ꨄ︎ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Seungcheol is quite needy this morning. Will you give in?
ꨄ︎ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: husband!Seungcheol x f.reader
ꨄ︎ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: pwp, smut, a lil fluff, 18+
ꨄ︎ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (missionary, riding), nail digging, overstimulation, clit stimulation
ꨄ︎ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1.8K words
ꨄ︎ 𝐀𝐍: Randomly thought about Seungcheol begging for it randomly this weekend and I needed to write it haha. Thank you @hannieoftheyear for looking at this so quickly. Love youuuuu <3
“Come on, baby—”
“No, Cheol. I have to go to work, and I cannot be late again.”
“Just the tip, please—”
“Cheol.”
It’s one of those mornings when your husband, Seungcheol, can’t keep his hands off you. It started early this morning when he woke you up with kisses before your alarm went off five minutes later. Not wanting to risk being late, you slipped out of bed and ran into the shower, hoping it would stop his antics. But then you catch him watching you as you dry off, discreetly palming himself under the blanket. You feel him creep up on you as you’re bent over, rubbing your body with your favorite lotion that leaves you smelling divine. You throw him a look in the mirror, watching him gaze at you with a mix of love and lust.
“It’s not happening, sir,” you warn, turning to face him. “I can’t be late to work today.”
“Why?” He raises his brows. “Do you have an important meeting today?”
“No,” you say carefully, acutely aware that you are still naked. “I just don’t want to be late today.”
You are putting up a brave front, stepping around him and into the closet. His hand brushes against your hips on the way, and tiny jolts of excitement spread throughout your body. Despite you saying no, your body says the opposite, your insides practically screaming to let him put in said tip. It doesn't help that Seungcheol looks the sexiest in the mornings, with his sleepy look and slightly disheveled hair. You imagine your fingers running through it, tugging it tightly while you kiss his perfect lips, riding him—
“Ahem.”
Snapping out of your reverie, you glance at Seungcheol before praying your perfume and body mist. He saunters toward you, his hands caressing your hips as his lips grace your neck. Your breath hitches involuntarily, your body betraying you as it reacts to his touch. He knows what he is doing, and you want to give in, but you must stay strong and stick to the schedule.
“Seungcheol,” you softly murmur, attempting to free yourself from him gently. “Not now.”
His fingers sneak lower, flirting with your bikini line. You turn, squinting your eyes at him before successfully unwrapping his hands around you and walking away. You had to leave for your own sake, because if you stayed a minute more, he would have you bent over the bathroom counter, again.
“I don’t know why you’re fighting it,” Seungcheol’s voice carries from the closet. “I know you’re thinking about it.”
A slow smirk plays on your lips, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the vivid imagery playing in your head. Your body tingles with excitement and lust, thinking of the last time he suggested ‘just the tip.’ You hear shuffling in the closet, and you pretend to look busy, digging for something imaginary to deter Seungcheol on his conquest. Unfortunately for you, when you turn around, Seungcheol is shirtless, twirling the matching set of bra and panties you had set out for today. He has a mischievous glint in his eye that makes you gulp. God, you are in trouble.
“Are you looking for these?” Seungcheol asks, feigning innocence.
“Possibly…” your voice trails off, squinting your eyes at him. “Not sure how you ended up with them.”
“Maybe I wanted to help you get dressed, since you don’t want to be late and all.”
You scoff, moving towards him and attempting to grab your undergarments. “I’m a big girl,” you roll your eyes. “I can dress myself.”
“I know, I know,” Seungcheol nods in agreement. “But wouldn’t it be so much quicker if you had help?”
You raise your brow at him, aware of the game he is trying to play. You watch him lower himself to his knees, lifting your leg and sliding your panties through it. His eyes are pleading, practically begging for what he wants. He licks his bottom lip at the sight of your naked center, a small sigh escaping his lips. Heat surges through you like a blue flame, your cunt undoubtedly wet and craving his tongue.
“Stop,” you murmur, locking your gaze with his. “You know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?” Seungheol teases, kissing your inner thigh. “Tell me.”
“Don’t be coy with me,” you say with a resigned sigh. Looking at the time displayed on your digital clock, you gently grab his chin with your fingers. “Do it before I change my mind.”
“With pleasure, baby.”
His tongue graces your folds, tasting and playing with your clit in ways that make you gasp, clutching onto his hair. He doesn’t break his contact with you, carnal lust taking over him as he hums in your pussy. Pleasure courses through your body at the littlest movements, your hips slowly riding his tongue.
Seungcheol grips your thighs tighter, and he delves deeper, slurping and moaning sounds echoing in the room. The vibrations of his lips make you twitch, gripping his hair tighter. “Fuck, Cheol,” you grit your teeth, pleasure shooting through your abdomen.
“You look divine on my tongue, baby,” he murmurs, not letting up. “Give me more.”
With renewed vigor, Seungcheol slips two fingers inside of you, and you see heaven. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue flattening against your clit as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You’re coming undone, legs shaking as his name spills from your lips like a mantra. You make the mistake of looking down, his lips and cheeks covered with your nectar, and it sends you over the edge, screaming colorful obscenities as you fall into an abyss of pleasure.
Seungcheol is earnest, lapping up everything you offer him, gripping you tighter until your legs give out, your bed being your saving grace as you fall back. He chuckles, licking his lips incessantly as your wetness is spread all over his face. Mind fuzzy from the pleasure, you lie back on the bed, your sheets giving you a soft, cool reprieve to the hot sensation spreading all over your body.
“Are you okay, love?”
You make a minimal effort to lift yourself, studying your husband as he licks his lips, completely satisfied.
“I am… a puddle,” you burst into a giggle, in disbelief. “I can’t believe I let you rope me into that.”
“I can be creative,” Seungcheol gloats, running his fingers through his hair. The bed creaks as he climbs on, towering over you and kissing you deeply. You’re in a daze, his lips and your taste on his tongue putting you in a trance. You feel strung out, overflowing with a lust that only your husband can fix, and it doesn’t help that his tip is poking at your entrance through his boxers.
“So,” he clears his throat, drawing lines across your chest. “Did I earn it?”
You throw him a look before letting out a silvery laugh. Seungcheol, ever the pleaser since you first met him, will always make sure he does a good job. “I think you managed.”
Seungcheol looks at you, surprised, amusement etched on his face. “Managed?”
“Yes. Managed,” you tease him. “You could always be better.”
You roar into laughter as Seungcheol lifts your legs, shoving down his sweats and his large cock springing free. He taps it on your clit, oversensitivity and pleasure shooting through your thighs. Your nails dug into his arm in retaliation, a fire burning your belly as you crave to be fucked.
“Just the tip?” He asks, sliding slowly into your wetness. Your fingers cling to your sheets, your eyes rolling back as his girthy cock goes in inch by inch. You shouldn’t have teased him, you know this, because now he has you where he wants you, just as he planned.
“More than the tip,” you purr, accepting the inevitable. “All of it.”
Without warning, he snaps his hips into you, fucking you without mercy. His strokes are long, deep, the kind that fill you up with joy and leave you with tears in your eyes. He pulls you closer, tasting your skin as your nails dig deeper into his back. Your walls spasm around him, loving every minute of the dick he is dropping off, for sure punishment for your teasing earlier.
“Fuck,” you rasp, feeling your peak reaching once more. “You feel so fucking good.”
You feel him grin against your neck, hitting you with a final stroke before lifting you and turning you over. He scurries to the baseboard, beckoning for him to come to him, wiggling his glistening cock. You crawl over to him happily, climbing over and sinking on him slowly, both groaning in unified satisfaction.
“Come here,” Seungcheol mutters, pulling you closer. “Give me your lips.”
His kiss is gratifying, your tongues interwining with another as you ride him, bouncing on his cock the way he likes it. Your pussy gushes as he fucks back, his fingers rubbing your clit vigorously like he owns it. Hit with a shock of pleasure that courses through your veins, you increase the pace and pull his hair, chasing your second orgasm. As if he read your mind, he pounds into you harder, taking your nipple and sucking on it fervently.
“Fuck, I’m close,” you whimper, everything turning white.”Don’t stop.”
“Never, baby,” he grunts. “Give it to me.”
It comes sharp and quick, your legs shuddering and your moans throaty and wet. You cling to Seungcheol as he talks you through it, whispering songs of praise and peppering you with kisses. His thrusts become rigid, signaling his own release as he lets out a loud guttural moan, your walls still pulsating as he empties himself into you. Relishing in each other, you still, your hearts beating as one, as he caresses your back. Love can’t describe what you feel.
“Are you still going to go in?” Seungcheol asks, drawing lines along your back. “Stay home and make it a 3-day weekend.”
Chuckling in the crook of his neck, you gaze at him, kissing him softly. “This was all a part of your plan, huh? Fuck me good and leave me too tired to move?”
Seungcheol peals into laughter, caressing your cheek. “And if it was?”
You lock eyes with him, a knowing look on your face as you lift off him slowly. “Do you remember the last time you begged for ‘just the tip?’” You point at the nightstand, your finger directed at a shiny baby monitor on display next to your wedding portrait.
“So?” Seungcheol shrugs with a smug look. “We can always have another.”
You shake your head with laughter, making your escape before you give him any ideas. A baby’s cry is heard through the monitor, and your heart pangs with guilt. The sunlight shines through the blinds, casting a soft glow that promises a peaceful day. You silently laugh, your shoulders shaking heavily as it dawns on you that at the end, Seungcheol is going to get what he wants.
Everyone knows Seungcheol flirts his way through life. You’ve brushed him off so many times it's practically routine. He never pushes, so you've always taken it as harmless fun -- until something shifts, and you realise he's not as simple as you've convinced yourself he is.
⇢ pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader
⇢ genre: fluff, angst, idiots to lovers
⇢ wc: approx. 10k
⇢ warnings: daycare worker reader, firefighter!cheol, alcohol consumption, mentions of fire, miscommunication, reader is a little mean 😭
⇢ a/n: this is well WELL overdue because of. many reasons. so thank you so so soo much to the hosts of this collab for being so kind and understanding w extensions. it’s been a loooong time since ive been able to write but im so glad this is finally going out into the world 💗
⇢ as part of the carat’s ridge collab hosted by @imnotshua @starlightkyeom @100vern
YOU’VE WORKED AT Little Pines for just under three years now, long enough that you don't flinch anymore when a four-year-old screams directly into your ear for reasons that will never be explained to you, long enough that you've got a favourite chair in the break room and a mug that says WORLD'S OKAYEST TEACHER that your coworker Jiwon got you as a joke two Christmases ago and that you now use every single day out of spite.
“You're doing the thing again,” Jiwon says, not looking up from where she's cutting a stack of construction paper into slightly uneven ovals that will eventually become, God willing, eggs.
“What thing?”
“You've been staring at the door since 7:40. It's currently 8:05. Taehyun's mom's going to walk through it any minute now and you're going to jump like she caught you doing something illegal.”
“I wasn't staring at the door.” You absolutely were staring at the door.
“Okay.“ Jiwon holds up an oval that's more of a rhombus. “Do these look like chicken eggs to you?”
“They look like abstract art.”
She sticks her tongue out at you. “Okay, well, they're chicken eggs.”
Across the room, Soyeon — who technically works the front desk and has no real business in the classroom during the day, but wanders in anyway whenever she's got a free ten minutes — is refereeing a dispute over a single yellow crayon that has somehow become the most coveted object in the building. Two kids stand on either side of her, red-faced and furious, both absolutely certain of their claim.
“I had it first.”
“I had it first first.”
“There's no such thing as first first,” Soyeon says, with the weary patience of someone who's negotiated with cranky four year olds before breakfast and will again after lunch. “There are, however, eleven other yellow crayons in that bin. I checked.”
Neither kid finds this persuasive. You've learned, over three years, that most classroom diplomacy comes down to waiting people out rather than winning any actual argument, and sure enough, within ninety seconds both of them have abandoned the crayon entirely in favor of a much more interesting pile of dolls in the corner. Soyeon catches your eye over their heads and mouths good luck, and you give her a thumbs up you don't entirely feel yet as she disappears back to the office.
The door opens. It's Taehyun's mother, harried and talking rapidly about a meeting she's clearly already late for, depositing her son and his bag and a granola bar all in one motion before disappearing again in a cloud of strong perfume. Taehyun toddles toward the block corner without acknowledging either of you, which is, frankly, the daycare equivalent of a warm greeting.
You've got four kids in by 8:15, seven by 8:30, and by nine the whole room has that low hum of chaos that means the day's properly begun — someone building a tower, someone destroying a tower, someone crying about the tower's destruction with a passion. Chaewon, three going on forty, sits very seriously at the reading corner turning the pages of a picture book upside down and narrating it with complete confidence.
“That's not what it says,” you tell her, crouching down.
“I know,“ Chaewon says. “I made it better.”
You don't have a response to that, so you let her keep going.
By ten you've got the whole room moving through the usual currents — circle time, then centres, then the slow inevitable descent into midday crankiness over minor grievances that means it's almost snack time. You hand out orange slices and listen to a passionate, incoherent argument between two five-year-olds about whether dogs could, in principle, become doctors, a debate that resolves itself only when someone knocks over the entire bin of blocks and both parties get called away to help clean it up, already having forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place.
This is the shape of your days, mostly. Small disasters, smaller triumphs, a lot of glitter you'll find in your hair for a week afterward. You do like it — the specific way you like something you didn't expect to love. You'd taken the job out of necessity two summers after a psychology degree that hadn't led anywhere near where you'd planned it would; you'd pictured a clinic, or a research post, or at the very least something with your name on a door, not a room full of glue sticks and orange peels. But somewhere in the middle of your first year you'd looked up from tying somebody's shoe and realised you weren't counting down to anything anymore. You like the kids, you like listening to their absolutely nonsensical debates, and okay, maybe the tantrums aren’t exactly a plus, but when they hand you a badly coloured apple or give the sweetest compliments about your outfit on any given day, your whole heart melts. You think about it sometimes — grad school, or moving away, but never with any real intensity. It could happen, someday, but for now, you’re happy exactly where you are.
Sunday dinner at your mom's is a fixed institution, always at the same table, same mismatched chairs, same argument, most weeks, about whether the good tablecloth is really necessary for a meal that will inevitably involve your younger sister spilling something on it. Agreeing to dinner once a week was one of your mother’s few stipulations when you decided to move out. And now Yuna's twenty-two and home for the summer between the end of her graphic design degree in another city and the beginning of whatever comes next, and she's currently interrogating you about your love life with the particular shamelessness only a younger sibling can manage.
“So nothing's happening with anyone,” she says, not a question.
You roll your eyes. “Correct.”
“Nothing at all. Zero activity.”
“I have a very rich inner life, Yuna, it doesn't all have to be romantic. Hobbies. Friends.”
“I didn't ask about your inner life, I asked if you're seeing anyone.“ Yuna reaches across the table for the rice without asking, which your mother allows only from her, a fact that has been a point of argument for roughly twenty years. “You have like, two friends anyway.”
Unfortunately, your younger sister is entirely correct.
“I saw that lovely Choi boy last week, actually,” your mom says, entirely too casual about it, spooning more food onto your plate — which is her way of forcing you to stay in your seat. “He asked how you were doing. Very polite about it. He's always been polite, hasn’t he?”
You scoff. “He's flirting with the whole town, Mom, that's just what he does.”
“Mm,“ your mother says, which is not agreement, and also not disagreement, and is in fact the single most infuriating sound a mother can make. “He's been doing it a long time, though, hasn't he? Since you two were teenagers.”
“He asked her to proooom,” Yuna chips in, sing-song, and you promptly kick her under the table. “Ow! Mom!”
“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, over Yuna’s complaint.
“I didn't say it meant anything.” Your mother says it lightly, the way she says most things she actually means incredibly pointedly, a skill you're fairly sure you inherited directly from her and have spent years turning against her at this exact table. “I just think it's interesting that a man can ask about a woman for ten years and it doesn't mean anything, and a woman can turn him down for ten years and that doesn't mean anything either. Sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time.”
“Can we talk about literally anything else,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “In fact! We can talk about how Yuna still hasn't found a job,” you offer, and Yuna kicks you back under the table hard enough that you yelp, and your mother laughs, and the conversation moves on, mercifully, to safer ground — Yuna's job search, the neighbour's renovation, whether it's finally time to replace the good tablecloth — but you catch your mom looking at you once more over the course of the meal with an expression you don't examine too closely.
Here's the truth of it, if you're being honest, which you try not to be too often on this particular subject: Seungcheol's been flirting with you since roughly the ninth grade, in the low-grade, no-stakes way he’s never grown out of. But he also flirts with the guy at the post office. He flirts with Ms. Oh, who's sixty-one and unmarried and thinks he's a delight. He flirts with the bartender at the one good bar in town, who's engaged and finds it hilarious. It's not a thing you take personally, mostly, because it so clearly isn't personal — it's just the way it is with him, constant.
Except it's always felt a little more personal directed at you, and you've spent a lot of energy over the years making sure it never gets anywhere near landing.
You remember the prom thing specifically, with a clarity that time hasn't done much to soften — him leaning against your locker two weeks before, hands in his pockets, asking with a shrug that was trying so hard to look like it didn't matter, and you turning him down before he'd even finished the sentence, because Kim Daeun had told you the week before that he'd asked three other girls the exact same way, and you weren't about to be a fourth. You'd found out later that wasn't true, that you'd actually been the only one he'd asked, but by then the pattern was already set, the reflex already built, and reflexes, you've learned, are a lot harder to unlearn than they are to learn in the first place. He hadn't argued, hadn't sulked, had just said “your loss” and grinned and gone off to ask someone else's opinion on which tie to wear instead, and you remember watching him walk away and feeling, underneath the relief, something that took you another decade to correctly identify as disappointment.
There was something else, too, that came later, and you think about it more than you'd like to admit, because by then you weren't the same girl who'd turned him down at a locker. You were two years into a psychology degree, home for a fortnight over the winter break, feeling like a slightly different person in your own hometown, the way you always did those first few days back, still half in seminar-mode, still analysing everything, including, apparently, yourself. You'd been walking back from your mum's when the sky opened properly, no warning, the kind of rain that soaks through in under a minute, and a car had pulled up alongside you with its window already rolling down before you'd even registered whose it was. Seungcheol in his brother's beat-up sedan, hair already damp from getting out to jog around and open the passenger door for you before you could say anything.
“Get in,” he'd said, entirely reasonable, entirely obvious, and you'd stood there on the curb, drenched, freezing, genuinely unable to think of a single sensible reason to say no, and said no anyway. You'd told him you didn't mind the walk, which was a lie so transparent you'd half expected him to call it, and he hadn't, had just looked at you for a second too long, rain running down from his long fringe onto his cheeks, before he'd said, “Alright,” and driven off slowly.
You'd spent the rest of that walk soaked through and furious with yourself in a way you didn't have language for yet, turning it over with the same detached, clinical curiosity you were being trained to turn on everything else that year — why did you say no, what did you think accepting would cost you — and never quite landing on an answer you liked. You remember thinking, absurdly, that you'd learned more about avoidant attachment that semester than you'd ever wanted to know, and that none of it had stopped you doing exactly what the textbook said you would.
You remember the coffee, more recently, and the movie, and the wedding — Soonyoung's cousin's wedding, the one he'd asked you to as a plus-one with an actual paper invitation he'd apparently gone to the trouble of getting an extra copy of, which you'd found both sweet and alarming in equal measure and you had turned down within about four seconds of seeing it, before you could think too hard about why your hands had gone a little unsteady holding it.
You expect it now. Seungcheol borderline flirts every time he sees you; occasionally he pushes his luck and asks you out, with enough time in between that you can’t call him insistent.
Each time, you refuse it with the specific lightness of someone slamming a door gently enough that it doesn't look like she's slamming it. And each time he's taken it exactly the way he takes everything — with a grin, a shrug, a “your loss” tossed over his shoulder as he walks away completely unbothered, already on to the next joke, the next call, the next whatever.
So you do the same — you don't examine it. You put it in the same drawer where you keep most things you don't want to look at directly, close it, and go back to your life.
The same week you have that pointed dinner with your mom, you see him at the grocery store — or rather, he sees you. It's a Wednesday, nothing special about it, and you're standing in the cereal aisle trying to decide whether you actually need a box of the good granola or whether that's just a symptom of grocery shopping hungry, when a voice behind you says, “You're gonna want the other kind.”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. “I didn’t ask you, Seungcheol.”
“You didn't have to. You've been standing there for a full minute looking at that box.” Seungcheol's got a basket hooked over one arm, and the basket, when you glance at it, contains a box of protein bars, a carton of orange juice (with pulp, which, ew), and a single lime, which tells you absolutely nothing about what he's planning to cook tonight. “The one with the honey clusters. Trust me.”
“I don't take grocery advice from a man whose entire cart is a lime and protein bars.”
“It's a basket, not a cart, and I resent the implication that I don’t know how to grocery shop.” He leans against the shelf, unbothered, like he's got nowhere else to be — which, this being a Wednesday evening and him apparently off shift, he probably doesn't. “You still owe me an answer on Seokmin’s barbecue thing, by the way.”
“That was two years ago, Seungcheol.”
“I have a long memory.”
“You have a selective memory. You don't remember owing Soonyoung forty dollars, but you remember a barbecue invitation from two summers ago.”
“Different category of memory. One's debt. The other's an open wound.” He says it with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, grinning, and you roll your eyes and put the honey clusters in your cart anyway, which he looks entirely too pleased about.
“Don't,” you say.
“Didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say I'm always right about cereal, but sure, put words in my mouth.“ He falls into step beside you as you push toward the dairy section, not because he needs anything there, you're fairly sure, but because this is also just how it goes, has gone, for as long as you can remember: running into each other in the produce aisle or outside the post office or at the one gas station, falling into the same easy rhythm you've had since you were teenagers — like the conversation never really stops, just pauses between sightings. “How's the daycare? Still winning?”
“Every day's a battle, but yes.”
“You could come to Seokmin’s barbecue this year. Renewing my invitation.”
“I'll think about it,” you say, which is what you always say, and he laughs like he already knows what that means, because he does, because you've been having some version of this exact exchange for the better part of a decade — him asking, lightly, for something, you deflecting, lightly, in return. Neither of you ever quite landing anywhere, both of you apparently fine with that. You part ways at the register, him with his lime and his orange juice and his protein bars, you with a cart full of things that will mostly go uneaten, and you don't think about it again until you're halfway through unpacking your groceries at home and realise you're smiling for no reason you can name.
It isn't all banter, though, and it would be doing the whole thing a disservice to pretend it is. There's a version of you two that has nothing to do with the game at all, that surfaces every so often, and you think about one particular evening more than you'd probably admit to anyone, including yourself.
You'd run into him at the diner on the edge of town, the one that's open too late and serves coffee that's either too strong or too watery. He'd been alone in a booth looking like a man who'd had a longer day than usual, sleeves shoved up, staring at a mug he wasn't drinking from. You'd almost kept walking.
“You look like you got hit by that truck of yours,”you'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without being invited, and his look of surprise when he saw you mirrored exactly how you’d felt at your own actions.
“Feels about right.” He hadn't tried to make a joke of it, which was how you knew it was serious. Seungcheol without a joke ready was rare. “There was a house fire. We got everyone out,” he adds quickly, “It’s just — the house. It’s fucked up. Like, it was a couple and their kids, and their dog, and they were — you know. Gutted. Crying and shit. The kids, especially.”
You hadn't said anything clever, because there wasn't anything clever to say, and you'd known enough not to try, from years of watching adults fumble around children in crisis and from a psychology degree that had, in fact, occasionally been useful.
“You did everything you could,” you'd said eventually, quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I know that's going to sound like nothing to you right now, but it’s true.”
He'd looked up at you properly then, something unguarded in his face that had nothing to do with flirting, nothing to do with the bit — just a kind of tired gratitude that made you want to reach across the table and grab his hand. “They teach you that in your psych degree or what?” he'd asked, attempting for a smile.
You mirror the smile, with a small shrug of your own. “Turns out it's good for something besides making me insufferable at dinner parties.”
That had got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised, and the two of you had sat there for another hour talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did — his brother, your sister,the particular dread of watching a four-year-old take a deep breath right before they’re about to scream the place down. He'd asked you, at one point, about college and your degree — he’d never been to college, of course, and he’d listened to the whole thing like it was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him all week.
You remember thinking, driving home that night, that you liked him best like this, unshowy, unarmoured, asking real questions and actually waiting for the answers — and you remember being immediately furious with yourself for thinking it, and filing the whole evening away in the same drawer as everything else.
Minji's been your friend since third grade, and she's the one person you still talk to who's known you both — you and Seungcheol — long enough to have a real opinion on the whole situation, which she airs freely and often. Today it's as she’s doing her nails, a shade of red she's had you hold the bottle for while she does the other hand, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's back porch with two iced coffees sweating rings onto the railing between you.
“I saw Seungcheol at the gas station Tuesday,” Minji says without preamble, not looking up from her hand. “He asked if I'd talked to you lately. Very smooth about it. Very casual.“
“He's like that with—”
“If you say 'he's like that with everyone' I'm going to put this nail polish in your hair.“ She caps the bottle, finally looks at you, and there's none of your mother's careful lightness in it, just Minji's usual bluntness, worn soft by nearly twenty years of friendship. “I've watched this specific bit for ten years. I watched it in high school, I watched it through your entire early twenties,and at some point, as your best friend, I have to ask: what exactly are you so afraid of?”
You don’t answer straight away, dropping your gaze to the coffee. You take a sip, fiddle with the straw between your teeth before you sigh, tilt your head back towards the clouds. “He’s not serious. It’s like a game to him.”
“Did someone tell you that or are you just making up your own conclusions?” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “It’s been years, ___.”
“Yeah, years of playful flirting. There’s literally nothing serious behind it — I turn him down and he laughs, Minji. It’s a joke. We both know it’s a joke.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s been stuck on you since high school, and you’re too scared of yourself to even give him a chance.”
She always knows how to hit where it hurts, exactly when you need to be hit. Your mouth opens for a second, and then closes as you flounder for something to say. “He’s not stuck on me,” you say finally. “Seriously. We’ve both dated other people, in high school and after.”
“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know what I mean. He likes you.”
“Well, he’s never actually said that!”
“Purposefully. Obtuse.” She pokes your forehead after each word. “What are you protecting yourself from here?”
You close your mouth, silenced and sulking about it.
“Because it's not him,” she continues. “He'd catch you. He's been standing there with his arms out for a decade.”
“It's not that simple.”
“It's exactly that simple, you've just made it complicated on purpose because complicated is easier to dismiss than simple.“ She blows on her nails. “He likes you. You like him. It’s the simplest fucking thing ever.”
You don’t say anything, just scowl and sip your coffee. Your best friend is harsh on the best of days, and usually you like it — today, she’s said everything you don’t want to hear.
“Anyway. How's Chaewon? Is she still doing her pirate princess story?”
“She's added a supervillain.”
“Of course she has.” Minji grins, and the conversation slides, mercifully, sideways — into Minji's own things, a promotion she's up for, a guy she's seeing who she's not sure about — and you're grateful for it, for the reminder that your life has edges that don't touch Seungcheol at all, whole rooms of it that are just yours, just Minji's, just the ordinary unremarkable texture of having a friend since you were eight years old. But underneath the rest of the afternoon, everything Minji said keeps surfacing, quiet and insistently plaguing your thoughts.
It's a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, when Ms. Oh — who owns and runs Little Pines — gathers the staff in the break room after the kids have gone home to go over the calendar for the next month.
“Also,“ she says, near the end, flipping a laminated sheet, “Fire Safety Day's the fourteenth. The station's sending a few of the firemen out to do the usual — stop, drop, roll, let the kids sit in the truck, the whole bit.”
“Cute,“ Soyeon says, refilling her coffee. “The kids’ll love it.”
“Who's coming?” Jiwon asks, because Jiwon asks things you'd rather she didn't, and you’re pretty sure she has a crush on one of Seungcheol’s coworkers, Wonwoo.
“Didn't say. Whoever's on rotation, I'd assume.” Ms. Oh moves on to the field trip permission slips, and you let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, and tell yourself, very firmly, that it doesn't matter who's coming. It's a fire station. There are, by your count, eleven firefighters in this town. The odds are fine. The odds are completely fine.
You avoid thinking about Choi Seungcheol for the rest of the day. Which is to say, you think about him constantly for the rest of the day.
The morning of the fourteenth arrives, and the kids are beyond excited. They’ve talking about it for a week — Chaewon's drawn what she insists is a fire truck and what everyone else agrees looks more like a very angry snail, and Taehyun's informed you three separate times, with the grave authority of a man delivering breaking news, that firemen have “actual axes.” You've got the kids lined up in the yard by ten, sunscreen reapplied, hats on, when the truck rolls up the gravel drive with the low satisfying rumble that makes every single child under the age of six lose their entire mind at once.
You see him before the truck's even fully stopped. Of course you do. He's hanging half out of the passenger side before it brakes, waving at the kids (who are adorably excited), and something in your chest does the thing it always does — a small, private, entirely inconvenient drop, like missing a stair in the dark.
Choi Seungcheol climbs down in his full gear, helmet under one arm, and crouches immediately to be at eye level with a cluster of four- and five-year-olds who are looking at him like he's personally invented fire trucks. “Who wants to sit in the driver's seat?” he sings, and the resulting scream from twelve small children could probably be heard three towns over.
He's good at this. You'll give him that, freely, the way you give him most things freely except the one thing he actually asks for. He crouches and jokes and lets Chaewon try on his helmet, which swallows her entire head, and gets down on the ground to show a rapt little semicircle of children how the hose attaches, and doesn't once break character even when Taehyun asks him, with total sincerity, whether he's ever fought a dragon. (“Couple times,” Seungcheol says. “Rough guys, dragons. Mostly it's the smoke.”)
The other two firefighters who've come with him, an older woman named Yerin and Soonyoung, who you’d also gone to high school with, do their parts fine, competent and pleasant and funny, but the kids gravitate to Seungcheol easily and instinctively.
You've managed, for a solid twenty minutes, to stay on the opposite side of the gaggle of kids, ostensibly ensuring Beomgyu keeps his hat on. It doesn't last. Around the time the kids are being herded toward the truck to take turns sitting behind the wheel, he peels off from the group and ambles over, helmet tucked under his arm, looking entirely too good for someone who's just spent twenty minutes being climbed on by preschoolers.
“You've got glitter on your face,” he says, by way of hello.
“I always have glitter on my face. It's basically work uniform at this point.”
“It's a good look on you.” He says it easily, the same way he says everything, but his eyes do a quick pass over you before landing back on your face with that brief dimpled smile, and you hate — hate — the small flicker of warmth that swells in your stomach.
“You didn't have to come,” you say, which isn't true, since he clearly did have to come, it's his job, but it's the fastest thing you can think to say that isn't I hoped you wouldn't and also knew you would.
“Somebody's gotta protect this town's youth from the dangers of unattended candles,“ he says solemnly. “It's a calling.“
“Right. Noble.” You pause. “They’re four, by the way.”
“Extremely noble. You should be nicer to me. I'm basically a public servant.”
“I'm always nice to you.”
“You're the meanest person I know,“ he says, delighted, “and I mean that as a compliment to your commitment.”
“Anyway,” he says, looking over to the truck. “The kids are gonna want to come to the station. We usually do that — let them see where the trucks live and everything. I can set it up with your boss if that's alright with you.”
“Sure,” you say, half-listening, half-watching the kids. You’re pretty sure Beomgyu and Yeonjun are going to trip, chasing each other like that. “Whatever's easiest.”
“You'll come too, right? Chaperone duty?”
“That's generally how field trips work, yes.”
“Good.” He says it satisfied, like it matters, and for just a second something honest surfaces under the joking — you catch it before he tucks it away again, the way you sometimes do, a flash of something steadier than the bit usually allows.
And then, before you can examine that, Chaewon comes sprinting over demanding to know if the truck can go faster than a police car, and he's gone again, crouched down explaining horsepower to a three-year-old with the same total sincerity he used on the dragon question, and you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, watching him, before you make yourself go help Yerin with the hose demonstration instead.
By the time the truck pulls away an hour later, every single kid in the yard is talking about the fire station visit like it's the moon landing. You've got a feeling you won't hear the end of it for a while.
You don't hear the end of it for a while.
For the better part of two weeks, the fire station visit's the single principle of every conversation the four-year-olds have. Taehyun draws the truck again, several times, with increasing and alarming detail about the axes. Chaewon stages an elaborate reenactment during free play in which she plays “the fireman” and assigns you the role of “the person who has to be saved,” which you accept with as much dignity as you can muster while lying on the carpet pretending to be unconscious as a group of kids tug at your legs. Jiwon, of course, finds the whole thing extremely funny.
The days have a way of absorbing whatever's going on with you and continuing regardless, which is, most of the time, a mercy. Circle time happens. Snack time happens. A minor crisis occurs when it's discovered that the class hamster, Mr. Biscuit, has gotten loose sometime overnight, and he's eventually located, after forty tense minutes and one very dramatic search party. Chaewon had refused to take part in said search party, and had instead spent the entire time in the reading corner, insisting Mr. Biscuit would “come back when he was ready,” which, infuriatingly, turns out to be correct.
You also go back to your evenings, which have nothing to do with any of it — a phone call with Yuna where she vents about her job search, an afternoon spent helping Minji repaint her spare room, a Sunday at your mom's where the subject of Seungcheol does not come up even once, a small mercy you're grateful for and slightly suspicious of. Life, in other words, keeps being a whole life, most of which has nothing to do with him at all, which is the thing you keep having to remind yourself of whenever it starts to feel otherwise.
Friday nights, when you're not too wrecked from the week, you go to the bar with Minji and Jimin and a few other friends, because it's the only bar in town worth it. It's not a big fancy place, with its low light, jukebox, and pool table with a wobble in one of the left legs, but it’s the only place to go, really, unless you want to make the drive into the city.
Minji drags you along after a week of promotion nerves and you go willingly enough. The place is familiar enough to be comfortable even after the tiring week you’ve had, but you’re not really looking to drink too much tonight.
You've had a few sips of a cocktail by the time the door opens and a loud group of off-duty firefighters spills in, mid-laugh, and naturally, Seungcheol's in the middle of it. He’s saying something that's got Soonyoung doubled over, and you feel the familiar lurch of oh, here we go before you've even fully processed that he's clocked you across the room.
“Oh, this'll be good,” Minji murmurs into her drink, and you kick her under the table, which only makes her grin wider.
You run into him often, at this bar, so seeing him isn’t really a surprise in itself. He grins at you as he and his friends make their way first to the pool table, and you return the gesture with an awkward nod, and somehow almost drop your drink in the process.
It’s maybe forty five minutes later that he actually comes over to you. He always does, at least once when you run into each other like this, always comes to say hi, which usually leads into some kind of line.
He waves Dohyun, the bartender, over and orders a whiskey on the rocks, and for a while you just talk, as the ice in his drink melts. Easy, unimportant things, the kind of conversation that happens naturally between two people who've known each other long enough that silence isn't awkward, just comfortable. He tells you about a call they had that week, a cat stuck in a drainpipe that took forty-five minutes and drew a crowd. You tell him about Chaewon's ongoing crusade against the concept of naptime, which makes him laugh so hard he has to put his drink down, not that he’s drank much of it. Somewhere in there Minji peels off to go play pool with Jiwon and Soonyoung, throwing you one loaded look over her shoulder on the way that you very deliberately ignore.
Somehow, the two of you have drifted from the bar itself to a booth in the back corner, and Jiwon's gone home with a wave you barely registered, and Minji's deep in a game of pool she's losing badly and loudly to Soonyoung, and you're sitting closer to him than you were an hour ago without being able to say exactly when that happened. He's telling you something about his brother’s wedding, some story about a groomsman and a dropped ring you're only half following because you've gotten distracted by the way he laughs at his own joke before he even finishes it, the way his hand's landed, at some point, loosely on the back of the booth behind your shoulders, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it without him actually touching you.
“You're not listening,” he says, not offended, just observing.
“I'm listening.”
“What'd I just say?”
“Something about a ring.“
“Close enough.“ He's looking at you in a way that feels different from the usual — like he's forgotten, for a second, to be charming about it. “You've got that look.“
“What look?”
“You’re totally zoning out. That look.”
You snort, aiming for humour. “I'm always zoning out around you.“
“I know,” he says, and there's something in his voice, something almost fond and almost sad at once, so much that it makes your levity fall flat and for a moment neither of you says anything at all. Then he smiles, “You always zone out anyway, though. I remember from school.”
“Please.”
“It’s true! I remember it happening in history class and Miss Lee had to snap her fingers in front of your face!”
Heat crawls up your face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that! That was in my first week, too, I nearly cried.”
“I remember,” he smiles. “Everyone was talking about the new girl who just moved to town and that was the first time I saw you.”
It's strange, the way ten years can gather themselves into a single quiet second like that — all of it sitting there in the space between his face and yours, close enough now that you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you don't let yourself do, except you do anyway. You think, distantly, of Minji on the porch — he's been standing there with his arms out for a decade — and your mother at the dinner table — sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time — and something in you that's held itself very carefully closed for a very long time simply, without your permission, stops holding.
He leans in, slow enough that you have every opportunity to move. You don't take it.
The kiss, when it happens, isn't clumsy at all, not at first — it's slow, almost unbearably so, like he's been waiting so long for it he's decided to actually take his time now that he's got it, one hand coming up to your jaw so lightly it's almost a question, and you answer it by leaning further in, by letting your hand find the front of his shirt and hold on, and you kiss him back like you mean it, because you do. Then his other hand finds your waist and yours finds the back of his neck and the two of you shift closer in the booth and it turns into something hungrier, less careful.
Somewhere in the bar, distantly, you hear Minji whoop, and you don't even have it in you to be embarrassed.
Then your brain catches up with the rest of you, the way it always eventually does, and you pull back, breathing hard like you've run somewhere. Seungcheol looks a little wrecked, the same way you feel, his hair mussed and his lips a little swollen, and you guess you must look something similar.
“I—” you start, and don't finish, because you don't actually know what comes next.
“Hey,” he says, low, steady, not moving away, his thumb still resting at your jaw like he’s catching up to the fact that you're pulling out of it. “It's okay, just — ”
“I shouldn't have — ” You're already reaching for your bag, your keys, anything to hold onto that isn't him. “I think I had too much to drink.“
“You didn’t even finish your cocktail,” he says, and he's not smiling now, which is somehow worse than if he had been. “Can we just — talk for a second? I've been wanting to say something for a while, and I know the timing's not— ”
“Cheol, I’m sorry — I — I really think I should go,” you’re fumbling with your bag and your words at the same time.
“I'm not trying to freak you out.” He says it gently, both hands visible now, like he's talking someone down off a ledge, which, you suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate. And his voice speeds up a little, because you’re still gathering your things and avoiding his gaze and it’s his turn to trip over his words: “I just — I like you. Like, actually. I know it's always been the bit, with us, and that's fine, that's — I get why. But I'm not messing around right now. I want you to know that. Can we just talk for a se—?” And he cuts himself off, because you’re standing up.
It's the most honest he's ever been with you, stripped clean of the performance, and it terrifies you in a way you don't have language for at eleven-thirty on a Friday with your pulse still loud in your ears. “Please,” he says, softly, so softly, and his hand brushes against yours, feather-soft. You make the mistake of looking, and he’s gazing up at you from the booth, his eyes pleading and brown and warm and serious.
“I have work in the morning,“ you say, which is a lie, and you both know it's a lie, it’s a fuckin Saturday, but he lets you have it anyway, some tired resignation moving through his face.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Get home safe.”
Minji catches you by the door, pool cue still in hand, all the teasing gone out of her face the second she sees yours. “Hey,” she says, softer than you've heard her all night. “You good?”
“I don't know,” you say honestly, and she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm once and tells you she'll call a cab for both of you, and you let her, grateful, not for the first time, that she's known you long enough to know exactly when not to push.
You don't remember much of the ride home. Your hands are shaking slightly as you find your keys at your own front door, and you don't look back toward the bar even once, and you lie awake for a long time afterward turning the whole thing over and over in your head like a stone you can't put down, unable to decide which part scares you more — that he said it, or that some traitorous, long-buried part of you wanted to say something back.
You don't see him again for eleven days, which you know because you count, which you're furious with yourself for doing.
Life continues in the meantime, because it does that, indifferent to the small personal catastrophes you're nursing. There are snacks to portion out and scraped knees to bandage and an entire day on the letter Q that takes far longer than it has any right to. Chaewon's fireman reenactments continue unabated, blessedly innocent of the fact that you now flinch slightly every time she mentions the word. Jiwon notices you're off but, for once, has the mercy not to push, which you appreciate more than you tell her.
Sunday dinner happens in the middle of the eleven days, and you spend most of it pushing rice around your plate while your mother and Yuna talk around you, until your mother, halfway through clearing the table, pauses behind your chair and rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. Not asking anything, just letting you know she's noticed, which somehow makes it harder to hold together than if she'd asked directly. Minji calls twice and you let both calls go to voicemail, not because you don't want to talk to her but because you know exactly what she'll say, and you're not ready yet to hear it out loud, even though some louder part of you already knows she'd be right.
The field trip to the fire station is scheduled for the Thursday of that second week, and you've spent a genuinely humiliating amount of effort trying to get out of it. You ask Jiwon, with what you hope is believable casualness, if there’s any possible way Ms Oh would let you skip it and take a parent chaperone instead. She looks at you like you've suggested trading a kidney.
“Absolutely not. Do you know Ms Oh? No. You're going.”
You haven't been able to think of a version of the truth small enough to hand her, so you let it drop, and here you are on Thursday morning, herding twelve overexcited kids onto a rented minibus with the specific dread of someone walking toward a conversation she's been dodging for a week and a half.
The station's a squat brick building on the edge of downtown, garage doors up, two trucks gleaming in the shade, and the kids lose their minds the second the bus door opens. You busy yourself with headcounts and hand-holding, buying yourself as much time as you reasonably can before you have to actually look at him.
When you do, it isn't what you expect, and somehow that's worse.
Seungcheol is polite. That's the word for it, the only word, and it lands like a slap precisely because it's so foreign coming from him. He greets the kids with the same warmth as before — you'll give him that, he never once lets it touch them — crouching down, letting them climb the truck, patiently explaining the same things he explained a month ago in the daycare yard.
There's one second, early on, when he glances up and catches your eye across the garage and something almost warm flickers there on instinct, old habit, ten years of muscle memory — before he seems to remember, visibly, and shuts it down, his face resetting into something careful before he looks away again. You watch it happen and wish, immediately, that you hadn't seen it. But mostly, for the rest of the hour, there's none of the usual spark in his eyes when they pass over you, none of the teasing, none of the warmth that's always, always been there even when you were actively trying to shut it down. He nods at you once, says “morning,“ in a tone you've never heard him use on you before and then turns his attention fully to the kids and doesn't look at you again for the better part of an hour.
It should be a relief. Instead, it fucking stings.
