however. San and you went back to your duties, especially the politically inclined ones. It definitely sent you for a whiplash since you were slowly getting used to the sweetness he’s been showing you lately to the point that you had forgotten how utterly intimidating San was as a king and a ruler.
But the thing that would immediately make you blush that most was when the rare, inopportune moments where he would give you a subtle smile and nod in between those sessions.
The change definitely wasn’t immediate, but it was there, just like Yunho had said. It wasn’t something you noticed on the get go since San had gotten so busy again that you began to assume that he barely noticed you.
But this time, you actually tried to really pay attention like Yunho said because this time, you started to notice that he actually did watch you. And once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Which begged the question - had San always been like this and you were just gullible?
The first instance was when you were with Mingi at one of your classes, San supervising in the background as usual as he did his own work, quill in hand, signing document after document. As Mingi lectured away, something tugged at you. And you didn’t mean to do it, but in the soft blur of your peripheral vision, you saw it and your breath hitched.
Because San was already looking at you, quill still in hand. And that was the thing, subconsciously, you knew he had a habit of pausing once in a while, but you didn’t know it was because he was watching you.
And it should have unnerved you, especially because he literally stared at you the entire study. His expression was neutral, yet alert as he literally stared at everything you did with that look in his eyes, and he stared long enough that you felt it all the way down your spine.
The second was when you were with Wooyoung when you were looking at a catalogue of some winter apparel since you needed more. As you were fitting in some of them, you noticed a shadow lingering in the reflection of the mirror. San was silent, literally almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention, which was how he probably got away with it before.
But there he was, arms folded as he stared at the way the coat hung on your shoulders. You tilted your head curiously, looking back at him and making direct eye contact. Strangely, San looked away, pretending that he wasn’t even staring to begin with, eyes drifting to the window to watch the snow outside as if he’s never seen them.
You had to commend the effort. You bit your lip hard, trying not to burst out laughing, but Wooyoung didn’t even bother hiding it, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach and lean against the clothing rack for support. “I never thought I’d see this day come,” he cackled. “Oh, that was a tragedy if I ever saw one, my lady. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.”
You felt heat rush from your cheeks to your neck. So, apparently, everybody knew San had been fondly watching you from afar all along except for you. “I don’t know what you mean,” you squeaked. “San–uh, His Majesty wasn’t staring. Perhaps, just inspecting what’s proper for me.”
“Of course not,” Wooyoung smirked, eyes dancing. “His Majesty was simply…deeply invested in the structural integrity of winter apparel.”
San cleared his throat softly from where he stood near the window. When he turned back, his expression was back to that menacing and domineering one, even shooting Wooyoung a warning look, yet his ears were unmistakably pink.
“That coat,” he cleared his throat. Before, you would have mistaken it for something that lacked emotion, but now, it was clear that it was restraint. “It fits you. It keeps the wind out.”
You mumbled your thanks and his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary, soft and fond, before he turned away again, pretending very hard that the snow outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
But the most damning thing was when you were in a council meeting, one that was held in the Great Halls along with the other nobles, both comrades and the usual ones who opposed royalty in general.
San sat on the end of the meeting table while you sat on the far end, the regality dripping off of him effortlessly. He looked distant and dangerous, face painted with so much calm. From the outside, he was the very image of intimidation, the untouchable king straight out of everyone’s nightmares. Even the ones who loathed royalty kept their voices measured.
But you knew better. Now you did. Because his eyes were on you, measuring and assessing, and no one suspected a thing. It was subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it, but not you. No, never you. You were used to feeling his eyes on you now; craved it at this point, even.
Because how can you not when he held the handkerchief you gave him like it was the only thing that kept him going in this dreaded meeting? Ever since you gave it to him, he never not had it with him. He took it everywhere, displayed it on the breast pocket of his royal garment even if it looked so out of place.
“Three deaths in three days. Always the lowest. The poorest of the poor, never the blessed,” San’s eyes narrowed, dark and brooding. “What does that tell you?”
One councilman shifted. “That they don’t know how to stretch what they’re given, Your Grace.”
“Wrong,” San said flatly without looking at him. “It tells us that someone is using the food budget for the poor and pocketing them. Shadows don’t stay in the dark forever, gentleman. ”
You watched as his hand held the handkerchief a little too tightly in his hand to rein his anger in. People often mistook his stillness for indifference. In truth, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what his next response was going to be.
Everybody in the room froze, but not you. Even when San looked like he was about to explode, he still had the handkerchief in his hand and he didn’t just hold it - he also adjusted it, smoothing the creases with his thumb. It would have been comical if you weren’t so touched.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began, hand gesturing at each person, the same hand that held the cloth. “Come nighttime, there will be an internal audit of every noble who even breathed in the fund’s direction. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are not…well.”
His mouth curved, humourless, setting the handkerchief on to the side to brace his hands on the table to lean forward. “You are going to learn what it’s like to starve under my watch. Just like the people who you had stolen from.”
The councilman nearest to San, however, thought it was a good thing to try and change the topic. “T-That’s, uh, quite a fine piece, Your Grace. Unusual for king to keep on hand, though,” he stammered, his hand already reaching for the cloth San had set aside. “May I—”
“Don’t.”
It was just a word and it made everyone’s breath still, including yours. A loud thud resonated around the room when San’s hand deliberately came down over the cloth. San lifted his gaze then, and whatever lived behind his eyes was cold, sheer, ancient anger.
“If you touch that,” San sneered. “You will discover how merciful starvation is compared to what I’ll do to you.”
The man recoiled, stuttering apologies, and for a fleeting second, San’s eyes met yours. He nodded, a silent reassurance. He folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it into his coat, close to where his heart would be if he were brave enough to admit that’s why he put it there.
“Meeting adjourned,” he murmured. “Before my patience is tested further.”
No one needed to be told twice. You stood up amidst the rush of the people trying to escape San’s brewing wrath, but as you do, you felt your dress suddenly getting yanked backwards, gasping softly when your balance faltered, Hongjoong barely able to stop you from falling.
A councilman, one of the few who looked down on your modest background as a farm girl, accidentally stepped on your gown. Irritation flashed on his face and without even apologising, he steps aside, causing your shoe to come undone from your foot to slip a few feet away.
Heat flooded your cheeks. Your gasp had caught people’s attention, and by now, everyone’s eyes were on you. Before you or Wooyoung could bend down to retrieve your shoe, San was already there, hand on your waist. You blinked at how fast he was considering you were far.
“Are you alright?” San whispered tenderly as if the room didn’t just witness him almost unleashing his fury earlier.
More heat crawled up your face, though this time it was for a different reason. “Y-Yes,” you said. “My shoe, I just need to—”
You couldn’t even finish that sentence. San was already kneeling in front of you, your shoe in his hand while the other still steadied you. “San–Your Grace,” you hissed in mortification, panic creeping in instantly. “Please, get up, this is embarrassing. Y-You don’t have to…”
Your sentence died in your throat when San looked up at you, a slight smile on his face, expression soft in a way only you will ever get to witness. “I want to,” he reassured in spite of the way the room silenced at the exchange between you two.
Because the Choi San was on his knees. The King of Utopia was kneeling. Your head spun as you watched him brushed away the imaginary dust on your shoe before guiding it back on your foot, touch gentle and almost reverent like you were worthy of lowering himself for.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. One scandalised councilman spoke out. “Y-Your Grace,” he stammered, incredulous. “This is unbecoming of you. A-Are you doing what we think you’re doing?”
San raised a brow, turning his head slightly. “Yes,” he replied as he adjusted your shoe, ensuring it fit comfortably before rising to stand again, arm snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
No one answered - no one dared to. You stared at San, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at what he had just done. This wasn’t some sort of show to assert his dominance in court, this was a deliberate message he was sending to everybody who was here to witness it.
You were to be respected. You were to be protected. You were his future queen. You were his future wife and you were utterly his. It was strong, because San’s words were the law and they were absolute. If the nobles defied this unwritten rule, they’ll get what’s coming for them.
Your heart swelled painfully as San glanced back at you, his expression still hard and fearsome, but his eyes, his eyes always told you a different story. You couldn’t help the genuine smile that crossed your face as he led you out, because you were more than alright.
It wasn’t that you were treated badly to begin with, but ever since that day in the meeting room, you could tell that everybody looked at you differently. It wasn’t anything remarkable and you would have missed it if you weren’t looking up close.
The thing that made it obvious to you was that it didn’t come from the people who already knew you; it came from the nobles that used to oppose you. Every time you passed them, they all had varying looks of respect, uncertainty, and acceptance. There was no in between. It was odd.
“Is it wrong that this feels more unsettling than outright disdain?” You chuckled while you were having tea with San again, sipping on the tea he had chosen for you this time.
He hummed, not really replying immediately, but you caught it - the tiny smile he tried not to show when you closed your eyes and sighed in contentment after that sip. “When you’re used to something, the change might be unsettling at first,” he said, words wise yet concise.
“I would suppose so,” you whispered quietly. You knew he heard you considering that he was seated close to you. Now that you think about it, the more tea sessions you have, the closer he keeps sitting towards you. You definitely weren’t complaining.
Tea times with San were the highlight of your day. The both of you didn’t even do much, just basked in each other’s presence, but it was peaceful and it just felt right. San still didn’t talk much, his face still dark and indiscernible, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer, almost fond with adoration.
The air around him wasn’t any lighter, but it was gentler, and they became warmer the moment his eyes would meet yours. He poured the tea himself, adjusted the cup so the handle faced you, nudged a small plate of sweets closer without saying anything. His facade never broke, expression still carved in stone, but his actions always said otherwise.
Every so often, his gaze would drift to the window, where the snow had begun to fall just a little faster than usual. Nothing alarming, just enough to notice. His jaw would tighten once in a while but every single time, he would turn his undivided attention back to you.
The contrast would make your chest ache both with warmth and something you couldn’t name yet because even when the world outside unsettled him, he always turned back to you.
Until he didn’t, and the snow began falling at a rate so alarming, no one even dared to look at the windows for fear that the snow would swallow the entire palace this time. Tea times lessened and San would look more fatigued, more worn down somehow that you actually had started to worry if he was going to get sick.
The thought of him being in that position again where he could barely help himself. You didn’t even want to think about it. Today was one of those days where San had to cancel tea with you and you were left in your room, staring at the snow from your windows falling at a troubling rate.
It was one of those things that unfortunately, you couldn’t do anything about. Such was the curse of Utopia. That is, until you noticed the situation from beyond - the servants getting sick from the cold, worries from other good nobles of commoners passing from severe frostbite, vendors having to pause their livelihood from the severe storm.
You had to do something about it. One good thing that came out of San's fondness of you was that when it came to politics, he actually listened to you, took your points into consideration in what to do even if he’d end up doing something else along the way.
“You are my soon-to-be wife,” he’d say. “My other half and the half of the kingdom’s future, not some ornament hanging beside me. I also reckon two brains are better than one.”
It was how you found yourself being led by Jongho to the meeting room, the same one San defended you from. You were about to enter when Jongho’s arm shot up in front of you in alarm, distress clear on his face.
“W-What’s the matter?” You asked, now worried as well.
Jongho put his finger on his lips, using his other hand to push the door open very, very carefully, and you immediately understood why. Now, you’ve never heard San raise his voice before, but you wish you never did.
“Y-Your Majesty,” one of the few good and brave nobles, stood near San, with a pleading look in his eyes. “It is for the best, look at our kingdom, it’s buried in snow. If we don’t give her—”
“No,” San snarled, both hands slamming against the table with abnormally inhuman strength. The sound echoed violently, nothing like the controlled authority you were used to. “I said no.”
“But, Your Grace, the snow will swallow Utopia whole—”
“Heed our request, sire. This is what Lady Y/N is here for—”
“It is for the greater good, one sacrifice for the greater good of the entire kingdom—”
Several nobles spoke at once, but San wasn’t having it. His shoulders were tense, breath heavy, until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!” He growled, swiping everything on the table down to the floor. “Enough. I do not want to hear it, I refuse to hear any of it.”
Nothing was left untouched in his fury - scrolls clattered, ink spilled, quills broke. The room went deathly silent. Even Jongho didn’t dare breathe beside you, and you couldn’t even begin to think why you kept being mentioned in the conversation.
“This is non-negotiable, do you hear me?” San snapped, voice raising another octave as he was hunched over the table. “If I see any of you attempt to even touch a hair on her head…if I hear any of you so much as talk about doing it…”
He paused, chest heaving in the severity of his own anger, a deep, unsettling laugh crawling up his chest. “I will end you. I will erase your bloodline. I will kill you.”
The threat, itself, should’ve made you nervous, but something else made your heart pound, instead - San’s entire arm and neck area. Dark, cursed branches of blackened veins creeped from his hands, all the way to his arms and neck area, spread across like a rotten disease. The same ones you saw on his chest one time.
An involuntary gasp leaves you, prompting San to turn his head towards you, and you stopped breathing completely when you saw his eyes. They were dark - literally and figuratively. They were entirely black, no whites left as darkness seemed to swallow both his eyes. And they were now staring at you.
When San realised it was you, however, his anger seemed to vanish instantly. When he blinked, his eyes were back to normal and only the branches on his skin remained. “Y/N,” he exhaled, uttering your name out like it was the only thing he needed to breathe at the moment.
Suddenly, San begins coughing, normally at first before they turn into worrying wheezes that had Yunho, who you didn’t even notice was in the room, swiftly striding across the room to pat him on the back. “San, calm down, please,” he placated. “The snow’s already weakening—”
“Take over,” San cut off, harshly pushing the mage’s hand away, as he made his way straight towards you, gesturing to a rigid Jongho. “Call Seonghwa. The three of you take over me.”
You didn’t protest when he grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You certainly didn’t protest when he started leading you to his chambers, temporarily letting go of your hand to open a door on the far side of his room to reveal a narrow staircase. And you trusted him.
That trust turned out to be well-deserved when you realised that you were on top of a tower, overlooking the entire kingdom, but that wasn’t what starstruck you - it was the stars above, beautiful twinkles of faraway clusters that overlooked and saw everything.
San didn’t say anything, just leaning over the balcony. All you could do was stare at him - the darkened branches that littered his hands and arms, the unreadable look on his face that was scrunched deep in thought, the way the locket around his neck glowed and pulsated wildly brighter than the stars. You could even feel heat emanate from it from where you stood.
You didn’t realise that you were lost in thought, not until you were enveloped in San’s scent, felt the warmth of fur and wool wrapped around your shoulders as he draped his coat all over your shivering body. “San,” you started, fisting the coat closer. “You’re going to get cold.”
He shook his head, snowflakes falling from his hair as he did so. “I don’t get cold,” he murmured, pointing at the locket. “You were staring at this, it prevents me from feeling chills,” he explained, voice tilting in amusement. You were about to touch it, but he held your hand to stop it, alarm on his face. “Don’t,” he quickly said. “Just…don’t.”
“Why?” You bravely asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped the locket around his fists and you saw in real time how the curse on his skin started to slowly disappear. You were rendered mum. You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to know, so much information you knew you were missing, and a lot of anxiety over being left behind on a secret you knew you had no right to.
In a blink of an eye, the wind and the snow died. It stopped so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. It wasn’t normal, you knew it wasn’t, especially when San didn’t even look the least surprised about it. If anything, he looked relieved, like he was expecting it to happen, even.
And then, he coughed, his chest heaving at the force of his cough. Your eyes widened a little when you watched a thin trail of blood slipped from his nose, widening a bit more when San barely reacted, just wiping it with the back of his hand. “S-San,” you whispered.
“I know,” he replied calmly, almost tired. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, unbothered by the unnatural stillness around you. “It happens when I push too far.”
Push what?
The question burned on your tongue - the snow, the curse, the locket. You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you. “Do you think,” he interrupted suddenly, voice low, “That I am doing the right thing?”
You blinked, stunned at the sudden, albeit clever, diversion. “What do you mean, San?”
Your heart broke for him. There was no king to be found in San’s eyes. He was just a man who looked impossibly tired. “This. All of this,” he lifted his hand, gesturing at the entirety of the kingdom. “What if all of this was for naught? That I’m failing my own people with my own bare hands without meaning to?”
“No, you’re not,” you answered quickly. “You can’t do this to yourself, San. You can’t fault yourself for the unpredictable. Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to and that’s alright because that’s out of your hands.”
He turned to look at you then, really looked at you, and scoffed good-naturedly in disbelief, like what he was seeing in you was too good to be true. “I’ve thought of abdicating,” he confessed. “Many times. That, perhaps, Utopia would be better off without me.”
You didn’t say anything right away; you couldn’t, because what could you possibly say to that? “There’s no right answer,” you finally replied. “No one has the right to fault you for doing what you thought was right at the moment. The only thing we can do is hope for the best.”
San’s jaw tightened. “You’re,” he breathed out, stepping closer, snaking his hand around your waist, trembling as if he was trying to stop himself from doing something. “Insane.”
You swallowed, heat traveling on your skin, training your eyes on his locket so you wouldn’t see the way his eyes darkened. “You’re a good king, San,” you said honestly, steadying your voice.
“How so?” San rasped, his voice deepening in timbre, rattling your core.
“Do you remember the first time we met? That day in the throne room?” You asked, trying hard not to waver as you felt yourself being pulled flush onto San’s chest.
“Of course, I do,” he hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering behind your neck. You shivered at the sensation. “I could never, ever forget that day. Why?”
“Because you knew I wasn’t from around here,” you answered like it was obvious. He frowns, confused. “You knew I wasn’t from Utopia because you care about your people, so much so that you remember all of them well enough to know that I’m not one of your subjects.”
He clings on to you just like you were clinging on to the sound of his heavy breathing. Your faces were so close to each other's; one wrong step and your lips would meet. Time was at a standstill. You could drown in him and you'd never want to rise again.
His hand on your waist had your heart thudding against your ribcage, and you never realized how empty your chest was, how deep it really was, until you were this close to him. "Y/N," he whispered, his breath laboured and shaky. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly. "God, help me..."
There was no way you were meeting his eyes right now. He was right here close to you, so close, doing what he was doing and you letting him do it, and just leaning towards it. His hand held your chin and gently lifted it forward to meet his eyes. You bit your lips in apprehension and his eyes followed the movement. You knew you were done for when he mirrored you.
"W-What are you doing, San? Woah, this is dangerous," you stammered when you felt him back you up on the edge of the balcony. “I might fall.”
"Don't worry. I'll catch you when you fall."
Your heart felt heavy. "I believe it," you whispered, voice so small you weren't sure if he heard it.
But he did. The way he looked at you, how could you hold back from wanting to kiss him? If you leaned forward, you could capture his lips easily. "Don’t look at me like that," he begged, his voice between a plea and a demand. "I don't want to be reading this wrong right now, please."
"I don't know what to say," you squeaked. "It's not that easy—"
"I can make it easy for you," he said, his voice dropping an octave. You watched as he took the locket off, throwing it haphazardly on the ground. You watched him grimace in slight pain at parting with the locket, but he didn’t seem to care. "I need you to kiss me."
He didn’t give you a chance to reply. San immediately steals your breath out of you. He captures your lips in a kiss so deep, his chest comes crashing with yours and you had to hold onto him for support. You fervently kissed him back, tilting your head as your breaths mingled. When you start moving with him, he sighed in relief and you couldn't help but do so as well.
San kissed like he needed you to breathe and live. You could barely catch up, but you kiss him anyway. He brings a hand around your waist and the other behind your head to keep you close to make sure you were really here, like this heated kiss wasn't enough.
It was so easy to lose yourself in the kiss, after all, this was San. Your hands found their way on his head, your fingers slowly entangling themselves on his hair. You felt a bit bold, the rush of the kiss fueling you on. A low growl sounds from the back of his throat before he pulls away, sealing his lips on your neck, instead, to give it little kisses and kitten licks.
You felt his hands roam over your sides, going higher and higher until you felt them stop on your chest area. And when he cups both of your tits in his hands through your clothes, you couldn’t help the airy moan that escapes your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes through your skin.