Yerin gives the group tour of the trucks. Soonyoung lets three kids at a time try on a real helmet. Seungcheol does his part competently, kindly, and entirely at arm's length from you, and when the visit wraps up and the kids are being herded back toward the bus in a loose, sunscreen-smelling parade, you find yourself hanging back at the garage door while Jiwon does the headcount, because you can't make yourself walk away without saying something, even though you have no idea what the something is.
“Hey,” you say, inadequately.
He's coiling a length of hose that doesn't especially need coiling. “Hey,” he says, not looking up. “Kids have a good time?”
“They loved it. You're good with them.”
“Yeah, well.” He sets the hose down, finally looks at you, and his face is doing the thing it's been doing all morning — pleasant and closed-off.
“Seungcheol—”
“You should get back to the bus,” he says, not unkindly, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been sharp about it. “Don't want to lose a kid on my watch.”
It's a joke, technically, the shape of one, but it comes out flat, missing the thing that always makes his jokes land — that easy, unbothered warmth. You realise, standing there in the wide mouth of the garage with the smell of diesel and rubber hose around you, that you've finally managed it.
“Okay,” you say, because you can't think of anything else, and you turn and walk back to the bus, and don't let yourself look back at the garage until you're sure the kids can't see your face. You spend the entire drive back with a thick lump in your throat and something burning behind your eyes.
You don't sleep well that night, or the two after it. Your brain keeps circling back to the same three minutes in a garage no matter what you try to distract it with. You go through the motions of your days competently enough — nobody at Little Pines seems to notice anything beyond your slightly quieter mood, which you blame on being tired — but underneath the surface you're doing the thing you've always been careful never to do where he's concerned: you're actually thinking about it.
You skip Friday at the bar that week, and the one after, telling Jiwon and Soyeon you're just tired, which is half true. Minji shows up at your apartment uninvited the same night with a bag of takeout and an expression that says she's done waiting for you to call her back, and you let her in because you don't have it in you to pretend anymore, not to her.
“Okay,” Minji says, setting the containers out on your coffee table like she's settling in for a long negotiation, which, you suspect, she is. “Talk. All of it. I already know something happened at the bar, I was there for the whoop-worthy part, I just don't know the rest.”
So you tell her. All of it — the kiss, what he said after, the eleven days, the garage, the way his face had gone so carefully closed you almost hadn't recognised him. Minji listens without interrupting, which for Minji is its own kind of remarkable, and when you finally run out of words she doesn't say I told you so, which you'd braced for, and which you almost wish she had, because instead she just looks at you, steady and a little sad on your behalf, and says, “You know what you have to do.”
“I know what I have to do.”
“So why haven't you done it yet.”
“Because I've never actually done this before,” you admit, and it's the truest thing you've said out loud in two weeks. “Turning him down, that I know how to do. That's years of practice. I don't know how to do the other thing.“
“Nobody knows how to do the other thing,” Minji says, not unkindly. “You just do it anyway.”
You think about the ten years of it, after she leaves, sitting alone with the takeout containers cooling on your table — the prom, the rain, the coffee you never got, the wedding you didn't go to as anyone's plus-one, every single time you took the easy warm shape of his affection and handed it back to him like something you couldn't use.
You think about how none of it ever once made him flinch, how you told yourself that meant it didn't matter to him, when really (you can see it now, uncomfortably clearly) it probably meant the opposite. It meant he’d turned the flirting into a joke on purpose, so a no from you never actually cost him anything. But then — keeping it up, over and over, for years, because some idiotic, hopeful part of him had apparently decided you were worth that particular patience.
And you'd spent that same decade telling yourself it was nothing more than a bit, because the alternative — that it wasn't nothing, that it never had been, and that you might actually want it back — was a door you weren't ready to open.
By Sunday you’ve waded into your thoughts deep enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You sit on your kitchen counter with a cup of tea you're not drinking and you make yourself actually look at the thing you've kept in the drawer for ten years, and what you find, when you finally look, isn't complicated at all. It never was. You'd just been very good at making it look that way.
It occurs to you, sitting there with your tea going cold, that obviously, you’ve dated other people since the ninth grade, even been serious with one or two, and none of them ever tied you up in knots the way this has.
It’s not that they mattered less. It’s that none of them were Choi Seungcheol, who’d been the easiest person in your entire year to like, who’d had half the school a little bit in love with him since he was fifteen, and you’d been so sure back then that a boy like that leaning against your locker was a joke because the alternative — that he meant it, about you, specifically — just didn’t make sense.
It had been simpler, safer, to decide it was just Seungcheol being Seungcheol, the same warmth he handed out to the woman at the post office and the bartender at and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing in front of him, and to file yourself in with all of them instead of letting yourself be the one exception.
You call Jiwon, because you've run out of ways to have the conversation only with yourself, and because Minji's already said her piece and you want, this once, a second voice saying the same thing back to you before you trust it.
“Okay,” Jiwon says, once you've gotten through the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor with your phone on speaker and a second cup of tea gone cold beside you. “So let me get this straight. You've liked him since — what, ninth grade?”
“I didn't say I liked him since ninth grade.”
“You basically said that.”
“I said I'd been turning him down since ninth grade, that's a different thing. I think it started as something silly. I haven’t been, you know, pining around for him for a decade straight, and neither has he.”
You can hear her moving around her own kitchen, a cupboard opening and closing. “Yeah, well. It seems like he’s been waiting for a chance for a decade, though.”
You don’t have anything to say to that. Jiwon continues anyway, so you don’t have a chance. “I genuinely thought you two just had a bit going. A little routine. I didn't realise that it was unresolved feelings the entire time, and I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, so, congratulations, you've out-repressed even me.”
“That's not a compliment.”
“It's not not a compliment.” A pause. “You're going to go find him, right? Not just think about it for another week.”
Your nose scrunches. “I might.”
“Don't. Go tonight. Or tomorrow. Just — don't let this be a thing you circle for another decade, you've circled it long enough.”
You laugh, the first real laugh you've managed in days, and it loosens something in your chest that's been sitting there, tight and small, since the fire station garage. “Tomorrow,” you say. “I'll go tomorrow.”
“Good. And tell me everything after. I mean everything.”
“I'm not going to tell you everything.“
“You're going to tell me everything,” Jiwon says, with total confidence, and hangs up before you can argue, which, you have to admit, is probably the correct read of the situation.
You find him on Tuesday evening, off shift, at the little park two streets from the station where you know — because everyone in a town this size knows everyone's habits eventually, whether they mean to or not — he sometimes goes to shoot free throws alone on the cracked half-court when he's got something on his mind.
Your hands are unsteady the whole drive over, and twice you nearly turn around, and both times you think of Minji on your couch, of your mother's hand on your shoulder, of Jiwon's voice on the phone, and you keep driving.
He sees you before you reach the fence, ball tucked under one arm, and for a second his face does something complicated — surprise, then that same careful, contained politeness from the fire station, sliding down over it like a shade.
“Hey,“ he says. “Everything okay? Kids alright?”
“The kids are fine. I'm not here about the kids.” Your voice sounds horribly strained. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just waits, bouncing the ball once against the cracked asphalt like he needs something to do with his hands.
“I've been an idiot,“ you say, which isn't how you'd planned to start, but it's true, at least. “For, honestly, a really long time. I don't know how to say the rest of it in a way that doesn't sound like I practised it in my car on the way here, so I'm just going to tell you I practised it in my car on the way here and say it anyway.“
That gets the smallest flicker of something across his face — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.
“I think I started off thinking you were teasing me, back in school. I thought it was a joke when you asked me to prom. And then after that I just needed you to be joking, because to me it didn’t make sense for you to be serious. And because the alternative meant I had to admit I wanted it too, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I kept handing it back to you instead.”
He sets the ball down against his hip, quiet, still watching you with an expression you can't fully read.
“And at the bar,” you say, “I panicked because I think I realised you meant it, and I realised I did too, and then, I don’t know, I just totally freaked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously and I kept brushing you off and I was mean when you didn’t deserve it, and I’m really, really sorry.”
He's quiet for a moment, turning the ball slowly in his hands, and when he speaks again some of the careful politeness has gone out of his voice, replaced by something rawer, more tired. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it. It was just — in high school, yeah, I had a crush on you. And then after, there would be whole stretches where I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, you went to college and I went to the academy, and — then you’d show up again and, I don’t know. Especially when you moved back.” He pauses — the ball slips out of his hands, and you both watch it bounce to a stop. “You were always worth asking,” he says, finally. “I wanted the chance again, every time, even if you wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“I'm really sorry,” you say, and you mean it.
“Okay,” he says, soft, and something in his shoulders loosens. “Practised in your car,” he repeats, and there — there it is, the corner of his lips turning up, small and a little disbelieving, like he isn't sure yet whether to trust it.
“Don't gloat.”
“I'm not gloating. I'm saving this for later. I'm going to bring it up constantly.”
“There he is,” you say, and your own eyes are stinging in a way you choose to blame on the wind, and he crosses the distance between you, slower than at the bar, giving you every chance to step back, and you don't, and this time when he kisses you, there's nothing careless in it at all.
an: i did not intend for this to be so complicated i rewrote this three times with different plots and editing took way way longer than intended. idk. it’s nearly 4am and i need to sleep.
PAIRING: Soongyoung x f. reader
SUMMARY: Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.
WC: 29,988
AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers
GENRE: Smut, Heavy Angst
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARINGS: Full warnings available under the cut.
A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.
A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic and @eoieopda for beta-reading this fic.
M. LIST | FULL COLLECTION | ASK | PLAYLIST | THE SYNDICATES INFO GUIDE | READ SOONYOUNG'S POV
Warnings: Graphic violence generally associated with mafia behavior, mentions of murder and blood, morally grey characters, themes of codependency (a little bit), a bit of a toxic relationship with Soonyoung and reader at times (they like to make each other jealous), bar fights, women being very petty, recreational drinking and drug use, heavy angst, depictions of death (funerals for parents), fight scene that ends in death in a domestic situation, difficult relationships with parents, reader and her husband have a terrible relationship and hate each other, depictions of blood and stabbing in one scene (it is the most graphic scene in the whole fic but kept short), reader agonizes over decisions she's made and struggles mentally with a lot of it, depiction of a full blown anxiety attack, sexually explicit content including fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, crying during sex, a lot of making out and biting, multiple orgasms... sorry this is so long, I want to over-warn for everything happening here so if I have missed something you think needs to be warned, please tell me!
KWON SOONYOUNG IS CRYING THE FIRST TIME YOU MEET HIM. It’s a loud, warbling cry that you’re not used to, and you flinch at the pitch as you hide behind your mother. Soonyoung and his mother are standing in the grand foyer of your home, his fists twisted in her tweed skirt as he begs her not to leave him.
His mother sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’ve seen her around before on the arm of her husband at your family dinner parties and for afternoon tea with your mom. This is the first time you’ve seen Soonyoung, though, and you’re unimpressed as his shrieking only gets louder when she crouches down to look him in the eye fondly, brushing the tears from his face.
You don’t know a lot of other kids, but the noisiness of him startles you. Unsettles you. Sensing your unease, your mother reaches to pull you from behind her, giving you a single look that you know means please behave. You straighten immediately, turning to watch the sniffling boy as he calms down.
Soonyoung is round-cheeked, his dark eyes swollen and face reddened from working himself up. His mother murmurs something to him and he nods, wiping the snot from his face with the back of his hand.
Seungcheol must notice the crying has stopped. He appears from the kitchen, giving Soonyoung an unimpressed once over as he strides toward you and your mother. She clucks her tongue at the cheek of her eleven year old, giving him a hard look.
“Seungcheol, don’t be rude,” she admonishes. “Greet our guests properly.”
Your older brother glances at you and you lift a shoulder. He’s going to lead the family one day, it’s important for him to show manners. You know this even at a young age - have always known what his place is among your family, what your place is.
Cheol is in line to become the Tower of the Choi Syndicate, an empire that you cannot fathom at your age but you know is important. You are its insurance, a second heir if something happens to the first and a bargaining chip for future partnerships. A potential logician, if you’re good enough.
Turning to Soonyoung and his mother, Seungcheol bows politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Soonyoung. Are you here to play video games?”
Soonyoung perks up at that, looking at his mom, eyes going round. She grins and nods her head, pulling her hands from where they rest on his shoulders. “He is,” she agrees. “We thought it might be good for you to become friends.” Her gaze drifts to you. “All three of you.”
That makes you frown. You don’t really like playing video games. Seungcheol never lets you win and forces you to play for hours in exchange for him letting you borrow his AetherLink at night to scroll the internet. You’re not allowed to have one yet, even though you’re only four years younger and all of your other friends have them to enter virtual chat rooms and play online games.
“Do I have to?” you ask your mom, looking up at her.
“Yes,” she says firmly, gently nudging you by the shoulder toward where your brother is not so patiently waiting to escort you to the gaming room. “Go.”
“Why don’t you want to play?” Soonyoung asks, pouting a little.
“I’m not any good.”
“That’s okay. I’ll let you beat me.”
Seungcheol moans. “Ugh, don’t let her win. Come on. I got the new Grid Fighters game on the Reality Rift console!”
“No way!”
Seungcheol grins and shoots off toward the gaming room, Soonyoung hot on his heels. You hesitate for a moment, staring after them with indignation. Soonyoung stops at the doorway, turning to you. His face is still ruddy from crying, but he’s suddenly smiling, cheeks round and smooth.
“Come on,” he whispers. “I’ll let you win, I promise.”
-
“Holy fuck, can you let me win for once?” Soonyoung groans, rolling over on the mat. He’s dripping in sweat, wiping it away from his brow as he stands with effort.
Grinning, you skip away from him, reaching for your water bottle. Music pounds through the speakers of the training room. Overhead, the blue neon casts an eerie glow over the two of you. Seungcheol ignores you both in favor of using the weight machines in the far corner of the room.
On the far wall, your health and fitness data is displayed, each one of your bodies outlined and flashing as new data comes in. Right now, you’re in the red zone, heart pounding hard from your bout with Soonyoung, who is in the orange zone.
Which confirms your suspicion that he’s not trying as hard as he could be.
“Maybe if you weren’t afraid to actually hit me,” you offer. The water helps cool you down as you eye Soonyoung. Even at fourteen, he’s started to fill out his form more, arms corded as he hones himself into a weapon. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
Seungcheol scoffs from across the room. Maybe he wasn’t totally ignoring the two of you. He drops his cool-older-kid act to turn and grumble, “He’d put you on your ass, Baby. Lucky for you, he always lets you win.”
The nickname makes you bristle. You hate when people point out that you’re the baby of the family, like you’re something less than or incapable of keeping pace. You especially hate it when Seungcheol uses it to put you in your place, reminding you that one day your shithead older brother is going to be leading the family business.
The family business is the reason you spar with them at all. Occasionally Vernon joins, though those days are as unpredictable as his appearances. Usually when he’s over at your house, it’s never a good thing. His arrivals are always bracketed with the sound of his father’s manic yelling and his mother’s frantic begging, followed closely by slammed doors and your father’s calming voice.
Today it’s just the three of you, though. Soonyoung comes over and sits on the mat by your feet, holding a hand up to you. You pass him your water bottle, rolling your eyes at him even though it doesn’t really bother you.
Nothing Soonyoung does really bothers you. Since that first day he showed up at your house sobbing because his mother was leaving him for the day, he’s grown on you. More than grown on you, in fact. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t noticed your lingering gazes and the way he flusters you when he gets too close, and you hope to keep it that way.
“I don’t want to hit you,” Soonyoung offers gently, voice low over the metal clang of Seuncheol’s weights. “And it’s not ‘cause I don’t think you can’t take it,” he adds with a grin, bumping his shoulder against your leg. “I just don’t like the idea of you getting hurt.”
“Everyone treats me like a baby.”
“You are. But it’s not a bad thing. For example, you say jump and everyone says how high. Even my dad.”
That makes you smirk a little. You look at the floor, letting his words wash over you. They do ring true - there’s no one in the Syndicate who would deny you anything, and though you’re utterly terrified of Soonyoung’s dad, he would do anything for you. In a way, it was the Kwon family’s divine purpose to be by the side of the Chois.
“What about you?” you ask.
“What about me?”
“Jump.”
Soonyoung grins and sets the water bottle down, getting up to his feet at your command. “How high, Baby?”
-
Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear on the day of his parents’ funeral. He’s a far cry from the little boy who showed up at your house to play video games and become friends.
Instead, he sits in silence, eyes raging - always raging, now. You don’t think the fury stops, his gaze burning the entire ceremony. His grip on your hand is like iron, and after a while, your arm tingles with pins and needles. You say nothing, willing to endure. Eventually, your arm goes numb entirely, and he keeps holding your hand.
Afterward, Soonyoung says nothing. You do the talking for him, accepting the hand shakes and bows on his behalf when he doesn’t reach out to accept them, thanking those who have come to offer him condolences and respect when he doesn’t speak.
His grip on you is steadfast. Iron and fire. Even when your father drops his gaze down with a look of disapproval, Soonyoung doesn’t let go and you don’t ask him to. If there’s any day that you can break decorum and tradition, it’s certainly now in the wake of Soonyoung’s loss.
They don’t need to know you’d let him hold you anyway.
The boy who existed before the murder of his parents is dead. You knew it before the funeral. But when the last guest finally leaves the Choi Estate and Soonyoung doesn’t shed a tear, you realize it isn’t just his parents that you’ve buried.
The sweet, gentle boy who had cried those tears for fear of his mother leaving him has died too. And you don’t think you’ll ever see him again.
-
“You want me to do what?” Soonyoung asks, pulling you into his room and looking out the cracked door to make sure no one else is around. “Where is your brother?”
“I have no idea.”
“You can’t just- ” Soonyoung fumbles for words as he shuts the door and takes a few steps past you into his room proper. It’s dark, safe for the glow of his AetherLink glowing with a paused video game. “Did he see you follow me up here?”
“Why are you being weird? I’m in here all the time. You live here.”
“I’m being weird? You just asked me to kiss you. Neither your brother nor your dad want you in my room in the middle of the night.”
You frown. “Since when? Look, I’m sixteen and I’ve never been kissed, and Lin just lost her virginity to Jeonghan. What happened to when I say jump you say how high?”
“Oh don’t start with me. Who cares if Lin is giving it up to Jeonghan. She blew Wonwoo like two weeks ago. It’s not a competition.”
You cross your arms over your chest, caving in on yourself a little. Maybe it was a stupid idea to ask Soonyoung after all. But you can’t get over the way all of the other girls were clinging to Lin’s every word as she spilled the details of sleeping with Jeonghan. Everyone else in your friends group had at least made out with boys - you had nothing.
Being the daughter of the leader of the Choi Syndicate has its benefits. Being accessible to do things like kissing boys and going out with your friends to new cool clubs like Echo Space and Hyper Vibe were not one of them. Getting any of the boys your age to even look you in the eye was impossible, the fear of catching the wrath of Seungcheol and your father looming over them like the Sword of Damocles.
Soonyoung is Soonyoung, though. Your father has brought him into the fold like one of his own, keeping his oath to Soonyoung’s parents to always watch over him and protect him. You’re old enough now to understand that the bonds between higher members of the Syndicate are bonds of faith and blood, of family and something more.
If anyone shouldn’t be afraid to kiss you, it’s Soonyoung. He lives down the hall from you, and he’s best friends with your brother. It wouldn’t be that weird. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you lay awake in your bed at night while you stared at the ceiling, fingers trailing your lips.
Now, you’re not so sure. The way Soonyoung recoils makes you realize you hadn’t thought of the single most important thing before marching in here and asking him to be your first kiss: maybe Soonyoung didn’t want to kiss you.
It hadn’t even crossed your mind - one of the many downsides to getting mostly everything you wanted. You’re so infrequently told no that in the light of rejection, you don’t know what to do, recoiling like you’ve been mortally wounded.
Nodding your head, you turn away from Soonyoung, throat tightening as the new wave of emotions threatens to spill over. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Baby,” he sighs. You ignore him, bolting for the door. Soonyoung is fast, though. He snatches your arm and drags you back toward him, though you turn your face away from him to hide the evidence of oncoming tears. “Don’t be like that.”
“I’m not being like anything. It was a stupid favor to ask.”
“Would you look at me?”
“No.”
He sighs heavily. “Why are you being so difficult?”
Trying to wrench your arm from his hold is useless. He’s not hurting you, but the grip on your bicep is firm. “Well if I’m so difficult then let me go.”
“Baby.” The frustration in his voice is evident. You ignore the way your nickname rolls off his tongue, the way he’s the only person you don’t absolutely hate the name from.
“Just let me go!”
“No. Why do you want me to kiss you?”
The question is like nails against chalkboard now, your embarrassment peaking. “Forget I even asked, just let me go!”
“Fuck - are you crying?”
“No.”
“Baby, look at me.”
Too afraid that the wavering in your voice will give you away, you shake your head, refusing to turn and face him. With a growl, he gives a sharp tug on your arm, spinning you toward him. You let out a noise of protest, ready to lash out at him again when you feel his mouth on yours.
Startled, you don’t do anything at first. Soonyoung’s grip is still on your bicep, firm and steadfast. Your eyes blink for a second before they flutter closed, unsure exactly what to do beyond lean into him a little, pressing your lips firmer to his.
It’s somehow exactly what you expected and totally unexpected at the same time. Soonyoung’s mouth is softer than you were ready for, slotted gently against yours. He’s warm and smells like vanilla and sandalwood, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. Your thoughts peter out, enjoying the way he holds you to him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
When Soonyoung pulls away, you look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shaky. He doesn’t pull back very far, looking down at you with a dark gaze. This close, you can see the real Soonyoung. His expression is soft, eyes sparkling in the blue light of his room. He looks so young suddenly, all of the rage and wrath that lurks under the surface of the calm mask he wears gone for just a moment.
“You have pretty eyes,” you whisper. His mouth twitches at the corner, an almost smile. “I’ve always thought you had beautiful eyes.”
He opens and closes his mouth again, trying to find words. You wait him out, heart thudding. He’s still holding you close to him, fingers digging desperately into your arm.
Footsteps thundering up the stairs wake him from his daze, Seungcheol calling your name. Soonyoung drops his hand and steps away from you, a cool mask of calm sliding into place, the vulnerability gone in an instant. “There’s your kiss,” he murmurs. “Is there anything else you need from me or do I need to jump too?”
-
Synth pulses through you, vibrating your very bones as you lounge on the velvet couch in a private section of the club. The lights above you are hazy, but you can make out the shapes of holographic dancers, their graphics so high definition that you can see the sweat beading down their bare backs.
From the VIP section, you have the perfect view of the DJ platform. Screens flash behind it, holographic wonders of creatures and places and visuals flashing brightly. Writhing bodies twist on the dancefloor around the DJ like a pit of snakes. Among them, you know your father’s Taps slither among the crowd, pushing drugs and psychedelics into the hands of those who can afford it.
A trained eye can spot a Tap well enough. Though they blend in with the nylon and leather of the partiers, they tend to be sharp eyed and lucid, chewing on stim pops or some other substance to keep them awake and alert.
It’s not the drug dealers in the crowd who keep drawing your attention, though. You shouldn’t be able to spot Soonyoung in the mass of bodies so easily, but you do. His hair is bleached, reflecting the flashing lights around him as he presses in close to the girl attached to him, hips swaying.
Your mouth sours. Leaning forward you snatch one of the bottles from the ice bucket and pour a shot into a crystal glass. Angel raises her brows as you slide the glass over to her and pour another for yourself. She’s not much of a drinker, but she takes the glass wordlessly, sensing your need to have a partner in crime.
Knocking it back, you hiss as the liquor burns all the way back. Even the high grade alcohol is like fire, washing away your irritation for a dizzy moment, veins buzzing. Leaning back, your eyes scan the crowd and settle on Soonyoung again. This time, he’s leading his partner through the crowd and toward the stairs. The stairs that lead to you.
Seungcheol and Wonwoo crashing onto the seat next to you breaks your concentration. Seungcheol’s pupils are wide as saucers, eyes trailing upward to dance at the visual of a woman with pink skin sliding out of her top.
Next to him, Wonwoo pulls a small bag with glittering dust from his pocket, shaking it to settle all of the contents at the bottom before unsealing the top. The way the powder glows against the lights tells you its high quality frostbyte, a powerful stimulant named for the biting feeling when inhaled.
Instead of yelling over the music, you gesture toward the bag, catching Wonwoo’s attention. He gives you a surprised look followed by a wolfish grin. Wonwoo loves when you partake in partying harder, a side everyone so rarely sees from you.
Sliding a knife from his pocket, you watch with rapt attention as Wonwoo dips it into the baggie, scooping delicately. You’d rather he cut lines on the table, but you’ll take what you can get, watching as he expertly fishes out a decent sized amount for you to take.
You’re mutely aware that a group of bodies enters your section. Vernon throws himself down next to Angel, jostling you both as you lean over Seungcheol’s half-asleep form toward where Wonwoo extends the knife toward you carefully. You ignore the weight of Soonyoung’s eyes on you as he, Mingyu and a group of girls sit down and reach to fill their glasses with liquor.
Wonwoo’s hands are steady as he holds the tip of his blade out to you, a hand held underneath to catch any powder that slips off the blade. Careful not to lose your balance and stab yourself, you level your face with the knife, inhaling sharply.
Immediately the drug bites the back of your throat, eyes watering as you tilt your head upwards and blink for a second, letting it settle. Sniffing harshly a few times, you clear your nasal passage and blow out a breath, feeling the softest beginning of a tingle as you look at Wonwoo, who is still holding his hands out to you.
“Thanks,” you nod. He grins and pulls back, rubbing the excess powder along his gums as you fall heavily against the back of the booth.
Turning to look at your brother, you elbow him. “Are you alive?”
“Mhmm,” he grunts, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Lights dance across his face, all pinks and blues and purples as he breathes in heavily. “I am fucked right now. Can you get me a stim pop from Hoshi? If I do anymore frostbyte I’m gonna get a nosebleed. Again.”
Actually, asking Soonyoung for anything is the last thing you want to do. However, your brother does look like he needs to wake up, the mess of drugs and alcohol in his system working overtime to put him on his ass. Stim pops are a quick fix, a careful mix of sweet candy and methylphenidate to wake up the nervous system. Soongyoung always has them on his person, especially for when he works late night shifts.
Turning in the booth, you’re smacked with a wave of color. For a moment, you drink it in, tilting your head upward as the figures dancing above explode into a world of lavender butterflies. They’re utterly captivating, your eyes watching them twist and dance in the air as they flutter.
A laugh bubbles from your lips, entirely childlike. Grinning, you watch them for a few moments more before they disintegrate into stars, entire solar systems hovering and floating through the space above your head.
Seungcheol elbowing you breaks you from your concentration. Right. Stim pop. From Soonyoung. Glancing at the man in question makes your stomach plummet. Soonyoung’s head is resting against the back of the booth, the girl next to him draped over him with her mouth pressed hot to his throat, her teeth overly white in the blacklight of the club.
A surge of rage shivers through you, your nails scratching across the green velvet, leaving marks in their wake. Leaning forward, you reach out a hand and smack Vernon’s knee to get his attention. He turns his lazy gaze on you, brows raised. When you point at Soonyoung, he nods and yells over his shoulder to get your target’s attention.
Soonyoung’s eyes flutter open and flick to where you’re sitting. He drinks in your expression before muttering something to the woman mouthing at his neck and peels her off, standing up and shuffling over to you. Angel makes room for him, all but sliding into Vernon’s lap as Soonyoung crashes down on the couch next to you.
“Hi, Baby. What’s up?”
“Cheol needs a stim pop,” you answer curtly, leaning away from him. He smells like vanilla and sandalwood laced with alcohol. Soonyoung is so close you can feel his body heat, his breath fanning across your bare shoulder as he moves to look at Seungcheol half asleep on your other side. “Then you can go back to your little public sex session.”
Soonyoung makes an angry cat noise, narrowing his eyes at you as he smirks. He leans toward you further to reach into his pocket, shoulder pressed against you. His scent fills your nose, heady and familiar. You’re dizzy with it, the touch of his warmth against your skin making you flush.
Suddenly, his nearness is overwhelming. Every hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your skin hypersensitive to the way he leans against you. The glow of the lights is sharper than you remember, and you swear you feel the blood rushing through your body.
A response that could be either because of the drugs you inhaled a moment ago or because Soonyoung is pressed against you and you have the sudden urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, to press your lips against his and feel their softness.
In an attempt to save yourself from the trap, you shove back at him. He huffs, glaring at you as he fishes a stim pop out of his pocket and hands it over to you. You’re careful to avoid his touch when you snatch it from his nimble fingers, turning your back on him in the booth to look at Seungcheol.
“Why are you being a brat?” His voice is loud over the music, shouted into your ear as he tilts back into your space again. You can feel the warmth of him on your back.
“Go away.”
“Baby, please don’t start with me.”
“I’m not starting fuck with you.”
Seungcheol cracks an eye open to observe your argument with a look of interest. Seungcheol’s pupils are dilated like moons, totally empty of any coherent thought. You peel the wrapper off the stim pop, careful to hold it by the cardboard stick as you pop it into your brother’s mouth.
For a few moments, your brother lolls the candy around his mouth, sucking greedily. Then, he blinks his eyes open, pupils narrowing as he drinks in the lights and the clubs. He sighs in relief, patting your thigh gratefully as the stimulant chases away whatever else is washing him out.
When you turn around, Soonyoung is still lingering, his dark eyes fierce and focused only on you. He looks good tonight. He looks good every night. He has become your picture perfect torture since that night you asked him to be your first kiss, kickstarting something you were incapable of foreseeing.
The bleached hair is new and you hate how much you like it. The silvery strands look just as soft as his natural black, and it’s a nice contrast to his dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Those stormy eyes are staring at you now, something playful that you don’t like glittering under the surface.
He pouts at you. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you. Go away!”
“You definitely are. What did I do, hmm? Tell me.”
“Please fuck off.”
He rolls his eyes, peeling himself off the couch and muttering something under his breath. You’re sure he has nothing nice to say, so you sink further into the couch, crossing your hands over your chest as you sulk.
Sticky air clings to your skin. You can feel your heart racing in your chest, the music vibrating your ribcage. Your anger is like a monster given life, fueled by the frostbyte and the feverish anger taking root in your stomach as Soonyoung settles back in his spot, pressing his mouth sloppily to the woman next to him.
And that’s the problem, really. It’s not you that is pressing your mouth to his jaw while he leans against the back of the seat. It isn’t you running manicured nails down the front of his shirts, pulling at buttons despite the audience.
It isn’t you and it should be. You want it to be.
It’s been two years since Soonyoung kissed you for the first time in his room. You’ve had more experience with other people since then, but it dulls in comparison to his simple kiss. You hate it. What you hate even more is how childish it makes you feel, embarrassment heating your cheeks and throat when he catches your gaze across the booth and you divert your attention.
For the second time, Soonyoung peels the girl off of him, making like he’s going to get up and come sit next to you again. This time, his companion keeps him rooted to the spot, her nails digging into his forearm as she hisses something at him. He groans, head tilted back like he’s once again the most inconvenienced man in the room.
Wanting nothing more than to blot him out, you call Wonwoo’s name again, leaning forward heavily for more frostbyte. Soonyoung whistles and snaps his finger in your direction as though to tell you no. You bristle, your anger turning to an inferno, burning up inside of you.
Vernon and Angel both cringe, leaning out of your line of fire as you swivel to angle yourself toward Soonyoung, hands shaking. “Don’t fucking whistle and snap at me! I’m not a dog.”
“Baby, you don’t need more. Your pupils are the size of Mingyu’s big ass head.”
Mingyu, though right next to Soonyoung, doesn’t hear the insult, his tongue being sucked down the throat of the girl sitting in his lap, hips grinding on him. Another girl is pressed to his side, teeth nipping at his jaw. At least someone is having fun, you think, the three of them totally aware of the crackling tension in their booth.
The girl attached to Soonyoung’s neck a moment ago bristles when she hears your nickname. “Baby?” she asks, face scrunching. “Are you serious?”
“Chill out, Victra. It’s her nickname.”
“Yeah,” you agree, shooting her a venomous look, despite her doing nothing to earn your ire. “Chill, Victra.”
Once again, you turn your back on Soonyoung, standing and scooting Seungcheol over to swap places with him. He does so with a keen eye, watching the scene unfold as he sucks his lollipop happily, content to watch the drama.
Wonwoo dips his knife into the bag as you settle in next to him, bouncing with excitement. “I love when you do drugs, you’re so much fun.”
“I don’t feel very fun right now.”
“Drugs will fix it!”
“Wonwoo, don’t you dare give her that,” Soonyoung warns. He pries Victra’s hands off of him, leaning forward as though to reach across the table.
“Ignore him,” you insist.
Wonwoo hesitates, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The last thing he wants to do is tell you no. No one but your father and older brother get to tell you no. Wonwoo knows this better than most people. But he also doesn’t want to cross Soonyoung, a venture nearly as dangerous as pissing off Seungcheol.
Soonyoung hisses at the girl next to him, “Stop clawing at me! Baby, please stop being stubborn for one moment. Just one. ”
“Why the fuck did you even bring me up here?” Victra interrupts, ignoring Soonyoung’s plea. “You’ve done nothing but fawn over her since we got here. This isn’t fun.”
Soonyoung ignores her. “If you’re mad at me, be mad at me. Stop blowing shit up your nose to prove a point and be a bitch, though.”
“I’m not proving fuck, Soonyoung. And Victra’s right, go fuck her in the bathroom or something and stop telling me what to do.”
“So it is about her?”
“I have a name!” The her in question snaps. You turn around, temper flaring as you level your glare at her. She turns her nose up at you as she says, “It’s obvious you’re bothered he brought me here. Your jealousy is insufferable.”
“Ding, ding ding,” Seungcheol imitates a bell. You turn around to look at Victra. “Round one! Fight!”
It takes a second for Victra’s words to land. It’s like each one hits you a second apart, packing their own punch as you register them. The pulsing music around you fades to a dull roar as you stare at her, seeing the way her lips twitch upward as she realizes she’s right. You are jealous that Soonyoung brought her up here.
Victra’s grin is all it takes for you to spill over. Before you can register what you’re doing, you’re out of your seat and leaping over the table at her, knocking over glasses and bottles. Wonwoo cheers in delight behind you as your brother catches you by the waist, trying to keep you on your side of the booth as you tear at his hands to get across the booth.
Seeing the attack of opportunity while you’re subdued, Victra shoots to her feet. Angel is fast as an adder, one moment sitting in Vernon’s lap and the next striking Victra down into the booth, knee planted in her stomach. Vernon does nothing to stop his girlfriend, opting instead to reach for a water bottle, unscrewing it to take a sip as his girlfriend pins Victra down to the seat with little effort.
Noticing for the first time that their friend is in distress, the two women with Mingyu lift their heads. As soon as one starts to slide from his lap to reach for Angel, you kick a foot out, striking the bucket of alcohol and ice. The bucket goes flying at her, hitting her hard in the face. She screams, crumbling in Mingyu’s lap, cradling her face.
Mingyu and Soonyoung are on their feet in seconds, soaked from the waist down and trying to gain control of the situation as it spirals. Mingyu becomes a blockade between Victra’s two friends, trying to keep them on their side of the booth. Soonyoung is prying a bottle from a hand before it can make its way toward you, yelling something indecipherable.
Angel is still pressing her knee deep into Victra’s gut. Victra’s attention has diverted from you entirely as she screams like a wounded animal, pushing and scratching at Angel’s knee to try and get her off. You’re sure it hurts, but Angel doesn’t budge, sinking her weight into it.
Leaning down, you grab something to lob at them - someone’s shoe - but Seungcheol manages to haul you off your feet and spin you, planting you into the booth behind him. You growl, shoving at his legs to move him out of the way, trying to re-engage.
“Fucking hell,” he grunts. “Are you fucking juicing? Why are you so strong?”
“It’s the drugs,” Wonwoo offers unhelpfully. “Really top of the line drugs.”
“Shut up, Wonwoo!” Both you and Seungcheol bark at the same time.
Wonwoo holds up his hands, leaning back into the seat as he watches the mess unfold with a delighted grin. You strike out with your foot, slamming against the booth’s table, shoving it in Soonyoung’s direction. You hear glass shatter as more things fall off the table, clattering to the ground. There are shrieks and curses that you can’t see with Seungcheol blocking the way.
“He’s a fucking asshole!” You seethe to your brother, panting with rage.
“He is, and you did exactly what he wanted you to do.” You try to kick the table again but he stops you, grabbing your knee. You feel like you can’t get enough air, sweat slicking your skin and the velvet of the couch too sharp against your flesh. “Soonyoung loves a fight when he’s fucked up. You know that.”
“Well fuck him!”
He pulls the stick from his mouth, candied stim gone. He tosses it onto the floor and looks over his shoulder where Mingyu and Soonyoung are corralling the three women out of the booth. “God, Angel broke that girl's rib I think. Hahahha!”
“I want to break her fucking face!”
“I think you broke her friend's face. She is fucked up. That bucket hit her right in the eye. What a shot.”
“If you’re so entertained, why’d you get in my way?”
“There’s a lot of eyes here.” You glance around, noticing other booths looking at you, people ducking toward one another to whisper. “You have an image to maintain.”
Adjusting your shirt, you settle back into the booth. “Alright. Alright I’m good.”
When Seungcheol moves out of the way to take a seat, Soonyoung replaces him. You glare up at him, feeling your anger curl up in you again. His lips twitch, a hint of a smirk as he sits down next to you, sighing heavily and tilting his head to look up at the flashing lights.
The girls are nowhere to be found. Angel is sitting back down next to Vernon who hasn’t moved, and there are servers picking up the mess you made. Mingyu is notably absent, though you can guess where he’s gone for the night. He’s good at making scorned lovers feel better about their bad luck.
“Jealousy is crazy on you,” Soonyoung notes, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he glances at you sidelong. “I kind of like it.”
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you warn. He laughs, the fight totally leaving him. “I’m serious. Don’t ever do that to me again, Soonyoung. Not to me.”
“Alright, alright. When you say jump, right?”
Soonyoung’s fingers brush against yours. Just the rough feeling of his calluses against the tips of your fingers has you shivering, anger replaced with want. He doesn’t take your hand, doesn’t move to do anything else but lean back in silence with your fingers touching.
Resigned, you say nothing else to him. You’d got what you wanted - sort of - even if you know you made an ass out of yourself doing it. It isn’t the first time he’s made you jealous, but it is the first time it’s boiled over so violently.
You remind yourself not to do frostbyte when you’re mad anymore.
You turn your attention to where Angel is snorting frostbyte up her nose off of her boyfriend’s phone, accidentally turning on the hologram as she does, her face suddenly caged by green screen data. You call her name gently. She looks up at you, pupils blown, reflecting the lights dancing above like dark glass. “Thanks,” you offer.
Her grin is too wide, teeth too white. She reminds you of a demon more than she does an angel. “Anytime.”
When you settle back in, you glance at Soonyoung once. He looks down at you, smirking a single time before he leans into you and rests his head on your shoulder. You feel him melt into you, sighing as his eyes close and he nuzzles a little closer. You put your hand on his thigh, squeezing once before you leave it there, feeling the heat of his skin through his pants.
It isn’t until he’s almost asleep, pressed as close as possible to you that you realize maybe he got what he wanted too.
-
Rain washes over the black city, the mist turning the thousands of digital and holographic advertisements into a watercolor smear of neon. It smells wet and like rot, the drains overworked and belching water and trash back out into the street as you walk, feet splashing.
You quickly duck out of the way of a group of rowdy men spilling from a bar. You can smell the drink on them, their feet sloshing in the rising water of the street as they dredge toward the next bar. They whistle at the pretty girls dressed in light up raincoats and flickering green contacts, stumbling toward a brothel instead of the bar.
Gripping your umbrella tighter, you quicken your steps. Grease smoke drifts toward you from various hawker carts, the sizzle of meat making your stomach growl. You ignore them, knowing you have dinner with your family later as you take a corner and plunge into the darkness of an underground stairwell.
The LEDs on your umbrella cast a pink light as you descend the stairs, careful not to slip on the caked grime. Two guards stand outside metal double doors, music pulsing faintly behind it. They look you up and down, ready to deny entry until you state your name at the bottom of the steps.
“ID?” the one on the right asks, giving you a critical eye.
Of course he doesn't believe you. The daughter of the Tower would never walk anywhere without a body guard, especially in this part of the city. You spin the umbrella, the pink coalescing as he takes the phone from your hand and taps it, blue lighting up his face when your ID and profile appear in holographic data above the screen.
He clears his throat and bows at the waist. When his counterpart doesn’t, he smacks him hard on the back, making the man lean over. “Apologies, Miss Choi. Right this way.”
Music hits you full on when the doors open, the base creating static in the air. You cringe as it vibrates through your ribcage and teeth, wondering how anyone could stand to be in a club this loud. Popping the umbrella shut, you let your eyes adjust while one security guard remains at the door, shutting it behind you, and the other hands you your ID.
“Should I escort you to the office, Miss?”
Writhing bodies dance together, scintillating like snakes in a pit. Above them, lasers and holograms light up the world with flashes of colors you didn’t even know existed. A wide bar stretches to the left of the floor, lit up by soft cyan lights. Behind it, the bartenders move in a blur, the glow on their clothes turning them ethereal.
You glance at the security guard, who waits patiently before shaking your head. You point to the space above the bar where there are two large, mirrored windows looking out into the club. “Up there?”
“Yes,” he answers, hesitating. “Let me escort you.”
With a roll of your eyes you nod, gesturing to him to lead the way. He clears a path, clubbers and workers alike moving out of his way when he shoves them. You walk behind him, swinging your head from side-to-side as you look at the people, fascinated.
People with spikes pierced in their skin and whorling tattoos with glow ink stare back at you, glowing contact lenses and gemmed teeth all taking you in. You rarely get to mix in with the crowd that partakes in more unique cosmetic alterations and fashion, fascinated by someone who walks by with red glowing face tattoos like a demon mask.
At the foot of the stairs, the guard lets you walk up first. It’s clear of people, so he remains standing at the bottom, taking up an imposing position with his hands linked in front of him, blocking the stairway entirely.
The thud of music vibrates through your boots as you climb the stairs, greeting another security guard. You can tell he’s already been warned you’re here - he bows immediately and keys in the pad at the door, opening the office for you.
You pass by him airily, stepping into the dry and much cooler office. The door closes behind you, immediately cutting off the sound with high–tech sound proofing. Soonyoung is leaning against the bar, his back to the door as he watches out the windows, a glass in his hand.
“What in the fuck are you doing?” he asks, tossing you a look over his shoulder. You grin, skipping over to him. He doesn’t grin back, looking you up and down as you join him. You reach for the decanter he’s drinking from but he smacks your hand, viper fast. “Not a chance.”
“What? Why not?”
“You shouldn’t be here, much less without a security team. The Tower will be livid.”
“The Tower doesn’t have to know.”
Soonyoung’s jaw flexes. “The security team will tell him you were here.”
“Not if you tell them not to.”
“Baby,” he sighs, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. You lean against the bar, watching him. The lights from the club are dimmer in here, but they flash against his face, painting him in golden light. He’s beautiful. “What are you doing here?”
“Angel said you had a bad day.”
“I always have a bad day. And tell Angel to shut her mouth.”
You snort. “You tell her that.”
That gets a grin out of him. He lowers his head, dark gaze finding yours. “You can’t just walk around the Lower City without a personal guard, Baby.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I know you’re not. I’m not either but people try to rob me all the time. You, on the other hand, are a lot prettier of a prize than I am.”
“So you think I’m pretty?”
This time when Soonyoung sighs, it’s affectionate. He sips his glass of amber liquid, turning to watch the crowd outside the office. He holds out his glass to you, a concession. You grin further, accepting it from him and bring it up to your nose to smell. You don’t know anything about liquor, but from the spiced scent you can tell it’s good quality.
You take a tiny sip. It goes down smooth - strong, but good and warm. Instead of giving him the glass back, you cradle it to your chest, leaning against the bar next to him close enough that your arms are almost touching. He continues looking out at the crowd, keen eyes serious and back to work while you look at him.
Soonyoung is beautiful. His side profile is lethal, the slope of his neck elegant, the curve of his jaw sharp but delicate, his high cheekbones catching the light. His eyes are dark pools, reflecting the snatches of light that come through the dark windows.
“Did you come here to stare at me?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the crowd.
“What if I said I did?”
His mouth twitches at the corner. “Unfortunately I would believe you.”
Watching over clubs isn’t usually Soonyoung’s job. But this club is in a terrible part of the city and isn’t worth much to the Choi Syndicate, so sometimes he’s awarded the opportunity to prove himself to your father and to the elders of the Syndicate that he’s competent and capable of leadership, despite the fact you’ve always known him to be.
Soonyoung isn’t meant for leading like Seungcheol. But there is a certain level of loyalty and understanding he has to cultivate with the heavies of the family, the Swords who carry out the bloody tasks of removing people from the way and keeping assets safe. His father had been the Sentinel of your family for years until his death, and Soonyoung is expected to pick up that mantle.
This is all a part of that. Soonyoung already has the loyalty of the security team running this hole in the wall, alerting him the second you arrived and refusing to let you go up the stairs alone. Had they failed to do that, you might think a little less of them.
Soonyoung also probably would have had them beaten.
Finally, Soonyoung turns to look at you. He sighs and raises his brows expectantly.
“What?” you ask.
“What did you come here for? Real answer, this time.”
“I told you. Angel said you had a bad day. That is my real answer.”
“And?”
You shrug, sipping from the glass and turning toward the windows. “I wanted to make it a better one.”
That makes him go silent. You can see him turn to look at you, his stormy gaze pinning you to the spot. You don’t look at him, letting him stare as you nurse the drink and watch the dancing crowd down below. They’re beautiful, in a way, an ocean of bodies saying as colors turn them blue and then green and then bright red and then lavender.
Soonyoung leans toward you, bumping his head on yours lightly. That gets a laugh out of you, stomach fluttering and wishing he would stay leaned against you. He pulls away though, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his eyes back to his job.
“Thank you,” he finally says, voice quiet. “It is already a better day.”
The silence is comfortable. You eventually give him the drink back and he takes it, tongue darting out to lick the lip gloss you left. He hums. “Cherries.”
“You’re gross.”
He smiles into the glass, taking a sip. “I actually have something for you.”
“A present?”
He snorts. “Not exactly. Go to the desk - top drawer on the right.”
Eagerly, you do as he says. The heavy wooden desk sits in the back of the room, imposing even without the metal lockers behind it with weapons. You ignore the heavy guns under padlocks and go for the drawer in question.
A rectangular box is in the drawer Soonyoung specified, unmarked. You turn it over in your hands, curious. It’s not very heavy and fits mostly in your palm.
“Bring it over here.”
You do, trailing back to Soonyoung. He extends his hand and you pass it over to him, watching with interest as he cracks the box open with the sheer strength of his fingers. He pulls out a small device, a wire and what looks to be a plug, tossing the box to the bar.
“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding up the device.
It’s a small rectangle with a keypad and a screen. You raise your brows in surprise. “It is a very old phone.”
“It is.” He smiles, pleased with your answer. He passes the materials over to you and you hold them against your chest. “That’s the charger and the charging cord. It’s one of the old kinds of phones that requires a phone tower. There are barely any in the city.”
“And what is this gift for?”
“I own the phone towers that support it.” You raise your brows. Soonyoung rarely spends the inheritance his parents left behind, so you’re surprised. “It only has a single phone number programmed into it that will call the one I have.”
At this, he reaches into his pocket and produces the phone’s twin. He shakes it for emphasis, pressing a button and lighting up the screen. “You have to make sure to keep it charged. I want you to have it for emergencies only. And I mean emergencies, Baby. This is a last resort kind of device, alright?”
You chew your bottom lip, dragging your eyes to look up at him. “Why?”
“Because I need to know that you always have a last resort.” His gaze darkens. “Clearly your assigned security team lets you give them the slip. I need to know that you can hit the dial on this faster than you can on our phones. They’re overly complicated and not quick. With this?”
He reaches over and turns on the phone in your hand. Once booted, he presses the one button. The device in his hand starts ringing. “Direct and fast access to me at all times. Do it even if you can’t tell me where you are. I’ll find you.”
Emotion twists your throat. You grip the phone with a vice grip, looking up at him with wide eyes. His face is serious. He slips his phone in his pocket, turning back to do his job. “I will answer,” he promises. “It doesn’t matter when and where. I will answer that phone even if I’m dying. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Good.”
-
A knock on your door wakes you up from a dreamless sleep. Darkness spills across your room like ink as you slip from your bed, cursing when you kick the corner of your nightstand. With a raspy voice, you ask the automated room assistant to turn on the nightlights, a hazy purple immediately lighting the circumference of your room.
Squinting against the lavender glow, you pad over your room to open the door. Soonyoung is leaning heavily against the wall just beyond the threshold, his chin tucked to his chest and his hair sweaty and clinging to his temples.
He doesn’t move when you open the door, the lilac light casting an eerie radiance on the side of his face. It’s hard to make out his expression in the lurking shadow of the hallway, and he offers no explanation for why he’s knocking on your door at three in the morning.
“Soonyoung?” you whisper, eyes darting down the hall. No one else is around. “Where are Cheol and Vernon?”
“S’cheol is still working. Vernon went to stay at Angel’s.”
“Are you - Soonyoung are you drunk? Or high?”
“Yeah.”
Both you realize. You can deal with both.
Grabbing him by the hand, you tug him gently. He pushes off the wall with heavy steps, stumbling through your open door and into the room. You grip him tighter, shutting your door with a gentle click before turning around to face him.
Soonyoung won’t look at you, turning his face away as he sways a little where he stands. Now that you can see him fully, you realize that there is blood on the collar of his shirt. Heart thudding, your hands reach for it, peeling it back to look at his neck. Specs of dry crimson flake from sweaty skin, making your terror reach new heights.
He shrugs you off. “Not mine.”
“I - what’s going on?”
Instead of answering you, he walks a few crooked steps toward your bed and sits down on the edge. Licking your lips, you approach him slowly. He’s slouched over, elbows pressed to his knees as his head hangs heavily. He still hasn’t looked at you properly and you’re aching to see his eyes. You can always understand him better when you see his eyes, able to read the depth of emotions hiding beneath his mask.
When you reach him, you crouch down. Instead of grabbing for him again and risking him pulling away, you rest your hands on top of your knees. When afraid or upset, Soonyoung is like a cornered animal. You don’t know whether he’s in fight or flight, both just as dangerous as the next.
“Soonyoung,” you say again gently. You watch his every move. “You’re scaring me. Do you need me to call Cheol or Vernon?”
If Seungcheol is working the circuit, he isn’t the best to call. Late night circuits include going from club to club under the Choi banner to monitor the drug trafficking and attend small business meetings as appropriate. Seungcheol will drop whatever he’s doing for you in a heartbeat, but it’s more complicated than that.
In theory, Vernon is easier to get a hold of. He’s already off work and though he might not answer his phone if you call, you know his girlfriend will. Plus, the blood on Soonyoung’s shirt and skin can give you a guess at what’s happened, and Vernon is more equipped for that type of thing than you are.
“Let me call Vernon-”
“No,” he finally says. “No. Sorry. I just.”
Your chest squeezes in pain. It’s like you can feel the torture radiating through him, feel the weight of whatever it is that’s dragging him down yourself. Desperation drives you to reach out toward him slowly, watching for any sign of startling him. When he doesn’t move to pull away, you touch him gently, squeezing his knee gently. “What do you need?”
“My dad always said I should feel something.” His words are halting, coming out slurred. You wait, holding your breath as he works through them. “Always said that you should feel something when you kill someone. If you don’t, it means you’re nothing more than a beast with base instincts. Not intelligent or refined.”
It takes everything in you not to let your grip turn to steel at his words. Instead, you rub your hand up and down his thigh soothingly, saying nothing. Soonyoung has never killed someone before. You would know if he had. He’s the last in your immediate circle of friends beside yourself to take on the weight of stealing life, and you’ve dreaded this day for a long time.
Murder is an inevitability in your family. Keeping the Choi Syndicate on top requires sacrifice, cruelty and cunning. Soonyoung had started serving as an officially ranked member of the Syndicate over a year ago, and though he had fucked up a lot of people and brought them to the brink of death, he hadn’t actually done it yet.
“I felt nothing,” he whispers, voice thick. “Fucking nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was no guilt. I didn’t even flinch. It was so easy, like fucking breathing. That’s not what my dad wanted me to be. He always said that those who felt nothing were just… baser creatures. That we were better because we were… made better.”
“I think your dad wanted a lot of things. You being alive was the most important of those things, Soonyoung.”
“I’m just tired of feeling fucking empty. I don’t give a shit that I killed someone, Baby. Honestly? I was fucking looking forward to it. I thought maybe - just maybe - I would feel something, even if it was guilt or horror or satisfaction. There was nothing.”
You have no idea what to say. Instead of words, you surge forward, letting go of Soonyoung’s knee to push yourself between his thighs, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches for a moment, arms hanging dead at his side as you press your cheek to his chest, squeezing.
Inside, you feel your heart crack open. You shove down the overwhelming sense of despair on his behalf, instead focused on him. There’s nothing to say with words, and you hope he can feel what you’re trying to tell him through touch, that he can feel everything you don’t know how to say as you hold him tight, clinging to him.
Slowly, his arms encircle you. It takes him a moment, but he applies a little pressure back. It makes you scoot in more, pressed as close as you can get to him. He buries his face in your neck, his breaths warm and smelling like tequila. He smells like him too, vanilla and sandalwood.
“I don’t feel like a person sometimes,” he whispers. “It’s like the ability for me to feel anything died forever ago. Like I killed it so that I didn’t ever have to hurt again. Now I only ever feel when-”
He cuts himself off and sinks into you a little more. You bear his weight, willing to carry any burden for him. You don’t think he realizes that he could ask you to jump and you’d say how high. You’ve always been willing to jump for him, always willing to do whatever he wants, whatever he needs.
Gently, you ask, “You only ever feel when what? You can tell me if you want. Whatever you need.”
“I feel when I’m with you.” Soonyoung whispers it like it’s a secret he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel the words hit your skin where he speaks them, a shiver slithering through you. His grip on you tightens a little with the admission, like now that he’s said it, he can’t let go. Won’t. “I feel most like a person when I’m with you.”
Pressing the flat of your hand to his back, you begin to stroke up and down slowly, touch following the careful ridges of his spine. He sighs, shivering in your hold. You want nothing more than to take the pain or whatever he’s feeling away, to rip it from him and to destroy it.
The fierceness of your love for him is hard to tamp down. A fiery admission of your feelings for him isn’t what he needs right now. You know Soonyoung like the inside of your own soul, everything that makes him tick, every habit he’s picked up over the years. You can sense him standing lost at sea, needing an anchor. Needing you.
“Okay,” you say softly. “So stay with me. Be a person with me.”
“I’m not made for you.”
“Yes you are.” Your nails dig into his back through his shirt, pressing sharply. The desire to covet him is so intense it overtakes you. “If I make you a person, then how could we be made for anyone but one another?”
Silence greets your logic. You stay holding him like that, desperate to keep him there, terrified he’ll shrug you off and get up. He’s done it before, shucking off your affection like something to be disposed of. And still you give it to him freely, begging him to take it.
He doesn’t shy away from you. Instead you feel him nod, mouth brushing tenderly across your throat in the ghost of a kiss. “If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave. Do you understand? I won’t… I will be incapable of ever letting you go. Ever. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
You hug him tighter. “Try to leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung.”
-
“Where’s your other half?” the voice causes you to turn from where you lean against the bar. Angel slides up next to you, cocking her head as she does. She looks like a wraith, dressed in a rain slicker over black long-sleeved shirt that’s tucked into black pants. Her jacket and combat boots are wet, suggesting it’s still raining outside. “You’re usually attached at the hip. My therapist calls that codependency. Says Hansol and I have it too.”
“Does your therapist also know you’re a murderer?” you mutter. The bartender slides drinks over to you and you nod in thanks. “Or that you’re only seeing her because Jeonghan made a bet with you? Or that your job often involves extortion? What does she think about that?”
As a Rook of the Choi Syndicate, Angel’s job is a far cry from the holy nickname she’s sported since she was a child. Like Vernon, her role within your father’s empire is to collect debts owed to the Choi family and to remind them never to fall behind on payments. Other times, she’s simply used as a good tool to put the fear of god into enemies of the Choi family, and she’s good at it.
Raised under the careful tutelage of the Yoon family, there’s no weakness Angel can’t find and use. The only one better at it than her is her step brother, who is probably sitting next to your brother behind closed doors somewhere in the Choi Estate holding a meeting.
As Seungcheol’s future second in command, it’s Jeonghan’s responsibility to learn the ropes just like your brother. One day, it’ll be the two of them leading your family, a thought that makes you cringe with worry.
Angel answers your question with a shrug. “I’m sure she knows I’m into some shit. I’m learning all kinds of new things about myself.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I don’t like therapy. And I kind of want to ask my therapist why she thinks she’s qualified for therapy when she’s fucking three of her clients.”
A snort escapes you as you shake your head. Of course Angel knows that about her own therapist. Lifting the two drinks on the bar, you drift away from her, eyes flicking over the Rook. “Stay out of trouble, Angel. And give Vernon my love.”
She grins, wicked sharp and deadly. “No bar fights, hmm? Enjoy the party.”
The party in question is exhausting. You’ve been playing pretty princess all night, saying hello to all of the right people, shaking all of the jeweled hands, kissing all of the right asses. You’re exhausted and the tension in your shoulder has been knotting further and further.
Once upon a time you would have been thankful to at least not be Seungcheol. He shouldered a lot more responsibility. Now you’ve realized that you don’t shoulder less than him - it’s just different. If Seungcheol is the sword and shield of the Syndicate, you’re the face and smile. Galas, charities, celebrity events - it’s a never ending stream of smile, pose, shake hands.
It doesn’t hide the fact that you sit on a throne that belongs to a criminal empire, of course. But it’s also no secret that the Three Syndicates run the city. Your family has long been one of the stalwart backbones of the government and city infrastructure. Only the Kim family and the Yong family come close.
Still, appearances are everything. Especially when the Yong family owns most of the media outlets, weaponizing it against the Choi Syndicate every chance they get. You make it harder for them, using your appearances and platforms like a carefully wielded sword.
Spotting Soonyoung among those dressed in dark security uniforms is easy. He nearly blends in with the dark pipe and drape that has been set up all over the ballroom of your home, but you could find him anywhere, your internal compass pointing to him even in the dark.
Soonyoung’s eyes alight on you, sharp and intense. His face is a cool mask of indifference, but you can see the way interest sparks in his eyes as he drinks you in. He’s already seen you in your dress tonight, but it doesn’t stop him from refamiliarizing himself, eyes tracing every dip and curve.
God you wish you were somewhere else with him. Specifically wrapped in the gray sheets of his bed, sweat-slicked and out of breath.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you say shyly, handing him a drink.
He takes it and looks up at you, arching a brow. “I can’t drink this, I’m working.”
“It’s just soda with lime, the way you like it.”
His lips twitch in a smile as he takes a sip, nodding in confirmation. He doesn’t reach out to you and hold you close like you know he wants to, respecting the propriety of his position and the fact that he is on the clock right now.
“You look tired,” he murmurs, eyes studying your face.
So does he. As an official Sword of the Choi family, his job keeps him out late, bloodied, and tired. He’s completely changed from the man who sank into your arms that first night he killed someone, hardened into someone that your father sends to do just that often.
A weapon. A Sword. A trusted knife in the dark for the Choi family.
You think Soonyoung is more capable than being a heavy for your dad and his associates. Soonyoung is intelligent and sharp, having gained perspective and a wealth of knowledge from living with your family. Still, his dad had been the leader of the hired guns for the Choi Syndicate. Soonyoung is an efficient killer, his fate bound by his father long ago.
“When are you off tonight?” you ask instead of telling him how tired he looks.
“I’m not.” You frown. He sips his drink again and gives you a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been busy. The Yong family are getting in our way at the docks. I gotta head down there with Vernon and Jeonghan after the party.”
“The Yongs are doing it outright?”
“No. We’re pretty confident it’s them though. Jeonghan is working on it. If we can bring the Xu family under our wing, it would be a lot easier to push them out.”
“They have a son,” you note, thinking about the last event you attended where the Xu heir was in attendance. “Maybe marriage to one of our big hitters? Nexus Capital has an heiress.”
“I’ll mention it to Jeonghan. Who the fuck would want an arranged marriage, though?”
“Not me,” you laugh, wiping the eyelash you spot on his cheek gently. He gives you a tired, albeit affectionate smile. “You’ve been working nonstop. Tell Seungcheol you need a night off.”
“We both know it’s not Seungcheol working me to the bone, Baby.”
Swallowing thickly, you turn away from him under the guise of scanning the crowd. You know you don’t fool him. Both you and Soongyoung know your father does not approve of your relationship, taking it out on Soonyoung to keep him busy and away from you.
Your father would never hurt Soonyoung directly. You know that. He loves him like a son - sees his late best friend in the features of the man that Soonyoung has been shaped into under his care and tutelage. When you started dating Soonyoung seriously, you thought your parents might be happy. They adore him and they loved his parents just as much.
Soonyoung is below your station, though.
Your father will never say it outright. He wouldn’t insult his late friend’s son that way. But the way your father works Soonyoung harder than anyone else, holding him to a standard he doesn’t even keep for his highest level of men, you realize how deep the dissatisfaction goes. Even your mother’s adoration of Soonyoung does little to shield him from the petty assignments, try as she might.
Still, you don’t care. And at the end of the day, neither does Soonyoung. As long as he gets to have you, he’s willing to put up with the petty assignments and the working late.
“Hey,” Soonyoung says gently, bringing your attention back to him. He finishes his drink and sets it on a banquet table nearby. His eyes are averted, looking somewhere across the room as his hand slips around your waist to squeeze you quickly and press a kiss to your temple. “I’ve got to go - I’ve got a meeting with Vernon before we head out tonight. I’ll see you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late morning.”
“Alright,” You sigh. His hand slips from your waist and you wish you could pull him back to you. “Love you.”
He grins brightly, giving you a wink before he melts into the crowd, weaving around party goers. Your heart squeezes when you lose sight of him.
Someone clearing their throat catches your attention. You spin around to see Lan, one of your father’s personal Swords nodding politely at you. “Your father wishes to see you in the West Parlor. I’m to escort you.”
“Oh. Sure.” You set your drink down on the banquet table, wiping your damp hands on your dress. “Lead the way.”
People bow their heads in respect as you go. You keep an even pace with Lan, which is hard to do with his long strides and your strappy heels digging into your ankles. He slows for your benefit and you give him a grateful smile, the swelling noise from the party leaving you behind as you step out of the ballroom and walk toward the west wing of the house.
Some people mill about the halls of the estate. You can spot the members of the Syndicate who are on duty, mostly Swords that belong to the security force employed under the Choi family. You spot Chan leaning against a wall while gesturing broadly with his hands as he speaks to the owner of a new club on the edge of the Pearl District. When he catches your stare, Chan winks before focusing his attention back on the owner. Probably trying to work out some sort of deal or partnership, as is his job.
The west wing of the house is quiet and off limits to the rest of the party. Your bedroom is just up two flights of stairs, your bed calling your name as you pass under the stairwell into the hallway that belongs to the West Parlor, the library, the study and your father’s billiards room.
Old Man Vero is standing outside your fathers study, his hands linked in front of him and his head straight forward. He glances your way as Lan leans you toward the door, cracking a bit of a smile on his leathery face and giving you a wink. You grin, lightly reaching out and touching his elbow as Lan opens the door for you. Your father’s Swords have been in your life since you were a child, permanent figures of fixed loyalty and familiarity.
They love you like they love your father, like they love your brother. It isn’t pure fear and power that keeps the Choi Syndicate together. Your father has plenty of that among the ranks, but the loyalty and love between him and his higher ranking members is real. Critical. It was a skill he taught you and Seungcheol, both of you arming yourself with your own shield of friends and confidants.
Your father sits in a leather armchair, leaned back with his eyes closed. Next to him, a cigar smokes in the ashtray, threatening to go out as the thin wisps of smoke vanish into the air. An old fashioned record player echoes in the far corner of the room, smoothe notes vibrating through the air.
“Tower,” you greet him formally, bowing at the waist. “How can I be of service to the family?”
His eyes flutter open and he looks at you tiredly. He looks so much like your brother that it’s uncanny, sometimes. But his youth has worn off, his age more and more evident these days as he spreads himself thin expanding the Choi empire. Your mother has asked him - begged him - to give more responsibility to Seungcheol, but he refuses.
At least you know where your stubborn streak comes from.
“So formal,” he notes, his lips twitching upward. He gestured for you to sit in one of the arm chairs. You do, smoothing your dress carefully as you sit. Behind you, Lan exits the room, the soft click of the door behind you. “You were always a better student than your brother.”
“That’s because he’s a man.”
A hearty laugh makes you grin, feeling a flutter of fondness. He was never an overly affectionate father, but he’s always been kind, though firm. You respect him, which is saying something in your world.
“Spoken like an intelligent woman,” he sighs. You wait patiently, watching as he seems to gather his words. Your stomach knots, sensing a trepidation about him that you’re not used to. “Your intelligence has always been your best asset, though you’re a little hot-headed like your brother.”
“Steadfast is the mountain,” you say, quoting the Choi family motto.
He grins and adds your mother’s family moniker, “But the fire does burn. I knew marrying your mother was a good choice. Marrying the right person is paramount in this life. Family unions can make or break an empire, and they forge old alliances anew or secure new alliances.”
A prickle down your spine makes you sit straighter. You had implied as much earlier to Soonyoung about the Xu family, knowing marriage was a viable option to bring the shipping mogul into the Choi empire. Now, though, the notion has you on edge, watching him like a frightened cat.
“I didn’t pick your mother, you know,” he muses, his eyes unfocusing somewhere far away. “But when my father recommended her, I knew he was right. I was familiar with her, of course. We went to school together. Fought like cats, but she was so intelligent and fierce.”
You’ve heard this story before. Your father hadn’t loved her to start, but your mother had loved him right away. Had always known that she loved him. She’d shown up at one of his billiard nights and told him exactly how she felt, asserting that they would be married and that he would be loyal to her.
He’d fallen in love with her that night.
He sighs heavily. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”
“Don’t let her hear you sound so disappointed. She might be offended.”
“She’s better than me,” he says. His eyes focus on you, flicking back to appraise you. Sweat slicks on your back and only years of training keep you from not fidgeting under his weighty gaze. “But it would be easier sometimes if you were more like me. Less fire, more mountain. Still, you are rational, so let us speak plainly: you are going to marry the Kim family heir.”
Silence hangs in the air. You stare at him, your brain taking a moment to catch up with his words. It’s like you’re moving in slow motion, processing the firmness in his voice, the way he looks at you with heavy countenance.
You are going to marry the Kim family heir.
A high-pitched ringing starts in your ears and you feel the buzz of panic start to tingle at the base of your spine. Your fingers dig into the arms of your chair a little, trying to fight the staccato rhythm of your heart from getting out of control.
“What?” you ask. It feels dumb, compared to the eloquence you’re capable of.
“Kim Yijun is a perfect match,” he says simply. “He’s in line to inherit the Kim Syndicate. There is tension with the Yong family, and I will not lie to you: they have a far larger reach than we would like. They don’t do things the old way like the Choi and Kim families. They have started to ally themselves with the Arash family in Veridian, giving them cuts and room in our city to spread their reach outside the bounds of their own city.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Kim and Choi families have been united before. They’ve always been our first ally in times of city upheaval and Syndicate war, and they, like us, don’t believe in letting outsiders have a seat at the table. The Yong family don’t understand that, and are willing to let vermin have scraps if it means scooting us out.”
“I’m-” you shake your head. “You can’t ask that of me.”
“I’m not asking.” He reaches for a lighter and picks up the cigar. He takes a moment to relight it, taking his focus off of you. You feel your pulse spiking, your grip on the chair like iron. “I am telling you that this is what your future will be. I understand you like the Kwon boy, but-”
You sneer, baring your teeth. “The Kwon boy? Don’t reduce him to some stranger. Soonyoung grew up in this house, he is family. And I don’t just like him, I love him. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you bullying him because you’re frustrated that I love him. You love him too.”
“I do. I love him like my own. But he is not for you.”
“He is. I will not marry Yijun. I am asking you not as a member of this Syndicate, but as your daughter to drop this machination from your plans. I am your blood, you cannot ask this of me.”
“I told you, I am not asking. I am telling you.”
A tremor starts in your hands. Your heart races so fast that you feel sick, sweat slicking your skin as you begin to pant sharply. The ringing in your ears grows until you feel disconnected to it, like suddenly you’re living in third person. You’re aware that you’re hyperventilating and yet, suddenly it’s separate from you.
Standing abruptly, you feel the world tilt. You take a second to steady yourself, feeling the numb tingle spread throughout you like a flood.
“Sit down,” your father demands. You hear the warning. Recognize the firmness in it. This is the Tower of the Choi Syndicate speaking, not your father.
“Take this as my resignation from the family,” you tell him. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own, steady and without inflection. “I’ll renounce my inheritance and will not use the Choi family for any connection or advantages-”
“You will not!”
His voice startles you. Lures you away from the safety of your detachment. You look at him, eyes wide and shaking. His hand is fisted on the armchair, his rage crackling around him like a thunderstorm. “I will not have my only daughter sabotage everything this family has built for the affection of someone unfit for her station. Kwon Soonyoung is a weapon meant to serve you. You will marry Kim Yijun or I will remove the obstacle altogether.”
Your entire life there have been two versions of your father. The stoic leader of one of the oldest criminal empires in Hyperion, the vicious man who could be cold and calculating, and who was reverently feared by his enemies. The kind father who watched you and Seungcheol study math together, carefully explaining to you how to carry numbers over in the equation.
It is the former who sits before you now. Someone entirely unfamiliar to you, though you’ve always known he existed. And why would you? Your father has never had to be ruthless with you before, hiding the way he could cut from you until it was necessary.
Soonyoung knew. You know it with absolute clarity. You remember the fear in his eyes when you had slipped into his room that night asking for a kiss, the way that he is always so careful about when and where he touches you, the way he takes the assignments and the mistreatment without so much as a protest because it means he gets to have you.
“You would kill him?” you whisper, looking your father in the eye. “You promised to take him in when his family was murdered. He had no one, and you promised his father you’d raise him as your own. You would go back on that?”
He scowls. “If his father knew what he was, he’d kill Soonyoung himself. That boy is a dog to be set upon whoever his owner wishes, who kills with impunity.” You say nothing. I don’t feel like a person. Soonyoung’s words echo in your mind, haunting. “I hold the collar and I will put him down, if need be.”
“So you raised a pet to be disposed of at your convenience?”
“I raised a boy who should be grateful I haven’t put him in the fucking ground for sullying my only daughter. I let you two have time, and you should be grateful. It is my love for him that has stayed my hand this long. No more. You will marry Kim Yijun, or you will bury that boy. This is the command of your Tower.”
“Mother will not let you-”
“Your mother doesn’t let me do anything. I am the Tower of this family, and it does what I command. You will fall in line.”
Tears spill from your eyes. You suddenly feel like you’re standing on a cliff, the vertigo of nothingness at the bottom making you sick with fear. Desperation grips at you as you stare at your father, willing him to change his mind. Begging him.
His pity doesn’t come. There is only resolute silence, watching as you crumple in front of him, knees going weak as you abruptly sit - fall - on the floor. You bury your face in your hands, grief for something lost stealing your ability to maintain control before you’ve even given an answer.
I’m not made for you.
Soonyoung had tried to tell you a long time ago and you’d brushed him off. Of course he was made for you. He was all you’ve ever wanted, and you’ve always been given what you wanted. You made him whole, and he you. How could you not be made for one another.
“Please don’t do this to me. Daddy,” you whisper, trying to appeal to him with the little girl he loves. “Please, I love him.”
“Lan will escort you to your room.” You ignore his words, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, willing the tears to stop. You know later you’ll feel pathetic for the display of emotion, for the meltdown in the face of adversity. “You will announce your engagement at the end of the week.”
“Yes, Tower.”
“If you so much as remotely try to sneak around with him, I will put him in the ground and bear the weight of that grief for eternity.”
“Yes, Tower.”
“Know that I love you. We must make sacrifices for this family we wish not to. But you will make the sacrifice like I have so many times before. So will Soonyoung.”
You stand, limbs shaky as you look at your father, the heat of your mother’s rage fueling your gaze. “Yes, Tower.”
Sleep claws at you with greedy fingers, unwilling to give you up to the waking light of day. You groan, suspended in that moment of almost awake but achingly unaware. A brush of warm skin on your arm pulls you the rest of the way from heavy sleep, your thoughts sticky as they formulate and you open your eyes, squinting in the gray light of your room.
Squinting at the clock displayed on your nightstand, you realize it’s late morning. The tinted windows of your room keep out the sunlight, but a single panel has been adjusted to let some of the cloudy day in, a single shaft of gray spilling into your room like muddy water.
Warmth presses behind your back, the steady touch on your arm trailing up and down. For a second, you lean back into it, feeling your head thud against Soonyoung’s chest, his mouth pressing against the crown of your head. He drags his fingers up and down your arm absently, light as a feather. He smells like soap, a hint of his familiar vanilla and sandalwood.
“Have trouble sleeping?” the words are mumbled against you.
“Hmm?”
“There’s lines of crushed knockout on your nightstand, Baby.”
You look at the nightstand. Sure enough, the white pills you crushed are dusted across the surface. The reality of why you used them slams into you so suddenly that you stiffen, muscles locking.
Soonyoung notices immediately, his touch stilling. “What?”
Finding the words is impossible. You don’t know where to start, your father’s words make you dizzy. The sheets stick to your skin, Soonyoung’s warmth too hot to stand. You scramble from bed, kicking at the sheets and putting distance between you as you bolt toward the bathroom.
“Hey,” he calls after you. You don’t turn to look at him, the cool tile giving you goosebump as the lights flicker on. You close the door behind you firmly, pressing your back against it. Soonyoung’s knocks are immediate, his voice calling your name on the other side. “What’s wrong?”
The use of your name sours your stomach. You lurch forward, diving for the toilet as the contents of your stomach empty. The bile burns, your eyes watering as you press against the cold porcelain, clinging to it for life.
Soonyoung opens the door, letting himself in as you heave again. He’s quick to react, opening the medicine cabinet to remove an anti-nausea inhalent. He wordlessly pads over to you, crouching down to extend it toward you.
You avoid looking at him directly in the eye as you snatch it from him. His brows are pinched in concern, face swollen with what little sleep he got and mouth turned downward. Your stomach roils again but holds as you crack the inhalent and wave it under your nose, breathing in gently.
The stimulant makes your eyes water, but immediately the churning in your stomach subsides. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate yourself. Soonyoung watches in silence, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he wants to reach out and touch you but doesn’t.
When you open your eyes, there is so much love and concern on his face that you almost break right then and there. Instead, you clear your throat and straighten, tossing the medication in the trash.
“Thanks, just hungover. I need to shower.”
He looks doubtful. “Alright.”
Soonyoung stands, heading to the shower. You clear your throat and he pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Alone, please.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just want to shower.”
He says your name again. Not Baby. Not any other derivative. Your name. “You can talk to me.”
Your heart cracks. You panic. Your brain races for the only viable option. “I just want to take a fucking shower, Soonyoung.” You push yourself off the ground, scowling at him. He moves out of your way as you pass him, stunned to silence. “I don’t need you crowding my space every five seconds.”
Refusing to look at him as you hit the panel in the wall, you instead focus on the water that falls from the ceiling, a storm of heat and the smell of peppermint. You keep your back turned toward him, staring at the water as it heats, steam curling in tendrils where it hits the stone tiles.
“You can go,” you say sharply.
“Alright.”
The gentle click of the door when he leaves is barely audible over the hum of the shower. You let the rushing water lull you into a state of numbness, peeling your clothes off with unsteady, mechanical movements.
Hot water slicks off your shoulders. You close your eyes and hang your head, letting the feel of the peppering water sluice over your ears, eyes, nose, mouth. You let it blind your senses to nothing but the roar of water, blotting out everything else.
If I stay right now, you will never get me to leave.
You remember when Soonyoung whispered it against your skin just a few years ago, spoken carefully and clearly, a promise and a warning. He would never let you go. You had to let him go. Telling him what your father has asked of you - has threatened to take away from you - will only make Soonyoung’s feet dig in further.
For as long as you’ve known him, Soonyoung has been a covetous creature. You remember the night at the club he antagonized you just to see that spark of want, just to prove to himself it was him you wanted. You remember the way he clung to you in the dark of your bedroom, the only person who could ever make him whole. Who could make him feel.
Your father sees Soonyoung as a loyal attack dog - but it isn’t the Tower of the Choi Syndicate who holds Soonyoung’s collar. It never has been. Soonyoung has never asked your father how high.
Pressing your palms to your eyes, you start deep breathing exercises. In through your nose, out through your mouth. The shaking in your fingers begins to subside, the logic part of your brain turning on.
The threat on Soonyoung’s life is real. You saw the resolve in your father’s eye, the painful glint. He would hate to do it, but he would do it. You’re entwined too deep into your family’s affairs and business to vanish. There is nothing in the world you have that’s your own, no assets that are not connected to them in some way.
And if you tell Soonyoung, he’ll face the problem like he does everything that stands in his way: try to kill it.
For a split moment, your brain chases the thought like a mouse after cheese. Like a long math problem, you work out if it’s possible to commit patricide and get away with it. Your mother will never forgive you, but Seungcheol might. Your friends would - they’re loyal to you, especially Jeonghan and Angel.
The older generation, though-
You toss aside the thought almost as quickly as you thought of it - not because you don’t want to kill your father, but because it isn’t possible. Not just like that. There are too many pieces on the chessboard, too many domino effects spreading out in every direction if you take that route.
No. There is only a single path for you, set in motion by a hand with more power than you.
And there’s only one way you can move forward with Soonyoung.
There’s so much of your mother’s side of the family you’ve inherited. Her side has always been associated with the phoenix, the burning immortality of their name and their strength, a blazing glory. Your maternal relatives have always been the rage and the fire that was needed for a Syndicate to advance, a good partnership for the Choi’s who were cold and steadfast.
What you need now is the winter of the mountain, not the rage of the phoenix. You need to be a Choi.
Steadfast is the mountain.
You love Soonyoung. You love him you love him you love him youlovehimyoulovehimyoulovehimYOULOVEHIMYOULOVEHIM-
Pressing your fist to your mouth, you bite down for one, blinding moment of untapped rage. You feel your skin break, taste iron and salt, feel pain bloom.
Steadfast is the mountain.
Then it’s gone. You drop your hand from your mouth. Open your eyes. Turn off the shower. The rage is gone, buried beneath a layer of newly formed ice. If there is anyone you can do this for, it’s Soonyoung. You love him. You will destroy him. But he’ll be alive.
Soonyoung is sitting on your bed when you open the door. He’s got a tablet in his hand, the holographic images displaying above the screen, haloing his face in blue light. There are circles under his eyes and his teeth worry at his bottom lip, which is chapped. He’s shirtless, the compact planes of his body half shadowed by the single shaft of light filtering through a window.
He looks up at you but you ignore him, heading to your closet. The silence is brutal. You push through it, opening the closet doors to reveal a massive space nearly the same size of your bathroom. Track lights kick on, rows and rows of clothes by color greeting you. In the middle, there is an island counter, filled with drawers and biolocked jewelry safes.
Soft steps tell you Soonyoung is standing at the entrance of the closet. You still don’t face him, walking over to your section of black clothes. You flick through them, eyes scanning. Black seems appropriate. It feels like death, afterall.
Soonyoung’s voice is soft as his late night kisses. “What’s going on?”
“I’m marrying Kim Yijun.”
A beat passes. Then another.
“Is that supposed to be a joke? I’m not interested in pranks this morning.”
“It’s not a prank.” You pull out a black, silk dress. “The Tower has asked this of me, and I’ll be doing it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
You continue, undeterred as you put the dress back and keep looking. “The Kim family has agreed to the match ahead of the rising tensions with the Yong Syndicate and their new take on foreign allies. A united front of the old families will benefit our family-”
“You’re not fucking marrying Kim Yijun.”
“All of the metrics we’ve run for public opinion and potential city-wide reaction are favorable. The Tower needs his children to fall in line, and I intend to do so.”
Soonyoung storms toward you. You turn on your heel, holding a finger out to him, voice severe, “Don’t come near me.”
“Why? Because you know you’ll lose your resolve? Because the second I touch you, you’ll drop whatever bravado this is and let me help you?”
Exactly that. He knows you inside and out. Sees through the front. It doesn’t matter. You don’t need him to believe you, you need him to obey.
He takes another step and you back up. “I will scream,” you threaten, venom in your voice. “I will scream and Seungcheol and Vernon are right down the hall. Whose side do you think they’ll take, with your reputation for violence?”
“Fuck you, they know I’d never hurt you.”
You hear the waver in his voice. That tiny sliver of doubt, so small and tiny but there. They do know he would never hurt you, but Soonyoung isn’t convinced they’d believe him. It makes you sick, but you latch onto it, unspooling that tiny bit of hurt. “Do they, Soonyoung? I hear some of them call you a mad dog because you attack with no regard for anything. Do you really think they trust you entirely with me?”
Soonyoung is raging. His chest rising and falling, shaking his head back and forth as he tries to understand. You’re rooted to the spot, muscles coiled, pulse thudding in your throat. “You are not,” he growls. “Marrying Kim Yijun. You don’t even want to, don’t try to lie to me about your feelings or insult me thinking you can bait me. You love me. You are mine.”
“I belong to the Choi family and it’s what my family needs from me. I will do my duty.”
“Fuck your family!” His roar makes you flinch, briefly closing your eyes. His palm slams on the top of the countertop in front of him, sharp in the silence. “You have a duty to me. I told you I would not fucking let you go. You’re not doing it. I’ll fucking kill him, you think I won’t? I’ll murder every last one of them-”
“You don’t tell me what to do, Kwon Soonyoung. I will do this, and you will obey.” He bristles, going rigid as your words land like a slap. “When I say jump, you say how high. You’ve always known that.”
For a second, he cracks. The Soonyoung you first saw on your doorstep, crying and round-cheeked and ruddy returns. His lip trembles and the way he looks at you nearly melts your iron will. You’re so close to collapsing, to laying it out before him, to risking it all.
“Don’t do this to me.” His whisper is made of glass. Delicate. He presses his palm to his chest, right over his heart. Earnest. “I can’t - you know I can’t. I- please. I can’t do this.”
Licking your lips, you look him in the eyes. His eyes are your favorite. Dark. Stormy. Endless. They are lined with silver, panic rippling across the surface.
You lift your chin and push back your shoulders. “You can and you will, because I told you to jump, Soonyoung. Now ask how high.”
Sunlight warms the back of your neck, humidity clinging to your skin like a second layer. You take a deep breath, though the steamy air offers no relief. You snap open a silk fan, waving it in front of your face in hopes of chasing away some of the sweat, feeling the separation between skin and makeup the longer you sit in the wretched heat of the garden.
It’s not even real sunlight or heat. You can’t tell beyond the projection in the room, but you know that there are vents heating up the room and controls that make the air humid and sticky, making it feel like you’re sitting in a real garden outside somewhere lush.
Lin drones on and on about something. You tuned her out long ago, eyes flickering back and forth to your watch and the women’s faces around you. None of them here are really your friend - not in the way Angel is, the way Wonwoo or Jeonghan are.
Yet you’re expected to be here, entertaining the upper echelon wives of the Choi and Kim Syndicates, boiling away in an imaginary garden while you sweat to death, dress clinging to your skin and thighs slippery in the seat as you adjust yourself, uncomfortable.
“It’s hot as a motherfucker,” a whispered voice comes from next to you. You look up to see the newly engaged heiress of Nexus Capital next to you, glaring behind the dark shade of her sunglasses as Lin continues rambling about something. “Couldn’t she have made it less real?”
A smirk twitches on your lips. You haven’t spoken to her much, but her recent engagement to Xu Minghao had secured the position the Choi Syndicate had been fighting for in the shipping yards and docks with the Yong family, elevating her family into the favored circle of your father.
Suddenly, you remember who had recommended that marriage in the first place. You remember the party, the pretty dress you wore, Soonyoung’s hand briefly on your waist as he kissed you goodbye for a meeting. You had no idea then that your throwaway comment about an arranged marriage to benefit your family would become your own nightmare under an hour later.
Grief is a funny thing. You never knew that you could feel grief for someone who isn’t dead, yet sometimes you feel such an overwhelming amount of grief at the hole that Soonyoung has left behind that you can’t breathe.
Throat dry, you reach for water, drinking eagerly. You feel a bead of water run down your face, but you ignore it in favor of trying to focus on not panicking.
Anxiety attacks are new for you. Though your entire life has been colored with stressful situations unique to growing up in a criminal Syndicate, you could never say that you were anxious before. At least not in the way that made the back of your neck too hot and the tips of your fingers buzz with the threat of a looming meltdown.
You ignore it. It’s all you know how to do. The anxiety medication your therapist gave you doesn't work, and you can’t crush a bunch of pills and inhale them anytime you feel like you’re about to get tunnel vision and spiral.
Well, you suppose you can, but you’re trying not to get into the habit.
Instead of acknowledging the way the panic lurks around your edges like a predator waiting to pounce, you listen to the dull conversation around you. Focus on the gossip that you don’t care about, exactly, but know it’s good to have.
Since marrying into the Kim family, you’re not sure what your job is. With your family, your role as the face, the legacy and the representation of the Choi Syndicate had always been clear and obvious. Now, your husband sends you to stupid things like this with preening people that you don’t like and makes you leave events early when he’s irritable.
Gossip is a weapon, though. So you gather it when you can, taking in bits of information and storing it for yourself. Rarely do you offer it to Yijun - not that he would take it - but Jeonghan finds the information you share useful. So does Angel, but there’s rarely anything you know that she doesn’t.