All you could do was helplessly whimper when you felt his teeth graze your earlobes, his hands toying with your top. And that was all he needed to know before he began to lower your sleeves, pushing your top down to expose your nipples that automatically hardened when the cold air hit them and he wastes no time touching them.
“So sensitive,” he chuckled, his fingers plucking at your nipples. “I've always wondered how these would feel. Would drive me mad whenever I thought about it. ”
You choke back another moan when he rubs his thumbs over the stiffening nubs. “A-Ah,” you gasped. “I've never noticed you looking…”
San responds by pinching a little harder. “But, I was,” he said, relishing the way your face twisted in pleasure as his hand started to massage your inner thighs. “From the moment Yunho brought you in…God, you were a vision, Y/N. Why did you think it took me a while to decide if I should take you as my bride?”
San takes one of your nipples into his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about Utopia,” he said, tongue encircling your nubs as his other hand started to lower your undergarments. “I was imagining all the ways I would take you. Imagining how I would bend you over my throne and take you right there and then.”
Something explodes inside you at that revelation. “Please,” you beg, not really even know what you were begging for. “Please, San, I want you.”
He hummed, the vibration traveling straight through you. He released your nipple, giving it one last lick before he started to lift your dress, about to kneel, when you stopped him. “H-Hold on,” you stammered, slightly scandalised. “S-San, here? W-What if someone sees?”
He smirked dirtily. You faltered, you had never seen such an expression on San’s face. It was obscene. It was everything. He doesn’t respond, bunching your dress up in his hand and pushing them to you, making you grab it, before throwing your leg up on his shoulder as he kneeled down. You gasped, holding onto the balcony for dear life.
His eyes were locked on you, a predatory grin on his lips as he watched your mouth open to let out a silent scream when his latches on your inner thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. It was painful, very much so. “S-San,” you moaned out, feeling pleasure at the same time, pushing his head away in a poor attempt to halt him. “Stop, it hurts—”
“Does it?” He tilted his head sarcastically, clenching his teeth on your skin.
“Y-Yes—”
“Good.”
That seemed to spur him on, the pain scrunching up your face as he sucked even harder, almost drawing blood to the area before moving on to the other thigh. Something about the pain triggers you, and before you knew it, you were pushing his head in, coaxing him to bite and suck harder to the point that the pain was more pleasurable than torturous.
“Say it,” he chuckled darkly, marking you, bruising your entire thigh area over and over again. “Say you’re mine or I stop.”
“N-No,” you sobbed, pushing your thighs together to keep his head in. “Don’t stop, please.”
And he laughs, sadistically so, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy. “Who knew you’d be a pain slut? Just my luck. Look at you, already so wet for me,” he growled, rough and low, teasing your entrance before he pushed a finger in, making you gasp and clench around him.
Your hands slap your mouth shut, trying your best to prevent the lewd moans that threaten to slip past your lips. “You can be loud. It’s okay. We’re alone out here. No one’s going to hear you,” he reassured, not bothering to slow his fingers down. Let go, Y/N. I want to hear you.”
He thrusts his fingers faster to prove a point, obscene wet sounds filling in the entire space along with your breathy moans. “God, you’re dripping wet,” he groaned, his fingers plunging deeper to reach that spot that had you screaming out loud. “I bet you want my cock in here. To stretch this greedy little pussy and make you completely mine, don’t you?”
You arched your back, weak to his onslaughts, the thigh on top of his shoulder shaking helplessly. “San, p-please, that feels so good,” you whimpered.
"Fuck, listen to that," he murmured, the squelching sounds growing louder as he worked you relentlessly. "Your cunt's making such filthy noises. It's begging to cum, isn't it? Go on, soak my hand. Show me what a slut you are for this."
And you could feel it, your orgasm building slowly. “Let me help you out, hmm? Let me,” was all you heard before your vision completely blacked out. You felt San’s tongue flat on your clit, his fingers curling inside you as he laps you up, his tongue stroking your clit over and over again.
All you could do was scream, focusing on that tingly feeling on your abdomen the same time San kept alternating between pumping you with his fingers and his tongue swirling on your clit, slurping dirtily every time your drooling pussy would occasionally squirt on his face, just taking it all in, greedily swallowing your slick.
With a cry, you shattered all over San’s face, blubbering nonsense and begging at the same time as you clenched all over his fingers, all while he talked you through it. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Cum for me, yes.”
You panted heavily, the force of your orgasm literally rocking you. San withdrew his fingers, carefully letting your legs down, before grabbing the back of your head, forcefully stealing a bruising kiss from you, his teeth clashing angrily with yours. He pulls your head back, twice the force and effort, that it had your neck snapping backwards.
“Kneel,” he demanded. Your knees thudded on the floor, as he shoved his pants down, his thick cock springing freely in front of you. It was veiny, the tip already leaking with so much precum. “Open that filthy mouth for me,” he snarled, fisting his cock to slap it against your cheek.
You did as told, leaning forward to take the entirety of his cock in your mouth, but San had other plans. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping it so tightly that the shock of it forced your mouth to open even wider, and that was when he rammed his cock in your mouth without warning.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned low in his throat, pulling on your hair so hard that it had tears pricking your eyes. The pain only made you clench, and your tears made San thrust harder. “This is what you’re made for. I own every holes you have that I can fuck.”
You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag, but he didn’t stop. You had to hold on to his thigh for balance, your saliva dripping pathetically from the corners of your mouth, as he fucked your mouth violently, not stopping and forcing you to take every inch of him. The brutal pace makes your throat burn and tears start streaming down your eyes.
“That’s it, fuck,” San growled ferally, grabbing your hair to pull you back enough to inhale air before slamming back in. “Choke on it, get used to your jaw being stretched out. God, look at you. Your throat’s so fucking tight…”
You struggled to breathe, throat sore, but he only fucked harder, his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust. Your efforts seemed to spur him on and he pushed your head deeper until your nose hit his pubic bone. Your eyes widened, letting out a sound between a whimper and a groan, and you retched around him. You could tell he was loving every second of this.
The sounds of your struggles, your nails digging helplessly on his skin, combined with the lewd slurps of your mouth sucking his cock unleashes something in San. His thrusts grew erratic, grunts turning almost animalistic, and the roughness of him mouth-fucking you just made your pussy throb, aching to be used by the same cock abusing your throat.
“I’m gonna cum, just stay like that—fuck,” San held you still, cock buried to the hilt, as his cum explodes down your throat, pulling away just in time so he could mark your tear-stained face with more cum. He stepped back, admiring how absolutely ruined you looked.
And you stayed kneeling, mouth open as cum began to spill from your mouth, looking up at him reverently in a daze. You were about to close your mouth to swallow, but San stops you, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Ah, ah, ah, you naughty girl,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I didn’t give you permission to swallow. Get up.”
He squeezed your throat, guiding you up as he held it. Your eyes widened in surprise, holding onto his arms all while his cum was still in your mouth. “Mmph,” you let out in panic when he squeezes. You couldn’t breathe even through your nose, but thab t’s exactly what San wanted.
“Go on,” he taunted, effectively cutting off your air supply with one strong squeeze of your throat. “Take a deep breath. Choke.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You gagged, coughing and choking violently on his cum. Filthy, disgusting gurgling sounds of his thick semen filled the air along with his mocking laugh. “Fuck, yes,” he sneered, fingers scooping the remnants of his cum that was scattered all over your face along with the ones dribbling on your neck back in your mouth. “Gurgle my fucking cum, yes.”
It was hellish, almost. The feeling of San’s cum going down but getting stopped halfway every time he squeezes your neck had you gurgling pitifully on it. You were starting to get a little dizzy from the lack of air, lightheaded from the restriction San’s hand had on your throat. You could feel your eyes rolling from the back of your head and it was when San let go.
Your legs buckled at the sudden rush of air to your head, knees thudding back down the floor as cum spilled out from your mouth, chest heaving as you panted hard. You barely felt yourself being lifted up. “Shh, you’re fine. Deep, easy breaths for me,” San soothed, wiping his stickiness off of you with the sleeves of his shirt. “Jump.”
You didn’t even process what he said, your body automatically doing it before your mind could follow. San caught you, your legs locking on his waist as your hands wrapped around his neck while his hands steadied you at your ass to keep you from falling. “Good girl,” he murmured.
His dark eyes locked onto yours and the way he gazed up at you with so much emotion and adoration behind the lust, like you were his entire world, sent shivers up your spine. San leaned in, tenderly compared to his brutal onslaught earlier, but you turned your head, avoiding his kiss. “San,” you croaked. “M-My mouth has your cu–”
A low growl rumbled from his throat. “I don’t give a fuck, don't you dare pull away from me,” he snarled, his voice laced with possessive fire. “You’re mine, Y/N, cum and all. Every inch of you belongs to me. Kiss me or so God help you for what I’m about to do to you if you don’t.”
Before you could protest, his hands cupped your cheeks with rough urgency, thumbs pressing into your jaw to force your face back to his. The kiss was filthy, dominant, and possessive. You melted into it, your core clenching with arousal at how he owned you completely.
You felt his hardness poking your hole, making you squirm, but San held you tight, holding you up with just one arm in an incredible show of strength. “I’m not done with you,” he said, lining himself up. “I’m going to fuck you now, alright? Hold on tight.”
You threw your head back as the both of you moaned the moment San breached you, not even bothering to ease it in and completely burying himself up to the hilt. He moved slowly at first, trying to find a comfortable position as he pulled you down a bit so he could thrust up in you.
“Oh, you’re so tight like this,” he groaned. His words made you clench, a feral snarl sounding at the back of his throat as his fingers dug into your ass as you did so.
He was lifting you by the ass and dropping you down and all you could do was bite the flesh of his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming. San’s self control was slipping, especially when the next bounce had him bucking his hips just as he dropped you onto his cock. Soon enough, he was pistoning roughly in you, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs obscene.
“San, a-ah, S-San, mmm,” you keened, your tits bouncing wildly as he filled you up with speed and force behind each thrust.
And just as he was wildly fucking into you up and and down his cock, he suddenly paused, a low growl vibrating from his chest. You were confused, but then, he kissed you again, this time, devouring you as you felt him walk, carrying you back inside as he climbed down the stairs into his chambers all while he was still inside you.
He still didn’t pull out as he sat down on the bed, taking off his shirt to get completely naked, laying down and positioning you on top of him while you were still dressed up. San looked up at you expectantly and you tried riding him, but your legs were jelly, already exhausted. He narrowed his eyes at your poor attempt at taking his cock.
“Tired already? I barely even started,” he scoffed, slapping your tits, making you whimper. He smirked as beads of sweat started to roll from his forehead down to his chin. His hoarse voice betrayed his pleasure, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “Come on, give it to me. Show me how much you want this cock.”
You bit your lip and sucked on it in anticipation. San raised his eyebrows at your refusal to move even though he could see how red your face was from all the work. "Don't play with me, Y/N. It's not a good idea," his fingers dug on your skin even harder and you were pretty sure it would leave marks the next day. "Move."
"S-San, please, I can’t," you pathetically whimpered.
His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits before he lifted you by the waist and then roughly slammed you down, effectively impaling you on his cock. You screamed out loud when you felt him hit that sweet spot. "San, please," you whimpered, your shaking hands finding their place on his toned chest.
You felt him tense underneath from your touch, it made his cock twitch inside you and you couldn't help but bite your cheek in the pleasurable sensation. All of a sudden, San grabs the top of your dress, and with a sharp tug, rips it open, a satisfying rip echoing in the quiet room. You were sure you looked insane - a ripped top with your skirt still on.
“Figured this would help,” he laughed darkly. You gasped when he suddenly grabbed your shoulder and pulled you down. "Now fuck me, and you better fuck me good or you're not getting up from this bed."
You whimpered when he grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly turned your head towards his to capture your lips in a rougher kiss while his other hand firmly held your ass and pushed it down to deepen his cock inside you. "San, yes, you feel so good i-inside me," you moaned out after he had driven deeper in you, head swimming in pleasure.
“You’re so cock dumb that you need my help fucking this dick, huh?” San mocked, his own moans mirroring yours as he guided your hips back and forth.
Your answer was another breathy moan. You were growing lax in his grip, just letting San do whatever he pleased. Nothing was stopping him now from jamming his cock into your pussy and every thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, but she still found the ability to scream out.
“This pussy is mine to use, yeah? Look at you, so tired but still taking my cock so well.” He palms your tits, his possessive gaze locked onto your pleasure-filled face. “God, you’re all mine, Y/N. Mine. Don’t stop now, you’re doing me so well.”
The feel of him, the scent of him, how deep you felt for him, just him…it was so overwhelming. And San can see it, the exhausted haze in your eyes as he fucked up at you. With a low grunt, he wraps his arms around your waist and flips you over in one fluid motion, pinning you on the mattress, your legs spread wide for him to admire.
You whined when he pulled out, slowly taking all of your clothes off until you were left bare and nude for him. You flushed red in embarrassment, but that soon turned into something when you saw the look in San’s eyes as he paused, drinking the sight of your naked body.
The way his gaze roamed your entire form with softness and tenderness left you breathless. Tears pricked behind your eyes at the way he lightly trails his hands all over you, reverence clear in his touch. His thumb swipes your tears away, his eyes shining with devotion that cut through the lust, adoration swelling in his chest until it physically aches him.
“You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmured, roughly but tenderly. He cups your face gently, savouring the vulnerability as if owning you felt like the deepest and greatest honour for him. “You’re so…God, fuck, I don’t know what to say. I just want to…”
His tenderness can only last so long. He shifts forward, gripping your thighs to spread them wider and without warning, slams his hips forward, burying his cock back in you in one brutal thrust that makes your back arch off the bed. “Oh, God, San,” you moaned out. “S-San—”
“That’s it, take me. Take all of it,” he snarled, pulling out almost fully before ramming back in, the wet slap of your bodies echoing. He pounds into you relentlessly, balls slapping against your ass with each drive, leaning in to kiss you passionately.
He pulled away so you could both inhale once. It only took one look in each other's eyes before you were both tangled into each other once more. It felt good - it felt comforting like you were getting embraced by some unforeseen grace and wrapped you in its bosom even though you felt like his cock was about to split you into two.
You tense, mouth gaping open when San bites and marks your collarbone. “San,” you cried. “Mmm, t-too much.”
“Tell me how my thick cock ruins you, how you crave to be bred,” he panted. You tighten around him to an alarming degree and you feel him smirk against your skin. “Oh? You like that? Want me to breed you?”
“Yes, San, yes,” you gasped, arching your back. “I-I want you to b-breed me, please.”
”Then I'll fill you up, mark you inside out, until you can't walk without feeling me.”
It’s all you can do to claw at his back, relishing the feel of his cock pumping into you. Every time San thrusts, he grunts, every roll of his hips into yours hits that spot inside that makes you see stars. And you just take it, because this was San. You’d do anything for San.
You grabbed his face so he could look at you. "Cum inside me," you were breathless, but it was like you stole his breath with how his cock seemed to harden even more inside you, if that was possible.
San’s eyes visibly darkened and he started pounding into you wildly. It was hard enough to make the bed creak obnoxiously as his cock plunges into you even deeper than before. Mindblowing pleasure started to ignite your insides, blanking your mind as your screams went up a pitch, cumming around his cock.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, fuck,” he gritted his teeth, groaning lowly as you felt the warm gush of his cum spurt inside you. You could feel his cock pulsing, and with a few last desperate thrust of his hips, he was finally sated.
He collapsed on top of you as you both panted, riding out your highs. You felt him give your skin little kisses here and there, all while he stroked your hair repeatedly like some sort of mantra. “Y/N,” you’d hear him whisper reverently. “Oh, my Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N…”
He rolls off of you, making you groan as you feel warm liquid gush from your pussy, one that he silently wipes off with a wet towel before laying down next to you, scooping you up carefully so you could rest your head on the crook of his shoulder. You stay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, when San suddenly breaks the silence.
“Do you really like Utopia?” He asked, almost idly like an afterthought.
You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a random question. “Of course I do.”
“How much?” His gaze finally found yours. “Enough to fight for it? Enough to lead it, if one day you had to?”
Your heart stuttered inside your chest, but you chalked it up as nothing. After all, sex sometimes made people think of hypothetical scenarios and you decided to humour San with this one. “Yes,” you answered honestly. “Utopia needs someone to love it even though it’s cruel.”
He exhaled, visible relief loosening in his shoulder, his lips curved faintly. “Perhaps,” he murmured, kissing your forehead lightly. “You might be the queen Utopia actually needs.”
San had disappeared. Vanished into thin air the next day.
When you woke up the next day, you were completely alone, San’s side of the bed gone cold. You didn’t think anything of it, he had duties as king and he couldn’t just stay in bed for you all day, but when got back to your chambers with a worried Wooyoung and a panic-stricken Hongjoong arguing with Jongho about San’s whereabouts, it was when your entire world fell.
“There is no way Your Grace would do that,” Jongho pressed, walking back and forth in the throne room, anger in his tone, dismay and doubt on his face at each passing second. “He just went for a ride. That’s all. Sometimes he does that after the curse—”
“Jongho, it’s been over half a day,” Hongjoong insisted, irritated at the taller man as he raised his voice up a notch, making you flinch. “Hell, the fucking mage doesn’t even know where he is. He did not go for a ride and you know it.”
“So, what?” Jongho yelled back, the usually composed adviser slowly losing his cool. “Are you telling me that His Majesty ran away? Is that it? Are you even hearing yourself?”
You took a step back, dread filling your entire chest. Just the night before, you had laughed softly at his questions, brushing them off as speculation, never once suspecting that his questions weren’t meant to be hypothetical at all. You quickly ran off, ignoring how Hongjoong kept calling you back and pleading for you to stay put. You needed to get out of there.
The entire palace was in shambles, the servants and nobles all scrambling but failing to contain themselves at the thought of their missing king. Some of them were genuinely worried for San, but there were a select few who feared of the said curse completely annihilating the kingdom now that San was missing.
You didn’t heed any of them, worriedly looking for San even in the most obscure of places. Your panic rose every time you were met with an empty room, holding back tears as you imagined all the worst possible ways of what might have happened while you were asleep. You probably looked pathetic, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to see San again.
An idea pops in your head. Yunho. Having no other options left, you quickly ran to the mage’s quarters, not caring how unladylike you looked as you sprinted down the hall. He didn’t even notice you come in as he was speaking urgently to Seonghwa, his expression grim. When Yunho noticed you, whatever composure he had shattered.
He quickly dismissed Seonghwa and ran towards you. The poor man was so distressed, sunken bags of purple splotching his skin, whatever magic in him getting sapped little by little by how much effort he was putting in finding his king and your eyes fell, feeling for the man. “Yunho,” you breathed out. “A-Are you alright?”
Your chest wanted to cave in itself, panic clawing further up your skin. If magic cannot even reach San, then what will? “I-I was with him last night,” you swallowed, spitting the admittance out even if it embarrassed you so.
Yunho puts two and two together, brows shooting up in surprise, but chose not to comment on what you were trying to tell him, and you were thankful about it. You told him everything, minus the sexual details - San’s insecurities about being king, him thinking about abdicating at one point, all the way to the questions about you leading Utopia if the time came.
Yunho swore under his breath, a sharp, uncharacteristic sound. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “It might be the curse.”
“I need to know, Yunho. I think I’ve held off for far too long,” you pleaded, eyes burning. Yunho looked hesitant, but you pressed on. “I’ve respected your silence as an elder, respected San as the authority, and I respected Utopia as a whole since I’m not of this land and maybe I didn’t have the right to know. Please. Tell me. I need to know, I’m begging you.”
Something in your face must have touched something deep in the mage, and finally, he gives a slow nod. He exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging like the weight of centuries had finally caught up to him. “You’re going to need to sit for this one,” he murmured, gesturing towards a chair.
You didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, bringing his palms up, a small glow of light emanating from it, to touch your forehead as you felt yourself being transported into a memory. “While I cannot tell you, I could show you. Close your eyes.”