Just as your anxiety begins to fade, the source of it materializes.
At first, you think you’re seeing things when a door appears in the wall depicting an apple orchard and Soonyoung strolls out into the fake-sun. You blink dumbly, spine tingling as you realize that your mind is not playing tricks on you and it is him.
He sees you immediately. His dark eyes burn like embers, pinning you to the spot. His face remains motionless but you see his jaw tick, the only sign that he is immediately on edge when he sees you. He’s dressed for work in an all black suit, required for the Swords of the Choi family.
Giggles breakout around the table as he approaches, the ladies around you all flushed cheeks and demure smiles. You feel the buzzing start in your hands again, this time worse. It goes up your arms, working its way to your chest as the anxiety increases tenfold, heart pounding.
Soonyoung bows. “I beg your pardon, ladies.”
“My goodness, Soonyoung,” Lin preens. “You must be horribly hot in that suit, but you do look handsome.”
You fight the urge to snarl at her that the imitation of the garden isn’t real and no amount of pretending will make it real. You even imagine reaching across the table and plunging her fish knife into her hand. Instead, you watch Soonyoung, your hummingbird heart fluttering.
He gives her a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be alright. I apologize for interrupting, but the Tower of the Choi family has sent me to escort his daughter home.”
“Home?”
“The Choi Estate.”
He doesn’t say what he means: the Kim Estate is not your home.
“Alright,” you say, voice reedy. Your hands are trembling as you slide your chair from the table, the metal legs grinding loudly against concrete. You flinch at the sound, hyper aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your spine, every beat of your heart that is too fast, too hard.
Static fills you as you mumble parting words to the women who watch you in confusion. At least, you think you mumble your goodbyes. Blood rushes in your ears as you take uneven steps toward Soonyoung, who turns on his heel and starts marching toward the apple orchard.
It feels like you’re in an echo chamber. Everything suddenly feels hollow and everything sounds as though you’re hearing it through a thin wall. Muted. Dull. He opens the door that you can’t quite spot even this close, ushering you inside as your vision starts tunneling to a narrow point, everything else blurry and distorted.
No. No no no no no.
Lifting your hands, you glance down at them to see them trembling, opening and closing your fists in an attempt to stop the buzzing feeling, as though you could will it away. You think Soonyoung says something but you can’t hear him over the roar of panic that grips you and tears you sideways.
Instead of following him down the hall, you lurch toward a different hall, rushing toward the powder room. It feels like the walls are narrowing as you throw open the door, breath coming out in pants. Everything feels tight and compact, crushing smaller still.
Stumbling to the sink you try to turn the faucet on. Once. Twice. Cold water spits from the faucet and you gasp, leaning down over the sink to splash freezing water into your face. It doesn’t have the desired effect, the water is not cool enough to shock you out of your panic.
Soonyoung speaks behind you. You can’t hear him, the grip of your anxiety so strong that you grab the edges of the sink to keep you up right. You’re heaving now, heart rattling so hard you think that maybe you’re having a heart attack instead.
A firm grip wretches your attention from the porcelain sink to the mirror, where you see your dripping reflection, eyes blown like saucers. Soonyoung is standing behind you, a hand on your bicep, squeezing. His face is no longer a mask of indifference, but one of confusion.
His mouth moves and you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “I can’t,” you gasp, ragged. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Then, he does something that catches you entirely off guard. You watch in slow motion as he steps back and removes the gun from the holster underneath his suit jacket. You hear the safety on the gun click and the hum as the weapon charges, ready to fire rounds of plasma if he squeezes the trigger.
And then he points the gun at your head, the lights on it flipping from blue to red, signaling it’s ready to kill.
The world stops. The panic vanishes for a split second, replaced with utter shock as you stare at him in the mirror.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, voice stronger than you expect.
Soonyoung is ten levels of crazy, but he’s never pointed a gun at you before. You stare at him, open-mouthed and wondering if he’ll do it. If he could pull the trigger. He’d told you a hundred times when you were together that he would never let you go and it was always with clarity that you understood what he meant: it’s me or no one.
With stark clarity, you realize there’s no reason for Soonyoung not to pull the trigger. He doesn’t care much about the value of his own life from what you can glean over the last two years, and he doesn’t really seem to care about yours.
Not that he should. You promised to make him feel human and you did. Then you took it away from him, leaving him adrift in a vast ocean of nothing alone and untethered.
No, you don’t think you inspire Soonyoung to feel human anymore. If anything, you probably make him want to be the worst version of himself.
Soonyoung’s voice holds no emotion when he asks, “Are you with me?”
“Why are you pointing a gun at me?”
“Breathe,” he says instead. He doesn’t lower the weapon, stormy eyes focused on yours. “Breathe,” he repeats. “Slowly, maybe.”
“Soonyoung, you are holding a gun at me, what do you mean breathe?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? I mean what I fucking said. Breathe normally.”
“Lower the gun!” He does. “What the fuck?”
He breaks eye contact, sliding the weapon back into his suit jacket. He turns away from you as though he didn’t have you at gunpoint a second ago. “You were having a panic attack. Sometimes a shock to the system stalls it. Your breathing has slowed down now. And you’re not panicking.”
A beat of silence passes. Then, “So you leveled a gun at my head?”
“It worked. Let’s go.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Yes. Now let’s go. You’re needed at the Choi Estate.”
“Why?”
“Do I look like I have all the answers? I just do what I’m told. When a Choi says jump, remember?”
You visibly flinch as his words land. Soonyoung doesn’t wait for you to gather yourself, spinning on his heel and exiting the powder room to stride through the halls. Tightness gathers in your chest, left over from your anxiety attack.
Pressing your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them, you chase after Soonyoung. He’s already by the apartment’s elevator, jamming his finger into the button. He doesn’t look at you as he waits, content to stare at the metal door.
You don’t know where else to look - you want to look anywhere but him. Turning around, you fixate on the floor to ceiling windows. It’s still morning outside, but it’s hard to tell with the way the clouds block out the view, turning everything to mist.
This high up in the city is reserved for the elite. You can’t imagine why - there’s nothing to look at but clouds, clouds, and more clouds. It’s what makes them have virtual reality rooms in the first place, trying to recreate the experience that they might have if they were wealthy enough to own land.
The sound of the elevator arriving makes you flinch. Soonyoung ignores you, getting in and leaning against the wall as he hits a button to go to the parking garage. You scramble in after him, a little breathless as the doors close just behind you.
Immediately you start shooting down several floors. He glares at the wall, unseeing and unfeeling. You swallow thickly, watching the numbers decrease until you’re at Lin’s private parking garage. Soonyoung is out of the elevator before it finishes opening all the way, storming toward the car he’s left running idle.
Normally someone would open a car door for you. Instead, Soonyoung gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door shut. You reach for the handle of the passenger seat and pause. Normally you sit in the back when being driven somewhere, it’s always been like that. But this is Soonyoung and you’ve always been beside him in the car, his equal.
A muffled get in the fucking car reaches you. Deciding that sitting next to him is too personal, you open the back seat and slide in. You’ve barely shut the door when he punches the gas, slamming you into the back of the seat as he goes.
“Would you stop being an asshole?” you seethe, ripping the seatbelt from next to you to buckle in. Your hands are still shaking and it takes a moment for the clasp to click.
Instead of answering, you hear the way the car accelerates under his foot. Scowling, you look out the window. He speeds into the lift that brings the car down to the ground floor. Lights blur by as the lift drops at lurching speed, your stomach in your throat. You hate coming to apartments for this reason, the feeling of having to freefall to leave never growing on you.
It’s raining when the lift opens to the wet street. Soonyoung peels out on the pavement, tires spinning until they gain traction and the car slides onto the road, narrowly missing someone. You slam against the seatbelt, cursing and clinging onto the door as he pushes the gas down, engine roaring.
“Are you trying to kill us?”
Soonyoung doesn’t answer you. You think it might be because he’s not explicitly trying to kill the two of you, but he doesn’t care if he does. You try not to think about it so much as he powers through the streets of the Upper City, driving past towering businesses, luxury districts with entertainment and bars and apartment buildings.
The road starts to incline and you hit a line of trees. The city vanishes behind you as Soonyoung drives the car up the winding road, leaving a world of metal and lights for greenery and earth. The contrast between the cities below and the Estates above is stark, especially as he drive’s higher up the mountain, snatches of the city below visible.
“Why did you come to get me?” you ask, flicking your gaze to the rearview mirror to watch him. Soonyoung keeps his eyes on the road, but you see his mouth tighten. “Last I checked you’re not an errand boy.”
“So what, you check on me?”
“It’s a figure of speech, you know what I mean.”
“The Tower personally requested I come get you.”
That gives you pause. Soonyoung’s face reveals nothing as he turns on the street that will inevitably lead to the massive metal wall that blocks off the world from the Choi Estate. There can only be a single reason why Soonyoung was sent to fetch you when usually your husband’s staff would do so.
“What’s happened?”
Soonyoung doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he rolls the window down at the guard house to show his face. The security team recognizes him immediately, waving him through as the gate begins to slide open to reveal lush, green jungle.
Gravel crunches underneath the car tires as he drives through the winding foliage on Choi grounds. Your great-great-grandfather had built the Choi compound, the first of the few elite houses on the mountain. He thought it was important to keep the plant life and sprawling greenery to conserve, but you knew it was really about power. Symbolism. Greenery didn’t really exist in the city, and this much space and plantlife meant wealth.
The sprawling estate you grew up in reveals itself. Multiple buildings dot the property, making it more a family compound than an estate. Now that Seungcheol is old enough, he’s moved out of the main house and into one of the smaller homes, occupying the space with his own men and staff. Still, he’s just a brief stroll away from your childhood home.
Home. Even two years under a Kim family banner hasn’t erased the feeling of home for you. There is nothing in the house you share with Yijun that makes it feel like you. It is as devoid of love as your marriage, merely a placeholder for you to sleep, eat, and occasionally, try to produce an heir.
Soonyoung pulls up to the long building that serves as a garage, hitting a button on the car’s screen to open one of the bays. He pulls in slowly, the outside world fading as the garage door shuts behind the car, dousing it in darkness until the neon lights above flicker on.
Without a word, he powers off the vehicle and gets out. Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and get out of the car. He doesn’t wait for you - even shuts the door as he enters the main house so you’re forced to lug it open.
He’s already opening the door to the main house a few yards away, forcing you again to haphazardly navigate gravel in your heels as you give chase. You’re sweating and irritated by the time you’re up the steps and pushing through the front door, a nasty quip on your lips ready until you see your aunt coming down the stairs.
“Oh thank goodness,” she says, seeing you. She looks older than you remember, the lines of her face deep and the hair at her temples gray. “Come along.”
“What’s going on?” you ask, uncertain as you step into the foyer and let her take your arm.
She scowls. “Did that useless boy not tell you? Your mother suffered a heart attack this morning. She’s with Dr. Ymir in the medical wing.”
Your heart thuds to a stop as you wheel around to look over your shoulder at Soonyoung. His gaze is stormy but his face gives away nothing as he turns to leave the way he came, slamming the front door and vanishing down the steps to leave you alone.
“No,” you mumble as your aunt pulls you down the hall. “He didn’t tell me.”
Because that’s how much Soonyoung hates you. Hate isn’t even the right word, you think. It is something far deeper and far more sinister, fueled only by taking away something that he valued more than anything else in the world and forcing him to live with it.
I deserve this, you think as the door to one of the private medical rooms opens, a clinical smell hitting you in the face. I deserve everything that happens to me.
-
I deserve this. It’s all you can think of as you watch the black casket lower into the ground. Seungcheol stands beside you, his hands linked in front of him. You want to reach out and take his hand in yours, but you don’t want him to look weak. Don’t want others to see him crack like you know he will if you comfort him.
Instead, you comfort yourself as best you can, which isn’t saying much. You’ve never been good at dealing with your feelings, too much of your mother’s blood running through you. It was your father’s least favorite trait of yours and perhaps Soonyoung’s favorite.
Soonyoung, who has always been your emotional tether and outlet. You’re not accustomed to dealing with grief alone, and the pull of it feels like an undertow threatening to drag you under and drown you.
Someone shifts behind you, close enough that you feel Yijun next to you stiffen. You turn to look over your shoulder, blinking in surprise as you tilt your head up to see Soonyoung. He doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed forward and jaw flexing tightly. He’s standing closer than is necessary, as shown by your husband’s scoff.
Soonyoung doesn’t move, though. He remains nearly pressed against your back, so close that you can smell vanilla and sandalwood. Turning away from him, you feel your shoulders relax. He ignores you, but he’s there, a stoic guardian that’s just out of reach.
The Tower of the Choi Syndicate is too lost in his grief to notice or care about Soonyoung’s proximity to you. Your brother couldn’t care less, barely realizing that his brother by choice is an inch away from him. But you know Soonyoung is there and that’s all that matters.
The grief lessens, turning back from churning waters to gentle, lapping waves.
-
“Your brother doesn’t respect me,” Yijun asserts. You look at him in the bathroom mirror. He’s standing behind you in the closet, taking out glinting cufflinks to replace them in the countertop in the middle of the aisles of clothes. “You should work on that.”
“Seungcheol hardly takes what I say to heart.”
Yijun snorts, detecting the lie before you can even get it out. Seungcheol very much values your insight and opinion far more than he’s interested in Yijun’s. He’s made it clear at multiple parties and events now, often asking you how business is and how the shared Kim-Choi accounts are doing, despite not having anything to do with them.
Seungcheol hates your role within the Kim family. On more than one occasion he’s recommended Yijun make use of you somewhere in the family business, to make you the head of operation somewhere so that your schooling and experience weren’t going to waste. Yijun asserted that your social skills were being put to perfect use, entertaining the wives of his associates and serving as the perfect host when his business colleagues and friends were over.
“He’s going to be leading the family soon,” Yijun sighs. “It would be better for us if he saw me as a real ally.”
“He does see you as an ally. You’re married to his sister.”
“Exactly, so you should remind him that I’m family.” It doesn’t sound like a threat, but it also doesn’t sound like a request. Sighing, you shut the drawer in the counter forcefully. It draws his attention, gaze darkening. “Don’t you want your brother to respect your husband?”
No, you think. You don’t respect your husband, so why should Seungcheol?
Instead, you sigh. “Of course, Yi.” He doesn’t soften at the nickname. “I’ll talk to him, alright? He’s got a lot going on. And don’t talk about my father’s health that way.”
“I didn’t say anything about his health.”
“Please,” you snort. “I know what you meant about Cheol taking over soon.”
Yijun had been talking about Seungcheol more and more. You’ve watched with a sour taste in your mouth as your husband tries to earn your brother’s attention and trust, flashing what he thinks Seungcheol cares about in his face, telling him about the new car he acquired, or the historical art piece you purchased at an auction, and the new apartment building he’s constructing.
Seungcheol doesn’t give a fuck about any of that. The Choi family never has. Your ancestors didn’t make a name for themselves and carve it on the mountain they built their home on by showing off their wealth and what it could do for them. They did it by earning it, and by remaining steadfast and intelligent. Political.
Yijun understands none of that. As the eldest son of his family, it’s a shame. The real world of the Syndicates is lost on him. He has enough business acumen to run companies under his father’s careful tutelage and instruction, but he doesn’t have the social savvy for it, the right drive.
His brother does. You think of Kim Minchan and nearly shiver. The middle child of the Kim family has more than enough understanding of the way that things work, but the ocean of blood behind him is enough for you to prefer Yijun leading the Kim Syndicate any day.
“I’m just saying,” Yijun grunts, flicking off the lights in the closet. “Your brother has all the reason in the world to respect me and he doesn’t.” He looks at you, face hardening. “Do you tell him not to? Is that what it is? His baby sister tells him how useless her husband is?”
Danger is in the air. Yijun won’t lay a hand on you, but it doesn’t make this dance any less stressful. You turn away from the mirror, looking at him fully. He’s not terrible to look at - he has a sharp jaw and a broad nose and a pleasant shaped mouth. He’s handsome, even.
He’s not Kwon Soonyoung.
Swallowing away the thought, you reach up to put your hands on his chest, placating. “I wouldn’t do that,” you assure him, softening your voice. You hate the sound of your voice, hate the way you pitch it low and gentle. “You’re a reflection of me too. I would never let my brother think any of those things about my husband.”
Yijun swats your hands away, making you grit your teeth. “Don’t act like a whore. Just - tell your brother. I should be in his inner circle by now. Make it happen.”
As Yijun leaves the bathroom, the urge to grab him by his collar and yank him back in to smash his head on the counter almost wins. You stare at him until he vanishes in the bedroom, your rage a live, sentient thing. You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slithering and clawing and biting and begging to be let out.
Steady is the mountain. You take that fire and shove it down. Years of instinct of reacting with your mother’s temper peter out slowly. It’s a shame - you’re the last woman left from her side of the family, the only one who can carry the fire of the phoenix.
You glare at the bedroom. Somewhere, Yijun lurks, getting into bed. Oh how the shadows of the weak choke out the fire of the strong.
If killing Yijun wouldn’t risk everything, you’d have done it already. That first month spent with him where you realized this would not only be a loveless marriage, but a hateful one had almost driven you to it. The Choi Syndicate could surely survive a war with the Kim Syndicate - you had better assets, stronger loyalties, and more money.
But if the Kim family turned to the Yong family…
Avoiding unification of the Kim and Yong families is why you were married to Kim Yijun in the first place. To murder him now would mean Syndicate war, and despite the fact that every moment with him is hateful and poisonous, you’re too nervous to put your family at risk.
Especially with your father’s failing health, as Yijun had pointed out.
Syndicate war isn’t the only thing keeping you from stabbing Kim Yijun until you can’t feel anything anymore. Minchan’s shadow of a presence lingers over your thoughts, one of the few threats you truly fear. Any harm to his brother would elevate Minchan to a position where he could only wield his power more.
And he’d hunt you like a bloodhound. You’re unsure if there is any corner of the world he would leave unturned if you killed his brother, no matter how much it would benefit him if Yijun keeled over tomorrow.
Inside your bedroom is dark. It doesn’t feel like your bedroom at all. There’s nothing homey about it, no possession or unique decor, no pictures. You wouldn’t sleep in here at all if Yijun didn’t make you, insisting that he couldn’t trust any of the house staff not to tell your father you weren’t sleeping in the same room.
Your father doesn’t care. He stopped caring about anything the day you put your mother into the dirt. Even if he hadn’t, as long as your relationship looked functional to whom it mattered, it mattered little to him if you slept in the same room or if you even liked Kim Yijun.
He’d made that very clear the day he tore away your future with Soonyoung.
Yijun is already snoring when you climb into bed. You grind your teeth, reaching to pull open the nightstand for noise cancelling earbuds and sleep medication. The medication isn’t as strong as the crushed up knockout you might have used previously, but it helps take the edge off without making you vulnerable to attack.
Which is something you still worry about.
Setting your phone on silent, you settle in for sleep. It takes a long time, but you finally drift away to thinking about smothering the man next to you in his sleep.
-
Something wakes you. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s dark, but you can see the barely-there outlines of the furniture in your bedroom. Next to you, Yijun is gone. You can feel the lack of presence there more than you can see it, reaching your hand over to confirm the bed is cold and that he’s not been there for a while.
You reach for the phone on your nightstand but can’t find it. Frowning, you press your hand on the cool marble, sweeping back and forth to no avail. You lean further, finger finding the button to the light function on the stand and press down.
Dim, lavender light halos the top of the nightstand. Your phone is nowhere in sight. It’s just your jewelry dish, a decanter for water, and your sleep medication. You’re pretty sure that you put your phone face down before you went to bed, but you can’t be sure.
Pulling open the nightstand drawer only makes the back of your neck sweat. Your phone isn’t there, but neither is the gun you keep in the top drawer. Both you and Yijun sleep armed, despite having armed guards on the premises at all times.
Snapping the drawer shut, you roll to the other side of the bed and pull his open. A book, a watch, some pill bottles and a pack of cigarettes fill the drawer. No gun.
The back of your neck tingles. You rip the sheets off of you, heading to the bedroom door. The house is mostly dark when you open it, the entire second floor dim. Leaning over the banister, you can see a shaft of light falling across the room, perhaps coming from the kitchen.
Quietly, you stalk toward the top of the stairwell, trying to reduce noise as you creep down. A high pitched whine rings in your ears, heart thundering. You have no idea why you’re so afraid all of the sudden, especially in your own house, but your instincts tell you to be alert and quiet.
At the foot of the stairs, you confirm the light is coming from the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for people to be in the house in the middle of the night. Official Syndicate business happens at any time, and often goes into the early hours of morning.
Tonight, it’s not busy. Before you’d gone upstairs to bed, you’d noted that it was a skeleton crew security team for the night, just a few of them at the gate house and walking the premises while you and Yijun returned upstairs for the evening alone.
Creeping toward the hallway, you pause when you hear voices. You identify Yijun’s voice right away, holding your breath and straining your hearing as he says, “What do you want me to do here?”
“Keep her contained. Make sure no one from her family can reach her.”
“I already took her phone and her gun.”
Your stomach drops. “Good.” That’s Minchan’s voice, you realize, dread growing tenfold. “The second she finds out the Tower has fallen, she’ll try to run or her brother will try to get her.”
“Or that psycho fuck,” Yijun mutters.
“You’d be lucky if it was Seungcheol who came to get her. If Kwon Soonyoung comes looking, call me immediately. We’ll make our move in two hours. We’ve got the biggest team outside the Choi estate ready to go in and we’ve got men and women stationed at all the key points.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and babysit my wife?”
“Yes.” Minchan’s tone is nonnegotiable. “We’ll leave the guards at the gatehouse but we can’t spare anyone else. This kind of assault requires everyone. The Yong family will take care of the Pearl District and the Salt.”
Yijun hesitates. “What about the Yoon family? Are they all accounted for?”
“Yes. I have a team on the crazy one - what do they call her?”
“Angel, I think.”
Minchan laughs. “Demon is more fitting. Stay here. Stay by your phone. We’ll call thirty minutes before we give the signal to link everyone on comms. We do this right, and the Choi Syndicate is gone.”
Panic presses in for a moment. Your heart hammers. Your hands shake. Bile churns your stomach. It feels like you can’t get enough air, the pieces of what they're talking about falling into place.
The Tower has fallen.
Your father is dead, and in the wake of the crushing blow, the Kim family intends to strike at yours alongside the Yong family. The realization lands like a blow, immediately slapping you out of your panic.
Fear turns to rage. Rage turns to ice. You are fire, you are the mountain.
Steadfast is the mountain, but the fire does burn.
As quietly as you can, you creep up the stairs. You keep turning over your shoulder to ensure Minchan doesn’t leave the kitchen and catch you creeping back toward your bedroom. When you hit the second floor landing, you all but sprint to your room, gears turning.
Yijun took your phone and intends to keep you locked in the house until they finish their plan. From their discussion, you know they intend to mobilize within two hours, targeting important members of the Choi Syndicate across the city with the help of the Yong family.
It means you have only a few minutes to warn your family to respond, to prepare and to fight back or strike first. Which is hard to do without a phone, but your husband doesn’t know you nearly as well as he thinks.
Door closed behind you, you flip the lock on the bedroom door and dash for the closet. The lights above come to life, bathing you in ghoulish, grey light. You dive to the floor toward your shelf holding all of your shoes, the carpet burns nothing compared to the pain starting to bloom behind your sternum where your grief builds slowly under your anger.
Your father is dead. The Kims are going to turn on you anyway. Your marriage to Kim Yijun to secure alliances against the Yong family was for nothing.
You’ve endured for nothing.
Snatching a pair of boots, you swallow down the bile again. You will not break now, not when there are more important things than the time you’ve wasted withering away in this cold home. Shoving your hand inside the boot, you come into contact with what you were looking for. Your hand closes around the device, yanking it out and powering it on.
The screen flashes to life. You press one and hold, hearing the buzz on the phone as it begins to ring. You cradle the phone against your shoulder and ear, nearly sick with the adrenaline that is pounding through you, your vision blurring, hands shaking.
You grab another shoe, this time reaching inside carefully instead of shoving your hand in. The smooth, bone handle of a knife meets your hand and you wrap your fingers around it firmly, pulling it out.
Soonyoung answers on the fourth ring. “Where are you?”
“The Kim family has turned on the Chois. They’re mobilizing for a full scale attack in roughly two hours. The Yong family is helping them. They’re at the estate and all over the city - anyone who is important to us regardless of position will need to be warned. The Yong family is handling the Pearl District and the Salt.”
“How many men are at Yijun’s estate?” You can hear him moving on the other side of the line, something rustling. Perhaps clothes as he gets dressed. “Are you armed?”
“There are men at the guard house and one walking the perimeter. It’s just me and Yijun inside, I think Minchan is leaving. I’ve got a knife.”
“Where are you in the house?”
“Bedroom, second landing to the right and all the way at the end of the hall. There are windows but they don’t open.”
“Listen to me,” Soonyoung says, voice like ice. “The second we start moving into position to accept the assault, they’ll know something is off. When that happens, Yijun is going to try to kill you, do you understand?” When you say nothing, he asks again, voice louder. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to fight back. Either kill him or hold him off until I’m there.”
“You need to warn-”
“Don’t worry about the fucking Syndicate! We’ll be fine. You’ve given us more than enough time. I need you to be entirely focused on yourself.”
You take a deep breath, letting it out shakily. “Okay.”
“Do you have frostbyte?”
“Maybe? Yijun might have it in the nightstand.”
“Take some. Not enough to fuck you up, but enough to pump that adrenaline and make your head clear. I will be there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay.”
You squeeze the phone, unwilling to hang up. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t heard his voice in months. It doesn’t matter that he hates you, it doesn’t matter that you know whatever used to be between you is broken and it’s entirely your fault. You just… don’t want to hang up.
“Hey.” Soonyoung’s voice is soft, drawing you from your trembling spiral. “Do what I said. Do the frostbyte and kill him if you have to. I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you in thirty minutes.” Soonyoung pauses, the silence heavy on the line. “I love you.”
Nothing breaks you like those words, whispered but firm, whispered in case you die before he gets there. He doesn’t have to say that’s why he’s saying it - you know. You know the chance of him not getting there fast enough is likely and real. He does too, but instead of telling you, he gives you this.
You whisper back, “I love you.”
Soonyoung hangs up the phone and you fight a sob. You bring the knife up to your hand, pressing your pointer finger down on the tip. The sting is immediate, making you his in pain as blood beads on the tip of your finger, red and garish in the closet lighting.
The sting grounds you enough to push yourself from the floor, following Soonyoung’s directions to Yijun’s nightstand. You yank it open, rattling around the contents until you find the bag of frostbyte you were hoping was there. Yijun uses it the nights he attempts to put an heir in you, numbing himself the way you never did, taking your punishment for what you’d done to Soonyoung raw.
Not enough to fuck me up, you think, untwisting the bag and shaking. Just enough to make it easier.
Dipping the tip of your knife into the bag, you pull out a small lump of the glittering drug. You try not to think about that night at the club all those years ago, when you and Soonyoung were still dancing around one another’s feelings, doing anything you could to get a reaction out of one another.
You take a sharp breath in. The drug hits your nasal passage and it burns, your eyes smarting as you tilt your head up, cursing and blinking away the tears. It hits the back of your throat, bitter and awful as you cough a little, trying to wait for it to clear your nasal passage.
When the burning subsides a little, you do it again. It’s less harsh than the first bump but still just as awful, making you wonder how the fuck you did this on the weekend with your friends as a teenager. Tossing the back on the nightstand, you stand waiting, closing your eyes and trying to do deep breathing exercises your therapist taught you to calm down.
Frostbyte works fast. It hits your bloodstream and an electric calm comes over you. Everything comes into sharper focus, the adrenaline pumping as your simmering rage turns to a boil, ready to kick the fucking door down and hunt down Yijun yourself.
Nerves fade away to the background of your mind. You walk toward the door, waiting to the side so when Yijun ultimately kicks it down, you’re ready.
Ten minutes pass. The entire time your ears are ringing, heart thundering in your chest. You think the frostbyte was a good idea - if you had to wait in silence like this without it, you would have gone crazy by now. Even with the drug, fear nips at your ankles, a hound ever on your tail.
Yijun’s footsteps thunder up the stairs. Your heart lurches and you inch away from the door, readying yourself. He storms down the hall, fury in each step until he gets to the door and turns the handle. It doesn’t move. He tries a few more times, shaking the door.
His roar on the other side of the door is loud and feral, making you grin as he thrashes against the door, cursing and screaming at you. The door holds, rattling in place as he slams what you think is his shoulder into it multiple times.
The bombardment pauses for a second and then restarts ten times stronger. This time, you recognize that it’s his foot slamming into the side of the door. You realize he’s kicking where the door is latched, trying to break it open instead of kicking through it.
A small crack sounds. You take a breath, readying yourself as you hear another snap go through the door, now rattling loose in its frame. He kicks hard again and the door blows open, nearly smacking you as it does. You roll away from it on the wall, keeping close as Yijun barrels past you, swinging his head from left to right as he looks for you.
It’s your only chance to get the jump on him. You slide from the dark, heart hammering. You’ve never stabbed anyone before, but you’ve practiced. You drive the knife upward, intending to puncture his kidneys. Yijun twists a little to the side, sensing your presence as the knife plunges into his side.
Yijun screams. Your satisfaction only lasts a second before he throws his elbow backward, catching you in the nose. Pain explodes in your face, blinding you as your eyes water and you stumble backward hands shooting to your face.
Removing the knife from his side, Yijun screams at you, spit flying as he comes at you. Through tears and warm blood rushing from your nose, you reach for anything to use as a weapon. Your hand closes on the ceramic artwork on the dresser and you launch it at him, hitting him hard in the face.
The ceramic shatters and he drops the knife. You dive for it but he grabs you by the hair, ripping you upward and backward like a ragdoll. You lose your footing, screaming as he tightens his fist in your hair and drags you toward the bed, tossing you there.
With a feral shout, you kick your foot forward, catching him in the lower gut. He grunts but wraps his hand around your ankle, yanking you back off the bed onto the floor, where the knife lays. You reach for it, seething, your hands managing to close around it just as he pivots, foot landing against your ribcage.
Again, pain explodes inside of you. With the frostbyte, you barely recognize it, grabbing the knife and stabbing him in the calf. He shrieks and collapses to a knee, reaching for the knife. This time you rip it back out, nearly losing your grip on the bone handle, fingers slippery with blood.
You stab him again, this time in the thigh. His knee presses into your stomach, crushing you and forcing air from your lungs. You ignore the pain, stabbing him again and again in the thigh until he falls backward off of you, muscles malfunctioning, tendons give away.
Yijun kicks out at you with his good leg but you’re already moving, ignoring the way your body is screaming in utter agony, every part of you throbbing and begging you to give up.
You don’t. You scramble on top of him. His hands shoot up to your throat but you spit at him, a spray of blood blinding him and making his grip loosen momentarily. It’s enough to bring the knife down home again, this time directly in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.
For a second, he fights back. You hear the wet gasp and he thrashes, but you stab him again. And again and again and again and again -
You think about all of the times that you were forced to submit to him.
And again and again and again -
The way he heaved himself on top of you, trying to force a child into you so he could be done with you, the way you’d wish it had been Soonyoung instead.
And again and again and again -
The way Soonyoung’s face broke that morning, begging you not to do this to him.
And again and again and again -
All for the Kim family to turn on the Choi’s anyway, wasting the entire time you’ve spent under lock and key, doing Yijun’s bidding while Soonyoung hated you. Loathed you. Wish you never happened to him.
Again and AGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND-
Yijun isn’t moving under you. Your hand is warm and wet, the knife becoming slippery as you let it go. It clatters to the floor and you sit backward on his knees. He’s unmoving as you heave, sucking down air that tastes like iron and salt.
Sweat slicks the back of your neck and down your spine. Somewhere in the house, there’s a crashing noise. You leap for the knife, rolling off of Yijun’s mutilated body toward the door, positioning yourself in a defensive position as feet thunder up the stairs.
You bare your teeth, knowing this is it. Knowing Soonyoung hasn’t come quickly enough but it doesn’t matter, because you warned them and they are safe. Your penance for destroying him has been paid in half, though never full, and -
Soonyoung appears in the doorway. He looks like an angel from hell, wreathed in shallow light that comes from the first floor, his silver hair stained with blood. He’s in black trousers and a short-sleeve shirt with his favorite band on it - one of his sleep shirts.
For less than a second, he stares at you. Then, Soonyoung dives at you, dropping the gun in his head and grabbing you. You hadn’t realized that you’d sunk to your knees, looking up at him as he grabs your face, turning you this way and that. He’s asking you a question but you can’t understand him, dizzy and confused and in so much pain that the edge of your vision wavers.
“Baby,” Soonyoung begs, his voice warped and echoey. “Hey, I need you to answer me. Where are you bleeding?”
“S’mostly his,” you answer, feeling how heavy your tongue is. Your thoughts are sticky and slow. Concussed, you think. “Maybe broke my nose.”
Soonyoung’s thumb brushes gently across your cheek, smearing blood. “Can you walk if I help you?” You think about it. Shake your head. “Okay. I’m going to lift you up, alright? Tell me where it hurts so I don’t hurt you, Baby.”
“Ribs.”
“Left or right?”
You pause, breathing in and feeling the pain bloom. “Right.”
“Okay, tell me if I hurt you, okay? We’re going to take you home.”
“Thank you.” Soonyoung hesitates at your tone, looking at you. His eyes are vulnerable and open, more raw than you have seen them since you were kids. “You didn’t have to come get me.”
He stares and stares at you. The world fades a little and Soonyoung lifts you toward him. “Of course I did,” he murmurs, so soft you barely hear what he’s saying. “When you say jump, remember?”
-
“Where's this?” You mumble, looking out the window at a small home behind high gates.
Soonyoung has been driving for an hour and a half, his silence nearly unbearable as you both left the city. You don’t ask about where you’re going or if everyone is okay - you don’t think you can stomach the answers right now. Not while in the car.
Rain mists through the window as Soonyoung rolls it down to punch in a code in front of the gate. It flashes green and the metal starts to roll open, revealing a large but modest house - at least by Syndicate standards. He drives through, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“Safe House. Very few people know it exists.”
“Are we in Levin?” He nods his head. You’ve never been to the small town, but you know it’s mostly a vacation village on the coast. “Who does this place belong to?”
“Me.” You look at him, surprised. “I bought it when you… got engaged.”
It’s like a stone sinking to the bottom of your stomach. You don’t have to ask why. It was his failsafe for you, a way to get you away from Yijun if you had just asked.
You should have asked. Should have just thrown it away and called him, should have begged him from your knees-
Soonyoung turns the car off and opens the door. You open yours, rain pattering against your red skin. He rushes to help you out of the car, hands hovering around you, unsure where to touch. It makes you want to sob. You want him to touch you anywhere - everywhere.
Instead, he leads you to the house, a hand wrapped firmly around your forearm to keep you upright and steady as you walk up the steps.
A porch light flickers on. You cringe away from the brightness, squinting through your fingers as the door opens to reveal Vernon standing on the other side. His eyes flicker between the two of you and he nods, stepping to the side to let you in.
Warmth blankets you as Soonyoung shuts the door. You’re standing in a small entryway with a staircase to the right leading to the second floor. Straight on, the lights are on, revealing a sliver of the living room. You can hear voices pause as they hear the door shut.
Angel materializes in the doorway, her hair damp. She’s dressed down like she recently showered, her eyes on you as she heaves a sigh of relief. “It’s Hoshi and Baby,” she calls over her shoulder, coming forward.
Soonyoung nudges you toward Angel gently. “Take her to shower.”
“Yeah of course.”
“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, turning to look at Soonyoung, who is already looking at his phone, holoscreen lighting up his face.
“On his way. The main crew is safe.” He hesitates. “We lost Lan, Old Man Vero and Yoon Minji.”
Your heart seizes, eyes darting to Angel. “Angel, I’m-”
“Jeonghan is taking care of it.” For the first time in years, you hear a note of pain in her voice, raw and real. Angel has - had - a complicated relationship with her step-mother, the matriarch of the Yoong family. “I’ve already satiated my vengeance. This is his. Come on.”
You hesitate. Soonyoung nudges you toward the stairs gently by the hip, suddenly looking tired. “Go. I’m going to find a doctor for that nose.”
“Is it terrible?”
He huffs, trying not to laugh. “No, but it needs to be fixed. Go. Shower.”
I love you. It’s on the tip of your tongue, right there. I love you. It’s all you can think about, thundering in your ribcage. I love you. It consumes you, makes you freeze up, staring at him. I love you.
Angel tugs your wrist delicately and breaks the spell. You follow her up the stairs. She’s careful with you, making you take one step at a time. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her so gentle, her eyes softened with worry and her touch on you delicate as butterfly wings.
Upstairs, she leads you into a room that smells like vanilla and sandalwood. Soonyoung. This room belongs to Soonyoung. You spot his subtle touches, a gaming computer shoved in the corner and powered off. A closet with a metal door that is under lock and key. A single gun sitting on top of the nightstand.
But what makes the room spin is the touches of you. A teakwood candle sitting on the dresser. Weighted blankets folded at the end of the bed. A bookshelf with all your favorite titles. A jar of saltwater taffy in multiple flavors.
Angel hesitates by the bathroom door, watching you drink in the room. You turn to her, shaking your head, confused and mouth open. She nods. “I know. I didn’t know either.”
“I could live and die a thousand times and never deserve him.”
“I’m not the best judge of character, but I don’t think I believe that to be true.”
Angel isn’t the best judge of character. But she also doesn’t say things she does not mean. She’s the last person in the world to offer words of comfort, and yet she’s standing in the bathroom staring at you like she can see through you, right down to the very core.
Maybe she can. Seeing what is rotting people on the inside and sniffing out their weaknesses is what she does best.
Instead of pointing out where you hurt, she manages to get you into the bathroom. It’s spacious but not grand like what you’re used to - it’s small. Safe. She starts the shower and backs away, helping you get out of your bloody clothing.
Everything hurts so bad. Your ribs ache, the bruising on them blotchy and horrendous as Angel peels back your shirt. She thankfully doesn’t react - she’s seen worse and done worse. Suddenly, you realize why Soonyoung picked her to help you. She’s steady, her fingers sure as she holds your arm while you pull your pants down.
You don’t dare look in the mirror. From what you can see without it, it’s already bad enough. Yijun hadn’t dealt fatal damage, but you know you’re bruised and covered in dry, flaking blood.
Angel leaves you in the shower, shutting the door to go sit on the sink, a guardian willing to give you space but ready to help when you need it. Shaking, you shuffle into the stream of hot water, hissing when it hits your skin.
It’s both heaven and hell. The hot water feels so good on your aching muscles and throbbing pain, but it also hurts when the water taps against your nose, reminding you that it is indeed broken. You suck in sharp air as you slowly begin to work your fingers into your skin, turning the water pink as you wash off the blood.
Blood that belongs to you. Blood that belongs to Yijun.
Yijun.
You’re not sorry you killed him. It was satisfying and necessary. But… the weight of your grief comes crashing into you. You could have killed him years ago and ran. Could have gone crawling back to Soonyoung and asked for his help. Could have told him that the only reason you ever agreed to marry him in the first place was to protect him.
None of it mattered. You bought him a paltry couple years worth of protection and for what? To shackle yourself to a man who thought little of you, who wanted to fuck you until you gave him another version of himself, who wanted to kill you at every moment because he knew you didn’t respect him and because he was afraid of you and the way you command respect from your family, but he never did.
All that time you’d made yourself smaller for him. Held back your bite. Hid your teeth. Mourned Soonyoung everyday, knowing that you’d never touch him again, that he would never kiss you again, that you’d never wake up in the morning when he got home from work and crawled into bed with you.
A potential lifetime of happiness, one of your own making, wasted on a promise that they broke anyway.
For nothing. It had been for nothing, you’d hurt Soonyoung for nothing, shut him out, promised you would never leave him and threw him away, forced him to jump for you, forced him to leave you when he said he wouldn’t all for nothing nothing nothing nothing notHING NOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHINGNOTHING-
Angel’s arms are around you. You startle, looking up to see that she is in the shower fully clothed, holding you to her. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying - screaming - in the shower. She presses you closer to her, the only way she knows how to tell you that she’s got you. She’s there. She understands.
You crumble, leaning heavily on her as you let it out, sobbing. Your throat is raw, your face throbbing each time you squeeze your eyes shut. Angel says nothing, content to hold you while her clothes soak up the water, weighing her down as you let out your grief in full, ugly waves.
Eventually, the water starts to get cold and your tears start to dry up. You sniff and groan, the pain in your face so poignant that it can’t be ignored. Lifting your head from her shoulder, you glance at her boots, soaked and murky red around the edges.
“Can I tell you something?” Angel asks, voice low. You nod. She hesitates, putting the words together before she says, “He’s going to accept you back. He’s going to do it with no conditions, and ask nothing of you. You’re going to want to torture yourself and beg for his forgiveness and deny yourself of him because you think you should be punished, that there is not a god powerful enough to hurt you the way you deserve.”
You blink in surprise. Angel isn’t religious, despite the nickname. She also isn’t overly emotional or wordy. But you see the severity in which she tells you this, see the pain in her eyes. You remember that she has demons far older than yours, ones that have followed her since childhood.
And she’s right. She reads you like a book, seeing the fucking pain radiating inside of you, the desire to be punished and hated and whipped-
“Let him take you back.” Her words are firm. “Don’t make him punish you. Don’t believe for a second that Soonyoung wants to make you pay. He doesn’t. He doesn’t care what you did or why. Just… let him have you. You’ve endured enough.”
You nod. “Alright. I’ll try.”
“Good. Um - can we get out of the shower though? It’s very cold in here.”
You laugh, immediately followed by a groan. “Please don’t make me laugh. I am in so much pain.”
“Yeah, let’s go get you some drugs, dude.”
-
The three Syndicates of the city are officially at war. Of all the news that has poured in over the last few days, this is the least surprising. When you’d seen Seungcheol that first night after everything went to hell, he’d held you close and promised that he would kill every last Kim in the city.
He had also told you he was proud of you. Not just for surviving Yijun long enough for Soonyoung to come get you, but for being able to warn the family what was coming. Your single warning alone had saved them a great deal and wounded the Kim Syndicate more than you could understand.
The days following your father’s death are strange. It doesn’t feel like he’s dead - at least, you haven’t truly processed it yet. There are things that demand your attention like being seen by Dr. Ymir for your fractured nose and bruised ribs, and the accounts and logistics of what being at war with the Kim and Yong family truly means.
On the fifth day at the safe house, you go back home. Seungcheol makes you ride with him, unwilling to let you out of his sight these days. You’re the only two members of the Choi family left, and it’s up to the two of you to rally the troops and remind everyone what the mountain can do.
Seungcheol replaces your father as the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. Typically there’s a small ceremony to pass the torch so to speak, but there’s no time for that. Seungcheol is buried in problems and trying to maneuver the family into a favorable position, but it’s hard - the Yongs and Kims have been preparing this for a while.
You’re suddenly given a job again. Fresh in his position leading the family, Seungcheol needs those he trusts by his side, immediately appointing you as the Architect of the Syndicate. There’s no one he trusts more with the finances and the logistics of the businesses under the Choi banner and who have pledged to his family.
With Yoon Minji’s death, Jeonghan’s takes his rightful side as the Wisdom and second in command to Seungcheol. It’s like you’d always known it would be as a kid, but it brings you no joy to see the two of them together in an office until the early hours of the morning, worn at the edges and sick with the grief they’re ignoring to push forward.
With no surprise, Seungcheol immediately promotes Soonyoung to the lead military position, rising from Sword to Sentinel in a single night. It’s the same position his father held under your father, and Soonyoung takes it with steely resolve.
It also means you don’t see him. You move back into your old room at home. At first, it doesn’t feel like your room at all because Soonyoung isn't in it. He had moved into your room when you first started dating, spending two years in that bed with you. Now, he’s taken up residence in his room down the hall, so close and yet the distance feels larger than ever.
Of all the problems mounting for you to solve, Soonyoung is the most important. You know he shouldn’t be. There are a thousand other things that you need to figure out, like how to assure that the businesses you own in and near the Kim and Yong family territories won’t go under or be attacked, or how to assure that payment to the family won’t increase now that there’s a fight.
Your days are filled with countless meetings, assuring loyal patrons that the Choi Syndicate will not fall and will not fail them, and that the Choi’s protect their own. You can see the fear in people’s eyes - the city hasn’t had the big three at war in a long time. Already the city officials are cracking down on Syndicate activity to try and establish order.
It’s farcical at best.
Squeezing your temples between your fingers, you lean back from the desk in your newly appointed office - which is really just your father’s. It feels weird to be in here. It still smells like leather and sweet tobacco, a little bit of smoke hanging in the air.
The last time you’d been in this office, you’d fallen to your knees and begged him not to make you marry Kim Yijun. Now you sit at the desk, hanging up the phone as another call ends - not as bad as the first, but not as good as you’d hoped.
Quickly, you scribble down a summary of the call to give to Seungcheol. You know he’ll read every word you write, determined to hear each concern of those under Choi patronage, whether they’re valid or not.
At the sound of the door opening, you glance up. Soonyoung sticks his head in, surprising you. You straighten in your seat, heart racing when you take him in. His silver hair has grown longer, tapered a bit at the neck. He’s dressed in all black but he’s clean, indicating that he showered not that long ago. You thought he would be out all day like usual, looking at your watch to see he’s back far earlier than normal.
“Is everything alright?” You start to get up and he rushes to you, hands lifting to help you. “I’m alright. I am well on the mend.”
He chews his lip, nodding before dropping his hands hesitantly. “Everything’s fine I just.” He hesitates. “Do you want to eat lunch?”
“Oh. Sure.”
Soonyoung’s smile is tentative. Shy. You give him one back, following him out of the office while sending a quick note to Jihoon that you’ll meet with him later. He sends a thumbs down back, less than pleased that you’ve not made time to talk to him about your potential murder charges for Yijun.
“Are you busy? We don’t have to-”
“It’s just Jihoon.”
“Ah. He’s persistent, are you sure-”
“I want to have lunch with you, Soonyoung.”
He blushes and you grin. “Alright,” he murmurs. “When you say jump and all that.”
That makes you pause. “You don’t have to do anything I tell you.”
“What?” He stops walking, confused.
“You don’t have to ask how high if I tell you to jump... I’m wrong a lot of the time. I don’t… want to be that.”
I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. You don’t say it, but you think Soonyoung senses it when he says, “I’ve always wanted to jump for you. That hasn’t changed.”
Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you.
Angel’s words come back to you so you swallow down your guilt and you nod, giving him a tentative smile that he returns. This time, he holds out his hand to take you in the kitchen. You take it, the feeling of his fingers wrapping around yours both foreign and familiar.
The way he holds your hand in his makes you tremble. It’s something so simple and benign and yet you’re screaming on the inside, looking at where your fingers twine together like it’s everything, like it’s the only thing.
Lunch consists of very badly burned grilled cheese. You don’t care because Soonyoung makes it, insistent that he wants to and that he can. He’s good at a lot of things, particularly on the spectrum of murder and weapons, but he is terrible at putting bread, cheese and butter in a pan.
You eat it anyway, burnt bread and all. He sits next to you, his stool pulled so close that your thighs touch. You want to reach out and brush your fingers across his face, down his neck, through his hair. You want to touch until you’re grabbing, grab until you’re pulling.
Instead, you let him lead this dance, too afraid to initiate.
Let him take you back. Don’t make him punish you.
You don’t, but you can’t let go of the fear of rejection. Can’t bring yourself to toe the line beyond what he’s giving you, which is more than you ever dreamed of. So you accept when he offers to take your plate, fingers brushing over the top of your hand either by design or by accident you don’t know. His touch makes you shiver and he notices, pausing.
Slowly, you look up at Soonyoung. His eyes are dark and misty as ever, churning with emotion that you’re a little too afraid to read. Instead of taking the plates to the sink, he sets them down and reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands.
A sob works its way up your throat but you force it down. You will not cry over this. You will not make him comfort you.
“Are you afraid to touch me?” His question is gentle. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushes back and forth across your cheekbone. “Why?”
“I… want to so badly. I just want it to be your choice.”
“I want you to.” You open your eyes. His earnestness is right on the surface of him, rippling for you to see. “I’m dying for it. Please.”
Soonyoung’s please sounds like that morning he’d begged you all that time ago. It freezes you in place, heart beating like a prey animal in fight or flight. He steps closer, his breath on your forehead when he whispers, “Please.”
Slowly, you bring your hands up to his wrists. Licking your lips, you place your hands on him. His eyes close. His skin is warm to the touch and you feel him tremble as you brush your hands upward, tracing his forearms, his corded biceps. You brush your fingertips over the sleeves of his shirt and toward his neck until you’re cupping his throat, your thumbs resting against his hammering pulse.
You close your eyes, remaining still. Both of you remain that way, his hands on your face, yours on his neck. You’re shaking under his touch, feel his breath against your forehead. His fingers add a little pressure to your face, careful not to hurt you where your bruise is finally fading on your nose as he turns you to look up at him.
Soonyoung licks his lips, eyes open. “There is not a second I didn’t love you.”
And there it is. The admission that he never hated you. You bet he tried - you know he tried. You know the inside of Soonyoung’s soul better than you know your own, no part of him hidden to you even with time.
“I don’t care why you did it,” he continues. “Not anymore. Not after everything. I don’t care about any of it. I just… want you.”
“Soonyoung-”
“I know you’re sorry. I know you hate yourself. I know there is guilt eating away at you. Get over it, because none of it changes how I feel. I love you. You’re mine. I don’t want to leave you again. You cannot make me.”
“I know. I won’t make you.”
“Good.” Soonyoung presses his forehead to yours gently. He’s careful not to knock noses with you too hard, aware of the pain it’ll cause. “I cannot do any of this without you.”
“I know.”
Soonyoung’s mouth is tentative when it presses against yours. Your grip on him tightens, leaning forward into the kiss. It is everything - the only thing. You feel something wet on your face, thinking that you’ve got another nosebleed, but when you pull away, you realize it’s because Soonyoung is crying.
Crying for the first time since his parents died.
You stand up from the stool, gripping the back of his neck to pull him toward you. He melts under your touch, letting you meld your mouths together. He tastes like his burnt sandwich and like him, his mouth warm and wet against yours. Vanilla and sandalwood invade your senses, overwhelming as you grip him for dear life, never wanting to let him go.
He doesn’t want to let you go either. His grip on your hips is crushing, fingers digging into flesh and bone as though he can force you to become one. The thought makes you dizzy. You slide your fingers in his silk-soft hair, wrapping the strands around them to pull lightly, pull him closer, pull him to you, pull him back.
Soonyoung whines against your mouth and you break the kiss, panting. “Take me upstairs,” you whisper between peppering kissing against his mouth, his bottom lip, the corner of his lips. “Please take me upstairs.”
He does. Soonyoung grabs you by the hands, tugging you toward the stairs that lead to your room - the room you used to share. The room that still smells like him, even if faintly. He takes you to your bed, where you’ve spent hundreds of nights with him, and lays you down gently like he has a million times before.
Soonyoung touches you like you’re holy. His hands skim over you in worship, they scratch you in penance, they hold you in reverence. He slots himself between your knees, stealing a kiss from you like it’ll breathe new life into him, bare him anew, purge him of sin.
You love him. You love him you love him you love him you love him you love him -
A moan leaves his mouth when your nails drag down his back. He is quaking under your touch, his mouth hungry but careful against yours, wanting to swallow you whole but knowing you’re hurt. You know he won’t break you but you wish he would.
There’s time for that later. Now isn’t the time for rough and biting. Now, Soonyoung peels the shirt from your skin, immediately covering your arms, chest, collarbones, shoulders in kisses. You vibrate under his touch, lashes fluttering as he sucks at the sensitive skin of your neck, tongue pressed flat to your pulse as he tastes you.
You tug at his shirt and he complies, leaning upward to toss it. He’s back on you in a second, pressing you close, hip to hip as he tangles his tongue with yours, drinking you in. His touch ignites a fire and you’re burning, a complete inferno as you drag your fingers up the hard contour of his stomach to the firmness of his chest and around to his shoulders.
“I love you,” he mutters against your mouth, rolling his hips into you. You let out a breathy sound and he groans. “Fuck I love you. I missed you. I love you.”
“Please,” you beg. He understands, burying his face in your neck and biting down lightly. You feel like you’re going to burn up under him, an out of control blaze while his fingers work the buttons on your pants. “Never let me go.”
“Never.”
Jeans scrape down your legs, his hands following. He drags his blunt nails down your thighs. Your hips twitch upward, loving the scratch, loving the way he touches you, loving him. He returns his mouth to yours, unable to get enough of your kissing.
Soonyoung’s hand slips between your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressing against your clit through your underwear. You keen for him, pulling at the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. He moans in tandem, his pleasure driven by yours, loving the way you sound as you start to come apart under the gentle circle of his fingers.
He only teases you a little, knowing the friction with the fabric between his fingers and your aching cunt isn’t enough. He finally decides that you’ve had enough, hooking a finger to pull them aside, the cool air hitting your sticky folds.
Before you can complain, Soonyoung’s touch is there. He drags his fingers slow-soft from top to bottom, circling your clit slowly. He’s not in a hurry, dragging it out as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, sliding his fingers back down to press against your entrance but not breach it.
You whine and he grins, pulling your bottom lip with his teeth until he lets go with a pop. “I love those sounds you make.”
“Feels good,” you admit, head falling to the side as you close your eyes, enjoying the pressure he puts on your clit, wiggling his fingers back and forth. Your thighs close around his hand but he’s unbothered, drawing more arousal from you as he plays. “Fuck, your fingers.”
His laugh is throaty and he shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your jaw where he sucks at the skin. He makes himself comfortable with nibbling toward your neck, both of his hands reaching for the sides of your underwear to pull them down. You let him, folding your knees toward your for a moment to help.
Soonyoung’s hand returns to the wetness between your legs except this time, he’s not teasing. He presses a finger in deep and you whine, hips wiggling. You squeeze down on his finger, pussy spasming as he begins to pump leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.
And he does, doesn’t he? The work is far from done and the world is falling apart, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you. Because Soonyoung is yours again - always has been - and because he’s drawing your mouth toward his to kiss you messily, swallowing down your moans as he presses in another finger.
Now you crumble beneath him. You can’t stop your hips from coming off the bed. You loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close, breathing the same air. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes impossible dark and half-lidded as he hooks his fingers, dragging them against that sensitive spot.
You cry out his name and he grins. Now he knows where it is, pressing repeatedly as he fucks you on his fingers, driving you directly toward an orgasm. Your breathing becomes labored, your legs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his shoulders. It is so good that you think you might die, letting him yank you toward release.
Soonyoung kisses you again and you come crashing down, cumming around his fingers, body squeezing, ignoring the ache in your ribs and the millions of other places that you’re sore. He doesn’t slow down, scissoring his fingers to pry you open, to stretch you more.
“Soonyoung,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Soonyoung Soonyoung Soonyoung.”
“Just like that,” he agrees. You can tell he loves the way you say his name, knows that on your tongue it means something different. “Come on, one more.”
You’ll give him anything he wants. Never again will you deny him. You let him work you up again, feeling the way your breath gets stuck in your lungs and you shiver, another wave washing through you as you shudder around his fingers.
When you start to pant, he pulls his fingers out. You feel the wet schlick as he does, immediately hating the way you feel empty, hating the way he leans away from you. Whining, you reach out toward him, needy. He hushes you with a brief kiss, only standing to rid himself of his jeans and briefs.
Using the fingers covered in your arousal, Soonyoung pumps his cock, smearing a mixture of your slick and his precum down his shaft as he kneels on the bed again, taking his place between your thighs again. You watch with hooded eyes as he rubs the head of his cock through your messy folds, a moan dripping from your lips.
Soonyoung is beautiful, skin flushed and a sheen of sweat on his arms. His stomach flexes and clenches as he presses the tip of his cock into your entrance, both of you taking a shaky breath together. He slowly slides home, the stretch of him driving you wild, pussy fluttering around him until he’s slotted to the hilt.
He hangs his head, panting as he plants his hands on either side of your head. He takes a moment to collect himself, shaking. You turn your head to the side, kissing his wrist, peppering any skin you can reach with your love while your hands drift up his back, feeling the muscles flex.
When he begins to move, you nearly die. It feels so good, your breath lodged in your throat. He lowers his face to yours, kissing you as gently as he fucks you. His thrusts are deep and timed, not hard or fast but slow and measured, pressing all the way in as he uses his weight to his advantage.
Your fingers turn to talons on his back, nails biting his shoulder blades. He’s precise, the tip of his cock finding the right angle to make you nearly sob in a matter of a few thrusts. It’s familiar. Home.
Soonyoung lowers himself to his forearms, pressing your chests together. The friction of his skin against your pert nipples makes you squeeze around him, his name a whisper on swollen, kiss-bitten lips. He presses his forehead to yours, breathing shakily as he continues to fuck you.
You feel him everywhere, feel everything that he wants to say. Soonyoung has never needed words to communicate to you and he doesn’t now, the way he shakes as he lets out a wispy moan enough, the way he slides one of his arms under your back to cradle you to his chest, closer closer closer.
He wants to be closer and so do you, arms around his neck, drawing him to you. You never want to let him go, never will let him go. You’ve learned your lesson and this, right here with him is the only thing that matters.
“Shh,” he hushes. You realize you’re crying, tasting salt on your lips when he brushes his mouth against yours. “I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
Soonyoung’s pace picks up only a little bit. It’s enough, sending you careening toward your third orgasm. He can feel it - needs it. He chases after your high, catching your mouth to brush his tongue against yours, rolling his hips until you’re clenching around him, whining into his mouth, lips buzzing against his.
He hums against you, waiting until your pussy lets go of its vice grip to speed up a little bit, the wet smack of his hips against yours loud and lewd, driving him forward until he comes, your name on his lips, his face buried in your neck. His thrusts slow, both of you trembling like leaves until he finally stops, remaining seated inside of you.
“I will love you for a thousand lifetimes,” he mutters against your mouth, with no intention of moving. “You know that, right Baby?”
You nod, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Leave me at your own peril, Kwon Soonyoung,” you rasp, quoting yourself that first night he finally caved, where he finally told you that he couldn’t exist without you. “I will never go anywhere ever again.”
synopsis: things take a turn for the better when you finally find a roommate to escape your incredibly overpriced apartment, but you don't expect to ruin the only relationship that matters to you in the process.
genre: forced proximity au. coworkers/friends/roommates idiots to lovers. angst, fluff, suggestive themes.
pairing: bartender!xu minghao x fem!waitress!reader | side pairings: restaurant owners!jeongcheol ; bartender!seungkwan x waiter!hansol ; chef!mingyu x hostess!tzuyu (twice)
word count: 24k
rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
warnings: swearing, alcohol (obviously??) mentions of food/eating. reader has a strained relationship with her parents. jeongcheol/verkwan/tzugyu are all plot devices. unspoken pining, kissing.
what to listen to: am pm - jay b, wheein ; you and me - lifehouse ; runnin' - the pharcyde ; no one noticed - the marías ; have u found what ur looking for? - ashton irwin ; on the line - blood orange
author's note: the loml and the haologram namesake has officially debuted on this blog! while i am not entirely satisfied with this piece, that's okay and i still love the idea i put forth and the way i expressed what i could on the time crunch i gave myself. i will likely work on a spinoff for this, or just something to delve more into their backstory and developing them. special thank you to my lovely beta readers @diamonddaze01 @lovetaroandtaemin @tomodachiii <3 please enjoy!
A YEAR AGO…
"I need a Guinness."
That was the first thing you ever said to Xu Minghao. You'd been hired by Seungcheol, one of the restaurant owners, three weeks prior but hadn't worked a shift with Minghao yet.
Therefore, he didn't know your name or when you even got there. There hadn't been any murmur of a new girl, much less a pretty one – which was odd for the establishment. Full of meddling college students and a married couple who ran the place, there was bound to be some gossip. Something about your looks, your demeanor, anything – but no. Nothing had flown down the grapevine.
You didn't bother to introduce yourself, either. Your eyes were pointed until he quirked a brow, scoffing out a laugh and pouring the drink for you. He'd said nothing as you took it, skirting around several clients and even a busboy and delivered it with a smile on your face to the awaiting patron…
…Who slipped a tip into your apron with a greasy smile, and you kept yours on your lips until you were out of the patron's line of sight. Then, tucked into the serving staff's corner, he saw the way your shoulders sagged, a look of disgust on your face as you shivered. He clicked his tongue to himself, but filed the vision away to the back of his mind.
He spent the rest of the night silently giving you the drinks you asked for, or speaking to his regulars as he made your cocktails. You always waited patiently, your fingers spinning your pen expertly as you watched over the patrons of the restaurant. He watched the way you sped past everyone, wormed your way through gathered crowds, and even ducked under trays being carried by your fellow servers.
You got your job done, and you got it done fast – your patrons visibly happy with your service and your apron slightly overflowing with tips when you slid behind the bar and tucked them into your lockbox without a word to him.
It wasn't until you bid your last patron a good night that he saw your shoulders relax, your fingers yanking the elastic out of your hair and shaking it out. The relief on your forehead was noticeable as you walked back to the bar, opening the fridge behind him and grabbing a can of the orange juice he used for some of the cocktails on the menu.
"D'you mind? I know they're counted."
He shook his head as he skirted past you with his tray full of cups, the glasses clinking against each other while he made his way to the back. Your fellow servers were gathered around the heat of the kitchen, leaning against the wall or stretching their overworked limbs. He kept to himself, hearing them whisper about the new girl.
"She's so pretty."
"Yeah, but she doesn't talk. I tried to talk to her back here a couple times, and she just keeps it short."
"She's here to work."
"So am I, but at least I'm not rude."
He set his dishes into the washer, cursing to himself when he realized he forgot his shakers at the bar. He was about to start the cycle when he heard the soft clanking of metal against metal, seeing your closed can of orange juice tucked into your shirt pocket as you held out his tray of shakers.
"Thought you might need these, wouldn't want you to make unnecessary trips."
He thanked you with a smile, taking the black tray as you cracked open your can, shrugging as you turned on your heel and walked away. The servers looked appalled as you grabbed the sanitizer spray before walking out of the kitchen, a rag already hanging from your belt loop. They looked at Minghao, who quietly loaded the shakers into the machine – wondering how he got you to speak to him.
The answer was plain and simple – he was a crucial part of the services you provided as a waitress. You clearly didn't need help with your tables: he watched how easily you maneuvered through picky eaters and entitled elderly women, all in one night. He saw how you smiled and greeted people warmly and enthusiastically, something the other servers weren't very good at but hey — a buck is a buck.
He wormed back out of the kitchen amongst the whispers, rolling his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head. You were wearing headphones, nodding your head along to something as you wiped down every table and chair.
He slid back behind the bar and started his own closing duties, but he took a moment to take you in fully – the soft slope of your nose, the way your brows furrowed as you ran your rag over particularly sticky spots. The purse of your lips as you mouthed along to whatever it was that you were listening to.
"Do you need any help?"
You were in front of the bar now, holding one of your earbuds in your hand as you raised a brow at him. He shook his head before extending his hand out to you.
"I don't believe we've met. I'm Minghao."
You were wary as you shook his hand, but your grip was nice and firm as you did so.
"Y/N. Sorry if I was kind of emotionless during the shift, it helps me focus better if I'm not talking to people while I work."
He shook his head again, as if to say no worries, before reaching under the bar and pulling your lockbox for you. You thanked him softly as you took it in your hands, walking away towards Seungcheol and Jeonghan's office to do your tip-out for the night. He finished his duties quickly, even managing to rearrange the cups and shakers for the morning bartender as the servers came to him one by one and gave him his share of their tips.
Until you came back out with a soft smile on your lips, your hair now loosely tied up and your apron slung over your shoulder as you held a wad of cash out to him, far thicker than any of the other servers. He'd been counting the leftover mixers, crossing out your orange juice as a markout as you slipped the money into his hand.
"For your help. Thanks."
"It's my job, no need to thank me."
"Doesn't hurt. Have a good night, Minghao."
"You too, Y/N." He smiled back as you finished what was left in your can of juice, tossing it as you made your way out of the building. He followed shortly after, walking out a few of the other servers to their cars in the parking lot for good measure. He never really spoke to them either, despite having worked with them for a little over a year – but he was a gentleman if nothing else.
The next few shifts he worked with you were like that, too. You'd smile at him a bit and ask for things with a nicer tone of voice. He still delivered and watched you from afar, slightly amazed at your abilities to satisfy all your patrons – couples, families, even that one elderly woman who always sent her steak back because it was never done well enough…she hadn't sent it back the night you served her.
You always walked out first, handing Minghao thick stacks of cash and stealing cans of orange juice. It got to the point where he would set yours aside from the counted lot, marking it out in the system before they shut down for the night. The other servers watched your interactions – short and sweet, but still far more than you'd ever attempted to interact with them.
He soon learned that you did like to talk, you just had no one that you deemed worthy of your time. So when you arrived early on some shifts, you'd sit at the bar and ask Minghao things about himself. He'd gladly answer, mixing up non-alcoholic versions of his favorite cocktails for you as he talked in a soft voice. You both noticed the wandering eyes of your coworkers, but neither of you mentioned it to the other.
He noticed that you never answered any questions about yourself, opting to spin the question back on him. He let it slide, but he knew you understood that eventually, you'd have to open up, too. When you did decide to do so was completely up to the universe.
It wasn't until the compliments started that the two of you really started talking – it started as something subtle and quiet. Minghao commented on your earrings or choice of lipgloss, and you said you liked his hair and the way he styled his jewelry. You would both laugh over light coworker gossip or comments about how easily Jeonghan got under Seungcheol's skin.
You started greeting him when you'd swing by the bar for any alcoholic beverage, and he'd pause his flirting with his regulars to give you his undivided attention. This is how you learned that he had a way with body language – his eyes were always grazing over someone's face, his shoulders set back in confidence, brushing his fingers lightly over whoever was grabbing their drink.
This included you, but neither of you said anything about it. You'd let his fingers swipe over yours occasionally, choosing to smile and thank him as you went about your shift. The regulars noticed the way his attention was no longer fully on them, and some complained, but some spoke directly to Minghao about it – saying how cute it was for him to be crushing on the new girl.
He wasn't, but he didn't care to clear it up if it meant it got you more tips.
One night, things were as normal – it was a busy Friday evening, and you slid behind the bar to stuff your cash into your lockbox for the third time before closing. His fingers covered the edge of the bar so you wouldn't hit yourself, and you thanked him with a pat to his ribcage before slipping back out onto the restaurant floor with your pen flipping through your fingers like always. He watched you zip around, smiling widely as you took orders, casually flirting with patrons around your age, taking group photos with cell phones and cameras.
You stole your can of orange juice, helped Minghao with his dishes and did your closing duties. You got tipped out by Jeonghan and gave Minghao his share, bidding him a good night before waltzing out of the restaurant. You skipped to your car, expecting a smooth drive home and ending your good night on your comfy couch with a Pilsner and a bag of chips…
When your car simply wouldn't start.
No big deal, you'd told yourself. You tried turning your headlights on, but nothing happened. This could mean one of two things: your battery had crapped out and just needed a jump, or tonight was just the night you'd be walking the twenty blocks home. You clicked your tongue before sighing and resting your forehead on the fuzzy steering wheel cover.
Minghao had watched this entire ordeal from the door of the restaurant, finishing a conversation with Seungcheol before stepping out and calling out your name. Your ears perked up, your eyes tired as you looked up and saw him walking over. He smiled as you pouted, opening your car door and explaining the situation.
"Not a problem, I can give you a lift."
"I couldn't ask you to do that, Minghao."
"You're not. I'm offering."
It went back and forth like that for about ten minutes before Minghao reached out and plucked your keys out of the ignition. You huffed as he jingled them, throwing your apron over your shoulder and manually locking all your doors before slipping out.
“I live a bit out of the way.”
“I do, too. Don’t worry about it.”
Turns out that a bit out of the way for you, meant two blocks from Minghao’s apartment.
It also turns out that the two of you had much more in common than just working at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s restaurant.
You both loved art, fashion…the idea of flirting and making people think something was going to happen. You were both studying but at two different universities, and worked at the restaurant to save money for graduate school. He finds out that you're almost too big of a Bloody Mary fan, and nothing stops you from yucking a Piña Colada enjoyer's yum. He doesn't drink, and the revelation makes you snort, until you realize he's serious and roll your eyes subtly.
And all of this is something you find out as you sit in his car outside of your apartment complex, the heat cranked up and his radio playing AM PM by Jay B and Wheein on the lowest volume. He speaks softly, just like he does at the restaurant – and you notice his eyes almost glued to your face as you reciprocate. A few shy laughs are shared until he says something about Mingyu and his habit of stealing cheese curds off the customer trays, making you snort and hit your head on his window. He apologizes profusely but the sentiment is waned by his own rickety giggle, making you flush embarrassedly and shove him lightly.
The night ends when he offers to walk you up to your apartment, but you decline, holding your purse tightly. He still gets out of his car, perches on the hood and watches you duck into the heavy greenery that ornaments the entryway, hearing your work shoes click against the cold cement steps. He waits at least ten minutes before leaning back on his car, taking a deep breath in the chilly November air and pushing off. He slides back into the driver's seat, not noticing the way you look down at him from your second floor apartment. You peeked at him through the wooden blinds of your bedroom, the soft thundering in your chest something you couldn't figure out.
All you knew is that he was Xu Minghao, and if he was meant to break your heart – so be it.
EIGHT MONTHS AGO…
"Need a ride?"
You scoffed to yourself, hearing Minghao's voice across the parking lot. Your shoulders were slumped, your head resting defeatedly against the steering wheel of your 2002 Nissan that once more, refused to start. Why? You have no idea.
"No. It'll start. It has to start." You muttered back, seeing him approach the side of your vehicle. He dons a sympathetic smile as he leans in the window, his fingers grazing the fuzzy leopard print wheel cover. You ignored the manicure you'd been admiring your entire shift, the blotted maroon a perfect tone against his skin – and cranked your ignition.
Chchchch.
"Try again."
Chchchch.
He glanced up at you before unlocking your door from the inside and yanking it open. He reached under your dash, popping your hood gingerly and snaking out from under the steering wheel. You only eyed him tiredly as he slid in front of your car, setting your hood up on the prop rod and tinkering around.
You couldn't help but let your eyes close slightly, the soreness in your muscles taking over just as he popped back into your window. You jolted out of the light slumber, the crease between your brows deepening in the stark spring moonlight.
"Two things, gorgeous. Either your alternator is fucked and not charging your battery, or your starter engine has crapped out." He shrugged, and you couldn't bring yourself to react further than a groan. Your hands ran through your hair, and Minghao cooed lightly.
"C'mon, I'll give you a lift home. We'll get Cheol to pay for a tow." He wiggled his brows, making you let out a noise of amusement. You sighed, nodding silently as he once more took your keys out of the ignition. You grabbed your items, swinging your apron over your shoulder and locking your doors manually before slinking out and letting Minghao shut your door.
You shook your head in disbelief, absently resting your forehead against his bicep with a sigh.
"I'm so tired."
Apparently, tired meant that you were almost about to fall asleep standing up. Neither of you worked tomorrow, so Minghao simply wrapped his arm around your shoulders (an act that neither of you would ever speak on, but made the both of you incredibly giddy) and led you to his car. He opened the door and helped you climb in, even going as far as buckling your seatbelt for you despite your whining protests that you could do it yourself.
"I know you can. Just let me help you, yeah?"
You gave in without a second thought, your eyes fluttering shut as he slid into the driver's side and started his car. You had turned your head towards him and muttered some words quietly.
Something that sounded like thank you, followed by a slightly more intelligible string of words.
"If I fall asleep, I give you full permission to leave me on my doorstep like a package."
He only snorted, knowing he would not ever do that to you. Rolling his eyes, he fiddled with the radio, hearing You and Me by Lifehouse playing on his favorite station. He kept it on as he pulled out of the parking lot, seeing Seungcheol staring in his direction with wide eyes as he walked Jeonghan to their shared car. Minghao only shrugged, waving quickly before turning out into the street and driving down the road.
It was peaceful, watching you sleep. The way your lashes kissed the fat of your cheeks, the way your lips were pouty and he resisted the urge to wipe your chin of a bit of drool that had begun to spill out. He bit down on his lip to hold in his laughter as you stirred, your thumb instinctively coming to your face to wipe at it. You peeled your eyes open, the whites slightly bloodshot and your face contorting in the soreness you felt.
"Long day, huh?" He whistled as he flicked on his turn signal, and you only managed to hum in response. You blinked at him, his eyes catching yours as you stared into him. He raised his brows in confusion, and you shrugged your shoulders as much as your fatigue allowed.
"Why are you so nice to me, Hao?"
He only smiled, clicking his tongue as he took the turn down the creepy backroad neither of you liked and often discussed when you had some down time at work.
"I thought we were friends, Y/N?"
He saw the way you leaned your head back on his headrest, nose scrunched as you began to settle deep in thought. Were you friends?
He thinks so. He thinks setting aside your daily orange juice can means that he's your friend. He thinks giving you lifts home, means that you trust him. That's a crucial part of friendship, isn't it? Trust?
Maybe the subtle flirting he'd been dishing out wasn't so friendly, but he certainly desired to be your friend. He liked your eager conversation, a drastic change in comparison to how stoic you had been upon first meeting him – and how uninterested you were in everyone else you worked with. Aside from Mingyu in the kitchen and Tzuyu the hostess, you had absolutely no interest in talking to anyone but Minghao.
You also didn't allow anyone else but Minghao into your life so closely. Only he knew where you lived, what troubled you, how your mother made you feel about yourself. Only he knew about your bad habits – your affinity for gossip, your extensive situationship issues with your ex-boyfriend, Jaehyun, and how you thought your apartment was entirely too expensive for a college student that was buying her dinner with coins.
"I guess you're right. We should hang out one day, instead of just you giving me pitiful looks when my car craps out on me."
Your tone had been light, but he knew you weren't joking. No matter how often this happened, you insisted what Minghao was dishing out was pity. It wasn't – it was a break. A chance to worry about things later, or tomorrow, because he also understood what it was like to be stressed. He also understood what it was like to have a car let him down time after time, but he had had no one to take that mercy upon him. He'd walked home in pouring rain, risked getting sick, slipped one too many times.
A favor, was what he was offering, if anything.
You just didn't know how to accept help. It was one of your flaws that made itself known without a single word from you.
"I'm free tomorrow. I don't work; I took the day off."
"I'm free, too. I'll text you when I wake up. Maybe we can get brunch?"
You would not end up texting Minghao, because you were knocked out – too knocked out to be woken up – by the time that the two of you reached your apartment. He knew your keys were in your purse, but after three attempts at waking you up, he gave up. He drove the two blocks to his complex, snagging the perfect spot in front of his entrance.
He hadn't been too sure of what to do, so he left you in his car with the engine running to duck into his apartment – returning within a few minutes with a pair of blankets for you and him. He opened your door and leaned your seat back slowly, before throwing the blanket over you and moving your belongings to his backseat. He climbed back into the driver's side, scrolling on his phone for a bit before peering over at you.
Still sound asleep, as the clock struck midnight.
He hummed, closing his eyes for a moment.
A moment turned into three hours, when he heard your phone start ringing in the cupholder. It jolted him awake, his eyes narrowed as he read the blurry name out – Jaehyun.
He declined the call. Once. Twice.
Six times, he declined Jaehyun's call. He turned your phone off after that, but you had stirred enough from the sheer sound of him fumbling around. Your eyes were bloodshot as you blinked before realizing you were still in his car.
"Shit, I'm sorry. Have we been here long?"
He only smiled, gesturing at the blanket on your body. Your eyes widened as much as they could in their sleep-swollen state, before he flashed his phone screen at you.
3:13am.
"Hao! Why didn't you wake me up!?"
"I certainly tried. I drove around your complex twice before deciding it was futile. We're outside my apartment, if you want to crash here. I'm in no position to drive now."
You had scoffed tiredly (read: with embarrassment), before the urge to stretch took over – the blanket slipping down your legs as you twisted your torso and popped your back. Minghao only giggled tiredly, letting you pout at him.
"I don't have a toothbrush here."
"I have spares for guests. And I have a guest room, so it's not like you'd be taking over my couch or anything. There is always going to be a special space for you, you're my friend."
And you wanted to be his friend so badly.
"Fine. But I'm buying breakfast."
"Sure, whatever makes you feel better."
You did not end up buying breakfast.
In fact, after you allowed Minghao to help you get situated in his guest room, you didn't even wake up until well in the afternoon. The soft sheets, the absolute dream of a mattress…
The gentle scent of his detergent on the clothes he made you wear to bed while he stayed up an extra two hours – washing and ironing your work uniform. He even took your socks.
Granted, he also did not wake up until late that day. The two of you jerked the doors of the respective rooms open within five minutes of each other, Minghao sluggishly standing in his kitchen with his forehead against the cool steel of his fridge. He held a carton of eggs in his hand, your mouth occupied by the toothbrush he'd given you the night before.
"Eggs?"
"I don't even want to cook, I just want to order in."
"My treat. Consider it a thank you for letting me crash here."
He had looked up then, a quirk in his brow as his lips twitched into a small smirk.
"Don't thank me for being a good friend. That's what you're supposed to do, Y/N."
He didn't allow you to pay for delivery. He didn't even allow you to bicker with him when he shoved you into the bathroom, insisting you shower while waiting for the food to arrive. He was a bit like a parent in that sense – forcing you to take his help and hospitality – and even offering to blow-dry your hair when you exited the bathroom in yet another set of his loungewear, the sweatpants low on your hips as you sat down in front of him and allowed him to do as he pleased.
Something about the domesticity of Minghao brought you comfort. He was gentle and kind, and entirely way too nice for your own good. You had this idea that you had to earn niceties, and Minghao was actively challenging that perspective with the way he wormed himself into your heart. Unlike the parasite, though, you were sure that loving him in whatever matter presented itself would not kill you.
He attempted to drive you home around midnight, the two of you far too excited to let the night end – when your phone began ringing again, this time as he pulled into a gas station. He sighed, "Take care of that. I'll be back."
Your ex-boyfriend told you he was at your apartment and asked why you weren't answering the door. You admitted that you weren't home and insisted that he went home – that you weren't interested in seeing him. He took it pretty hard, trying to convince you that he wanted nothing more than to see you, but Minghao arrived just as you snapped on him and told him that this odd situation was not working in anyone's favor.
Jaehyun insisted that he still loved you – but you said you wouldn't be seeing him again and hung up. You blocked his number before the bombardment of texts could flood in, resting your head against the seat and sighing. You gave Minghao a worried look, earning a soft laugh from him as he reached over and ran his fingers through your hair.
"Everything is going to be okay in due time. We'd be nothing in life if we didn't struggle a bit."
He didn't take you home. Instead, he drove around the city, his hand slotted in yours. It was nothing more than an attempt at a comforting gesture on his behalf, but you couldn't help the way your stomach fluttered slightly. You stared out the window as he spoke softly, telling you stories about his life and listening intently to yours. Eventually, the two of you wound up at a park you frequented as a child, one with a wishing well.
The two of you got down and headed straight for that well, Minghao holding a few coins he was willing to part ways with in his hand. He gave you half of them, telling you to make your wishes as he thought of his. He watched you intently, your eyes closed and thick lashes fluttering against your cheeks, lips pouty as you murmured to yourself. He was barely able to hear you, leaning a bit closer.
"I wish to be happy."
He closed his eyes after hearing that.
He knew in his heart that he couldn't be solely responsible for your happiness, but he could certainly aid in it. He was your friend, and he was determined to see that wish come true, even if it meant sacrificing his own time and energy to see it happen for you. Be it what may, he was hell-bent about it, within seconds of hearing you say it.
So much so, that when he dropped his 500 won coin, he too wished for you to be happy.
It was the least he could do at that moment.
He actually drove you home after that, and you invited him in. He stayed for all of two hours, just talking to you and keeping you company as you settled things around your apartment. Once more, the topic of rent being way too much came up – and he asked if you wanted a roommate.
You had snorted, insisting that you could handle rent on your own.
Minghao went home that night with another plan in mind.
SIX MONTHS AGO…
"Graduation is coming up. I know we've only just started getting close, but I got you a ticket to mine in case you'd like to be there."
The casual comment had made you choke on your strawberry lemonade. He offered a napkin, smiling mischievously at you as you scoffed, wiping your lips carefully. He'd invited you out to lunch on yet another day off, but this time, the two of you were nicely dressed up.
So much so, that your waitress thought you were a couple on a date.
Neither of you made the move to correct her.
"Minghao, you can't just say that so casually." You muttered, but there was a twitch in your lip that gave you away. He caught it almost instantly, reaching into his bag and pulling out your ticket – watching you reach into your purse and pull his ticket out. Both graduations were on the same day, yours in the morning and his in the afternoon – just barely two hours apart.
Enough that you'd be able to have a luncheon with your family and still make it to his right on time.
"You'll be celebrating with your family afterward, right?"
"We're having a small party. A few of my friends will be there, and I'd like you to attend if it's possible. I know you probably have your own things to do."
You didn't, just the lunch. Something about your accomplishments was never enough for your family to celebrate, and they were of the breed that believed graduation was simply a part of life – nothing worth celebrating. Minghao didn't need to know that, though.
"Sure. I'll be there."
And it didn't take long for the day to spin around. You were dressed in your favorite white dress, covered slightly by your forest green graduation gown. Minghao met your family – your mother giving him a quick smile before tugging your father into the stadium. You offered an apology and said that one of your lifelong friends, Junhui, would be arriving soon, and Minghao could sit with him. You stuck around until he did, introducing the two and scurrying away to get set up with your classmates.
Funnily enough, Minghao and Junhui hit it off really well – so much so that when your name was called and you crossed the stage, they cheered so loudly that your parents looked away in embarrassment. You beamed up at your friends, waving excitedly and hopping down to your seat. The ceremony was over quickly, and your parents were nowhere to be found for photos.
It bummed you out, and your friends both noticed. You called their phones relentlessly, to no avail – making Minghao and Junhui take you to lunch on their own. You still enjoyed it, but they could tell that you were not happy. Neither of them made a statement, but Minghao managed to find a last minute ticket for Junhui to attend his graduation with you and invited him to the party as well.
You and Junhui sat in the stands an hour later, holding a huge bouquet you'd ordered a few days in advance – and sat with his parents, who eagerly admitted their glee in Minghao finding friends so easily. You enjoyed the pride his parents had in their son, feeling the same love that Minghao so eagerly poured over you with no remorse. You could tell how loved he had been growing up, how every single part of him was a part of them and then some.
How Minghao was truly someone made of love, by love, for love.
You cheered loudly with his family as he crossed the stage, finding his eyes as he looked up. The maroon of his gown did wonders for his skin, and you hated the way your cheeks warmed as he winked at you. Junhui elbowed you lightly, a knowing look in his eyes that made you scoff and shove him softly.
"We've been friends since we were kids, Y/N. You don't fool me."
However, it didn't stop you from trying. To you, Minghao was just your friend – you had no intent to ever take things further than that. Much like he slowly picked up on your flaws and bad habits, you did his – his subtle flirting with regulars, the way he had no shame in giving free drinks away if he thought someone was cute. It made you overthink everything about his way of acting with you – how easy it was to distinguish that he would never have a romantic feeling towards you if this was how he acted towards patrons.
So you figured your odd little crush was sorely misplaced – and added that you hadn't spoken to Jaehyun since the first time you slept over at Minghao's apartment was cause for the strange feeling of neediness in your stomach. Minghao was worth more than a rebound, and he was far more than you would ever deserve.
You spent the rest of the day enjoying delicious food prepared by his parents and spending hours dancing with Junhui and Minghao in turns. You blushed severely when Minghao's parents asked if you were interested in Minghao, quickly refusing the idea and insisting you were his friend and nothing more. You later saw Minghao blush all the same, his mother looking over his shoulder at you and making him do the same – before you saw his plush lips form around the negative response of No, she's just my friend.
You ignored the sinking feeling and focused on the party – with Mingyu swinging by for an hour before going back out to hang with his girlfriend, Tzuyu, and his best friend, Wonwoo (and they were all coworkers of yours that you allowed yourself to grow closer to after realizing they were no threat.) You took dozens of photos with everyone, had plenty to eat and reluctantly bid goodnight to a tired Junhui that drove back to his girlfriend's apartment after checking that Minghao would take you home.
The two of you stayed for a little longer, watching all the guests leave. You walked around his parents' home and helped them clean up silently, hearing his mother praise you quietly to her son. Your refusal to acknowledge it made everything easier, grabbing an apron from the kitchen and tasking yourself with washing dishes alongside Minghao's father. He made soft conversation, and you understood where Minghao got his doting personality.
It made you think way too hard about the man you called your friend to everyone's face, including his.
At the end of the night, you cried when Minghao presented you with a graduation gift in the privacy of his car – a pair of earrings and a lease.
A lease to a two-bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom apartment he found all on his own, after more complaints about your rent being too high came about. He admitted that he'd initially started looking for places solely for you, but later came to the idea that maybe you would like some company. He fully admitted that he would have no problem if you denied his request to be your roommate, but seeing as the two of you had also planned on going to graduate school…he thought that maybe splitting costs would be easier.
"You can say no. I know it's a bit presumptuous of me to jump the gun like this. I've already signed it, but the leasing office told me it was okay if I wound up taking the place alone. I just thought I'd run it by you."
You had only blinked up at him through teary eyes, your lips pouty as you whined.
"Why are you always so nice to me, Xu Minghao? I would've never thought to do this."
"You're not me, pretty. And you're my friend, I'd go as far as even saying you're one of my best friends. I love you and I care about what stresses you out, and I'd give my left arm to make life easier for you."
Anyone else would've seen this as an admittance of romantic feelings.
Anyone else.
"Minghao, I can't accept this."
"Yes, you can. You don't have to be strong all the time. I'm here. I care. Just let me help you, okay?"