The world tilted on its axis. At first, you were confused because you saw a castle, a very familiar looking one at that and it was when it hit you - it was Utopia, only this time, there was no snow. It was lush and green, alive and well. You quickly realised that this was Utopia far before the snow started to swallow the kingdom, long before it had turned inhabitable.
And on the front of the castle grounds was a man in armour, standing proudly over an anguished woman, screaming at the top of her lungs in despair as she cradled the bloody body of another man who had long passed, her grief so raw that it split the sky open.
You gasped in horror at what you were witnessing, even more so when you looked closer. The man in the armour, he looked like San, only this one was far younger, and his eyes; they were unkind. Psychopathic, almost, not capable of empathy as he embellished the blood-soaked sword he had presumably used to slay the now dead man on the ground.
“You killed him,” she mourned, her tears falling in torrents, voice breaking as her blood soaked hands tried hard to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. “You killed him, you monster!”
But the cruel man didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, just watched with wild, possessive eyes. You gasped when the woman looked up, her eyes glowing red in fury, the magic exploding from her so strong that even you could feel it from this memory.
“May your kingdom know only the cold that took him from me,” she seethed. She rose slowly to her feet, and when she stood fully, her magic surged again, this time, stronger and final.
For the first time, the man in armor reacted. “What are you doing?” He barked, stepping forward with unease as the temperature dropped around him. You watched in horror as a sudden blizzard filled the entire space and palace. “Stop, you cannot—”
“May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow,” she cried. You felt it, the cold slamming into you as snow immediately blanketed the kingdom of Utopia. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne and be claimed in return will the winter break.”
Then the vision shattered. You gasped, eyes flying open, Yunho’s hand still resting against your forehead, his expression heavy with regret. “W-What was that?” You blurted out in disbelief at what you just saw. “Who was that? H-He looks like San, who was that woman?”
“He does, because that was San’s father,” Yunho sighed, panting to catch his breath from all the energy he exerted. “There was a beautiful forest witch who lived in the woods that he saw hunting once. He immediately fell in love with her, or rather, obsessed. It was disgusting, San’s mother died from heartbreak when San was only a newborn.”
Yunho dragged his hands down his face in defeat. “It was greed in its coldest form. The witch’s heart already belonged to someone else, and in a jealous rage, San’s father killed him. In front of her, no less. It’s why Utopia’s cold and desolate. The snow is a manifestation of her grief.”
“And when the former king died, that cruel bastard,” Yunho continued, his voice rough. “The curse didn’t fade…it passed. San absorbed it instantly.”
Your chest tightened, stomach twisting into something painful as your nails dug into your palms. “I-I don’t understand,” you uttered. “What do you mean it passed? Are you telling me that…”
You trailed off, not even wanting to continue. May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow. The words were still clear in your head like a ringing siren. Yunho nodded grimly when you looked at him. “Not only did she curse the kingdom as a whole to eternal coldness, but also the entire Choi bloodline for that very same greed that killed her lover,” he confirmed.
Anger filled your veins at the man who had pretty much cursed his son for greed he couldn’t control. “At first, we didn’t understand what was happening,” the mage spoke, a faraway look in his face as he recalled a memory he’d been wanting to forget. “The snow just never melted and storm after storm claimed hundreds of lives. San’s father didn’t live long enough for me to study the curse. However—”
He paused, swallowing audibly, looking towards the floor. “There was someone who did live long enough,” he whispered, voice cracking. “And he’s been missing for half a day now. He was but a child back then, Y/N. I-I just…sorry, I need to collect myself.”
A cold realization slid down your spine. San. You imagined a boy growing up under a weight no one should have to carry, a vessel for sins he never committed. That was the part that hurt the most to you because it was no wonder there was always something distant in his gaze, walls you could never get through, because he was always bracing for the cold no else could feel.
“I tried everything back then, you know?” Yunho finally spoke after a long silence, decades of desperation still lingering in his eyes. “I tried every magic I knew even if it almost killed me, but the snow just would not melt. But San…he loved Utopia even if the entire kingdom condemned him.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, letting him continue. “Utopia’s bound to its ruler. The Choi clan. The witch was smart enough to kill two birds with one stone - completely end the bloodline with the one thing that could outlast generations while erasing the entire kingdom.”
Your breath caught. “The snow.”
Yunho nodded. “Ironically, San was the one who realised what the curse actually entailed. Have you noticed that he never wears anything thick? He never gets cold when he’s outside with you, have you noticed that?”
You stayed silent, the puzzle pieces connecting slowly. Just last night when you were out on that balcony, he gave you his coat, even admitting outright that he never got cold. “He said the locket prevented him from being cold,” you murmured to yourself more as an afterthought.
“That was half the truth, yes,” Yunho said. “The reason is because the curse wasn’t meant to destroy the land outright - it was meant to bury it. ”
A chill crawled up your spine. “Then why hasn’t it yet?”
Yunho looked at you then, eyes dark with something close to reverence. “Because San wouldn’t let it. San absorbed the snow. Literally. Accidentally discovered it one Christmas evening when it stormed so bad, the snow was waist deep. It was the magic trying to reclaim Utopia completely. He got so sick, we thought we were losing him.”
The realization hit you hard. “So when there’s a storm—”
“He’s at his weakest,” Yunho finished. “Because he’s burning himself out to keep the snow at bay. Holding it back long enough for people to survive another day. The dark marks along his skin, they were the curse in itself, but more so just a side effect of him straining and pulling the curse inside him so the storm would stop, at least, for a while.”
The pieces slid together with a sickening clarity. Christmas was winter time and therefore where storms are the strongest. No wonder he hated it. No wonder he had isolated himself, it was so he could suffer in silence. And you were none the wiser.
You remembered how he’d convulsed, vomiting helplessly, blood streaking from his nose as if his body were tearing itself apart from the inside. And then, days later, the storm had stopped as if nothing had happened. It hadn’t passed - San had just taken it. He had been protecting his people all his life and nobody even knew it, choosing to be condemned just to keep them alive.
And suddenly, you understood why San never stopped watching the skies; why even if he was with you or preoccupied with other people or in the middle of an important meeting he would always look out the windows. “The locket?” You asked weakly.
“I made it for him,” he said quietly. “Years of San absorbing the snow had not been kind to his body. I wove magic into it so a part of the curse is in that locket. When the storm hits, it absorbs the curse before it reaches him. Not all of it, but enough to keep him alive until...well.”
His voice turns somber. “Without it, he wouldn’t survive the storms. Not anymore. And believe me, we tried transferring the curse to an enemy at one point by making them wear the locket, but it was too strong. Whoever touches it instantly perishes.”
You looked at him more closely, the way his jaw tightened as if holding back years of grief. And suddenly, you noticed it. This wasn’t just sorrow, this was something deeper. “You raised him,” you said softly. “You love him.”
He only nodded, once, eyes shining as he looked away. “He wasn’t just my king, Y/N. That’s my boy,” he wavered, emotions finally coming through. “And he deserved something good for once. Which is exactly why you’re here, we needed you. Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne. The moment I saw you in that alleyway, I knew you were a kind soul, Y/N. Utopia becoming a legitimate kingdom with a queen was only half the reason.”
Yunho proceeds to explain that while it was true that they needed a queen, the reason why San was marriageless until now was because of what the curse said. It wasn’t hard for San to force someone into a marriage or use something to bargain to find a queen, but it would be useless because the curse required someone to enter into the marriage willingly. And that was that, they thought that by you being here willingly, winter was going to fade.
But it didn’t. Nothing had changed and everyone was back at square one. “The problem was,” Yunho continued, exhaling shakily. “There was the other half of the curse. One that San absolutely refused to acknowledge. Be claimed in return will the winter break.”
You halted at the insinuation, freezing like snow had been piled on top of your head. Your mind automatically raced with scenarios you didn’t want to think about. Yunho’s silence had pretty much confirmed everything you needed to know. To be claimed in return. They were going to kill you, use you as a sacrifice to balance the curse so the snow would finally stop and winter would come to an end. A willing queen and a king to give her up.
“There was no way in hell San was going to let anything happen to you. You saw it yesterday. He didn’t just reject it, he lost control,” he said firmly. “There was never a doubt in his mind.”
“So, what now? Where do we even find him?” You asked, chest aching painfully. “There must be a solution, Yunho, something we could do to completely reverse this curse. I could hit the library for information, anything at this point. There has to be a way.”
“Well, yes, there is…” Yunho trailed off, freezing as blood completely drained from his face. Whatever he just thought of had him off kilter so bad, he got up from his chair and knocked everything off the shelves in the process.
Before you knew it, he hurriedly bolted out of the room in sheer panic, leaving you to chase after him, the adrenaline boosting you because Yunho was fast. “Yunho,” you chased after him, ignoring the burning sensation in your lungs and the sudden cold that hit you when you realised you had chased him all the way out to the horse stables. “What’s—”
“I know where he is,” Yunho gritted his teeth, already preparing to mount a horse. You could tell he was trembling in fear, swallowing the panic that had overtaken him. “San’s planning to sacrifice himself. The land is bound to him, and his death would end the curse. Quickly, Y/N, hold my hand. We have to find him now.”
Terror filled your lungs, nodding anyway as you mounted, hands shaking so badly Yunho had to steady you before he started to ride away. The cold air hitting your face as the horse moved and blurred your surroundings did nothing to quelch the fear building at the pit of your stomach. All you could think was San and hope that you weren’t too late.
Every second felt like it was tearing something vital from your chest, tears freezing at the corners of your eyes as you rode harder, faster, praying to see the man who had long decided that no curse was worth your life; that he would rather lose himself or let Utopia freeze than forever lose you.
The thought had you keen internally. Please, you begged, tears falling down your face painfully as they automatically froze before they even had the chance to form, gripping the saddle until your knuckles burned. Please don’t let him think he has to disappear for us to survive.
“W-Where are we going?” You screamed into the air, teeth chattering from the cold.
“The witch’s shack a little further up north where she lived with her lover,” Yunho replied, snapping the reins forward to make the horse go faster. “Her power’s concentrated there.”
It didn’t take long for you and Yunho to end up in a clearing where the trees were a little less condensed but the snow and wind were so strong and thick that it was almost impossible to see through it. But your breath hitched, anyway, because the moment you got past the haze, you saw him clear as day as if he was a beacon shining even from afar.
San. He was standing still in front of a quaint little shack, unbothered by the elements around him, just staring up at the sky with his eyes closed and you hated it. Absolutely detested the sight, because it looked like he had already resigned to his fate and was just waiting for the right moment to execute his plans.
And he was ready. You watched in panic as he raised his hand to his neck, holding the chain of the locket to take it off, but your body was already careening forward. You pushed yourself, jumping off of the horse before it even paused, ignoring Yunho’s panicked calls and the way your leg ached when you fell particularly hard.
“No!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, running like a madwoman through the thick blankets of snow even though your lungs were thinning in air and your legs were aching for reprieve. It was ear-piercing and blood-curdling enough to catch San’s attention, startling him to a halt and turning around, eyes widening when he saw your pitiful form run up to him.
And by God, he looked devastating. You wanted to tear up, it just wasn’t fair for him to look this breathtaking and ethereal even as the snow surrounded him, melancholy wrapping him in its grace as he stared at you with hollow, empty eyes. “San, please,” you begged, sobbing at this point. He looked like his soul had already left him long before his earthly body expired.
He smiled, the lines on his face softening and you abhorred how peaceful it made him look. This was the most at peace San had ever looked and you hated it. “My sweet Y/N,” he croaked, the trembling in his hands betraying the true fear he actually felt. “What are you doing here?”
You yelped, trudging forward in failure when you tripped over a rock you couldn’t see hidden by the thick snow. You pushed yourself up with shaking hands, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t,” you sobbed, words tumbling out broken and raw. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Don’t you dare make that face like you’ve already decided.”
You felt Yunho behind you, steadying you, providing you warmth with the little magic he had left, opting not to say anything. This was between you and San at this point. And San, he just shook his head. “I have exhausted all options,” he said. “I am exhausted. Please, just let me go. I think I have suffered long enough that it should be alright if I could rest a bit, don’t you think so?”
He said it so quietly amidst the oncoming storm and that scared you more than if he’d shouted. Your chest cracked open at the gentleness of it, at how he said it like a plea instead of a decision. “No,” you cried, tears freezing at your lashes. “Not you. Not now. Not ever.”
San’s eyes softened. “Y/N—”
“You’d already come this far, why now? You can’t do this to the people who care for you. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, and especially Yunho. You can’t do this to me. We’ve barely just begun, San, you cannot leave me like this. There has to be a way—”
“Don’t you get it? This is the only way,” San snapped, not out of anger, but more so in desperation, hoping for you to understand where he was coming from even if it meant it was for all the wrong reasons. “The curse ends here. With me. I am the last of my bloodline so with me gone, the curse perishes alongside me.”
“You know damn well that that’s not true,” you snapped back, the frustration giving you a newly found rush of adrenaline that temporarily overtook the cold and the pain in your leg. “I came here willingly, San, and I’m just as willing to do my part to be a sacrificial lamb—”
“No,” he immediately turns down, fire in his eyes so intense it could’ve been enough to melt the snow around him. “I didn’t fight this curse this long to sacrifice someone else in the name of balance, especially not you.”
“So, why won’t you fight for yourself this time?” You asked, voice breaking. “For us?”
“I am,” he said hoarsely. “This is the hardest battle I’ve fought yet. You think I don’t want to stay? You think I don’t want more tea sessions with you even though I despise tea? To stay long enough to finally see my kingdom be warm and green with you by my side?”
Something about that almost confession broke something inside you, and that was the most devastating part of it all. Almost. Just enough to finally tell you how he truly felt about you, but not enough where he was willing to stay long enough to tell you the entirety of it. “Don’t go, San,” you looked at Yunho helplessly. “Tell him, please…”
But the mage stayed mum, conserving his energy to keep you warm from the blizzard even though tears of devastation were already falling from his eyes. San’s voice dropped to something raw. “My throne without you is meaningless and its future built on your death is no future at all,” he admitted before his eyes hardened with finality. “I’m sorry, YN.”
It all happened fast. In one moment, San was lifting his hands to take the locket off, and in the next, you were rushing to him, deliberately knocking him off to tackle him on the ground, momentarily distracting him. Without thinking, you took the locket off of him, putting it around your neck. It was all it took for all hell to break loose.
Yunho’s spell shattered instantly in his state of shock and San’s eyes widened impossibly so as he realised what just happened. Everything was a blur, your ears ringing as you began to tumble down. San screamed your name, the sound of it so raw, primal, and animalistic that you could hear him even when you could barely comprehend the world anymore.
He immediately caught, cradling you in his arms as your vision started to blur out. “Y/N, oh God, what the fuck did you do?” San cried, frantically shaking you as if that would get rid of the curse. “Y/N, why? Why would you do that? Why?”
Your body jerked against his, your chest tightening to a degree where it felt like it was about to cave in on you. Suddenly, you felt this overwhelming cold over you and San’s grip tightened impossibly so. “Yunho,” he called out in panic. “Her hands, oh God—”
Black lines bled through your skin, exactly like the ones on San’s chest. They crept from your hands up your arms all the way towards your throat. Yunho staggered forward, horror breaking his paralysis. “The curse,” he said, voice shaking. “I-I think it’s binding to her—”
San wasn’t listening. He was sobbing now, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaking down his face as he begged you to stay awake. “Look at me,” he pleaded. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me, Y/N, please—”
The last thing you saw was San’s face, utterly broken, grief carved into every line of it as he clutched you to his chest like something already lost.
Warmth you’ve never felt before led your consciousness to awaken. It felt abnormal, like you weren’t to feel it and for a moment, you thought you were back at your parents’ farm - sweat clung to your skin, seeping out of your pores as natural heat from the farmland permeated all over the place.
Instead of the humble shack made out of wood and concrete, you were met with arched windows draped in sheer gossamer curtains. The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, and you were confused for a second. This wasn’t the farmlands, and this wasn’t warmth from the sun-baked earth you remembered.
You had to get up because the sweat was starting to irritate your lower back and you scrambled upright, you had to squint, covering your eyes as sunlight suddenly streamed from the windows. Now that you think about it, your lower back hurts too, like you’ve been laying down for quite some time and the long sleep hurt more than felt restful.
You reckoned you should change out of your dress. It felt a little too thick for the weather. It was a nice day, perfect for a walk when you looked out your windows. The birds were singing outside, the trees were a lovely shade of green and multiple colourful flowers littered the entire palace grounds—
You paused, horribly so. You blinked in a daze, rubbing your eyes in a daze and looked again. No. It was still bright outside, no blankets of snow covering the entire grounds like you knew Utopia to be. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - warm, vibrant, alive. And you staggered, remembering everything all at once - the curse, the locket, San.
Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Wooyoung, looking like he was frozen in time, skin pale as if he had just seen a ghost. Whatever he had been holding slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, forgotten entirely.
Before you could even say hello, he spun on his heel and shouted down the hall, voice cracking with panic and disbelief. “H-Hongjoong,” his voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “Hongjoong!”
Hongjoong burst in, breathless, eyes wild. “What? What happened—”
The second he saw you standing there, he froze as well before his knees gave out beneath him. He dropped to the floor without shame, head bowing as his hands pressed together. “Thank the Heavens,” he whispered hoarsely, emotion flooding his voice. “Oh, thank the Heavens…”
Neither of them waited a second longer. “I-I’ll inform the mage—” the knight said before leaving.
Wooyoung bolted out as well, shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran down the halls, voice so loud you were sure the entire palace could have heard it. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” The young man hollered, voice brimming with emotion. “Your Majesty, she’s awake!”
And in the chaos of it all, you could hear it, feel him approaching your chambers without even looking, the sounds of panicked footsteps as they got closer and closer and there he was - the man that made your heart beat at the mere thought of him, right in the flesh.
San’s hair was disheveled, like he had run his hand through it so many times in frustration. Your heart was torn between joy and hurt because San looked utterly worn down. The bags beneath his eyes looked darker than mere shadows and he resembled more of a shell of a man whose sleep had long abandoned him.
And now he was staring you at like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, torn between wanting nothing but to hold you versus protecting himself from nightmare and heartbreak just in case this wasn’t real; that maybe he was hallucinating and you were only a figment of his imagination that he wanted so, so bad to manifest.
He flinched, not daring to breathe or blink. Slowly, he began to move closer to you, hands shaking as they hovered over you like he was afraid touching you would make you disappear. Just as suddenly, his legs gave out, knees thudding on the floor as his trembling arms wrapped around your thighs, head buried in your dress as he embraced your form.
“S-San,” you let out in surprise, hands automatically finding their way on his hair. “Please–”
“Don’t,” he spoke, begged, voice raw and muffled. “Please, j-just let me have this.”
When your fingers twitched, he gasped like he’d been holding his breath for as long as you were in that deep slumber and your touch just made him remember how to let air back into his lungs and life into his soul. It was how everyone else caught you and San and there was no dry eye in that room and at that moment.
Seonghwa and Jongho left first after, relief shining in their eyes, both bowing respectfully before they let Yeosang in, the kind-hearted chef holding onto a smiling Mingi. The taller had to lead the former out to give you and San privacy. Only Yunho was left, tears glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t do that ever again. Don’t you ever do that to me again. You don’t understand,” he exhaled. “Y/N. I thought I lost you, you were asleep for so long, I-I just…”
You tried to speak, but your throat burned. You sat down to his eye level, unwrapping his arms around you, grabbing his face between your hands. “San,” you said hoarsely. “Look at me.”
And he did. And by God his face, he looked wrecked up close. Eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “I’m here,” you continued, tears slipping free. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re both here. Together.”
Something in him broke. He finally pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, his restraint shattering all at once. He buried his face in your hair, clutching you like you were the only solid thing left in the world before grabbing your face to kiss you. His lips were warm with promise and relief neither of you dared named yet but felt settled deep in your chests.
A pointed, awkward cough cut through the moment. “Ahem.”
You both froze, pulling away to see Yunho standing a few steps away, one brow raised, amusement swimming behind his concern. “I’m still here,” Yunho said dryly.