You don't know how, but just the soft lilt of his voice made you fold. You signed your name in blue ink that very same night and rode with him back to your apartment. You invited him in, the two of you tired from forced socialization and flopping on your couch. Neither of you said much as you scrolled through Hulu, your television lighting up your living room along with the few candles on your coffee table.
"You never tried your earrings on." He muttered next to you, his eyes closed as you settled on Coyote Ugly. Your lips formed an O-shape, and you nodded as you dug them out of your purse. You popped the velvety box open, the diamond studs twinkling back at you.
"Allow me." He leaned forward, plucking the box from your fingers and gingerly removing them from the backing. He watched silently as you took your signature gold hoops out, turning to face him with a tired smile on your lips. "Ready?"
"Be gentle, I'm sensitive."
He scooted slightly closer, nimble fingers softly tilting your jaw toward him. You ignored the way the hair on the back of your neck stood on end as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear, thumbing at your earlobe gently before slipping the earring through.
You heard him mumble to himself but didn't get a chance to ask questions as he carefully slid the backing on and quickly put on the other one for you. He nodded in approval, both hands brushing your face as he pushed your hair back.
"You look pretty in diamonds."
You scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hands left your face. You dug a compact mirror out of your purse, using the low light of the room to see. Long lashes fluttered in the reflection as you shifted the mirror around, your manicured fingers lightly tracing the shell of your ear as you took in the subtle sparkle of the gemstones.
"You didn't have to, you know. I didn't get you anything."
You slumped on the couch, resting the side of your head on one of the thick cushions while looking up at him. He propped his arm up on the back of the couch, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned his head on the palm of his hand.
"Having you is enough. Did I tell you that I like your dress? I don't think I told you."
Your eyes only widened before you felt your cheeks heat and cleared your throat. You glanced down at your dress, the scattered sequins across the white dress glinting in the low light. An odd feeling settled in your stomach as you ran your hands down the fabric before looking back up at him to see his eyes boring into you.
Like he could see what you were thinking.
"You're beautiful, but I don't have to tell you that. You already know." He said pointedly, and you scoffed. You look away, turning your head to face the ceiling. You follow the slow spin of the fan, before you glance back at him through the corner of your eye. He's still looking at you, but with a soft smile and a raise of his brows as if he's waiting for you to tell him what's on your mind.
"You don't, you're right. Sorry." You muttered, crossing your legs at the knee. You could feel the soreness in your calves from being on your feet all day, the straps from your shoes so tight that they'd imprinted on your skin. Minghao shifted next to you, and you could feel the heat of his gaze raking across your face.
"Y/N?"
You turned to face him, "Hm?"
He smiled, shaking his head. "Nothing."
You scowled, sitting up quickly and tucking your legs under you. "I hate when people do that, Hao. Tell me what you were going to say."
He only chuckled, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back on your couch, tucking his hands under his head. "I wasn't going to say anything, sweetheart. Just…yeah."
"Xu Minghao."
"Ooh, full name. Don't hurt me, I might like it."
You gaped, smacking his arm lightly. He grabbed your wrist loosely, making you fail at biting back your laughter when his other hand tickled your ribs. "M-Minghao! I don't need to know that!"
"Don't you, though? I know that you like your hair pulled, you told me like three days ago when we were tipsy during movie night. Call it an even exchange of information." He nodded, and you only attempted to swat his hands away from digging into your ribcage as a scream of laughter escaped your throat. He grinned, pinning you against the cushion as you squirmed under him.
"N-Not fair! You're s-stronger than m–AH!" You choked on your own laughter, thrashing as he stopped, squeezing your sides gently with a mischievous smile painted on his face. The glint in his eyes made your stomach swirl slightly as he looked down at you, and it took a few moments for you to realize just how close his face was to yours. You didn't dare look at his lips, forcing your eyes to be glued to his as you swallowed quietly. He shifted back to sit down, allowing you to sit up slightly and clear your throat – when your eyes flickered to his lips.
Soft and slightly glossy from his strawberry lip balm. Lush. So pink and pretty and perfect.
"Y/N?"
"Uh huh?"
Your eyes darted back up to his, noting the soft blush on his cheeks in the low light of the television. He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut – when your body took over your mind, your hand softly tilting his jaw back to look at you. Your thumb ran across his lower lip, pulling it down slightly to watch it spring back, your eyes meeting his once more as you pressed the pad of your thumb onto his lips.
Something about his gaze made you feel insane.
And feeling him kiss your thumb while looking into your eyes made you break.
You leaned forward, holding his jaw gently as you pressed your lips against his chastely. He melted in slightly, his hand ghosting over your hip for balance when realization sank into your skin and you pulled away.
"Shit. I'm…Minghao, I'm so–"
He didn't let you finish, rolling his eyes as he pulled you towards him by your wrist, kissing you with purpose. You only let out a noise of surprise as he practically manhandled you onto his lap, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours and making you feel like your very being was about to combust into flames. You couldn't help but tighten your legs around his, feeling him smile against your lips with a soft laugh.
Your hands fisted his shirt as he pulled away from your lips, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and tilting your head back while the other splayed across your thigh. His lips trailed down your jaw, a soft mewl escaping your throat as he nipped at your earlobe.
"Sound so pretty for me, sweetheart."
The light scrape of his teeth against your neck doesn't allow for many words to slip from your lips, only a choked whimper as you carded your fingers through his hair, pulling slightly as he littered gentle nips across the expanse of your neck and chest. His hand in your hand moved to your back, resting just above the zipper of your dress when he looked up at you through his lashes.
"Can I–"
"Yes."
His fingers carefully pulled the zipper down, the tight flutter sleeves of your dress loosening around your shoulders and falling slightly. Your hand tugged at the knot of his tie as he reconnected your lips, his hands sliding around your waist as you pulled it off and tossed it to the side. Your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands moving down slightly and palming your thighs before moving back from your face.
“We should stop, shouldn’t we?” He mumbled against your lips, making you shake your head as your hands fisted his shirt, your thumbs tracing the pearly buttons. Your fingers pulled at the rest of the buttons, tugging the hem of the shirt out from under his slacks as he grabbed your wrists gently.
“Want you to touch me, Hao. Please?” Your voice had a hint of something a little desperate, that same hint shown as a glint in Minghao's eyes as he breathed heavily against your lips. You kissed him chastely, feeling him groan beneath you and let go of your wrists to run his hands up your thighs, his fingertips barely breaching the hem of your dress.
“Wanna feel you. Wanna taste you…fill you up…can I, pretty girl? Will you let me?”
You weren’t sure how you found your voice, but you squeaked out an excited yes anyway. The rest is a blur – him pulling your dress over your head and tossing it to the side, running his hands up and down your body as he meshed your lips with his with a hunger that you couldn't describe. His fingers were cool against your back as he undid the clasp of your bra, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as you whined against him.
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can stop right now." He mumbled, holding your bra together as he looked up at you. Uncertainty flashed in your eyes, and he gave you a soft smile. "Y/N, it's okay. Are you okay?"
He clasps your bra back, his hands moving to tug his shirt off his shoulders and drape it over you. You're silent as you shove your arms through it, and Minghao quietly buttons it for you, before tucking your hair behind your ear gently.
"Hey. Talk to me, I'm here." He murmured, and you just tongued your cheek, running a hand through your hair.
"I'm sorry. I thought I'd be ready–"
"Don't. Do not apologize for not being ready, or changing your mind, or anything like that. Not now, not ever, and especially not to me. Okay?"
Your face burned in embarrassment, but it quickly slipped away as Minghao enveloped you in a warm embrace, your own arms wrapping around his neck as he held you close.
"You deserve to be more than some rebound, Hao. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry when there is nothing to be sorry for. We can forget all about this, you know? Just a little kiss. I'm sure lots of friends have kissed and moved on."
You weren’t sure you could move on, not when Minghao held you until early morning, his breathing soft against your neck. Not when the two of you inevitably moved into your bedroom and slid under your bed sheets together, Minghao's arms wrapped around your shoulders and suffocating you with his soft cologne that you can't get enough of.
You spent hours awake while he ran his fingers through your hair, just thinking about the way his lips felt against yours. You found yourself glancing up at him often, his face illuminated by the soft moonlight peeking through your blinds – only to see him staring at the ceiling, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder and you can feel the way his mind just empties as he glances down at you with the softest smile known to man.
"Sleepy?"
Your nod was false, but you didn't care – not when he sighed softly and pulled you into his chest with a mumbled good night.
"Goodnight, Hao."
As for moving on, Minghao wasn't sure he could, either. Not when he woke up in your bed the next morning, surrounded by your scent and your limbs and your skin stuck to his in a way that made him ache confusedly. Not when he was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas he never got back after that first time you stayed over at his apartment. Not when you were already awake, your eyes glued to the soft scar on his eyebrow before you noticed he was awake.
"Hey."
"Hey, sweetheart."
Not when he watched you cook something light for lunch for the both of you, in his shirt that you have not returned since that night at his place. Not when you smiled at him with a glint of embarrassment in your eyes, but just barely hidden by comfort, trust, love.
Not when he felt his heart start racing in his chest as he said he'd see you later before he left, swinging his keys in his hand as you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
"See you, Hao."
Yeah. Minghao doesn't think he can move on.
FOUR MONTHS AGO…
You and Minghao moved in as the summer grew hotter, the July air sticky as you bickered over whose couch was going to be shoved into the living room. Minghao lost the game of rock-paper-scissors, and his lip curled into a frown as Mingyu came with Tzuyu to haul his couch back to their apartment.
"And you haven't fucked on this, right?" Mingyu asked as he and Minghao took the cushions and tied them together, you and Tzuyu snorting over the jar of lemonade you were preparing.
You and Tzuyu had become quick friends after you graduated. She helped Mingyu and Wonwoo plan the grand idea of throwing both you and Minghao a small celebration at Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house, inviting the entire staff and other straggling friends. The couple hadn't been too happy about how trashed everyone got and how you accidentally broke one of their lamps, but they congratulated you and Minghao on your graduations and gifted you both an expensive bottle of wine.
Wine that you both shared when you got the keys to your shared apartment, tucked away in a cooler full of ice while you both tackled the deep cleaning of the new space. He took the front, and you took the bedrooms and bathrooms. You both emerged sweaty and sticky, grimacing at each other as you settled into Minghao's car on the way to buy paint for the bedrooms and wallpaper.
Neither of you have spoken about that night on your couch.
Not that you had to – nothing more came of it. The two of you continued to work together in harmony, you hung out regularly, you flirted with customers – and you ignored the churn of subtle jealousy in your stomach when a customer got any sort of extra attention from him.
You ignored the skip in your heartbeat when his fingers grazed yours in handing you a drink, you ignored the way your stomach flipped during the many times he offered to tie your hair up when it got in the way. You especially ignored the whispers of your coworkers, ones that had only heightened since the party at your Seungcheol and Jeonghan's house – where Minghao was constantly checking in on you, bringing you drinks and adjusting your dress or hair.
So much so that when the party was over and it was just Seungcheol, Jeonghan, you and Minghao – Jeonghan asked. He asked if the two of you were a thing, and Minghao promptly peered over his highball at you. You just shrugged, the words stuck in your throat as Seungcheol shared a glance with Jeonghan.
They then did the diabolical, classic meddling-manager thing: they scheduled ALL of your shifts together.
It then seemed like the entire universe was forcing the proximity – because your car finally kicked the bucket. It would not turn on, not even after you begged Chan at the mechanic shop to give it a good knock on the hood. Because of this, you were now rendered carless – not that it mattered, because your new roommate had a car. Your new roommate, that was also your friend, coworker, and suspected partner by the married couple that owned the restaurant the two of you worked at.
Minghao drove the two of you to work every day, his car once parked in front of your old apartment now sitting pretty in front of your shared one. It was domestic, how he slid in front of your apartment and still got out and knocked on your door to let you know he'd arrived – instead of just the regular I'm here text or, your least favorite, the honk. He opened your door, he let you choose the music, he rolled the windows down because you loved the free feeling of the breeze in your hair before you were ultimately forced to go into work-mode in order to withstand the berating of customers and the soreness in your feet.
Upon moving into the apartment, the two of you furnished it by splitting your belongings. Your walnut bookcases, his mahogany dining table. His Persian rugs, his television, his plants, his plates and cups. Your wall decorations, your handmade vases, your choice of wallpaper in the bathroom, your silverware.
His pots. Your pans. His blankets on the couch. Your couch.
"No, Mingyu. I have not had sex on this couch." Minghao scoffed, before peering over his shoulder at you and Tzuyu with a look on his face that reads: Can you believe this guy?
You only shrug, biting back a smile as you slip ice cubes into the pitcher, facing Tzuyu. She's already looking at you, and she waits until you tilt your head in curiosity before she whispers.
"How long have you two been a thing?"
You almost choked on your spit. Her eyes were wide as she patted your back, giving a thumbs up to the worried men looking over their shoulders, pausing their unscrewing of the legs off the couch.
"What? Minghao and I are not a thing, Tzu."
"Could've fooled me. I've known Minghao for years, and he's never even introduced us to a girlfriend of his. He's so private that way." She murmured, adding a few sprigs of mint into the glass pitcher.
You glanced over at Minghao, who was listening to Mingyu talk about how Wonwoo got into a scuffle with Seungcheol over the missed truck order at work – when he shivered, his gaze flicking up to you. He gave you a quizzical look, before turning back to Mingyu and acting as if he was paying attention.
"I don't think Hao and I will ever be anything more than good friends. And, well, roommates now. This is genuinely one of the more refreshing friendships I've ever been in. There's zero expectations to be perfect or act like I care about the smalltalk that usually precedes friendships." You shrugged, taking a wooden spoon and stirring the lemonade.
You weren't lying, per say. You definitely did not think things would advance between you and Minghao – he was far too…well he was…you know. Ugh!
Minghao was literally fucking perfect. That was the issue. He was perfect, from the careful styling of his hair to the way you'd walk into his bedroom to see him slathering lotion on his arms after a warm shower. And he wasn't just perfect physically, he would not have that mercy upon you – he was perfect on the INSIDE, too.
You'd only been living together for a few weeks at this point – but he'd kept the space clean, far cleaner than you had gotten yourself used to. Your bedroom was already a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, and you'd tripped over an unpacked box several times before kicking it to the side.
But Minghao's? Pristine. Everything in its designated spot, his vanity clear of debris and a special spot for his skincare items. He kept a pitcher of water on his nightstand at most, the cup always half filled. His bed was always made neatly, his clothes tucked into his dresser and closet with the utmost care. At most, he'd have his closet door open or have a random jacket thrown over his desk chair – but he was your stark opposite.
"I don't know about that one, Y/N. I think this could be something good, but what do I know?" Tzuyu shrugged, grabbing the tray of glasses and tilting her head for you to grab the pitcher. You wanted to ask her what she meant, what she knew, but you didn't get a chance as Mingyu and Minghao carried the corpse of his stripped couch outside. You held the doorway open more, giving Minghao a quick nod as he wormed past you.
You tried not to look at the flexing of his shoulders beneath the black tank top he donned, squeezing your eyes shut and looking away when you heard Tzuyu snort. You peeled an eye open to see her smirking at you, shaking her head as she set the glasses down on your coffee table. You scowled, setting the pitcher down on the doily and laying on the floor next to the table, grabbing the remote for the television.
The coffee table was the only thing you and Minghao couldn't agree on, and decided to buy it at a thrift store. The one hint of togetherness thus far – as if the mixed aesthetics and belongings weren't enough. It made you laugh a bit, because you knew if and when you moved out, what would be taken with you.
It's like the coffee table is the dog that a couple gets before they split up. Who gets it?
"Y/N, can I see you in the kitchen?"
Minghao's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you gave Tzuyu a pained look as you slipped the remote in her hand. Minghao had slipped into the kitchen already as you stood, quickly trekking the living room and sliding in on your socks. He grabbed his keys off the counter, having left them there earlier when he arrived with groceries, before Tzuyu and Mingyu came over for his couch.
"I'm going to help Mingyu get the couch set up at his place, we should be back before dinner. Do you want to order something in and we can pick it up on the way back? My treat." Minghao spoke with his back turned to you as he rummaged through the fruit bowl, before you heard the unmistakable crunch of an apple being bitten into. He looked over his shoulder, and you saw him holding said apple between his teeth, a jump of his brows prompting you to speak.
"You'll be a while though, won't you?"
"I'd never make you wait, Y/N. So? Think about what you want, and text me."
He shrugged, ruffling your hair as you swatted his hand away, grabbing his wrist.
"Aren't they staying for dinner? Shouldn't this be a group decision?"
He only used your leverage on his wrist to pull you closer, leaning against the counter and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your eyes widened at the sudden proximity, and you felt your cheeks heat as he peered down at you through his lashes. He smiled at you, eyes searching your face before he clicked his tongue.
"Just tell me what you want, honey. I'll get it done."
He pressed a kiss to your hairline, smoothing your hair down before slipping out of the kitchen. You heard his gentle goodbye to Tzuyu, who hummed in response before the click of the door made his departure evident. Peeking out of the kitchen, you saw Tzuyu smirking to herself, shaking her head as she took a sip of her lemonade.
"C'mon, Y/N. You know you wanna tell me."
Her voice was sing-song, and you groaned inwardly as you walked out of the kitchen and flopped over the back of the couch. You flipped onto the cushions, landing on your back with a grunt from your lips as you draped your arm over your eyes.
"Tzu, nothing is happening between him and I. He is genuinely just my friend. Roommate. Coworker."
She didn't buy it. You could tell by the quirk in her brows and the pointed look in her eyes. She tapped the coffee table with the edge of her glass, swirling the ice before speaking.
"And soon he'll be your boyfriend, fiancé, husband. I have a hunch about these things, Y/N. I know love when I see it."
You only rolled your eyes, snatching the remote back off the coffee table. "Yeah, sure. What do you want to watch? And what do you want for dinner? Hao said they'd bring something back."
Tzuyu didn’t push it as the two of you ended up settling on a random episode of Gilmore Girls. You mumbled at each other as you began to pass your phone between the two of you, looking at local restaurants when you heard a ding – a ding specifically applied to Minghao's contact.
"Nothing happening, huh?" Tzuyu wiggled your phone between her fingers, a notification from Minghao up top.
Msg From: Xu Minghao
[5:43PM] sweetheart, did you figure out what you want for dinner?
[5:43PM] we're almost done over here
You scowled, snatching your phone back as she giggled.
"Sweetheart? I don't call my friends that." She teased, and you sighed.
"Tzu, can we please drop it?" Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, ridden with an oddly placed insecurity and Tzuyu's eyes widen slightly before she clears her throat. She nods, tapping the edge of her glass against the table again and looking down at your phone.
Msg From: Xu Minghao
[5:45PM] quickly, please.
[5:45PM] y/n i can see you reading these!
"I'll drop it for now, but please think about my words. I know it may be hard to believe, but I do think there is more to this than meets the eye. And…I support you, on whatever route you end up taking, in whatever way you end or begin this relationship."
You couldn't lie to yourself, her words stuck with you for the rest of the evening. They rang in your head when the pair of men arrived with stacked plates of takeout, and they rang in your head as Minghao served your plate and forbade you from getting up for anything. They rang in your head as you and Mingyu washed the dishes, noting how Mingyu only referred to you by your name in your hushed conversation about you inviting them to stay for a movie.
Not like Minghao, who had even greeted you with a pet name.
They rang in your head as Tzuyu and Mingyu cuddled in the corner seat of your couch during the movie, your chest slightly pained as you noticed the cushion-sized distance between your thigh and Minghao's. They rang in your head every time you noticed Mingyu's lips on his girlfriend's hairline, on her cheek, on her lips…
They rang in your head as you thought back to the night of your graduation, how Minghao's lips kissed you just as gently, but in a way that made you think about it every waking moment of every day. In a way that made you glance at him from across the restaurant when Jeonghan was trying to get your attention to finish your tip-out; in a way that made you remain silent during the rides to and from work by his side.
In a way that made you touch yourself at night, thinking about him, about his hands on your body. So warm, so confident, so caring.
So loving.
"Good night, you two. Drive safe." You stood with your hands in your pockets, your shorts allowing the cool evening breeze to graze your legs. Tzuyu gave you a warm hug as Mingyu opened the door of his old pickup, her lips barely touching the shell of your ear as she whispered.
"Think about it."
They drove off within the next five minutes, with you and Minghao standing next to each other in front of your apartment door, waving them off. You glanced up at him, a faint heat coating your cheeks as his hand ghosted over the small of your back, hearing the jingle of his keys being hooked onto your belt loop. You jolted at the weight, swatting him away as he snickered.
"Want to take a walk? The weather feels great."
You hated the way you agreed so quickly, tugging slightly at the neck of your t-shirt, too tight around your throat as your arms brushed. He stood on the side closest to the street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants as he hummed.
"I got a letter back from the graduate program I applied to. I was waitlisted, so I think I'm going to withdraw and reapply next year. Gives me a chance to save some money, take out less loans." He grimaced, looking up at the darkened sky. You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.
"I didn't get into mine, if it makes you feel better. I think I'm going to be taking a gap year, so much for being a therapist and letting my parents down yet again. Did I tell you that they told me I wouldn't even be a real doctor? Unbelievable." You sneered, and he shook his head.
"No, that doesn't make me feel better. You deserved to get in. I read your application essay, remember? You're brilliant. I could never imagine being on a board of admissions and not allowing someone with such a passion into my program." He scoffed, and you only snorted.
"Passion, huh? Shit load of good it does me." You shook your head, kicking a bit of gravel as you made it to the corner of your block. You sucked your teeth as Minghao's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side slightly.
"You'll have to admit that you're a good person with goals and dreams like everyone else at some point, you know? You've got a big heart, and you want to help the world. It takes a passionate person, a dedicated person, to work in therapy. Do you know how hard it is to sit and listen to people's problems all day and not bring them home with you?"
"Bartenders are the therapists of the food and beverage industry, aren't they?" You teased, snickering as he lightly smacked his fingers against your shoulder. "Sorry, sorry."
"But you're right, in a way. I do commend you, though, an incredible amount. And your parents…they don't realize what kind of person their daughter is. You're bright. You're kind. You're beautiful in ways I can't even begin to describe, and that doesn't even begin to cover your looks. So let's just…not think about their opinions. You're independent and strong, and I'm always rooting for you."
His voice was soothing as he traced circles into your skin, the moonlight illuminating your path as you walked in lockstep with him. You sighed, "So what happens now? We just work our butts off at the restaurant and save our pennies?"
"What better to do? We can even set up a little fund to take the odd weekend trip, if you'd like. Roommates do that, right?" He sounded quizzical, and you glanced up to see him already looking at you. Those eyes…
"Well, friends do that, don't they? We're friends before we're roommates." You tried, and he let out a scuff of a laugh, nodding.
"Yeah, sweetheart. Friends."
You didn't understand why it pained you to hear him confirm what you already knew, but the stupid pet name sprinkled in definitely made the pang in your chest deeper than you'd expected. His hand was on your shoulder, ringed fingers now dangling over the edge and your eyes glued to the ground. You kicked gravel and dirt as the two of you walked, your tennis shoes scuffed from weeks of moving and roughhousing with furniture.
You were almost in front of your apartment when Minghao made a noise of eureka, his fingers squeezing your shoulder lightly as he spoke.
"Oh, I forgot to mention this earlier, but Jeonghan is asking me to take a few doubles these coming weeks because Seungkwan is going on vacation. They know that we carpool, so I should be able to swing by and bring you to work anyway, but I figured I'd let you know I'll be out of the house for most of the morning."
You groaned, running your hand through your hair as you nodded.
"Yeah, Cheol talked to me about taking a bunch of morning shifts because Hansol is also going on vacation. I'm not bothered but…" You gave Minghao a wiggle of your brows, making him snort.
"You think they're going together? Romantic getaway…" He swayed you gently, and you snickered to yourself.
"Kiss, kiss, fall in love…sharing appetizers…" You chided as the two of you reached your door. Minghao unhooked his keys from your belt loop, unlocking the door as he shook his head.
"They do that eye-flirting thing, you know? Lots of shared looks, soft whispers and stuff. It's cute, they're a cute pair." He nodded, pushing the door open and allowing you in before he stepped in behind you. You hummed in response, beelining for the empty bags of movie snacks on the coffee table, crumpling them in your hands as you moved around. Minghao joined you, folding the blankets that had been thrown over Mingyu and Tzuyu's laps as well as your shoulders.
Neither of you spoke as you cleaned up the living room, the ending credits of the movie still playing as you stretched your arms over your head, holding the trash in your fists as you walked to the kitchen. You could hear Minghao continue to rustle around, the television turning off and the soft creak of the floorboards grabbing your attention as he skirted into the kitchen.
"I'm going to be up early tomorrow, so I'm going to shower first. Is that okay with you?" He moved you away from the trash can, letting you lean on the counter as he took the lid off and grabbed the drawstrings of the bag. You nodded before realizing he couldn't see you and cleared your throat.
"Yeah, sure. That's fine; I have to fix up my bed and stuff in my bedroom. Take your time." You shrugged, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he pulled the trash bag out, tying the plastic drawstrings into a knot before fishing another one out of the box on top of the fridge.
"Are you settling in well? I haven't checked in about it. I know it's quite the drastic change to go from living alone to someone in your space all the time." He sounded sympathetic, but you only shrugged again.
"It's like freshman year of college again. Except this time, I actually like my roommate because you're not kicking me out at odd hours of the night to bang your boyfriend." You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. He nodded, biting back a smile when you elbowed him lightly, making him snort.
"I'd never do that. No need to worry about it, pretty." He placed the lid back on the trash can, lifting up the bag and skirting around you. "I'll be back in a second."
Said second turned into ten minutes. Ten full minutes where you rubbed your face in an attempt to bring back a touch of reality, something that would take the attention your mind loved to devote to pet names and affections from your roommate, your friend, your coworker, away.
They say your living space is a reflection of your state of mind. As you wormed your way through stacks of unpacked boxes, clothes strewn on the floor, old textbooks gathering dust in the corners of your room – you kind of agreed.. You grimaced, opting to kick everything out of the way and grabbing a box cutter off your desk and slicing through one of the boxes stacked by your closet. You reached to your desk, flicking the lamp on to see the contents of the heavily packed box.
It opened to photo albums and framed pictures, and you closed your eyes as your hands touched the familiar red leather of your family album. Photos gathered in the tens of you and your parents – at your favorite park in your hometown, at dozens of restaurants where you celebrated birthdays, your parents' anniversary…
A celebration of a perfect report card, time and time again before the 180 spin came, and your parents realized you were leaving your hometown for something bigger. A huge, fancy school in the middle of a metropolitan city, studying Psychology when your mother had pushed for Law or Accounting. Acting like you'd betrayed her trust – and as Mother says, Father does. He too, pushed you aside and acted like you'd scorned him.
Neither of your parents were lawyers or accountants. They were both high school mathematics teachers, your father in statistics and your mother in economics. Neither of them had a passion for law or accounting – and they both knew of your interest in the medical field, in psychology and the brain.
You found it odd that the success that follows the title of 'Doctor' was not enough for them. That, paired with the rejection letter from your Masters' program, you felt like there wasn't any lower you could get.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Minghao's voice was soft, but it still made you jolt and drop the album. You held a hand to your chest, before shaking your head.
"Nah. I'm good. Sorry, uh, about the mess." You gestured to the room, and he only shook his head, his fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes as he looked around a bit. He leaned on your doorway, the hallway light only making your eyes trial his gentle frame.
"Your space, sweetheart. You do what you want with it. I'm going to shower now. Anything you need before I start turning in?"
You shook your head, tapping the leatherbound photo album before smiling pitifully.
"I'm good. Good night, Hao."
You expected him to slink away, focusing your thoughts back on the album. You flipped through it, thumbing at photos of you in frilly dresses and Halloween costumes your mother would stitch by hand.
"You can talk to me. You know that, right?"
Minghao's voice was right next to your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck. His hand was wrapped around the edge of your desk to keep himself steady, and your face was a bit too close to his as you turned to face him. He was illuminated slightly by the yellow light of your desk lamp, his eyes scanning your features.
"I know. I just…I know." You pursed your lips, casting your eyes back to the album in your hands. "I'll let you know if I ever need to…I don't know. Let off steam, I guess."
Your laugh was soft and pathetic, and he hummed, before you felt his hand tuck a stray curl behind your ear. You glanced up at him, only to see him looking at you fondly.
"Let off steam, huh?"
"Shut up."
"As you wish. Good night." He grinned, pushing off your desk and making his way out of your bedroom.
You spent the next few hours listening to Minghao tinker around in the bathroom before the sounds move to his bedroom, your focus on unpacking the albums onto the bookcase tucked into the corner of your room. You picked clothing up off the floor, tossing the articles into the hamper and you forced yourself to organize your every thought when you heard it. You heard the soft sigh through the wall, and the groan from his throat as his back hit the mattress.
You screwed your eyes shut and grabbed your headphones from the nightstand, plugging them into your phone as quickly as you could before you could hear anything else. You took a deep breath, out through your mouth as the beginning notes of Runnin' by The Pharcyde filled your ears.
So much for good night.
TWO MONTHS AGO…
"I'm so fucking tired, I could keel over right now."
Your forehead rested on the back of your hand, which held the ratty broom you used to beat Seungcheol out of a chair only moments earlier. Said man was now sulking behind the bar with Minghao, being comforted by the bartender with a fruity cocktail.
"Don't sulk, she's just doing her job." Minghao patted him on the back as the older man frowned, wrapping his pouty lips around the swirly straw stuck in the mango daiquiri. You glanced over your shoulder at Jeonghan, who was only shaking his head as he clicked away on the calculator with your tips surrounding him in neat piles.
"Honey, unless you want to sweep for Y/N–" Jeonghan started, flipping a pen through his fingers as Seungcheol shook his head, taking his drink off the bar and making his way across the restaurant.
"Nope! I'll be in the office."
You snickered to yourself as you saw Jeonghan watch him walk away, eyes low and full of nothing but love. He rolled his eyes, drawing his attention back to the money on the table as Tzuyu slid into a barstool with her cheek in her hand. Minghao leaned over, waving his fingers in her face.
"Why so glum, Tzu?"
He stopped wiping the counter down to listen to her as you skirted your way over to Jeonghan, pulling the chair beside him out and slumping down into it. Jeonghan doesn't look up from the calculator, his fingers gingerly thumbing through the dollar bills when you make a noise of curiosity.
"Yes, Y/N? How can I help you?"
"How long have you and Mr. Choi been together?" You asked gently, watching Jeonghan bite back a smirk. He shakes his head, tilting it to the side before meeting your eyes.
"You don't have to call him Mr. Choi, Y/N. You can just call him Cheol."
"Fine. How long have you been with Cheol, Mr. Yoon?" You smiled cheekily, earning a scoff as Jeonghan flicked your forehead softly. "Jeonghan, answer the question!"
"We dated for three years before we got engaged. Then we were engaged for two years before we got married, and we got married two years ago. Seven years together and counting, unless you also involve how long he made me court him." Jeonghan's blush doesn't go unnoticed as he runs a hand through his hair, and you cooed.
"How did you guys meet?"
Jeonghan snorts, tonguing his cheek before sighing and thumbing through another stack of bills.
"Any particular reason as to why you've got so many queries tonight, Y/N? You've been working here for almost a year and you've never cared before." His brow is quirked as you hear the heavy office door open across the restaurant, a flushed Seungcheol ducking into the kitchen with his empty cup. Jeonghan sends him a wink, making the older man shake his head in disbelief.
"I just think you guys are cute. You don't see many couples around here, the dating pool has gotten so icky." You scoffed, twirling the broom handle in your hand as Jeonghan hums in agreement.
"I've known Seungcheol since we were kids. We drifted after middle school because I wound up moving across the city, and we lost contact. We met up again here, in this restaurant, right before we were set to graduate college. Funny, really." Jeonghan smiled inwardly, watching as you leaned in slightly.
"You guys worked here together?"
"Yup. He was a bartender, I was a waiter." Jeonghan gave you a pointed look, before his eyes flickered to Minghao. The man was talking to frowning Tzuyu, his brows furrowed as he whispered what you assume to be his opinion on her dilemmas. "Cheol was actually really shy, believe it or not. He's not the big Rottweiler type, despite his physique. More like…a feisty barn cat."
"So…you chased him? For how long?" You watched as Mingyu and Seungcheol walked out of the kitchen with their arms crossed, seemingly discussing something serious. Seungcheol's jaw was tight, and Mingyu's shoulders were full of stress as he draped his apron over one of them. Seungcheol glanced over at Jeonghan, a sympathetic look in his eye as he tilted his head in the direction of the office.
"For all three years that we worked here. And I continue to do it, he likes it." Jeonghan nodded, gathering your tips for you and snapping them together in a blue rubber band. He held them out to you, gathering his belongings in his other hand as you took it. "Of course, not every couple that gets together here, stays together. These walls have seen many of my fights with Cheol, and vice versa. There's no limit. Exhibit A."
Jeonghan gestured to Tzuyu, who was angrily typing on her phone while Mingyu held back tears as he muttered back and forth with Seungcheol. Sighing, Jeonghan ruffled your hair before skirting away and meeting Seungcheol and Mingyu in the office. You stood, leaning your weight on the broom before feeling eyes on you.
Minghao was staring right at you, before his eyes flickered to Tzuyu. You grimaced, stuffing your tips in your back pocket before sliding up to the bar.
"So…what's got you so upset?"
"Mingyu."
As it turns out, maybe the restaurant owner knew far more than he let on.
Mingyu and Tzuyu had gotten into an argument while she helped him with dishes – about work. The two of them were stressed, knowing that they usually made rent with their hefty amount of hours at the restaurant – however, it left little time in the week for each other. Mingyu being the best cook of the three that worked at the restaurant made things even harder, seeing as he was constantly being called in if Seungcheol or Jeonghan weren't able to fill in.
It left Tzuyu feeling pushed aside, but Mingyu could argue the same. The last three hostesses that had been hired had to be let go due to their attendance inconsistencies, leaving Tzuyu to rush to work at the last minute. It created a small rift in their relationship, and Tzuyu finally gave the ultimatum: work or her. Mingyu hadn't replied.
No choice is a choice, a silent one.
And usually, the wrong one.
"I'm sorry." You murmured, smoothing her long hair with your hand as she slumped against the bar.
"Why? If anything, I feel like we should be able to work through this. We should be able to find time for each other even with our busy schedules. You and Minghao can do it, why can't we?" She groaned, resting her forehead against the cold bar. You sighed, running your fingers through her hair when the office door opened again – Mingyu was sitting at the desk and frustratedly wiping his face as Jeonghan called for Tzuyu softly.
"Go. We'll wait here." Minghao assured her, crossing his arms on the bar as you nodded in agreement. She took a deep breath, trekking the restaurant quickly and ducking into the office as Jeonghan shut the door.
"What does she mean, you and I can do it?" You questioned, reaching into your back pocket and separating the bundle of bills that would go into Minghao's wallet. He shrugged and smiled softly, wiggling his fingers as you held the wad of cash out to him.
"It means we work well together. Don't you think we make a good pair?" Minghao raised his eyebrows at you, making you roll your eyes as you continued to sweep aimlessly around the bar.
"I guess so. Hey, your birthday is coming up soon, right?" You crouched to get the swept trash onto the handheld dustpan, watching as Minghao shrugged again and turned to the cooler. He opened it, taking out your can of orange juice before speaking again.
"Hardly. It's barely September, my birthday isn't for another two months." He shook his head, and you scoffed as you made your way to the trash can. You dump the contents of the dustpan before glancing up at him with a suspicious look in your eye.
"Don't tell me you're one of those people that works on their birthdays, are you?"
The way he tongues his cheek is enough of an answer for you, making you shake your head as you replace the broom and dustpan behind the bar. You skirt around him to the sink, washing your hands as you click your tongue. "That's not happening this year. We have to celebrate."
"Like hell it's not. I make the most tips on my birthday, Y/N." He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind him, shrugging it over his shoulders as you dried your hands. "Plus, Jeonghan knows I won't take no for an answer when it comes to working on my birthday. I'll be here from five to closing."
You rolled your eyes again, before feeling his arm snake around your waist. It'd been almost a year of this – soft, casual touching, hushed praises, kisses to the forehead…
It was all so intimate. Nothing he did felt like friendship anymore, but you weren't complaining.
"Why do you care so much, anyway? You want to celebrate with me?"
"Obviously, jackass. You're my best friend." You swatted him away, only to be pulled closer into his chest. You groaned, your hands splayed across his chest as he smiled down at you.
"What an upgrade, should I be honored?"
You scoffed, pushing him a bit but he didn't budge.
For a second, you think he glances at your lips.
"Tell you what, pretty. I'll work my shift, and we can celebrate after. Just you and me." His hand squeezed your side gently, his eyes expectant of something – but you know you could say nothing and he'd still understand. He once told you that he thinks humans misunderstand almost everything…
And sometimes it is better to observe, and listen – than speak.
"Get away from me before I twist your nipple off." You spoke through gritted teeth, only making him get slightly closer to your face. His lips nearly brushed your nose, and you narrowed your eyes as you pushed his jacket out of the way. He jerked away, crossing his arms over his chest and feigning a shocked look as you grinned.
"I cannot believe you'd hurt me! Wow, some best friend you are!"
"Are you always this dramatic?" You teased, sticking your tongue out at him as you skirted back out from behind the bar. He turned his nose up at you, waving you off with his hand. Your eyes darted to the maroon gel manicure you'd given him earlier that day, and you bite back your grin before taking your can of orange juice off the bar.
"Let's go, yeah? I'm tired." You pouted, shaking the can gently before tilting your head towards the front door. He huffed, tightening his jacket around his body as he sauntered out from behind the bar – nearly tripping when the sound of the office door being slammed against the brick of the walls startled you.
Tzuyu stormed out, her red coat held in her hand as she ducked her head down. Presumably to hide a face full of tears, covered by the swing of her caramel hair.
You looked back at Minghao, his eyes worried as he watched her slip out the front door. Mingyu appeared as the door nearly shut, with Jeonghan and Seungcheol holding guilt in their eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mingyu. If we had known–"
"You couldn't have. It's fine. I'll figure it out."
Mingyu looked defeated, and you elbowed Minghao lightly as he sidled up next to you.
"Drive Tzuyu home." You muttered, tucking your orange juice in your shirt pocket as Minghao swung his keys.
"Divide and conquer, huh? I'll see you at home, pretty." Minghao ruffled your hair, before quickly pressing a light kiss to your hairline. "Be safe, okay?"
He was gone before you could say anything.
You sighed to yourself, seeing the three men in the office watching Minghao slink out without you. Jeonghan looked around Mingyu's frame, his brow raised as you winked, cracking open your orange juice and walking towards them.
"Gentlemen. It appears my chauffeur has taken his leave without letting me know." You shrugged, and Mingyu sighed as you held your hand out. The friendship between the two of you had grown exponentially during the last few months, and you found yourself gossiping with him in the kitchen if Minghao was busy or Tzuyu wasn't at her podium.
He handed his keys over without a word, Seungcheol's eyes full of guilt as he patted the younger man's shoulder. "We'll see you next week, Gyu."
You didn't bother with goodbyes, the married couple giving you curt nods as they followed behind you. Minghao's car was no longer in the parking lot, and you beelined for Mingyu's without a second thought. Seungcheol locked the front door of the restaurant, and you felt Jeonghan's eyes on your back as you climbed into the lifted pickup truck.
Mingyu was silent as you fiddled with his radio, cranking the ignition before sucking in a breath.
"You wanna–"
"How do you and Minghao do it?"
You blinked, absently turning out of the parking lot and pulling off into the main road.
"How do we…do what?"
Mingyu was frustrated, tossing his baseball cap onto the dash with a huff. He slumped in the passenger seat, crossing his arms over his chest before peering up at you through teary eyes.
"Work together and go home together without bringing any of the work problems with you. It's like we're constantly being pushed and pulled. If I'm not being called in, she is. I'm not saying it's a bad business decision by Jeonghan or Seungcheol, but she gets tired, too. I know she's great at her job, but she won't be here forever. Her potential is far greater than just greeting people who don't even deserve to be graced with her presence."
You hummed, fiddling with the turn signal.
"I wish I could help, Mingyu! However, Minghao and I–"
"Oh, come on. You're going to tell me you're just friends? That you haven't, even for a moment in time, though what it would be like to be together? You're saying that neither of you have ever gotten just entirely too close and almost kissed?"
You felt your face grow hot as Mingyu sat up in his seat, leaning slightly over the center console as you slowed to a halt at a red light. You made the mistake of glancing over, seeing an expectant gaze on your friend's face. He watched intently as you rubbed your face in frustration, running your hands through your hair as you scoffed.
"Okay, fine. Minghao and I…there is truly nothing there, I can promise you that." You began, clearing your throat as you stared out the windshield to the fiery red light. Mingyu tilted his head, sort of like a puppy, as you squeezed your eyes shut momentarily. "Sometimes, I think we could be more. I don't like him, and he doesn't like me…but he certainly goes above and beyond for our friendship. I can say that for all of his friendships, though, because Minghao is just that kind of guy, you know? Kind, observant, sweet."
"It confuses you."
"This is supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me."
Mingyu snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. How do you and Minghao not fight?"
"Because we're not together. We're friends, and we're roommates. We don't have that expectation of having to spend time together, because sometimes just brushing past one another when we're at work is enough. Sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to pee but having to wait because he's in the restroom is enough. Sometimes walking to the laundromat together is enough." You shrugged, before sighing.
"When Hansol and Seungkwan were on vacation and we were pulling all those double shifts, he showed me that I could depend on him. He'd make breakfast before he left for work, and then come to pick me up for my shift. We did that for two weeks, and by the end of it, we were both exhausted. He never made me feel like I owed him anything, much less my time."
You turned to face him, "You and Tzuyu have been together for three years. If you keep having the same fight, over the same thing. If the issue is that you don't spend enough time together, I think you should tackle that. Take a vacation, the restaurant won't burn down without you. Save your relationship."
Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair before slumping once more. "I miss spending time with her. You know the last time we actually spent time together as a couple was when we went to pick up Minghao's couch? I don't think we've been able to even have a date night since."
You gaped, reaching over to smack his arm lightly. "Mingyu!"
"I know, I know. God, and we were supposed to have a date night tomorrow, too, but Wonwoo is sick and Jihoon already asked for the night off." He rubbed his face in frustration, and the words slipped from your lips as you pulled into your apartment complex.
"Call out. Minghao and I have the day off tomorrow, we can fill in." You blurted, and Mingyu scoffed.
"Y/N, I couldn't ask you to do that."
"You're not, I'm offering."
You didn't let him continue to speak, instead turning his engine off and sliding out of his truck. Minghao and Tzuyu were sitting on your front steps, his jacket draped over her shoulders as she wiped her eyes. You felt the heat of Mingyu's body behind you, and Tzuyu didn't look up as you cleared your throat. Minghao glanced at you, his eyes heavy with expectation as you twitched your head in the direction of the apartment.
"I lost my key."
You snorted, digging yours out of your pocket and shoving them into his hand. "Come in, we'll have a nightcap. Then you guys can go home and have a good night together, yeah?"
Minghao seemed to understand as he opened the door and let the couple in. Tzuyu sat on the far end of your couch, and Mingyu didn't even bother sitting down – he beelined straight for your kitchen. You grabbed Minghao's arm lightly, pulling at his sleeve carefully and tilting your head towards his room. He nods, following behind you as you skirt into the pristine bedroom.
"I may have…fucked up." You start, making Minghao shake his head with a gentle smile.
"Nah. I'm sure you said the same things I did. Spend time together, stop working so much, you and I are not together." He rolled his eyes as he tugged his jacket off, draping it over the back of his desk chair. His eyes scan your face, before his smile drops and his brows furrowed in concern. "What's wrong, honey?"
"I did…say all of that…" You grimaced, rubbing your neck sheepishly. "But I also…may have volunteered you and I to take their shifts tomorrow."
"Y/N." He groaned, and you winced slightly, your hands coming to hold his. He allowed it, his eyes boring into yours as you tried to apologize.
"I know it was our only day off this week, Hao. I'm sorry, but I–"
"You could've asked me first."
He didn't sound mad, but disappointed. You felt like you were going to get scolded by your father. You shrank back a bit, and you could feel guilt spreading in your body as he sighed. You grimaced at the sting of tears filling your eyes, but bit them back.
"Are we doing rock-paper-scissors to see who takes what? Did you even call Jeonghan?" He moved his hands from yours, running one through his hair before crossing his arms. You shook your head in silence, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before nodding. He held his hand out, yet another despondent sigh slipping from his lips. "Loser takes Mingyu's shift. Best out of three."
"Minghao, I can just find someone else to do it. I'm sorry."
"Best. Out. Of. Three."
You tongued your cheek, losing quickly to the tall man in front of you. Scissors, scissors, paper to his rock, rock, scissors.
"You're driving tomorrow." He muttered, rubbing his face with his hands before you nodded, looking anywhere but him and moving to slip out of his bedroom. He shook his head, standing in front of the door. "I'm not upset."
"Okay."
"Y/N."
"What?"
His hands reach for your shoulders, and you kept your eyes casted elsewhere. His fingers are warm as they tilt your chin to look up at him, forcing you to try and blink back the tears when he rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheek.
"I'm sorry for snapping. It wasn't my intention but I can tell I've hurt your feelings, and I never want to hurt your feelings." His voice was soft, and you felt your throat tighten slightly. You weren't too sure why you were even crying, maybe it was reminiscent of being scolded for trying to do the right thing.
"I'm sorry, honey." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his chest. He smells like pink pepper and the essence of pomegranates, mixed with a hint of the maple butter rum one of the regulars likes to knock back. It's oddly comforting. "Forgive me."
"It's fine. I should've asked."
"Yes, you should have. However, that's not the point here."
Minghao pulled back slightly, pointing his finger in your face. You huffed, but he raised his brows at you – as if to say, listen. Be quiet.
"You need to call Jeonghan and let him know. If we're going to work tomorrow, I need to spend time with you tonight."
You must've looked taken aback, because he only smiled. He pinched your cheek lightly, before humming and opening his door. "Go on, call him. We'll be in the living room."
Either you'd been too out of it to fully process, or Jeonghan had truly had you on the phone explaining all your qualifications to run a kitchen as a head chef. You didn't have many, just the few nights you flipped burgers at a diner back in high school – but it seemed enough to settle Jeonghan. He let you know there was going to be a trainee chef with you named Joshua, as well as the kitchen manager named Seokmin.
Jeonghan also let you know that Tzuyu's shift started earlier than Mingyu's, so someone would have to go get you. He volunteered Seungcheol, and you could hear the man begin to protest in the background but he hung up before anything could be truly said.
You ducked out of Minghao's room to see him folding blankets in the living room, soft music playing on the television as he glanced up. He smiled, and you noticed the two cups on the coffee table. One tainted with lipstick from Tzuyu, and what seemed to be one filled with water? Soju? Rum? Something.
"Tzuyu is driving. She had some of your juice, I hope that's alright." He nodded, and you waved it off. You turned to the television, No One Noticed by The Marías playing softly as he hummed along. "Did Jeonghan say it was okay? I was trained to be a host and a waiter before I was a bartender, but you just jumped into waitressing, right?"
"I had a part-time gig in high school at a diner. I have some, but not a lot." You shrugged, and he made an o-shape with his lips as he smoothed the folded blanket over the back of the couch. You nodded, before checking your watch. "It's only fifteen to eleven, do you wanna sit with me? Decompress a bit before we go to bed?"
"Your version of decompressing is watching Bob's Burgers and sipping a beer."
"We can sip something else, if that's the case."
He rolled his eyes, biting back a smile as he nodded. "I have to change."
You both ended up returning to your respective rooms, and you hastily wiped your makeup off. Pajama shorts, your favorite baggy t-shirt that boasted of Bigfoot's existence…not the first thing you would wear to hang out but it's Minghao. You stared at yourself in the vanity mirror on your dresser, but heard your roommate knock on your door before your mind could wander too far about where all he could kiss you, in said stupid Bigfoot shirt.
"Are you taking a shower first tonight? Or are we going to fight for it again?" Minghao asked gently, and you shrugged.
"Go for it. I go in later than you do tomorrow, Tzuyu's shift starts at four." You wiggled your brows, and he scoffed, turning on his heel and beelining for the living room. You snickered to yourself, scampering after him as he flopped onto the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes, letting out a groan as you leaned over the back of it. "Want a beer, Mr. I don't drink?"
He lifted his arm slightly, his eyes peering out at you from beneath it. "You drink like a fish, you know that?"
"Is that a no?"
"...Fine, I'll have a beer. Just one!"
You cheered sarcastically, scurrying into the kitchen and grabbing two from the fridge. You peered at the bottle of Soju, mocking you from the shelf.
"Did you get lost in the fridge?" You heard Minghao call from the living room, making you scoff as you grabbed the bottle of Soju and tucked it under your arm. The piercing cold of the glass bottle made you shiver as you walked back into the living room. He was now skipping through movie recommendations on Netflix, his eyes darting back and forth across the screen.
"I said we could sip something else, I never said we'd be changing our entertainment of the night." You scoffed, sliding the drinks onto the coffee table as he smirked lazily.
"You're right, honey." He flipped the remote in his hand, holding it out to you as you shook your head. You cracked open the beers, handing him one before perching on the edge of the couch in front of him. His stomach is warm against your lower back, and you try to ignore the way the blue light of the television makes his arms glow.
Your eyes trailed up to his face, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips before bringing the beer bottle to them. He continued to flip through suggestions, before you snapped out of your daze to hear him reading the summary to Ali Wong's Always Be My Maybe.
"...Feel the old sparks of attraction but struggle to adapt to each other's worlds. Interesting." He set his beer back on the coffee table. You snorted, "This is two hours long, Hao."
"You have somewhere to be?" He scoffed, pressing Play. You shook your head, feeling his hand tug at the back of your shirt, signaling for you to lean back. You did, resting your elbow on the back of the couch before reaching for the bottle of soju. "Can I have a sip?"
You nodded silently, watching the two children on the television grow up to the sound of Young Americans by David Bowie. You held the uncapped bottle over to him, feeling his hand take it as Marcus' father let the now-teenagers know that tragedy had struck the Kim family.
You felt your heart sink as the scene changed to something more somber, hearing Minghao hum to himself and mumble slightly. "This is sad as hell, it just started."
You couldn't help but snort, taking the bottle back from him and taking a sip. You glanced over to see his ears slightly perked at the sound of D'Angelo's How Does It Feel, before his eyes met yours. "I'll bet you ten bucks they're going to kiss."
"It's not a bet when you already know what the outcome is going to be." You scoffed, making him laugh softly. "See? They're already struggling to get in the backseat, I would've been out ten bucks if I took you up on that."
"Call it gas money." He lightly pinched your side, making you jerk away from him. You swatted his hand away, sliding the bottle onto the coffee table with a scowl.
"First of all, I tried to give you gas money a few weeks ago and you cussed me out."
"I did not cuss you out! I merely asked what in the most significant fuck you thought you were doing."
"Oh, what a colorful way–"
"Shut up before I tickle you."
You huffed, feeling his fingertips dig into your side. He smiled up at you, gently squeezing the softness of your skin before patting it. "The point is, I'd never ask you for gas money. Let's be realistic."
You nodded, struggling not to roll your eyes as he fully stopped paying attention to the movie, his head rested on his palm as Sasha cried in the walk-in fridge. "What happened with Mingyu? Tzuyu was a mess."
"It's just odd to me that everyone thinks we're a thing? Mingyu asked me how you and I didn't bring home our work problems–"
"And you told him that we don't have that expectation of having to spend time together because we're not together. We're just friends." Minghao interrupted, his eyes serious as he spoke. You cleared your throat, nodding. "I don't agree with that."
"Oh? You don't?" You felt your brows high on your forehead as you looked down at him, feeling his hand pat your back before he used it to run his fingers through his hair. "And why not?"
"Because I like spending time with you. Why do you think I was upset earlier when you told me you volunteered us for the shifts?"
"You said you weren't upset."
"Sometimes people lie."
"Oh, so you're a liar?" You leaned slightly closer, and he smirks.
"While normally I'd apologize, I think I was right to do that. I was upset because now I don't get to spend the day with you tomorrow, and I lied because I didn't want you to cry. I don't like seeing you sad, it makes me sad." He shrugged, and you tongued your cheek.
"Romantic, aren't you?" You rolled your eyes, "My feelings are your feelings and your feelings are mine. All that jazz."
"You don't have to brush off my affections as something romantic, you know. I can care about you openly and not have feelings for you in that way."
"So you're saying you don't have romantic feelings for me?"
"Never said that. I said I can." He lilted, reaching for his beer. You felt your cheeks grow hot as he sipped it, his eyes wide as he looked back over at you. "Woah, you would've thought I said I eat babies for a living. Are you okay?"
"W-What did you and Tzuyu talk about?" You stuttered, making his brow quirk in confusion as he set his beer back down.
"She asked me if you and I ever fight about work. I said no, because the beginning of our…friendship has always been this way. Too close for other people's comfort, very…advanced, in a way. We don't have spats over things that don't really matter, because work…it doesn't affect our dynamic."
"Why did you hesitate before 'friendship?'"
"What?"
"Before you said friendship. You paused. Why?"
Minghao's eyes narrowed slightly, before he shrugged. "I paused when I said it with Tzuyu, as well. I guess…I don't know. I think back to what happened in your apartment, I take into consideration the way we speak to each other and kind of dance around the flame that could be something. I'm not saying it ever has to become a fire, the flame. But, it's definitely there."
You felt your stomach flip slightly as you cleared your throat, reaching for your beer. You brought it to your lips, but didn't manage to take a sip before you sighed, putting it back down and tilting to face him. "We never talk about that night. Did you tell Tzuyu about it?"
"No. That's not her business." He answered quickly, his eyes glancing at the television. Sasha and Marcus were now laying in bed together, staring at the ceiling. "I didn't think you'd be very fond of me telling her, either. I figured that if you didn't mention it while I helped Mingyu take the couch, it wasn't something you'd want shared."
You shifted slightly, tucking your foot under your leg as you looked at him. “Do you think that is something we should share?”
“It’s not about my reputation though, is it? I don’t care what people think of me.” He shrugged, running his fingers through his hair once more. “But I care about what people say when it comes to you. I don’t like hearing others speak ill of you.”
“Would people knowing we almost slept together cause them to speak about me in a negative light?” You questioned, your hands fumbling for the bottle of soju. You offered it to him, and he took a small sip as he hummed.
“Maybe. Considering the fact that we are now roommates, and you constantly deny that there is anything between us.”
“As if you don't do the same.”
“I don’t.”
“What?” Your eyes went wide as he held the bottle back out to you. You took it, bringing it to your lips as he shrugged.
“The customers like you, they think you’re sweet. The customers like me, and a few of them have asked if we’re a thing. I usually deflect…but I don’t think it’d be the worst thing in the world.”
“What? Us?”
“Is there an us?”
You glanced at the television, the actors staring fondly at each other. They inch in for a kiss...two…
“Y/N.”
“Sorry.”
Minghao was looking at you intently, his eyes searching your face as he moved your hair off your shoulder. “We don’t have to keep talking about this. It’s getting late.”
“Did you like it? The…uh, in my apartment?” You blurted, but Minghao showed no sign of surprise. In fact, he seemed to welcome the question, his eyes soft as he nodded.
"The kiss? Of course I did. I'm just not…used to it, I guess. I'm not a casual kind of guy. I was nervous, actually." He nodded, his thumb toying with the ring on his forefinger. You nodded carefully, fiddling with the spout of the soju bottle as you cleared your throat.
"Nervous?"
"Obviously. At that point, we were just starting to solidify our friendship. You had just gotten done with Jaehyun only a few months prior, and you literally signed the lease for this place that day. I was scared if we kept going, things would change. I enjoy your company, I enjoy your friendship…" He trailed off, clearing his throat as he seemingly shook off a feeling of something. "I didn't want things to go further if nothing was going to come from it, but more importantly, if it made you uncomfortable."
"I wasn't uncomfortable. I just wasn't ready. I didn't want you to be a rebound. You deserved more."
"You don't think I know what I deserve?"
"I would hope that you do, and that you know it's not me. At least, not at that point in time." You muttered, hearing him scoff as he took the bottle of soju from your hand. "Hey!"
"Is for horses. Are you hearing yourself right now?" He straightened up, carefully sitting up and adjusting himself to sit next to you. He folded his legs, and you did the same to face him fully. Your knees brushed his sweatpants, and you leaned back on your hands, toying with the seam of your couch cushion. "Are you?"
"Minghao–"
"You're amazing, Y/N. Stop trying to put yourself down, or act like you're not someone who deserves everything. You're soft and sweet and one of the kindest people I've ever come across. You offered to work someone's shift on your day off, not because you want the money, no; because you want them to spend time together and help their relationship continue to flourish. You think anyone just does that?" He scoffed, and you cleared your throat, shrugging.
"It's not that serious."
"Stop that! It is that serious, Y/N! You're so gentle and loving, and you are such a warm person to have around. The room practically lights up when you walk in, haven't you seen how excited the regulars at work get when they find out you're serving them? Haven't you seen how easily you make Seungcheol and Jeonghan laugh? Don't you understand how appreciated you are, even just within our friends and our coworkers? Are you that blind?"
He leaned forward, his hands settled on either side of your thighs as he spoke. "You have got to start recognizing that you're more than what you see. Other people don't matter, for the love of God, I promise they don't. You are so, so beautiful. I don't know how else to make you understand that."
"You don't need to make me understand anything. You're my friend."
"What if I want more?" He murmured, and you felt your cheeks grow hot as you cleared your throat, your eyes darting around his face. His own were full of sincerity, dark with determination to understand you.
You couldn't help the way you leaned closer, your heart thundering in your ears as he tilted his head. "Do you?"
He inched closer, so close you could feel his breath on your lips. "Are you drunk?"
"No."
"Tipsy?"
"No."
He hummed, "We work tomorrow."
"Minghao."
"That's my name, pretty."
You scoffed, jutting your lip in a pout as he smiled. His hand was gentle as he brushed the hair away from your face, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. His thumb stopped at the lobe, tugging lightly at the diamond earrings he got you for graduation. "Nice earrings."
"You would know, you got them for me." You mumbled, making him stifle a laugh as he nodded.
"I know. You always look so pretty when you wear them." He murmured back, and you scrunched your nose. "So you don't think I look pretty all the time?"
He smiled, his thumb lightly stroking your jaw as he moved away from you. "You said you'd shower first, I'll clean up here."
For whatever reason, you listened. You nodded in silence, your hand fumbling for the remote and turning the television off as he slid off the couch. He took the half-empty beer cans in his hands, offering holding the now-empty bottle of soju under his arm.
"Goodnight, Y/N. Rest well."
PRESENT – 3:15AM…
Minghao can't sleep.
His room is a mess, the door locked behind him as he shuffles through the piles of clothes on the floor. They say your room is a reflection of your state of mind, and it's true – he can't think, he can't sleep, hell…
He can't breathe without thinking of you.
The two of you worked that shift for Mingyu and Tzuyu two months ago, and it was the worst shift of his life. He spent the entire time thinking about you, about the conversation you'd had the night before. Hoping you'd give him that longing glance you'd nailed perfectly in the time he'd known you, hoping he'd get to kiss you breathless and hoping you'd yearn for him the way he did you.
Instead, he shook it off. He stood at the host stand, greeting customers softly and seating them. He did his closing duties without even seeing a glimpse of you, until you walked out of the kitchen with a grin on your lips as you bid the trainee chef, Joshua, a goodnight.
He remembers the way your smile became something softer as he opened the passenger side door, how you let him buckle your seatbelt in for you and thanked him gently. He remembers how you offered to let him shower first as he peeled out of the parking lot, and how he scoffed and said you should go first.
He remembers how you asked, again, what you would do for his birthday. He replied the same thing he had before – just you, and him. After his shift.
A shift he did not end up working, because you put in for him to have the day off and argued with Jeonghan until you were blue in the face. Minghao didn't know until the schedule was stapled onto the bulletin board the following week, his eyes almost instantly finding you across the kitchen. You had been eagerly talking to Seungcheol, making him laugh as you overanimated whatever story you'd told him.
He didn't say anything as the days went on, only quietly waited in his bedroom until you came in the morning of his birthday with breakfast on a TV tray. The two of you spent the entire day together and you initiated all contact – your arms wrapped around his waist from behind as he made lunch, resting your cheek on his bare back. You squeezed his sides, you cuddled him into the couch cushions as you watched Josee, the Tiger and the Fish. You made him dinner, you presented him with a few gifts and a new tea set he'd been eyeing for ages.
You kissed his hairline, wishing him a happy birthday over a bottle of soju that he took two sips of. Two sips too much, as his lips ghosted over yours as you spoke to each other about nothing – too close, but he saw the way you held yourself back. He saw the way you wanted to kiss him, the way your hands clenched at your sides as you forced yourself to move away.
He wishes you would've kissed him.
His birthday had passed, you were nearing the end of November. This time last year, you'd asked him for a Guinness, with the most solemn look on your face.
This time last year, he drove you home for the first time and understood you'd be in his life, hopefully forever.
He hadn't worked today, but dropped you off and picked you up – and you had a rough day. You talked about it – one of your regulars had a bad day and took it out on you, sending her food back three times and your tips had been nothing like what you usually made. You'd been snippy, and he prepped your shower for you, tossing a lavender steamer into it. You thanked him, and holed yourself away in your bedroom ten minutes to midnight.
He laid awake, thinking about you.
You'd long gone to bed, your soft breathing the only sound when he slid past your slightly opened door. You looked serene – your cheek squished against your pillow, soft lips gently puckered as you snuggled deeper into your sage green blanket. Your hair splayed all around, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting lines across your face.
He misses you, and you're no more than a ten-foot walk away. He wants to talk about his feelings, he wants to hold you close and he wants to stop losing his mind over how badly he wants you.
How badly he needs you.
He sighed as he looked around his room, the mess only digging into his very bones. He should've just spoken to you about his feelings all those weeks ago. He should've said yes, he did want more. He thinks about you romantically. He thinks about that night on your couch more times than he could count, tugging at his hair in frustration as he tries to bury the memories deep in the past.
He can't. He can't think about anything but you in that pretty white dress at his graduation party, talking to his parents with such ease. The relaxed state of your shoulders as you spoke to everyone with a gentle smile on your lips, the warmth in your laughter never leaving as you danced with him and Junhui.
The way your eyes filled with something else as his parents asked you if there was something more between you and him, and his chest feeling tight when you insisted it wasn't the case. The way he could see the subtle disappointment in your face when he did the same…
He wants to understand you. He wants you to understand him, to observe him, to see him.
See him as more than just a friend, and he knows you do.
Whether it was a crush, or limerence…he doesn't care. He wants one chance at living life with you – coming home from work to sleep in the same bed and hold you close all night. To come home from a grueling shift and stand under the burning hot shower with you, feeling his muscles lose their tension with the heat and your gentle touch. To come home and make you a nice cocktail and a filling dinner. To come home and study with you, eventually. To come home and see you asleep on the couch, and getting to carry you to bed.
To come home, to you. Over and over again.
"Fuck." He groans, slumping against his headboard and jolting at the cold of the wood against his shoulders. A sigh left his lips as he slid down slightly, tugging the duvet higher over his hips as he reached for his phone. He unlocked it, opening his gallery with a pout on his lips.
You, in your white dress at his graduation party. His mother took this photo – your hand had been on his chest, his high on your waist as you both smiled into the camera. Your lips had been reglossed, so pretty and glittery…
And your smile had been so bright, like the events earlier that day hadn't transpired. Like you hadn't pursed your lips together when calling your parents and getting sent straight to voicemail. Like you hadn't blinked back tears three times during lunch with him and Junhui, like he hadn't seen Junhui angrily calling your parents while you ducked into the ladies room after Minghao offered to foot the bill.
You had been truly at ease during that photo, much different than you had felt that entire day.
And he wants every single day to be like that for you – easy. Easy, with your independence but still letting him gently aid when he could see you needed it. Needed him. He wants to take you home and introduce you as his life partner, he wants to see you succeed in your dreams and have you by his side as he did the same.
He wants you to be happy.
"Minghao? Are you awake?"
Your voice was heard before the soft raps of your fist against the door. He jumped, knocking his head on the wooden bedframe. His hand covers his mouth as he rubs the crown of his head, a hiss falling from his lips as he hears you mumble from the other side of the door. He locks his phone, tossing it onto the dresser as he slid out from under his duvet. He grabs a pair of sweatpants off the floor, grimacing to himself as he tugs them on before opening his door.
You look half awake, your hands clutching at the hem of your shirt. Your face is imprinted with the wrinkles from your pillowcase, often the way it looked when he would wake you up before work. The drawstring of your shorts was undone, but it had been tied when you went to bed. Maybe it got uncomfortable.
"Sorry, did I wake you?" You asked softly, and he shook his head.
"Can't sleep. You okay? It's a mess in here, I'm sorry." He says sheepishly, rubbing his neck as you closed your eyes, shaking your head as you slipped past him. You settled on the edge of his bed, your eyelids heavy with sleep as you hummed.
"You didn't make me feel bad about my mess. Something about it being my space, I remember. You said something about that when I said mine was messy. Don't worry about it." You sigh, peeling your eyes open to peer up at him. "I can't sleep."
Minghao looked at the clock on his wall. 3:29AM.
"Would you like something warm? Or would you–"
"Can you hold me?"
You whispered it, almost too low for him to hear you.
Over the course of your friendship, skinskip had been nothing new to either of you. He often pressed chaste kisses to your hairline, his thumbs stroking your cheeks, his arms wrapped around your shoulders when you'd slump against him after the end of a shift in the parking lot.
You were looking at him patiently, and he cleared his throat, nodding as he motioned for you to move back. You did so, scooting under his duvet with a frown on your face. He closed his door, perching on the side of his bed as you rested your head on one of his pillows.
He glances over his shoulder, seeing you peering up at him quietly before you speak. "Hit your head when I knocked, didn't you? I heard the bump."
"Yeah. Your fault if I get amnesia, you know." He snorts, lying down next to you. His heart is racing a mile a minute as you held the duvet up for him to slide under, but he did so anyway. He turned on his side, propping himself up on his elbow as you turned to face him.
"Don't forget me." You murmur, your lip jutted out in a pout as he feels his cheeks grow warm. As if he could ever.
"Hold me, Hao. I'm cold."
"Should've worn pants, pretty." He teases, making you scoff. You are so close to him, he can feel your breath on his chest as he scoots slightly closer. His fingers rake through your hair, your cheek warm to the touch as he pinches it. You scowl, shooing his hand away as you press your face into his neck. Your lips are feathering over his skin, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he feels your arm settle around his waist.
You tilted your head back, his eyes peeling open to look down at you.
"Something wrong, honey?" He spoke under his breath, and you blink up at him. Your eyes flitted around his face, and he felt a bit of worry settle in his stomach. He cradles your jaw in his hand gently, "Talk to me."
"If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?"
Minghao feels the world stop.
Your eyes are glued to his face with the softest glint of apprehension, your body still under the duvet as his thumb traced circles into your cheek.
"You're tired. We can talk in the morning." He assures you, for whatever reason hoping that you'd let it go. Hoping that you were just speaking through your teeth, not truly enticing him to a conversation about his feelings.
Feelings that could ruin everything, even when he's sure you feel the same.
You have to, right? Eyes don't lie.
Your eyes stayed on his face, unmoving as he peered down into them. Your lip is stuck in a pout, your own hand moving to push his hair out of his face. He fought the urge to sink into your touch, your voice giving him something to focus on.
"Not tired, Hao." You murmur, and he feels a bubble of laughter get caught in his throat as you hold back a yawn. He pressed his lips to your hairline, hearing you hum inwardly. Your brow furrows as you seemingly glare up at him, looking nothing short of an angry kitten.
"You confuse me, you know that?"
"Mmh, do I? I'm sorry, honey." He smiles, watching you tuck your arms into your chest and snuggling into his. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, letting your head rest on his bicep as you frown.
"You kiss me like it means nothing, and I want it to mean something." Your mumble was clear, and he glanced down at you to see you already staring up at him. "You call me pet names, and you get me earrings. You tell me I'm beautiful in ways you can't describe. You cared enough to find this place we call home. You say you want to make my life easier, you said you'd give your left arm for it."
Your fingers pat the arm under your head, and he felt his lip twitch as he bit back a nervous smile. "I did say that."
"So answer my question. Make things easier for me, Minghao."
He sighs, twirling a piece of your hair in his fingers. "Ask me again."
"If I wanted there to be an 'us'...would you be okay with that?" Your voice is far softer, and he breathes in steadily as he nods.
"I would be more than okay with that. I think you know that already, though, don't you?" He spoke gently, feeling you nod gently against his arm. "Everything I do for you means something to me. The earrings, the kisses, finding this place we call home. I appreciate that, the fact that it's we and not just me, not just you. When you think about it, there has always been an us."
"I want to stop lying in my bed and thinking about how empty it is. I haven't been able to sleep through the night since we shared mine the night of our graduations." You utter, your breathing shaky as you look up at him. Your eyes are glazed with unshed tears as he coos, thumbing at your cheek. "I think about you every single night, Minghao. I think about you when I think about my parents, and how they don't speak to me unless I reach out first. I think about you when I get ready for work, I think about you while I'm waiting for you to give me those god awful Budweiser Select 55s that Mrs. Choi loves."
He felt a tear slide onto his skin, hearing you sniffle slightly before you kept talking.
"I think about you when I have a bad day. I think about you when I'm off work and you're not, and how I wish you were with me. I think about you when I feel alone, because you're the only person aside from Junhui that has ever made me feel seen and understood. I think about you when the essence of Jaehyun crosses my mind, because I know that you'd never make me overthink my place in your life, but now you've got me wondering where we stand. I think about you, Minghao, every single second of my day. It's all so vague, in my mind. Knowing that you're only a few feet away, but you feel so far. Like someone I could never deserve, but I know that you are also just a man. There's no way I couldn't."
He hums, his thumb wiping softly under your eye as you let them flutter shut.
"I think you're magnificent." He breathes, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. "I think you are the most thought-provoking person I've ever met. I know that…I know that you've only slowly allowed me into your life, quietly revealing parts of yourself and showing me that you trust me. From allowing me to meet Junhui, to letting me give you rides home, to living with me. You let me take care of you even though you are more stubborn than any mule in the countryside."
He pulls back slightly, seeing your eyes closed and letting tears trickle out as you listen in silence. He feels his heart in his throat, "You've got the softest lips I've ever had the pleasure of kissing. You…the way you exist, knowing that there are certain odds against you and yet, you do it anyway. Your passion precedes any negativity anyone could ever cast upon you and I've never admired someone more to know that you are just a living, breathing, embodiment of passion and truth and hope."
Your eyes open slightly, bloodshot as his nose brushes yours lightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks.
"You are a tumultuous flame and if I get burned, so be it. If I let the heat of your fire singe me to death, it wouldn't be a death in pain. I'd let it happen, over and over."
You nod, your sniffles are the only sound in the room for a moment.
"I will always be okay with there being an us. Even if you muddle my heart into the bottom of a glass and drink it."
You snort at this, an airy laugh escaping your lips as you reach to wipe your eyes. "Quite the image."
"Ah, nah. Just a fool, a court jester for the lady." He rolls his eyes, making you scoff as you brush your lips to his.
"I thought you were going to kiss me that night. When I told you I picked up Mingyu and Tzuyu's shifts." You whisper, and he hums in response, feeling his heart thundering in his ears as your lips touch his briefly. "Would you have? Kissed me, I mean?"
"If I had moved any closer to you, I probably would have. You have no idea how often I think about it." He confesses, before feeling you nod, your leg draping over his hip as you pull him closer. His hand instinctively finds home high on your thigh, before sliding up to rest on the small of your back. "Did you want to kiss me the night of my birthday?"
"God, so badly." You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his as you let out a sigh. "I felt like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice after he helped Elizabeth into that carriage."
"Quite the image." He mocks you, feeling his cheeks warm as your eyes meet his. "Would you let me kiss you now?"
You don't respond, opting to press your lips to his gently. Your fingers gingerly cradled his cheek as he kissed you back, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand on your back clutches the fabric of your shirt, his chest warm at the shyness of your lips moving against his. He pulls back slightly, his eyes trailing across your face. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"More than I've ever been of anything in my entire life." You nodded against his arm, and he silently pushed you onto your back, his fingers barely breaching the hem of your shirt. Your skin is hot against his fingertips as he settles between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip as you blink up at him. "Are you?"
"I don't want this to be the first time I say it, so can we sidebar this? Off the record?" He murmurs, and you raise a brow as you open your mouth to speak but he interrupts you "I love you, Y/N."
Your lips twitch slightly, your hands floating to cover your cheeks. You separate your fingers slightly, peeking up at him with a mumbled whisper.
"You promise?"
"Oh, darling." He pulls your hands off your face, your eyes slightly glazed as he interlaces your fingers together and pins them to either side of your head. His lips pepper kisses across your face, paying special attention to the scrunch in your nose before he stops over your lips. Your eyes blink owlishly up at him as he speaks. "I promise."
Your smile spreads against his lips as he kisses you gently, before you kiss him back. You let him lead, one of his hands moving to hold your jaw as yours slides to his hip, squeezing gently.
"Sidebar?"
"Yes?"
"I love you, too."
TWO WEEKS LATER…
"Babe, I need a Guinness."
You slid around the bar with a grin on your face, Minghao's cheek ruddy as he tongued his cheek. Kwon Soonyoung – a regular, one that often downed six or seven whiskey sours before calling his situationship for a late night hookup – eyed you as you crouched to slip a wad of bills into your lockbox. He watched the way Minghao's hand instinctively covered the edge of the bar as he poured with one hand, the way your hand lingered on Minghao's hip as Jeonghan made his way over with his clipboard in his hand.
"Minghao."
"Mr. Yoon." You smirked, squeezing Minghao's hip gently before leaning over the bar as Jeonghan rolled his eyes. Minghao clicked his tongue, sliding the Guinness over to you before shooing you away. You stuck your tongue out at him, before zipping away.
"Do you think you could cover Seungkwan's prep shift tomorrow? I'll pay you for time and a half, and it's only three hours before closing." Jeonghan's eyes were pleading, and Minghao opened his mouth to speak before he caught you talking to a customer with a soft smile on your face.
He thinks about how you laid in his bedroom two weeks ago, snuggling with him and letting your lips take over your mind as you kissed him over and over. He thinks about how you admitted to reapplying to another graduate program across town, one that would severely impact your hours at work. He remembers saying he hopes you get in, to not worry about work. He remembers how he said he's got it, he can take care of everything, of you.
He remembers how you straddled him then, his hands sliding on your hips as you kissed him eagerly.
He remembers how you paced back and forth like a caged animal when you found out acceptance letters would be mailed soon. He remembers how you laid on the couch with your head hanging over the edge of the cushions, groaning in anticipation as he made lunch.
He remembers how you bolted for the mailbox after lunch, returning with a stack of mail but holding your letter between your teeth. He remembers how you anxiously ripped the envelope open, your hand fumbling for his when he pulled you into his chest and held the letter away. He remembers telling you to take a deep breath, kissing your forehead gently and sitting you down on the couch.
He remembers how you threw your arms around him as you read your acceptance out loud.
"Minghao. Are you listening?"
"Huh? Sorry." He winces, clearing his throat before shaking his head. "I can't, actually. I'm…"
He trails off as you tap the tip of your pen to your notepad, before he makes out your lips telling the customers you'd be back for their food orders. Your eyes met his as you scampered back over, your hip nudging Jeonghan's as you slid in next to him.
"Minghao, I need you to focus." Jeonghan waved his hand in Minghao's face, "Can you work it or not? It's fine if you can't."
"Work what?" You ask with a wiggle of your brows, reaching over the bar and stealing a maraschino cherry from the open jar. Minghao frowns, waving your hand away as you pull the fruit off the stem, winking his way.
"I'm asking him if he can work the prep shift tomorrow, but he's not answering." Jeonghan rolled his eyes, flipping the blue pen between his fingers as you hum, nodding your head.
"He can't." You shrug, and Minghao opens his mouth but you beat him to it. "We have a date tomorrow night. Good luck finding a cover, though."
You tilt your head as you shrug again, this time, unapologetically. Facing Minghao again, you smile softly. "I need a cosmopolitan. Susie is back and she's getting divorced!"
Minghao can't hear anything but you, and Jeonghan simply shakes his head and slips away. Soonyoung watches as you slide away again, hearing you tell Minghao you'll be back after getting the fountain drinks for Susie's table.
"I thought you didn't have a crush on the new girl, Xu." Soonyoung wiggles his brows, making Minghao scoff as he grabs a shaker off the drying rack. He flips it, scooping ice into it as he sighs.
"I don't have a crush on her. I'm in love with her."
He can't focus on anything but the way you zip around the restaurant, his eyes trained on the smiles you give out, the way you hand out crayons and kids menus. He watches the way you gleefully serve people, how you gladly grab phones and cameras for photos.
How you peer at him over your shoulder when you walk by.
How you smile shyly when his fingers brush yours when he hands you a drink.
How you sneakily kiss his shoulder when the restaurant is closed, your hands wrapped around his waist as he holds your can of orange juice in his hand. How you ignore Jeonghan's incessant teasing, how Tzuyu recites long-winded rants of how she told you so.
"Friend, roommate, coworker?" Minghao repeats as you tuck his portion of your tips into his back pocket, and Tzuyu grins as Minghao slides her to-go strawberry lemonade across the bar.
"Boyfriend, fiancé, husband." She says cheekily, and Minghao looks over his shoulder to see you biting back a smile as you brush trash onto the dustpan. "I told her so. I told her you guys would be something more."
"So did I." Jeonghan calls from across the restaurant, slotted behind the cashier's station as he thumbs through the register. Mingyu pokes his head out of the kitchen as he fumbles with the lights, a mumble of so did I from his lips as he finally turns them off.
"So much for muddling your heart at the bottom of a glass, huh?" You murmur, as the two of you leave the restaurant hand-in-hand. The two of you ignore the hooting and hollering of your coworkers as Minghao opens your door, leaning over your frame to buckle in your seatbelt. He glances at your lips, before pressing a chaste kiss to them with a smile.
"All I know is that if you're meant to break my heart – so be it."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x f. reader
SUMMARY: Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another.
WC: 11,920
GENRE: Friends with benefits to lovers
AU: Smut, Angst if you squint
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Recreational drinking, mild jealousy from both reader and Cheol, themes of self doubt/relationship doubt, light depictions of anxiety regarding ambiguous relationships, explicit language, Cheol and reader are both idiots, explicit sexual content including oral (f. and m. receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple stim, breath play if you squint, unprotected vaginal sex, a lot of bodily fluids like spit and cum, multiple smut scenes, hair pulling, light spanking, sub-space adjacent feelings, being a lil silly goofy during sex sometimes, stupid ass nicknames at the end because I’m a millennial and I’m cringe sometimes.
A/N: This fic was posted on my original blog which has been deleted. I am now reposting it. I hope it does half as well as it did when I originally posted this story - thank you to everyone who left amazing feedback the first time. It genuinely made me so happy and I am so sorry that it got sent to the moon where I can no longer read it.
A/N 2: Thank you @yoongukie-ff for sending me your original reblog of this to pull the summary information from. I appreciate you and I love you!
A/N 3: This fic contains multiple smut scenes. If you don't like reading smut, this fic will be complicated to understand if you skip multiple smut scenes.
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DAY ONE
YOU'RE A GONER AS SOON AS YOU LAY EYES ON HIM. You know it before Jeonghan properly introduces you, shouting over the rock music that is blaring in the dive bar you like to hang out at on Friday nights. The neon from the sign creates a blue silhouette around Seungcheol as he smiles and holds a hand out to you. You can barely pull yourself together to shake his hand - warm, firm - too busy staring at his face.
Choi Seungcheol is what your best friend Vin likes to call pretty motherfuckin handsome. He’s got dark, warm eyes that light up playfully when they meet yours, full lips the color of crushed rose petals, a square, firm jawline and silky dark hair that falls in his eyes when he tilts his face down to hide a smile at something Jeonghan says.
Crushed against the wall of the booth, you feel the cold glass of your beer warm against your palms as you steal glances at Seungcheol. He’s directly across from you, angling his broad shoulders to fit snug into the corner of the booth, lounging backward as he observes the argument brewing between Joshua and Jeonghan.
He even dresses well. Fitted t-shirt paired with light wash jeans and boots, a fancy watch reflecting the burning neon on the wall next to him, delicate chain necklaces tucked into the collar of his shirt.
It’s the way he wears them that speaks to you, though.
“Do they do this often?” his deep voice drags you from your reverie. You blink, gathering yourself when you realize he’s leaning forward a little, addressing you. He sips his beer before tilting the tip of the bottle toward Jeonghan and Joshua. “It’s like they're married.”
“You have no idea. Wait until game night.”
“Oh yeah. Jeonghan told me about game night.” Seungcheol’s mouth twitches in a smile. “You’ll be there?”
“Every Sunday. Do you like games?”
Something about the glint in his eye makes your stomach flip. You sip your beer just to give you something to do, feeling more drunk off the easy confidence he exudes as he shrugs. “Depends on the game. I’m competitive.”
“So am I.”
He grins. “I look forward to it, then.”
Warming up to Seungcheol is easy. He’s the new hire at Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s office, and they both felt confident enough to bring him into the fold. You can see why - he’s kind and funny, and there’s a charm to him that draws the people around him like moths to a flame. Even with just the four of you sitting in the booth, you feel the magnetism.
Friday nights at Rusty’s has been a tradition with Jeonghan and Joshua since you had been in college, filling yourself on five dollar wings, three dollar beers and occasionally lukewarm mozzarella sticks. Normally Vin, Wonwoo and Mingyu would be around, but tonight it’s just the smaller group.
Jeonghan and Joshua slide out of the booth to play darts, shoving one another back and forth, the drink in their step making them a little off balance. You smile fondly as you pluck another beer out of the bucket of ice, struggling to pop the top, your wet hands sliding against the metal cap.
Wordlessly, Seungcheol holds his hand out. Flushing from the neck down, you hand it over to him with a silent thank you. He pops the top easily, bicep flexing for a moment before he passes it back over, shooting you an award winning grin.
“Wow, so strong.”
He pouts and you swear you see stars. “Hey, I am strong.”
“No, no, you are. Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t tease me. I’m new.”
“Huh.” You sip your beer, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat. It does nothing to soothe the heat spreading over your skin under the sole attention of Seungcheol. “I don’t remember that being a rule.”
“I never was one to play by the rules anyway.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you cheat at games like Jeonghan does.”
“I like winning.”
You roll your eyes. From the edge of your vision, you see people leave the pool table. Eager to stand up and stretch your legs, you start to slide out of the booth, the wood grain scratching against your jeans as you do.
“Come on then, cheater. Let’s play pool.”
“I’m down.”
Seungcheol follows you. Your fingers grip the glass of your drink tight, knuckles straining. You move around tables and duck around other patrons, hyper aware of the way Seungcheol keeps close to you, the heat of him against your back.
Next to the rows of dart boards are two pool tables, the felt a faded green with beer stains and other mysterious smudges on the surface. You grab a cue from the rack on the wall, spin it in your hands, and hand it over to Seungcheol. He eyes it, running his fingers along the splintered and dented wood.
Grabbing your cue in one hand and the triangle rack and set it on the table while he collects the balls from the table and the pockets, rolling them over to you. A few feet away, Joshua is already accusing Jeonghan of cheating. You don’t know how you cheat in darts, but you do know if there is a will, Jeonghan will find a way.
“Dangerous to let them have sharp objects,” Seungcheol notes, sliding the last ball over to you. You huff out a laugh, rolling the rack of billiard balls back and forth to set them. “You’re not going to get violent with me, right?”
“I don’t know, are you going to cheat?”
His smile is wicked. “Me? Definitely not.”
“Hmm. Not convincing.”
Seungcheol presses the flat of his palm over his chest, drawing your eyes to how thick he is in the chest area. You swallow thickly as he says, “Cross my heart.”
“Whatever you say. What are we playing for?”
“What will you give me?”
You look up at the shift in his tone. Dark. Flirty. He leans against the pool table, resting his hip casually as he crosses his arms over his chest. You ignore the way his arms flex, totally focused on the way his eyes are only for you. Intent. Meaningful.
A warning goes off in your head. You already feel the pull to him, the innate attraction that has your heart hammering. You should brush off the flirtation, move on to other things. Relationships aren’t really your thing, but there’s something about him that makes you know you’ll want more.
You already do want more.
“What do you want?” you ask softly, ignoring your better judgment.
When Seungcheol smiles, you know you’d give him anything. Everything.
“I can think of something, I think.”
-
DAY SEVEN
“I like this,” Seungcheol says, voice rough from use. He buttons his jeans, looking over at you. You’re still half-alive on your bed, a sheen of sweat covering your body. The sheets stick to you when you roll to look at him. “Are you good with casual?”
You’re only half listening, too distracted by his flexing abs. “Hmm?”
Seungcheol looks good tonight. He looks good every night, but tonight he’s in dark jeans and a white sweater. The sweater looks soft like his hair, which has grown longer and hangs in his eyes as he looks down to slip on his shoes.
“I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment but this,” he answers, flicking his fingers between the two of you. “It’s good.”
“Agreed. I’m good with casual. I’m a little too busy for anything more.”
It’s not a lie. You are too busy to really commit to someone. Again, a warning goes off in your mind like that first night you met him, screaming danger. You ignore it, not ready to give up Seungcheol just yet.
He grins, pulling his short back over his head. “Cool. If you ever don’t want to or whatever though, let me know, yeah?”
“You too.”