You broke out into a breathless laugh first and it was all the three of you needed to make light of the situation. San guided you to the bed to let Yunho examine your body. “You’re perfectly healthy,” he said in disbelief even behind the relief. “A miracle, I tell you. You were reckless and I ought to smack you in the head for what you did, but so far, so good.”
It was when they told you everything that happened after you passed out. They couldn’t wake you up so they had no choice but to bring you back to the palace. San had to look away, jaw tight, when Yunho narrated how the king never left your bedside. But what truly surprised you was that about a week later, the snow started to melt and storms just halted completely.
“J-Just like that?” You asked, not able to stop your surprise, looking outside in confirmation and the scenario was still the same. Utopia looked utterly alive and if you closed your eyes to breathe in, it felt free. “How long did I…sleep?”
Both of them looked at each other before Yunho looked back on you. His expression softened, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Almost four months,” he said quietly. “It’s spring now.”
But something still boggled your mind, something far darker than you didn’t want to acknowledge but had to know. “But how? I don’t understand, is this how it ends? Just like that? Is Utopia free from the curse? Is…” you trailed off. “San free?”
Yunho went quiet for a moment, then slowly repeated the words that had haunted the kingdom for generations. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne,” he said softly. “And be claimed in return, will the winter break.”
You stayed silent, confused, but listened. “For the longest time, we misunderstood that last part as loss, that we needed a pure and kind heart as a sacrifice to stop the snow. But the magic never asked for death. It wanted reciprocation.”
You let that settle in, shaking your head because you still didn’t understand it. You felt San’s grip tighten around your hand and you turned to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face. “My father,” he spoke softly. “He was greedy. Just wanted to possess a love that never belonged to him. To enter willingly to claim the throne and be claimed in return…it was never about sacrifice. It was about being chosen back.”
The words landed like a final piece snapping into place. “In short,” Yunho finished. “To love and be loved in return. A queen of pure heart who was willing to accept a bloodline of rotten rulers with all she had and a king who loved with all his without asking for anything in return.”
The words settled heavily in the room. You had to admit, it was all anticlimactic; something you read as a child in those fairytale books your parents could barely afford selling grains. Love. Such a convoluted word yet powerful enough to bury a kingdom if need be.
It was all you could think about long after Yunho had left, leaving you and San in your chambers as the both of you laid down on your bed, his arms wrapped around you, just basking in the silence and the general presence the both of you offered each other. It was all you needed, and you were all he needed and more.
Maybe that was what it really was. Even if it was anticlimactic, it was reality, and what you felt for San was real. It ran deeper than the curse that held him for the longest time, and it certainly went beyond the reckless endangerment you put your life in when you wore the locket for him.
“Are you mad at me?” You blurted out dumbly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t answer you right away. He exhaled a small laugh through his nose in disbelief. “Yes. Very much so,” he said honestly. Your heart tanked, guilt swirling in it, but before you could spiral further, he tightened his arms around you. “But,” he continued gently. “What I feel for you will always be stronger than my anger. ”
All the breath from lungs left you, his words suddenly becoming the oxygen you needed to live. You wanted to choke from all the emotions that were clawing up your throat, and you looked at him - really looked at him. You breath caught because there was no trace of that king nor that man who was bound by a curse he never deserved. He was just San. His eyes were warm, devastatingly soft, watching you like you were something precious.
“I lost myself while you slept. You just looked so…gone,” he admitted quietly. “And it terrified me more than the curse ever did. A part of me died when you wore that locket.”
Your throat burned. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I swear, and honestly, I still don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew I didn’t want you to leave me.”
He didn’t answer; chose not to. He smiled, staring at you with fondness in his eyes and it was such a San thing to do. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, memorizing you in a way he’d never done before. The way he looked at you made your chest ache.
“I’m underselling this, aren’t I?” He suddenly said, his thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm. “What I feel for you, I mean.”
You felt his forehead rest against yours, breath warm, steady. “I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you,” he said. “I’d have brought you back one way or another. Find another witch to curse me just to drag you back. I loved you, Y/N. And you were gone. I loved you. And you slept.”
Your chest ached, full and fragile all at once. You couldn’t speak. If you did, you were certain you’d fall apart. His thumb stilled on your arm. “And I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low, rough around the edges.
You were confused. "For what?"
"That you thought you couldn't come to me," he whispered. "For letting you believe that the only way was to carry what should have never been yours."
He turned to you, his eyes shining with sincerity, his heart on his sleeve as he was about to pour his emotions to you. "It breaks my heart that I didn't do well enough for you to know that," he kissed your hand, his lips lingering longer. "I'm the one safe person you can always turn to, Y/N. Had I known it was going to come to that, I would’ve told you and let you choose what to do."
"Are you saying that you would have been okay if I solved everything myself?" You asked nervously. “That you would have let me help had you told me the curse beforehand?”
"Are you asking me to be okay with it?"
You didn’t reply immediately. "I want to know what my future husband thinks," you admitted shyly.
He raises a brow in surprise, the redness on the tip of his ears betraying his flustered emotions. “Yes,” his thumb brushed under your eye, tender. “The answer is yes. Your happiness has been the most important thing to me ever since I met you. I hope you know that.”
"I know it now," a tear fell from your eyes. And then multiple of them followed. "And now is all that matters."
He wiped your tears away with his free hand, looking at you like you were the only constant thing in the world that finally stopped freezing long before his kingdom did. “You’re beautiful even in tears,” he murmured.
"You can't just say things like that," you sniffled, smiling through your tears anyway. "I-I have nothing to offer you, San, I'm just a farm girl and I have no idea how to lead a kingdom. I don’t have any merit."
You had no idea where all your insecurity was coming from, but it was there. "No," San whispered. "You can give me everything. The people too. Look around you, Y/N."
And you did and that’s when you saw it. Random things you knew weren’t in the room - a hand stitched shawl, flowers in ornate vases, carved wooden charmed wooden carvings, multiple letters stacked against one another in one corner of the room. Your room was filled to the brim with gifts.
“They’re from the people of Utopia,” he said, following your gaze. “They’ve been giving you gifts. I told them everything. About the curse. About what you did. About how the snow stopped because you refused to let me disappear.”
Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “To them, you’re already their queen,” he continued. His eyes shone warmly, shining softly and earnestly as a good king should who truly loved his kingdom like San did. “ You lead by caring enough to try. Every day, even when it costs you. I know I did.”
Then he smiled, that soft, devastating smile meant only for you, and reached into his palm. A ring rested there and your tears started falling downwards at a faster rate as he took your hand in his. “Let’s do this again, please. No more duties, no more curses. Just us choosing each other, if you’d let me.”
The room felt impossibly still as he held the ring up to you, hope trembling just beneath his calm. “To the person who braved the cold with me,” he began. “Would you spare me the torment of being without you and marry me?"
You couldn’t speak, nodding fervently as you covered your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. The breath he let out was shaky, broken by a smile so full it almost hurt to look at. When he slid the ring onto your finger, the cold felt like nothing more than a distant memory.
In that moment, with no more snow falling and no curse left to fear, it felt like the world finally, truly began again for the both of you. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in. The kiss was nothing short of gentle, longing melting away between your lips.
And as the last remnants of fear had unshackled itself from the cold grips of despair, the curse was unbound. And at last, San felt free - truly free for the first time in his life.
synopsis ; the love between you and wooyoung was never going to last and your father made sure of that, but after being given a second chance you weren't about to let history repeat itself. even if that meant you'd be sacrificing yourself in the process... you'd do it in a heartbeat.
pairing(s) ; wooyoung x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 16.9k
☆ ── genre ; angst (some might say gut-wrenching), some fluff, in every universe au, doomed love au, semi-forbidden love au, goddess!reader, human/mortal!wooyoung, a tinge of humor
☆ ── tw. ; cussing, death, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, a tinge of violence, cheating, verbal fights, crying, familial trauma and problems, forced isolation, mentions of gods, manipulation, crying, mentions of markings, a small mention of sh, a tad bit of teasing and bullying, slight depection of abandonment issues, selfish and petty behavior, mentions/uses of powers, mental and emotional abuse, abuse of power, betryal, sacrafices, small mention of the afterlife/limbo, lmk if I missed anything!!
☆ ── notes ; now to be honest, this isn't my best work and could've been written 100 times better, but I'm still happy with it all the same!! this is my first work after being back from my sudden hiatus, and though it's not smut, I hope you all will enjoy it still. this is honestly one of my most favorite tropes, and I'm extremely happy I found a plot I could write using it!! n e who... I hope y'all enjoy, mwah!
You stood before the mirror that stood alone in an isolated corner of your cell. Though the room was shrouded in darkness, you saw your eyes staring back at you. The colors that once encompassed your irises brightly were nothing more than a dull shell of what they once were.
You weren't sure how long it had been since you've been thrown into this prison, your powers useless and your soul entirely shattered. Memories of that dreadful day haunted every corner of the cell. The day that your most beloved was ripped right out of your hands.
The metallic smell of blood still lingers in the air, even though no wound had been created.
The shrill creak of your cell door opening made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The dim light that followed brought your reflection to view for the first time in many millennia.
Your hair had grown longer, and your once dewy and flawless skin had turned dull and ghostly pale.
"It's time. The counsel wants to see you." The guard who had opened the door stood in the opening patiently, watching as you slowly turned.
You don't utter a single word, but rather walk towards him. The guard, Youngjae, who had once been a friend, is nothing more than a stranger, but upon seeing the emotionless expression on your once lively features. He felt nothing but pity.
Steeling himself, he turns and walks back out the door, leaving you to follow after him. The sounds of your rattling shackles echo off the dungeon walls as you walk.
Not a word was spoken as the guard led you up the stairs, nor did you feel a thing other than heartbreak and rage. No thoughts clouded your mind. No emotions shown upon your features. No sounds made other than your light steps on the cold, stone floor.
All that was left was a shell, haunted by memories of the past.
However, as the dungeon doors opened, you had to squint as bright rays of sunlight slowly enveloped your body. You step outside, stopping as soon as your bare feet touch the soft blades of grass.
For the first time in years, you've felt a warmth you'd forgotten about. The golden rays warmed your icy skin. The smell of fresh air almost burned your lungs as you took a deep breath.
Then everything went cold once more; the memories you had hoped to cherish, but were now a reminder of what you've lost, came flooding back.
The sun was shining brightly on the horizon, the lights slowly melting into shades of orange and pink. A beautiful display to say goodbye to the day before the night fell upon the world.
You stood in a field of flowers with Wooyoung, your beloved, as he crouched down to inspect the flower buds that decorated the plains around you.
"These flowers remind me of you, ya know?" Wooyoung's tone was full of mirth, causing you to look down at him, ready to question him. Yet as soon as you saw the love gleaming in his chocolate orbs, all annoyance melted away.
"Wanna know why?" He asked, standing to his feet.
"If you say something about me being closed off, I'll shove you down this hill." You threatened, but both of you knew that your words were just a mere empty promise.
"But you are." His voice was soft, and not a hint of teasing was heard as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "However, my love…" he pulled you back against his chest and leaned down until his lips softly brushed the shell of your ear.
"If you're given the right care and environment, you bloom." His words left your heart thumping, tears slowly building along your waterline. Then he lifts your chin gently as the flowers bloom, as the sun sets farther, until the moon rises, and their once-white petals start glowing a beautiful blue. "And you glow just as beautifully."
As the once-happy memory faded away, you could feel tears stinging your eyes, but you blinked them away and continued forward. There was no time to dwell on the past right now; you had to focus on the thing before you first.
The rest of the walk to the Council Chambers was silent; you followed behind Youngjae with your eyes locked on the floor underneath your feet. The moment that the door was opened, you could hear the roar of chatter from those inside; however, once you stepped inside, the noise died down to a low murmur.
"Well, if it isn't Y/n, Goddess of the stars. Welcome back to the surface, m'lady." A God who sat off to your right spoke, his condescending voice echoing all around the large room. You, however, didn't pay him any mind, your attention instead on the man who sat in the center, above all those around him.
Your father.
"Welcome back, my child. You have completed the second part of your punishment." He greeted you, but the implications of it being your 'second' punishment brought back memories from the 'first'.
Bile crept up your throat, clinging to your tongue to leave a bitter taste in your mouth as the memories resurfaced. Your heart beat almost painfully against your ribs, a wound that had been created long ago was ripped wide open once more.
The hands holding your arms were strong, keeping you in place. Your knees dug into the ragged stones beneath your body as you struggled to break free from their iron grasp. Tears streamed down your face, leaving your cheeks a flushed red as you sobbed.
"Stop this, please!" Your screams echoed in the courtyard, throat burning from the volume, yet not a single soul listened to you.
"Bring in the mortal." Your father demanded, ignoring your pleas and tears, anger plastered all over his face.
Your world seemed to stop around you the moment you saw Wooyoung's form walk into view; his hands were chained behind his back, blood trickling down from his temple. A sob tore through your throat at the thought of what they could've possibly done to him.
You thrashed around in your captor's hands, pleading with them to just let Wooyoung go. However, all you were met with was silence and the guards holding Wooyoung forced him to his knees before your father. Yet as the old God glared down at him, Wooyoung's gaze was locked on one thing and one thing only—you.
The sound of your father's decree was blurred as you tried to get to Wooyoung, but it was futile. Pain encased your heart as you met Wooyoung's eyes.
The chocolate orbs that you had always adored were filled with nothing but love and apologies, a sweet smile spreading across his lips. Fresh tears broke free when he mouthed 'it'll be okay' with a soft nod just as your father gave the order.
"NO!" You screamed as they plunged the long blade through Wooyoung's chest, crimson blood soaking the tattered white shirt he was wearing.
As his body dropped to the ground, the guards released your arms, allowing you to drag yourself to your feet. You ran towards Wooyoung and fell to your knees in front of his body, blood pooling under your knees. Sobs racked your body as you pulled him into your arms.
"Stay with me, please." You pleaded, shaky hand cupping Wooyoung's quickly paling cheek. He didn't move, the strike killing him in mere moments. A blood-curdling scream erupted from your lungs as you realized that he was gone, pain engulfing every one of your senses.
You cried as you leaned down, pressing your forehead to Wooyoung's, hoping to find a trace of his warmth, but it wasn't there—it was all gone.
The anguish that you still felt was soon joined by a burning rage that was steadily growing as you glared at your father, but you never uttered a word. Your father looked at you for a moment before clasping his hands together and leaning back in his seat.
"Have you, Y/n; Goddess of the Stars, repented for your transgressions?" Your father asked, looking at you expectantly.
You knew that he expected you to drop to your knees and apologize, but you weren't going to—you would never apologize. If anyone were in the wrong and needed to apologize, it would be your father for taking an innocent life just to make an example out of you. So you just relaxed your face into a neutral expression, your lips sealed shut.
Your silence was enough of an answer for everyone in that room, murmurs erupting around you.
"Foolish girl." Your father sneered, slamming his hand down onto the smooth marble before him. "If you choose not to repent, then so be it. I, the God of the Daylight, sentence you to banishment in the mortal realm with no powers and no hopes of ever returning until you repent for your transgressions." He waited for you to speak, but not a word was uttered, and he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Take her away."
The two guards who were positioned at the door moved towards you, their boots heavy on the polished floors. Right before they grabbed your arms, you lifted your head high, eyes meeting your father's, rage simmering in your dull irises.
"One day karma will come back and bite you for what you've done, and you'll pay a heavy price." Your voice was hoarse after not speaking for so long.
A glimmer of annoyance flashed across your father's face, but it was gone almost as soon as it was there. His eyes bore into you for a fleeting moment before they trailed over to the guards that still stood mere inches away from you.
"Take her to the gatekeeper." He instructed them, and without another word, the guards grabbed your arms and pulled you back. You kept your head held high as you walked out of the room, not letting a single one of their disappointed looks get under your skin.
The guards did as they were told and delivered you to the gatekeeper, leaving after unlocking your chains. Your eyes flickered over to the glowing portal between two columns, a strange sense of hope blooming in your chest.
"Upon your father's request, you are to have your powers sealed." The voice of the old gatekeeper was heard, causing you to look over just as the old man walked out from behind another portal. His hands stroked his long white beard as he walked over to you, the sound of his cane clicking on the pavement.
"He seems to have a lot of requests." You muttered, eyes trailing back over to the portal as the sound of the man's chuckle filled your ears.
"That he does, but I must forewarn you, child; your father is uneasily persuaded and will make sure you live a hard life if you don't follow his direction." The old, white-haired man warned you, and you looked at him with scrunched eyebrows.
"What do you mean? I'm being sent to the mortal realm. What more could he possibly want?" You asked, confusion lacing your words, but the gatekeeper just shook his head.
"That is all I can say to you. Now, hold out your wrists. I'll try to make this as quick as possible." He sighed, and even though you had more questions than you could count, you knew that it would be pointless even to ask, so inevitably you raised your arms.
The old man sealed your powers; the thorn-filled vines that circled your wrist were proof of that. Then he sent you on your way to the mortal realm with one last warning that left you with an uneasy feeling in your gut.
"There's always a plan for people, but child, you can change your fate."
Four years have passed since you were sent to the mortal realm. Four years have passed since you started your search for a purpose. Four years have passed since you began to hope that you would find him.
The family that was kind enough to take you in when you first arrived, alone and scared, suggested that you could start college. The older woman suggested that you take astronomy, seeing as you were so fond of the night sky, which made you laugh a little, given who you really were.
Yet you took her advice and began applying to a few universities. It took a few months, but you finally got accepted into one that was in the city. You hated to think of leaving the place that you had grown fond of, but you knew that if you had any chance of finding Wooyoung, you would have to venture out.
So now you find yourself wandering around the university campus, phone in hand, a map pulled up because you're lost. You glanced down at the map, then at your surroundings, but none of it made any sense.
"How could the mortal world change so much?" You mumbled, eyes darting all around as you continued forward.
Your eyes were glued to the map, trying to decipher where you were going, that you hadn't even noticed where you were and what was in front of you. At least not until you ran right into the light pole that was in front of you. A pained groan fell from your lips as you fell back to the ground, your phone flying from your hand.
"Jeez…" You groaned, rubbing the now throbbing spot on your forehead. You were sure that there was a red spot now, and eventually, there'll be a knot.
Suddenly, there was a hand in your line of sight. "Are you okay?"
Your heart seized at the familiar voice, blood rushed to your head, and your ears started ringing. Slowly, you lifted your head, your gaze falling on the long-haired male who stood before you. Shock enveloped all of your senses as you took in his appearance.
There stood Wooyoung, your once beloved, alive and well.
"Is there something on my face?" Wooyoung asked with a soft chuckle, and the sound of his voice snapped you out of the trance you seemed to be stuck in.
'He's not going to remember you, Y/n, snap out of it.' You mentally smacked yourself at the mere thought that he might recognize you.
You let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head, "No, no, I'm just shocked that someone was a witness to me walking right into a pole."
Wooyoung's lips curved into a teasing smile as you placed your hand into his. As soon as his warm skin touched yours, sparks danced across your skin, causing goosebumps to rise. Your breath hitched as memories flashed across your vision, and your heart ached in pain.
"Now, what had you so distracted that you would walk straight into a lamp post?" Wooyoung teased as he stepped away and reached down to grab your discarded phone.
"I—" Your words caught in your throat as your face flushed a bright red, embarrassment making your ears burn. Clearing your throat, "I was looking at the map, trying to find my building." You tell him as you avert your gaze to the side, watching the leafless trees sway softly in the fall winds.
Wooyoung hums as he glances down at your phone, a schedule now pulled up on your screen. Upon closer inspection, he made out that you were an astronomy student, causing his lips to twitch into a small smile.
"So you like stars, huh?" He asks as he hands your phone out to you, and you nod, taking the device into your hands, "I'm actually on a free period right now. I can show you the way."
You felt your heart speed up at the sound of his offer, hands shaking as you panicked a little, "No, no, you don't have to do that. I don't want you to waste any of your free time on me."
"It's no problem at all." He promised, a bright smile spreading across his face, and you swallowed thickly, tears stinging in your eyes as you recalled the last time you'd seen that smile. Wooyoung's smile quickly faded into worry as the first few tears fell from your eyes, "Are you okay? Should we go to the infirmary instead?"
You couldn't help but let out a weak laugh, "I'm okay. Must've been a delayed pain reaction now that the shock has worn off."' You lied through your teeth, knowing that you would've sounded absolutely insane if you had said anything else.
He looked at you with a gaze filled with uncertainty, but didn't say anything further and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as the wind blew. It made your heart warm to know that he still didn't like the cold weather.
"Oh, I'm Wooyoung by the way." He introduced himself to you, pulling his hand out of his pocket to hold it out to you.
That's when it fully settled in that he doesn't know who you are, nor will he ever remember you, for this isn't the same life as before. Your heart felt as if it broke a little more inside the cage of your chest, and you inhaled shakily, trying to keep the tears at bay. You placed your smaller hand into his with a smile that didn't quite meet your eyes before introducing yourself.
"C'mon, let's get you to class so you're not late." He nodded his head in the direction to his right, and you sniffled with a nod, following behind him.
—
It was early afternoon by the time all of your classes ended, and you made your way to the bus stop to get back to your apartment. You recalled Wooyoung's invitation to join him and his friends at a diner later that night.
Walking down the sidewalk, you debated with yourself over whether or not you should go. You didn't want to come across as overbearing, seeing as he just met you for the first time. Goosebumps littered your skin as the temperature dropped, the aching in your wrists growing, and you remembered the reason that you were here in the first place.
Looking up at the darkening sky, the outline of the moon is faint but still there. You swore to yourself then and there that, no matter what happened, you would fight like hell to protect Wooyoung in this life. No matter the cost.
With determination in your steps, you pulled your phone out just as you arrived at the bus stop. Sitting down on the bench as you pulled up the address that he had given you.
After stopping at your apartment to drop your school stuff off and grabbing a thicker hoodie, you made your way to the diner. When you got there, you were worried that you were too late and that they had already left. Regardless, you still looked around the room in hopes of finding the raven-haired male.
"Being fashionably late is a quality of yours I see." Your head turns at the sound of Wooyoung's voice, finding him walking towards you with his signature teasing smile.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize how far away my apartment was from here." Your face flushed due to his teasing, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.
"I'm just messin' with you," He chuckles, watching the tips of your ears start to turn red as you look at him, half shocked, half annoyed, "c'mon, my friends are waiting over at the table."
Shaking your head softly, you trailed behind him as he led you to a table that was towards the middle of the diner, hidden behind a half-wall with plants lining the top. When Wooyoung stops, you look over, finding the eyes of four men staring back at you.
"This is Yeonjun, Changbin, San, and Yeosang." Wooyoung introduced all of his friends to you, pointing to each when he said their name. However, when you met Yeosang's eyes, you couldn't help but feel a bit of weight lift off your shoulders.
Wooyoung and Yeosang were close like brothers in his last life; the two were always attached at the hip. Even when Yeosang seemed to hate the idea of being seen in public with Wooyoung, he never once said no, and you knew he truly cared for Wooyoung. Knowing they had found their way back to each other in this life left your heart feeling a little lighter.
"Guys, this Y/n, the star girl I was telling you about this morning." Wooyoung's introduction caused you to laugh softly.
"Why don't you join us, Y/n? The food should be out soon." San invited you as Wooyoung sat down in his seat.
You offered him a small smile before nodding, walking around his seat to take the empty chair between him and Wooyoung, setting your bag on your lap. You barely got sat down when all eyes fell on you once more, all holding some level of curiosity.
"Did you just start this quarter? I haven't seen you around before." Yeonjun asked as he took a sip of his soda.
"Yeah, I—" You paused, not sure how to answer without it sounding too strange, "I wasn't too sure about school before then."
Yeonjun nods, and Changbin smiles at you, "There's nothing wrong with being unsure. How was your first day?"
As you told them about your day and answered any of their questions, you felt your body relax, and the atmosphere filled with warmth and laughter as you told them how your professor messed up on their presentation. You were so lost in conversation that you hadn't even realized that you had pulled your sleeves up to your elbows until you saw Changbin's gaze drift down.
"Whoa, those tattoos are cool. It's like they're cuffs." Changbin complemented the markings around your wrist, not knowing that they weren't tattoos at all. Your breath caught in your throat, and you discreetly moved your hands to your lap before pulling your sleeves back down, muttering out a thanks with a forced smile.
The tension in the air grew steadily, and noticing your unease, San looked over at you with a soft smile, "Wooyoung said that your major was astronomy."
"Yeah," You gave him a thankful smile, relaxing in your seat once more, "I've always had an affinity for the night sky; it's truly remarkable."
"Can you name all of the constellations?" Changbin asked while shoving a fry into his mouth, causing you to laugh.
"I ca—"
"Hyejoo!" The sound of Wooyoung calling someone's name cut you off, and you looked over just as he stood from his chair, walking towards a girl who had just walked into the diner.
You felt your heart sink drastically as you watched him reach over to grab her waist gently, pulling her body towards his. Your stomach churned violently, leaving you feeling incredibly queasy, and your ears started to ring dully.
Noticing your gaze, Yeonjun turns his head, catching sight of the couple before turning to look back at you, "Oh, that's Hyejoo, Wooyoung's girlfriend."
Girlfriend. His girlfriend.
It seemed like the world blurred around you, your vision tunneling as you tried to process those words. However, seeing them smile so happily at each other made your heart break, tears involuntarily filling your eyes as you watched. You bit down on your tongue as your hands shook in your lap, emotions swirled in your mind, and you just couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from the couple.
"Hey, Y/n, are you okay?" San asked, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder.
Upon hearing his voice, the emotions quieted, and you blinked away the tears before looking over at him with a smile that didn't quite meet your misty eyes.
"I'm okay." Your voice wavered slightly, eyes finding their way back to Wooyoung and Hyejoo, watching as he pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "They look happy together."
Your statement earned you a choked laugh from Yeonjun, the redhead coughing on his soda before looking at you like you just said the funniest thing in the world.
"Don't let that show fool you." He jabbed a finger over his shoulder, confusing you, "she's only after his money, trust me. We've caught her cheating before and even emotionally manipulating Wooyoung." The more that he explained, the pain you felt was slowly swallowed by anger.
"Have you not talked to him about it?" You asked, fingers curling into your palm to create fists.
"Of course we have." Yeosang's eyebrows scrunched together, setting his glass down, "but no matter how many times we tell him or even show him the evidence, he just won't leave her."
"We're not sure what the hell she has over him," Yeonjun adds in.
"I don't think she has anything over him. It's more so other things." San said, his voice insinuating something that you were sure the other three knew, but you.
Choosing to ignore it, your eyebrows scrunched together, "he doesn't deserve to live like that, that's not real love."
"Ya know it sounds like you've known him for more than a few hours when you say it like that." Changbin jokes, but your breath catches, and you avert your gaze.
'Cause I've known him for much longer than a few measly hours.' You thought as you swallowed thickly, eyes trained on your balled fists.
"He just… reminds me of someone." You muttered quietly, biting the inside of your lip.
The sound of footsteps caught your attention, and you looked up just as Wooyoung walked over with Hyejoo trailing close behind him.
"I didn't miss anything, did I?" Wooyoung asks as he takes his seat next to you once more, a bright smile plastered on his face as he looks at each of you in turn.
"Nah, man, just chatting." Yeonjun shrugs, grabbing a fry from Changbin's plate, causing the dark-haired male to swat at his hand.
Feeling eyes burning into your skull, you looked over to find Hyejoo looking at you pointedly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. You mustered up a smile, but it was quickly wiped away when she spoke.
"Get up." Her voice was curt, causing your jaw to clench tightly.
Yeonjun scoffs, rolling his eyes and pointing to the two chairs at the end of the table, "There are other chairs, Hyejoo, take your pick."
"No, that's my seat." She refused, stomping her foot as a child would when they wouldn't get their way.
"Last time I checked, it didn't have your name on it." Yeonjun stared at her blankly, taking the straw in his cup between his lips.
"It's fine, Hye, just sit here." Wooyoung started to get up to pull the chair on the end out for Hyejoo, but you quickly placed your hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
"It's alright, Wooyoung, I just remembered a project I need to get started on, so I should go." You smiled at him. The last thing you wanted to do was to make things harder for him, so you decided to just let Hyejoo have her way this time.
"But—"
"It's okay," you offered him a soft smile when he looked at you apologetically. "Enjoy your night." You grabbed your bag before standing up and making your way out of the diner.
As soon as the door closed behind you, all of the pain hit you tenfold, tears pooled along your waterline, and you placed a hand over your heart as your chest began to hurt. You knew deep down that you had no right to feel so upset about him being with someone who wasn't you; he had just met you in this life. It only made sense. But it did, it hurt so much as if your heart was being ripped from the depths of your chest.
Setting out further into the freezing night air, you glanced up at the night sky, stars staring back at you dimly, just as they had for the time your powers had been sealed away. You tried to connect the scattered orbs, but it was futile; without your guidance, they were just specks in the sky.
Your lip started to tremble slightly as you began to wonder if this was another one of your father's cruel 'punishments' and started to curse him once more, until the sound of your name being called pulled your attention from the night sky.
Glancing over, you found Wooyoung standing just a few feet away with a plastic bag in his hands. Your head tilted slightly in confusion when he held it out to you.
"I'm sure you haven't eaten for a while, so I got you this, so make sure to eat, alright?" He told you before placing it into your hands, not giving you a chance to refuse.
Looking down at the bag in your hands, you were reminded of when you met him for the first time many, many years ago. You had saved his little brother from a group of bandits when he was on his way home from gathering herbs.
"Are you alright, dear?" You asked the small boy who had cowered into a tree, his knees pulled to his chest as he looked up at you with teary eyes. He slowly untucked himself and nodded with a sniffle. "Let's get you home then." You held your hand out to the small child, and he hesitantly took it, guiding you back to his home.
Upon arriving at the small house, you were met with a frantic male calling out the little boy's name. When he saw you with the child, he rushed over to grab him, making sure that he was okay and unharm.
"S-She saved me." The little boy hiccupped as he pointed over to you, and you just offered a small smile.
"Thank you so much for saving my brother. Please come in. I'm almost finished with dinner." Wooyoung bowed down to you, causing you to panic slightly, waving your hands in front of you as your cheeks flushed.
"It wasn't a problem really," You told him before adding, "and I really can't stay."
"Then please wait here." Wooyoung pleaded with you before turning and rushing back into the house, not leaving you a chance to respond.
"Thank you for saving me, Miss." The little boy tugged on your gown, causing you to look down at him.
With a smile, you situated your gown before crouching down, "I couldn't just leave a child to be bullied like that, could I?" You fixed some of his hair, missing the way he looked at you affectionately, "Just remember to be a little more careful next time, yeah?"
"I will, I promise." He nodded, his little hands balling into fists of determination, causing you to laugh softly.
Wooyoung came back out just as you ruffled the little boy's hair and stood back up onto your feet, a smile adorning your features as you looked at his brother. Walking over, he caught your attention before handing the packed-up sweets into your hands, leaving no room for discussion.
You smiled fondly at the memory as you looked back up at Wooyoung, who was watching you, and you began to wonder if he had any siblings in this life. However, when the wind blew, it left both of you shivering, and you laughed softly as Wooyoung dramatically shook his shoulders.
"Thank you, Wooyoung," you smiled at the raven-haired male before glancing inside the diner, where the group was still sitting. "You should get back inside."
Following your gaze, he nods softly before looking back at you and smiling, "Get home safe, Y/n."
You watched as he walked back into the diner, the bell above the door ringing loudly in your ears. Your gaze never left his form as he sat back down with the others, and you couldn't help but feel a bit bittersweet. Even if he wasn't going to be with you this lifetime, you were going to make sure that you watched over him.
After a few moments, you tore your gaze away and peeked inside the bag, a small, sad laugh leaving your lips as you looked at the small note attached to the top of the to-go container. Tears that you hadn't even noticed broke free and dripped from your eyes onto the styrofoam.
The note held his phone number with his name, surrounded by a multitude of different doodles. However, looking closer, you saw a little note scribbled on the bottom that caused a choked sob to tear from your throat.
'Thank you for joining us, Y/n, let's be friends, okay?"
The days that you spent hanging out with Wooyoung and his friends slowly turned into weeks, and those weeks spilled into months. As the time flew by, you found yourself growing as a part of the group, and being close to Wooyoung brought you a sense of security that you believed had disappeared a long time ago.
You started to feel at peace once more, your brain finally shutting down from worrying about that relentless attack for months. Even now, as you sit on Changbin's living room couch, talking to the guys.
"How are braids like that even possible?" Changbin asked, leaning back to look at the rest of the braids that were in your hair, causing you to laugh softly.
"I can see braiding someone else's hair, but your own? It has to be magic or something, I don't know." Yeonjun shook his head, grabbing a few more chips from the bag to place in his mouth.
"It's really not that difficult, guys," You laughed, screwing the cap back onto your water bottle, a wide smile spread across your lips.
"Speaking of braiding hair, Wooyoung's hair is pretty much at the point where you could." San teased the younger male who was chillin on the couch next to him, eyes watching you as you scooted back before they lit up at San's words.
"Yes! Braid my hair, Y/n, please." He practically begged as he jumped up from the couch and walked over to you, completely missing the shock etched on your features.
Your heart started to beat rapidly at the thought of him being close enough for you to touch. Even though it's been months and he's invited you out countless times, it's always been with at least one of the other guys, and he'd always keep his distance, staying at least an arm's length away. You figured that it had something to do with Hyejoo, and it hurt like a thousand knives to the heart, but you just smiled through it, not wanting to pry. So to say that you were shocked that he was willingly getting this close to you again would be an understatement.
"You want me to braid your hair?" You asked, looking up at him, trying to make sure that you even heard him correctly, and he smiled with a nod, already sitting down between your knees. Heat flushed your face as he situated himself on the floor, his skin pressed against the bare skin of your calves.
After a few moments, you raised your shaky hand, running your fingers through his soft locks of hair. Your fingertips tingled as you recalled all of the times that you used to play with his hair when he lay in your lap or against you while he slept.
Your heart nearly lurched up into your throat when he nuzzled his head back into the palm of your hand, and you were sure that if he were able to, he'd be purring like a cat. A warm smile spread across your lips as you tried to ignore the way that your body was reacting to him like it used to so long ago. So you started parting his hair in order to braid it, missing the eyes that were watching you with curiosity.
While you tried to braid Wooyoung's hair, he was playing some sort of mobile game on his phone while the rest of the guys put on some cheesy comedy movie that Yeonjun picked out, talking amongst each other. You hummed softly to yourself as you restarted on your braid for the nth time after Wooyoung jerked out of your hold due to the game, cursing under his breath.
However, the calm atmosphere was interrupted by a loud knock at the door followed by the doorbell ringing. You looked over at Yeosang, who was sitting to your right, before looking at the other, and each of you was just as equally confused. No one else was expecting anyone or packages, so you were left wondering who could be.
"I'll go see who it is." Changbin got up before heading towards the front door, while Wooyoung turned his phone off.
"Are you almost done?" Wooyoung asked, hand reaching back to touch his head, causing you to roll your eyes while swatting his hand away.
"No, you keep moving, so I've had to restart at least a dozen times now." You huffed out, restarting once again while Wooyoung chuckled.
"C'mon, you can't handle a bit of movement?" He teases while turning his head just enough to let one of the strands slip from your fingers, and you groan.
"I won't have to worry about movement if I just taped you still." You threatened, running your fingers through his hair so you could restart yet again.
"No, that's just mean Y/n." Wooyoung pouted, lightly pinching your calf, causing you to jump, a small gasp falling from your lips, and you smacked his shoulder.
"Don't do that!"
"Or what?" Wooyoung smirked, and you were half tempted to pull his hair, but against your better judgment, you didn't.
The two of you had been too busy with your banter that neither of you noticed when Changbin walked back into the living room, a semi-annoyed expression on his face as someone followed in behind him.
"Wooyoung." Changbin's call for the raven-haired male caused the room to fall silent, eyes finding their way to the entryway.
Wooyoung's hair slowly slipped from your fingers as you saw his girlfriend standing slightly behind Changbin, her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. You felt your mouth go dry as a mixture of worry and annoyance bubbled in your gut, feelings you haven't felt in a while.
"Oh, so you guys won't invite me to hang out, but you'll sure as hell invite her, huh? I thought I was a part of this group." Hyesoo grunted as she glared directly at you, her upper lip pulling back slightly as if she were trying to bare her teeth at you.
It took all you had not to give her some kind of remark, hoping to keep a semblance of peace.
"You were never a part of our group," Yeonjun grumbled from the other side of you, low but still audible to those near him.
Wooyoung smacks his leg, giving him a hard look before climbing to his feet. You would be lying if you said it didn't hurt even a little when he didn't glance back at you before walking towards Hyesoo.
"What are you doing here, babe?" He asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as he moved closer to her.
"Well, you weren't answering your phone, so I came looking for you." She told him, uncrossing her arms with a pout as Wooyoung got closer. Changbin, however, crossed his arms, asking how she even knew Wooyoung would be here, an annoyed tinge to his tone. "Oh, I just looked at his location."
A sour taste filled your mouth as she told you that she made Wooyoung share his location at all times, but you bit down on your tongue. Hard.
Despite all of the obvious protests of her staying, Hyejoo eventually made herself comfortable on the loveseat between Wooyoung and San. You could tell that the latter was uncomfortable as he pretty much pressed himself against the arm to keep some distance between himself and Hyejoo.
You tried to focus on the movie, fiddling with the cuff of your hoodie sleeve, but the feeling of eyes on you caused you to glance over. Hyejoo looked over at you, a smirk tugging on the corner of her lips as she hooked her arm through Wooyoung's. You just rolled your eyes and turned back towards the movie, missing the annoyed look that flashed across Hyejoo's face.
"Ya know, it's practically summer, why are you always wearing a hoodie, Y/n?" Her question caught you off guard, and you stopped fiddling with the fabric and looked over at her.
Annoyance was starting to creep into your senses, and you just exhaled deeply, not wanting to start anything, so you brushed it off before answering her, "I get cold easily."
Your answer was short, and you turned to watch the movie once more, but caught Yeonjun's eyes beforehand, and you could see the glare he was giving Hyejoo. Opening your mouth, you started to tell him to drop it, but Hyejoo's words caused you to freeze.
"You're not one of those freaks that wear long sleeves to hide their scars, are you?"
At that point, the last shred of patience you had snapped, and you turned towards her, anger burning hot in your eyes.
"I'm sorry?" You asked, voice tight as you absentmindedly moved towards the edge of the couch.
"I'm just asking," Hyejoo shrugged, a slight smirk pulling on the corner of her lips, "those people are just freaks, I mean, come on, who willingly cuts themself to look like a chopping board."
"Shut the hell up, Hyejoo." You growled, shooting out of your seat, hands curled into tight fists at your sides.
"Excuse you?!" Hyejoo asked in disbelief as she stood as well, the air around you two growing thick with tension.
"I've dealt with your self-righteous bitchiness for long enough, but now you're gonna actively shun people who are physically and mentally hurting?" You were seething, rage flowing hot under your skin, and Yeonjun moved to stand as well as Wooyoung, both ready to interfere if things got physical.
"Well, dumbass, they wouldn't be hurting if they didn't slice themself like paper." Hyejoo rolled her eyes, and you lunged, ready to finally get your hands on her, but Yeonjun was quicker. He wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you in place.
"Yeonjun, I swear to the gods that you'd better let me go." You gritted your teeth, fighting against his hold, but he was much stronger than you.
"You are one of them, aren't you?" Hyejoo laughed, actually laughed, and at that point, all you saw was red, "you're probably just leeching off the guys, too, huh? Making them waste their money on someone as pathetic as you."
"Hyejoo, knock it off, that's not true." San shot out of his seat when he watched you physically slum in Yeonjun's hold, an almost distant look in your eyes.
"Yeah, if anyone is leeching, it's you," Yeonjun growled, turning his attention back to you, making sure that you were alright.
"San's right, babe, Y/n isn't a leech. She doesn't ev—"
"Me or her." Hyejoo cut Wooyoung off before he could even finish his sentence, her words causing the whole room to fall silent.
"What?" Wooyoung asked in disbelief, his eyes growing wide as he looked down at his girlfriend.
"You heard me. Choose. Me or her?" Hyejoo asked more sternly, pointing at herself before jabbing her finger in your direction, causing the raven-haired male to look between both of you.
You watched as war waged behind his chocolate eyes, his gaze flickering to you before landing back on Hyejoo. A small selfish part of you wished and hoped wholeheartedly that he would pick you over her, but you knew that he wouldn't—couldn't.
It felt like your soul had been crushed once more when he looked back at you with a pained, guilty expression. "I-I'm sorry." His voice cracked with pain as he took in the sight of your tear-brimmed eyes, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave the one person he believed actually loved him.
Inhaling shakily, you pulled yourself out of Yeonjun's hold, a grim smile spreading across your face. "It's okay, Woo." Your gaze flickered over to Hyejoo, who was still glaring at you, but had a smug smile on her lips, which only caused more pain to shoot through your heart, knowing who you were leaving him with. Swallowing thickly, you turned, "I should probably go then."
You didn't give any of them a chance to protest before walking towards the front entrance, slipping your shoes onto your feet as tears silently flowed down your flushed cheeks. The sound of footsteps echoed in the halls as you stood up to grab your bag from the coat rack. Looking over your shoulder, you could see Yeosang through your teary vision.
"Hey, did you need a ride home. It's pretty late." He offered, and you were glad that he hadn't apologized or even mentioned what happened, because if he had, you weren't sure you'd make it out of the house before fully breaking down.
"N-No—" You choked back a sob, furiously trying to wipe your face free of tears, but it seemed like the more you wiped them away, the more they came back. "I just wanna be alone right now." You tried your best to muster a smile, but Yeosang could see that you were hanging on by a thread.
"Message one of us when you get home, okay?" He nodded, concern swimming in his eyes, the longer he watched you try to hold on, and you nodded softly before bidding him a farewell and walking out of the house.
Hearing the door shut, Yeonjun looked over just as Yeosang walked back into the room. Meeting the redhead's eyes, Yeosang shook his head, causing Yeonjung to scoff. Anger of his own was bubbling in his veins as he watched his best friend comfort his girlfriend as if she hadn't done anything wrong.
Sensing eyes on him, Wooyoung looked up, meeting his friends' furious eyes, and flinched when Yeonjun spat out those few words before walking off.
"Good fucking job, dude."
—
Over the next few weeks, Wooyoung doesn't utter a single word to you, never answers your texts or calls, but he never blocked your number either, so you knew he was getting them. Then, when he actively started to avoid you, even when you were with the guys, it was the cherry on top.
After that, you figured that you would just distance yourself from all of them, but the pain of seeing Wooyoung avoid you like the plague became too much. You still watched from a distance, keeping your promise to protect him, but somewhere along the way, you found yourself drifting away from everything entirely.
It was Friday evening when you heard a knock at your apartment door. You lay sprawled across the couch watching TV with a bag of chips forgotten on your stomach. You stared at the ceiling, debating whether or not you wanted to get up to answer the door. However, when the knocking continued, you knew you couldn't ignore it, not without getting a complaint from your neighbors. So you groaned, muting the TV and tossing the bag of chips on the coffee table before moving sluggishly towards the front door.
You didn't even bother looking through the peephole, already knowing that it could only be a few select people. Unlatching the lock, you opened the door, squinting slightly as the bright hallway light met your eyes.
"Finally, I thought we'd have to break the door down." Yeonjun groned, causing you to roll your eyes, and Yeosang shook his head.
"He would've been the one breaking down doors." Yeosang pointed at the redhead who shot him a glare, but you just looked at them with an emotionless expression that was all too familiar.
"What are you guys doing here?" You asked, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed.
"Well, hello to you, too, dear friend." Yeonjun sassed, and any other day, you would've probably rolled your eyes and called him dramatic, but at the moment, you didn't feel much of anything. Seeing the dark bags under your eyes, he sighed, "We need you to come to the party Wooyoung is throwing for Hyejoo's birthday."
At the sound of Wooyoung's name, Yeonjun could see you visibly flinch, pain pooling in your orbs. However, you masked it as much as you could, swallowing thickly.
"He doesn't want to see me, Yeonjun. Why would I show up to a party he's throwing uninvited?" You asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Except you're not uninvited," Yeosang spoke up, waving an invitation with your name on it, "he wants to see you, Y/n, but Hyejoo is making it difficult. Plus, she's back on her cheating antics again, and Wooyoung hasn't been himself; we're worried."
Anger and worry wormed their way into your brain as you listened to Yeosang, your body slowly straightening as you battled your inner turmoil over whether or not you should interfere. Yet you knew that you would, that you couldn't just stand idly by while Wooyoung was being used and manipulated and even hurt. So reluctantly, you nodded your head, letting your arms fall to your sides.
"Okay," Your voice shook slightly as you looked between the two males that stood at your doorstep, "what time do we leave?"
A few hours later, you were standing in Wooyoung's house with a plastic cup filled with liquor in your hand as you talked to San. The party was going in full circle around you, music causing the ground beneath your feet to vibrate.
You hadn't seen any sign of the raven-haired male since you showed up, a part of you sad, another grateful, because you weren't sure you were ready to see him again. However, just as San was telling you about the bet he and Changbin made over cup pong, you caught sight of Hyejoo.
Standing a little taller, you watched as she latched onto the arm of a guy who was most definitely not Wooyoung, a sickeningly sweet smile pulling at her lips. Your eyes followed after them as Hyejoo led the guy up the stairs.
"Hold this." You handed your cup over to San before maneuvering your way through the crowd, ignoring San's call of your name.
Just as you disappeared up the steps, Changbin walked over to San, asking what was going on, and San's eyes flickered from the stairs to the shorter male, a small grimace painting his features. "Shit is about to hit the fan, where's Yeonjun and Yeo?"
Getting to the top of the stairs, you looked around, trying to find any sign of where they might've gone. Then you heard giggling coming from a room off to your left, and you stormed over, anger clouding your vision. Bringing your hand up, you brought it back down roughly against the wood, banging repeatedly despite the sounds of it being occupied.
Ignoring them, you reached for the doorknob, and by some miracle, it was unlocked. Opening it, you were met with the sight of Hyejoo perched on the dudes lap, lips locked together. Your lips pull up in disgust as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely across your chest.
"Oh my god, are you stupid or something—" Hyejoo spun around, ready to tell you off, until she realized who it was standing in the doorway. A smug smirk tugs on her lips, "Wooyoung won't believe you even if you told him."
However, instead of getting the angry or annoyed reaction that she had expected from you, all you gave her was a borderline sinister smirk. Pushing yourself off the doorframe, you step further into the room, "Oh, I won't have to say a word to him, Hye." You said her nickname almost mockingly, leaving an uneasy feel to settle in the brunette's stomach. Then your eyes flicker over to the guy who was still sitting on the bed, watching, but when he felt your eyes on him, he looked over, "scram."
"You don't get to tell me what to do bitch." He glared at you, but you glared at him, the air in the room turning icy and becoming hard to breathe. The energy that was radiating off of your body was enough to have him scrambling out of the room, finally leaving you alone with Hyejoo.
"Coward," Hyejoo grumbled as she watched the guy run off before looking back at you, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
"So you're just gonna openly cheat in your boyfriend's home?" You asked, jaw tight as you tried your best to keep your cool, "at a party he threw for you no less."
"Yeah, so what? All I have to do is show him a little love and he'll believe everything I say." Hyejoo shrugged, brushing it off as if it were nothing, setting you off.
"How could you treat someone like that? Huh? Is it some sick fetish you have?" You sneered, hands balling into fists as you dropped them to your sides. "Wooyoung cares so much about you, Hyejoo, and you what? Just use him and discard him like he's some fucking toy?"
The sound of Hyejoo's laugh almost made you lunge at her; however, her words made you grit your teeth, "Exactly, Y/n, now you're starting to get it. He's clingy and pathetic, the only thing he has going for him is the money, so of course I'm gonna use him." She smirks as she takes in your outraged expression, walking towards you and placing her hand on your shoulder, only to have you smack it away, "You wanna know why he keeps coming back?" She leans down next to your ear, her breath fanning your cheek, "because he never got the attention and love he needed from his parents, so he clings to any kind he can get."
A deep, almost guttural growl tore through your throat as you shoved her back, a fire burning bright in your eyes as your hands shook uncontrollably with rage at your sides.
"So if I just give him that little bit of attention he craves so much, he'll be wrapped tight around my finger. Mine to use as I please, and I bet you he'd even thank me." Hyejoo smirked, looking at her freshly manicured nails while you fought demons to not lunge at her.
"Do you even care about him? At all?" You were fuming, eyelid twitching as you used your last bit of strength to keep from swinging any punches, knowing that it'd only look worse on your behalf.
"Me? Care about him? Not at all."
You inhaled sharply, ready to tell her off once more; however, the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. You could sense him before his shaky voice broke through your argument.
"What is going on in here?" Wooyoung asked, eyes flickering between you and Hyejoo. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he tried his best to keep his composure after hearing everything.
Both you and Hyejoo froze in your spots, heads turning to look at the raven-haired male who was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. Even in the dimly lit room, you could tell that his face was flushed, and you could see the tears building along his waterline, and your heart dropped. This wasn't how you had planned for him to find out—not at all—but now it was too late.
"Woo!" Hyejoo put on a pitiful act as she tried to play the victim, saying that you cornered and threatened her while wrapping her hands around his arm.
"Stop!" Wooyoung shouted, causing both of you to jump, pulling his arm out of Hyejoo's grasp and looking down at her with a teary glare. "I heard everything, Hyejoo." His voice wavered as he took a step away from her, tears breaking free, "Why? After everything I've done for you, why?"
You wanted so badly to pull Wooyoung into your arms as he started to tremble, holding a hand over his heart.
"I gave you everything you've wanted, but it was just some ploy to you, huh?" He asked, eyes narrowing into slits and his upper lip pulling into a trembling sneer. "I trusted you, loved you, turned a blind eye to everything because I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but look where that got me." His voice cracked, tears streaming down his face while Hyejoo watched him with wide eyes. "I'm such a fucking idiot to believe you actually cared."
"Wooyo—" Hyejoo started to reach for him, but Wooyoung stepped out of her reach, pointing towards the bedroom door.
"Leave." He demanded, head tilted down as tears dripped from the tip of his nose. Hyejoo tried to protest, but Wooyoung cut her off once more, "Get out!" This time, he shouted, causing you to flinch, your heart aching as you watched him glare at Hyejoo.
Seeing that she had been caught, Hyejoo tucked her tail and darted out of the room just as the rest of the boys showed up. They watched Hyejoo for a moment before walking into the room, eyes flickering from Wooyoung to you, then back to Wooyoung.
"Wooyoung, man, are you okay?" Changbin asked cautiously, taking a step towards the raven-haired male.
Wooyoung lifts his head, laughing bitterly as more tears continued to stream down his face, "Do I look okay to you? Huh, Changbin?!" You took a step towards him, ready to reach out, but quickly recoiled when he told everyone to get out.
"Hey, we're not gonna just leave you alone, dude." Yeonjun started, crossing his arms, completely missing the way Wooyoung started to shake violently.
"Yeah, we're here for yo—"
"Can't any of you fucking listen?! I said leave me the fuck alone, alright!" Wooyoung's voice bounced off the walls, causing you to flinch, and the boys looked at their best friend in shock, having never seen him blow up like that before.
All of you watch as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands, quiet sobs filling the silent room. Reluctantly, the boys left the room after shooting you a concerned glance and essentially leaving you alone with Wooyoung.
You started to move towards the door, but the sound of Wooyoung's cry tethered your feet to the ground—a pain shot through your chest at the sound, tears of your own brimming along your waterline. Swallowing thickly, you turned and started to walk back to his slouched form, reaching out.
"Just leave me alone, Y/n." His voice came out hoarse as he pulled his head out of his hands, staring at you with bloodshot eyes that were filled with nothing but agony and betrayal. You reluctantly pulled your hand back, parting your lips to speak, but he was quicker, "Why are you even here?"
"I was worried about y—" You tried to explain yourself, but quickly choked on your words as more tears fell from his eyes.
"Leave, please." He practically begged, his voice wavering and bottom lip trembling. Blinking back tears of your own, you quietly gave him an apology and turned towards the bedroom door.
You barely made it five steps to the door before arms circled around your waist, holding you back. Wooyoung buried his face in the crook of your neck, "I'm sorry."
Hearing his apology made your heart twist with so much pain, and you wished dearly that you could just take all of his hurting away; hell, you'd even take it on if it meant he wouldn't hurt anymore. You started to move so you could turn to face him, but he thought that you were going to leave and tightened his grip, gluing you to his chest as he cried into your skin.
"Please don't go, I'm so sorry." He cried, body trembling against yours, "Please don't leave me."
The pain in his voice as he pleaded with you caused you to gasp softly, tears finally breaking free as you loosened his grip enough to turn around to face him. You mustered a smile through your tears as you gently took his face in your palms, your thumb wiping away some of the tears. Pulling him down, you lay his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt your warm breath fanning over his face.
"I would never leave you, Wooyoung. Never." You whispered softly, caressing his face, and sobs racked his body, his hands gripping at your shirt as both of you sank to the floor.
You held onto him tightly as he cried into your chest, the sound tearing your heart to pieces. But you tried to blink your own tears away as you rocked his body softly, humming a song that you were all too familiar with.
Eventually, his sobs quieted into sniffles before he fell asleep in your arms, hands still tightly holding onto you in fear that you might be gone once he woke up. You continued to hum as you brushed some of the hair out of his face, clearing away a few stray tears that stuck under his eye.
"What are you humming? It sounds familiar." Yeosang's sudden voice caused you to jump, your heart beating frantically as you looked over at him before looking back at Wooyoung to make sure you didn't wake him.
"It was something my mother used to sing when I was upset." You explained to him, sniffling softly.
"How is he?" He asked, glancing down at the sleeping male in your arms, and you followed his gaze, brushing your finger across his forehead gently.
"He was really upset…" Your breath hitched as you recalled the painful cries that once filled the room, "but he eventually ended up falling asleep."
Yeosang watched as you looked down at Wooyoung, nothing but love and admiration in your gaze. Even though he knew deep down that he could trust that you would never do anything to hurt Wooyoung, he still couldn't help but worry about his best friend.
"Don't hurt him, Y/n, he's already been through enough." He warned you, and you looked up at him with scrunched eyebrows, grip tightening around Wooyoung as you spoke.
"I would rather suffer in the pits of hell than ever hurt him, Yeosang." You swore, a bit of hurt flashing in your eyes at the thought that he might actually think you'd hurt the boy in your arms.
Yeosang watched you for a moment longer before Changbin walked up to him, grabbing his shoulder softly, "Everyone is gone. Is Wooyoung doing okay?"
Changbin peeked into the room as he asked, a relieved sigh falling from his lips as he caught sight of the raven-haired male fast asleep in your arms. Nodding slightly to himself, he patted his friend's shoulder, "Come on."
However, Yeosang was hesitant to follow, eyes still locked on Wooyoung's sleeping form, causing Changbin to sigh. So he grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room.
"Y/n, we'll be downstairs if you need anything, so just hollar, okay?" He told you, and you glanced back with a tired smile and a quick nod of your head. He then shut the bedroom door and tugged Yeosang further down the hallway until he pulled out of Changbin's grip.
"You're really just gonna leave him with her?" Yeosang asked, pointing towards the bedroom door, causing Changbin to look at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, I am, he's in good hands, Yeosang." Changbin told him, crossing his arms over his chest, "Do you even have eyes, Yeosang? Or even bothered to have an actual conversation with Y/n? If you have, you'd know that she cares about him. A lot."
"Sure, but I'm still worried."
"We're all worried about him, Yeosang. Hell, he just got out of Hyejoo's grasp." Changbin scoffed slightly, "But the one thing that none of us have to worry about is Y/n hurting him."
Yeosang groaned, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes, "How can you be so sure?"
Letting out a sigh, Changbin just shook his head, letting his eyes close for a moment, "I just know, alright." He then stepped forward to pat Yeosang's back, "Go get some rest, man, it's been a night."
He then walked down the stairs, leaving Yeosang standing there fighting his inner turmoil. His eyes glancing back at the bedroom door, he knew that Changbin was right, but he just couldn't help but worry because there would always be that slight chance.
The weeks that followed were nothing short of busy. Wooyoung was down in the dumps for the first few weeks, so you and the guys were constantly with him. Everyone was worried about leaving him out of their sights for too long, you included.
However, after about a month and a half, Wooyoung started to get his old spark back once more. The six of you then spent the rest of your summer break doing all sorts of things. One of your favorites would have to be the time that you stayed at Yeonjun's family condo on the beach, where you had started to make a dessert that you learned from your adoptive mother. Though not too far into the process, the kitchen was covered in brownie batter and all the ingredients that were included.
It was a fond memory that you would hold onto for lifetimes, even if you got stuck cleaning most of it the next day because the boys slept like logs.
The thing that you enjoyed the most out of everything was seeing Wooyoung go back to his old self and how much closer the two of you got since Hyejoo was no longer in the picture. It was truly a dream come true.
Even now, as you stood in Wooyoung's kitchen cooking ramen at the late hour of midnight, you couldn't help the silly grin that spread across your lips as the raven-haired male behind you told you some story he read online.
"The dude actually expected his girlfriend to stay with him after that, too." He scoffed, eyes still reading the post, and you laughed softly as you turned your head to look at him. "They spend so many years together, it's kinda sad."
You hummed, turned the stove off to finish up the noodles. Wooyoung hit the power button on his phone as he lifted his head to watch you. A curious sparkle in his eyes as questions started to flood his mind, and before he could stop himself, a few flew past his lips.
"What about your past? Was there ever someone important to you?" He asked, almost regretting it the moment he saw you freeze midstep.
Swallowing thickly, you moved back to the stove to separate the ramen into bowls, "there… was someone once." You glanced over your shoulder, shooting him a sad smile, "but my family took him away from me."
You could see the flicker of disappointment on Wooyoung's face, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, knowing that he was thinking it was another person. Not that it had been him you were talking about. After you finished putting the ramen into the bowls, you turned to walk towards him.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason really, just curious." He shook his head, taking the bowl from your hands before setting it on the counter. A startled gasp fell from your lips when his hand grabbed yours, tugging you a bit closer to him. "Why do you always hide these?" His thumb brushed over the raised skin around your wrist where your branded marks lay, and your breath caught in your throat. "They're beautiful."
A chill runs down your spine as he continues to stroke the skin around your wrist, heart beating rapidly beneath your ribs. You tried to think of something to tell him that would sound at least somewhat reasonable, because it wasn't like you could just tell him that your father, who is a God, sealed your powers away as a punishment.
Slowly and gently, you pulled your hand from Wooyoung's, and he didn't try to stop you, but his eyes were glued to your conflicted face, "it's a long story… with a l-lot of horrible memories."
You cursed yourself internally for stumbling over your words, but Wooyoung just offered you a comforting smile with a nod. He doesn't push any further before sitting down on the stool and pulling both your and his bowls to the edge, waiting for you to join him.
Both of you ate in a comforting silence, the soft hum of the fridge and the ticking from the clock being the only sounds to fill the silence. However, as you were eating, you hadn't noticed the raging war that was going on in Wooyoung's eat as he slowly ate. Then, mustering up all of the courage that he could get, he set his chopsticks down before turning towards you.
"Y/n?" He called out your name, causing you to hum as you looked at him, and he swallowed thickly. He let the words tumble from his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess himself. "Would you go on a date with me?"
His question shocked you to your core, the chopsticks in your hands dropping against the rim of your bowl. Sure, the two of you had grown closer, but you weren't even sure that he felt the same way, and you were happy to just stay as friends. But as his question lingers in the air, you start to wonder if you had even heard him correctly.
Upon seeing your reaction, Wooyoung starts to panic, his heart beating loudly in his ears as he tries to take what he said back, "I'm sorry, just forget I asked. It's probably too soon anyway."
"No, no, no." You quickly snap out of the trance you were stuck in, a wide smile spreading across your face as you nod your head softly, "I'd love to go on a date with you, Wooyoung."
Hearing those words fall from your lips was like the world had finally been given peace once more. The ringing in Wooyoung's ears subsided, and a wide grin pulled on his lips as he looked at you with wide eyes, "Are you being for real?"
His question caused you to burst into a fit of laughter, covering your face. After a few moments, you were able to calm yourself, and you carefully took his hand into yours, thumb brushing across his knuckles, "Yes, really, you dork."
Wooyoung felt air come back into his lungs for the first time since he asked the question, and he gently wrapped his fingers around yours. Seeing the smile that spread across your face as he started listing all the things the two of you could do was a sight he wanted to imprint into his memory forever.
He finally felt like he had found the happiness and love that he had been searching for his whole life, and he found it with you.
The rest of the night was spent watching movies and Wooyoung reciting more of the stories he found online. The air was filled with laughter and comfort, maybe a few tears, but only because you had been laughing so hard when Wooyoung did a really horrible impersonation.
—
That first date at the summer festival, which took place at the end of the summer, turned into another date to the aquarium weeks later. You could still vividly remember the joy that spread across Wooyoung's face when he listened to you tell him about the aqumarine life. Then the second turned into a third, and a fourth followed close behind, and many more after that. It was everything you could've asked for and more.
It had been almost another year since you met Wooyoung again—a year filled with a rollercoaster ride of events and emotions. However, as you look back on it now, despite all the pain and hardship, you couldn't help but feel thankful because it all led to where you are now.
Walking down the street, hand in hand with Wooyoung as he told you about the new professor he had for one of his classes. The autumn air was crisp as he blew over both of you, blowing some of your hair over your shoulder. A small smile played on your lips as you glance up at Wooyoung, his now short hair tucked under a ballcap and his hood pulled over it, trying his best to keep the cold out.
Throughout everything, you have started to forget your old life and even where you came from, ready to just live in this new one. Here you had everything that you could've asked for.
The two of you were on your way to Changbin's place, where they were throwing a small get-together among friends. Wooyoung told you that it was something that they had done every year for as long as they were able to. At first, you were hesitant about tagging alone because you didn't want to intrude on their little tradition; however, Wooyoung and the rest of the boys reassured you that it was fine and even begged you to come. You couldn't find it in yourself to tell them no, so here you were, walking down the street with the raven-haired male glued to your side.
"Remember that horror movie that's coming out this weekend?" Wooyoung's question pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked over at him, thinking for a moment before recalling the movie poster you'd seen online.
"Yeah! It looks like it might be worth watching." You pursed your lips with a nod, and Wooyoung chuckled, pulling you closer to his side as you neared the crosswalk.
"Well… why don't we go watch it when it comes out?" He asked, pulling both of you to a stop as you waited for the signal to change.
You giggled, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow, "Are you asking me out on a date, Jung Wooyoung?"
"Aren't I always?" He smirked, leaning down until his nose brushed yours and your eyes fluttered shut.
Heat rushed up your neck as his lips neared yours, still not used to the feeling of them against yours again after so long. However, a honk caused you to jump, and Wooyoung pulled back with a slight groan, looking over to see that the signal had changed.
"C'mon, let's not make the guys wait any longer; otherwise, we might not hear the end of it." Wooyoung tugged on your hand, keeping you close to him as you stepped out onto the street.
"Oh boy, especially from Changbin. I swear he's like the mom friend sometimes." You laugh, a smile adorning your features.
The sound of loud horns filled your ears, and you looked over, the smile fading from your face as the world seemed to move in slow motion around you. A car sped down the street, going well over the speed limit, and was headed right for the two of you.
It all happened in the blink of an eye, you didn't even feel any pain as the car collided with your bodies. The world around you went black, and when you came to, everything was blurry. Pain enveloped your entire being, causing you to let out a choked gasp, then fear started to sink its claws into your spine as you looked around.
The sound of yelling and sirens around you fell on deaf ears as you caught sight of Wooyoung. He was only a few feet away from you, lying on his back, but the amount of blood that covered his face made your stomach twist, bile creeping up your throat.
"W-Woo—" Blood spilled past your lips as you choked out his name, and you tried to push yourself up, but the pain was almost unbearable. Tears blurred your vision as you gritted your teeth, using the last bit of strength you had left to pull your body towards his. Black spots clouded your vision the closer you got to Wooyoung, but you fought like hell to keep conscious, and finally, you were close enough to place your blood-soaked hand into his, wrapping your fingers around his palm. "I-I'm h-h-here." You mumbled as you let your head rest against the rough pavement, and with one final breath, the darkness consumed your body and mind.
A sharp gasp for air was torn from your lungs as you finally came to, your body shooting up until you were sitting on your knees. Confusion knitted your brows as you didn't feel even a hint of pain in your body, eyes quickly going to your hands. Your palms were clean, no sign of blood or any wounds that you were sure had been there before.
Then, finally, you looked up, the sounds of hushed chatter finally hitting your ears. Looking around, you felt shock and bewilderment settle in the pit of your stomach as it dawned on you that you had been brought back to the God realm.
"Look at you, my child." At the sound of your father's voice, an undescribable rage bubbled in your gut: "That foolish love of yours will always be destined to end in tragedy."
Ignoring him, you stumbled to your feet, ignoring the groans of protest in your joints, "Where is he?" Your voice rose, the murmurs around you falling to a stop. When no one answered, you gritted your teeth, hands balling into fists at your sides, "dammit, show me how he is. Now!" You demanded, venom dripping from your words as you glared at your father.
Your father rolled his eyes, waving his hand as he leaned back in his chair. Another God to your left walked over, and you wait as he places his hand on top of your head. Your vision goes white for a moment before colors start to form, a hospital hallway painting itself before you.
A doctor stood in front of the room, the room you could only guess belonged to Wooyoung. She had a solemn expression plastered all over her face as she looked at the four males who stood before her.
"The surgery was a success, however…" She started explaining, and your heart squeezed so tightly that it almost became hard to breathe, but all the air was stolen from your lungs as she finished, "With his injuries, he'll be lucky to survive the night."
The hall fell silent, emotions swirling in the air, and Changbin grabbed Yeosang's shoulder when he stumbled forward. You could feel tears stinging in your eyes as you watched them try to keep themselves together, but your heart shattered when you heard Yeonjun's nearly broken voice.
"How's Y/n?"
However, before you could hear the answer, the vision was pulled away from you, leaving you surrounded by darkness until your eyes opened. Your knees buckled underneath your weight, and you dropped to the ground, palms digging into the jagged rocks. Guilt sank its teeth into your entire being, and bile crept up your throat as you realized that you had failed again.
You had failed to keep Wooyoung safe. Again.
Tears streamed down your face as you scrambled to sit on your knees, looking up at your father with a pleading gaze. "Save him, please. I'll do anything you ask, j-just save him. Please!" You cried out, bottom lip trembling as the fabric of your gown balled up in your hands.
Despite all of your cries and pleas, your father sat in his chair, unmoved and unbothered. His expression was nothing short of blank as he stared down at you before he finally moved to lean forward against the table before him.
"Do you really believe that I'll save him? Oh, you are truly foolish, my child." He shook his head with a click of his tongue, and your eyes grew wide, "I've killed him once before and then again, what makes you think I'd feel any semblance of pity towards that human now?"
The weight of his words hit you like a freight train, and your blood ran cold. Rage burned hot in your gut as you came to realize that your father had planned all of this. That he was the one responsible for Wooyoung's death once again.
Tears streamed endlessly down your flushed face as you glared up at the older man before you. "Why?"
"Why?" Your father repeated your question with a laugh, and he looked around the room before his eyes fell back onto you, "because you need to learn that loving a mortal is beyond foolish. This doomed love of yours? It was never meant to last."
It felt as if something inside of you snapped at that moment, the weight that once felt like it burdened your wrists was nowhere to be found. Goosebumps littered your skin, and the air around you started to shift. Gritting your teeth, you sit up a bit taller, your eyes now glowing a dark hue as you speak.
"The only reason you deem this love doomed is because you abuse your powers to make sure it stays that way." You slowly rose to your feet, the ground beneath your feet trembling slightly, loose gravel bouncing off the ground. The once-bright sky that shone through the skylights began to dim.
The Gods and Goddesses around you started to murmur amongst themselves once more, panic slowly starting to settle over the room.
Your eyes narrowed on your father, your feet moving slowly to stand in the center of the room. "A God's duty is to protect their subjects, bless them, and grant them peace in exchange for their offerings." Your voice came out echoey, as a borderline sinister grimace tugged at your lips. "But you?" The low rumble around you grew louder, "What kind of God kills his own followers just to prove his own petty, selfish point?"
Outraged, your father slams his hand down on the table, the marble craking under his fist as he stands. "Stop this madness, you foolish child!" He growled, but you just looked at him, the glow in your eyes growing brighter, and he knew that your powers were no longer sealed, "Detain her. Detain her now!"
Guards swarmed into the council chambers, surrounding you and closing in, ready to grab you.
"Don't touch me!" You screamed, a force knocking them all back as the room around you shook, the chandelier swaying violently before the whole room was shrouded in darkness.
"Find her!" Your father shouted, but the room was pitch black as if a void had just opened before them.
"Nothing goes unpunished, Father." Your voice echoed throughout the room: "You will pay the price for your transgression." The tone in your voice was almost mocking as the older man looked for any sign of you. "and the price for your own selfish desires…" The room suddenly went still; not a sound was heard, as if everything were frozen—except your voice. "Is me."
Then, as if nothing just happened, the darkness disappeared and the sunlight flowed through the skylights above once more. Looking down, your father realized that you had disappeared, and his eye twitched in anger, fist coming down onto the marble once more.
"Find that wretched girl at once!"
—
By the time you made it into the center of the forbidden forest, you were sure that the bottoms of your feet had been torn open by sticks and stones alike. But the pain was merely an afterthought as you arrived at the tower that resided deep in the tall, dark trees.
There was one person and one person only that you knew could help you, only because she had been in your shoes many millennia before. Soobok, the Goddess of Limbo.
Breaking through the tree line, you catch sight of the woman standing over a cauldron, tossing something inside as she mutters to herself. The sounds of your footsteps cause her to look up, watching as you pull the hood of your cloak off your head. You looked at her with an all too familiar pained expression, but determination burned brightly in your eyes.
"Welcome, Y/n, I've been waiting for you for many, many years." She spoke softly, stepping down from the stool that she had once been perched upon.
"I need your help, Soobok." Your voice wavered as she stepped closer to you, hands folded gently in front of her body. "I'll do anything, anything, if it means I get to see him live. I'll even trade my own life for his."
Soobok stepped a little closer, taking your arm into her hand with a solemn expression, and a sigh escaped her lips, "I apologize, but that's just not possible."
You quickly bite back a sob as fresh tears spilled from your eyes, and Soobok felt her heart twist, "There must be something I can do."
Soobok shakes her head sadly as she turns and takes a step away from you, but then she turns slowly, "There is a way. But Y/n, it requires you to give up everything. Your soul. Your entire being."
"I'll do anything, just please save him." You pleaded with her, hands trembling as you interlocked your hands in front of your chest as if you were going to pray.
The Goddess before you watched you, a war raging behind her eyes as you begged her to save your beloved. The trees around swayed softly in the gentle wind, and she let her head tilt back until she was staring at the cloudless sky above. She knew that if she did this, it would mean killing a Goddess, which would only anger the others, but if she didn't do this, then you would find yourself in a pit of despair with the uncertainty of whether you would survive.
Inhaling deeply, Soobok opened her eyes and brought them back down to you. "Follow me."
You followed her into her tower; the lighting was dim but comforting, and books were scattered on the floors and tabletops. However, you didn't give yourself the chance to gander for too long; you stepped quickly, following Soobok's. When you stepped into the upper room, you could feel the energy shift as the sunlight shone through the colored glass above.
Soobok ran her finger along the shelves on the wall until she found the book she was searching for. Pulling it out, she let it sit in her hand as she looked back at you once more.
"Doing this means that you will be giving your life—your soul—to Wooyoung." She started explaining, and you were prepared to tell her you would, but she continued before you had the chance to speak, "You will be cursed to spend the rest of eternity wandering between realms, no powers, no control, no voice, no life, and no hope of reuniting with him."
At the mention of never seeing Wooyoung again, your breath caught in your throat. Your hands shook at your sides, and a new wave of tears brimmed in your eyes. The thought of never seeing, talking, or touching Wooyoung again made your heart break.
Seeing the hesitation in your eyes, Soobok lowered the book in her hand to her side before walking over to you and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"The best option is to wait for him to be reborn once more, sweetie." Soobok's voice was soft, and you knew she was trying to comfort you, but you shook your head, tears breaking free to drip from your eyelashes.
"N-No," You told her, raising your head to meet her eyes once more, "I was already to reason he died before I will not become the reason he dies for a second time."
Soobok's eyes widened slightly at your determination before her features softened into an unreadable expression. Pulling her lips into a tight line, she takes a step back and gives you a nod, motioning for you to follow further into the room.
You watched as she cleared a circle in the center of the room, the book still held tightly in her palm. She then waves you over, instructing you to remove your cloak and to stand in the center.
"You remind me so much of myself, dear," Soobok told you, causing you to look over at her, questions pooling in your teary eyes. "I was once in your place, many, many years ago. However, unlike you, I was too selfish and let her go."
Your heart ached for her, and you offered her a small, sad smile. "Has she been reborn yet?" You asked, and Soobok let out a short, choked laugh as she shook her head softly. Your eyes didn't leave her as she placed her hand on your chest, right over your heart. The steady rhythm thumped against Soobok's palm, and she debated pulling away, but she couldn't rip that hope away from you.
"I hope you get to meet her again soon, Soobok." You whispered quietly, and Soobok bit back tears of her own as she watched your eyes flutter shut.
Soobok's palm started glowing, and your body started to tingle, the hairs on your arms standing tall as goosebumps littered every inch of your skin. A sigh escaped your lips as more tears spilled from your eyes. Images of Wooyoung flashed in your mind, and you smiled softly, knowing that he would be able to live his life freely as well as the next. This time, without the burden of the possibility of dying at the hands of a selfish God.
As Soobok started to pull your soul from your chest, you opened your eyes, and they widened at the symphony of colors that surrounded you. You tried to reach out and touch them, but your arms felt like lead, and you could feel your knees buckle.
A gasp fell from your lips when she fully extracted your soul from your body. You suddenly felt cold, and everything around you started to blur as you watched your soul start to materialize in Soobok's palm. Though despite the chilling cold that bit at your nerves or the black that started to cloud your vision, you couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you, Soobok." Your voice was weak before your body collapsed in the Goddess's arms, both of you sinking to the old hardwood floor.
The first few tears escaped Soobok's eyes as she watched your soul glow brightly in the palm of her hand, guilt creeping up her spine as she saw short flashes of your memories. Closing her fingers around the orb, she wrapped her arms around your body, her tears dripping from her chin onto your cold cheek as she leaned down.
"Oh, you poor child." She whispers as a loud crack of thunder is heard in the clear sky above, and an epiphany of lightning follows shortly after. This only happened rarely; it was a sign to mourn.
A God had perished.
Wooyoung's eyebrows scrunched together as memories flashed in his mind, ones that he knew weren't his. At least not his from this lifetime. Flower fields, village shops, dinners, the river, and a white flower that bloomed at night. However, the always omnipresent person there was someone he'd never forget.
You.
His head started pounding as more memories started to flood in, and everything started to make more sense. Why he always had a sense of familiarity with you, even in the beginning. To why you were always watching over him. He even remembers the conversation you shared months ago in his kitchen and how you told him your family took someone away from you.
It was him. It had always been him.
With a jolt, his body sprang up in the hospital bed, the sudden movement scaring the life out of San and Changbin, who were sitting at his bedside. Wooyoung groaned as he pressed the palm of his hand to his thumping head, eyes screwed shut.
"He's awake!" He heard Yeosang's voice, probably shouting at the doctors who were in the hallway.
But among the voices he heard around him, something was missing. Someone was missing. Opening his eyes, he looked around, seeing only the four guys; there was no sign of Y/n anywhere.
"W-Where's Y/n?" Wooyoung's voice cracked as he looked over at San, who averted his gaze while the other three looked at each other, uncertainty in their eyes. The longer the room stayed silent, the more frustrated Wooyoung became, and his hands curled into fists. "Where is she, dammit?"
The room was silent for a moment longer before Yeonjun finally spoke up, his voice low, "She was still in pretty bad shape when we last checked on her. They're saying she's gonna be in a coma for a while."
Wooyoung felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, and the room started to spin around him as his stomach churned. His mouth ran dry as he tried to speak, the words sticking to his tongue as he stared at the redhead.
"Hey, she's going to be ok—" San starts to reassure the raven-haired male, his hand lying on his shoulder, but his words are cut off by the sound of an alarm blaring.
An automated voice crackled through the speakers, "CODE BLUE. CODE BLUE."
All five of the boys watched with wide eyes as the doctors and nurses rushed past the open door, each one shouting a different order. Changbin glanced over at San, his eyes wide in worry and shock.
"Y/n's room is the only one in that direction." He stated to no one in particular, and Wooyoung felt his heart lurch, a deafening ringing in his ears as he stared out the door.
Before any of the boys could stop him, Wooyoung was ripping the IVs out of his hands and detaching all of the cords that had been attached to his chest. Shouting erupted throughout the room as Wooyoung climbed out of the bed, his joints groaning in protest.
"Hey, Wooyoung, stop!" Yeosang grabbed his best friend's arm, trying to pull him back to the bed, but despite his weakness, Wooyoung still managed to shake him off, only to be stopped by Yeonjun.
"Changbin is just talking nonsense. You just woke up." The redhead grabbed Wooyoung's arm to help him back to bed, but Wooyoung fought against his hold.
The other chimed in to grab his arms to get him back to the bed, but Wooyoung fought like hell to shrug them off. Tears blurred his vision, the longer they kept him stationary, until he finally snapped.
"Let. Me. Go!" He shouted, using the last bit of his strength to push Yeosang and Changbin off before glaring at Yeonjun and San. "Get the hell off me, right now." His voice was hoarse, threatening to give out.
All of the boys looked at each other once more before the two reluctantly released their hold, watching as Wooyoung stumbled out of the hospital room, following after the doctors. He used the wall railing as support as he walked down the hall, refusing to let the guys help him until he finally got to the last room in the hall.
He wrapped his fingers around the door handle, the metal cool under his touch, and without a second thought, he threw the door open. However, as the door bounced off the walls, he was met with the deafening sound of a flatline. The doctor who had been performing CPR stepped away from your body with a defeated sigh, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"Time of death: 23:46 on November 20th." The doctor announced her time of death, and Wooyoung felt his whole world stop. A pain shot through his chest as he clutched the doorframe until his knuckles turned white.
His breathing started to elevate as his vision narrowed on your still body; the oxygen mask you had been wearing was pulled down to lie on your unmoving chest. Tears spilled down his flushed cheeks as he shoved his way into the room and past the doctors until he got to you. He carefully pulled your body into his arms, his cries echoing off the walls as you showed no signs of waking up.
"Y/n, wake up! Please, wake up!" He sobbed, bringing his head down to yours as he stumbled back. "You can't leave me, you promised you wouldn't." His knees buckled under him, and he collapsed onto the bed, arms still tightly wrapped around your body.
"Wooyoung…" Yeosang started, tears blurring his vision as he watched his best friend break entirely, but San grabbed his arm. Yeosang looked back at him, and San just shook his head as tears silently fell from his eyes.
"Bring her back." He demanded, looking up at the doctor who stood near your bed, and they only gave him a guilty look, "Bring her back to me, goddammit!" He screamed, tears flowing endlessly as he rocked you in his arms, much like you had done to him months ago.
The room fell silent except for the painful, broken sobs that left Wooyoung's lips; salty tears dripped down from his chin onto your slowly cooling cheeks. He pleaded and begged for someone—anyone to bring you back to him, but his cries were left unanswered.
"Y-You can't leave me Y/n." He choked back another sob as he brought a shaky hand to your face, brushing some of your hair from your face. "You just can't, not when we finally got our second chance."
More sobs racked his body as he looked down at your peaceful, beautiful face. Even with all of the small cuts that littered your skin, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes on, and he prayed to all those above that you would open your eyes and look at him just once more.
"Please." He hiccuped as he cupped your cheek. The once red hue on your cheeks was fading, Wooyoung's happiness along with it.
The four boys watched as tears rolled down their cheeks. What was supposed to be a happy, memorable day turned into a tragedy. They had lost one of their closest friends and were taking a part of another with her as she left.
The energy in the room shifted, the temperature dropping slightly as a small glow emitted from the side of your hospital bed. As the energy materialized, you found yourself standing at your own bedside, watching in pain as your beloved rocked your lifeless body in his arms.
"Oh my love…" You whispered, reaching out to cup his face in your translucent hands as tears stung your eyes. However, he gave no indication that he could hear you, or let alone feel your touch on his skin, and that left you broken. Yet you wouldn't even think about going back to change it, because you knew that he would get to live his life this way while you finally get to give him the peace he deserved.
A sad smile spread across your lips as you tried to comb your fingers through his hair, but it just slipped right through your fingers. You wished dearly that you could take this pain away from him so he could truly live without any remorse, but you knew there was only so much that you would be able to do.
"I am so, so sorry." You apologized, tears dripping from your eyelashes as you listened to his sobs while he continued to hold onto your body. "You have to live, Wooyoung. For you. For me. For us."
You lean forward, eyes fluttering closed as you press one last kiss to his forehead before leaning your own against his. Your thumb brushed over his skin, wanting to relish in his warmth for one last time before you faded into the void.
Letting your eyes close once more, you utter one last sentence, "I love you, Wooyoung, forever."
The lights in the hospital room flickered above everyone as your spirit started to dematerialize until you were no longer standing before him. The bright, colorful mixture of lights that made up your soul swirled in the air above Wooyoung before they flew towards the raven-haired male. They vanished into his chest and took with them all of what made up you and he would get to live again.
And you? You would get to be the reason he lived to see his life out, as well as the many, many lives after that. You gave him the chance to live again, even if it meant you were stuck watching from an impenetrable wall. Even as you longed to be with him, you knew one thing for sure.
hello!! i was wondering if you would write something for wooyoung🐈⬛?? maybe like some oblivious friends-to-lovers, where everyone around them *knows* they’re in love, but they just haven’t figured it out yet?? and when they realize they’re all grabby and affectionate?
…just an idea💡if you’re interested!! thank you!! i love your fics so much!! 🩷🩷🩷
I've been trying to think of a good idea for this for ages and I finally got it! I started writing the Wooyoung date for Citrus Kisses and then this fic happened. I'm honestly kind of obsessed with it???
I hope you like it!
oblivious
pairing: idol!wooyoung x reader
genre: childhood best friend to lovers, some angst, perceived unrequited love, woo is kind of slow on the uptake
wc: 3.6k
summary: 5 times people thought you were dating and 1 time you actually were
He smiles at you tightly, sorrowfully and walks away down the school corridors. He doesn’t see your smile slip or the way that the tears that well and threaten to spill.
He is sweet in how he lets you down, tries to be gentle, tries to explain that he’s not interested, I’m so sorry. And you try not to cave in on yourself as you assure him it’s all fine, you just wanted to shoot your shot.
He said he’ll see you in English class and you hope that the ache in your chest can lessen before you get there.
So wrapped in your thoughts, you don’t notice when a familiar person comes up behind you until their shoulder bumps yours. You leap and heart in your throat, take in Wooyoung’s winning smile fade into deep concern when he realises that tears are slipping down your cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” He demands immediately, hands moving to grip your shoulders, stopping you from trying to hide your face.
You insist nothing is wrong but he doesn’t believe you. Wooyoung has been your friend since kindergarten, always by your side, always fighting for you like you fought for him. He knew when you were falling apart just when you knew when he was holding it all in.
There is no point in trying to hide it so the embarrassing confession slips out of you. “I asked Jaehyun out,” your voice trembles, “he said no.”
Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes blaze. “I’ll kill him.”
You grip his jacket sleeve, holding him in place. “No, no,” you shake your head, “he was nice about it. It just…hurts.”
Wooyoung frowns. His fingers flex around your shoulders, as if barely holding himself back. “I don’t like it when you’re hurt.”
“Me neither,” you laugh bitterly and sniff. You shook your head. “I’ll be fine, I just…need a minute.”
He pulls you into a hug, tucks you under his chin and you wonder when he got tall enough to do that. You hold back, clinging to him, and let him murmur that they’ll skip the next class, go to library and hide out in the backrooms reading comics until you smile again.
You can only think about what Jaehyun said, about the way his eyes had widened in genuine surprise before he asked, “I thought you and Wooyoung-ah were dating?”
2.
Wooyoung is talking a mile a minute, faster than normal. Excitement and joy is vibrating out of every pore he possesses. You are just as happy for him. You had watched him work so hard for his moment, for even the chance to audition for even the smallest of companies.
It had paid of and you were officially looking at one of the newest idol trainees. You think he’s going to be amazing at this - passionate, talented, determined and ridiculously charming. You can recognise it even if you roll your eyes every time he tries to play a game on you.
“I’ve seen you throw up after going on a rollercoaster,” you say, “there’s nothing you can do that I’d consider attractive.”
It’s a bare faced lie that you’ve only recently come to accept as such. You don’t dwell on that now, choosing not to notice how bright Wooyoung’s face is or how, even mid conversation, he fills your plate with food generously.
You hum along and enjoy your grilled meat, as Wooyoung tells you all about the studio and the other trainees and the classes they’ll need to take.
You nudge his ankle with your foot under the table. “I’m proud of you Youngie,” you murmur, “so fucking proud.”
And if he looks at you in a way that makes you avert your gaze, lest you go blind - well, that’s just for you to know.
A waitress puts the request refill of water on the table and offers the polite customer service smile when she asks, “will you and your girlfriend need anything else before I go?”
You can’t stop the way that your heart clenches at the thought, the word causing your insides to freeze and overheat at the same time. It shouldn’t, it really shouldn’t.
Wooyoung laughs as if it was the funniest thing in the world. “We’re not dating,” he corrects.
The woman flushes and stammers her apologises before making a speedy mistake. You swallow around a mouthful of food and try not to think about the way that your heart had become lead, sinking into your stomach and making it churn.
Wooyoung looks at you like there’s some shared joke and you make yourself chuckle.
It almost sounded geninue to your ears and it must do to Wooyoung - or perhaps he’s just too happy in himself right now to notice - because he doesn’t call you on it. He just continues the conversation as if he had never stopped, as if you weren’t coming to a rather startling realisation that would make everything quite complicated.
3.
It’s official.
The music video is out in the world, ATEEZ has debuted and your Wooyoungie is right in the centre.
He had been sending you the promotional footage, face timed you a few times while he had been in the middle of an intense preparation period but it was different to see it as it was now - your friend’s face, glossy and styled and most likely a little photoshopped; a song that you’d not heard in its entirety with your friend’s vocals laced throughout.
He invited you to the celebration party at KQ, because he wanted his important people there, please say you’ll come. You’d come with his family, chatting with his little brother before Kyungmin had caught sight of his now idol brother and sped across the room to greet him.
You watch as Woo breaks from his conversation with a member of ATEEZ - San you recognise vaguely - to gather the boy close. He makes eye contact with you over Kyungmin’s shoulder and beams, so happy to see you.
It warms you as much as it breaks your heart.
When he hugs you, he holds you as close as he does his baby brother. One arm at your waist, the other against the back of your head to hold you when he squeezes and confesses how much he’s missed you. You mumble back the same, letting your fingers dig into the smooth leather of his jacket and breathe in the semi fancy cologne that you’ll tease him about later.
He introduces you to everyone and you try to remember the most important names. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were very respectful in their greetings, leading the group as the eldest. Jongho and Mingi offer you shy smiles while Yunho and San begin to talk about all the things Wooyoung has said about you.
Yeosang - you’d met before, back at the academy, before they had joined KQ and ATEEZ - pulls you into a welcoming hug and jokes that he told the guys you were real.
“They just couldn’t believe that someone could put up with Wooyoung-ah for this long willingly,” he jokes goodnaturedly, and you giggle at your friend’s dramatic gasp.
“What can I say, Youngie grows on you,” you tease, “like a fungus.”
Wooyoung moans about deep betrayal. Jongho’s eyes light up as he rolls the name ‘Youngie’ around his head, visibly preparing every way he could tease his hyung. Mingi catches Wooyoung in a headlock and mocks him about his likeliness to mushrooms.
Wooyoung has always been touchy so you don’t really register how he has a hold on you somehow the entire night. A arm slung over your shoulder, a hand on the small of your back, a hand on yours when he pulls you from one person to the next.
Hongjoong notices though. When you slip away to use the bathroom, he slides up to his younger member and reminds him softly that they don’t have a dating ban but you both should still be careful.
Wooyoung looks at him with amused confusion. “Careful with…?”
Hongjoong says your name. “I wouldn’t want anything to ruin it for you guys,” he assures.
The singer laughs and pats his leader on the back. “Don’t worry, hyung. We’re just friends. Absolutely nothing going on but thanks for the worry.”
Hongjoong takes Wooyoung at his word, doesn’t push it, but he can’t quite believe it’s true.
Not when Wooyoung finds you in the crowd like a beacon. Not when he leans into whisper in your ear. Not when you flush and smile, eyes shining, before you say something that makes Wooyoung grin wildly. Not when he slips an arm around your back like it belongs there.
No, he won’t push but Hongjoong is 95% sure that Wooyoung is full of shit.
4.
When Wooyoung is hurt, like genuinely hurt, he goes quiet. He goes still. His eyes don’t reflect the same light that they usually do, his smile doesn’t spread as far, his silence stretches.
You always hated it. It felt just wrong for Wooyoung to act anything like his usual self, so you would do your best to make him feel better. Anything he needed, you were right there, ready to give it.
This time though, you knew it had cut deep. You’d met his girlfriend - ex girlfriend, you corrected mentally - a handful of times. Jiyoung. She was like a mirror image of her boyfriend - smiley, excitable, physically affectionate and, well, damn beautiful. They looked like a power couple. One of those couples that made you stop and stare.
It had hurt you to know that but Wooyoung was happy and that’s all you wanted for him.
But that happiness had been removed from him and now, you were petty in your hatred for the girl you had once thought of becoming better friends with.
“She said I’m too much,” he admits from his place, curled under the covers. You were right next to him, not quite touching but close. “That I want too much.”
You want desperately to close the space but you know that, like this, Woo would only feel overwhelmed. If he pulled away from you, you weren’t sure what you’d do.
You were quick to reassure. “You’re not.”
He laughs bitterly, the noise twisted and heartbreaking. “Well obviously I am.”
You shake your head and rest your hand against where you knew his hands are clutching the duvet closer to him. “She’s wrong,” you say, “her issue is hers only. You…you’re Wooyoung of ATEEZ. You love everything and everyone you care about so hard. That’s not a bad thing.”
He was quiet for a moment. Your breath shook when one hand slips free of its hold to catch yours, fingers intertwining but just holding, reaching for connection. “What if it is though?” He rasps, “what if this is how every relationship of mine will end?”
“It won’t,” you promise.
You aren’t sure if he believes you right now, all the pain and thoughts too much to reach rationalisation. You want to say that he was always enough and that there were people around him who loved and cared for him just as he was. That if every romance he had ends like this, you would be there, ready to hold his hand until they were old maids.
You don’t though. You just hold him.
Later, after you’ve gone home, you order pork belly and kimchi jjigae to come to the door. Wooyoung knows it’s from you - it’s their comfort food, the choice they always go to when they’re nursing heartbreak or disappointment or any other strong emotion.
He calls to San, says that you sent food for them.
San enters the living room with an arched eyebrow. “She brought you food?”
Wooyoung corrects, “she brought us food.”
“Dude that’s marriage material,” San jokes.
It causes something to tighten uncomfortably in Wooyoung’s stomach but he pushes it aside. He wiggles his eyebrows in mock suggestiveness. “I can give her your number.”
San shoots him a strange look, one of furrowed eyebrows and a strained twist of his lips. He looks like he wants to say something but decides against it, huffing a laugh and shaking his head. “It’s okay Woo,” he soothes, “it’s not worth the drama.”
Wooyoung wants to argue, that flare of overprotectiveness when it comes to you rearing its head instinctively. “She definitely is.” He shoots back.
San gives him that look again but Woo doesn’t see it, already turning to head to the dining area so he could set up to eat. He was clearly hungry, he thought, that was why he felt an immense sense of relief that San didn’t want your number.
It must be.
5.
It doesn’t happen often these days but whenever time allows, you meet up to have dinner with your family. Sometimes, the Jung family will appear too, your parents gossiping over soju like it’s their job. It's embarrassing for sure but you love it, love seeing your parents happy with their friends, living like real people outside of parenthood.
You are cutting up meat to feed to Kyungmin, who grins up at you and calls you noona when he says thank you.
In turn, Wooyoung has been steadily adding meat and side dishes to your plate, poking you when you haven’t eaten fast enough for his likely.
“Try this,” he insists, holding his chopsticks out towards you, some new banchan, “it’s good.”
You oblige him, because you know he’ll start to pout and whine if you don’t. You angle your gaze to the space over his ear so you don’t focus on the intense way he feeds you. That doesn’t really help, your heart is still jumping in your chest. It is good food though, and you hum in agreement.
His mum giggles childishly at the action and your mum scolds her with an amused snort.
Wooyoung glances at them curiously. “What is it?”
His mum insists it’s nothing, waving her hand in front of her face in a way that is definitely not reassuring. Your mum, on the other hand, offers him a sweet smile when she says, “you take such good care of my daughter.”
You notice the tone behind her words almost immediately. Of course you do, you’d been on the receiving end of it multiple times over the years, especially now you’re in your 20s.
“You know, when I was your age,” she’d start, “I was already married.”
“I know eomma,” you say, on autopilot now more than anything else.
“Your dad and I were high school sweethearts,” she continues with a wistful sigh.
“I know eomma.”
“It’s just such a wonderful thing, being married to your best friend.”
She’s not subtle but you always sigh and tell her to drop it. Your dad usually has to step in and remind her to stay out of your business, that you’ll start dating and get married when you want to - “but I wouldn’t object to a son in law like that Jung boy,” he jokes with a wink.
Now, your dad is distracted, deep in conversation, and Wooyoung looks at your mum with a curious light to his eyes.
“I try to,” he answers honestly, “she takes good care of me too.”
His mother almost squeals and he shots her an absolutely flabbergasted expression. Your mum hushes her quietly with a soft pat on her arms before turning back to Woo, “she takes care of you huh?”
Your ears are burning. “Eomma.”
She doesn’t hear you. She sighs dramatically and bumps shoulders with the Jung matriarch. “They look after each other.”
“Eomma,” you raise your voice a little.
She continues anyway, “You know, we always spoke about what would happen if our families could join.”
Wooyoung’s eyes are wide and his lips part in shock.
His mum nods her head. “—— would make such a good daughter in law, right?”
The flush has spread across your cheeks, down the back of your neck. You feel nauseous, hate that this conversation is happening in front of you. Not when you are so utterly in love with that man and he just didn’t see you like that.
You hadn’t mentioned that to your mother before, too embarrassed to confess it to anyone by your inner self. She has no idea that her dream for you is breaking your heart.
Your mum agrees, “Of course. And Woo is already so attentive.”
“He’d make a great husband,” his mum adds. Her eyes twinkle when she looks at you, “and a great father.”
“Eomma,” Wooyoung says, his voice firmer than you’d heard it before. The back of his neck is red but his jaw is set, tight and firm. “That’s enough please. It’s embarrassing.”
They’re quick to apologise, and at this point, your fathers realise something must be happening because they swoop in, directing the conversation to Kyungmin and his school experiences. You barely hear it, not over the rush of blood in your ears.
Beside you, Wooyoung is tense, head angled down to his lap. But his eyes - they are on you. Not cloaked, not matching the stiffness of his shoulders or the firmness of his words. His eyes were bright, wide, the way they always looked at you. It made you breathless and made you want to cry in equal measure.
When he quiet slips you a napkin, and puts another bite of meat on your plate, you wonder whether he thinks the same thing.
The next day, your mother calls you to apologise, mortified in herself. She admits that she and Jung-unni had been talking about before and seeing you together in those moments, they got excited. They pushed it. She stumbles over her apologises.
You tell her it’s okay in a whisper, your chest feeling lighter, because Wooyoung is still asleep, pressed in close behind you and you’re not willing to disturb that peace just yet.
+1
Wooyoung feels adrenaline pumping through his veins. Singing has made his throat hoarse and he is covered with a sheen of sweat. He’s been preforming for nearly two hours, the end of the concert rapidly approaching. Getting to stand up and preform with his members, his second family, always feels like a dream at this point. Before the exhaustion kicks in, before the post concert aches become overwhelming, all he feels is the surreal reality that he gets to live this dream of his.
They’ve all slipped backstage, changing into different adaptions of their current tour merch before the encore starts. He has to get his mic reattached by one of the assistants because he accidentally knocked it out of the tape securing it during that last dance number.
“How long do we have?” He asks.
The assistant hums thoughtfully. “Probably less than 5 minutes?”
Wooyoung nods his head. “Okay, I can make it.”
And then he’s peeling away, speeding down the backstage corridors. Hongjoong shouts after him to make sure he does or there will be hell to pay. Woo knows nothing will come of it, just he knows when he is enviably the last one back on stage, the leader will roll his eyes and put him in a headlock for the world to see.
He doesn’t mind though. Anything to get a few moments with you.
You look up in surprise when he comes through the green room door, swinging it open with such ferocity that it bounces off the wall behind him. You are curled up on one of the sofas there, wearing one of his hoodies. The monitor across from you shows you the stage, where you had been watching him preform. It made him warm knowing that.
“What-“
You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he had reached you, hands coming around the back of your neck and the curve of your chin to angle your face upwards for a kiss. It was sloppy, intense, matching the uptick in his heartbeat. You meet each slide of his lips with your own, hands coming up to clutch the front of his shirt.
Wooyoung shudders, goosebumps rising across his exposed skin, and licks into your willing mouth, enjoying the taste and the sweet noises you make.
When he pulls back, you are wide eyed, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Wooyoung can’t resist leaning in again, nipping at the soft flesh of your bottom lip.
You hum. “What are you doing here?”
“3 minutes,” he says. He’d been counting. “Missed you.”
You laugh and it sounds like the sweetest of music. “You saw me after your solo stage.”
“Which was 30 minutes ago,” he reminds. He takes another kiss. “Too long.”
Your hands are still holding on tight to him. He hovers over you, crowds you into the sofa. His fingers stroke your jaw.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” you whisper. You’re already tilting your head back up for him, and who is Wooyoung is resist such a tempting offer?
“Worth it,” he breaths against you.
Wooyoung’s told you before that he has a lot of time to make up for, missed kisses that he hadn’t allowed himself to think he wanted. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to have you here, to know that you were the one, perfect in every possible way for him.
“An idiot,” he called himself.
You’d smiled shyly and pressed your forehead against his. “My idiot.”
You call him that again when a haggard assistant appears in the still open doorway and demands Wooyoung get his butt out of there now because they have 30 seconds.
Wooyoung still takes another kiss, teeth clanking together, before goes.
“My idiot,” you murmur warmly.
He flashes you a winning smile. “As long as I’m yours.”