-
DAY TEN
Seungcheol [2:06 AM]: Come home with me
You [2:06 AM]: Everyone would notice
Seungcheol [2:07 AM]: Tell them where you’re going who caaaares
Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Unless you don’t want to tell them then that’s ok
Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: I personally don’t care if they know I’m rearranging your guts most nights :)
You [2:10 AM]: CHEOL
You [2:10 AM]: Fine pls hold my hand while I do this. They’re going to roast me
Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: Holding your hand sooo tight
Seungcheol [2:08 AM]: But from like over here tho
You [2:19 AM]: That was so embarrassing. Where did you go
Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: She’s so brave, she’s well behaved
Seungcheol [2:19 AM]: Standing outside hurry it's cold as dick out here
Seungcheol [4:38 AM]: Don’t forget to text me when you make it home
You [4:52 AM]: Home safe!
-
DAY TWENTY THREE
You [11:10 PM]: Wyd
Seungcheol [11:34 PM]: Need it that bad?
You [11:39 PM]: Wow goodnight!!!!!
Seungcheol [11:39 PM]: Nah come back
Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: COME BACK
Seungcheol [11:43 PM]: Omw. Unlock the door
You [11:45 PM]: Need it that bad?
Seungcheol [11:45 PM]: Yes actually :)
-
DAY THIRTY
You slide your finger across the phone, curious as you pick up Seungcheol’s phone call. “Hello?”
“Are you hungry?”
You look at your watch. It’s almost one in the afternoon, your stomach growling as it realizes that yeah you are kind of hungry. “Actually yeah. Why?”
“I had to run errands and I’m by your place and starving. Wanna get lunch?”
Your lips twitch in a smile. Leaning against the counter, you press the phone against you a little closer. “Sure, what did you have in mind?”
“Do you like Greek?” You hum in assent, chewing on your fingernail nervously. You can hear him get into his car, pausing momentarily as he starts it and curses at how hot it is. You can’t help but laugh. “Alright, pick you up in ten?”
“Alright.”
-
DAY FORTY THREE
He’s not yours. You tell yourself that over and over again as you try not to look across the bar where Seungcheol is sitting for the nth time. You’d noticed him immediately when you and Vin walked in, clocking his wide frame and familiar laugh with a precision that makes you curse yourself.
Now, Seungcheol is leaning against a high top, talking to a pretty girl sitting on a stool next to him. He’d waved at you earlier and shot you a smile and a wink, but he’s with friends you’re unfamiliar with tonight, and hasn’t come over.
Not that you expect him to. He isn’t yours and the casual thing you’ve got going means he can do whatever he wants, no strings attached.
So why is your heart in your throat as you glance over to see the girl laughing at something he’s said? They’re not alone but somehow that isn’t comforting at all. You pick at the varnish on the table to distract yourself, suddenly interested in the splinters and not the man across the bar from you.
Finishing the rest of your beer, you pull out another, hoping that the hoppy taste erases the icky feeling that settles on your skin. You’re not participating in conversation much, but if your friends notice, they have the decency not to call you out.
At least Vin knows what’s up, checking on you every once in a while. Thankfully she doesn’t say anything, occasionally giving you a squeeze instead. She knows the deal, understanding the irrationality between wanting to control something that isn’t yours to control.
Halfway through your beer, your phone vibrates. You flip it over and your heart starts pounding when you see Seungcheol’s name come across the screen, a message waiting to be read. With a shaky hand, you slide your thumb across the screen to unlock it, the message popping up.
Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: Wanna come back to mine?
Surprised, you look up from your phone to where he’s still at the high top. His phone is in his hands and he’s looking right at you, flashing a grin when you meet his eyes. The girl is still sitting next to him, but his attention is entirely on you now, pinning you to the spot.
Your phone vibrates again and you glance down, your phone’s brightness stark in the gloom of the bar.
Seungcheol [12:13 AM]: You’re cute when you’re surprised
You [12:14 AM]: What, the girl you were talking to said no?
Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: I didn’t ask her. I asked you
Seungcheol [12:14 AM]: Omg wait are you jealous??
You [12:14 AM]: No
You [12:14 AM]: Definitely not
Seungcheol [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me is Hades for a liar or whatever
You [12:17 AM]: Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another, loser
Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Same thing
Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: But seriously, I have no interest in her. I’m asking YOU
Seungcheol [12:18 AM]: Will beg from my knees in this bar
Seungcheol [12:19 AM]: Even tho the floor is kind of gross
You [12:20 AM]: I mean, if you’re offering to get on your knees…
You’re not sure if you trust his answer about not being interested in the other girl, but it doesn’t matter. You still end up leaning against him in an Uber, his hand squeezing your thigh playfully as he leans his forehead on the window, eyes closed to enjoy the cool glass.
He is so handsome, face glowing red as the car stops at a stoplight. You examine him closely, eyes dragging from the soft curve of his mouth to his impossibly silk lashes. You’d told him once that most girls would kill for those lashes, and now he likes to bat them at you every time he wants something.
The car starts moving and you look away from him, taking in a deep breath. Seungcheol isn’t yours, but you’re starting to think you want him to be.
DAY FIFTY TWO
“Is it weird if I bring a bag of shit to stay?” Seungcheol’s voice is shy over the receiver. You grip your phone tighter, biting your bottom lip to hide your smile as you roll onto your side in bed, snuggling into the pillow more. It smells like him, bergamot and cedarwood. “You can tell me if that’s weird.”
“Not weird at all,” you say carefully, too nervous to scare him off. “You usually end up sleeping here anyway.”
Usually really means always. He’s been doing that more recently, crashing at your apartment after coming over and vice versa. You’ve gone from Uber rides home at dawn to waking up curled into his back. He’s the first person you’ve ever let loiter in your space as much as he has, but you try not to think about it too much, as though just the acknowledgement might spook him.
Whatever thing between you feels fragile, a rare, glass menagerie set that can shatter if handled wrong. Friends with benefits is what you call it, but you’re not quite sure if that’s what it is.
“Okay cool. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go back to my place and shower sucks.”
“I do have a shower.”
“Oh I’m aware. It’s one of my favorite places in your apartment.”
Your stomach flutters and you clench your thighs together. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you realize it’s getting late. “Better hurry,” you murmur. “I might be too tired for a shower when you get here.”
His chuckle is deep. Throaty. “I’ll speed, then.”
After hanging up, you toss your phone to the end of your bed and stare at the ceiling. Outside, the city hums beyond the window of your apartment. The lights in your home are mostly turned off, a single lamp providing low light in the living room so Seungcheol can see when he comes in, and a flickering candle on your nightstand and in the bathroom.
Your bed is warm and you do feel sleepy, but the excitement of seeing Seungcheol keeps you awake well enough. You try not to think of that too much, either. He was just there a few nights prior, and already he’s on his way back. Like it’s common. Routine.
And it sort of is, you guess. You hangout with Seungcheol almost more than you see Vin and Jeonghan these days, and you’re almost always spending the night together. You know his favorite late night snacks, you know the type of coffee he likes to make in the morning before work, and you know about his family, his stresses at work. What makes him tick.
It’s more than you ever thought you’d know about him when you agreed to keep your sex life with him casual and at a distance. He is anything but at a distance.
Seungcheol must speed, because it feels like hardly any time has passed when you hear your apartment door open and shut, the sound of the deadbolt clicking. You lift yourself up to lean on your elbows, watching from your bed as he enters your line of vision, a backpack over one shoulder.
He’s dressed in a long t-shirt and sweats, cozy and warm and still unbelievably good looking. He grins when he sees you, eyes creasing at the corners as he enters your room and drops his bag by your door.
Without saying anything, Seungcheol crawls onto your bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he inches up over you. Falling backward onto the mattress, you let him loom over you. Heat radiates from his body, warming you up. Your heart thuds as he ducks down, his hands bracketing your head as he cages you in. He brushes his nose against yours and you feel sparks, trying to regulate your breathing.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” you whisper back, reaching your hands up to rest on his hips. He reacts, pressing his waist into yours a little, making you bear his weight. “Ugh, heavy.”
“Too bad.”
Seungcheol’s teeth nip your jaw, making your hips twitch upward. You can feel the smirk against your skin as he presses a wet kiss under your ear, moving his way to your neck.
“I was promised a shower.”
“Maybe I’m too tired,” You murmur.
He hums, leaning more of his weight into you. It’s comforting, not crushing, and you can feel the way his heart is beating wildly in his chest, in tune with yours. You smell bergamot and cedarwood, making your thoughts dizzy and scattered while he whispers, “I’ll wash your hair.”
“Hmmm. I’m listening.”
He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point, tongue laving against your skin. Your fingers twist in his shirt, your muscles tensing as you fight off a shiver. You can hear his soft breath, the way the sheets shift under the two of you, the way your heart hammers.
“I’ll massage your shoulders…”
“Hmm.”
His teeth scrape against your throat and you sigh, arching up into him, eyes closed. “I’ll eat you out.”
Fuck. You’re putty in his hands. Seungcheol could get you to do anything he asked. You don’t know if he knows - you’re too afraid to show him, to let him in on the secret out of fear of what it would mean to him. If it was too much, too deep.
But like this, it’s hard not to hide it. Especially when his filthy mouth hits a weak point in you, turning you thoughtless as you nod your head in response, nails digging into his hip bones through the fabric of his shirt. He makes a noise in response, leaning up off of you reluctantly but pulling you with him.
Dropping his hands, you head to the bathroom, feeling uneven. Seungcheol whines and grabs you to pull you back toward him. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.
“You haven’t even given me a kiss,” he pouts, looking down at you through long, dark lashes. “I want a kiss.”
This is the problem with Seungcheol. He says things like this when you’re supposed to be casual, something easy and without feelings and without strings. But this feels like something, it feels like there's a thread connecting you, tugging your mouth to his because of course you indulge him.
You always do.
Seungcheol’s lips are soft and taste faintly of his cherry chapstick. You smile into the kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press closer to him. He kisses you back eagerly, slotting his lips against yours and humming with delight. When you pull away, he’s smug, grinning happily.
“Come on,” he urges, now leading the charge as he pulls you by the hand toward your bathroom.
Instead of turning on the light, Seungcheol uses the glow of the burning candle on the counter to navigate. He drops your hand to open up the cabinets and pulls out two towels as you trail to the shower, opening the glass door to lean in and turn it on.
Steam starts to fill the room as you close the shower door and turn to him. He sets the towels on the counter, not bothering to shut the door to the bedroom. Instead, he grips the bottom of his shirt and peels it upward and over his head, revealing all toned muscle and tan skin.
He momentarily distracts you. Seungcheol is a work of art, equal parts rippling muscle and soft skin. You slide your shorts down, distracted by the way he looks in the golden shroud of the candle light, sliding his sweatpants down his legs.
Sensing your eyes, he lifts his head as he kicks off his sweats, briefs slung low on his hips. “Admiring me?”
“Shut up.”
Looking away, you take off your shirt, feeling the heat flush from your cheeks down to your neck. He chuckles, peeling off his briefs before kicking them toward the sink and striding toward the shower. He stops to kiss you on the cheek as he pulls open the door.
“I don’t mind,” he teases. “I like it.”
It’s true. Seungcheol has always had the easy confidence of someone who is comfortable in their skin. You admire that about him - and envy him a little. Seungcheol never seems to worry what others think of him, nor does he seem embarrassed or concerned about making the wrong move. Saying the wrong thing.
Steam hits you full on as you step into the shower. Seungcheol is already standing under the spray of water, his back turned toward you. For a moment you admire him again, watching the way the water sluices down his broad back and narrow waist.
Your eyes drift to the tattoo at his neck, the branches of the tree stretching toward his shoulders. You’ve traced that tree with the tips of your fingers and tongue over and over again, fascinated about the way the ink flexes when he moves.
A chill catches you, making you shiver and step toward the heat of the water. He senses your approach, turning his head to the side to look at you over his shoulder. He grins, reaching a hand back toward you to pull you close. You lace your fingers, letting him pull you into him as he turns.
Hot water hits your skin, immediately soothing. You sigh, leaning into the firmness of him, Seungcheol’s arms wrapping around you. He catches your mouth again, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you slowly, tongue lazy as he licks into your mouth.
Seungcheol’s hands spread across your back, fingers digging in a little as he starts to explore, one hand surging up and the other down. You moan into his mouth as the hand that drifts down grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing a little. His mouth curves into the kiss and you feel his teeth pull at your bottom lip, something he knows you love.
As always, you’re a goner. You don’t stand a chance with him. Not that first night and not now when he kisses you like something more. Not when he slides his hand around to your front, pressed between your bodies to run his fingers up the wet folds of your pussy.
He groans into the kiss that has turned sloppy, hungry. “Fucking wet.”
“We’re in the shower.”
He growls and pulls his mouth from you to attach to your neck, biting and sucking harshly. You let out a breathy sound, head tilting back heavily as you feel his tongue lick the water from your skin. “Don’t take away my credit.”
“The only crime is pride.”
The pads of his fingers press into your clit, making your knees knock together and the breath leave your lungs. He smiles against your neck, humming. “Which classic are you quoting at me today?”
“Antigone by Sophocles.”
“What’s that one about?”
Finding words is nearly impossible. The heat of the shower has you flushed and distracted, the steam making it harder to breathe, thoughts sticky as Seungcheol continues to tease you, fingers dragging down to your clenching entrance to press his fingers in slightly before dragging them back up.
Your nails bite into the back of his neck, clinging to him for life as he holds you up, one arm looped around your back to press you to him while the other makes all your thoughts scattered.
“Come on,” he urges gently, bringing his face to yours. He brushes his nose against yours, nudging. “Tell me.”
“She was a tragic character in a play written by Sophocles,” you sigh. “She was the daughter of Oedipus.”
“The guy who fucked his mom?”
Your laughter bubbles out of you. He laughs too, his hold tightening. “Yeah, Cheol. The guy who fucked his mom.”
“Craaazy family.”
“Do you really want to talk about Greek tragedy incest right now?”
“Nope,” he says happily. “I do want to eat this pussy though.”
Seungcheol flips gears so quickly that it’s hard to keep up. He swings you toward the glass wall of the shower, pressing your chest against it. You moan loudly, startled by the cool glass against your hard nipples. The contrast of hot water and the cool glass feels good, your eyes fluttering shut as Seungcheol drops to his knees behind you. He gently presses the inside of your knees, urging you to spread your legs.
“Just like that,” he encourages, hands ghosting upward to squeeze your ass. He pulls your hips away from the glass and toward him, groaning as he comes face level to your cunt. “Fuck.”
Your breath fogs the glass. It’s cold when you press your palms against it, holding yourself up as Seungcheol dips forward, running the flat of his tongue down your slit. You let out a pathetic sound and he laughs, fingers squeezing your flesh.
Everything feels like an exposed nerve. You melt, knees shaking and unsteady as Seungcheols tongue leisurely explores your folds, dipping into your entrance before dragging up to circle your clit.
One of your hands leaves the glass to reach back, sinking into the wet strands of his hair and holding him to you. He grunts in pleasure, the buzz of his mouth adding to the simulation as he fastens his lips to you, sucking gently.
Seungcheol’s mouth is a weapon. You fall apart under the warmth of his lips, the softness of his tongue. He sucks at your core, greedy and pleased, fingers digging into you as he presses in further. He can never get enough, the wet sounds of his hunger making your toes curl.
“Feels so good,” you pant against the glass. Your nails scrape against his scalp and he moans loudly, muffled by your cunt. “Your fucking mouth.”
“Mmm. Love you like this.” His tongue flicks expertly across your clit and you feel your thighs clench, legs shaking as your orgasm spools inside of you. “God this shower hurts my fucking knees though.”
“You wanted to eat me out in the shower.”
A hand cracks across your ass cheek, making you arch against the glass. He chuckles, tongue diving back, words slurred as he mutters, “And I’d do it again.”
Seungcheol’s mouth feels divine. You go quiet as he sucks at you, focused on the warmth spreading through you and the way your breath starts to stutter, limbs locking up.
When you come, you go boneless. Seungcheol holds you up, pressing you against the glass as he licks you through your orgasm. You twitch against him, nails dragging in his hair, your other hand sliding against the glass as you fight to grip anything to ground you.
Breathing raggedly, you sag when he pulls his face from you and stands. He groans and you grin, knowing his knees hurt from the tile of the shower. He doesn’t care, though. He crowds you in, cock pressed against your backside as his arms loop around you.
“Kiss me.” His voice is soft, needy.
Turning your face over your shoulder, you let him catch his mouth with yours, all tongue and cum and spit. You don’t care, pushing into him. One of his hands slides down between your legs, making you whimper into his mouth as he slides his fingers through your sticky folds to press two of them into your entrance.
Seungcheol is a giver. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve slept together or had brief, fast encounters, he always makes it a point to please you. To go out of his way to make you shake against him, like he needs it.
He keeps your mouth melded to his as his fingers fuck you slowly. You clench around his fingers, moaning his name as he presses them against the soft spot inside of you. You see stars, panting into his mouth as he strings you along, dragging you toward another orgasm.
It’s slow. Intimate. His mouth is hot and wet, sucking at biting at your bottom lip. His other hand snakes up to your throat, not applying pressure but gripping you, holding you to him. If he didn’t have you so tightly pressed to the glass, you think you’d collapse.
“You won’t fall,” he breathes into your mouth, reading your mind. “I’ve got you.”
“My knees are fucking useless right now.”
“You’re tough. Come on, I know you can give me more.”
You’ll give him anything he asks. You feel your heart slamming in your chest as he works you up again, feel the ragged breathing until you momentarily stop, everything tense and suspended as you clench around his fingers, shuddering violently as you come.
“Knew it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
A whine leaves you at the praise, head shaking back and forth a little as the oversensitivity makes you squirm. He works you through it, mouth pressed to your ear, whispering to breathe, baby as he strokes you gently until you’re leaning against him heavily.
Seungcheol removes his hand but keeps holding you up, letting you catch your breath. He peppers innocent kisses along your shoulder, lips brushing your skin tenderly. When you stand up with more strength, he pats you on the hip, gentle.
“Good?”
“Mhmm.” Craning over your shoulder, you catch his chin with your mouth, kissing softly. You press your ass into him, feeling his straining cock. “Come on.”
“Yeah?”
“All good.”
“Thank fuck. Thought I lost you.”
“I’ve had worse,” you grin, a little tired.
He kisses you, patting you approvingly before he grinds the tip of his cock between your legs. He groans deep in his chest, grip on you tightening for a moment. You reach behind you, gripping the base of his cock firmly, stroking gently before lining him up with your entrance.
Seungcheol pushes in, both of you whining in harmony at the feeling. It feels good, your pussy throbbing around him as he presses in slowly, letting you feel the stretch. He clings to you, trying to keep it together as you flutter around him.
“Yeah,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Shit.”
Gently, Seungcheol starts to fuck you against the glass, strokes deep and slow. It’s mind-numbingly good, your cheek cool and pressed against the shower wall, Seungcheol’s face buried in your neck, breath puffing against your skin.
He holds you reverently, both hands on your hips to keep you where he wants you. You reach one hand behind your head, holding the back of his neck, nails digging into his skin. He hums happily, always pleased when you bite and scratch him.
That had been a surprise. You always thought he wouldn’t want you to mark him, that he wouldn’t want evidence of your time spent together. Seungcheol is the opposite though, urging you to rake your nails across soft skin, to bite at him and bruise him.
Your feet slide apart a little as he strengthens his thrusts. You squeal, hand smacking the glass to hold yourself up. He lets out a loud laugh, pausing to let you fix your stance. He taps your thigh in question and you nod, lifting your leg a little to let him slide a hand under your thigh to press it against the shower wall for better grip.
When he rolls his hips into you this time, it’s deeper, making you tremble against the glass. A groan drips from Seungcheol’s mouth as he sets his pace, pinning you between him and the glass with nothing to do but to take what he gives you.
“Can you do another?” he asks, breath shaky. His fingers squeeze your thigh for emphasis, the snap of his hips getting stronger. You nod, unable to answer verbally. He huffs, half laughter, half something else. “Yeah you can.”
And you can. Seungcheol can pull pleasure out of you like thread from a loom, his skilled hands guiding you where he wants you to go. It’s easy for him, the way he knows your body so acute and familiar that the thought alone makes you unravel a little, your whines muted by the glass.
He makes you come like that, stuck between his warmth and the cold, the two contrasts keeping you suspended as you seize up around him. He grunts at the feeling, hips sloppy, losing their rhythm until he clenches up, growling your name into your neck as he tips over the edge after you.
For a few moments, you remain melded together, panting in time. Seungcheol makes no rush of peeling himself away from you. Instead, he’s content to mouth at your shoulder and neck, running his nose along your throat. You squirm and laugh, ticklish.
Grinning, he does it again, nuzzling into you and making you laugh, sound echoing in the shower. “Seungcheol!”
“It’s cute.”
“Come on,” you urge. “You said you’d wash my hair.”
He steals a kiss. “Alright, alright. Pass me the shampoo.”
-
DAY FIFTY SEVEN
“Who is that?” Seungcheol asks, jerking his head toward the bar. You turn and follow his gaze to see Seokmin standing at the bar, ordering drinks. “Never seen him before.”
“Jealous?” You tease, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. Seokmin is just a coworker, but it doesn’t mean you can’t poke Seungcheol a little. Except Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, leveling you with a stare, lips turning downward. “Wait, you actually are.”
“Don’t push it. It was just a question.”
“We work together,” you clarify, immediately turning off the charm when you recognize he’s not amused. “Actually I think he sort of has a thing for Vin, which is why he’s here.”
Seungcheol hums, sipping his beer and looking away from you. Licking your lips, you reach out a hand and touch his gently, bringing his dark eyes back to you. He looks serious - more serious than you’ve ever seen him, face blank, eyes unreadable.
“I mean it.” You squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him. “We’re just friends.”
“Alright.”
“I feel like you’re mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad?”
You shrug, struggling to articulate. He still has that expression you can’t read, something stark and closed off. “Just seems like it.”
He shakes his head again, but you don’t think he’s telling the truth, watching the way his eyes shift to watch Seokmin approach. “Just tired, I think I might head out.”
Panic grips you and you say the first thing you can think of, throwing caution to the wind. “Want to come over?”
That gives him pause. He studies you. You feel a tightness in your throat under his scrutiny. His mouth twitches and he nods. “Alright,” he says softly. “If you want me to.”
“I do.” You squeeze his hand again. “Really.”
-
DAY SEVENTY EIGHT
“Want to do me a huge favor?”
You look up from your spot on your couch. Seungcheol is in your kitchen, using his hip to close the door to the fridge. He lifts the lid on the package of grapes, plastic cracking loudly as he does. Leaning against the counter, he pops one into his mouth, crunching happily.
“Besides giving you my grapes?” you ask, deadpan. He grins around them shrugging happily as he eats another. You roll your eyes, turning back to the laptop carefully balanced on your knee. “What’s the favor?”
“We have this giant New Years Eve party at work in two weeks and I need a date.”
That gives you pause. You stare at the computer screen but you can’t make out anything on the screen. You don’t dare to turn and look at Seungcheol, fearful that the feelings his question brings out will be right on the surface of your expression.
Date. It’s a scary word. You and Seungcheol sort of go on dates all the time, but they’re not really dates. At least, not from your perspective. If you were to ask Jeonghan, he would launch into another lecture that you should just put a goddamn title on this thing. Vin happily agrees, both of them hammering you on calling the thing between you and Seuncheol what it is.
But it’s friends with benefits. Friends go out to eat meals together and go shopping together - they hangout. The benefits are the sex. It’s the pressing you against your mattress as he maps your body with his mouth, it’s the way you sink to your knees for him after he’s had a bad day at work, taking him into the heat of your mouth to make him forget.
So yes, you’ve gone places together alone and as a friend date. But somehow this feels different, and you don’t think it’s supposed to.
Carefully, you ask, “Your date, huh?”
“Mhmm. Free drinks and apps, and it’s at the top of that fancy new hotel. We can stay the night so we don’t have to pay for an expensive as fuck Uber”
Not for the first time, you find yourself unsure where the line is with Seungcheol. You’ve agreed multiple times that this is just casual, a shared benefit between friends. And yet every time you feel confident in what you are, the line blurs.
You’re as guilty as he is, you know. On more than one occasion you’re the one who has crossed the line, messing up the clear boundary the two of you have had in place for weeks. Somehow, you both manage to be utterly terrible at casual, but you’re too afraid to say something about it. Too afraid to ruin it.
“I suppose I can be convinced.”
“Oh? What can I do to convince you?”
You look up as his tone turns to velvet, that voice he uses when he’s coaxing you into his lap, or when he’s-
“It’s really hard to be sexy when there’s grape juice running down your chin, Cheol.”
He pouts, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the lower half of his face as you laugh. He’s cute, pink lips downturned and eyes round as he sulks. “Don’t make fun of me. Just say yes to being my date.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.”
His grin is burnished gold, the sun breaking for first light over the horizon. “Thank you.”
“Mhmm.” He crunches into another grape and you scowl. “Stop eating all my fucking grapes!”
-
DAY NINETY TWO
“Holy shit,” Seungcheol mutters when you step out of the hotel bedroom. He feels his heart start to pound in his chest from where he stands in the kitchenette, fingers squeezing the glass of whiskey he poured himself earlier. “You look unreal.”
And you do. You always do. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when Jeonghan and Joshua introduced the two of you that first night at that shitty bar you like to go to on Fridays. The real kicker had been your personality, though. Warm, kind, quick wit. A bit of a history nerd, which is his favorite thing.
Honestly, he loves a lot of things about you. He knows that he has to do something about that. Knows that this stopped being casual a long time ago. Seungcheol has no problem with casual hookups and keeping people in a rotation, but when it comes to you… he just wants you.
It’s like he has no idea how to keep his distance, how to keep his feelings out of it. He doesn’t mind, but he needs to figure out how to tell you. How to take that next step and move you from friends to more - if that’s what you want, anyway.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” you say back neutrally. He can see the way your eyes linger on him though, your gaze betraying the calmness of your voice, as always.
You don’t get it, though. Seungcheol cannot keep his eyes off you, dragging them from top to bottom. The black dress is snug on your frame, his eyes tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your hips, the curve of your ass and thighs.
Dragging his eyes back up, he meets your gaze. That is one of his favorite things. Your eyes, full of light and depth and thoughts that he always wants to fall into. There is so much simmering under the surface that you don’t say and he’s never asked.
He wants to.
Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol leaves the glass on the counter and walks over to you. You shift from foot to foot, eyes darting up to examine the ceiling. He smirks, feeling the nerves radiating from you as he approaches.
When he reaches out, you don’t step away from him. You let him skim his hands up your sides, going until he’s running them over your shoulders and on either side of your neck so he can cradle your face. He turns your gaze back to him and you stare up at him through your lashes.
He was a goner on day one. How ridiculous to think he’s not just made this real, told you how he doesn’t want a single thing to be casual and superficial between you.
Instead of stealing a searing kiss and pushing you back into the bedroom like he wants to, Seungcheol presses a short kiss to the corner of your mouth. He’s too afraid that if he starts something that you won’t make it downstairs.
Now isn’t the time for that, though. There’s a party upstairs and free drinks and he wants to spend time with his friends. Spend time with you.
The Seungcheol that existed before you is a stranger to him. He barely remembers what it was like to have people he wasn’t genuinely interested in, what it was like to show up alone at parties and take someone home. Hardly recalls pushing people away when they wanted too much.
All it took was meeting you.
“Come on,” he urges gently, leading you from the room and to the elevator.
Seungcheol slides his phone from his pocket in the elevator. You press close against him, your arm brushing against his as it fills up with people. He notes where Wonwoo tells him to meet and puts his phone back in his pocket, leaning into you a little.
You let him, making his mouth twitch upward. You always let him do what he wants, and when you don’t, an easy pout gets his way. He’s wrapped around your finger, too. He doesn’t know if you realize it, but he would give you anything you wanted without a moment's hesitation.
When the elevator doors open, Seungcheol takes your hand. You let him pull you into the party teeming with people, the sound of music swelling over the dull roar of the crowd. You stick closer to him, fingers squeezing him tightly as the pair of you walk toward the check-in table.
“This is beautiful,” you murmur to him.
His first instinct is to look at you because you are beautiful. You’re not looking at him, your neck craned to sweep over the party. He smiles at you, watching the glow of your side profile, eyes wide with wonder.
Dragging his eyes from your face, he glances around the party. It is gorgeous, with views of the entire city glittering beneath the building like a bed of stars, shimmering decorations reflecting the golden lights, a giant clock to show the time, and massive flower arrangements.
“It’s nice,” he agrees, shuffling to the table where he gives his name. “Choi Seungcheol.”
“Perfect, thanks.” The person working the table peels two wristbands and gestures for you both to hold out your wrists. You let go of his hand to do so, letting the attendant wrap your arm in a blue band. “Have a great night, Mr. and Mrs. Choi.”
Both of you blink in surprise. You open and close your mouth as if you’re unsure how to correct them and Seungcheol laughs, shrugging as he takes your hand and leads you out of the line and into the party proper this time.
“This way, wifey.”
You roll your eyes but grin anyway, looping your arm through his offered one and tugging him close. He’s satisfied, leading you through the tight crowd of people toward the south bar that Wonwoo had said their friends were waiting at.
Joshua spots you and waves you both over, making room at the bar for you to join. Jeonghan’s eyes flick to where your arm is looped through Seungcheol to Seungcheol himself, raising a brow. Seungcheol glares at him, urging him to shut up and Jeonghan grins, turning to order drinks at the bar.
Wonwoo claps Seungcheol on the back in greeting before kissing you on both cheeks and letting you sit on the only barstool available. Seungcheol moves with you pressed to your back as he leans an elbow on the bar, keeping you close. You lean into him, earning a shy smile that he tries to hide behind the rim of the champagne glass that Jeonghan hands him.
He likes this. He likes being with his friends. He likes the way you laugh and lean back further into him when you do. He likes that his friends don’t bother the two of you about being attached at the hip. And he likes the way your face lights up every time he jokingly calls you wifey.
Seungcheol wants this.
He doesn’t recall the last time he wanted a relationship the way he wants with you. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything before you is gone and forgotten, and what matters now are the things that are post-meeting-you.
Plied with lots of champagne and your laughter, Seungcheol lets you drag him onto the dance floor, wrapping your arms around him as he spins you. He doesn’t know what has him more drunk, the alcohol or you. He thinks it might be you.
The DJ announces that it’s one minute until midnight, making Seungcheol spin and look up at the clock. The partygoers cheer, clustering together to press toward the clock to count down. Seungcheol wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close in the tight crowd.
His heart flutters as he watches the numbers countdown, realizing he gets to kiss you at midnight. He’s kissed you over a hundred times by now, but the prospect makes him giddy. His heart races as the numbers drop and he looks at you from the corner of your eye.
You’re watching the clock, uncontrolled happiness on your face as you yell with the rest of the crowd, counting each number as it passes by.
When the clock strikes midnight, you peer up at him, suddenly unsure. He can’t believe you don’t see it, that you’d doubt for one second that he wants you to be his first kiss of the year. His heart seizes, dipping down with a smile to press his lips to yours.
Your mouth is warm and champagne-sweet, making him groan in the back of his throat. Your fingers cling to his hip, holding him by the waist as he slips a hand up to the back of your neck to hold you in place, deepening the kiss.
When you pull your mouth away, he makes up his mind. Fuck everything he said about keeping it casual - he doesn’t want to go another minute without you knowing what he wants.
-
DAY NINETY THREE
“Be my girlfriend.”
The words that come from Seungcheol’s lips catch you off guard. A giggle bursts to your lips and you lean back, trying to examine him from a little farther away. You feel the glitter of champagne in your veins and the same buzz that comes with being near Seungcheol, wondering if maybe he’s had too much to drink.
“What?” you ask, examining his face. He’s flushed, lips pink and smiling, but his eyes are dark and serious.
“Be my girlfriend,” he says again, this time quieter. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath fans your face, warm and sweetened by champagne. “I know we agreed to be casual so if you don’t want more, that’s fine. But there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you.”
Heart thundering, you laugh and cling to him a little tighter. He nudges you with his head, as though asking what’s so funny. You don’t know how to put into words that you’ve wanted to be not casual for a long time, that you are dizzy with the prospect of being something more, that he’s just made the first minute of your year perfect.
Instead of trying to string together the words to tell him, you kiss him. His mouth turns upward, letting you press your palms to the sides of his face, holding him to your lips. There’s no one else but just the two of you, entirely in your own bubble on the rooftop.
Relief mixed with euphoria floods your system. It’s a weight lifted off your shoulders, realizing that you’re not crazy, that nothing you feel about Seungcheol is casual and that’s okay. That he feels it too.
Your fingers slide into the hair at the back of his neck, pulling slightly. He groans, separating your mouths to peer down at you, his lashes fanning when he blinks, dazed.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “This is a work party. I’ll fold right here.”
“So take me somewhere that isn’t here and fold.”
His gummy smile is blinding, your heart soaring. “Alright, wifey.”
“Gonna need a ring pop at a minimum if you’re gonna keep saying that shit.”
He links your fingers together, stepping away from you. He tugs you after him and you follow. “Deal. What flavor?”
“Strawberry. I kind of want to suck something else right now, though.”
Seungcheol groans and you laugh, loving the way he visibly struggles as your words land. He walks faster, a new pep in his step as you make your way toward the elevator. He shouts Wonwoo’s name as he goes, waving his hand to tell him that you’re leaving.
Wonwoo’s grin is all-knowing as he throws two thumbs up, cheering happily. You tingle with a little bit of embarrassment, scurrying toward the closing elevator door to catch it. It opens again and you both slip inside, alone and buzzing from the party and your newfound status.
The door closes and Seungcheol pushes in close. You press against the wall, looking up at his sharp grin, his nose nudging yours. His lips are almost on yours, the heat of them against your mouth making you dizzy and the heavy weight of his body against yours making your thoughts sticky.
“Gonna suck something else, huh?”
“Uh huh.”
“Wanna do it right here in the elevator?”
“Huh?”
He bursts into laughter at your wide gaze, tapping the underside of your chin with his knuckle in jest. “I’m kidding. Unless…”
You shove him away and he starts laughing again, bending over with the force of it. You can’t be annoyed by his teasing, loving the way his eyes crease at the corner and how he laughs with the full force of his body.
“You’re so annoying.”
“You should have seen your face, though.”
“I mean I’ll do it right now, if you want.”
His smile drops and he opens his mouth a little, shocked. “Wait, really?”
“No, but you should have seen your face.”
The elevator arriving at the appropriate floor saves him from answering. He scowls at you and you giggle, grabbing him and pushing him into the hall and toward your room. He turns on his heel, falling into step with you and fishing the room key out of his pocket.
It’s cold in the room when you enter. Seungcheol had booked a one bedroom suite with a small living room and kitchenette. It was more than what you needed for the night, but it feels nice, like your own private getaway.
Taking you by the hand, he walks backward toward the bedroom, pulling you along. His smile is beautiful and you wear a matching one. A thrill shoots through you when you realize that Seungcheol is yours. Really yours.
Sitting on the bed, he pulls you into his lap. Your knees sink in the mattress on either side of his hips, ass resting on his thighs. Leaning over him, you link your hands behind the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the silky hair there.
Seungcheol tilts his face up toward you, eyes fluttering as you play with his hair. His arms loop around your waist, squeezing you.
“Hi,” he breathes.
“Hi.”
Leaning down, you slot your mouth against his. He tastes like champagne, mouth warm. Kissing him takes your breath away, thoughts guttering out as he licks into your mouth hungrily. You lose yourself in the feeling of him, feeling like you’re on fire.
Seungcheol falls backward on the bed. His lips are swollen and pink, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares up at you. He reaches for you but you give him a coy smile and slip from his lap, crouching to the floor and running your hands along his thighs, feeling them flex beneath your touch.
You love Seungcheol’s thighs. Your nails drag across the fabric and he lets out a breathy sound. His muscles twitch as you reach to brush your fingers over his zipper, making sure to press into his cock. His hips jerk upward at the barest hint of stimulation and you grin.
“It’s no elevator,” you tease. “But will this do?”
“Fucking anywhere will do.”
Seungcheol has always been sensitive. He’s easy to rile, cock already firm by the time you’re undoing his belt and he’s helping you pull his dress pants down his thighs. You eye the dark patch in his briefs, proud that with just a little bit of kissing and some light touching he’s already leaking at the tip.
Sitting high on your knees, you lean forward, tongue pressing wetly to the tip of his cock through the fabric. A hand shoots to the back of your head, his fingers gripping you firmly as you laugh, tongue still pressed to him and soaking through his briefs.
“Don’t you dare tease me tonight,” he warns, voice shaky. “That is not wifey behavior.”
You remove your tongue, pouting and moving to press a kiss to his thigh. “You never let me tease you.”
“I’m not patient.” Your teeth scrape the softness of his flesh and his legs twitch, knees knocking your shoulder. “Baby, I am so serious.”
Biting your bottom lip to hide a smile, you give in. You know with certainty he’d let you drag this out if you really wanted to. Seungcheol is impatient and greedy and demanding, but he also lets you do what you want when it comes down to it.
Instead of testing his grace, you peel his briefs down, freeing his cock. Your mouth waters at his thick length, your hand automatically reaching up to grab him. You swipe your thumb through the precum gathered, using it to slide down the full length of his shaft.
Seungcheol’s hips buck. You grip him properly, working him slowly as you shuffle closer on your knees. They already hurt, hotel carpet digging into them but you ignore it in favor of watching the way his fingers slowly undo the button of his shirt, needing to shuck the fabric off.
“You’re pretty,” you note absently. His stomach flexes when he sits up to slide his shirt off of his shoulders. He looks down at you, pupils dilated. “Very, very pretty.”
“You’re a work of art yourself.”
Instead of laying back down flat, he leans back on his palms, letting his head fall back. Seungcheol shuts his eyes, face tilted up at the ceiling as though in prayer. “Feels good.”
Humming happily, you lean forward and slowly run the flat of your tongue up the base of his shaft. That draws a low moan out of him, his chest rising and falling as he pants. You’re fascinated by his reactions, watching his face and body language carefully as you swirl your tongue around the crown of his cock.
He’s responsive, fingers digging into the sheets in an effort not to grab your head and take control. He’s testing his patience, letting you bring him into the wet heat of your mouth at your pace, sucking lazily.
“Fuck,” he groans. You hum around him and he shakes his head, shivering. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Good you think, setting a proper place as you swallow him down, letting your spit pool to help make the glide easier. It’s messy and wet, just the way Seungcheol likes it, his moans backtracking the slick sounds coming from your mouth.
What you can’t fit in your mouth properly, you cover with your hand, squeezing periodically as you stroke upward, meeting your stretched lips.
“God,” Seungcheol whispers. “You know how to suck cock.”
Pulling off of him with a wet pop, you grin, feeling the sting in your mouth from the stretch. Your lips are cum and spit-slicked, sticky as you continue to stroke him.
“Thanks,” you laugh. “I heard I’m wifey material.”
“Fucking, shit, yeah a little bit. Fuckkkk, mouth please.”
You comply, sucking him back into your mouth. He’s putty underneath you, hips twitching off the bed a little as soft sounds drip from his mouth. You watch, totally hypnotized by the way he moved, the way his hairline gets a little sweaty as he nods, encouraging you.
Biting his lip, he lifts a hand from the bed to grab at you, pulling you off of him. “Come here,” he growls, opening his.
Seungcheol pulls you to him, not caring that your mouth is a mess. His tongue delves in, exploring the mixed taste of champagne and precum, hands pulling at your dress to peel it off of you.
“Let me sit against the headboard,” he pants, breaking the kiss to scoot backward. You peel your underwear off and toss them, following him across the mattress as he settles. He pats his lap and reaches for you. “Come here, baby.”
You settle into his lap again, mouth melding to his. His hands explore you, gripping your ass, squeezing your waist, running up your front to pinch at your nipples. You moan into his mouth, carding your fingers in his hair and pulling at the stimulation, your head tilting back a little.
He takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your throat, biting sharply and soothing the sting with his tongue. Sinking a little lower, you feel your pussy brush against his cock and you sigh, gently rolling your hips to slide your sticky folds up his shaft.
Seungcheol groans against you, mouth feverish against your skin. He maps your throat, kissing and biting his way to your chest, where he steals a pert nipple into his mouth to give a harsh suck. You squeal and he grins, plucking at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
Holding onto him, you let him lavish attention to your tits the way he wants, hands squeezing, tongue flicking. It feels good. Aflame, you continue to roll your hips shallowly in his waist, just giving the barest of stimulation to you both.
A hand slides between your legs, his fingers finding your swelling clit, pressing against it. You whine loudly, fighting off a violent shiver. He grins where he has your breast in his mouth, sucking generously as he lazily circles your clit with his fingers.
“Cheol,” you whisper-whine. “You said no teasing.”
“I said no teasing me.” His fingers slide backward and dip into your entrance teasingly. You clench around nothing, aching for him to do something. “Flustered, huh?”
“Please give me something.”
He presses his lips against the side of your jaw, grinning. “Fine.” He sinks a single finger into you and you sigh in immediate relief. It isn’t enough but it’s something, your hips rocking to take him in deeper. “Better?”
“I can take more.”
“Of course you can.” He pushes in another finger, the stretch so good. “You’re my girl. You can take what I give you.”
Dropping your head to his shoulder, you nod. You hide your face in his flushed skin, riding his fingers as he slowly slides them home, working you gently. They press against your sensitive spot and you curse, gripping him a little tighter.
Impatient and needing more, you grind yourself forward, fucking his hand properly. He laughs, letting you take what you need, cupping you fully so the heel of his palm grinds into your clit. Your movements are frenzied, driven by the desire for him, the feeling curling inside you.
“Just like that,” he encourages. “Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.”
You do, thighs aching and body shaking. The sheets stick to your legs as you work yourself up, sweaty palms sliding against Seungcheol’s shoulders. He whispers in your ear, voice low and scratchy, adding to the building mania inside of you.
“Shit,” you hiss, feeling the tightness in your stomach start to boil over.
“Come on, come around my fingers. You got it.”
His gentle voice pushes you over all the way and you clench around his fingers, coming undone. Your hips stop moving and your legs squeeze around his as you seize up. Seungcheol is having none of it, taking the lead to drive his fingers up into you as you flutter around him.
“Oh,” you gasp as he finer fucks you through the rest of your orgasm, sucking at a tender spot on your neck until you’re trembling and a mess. “Okay, okay, okay.”
Seungcheol takes it easy on you, pulling his fingers from between your legs with a slick noise. You heave against him, catching your breath while he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks obnoxiously.
“Mmm.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” He smacks your ass and you squeak. “Ride my cock like that?”
Huffing, you extend to your full height on your knees. He grabs the base of his shaft, eyes fixed on the mess between your legs as you sink down slowly. His tip breaches you, both of you letting out a sound as you keep going, holding your breath as he stretches you open.
Seungcheol taps your waist. “Breathe.”
You do, inhaling a breath as you nestle in his lap, seated fully, clenching around him. “Thanks.”
“Mhmm.”
Seungcheol’s hands move up your sides, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. This time, you know the look in his eye is real. His gaze is covetous, looking at you like you’re his because you are.
You catch his hands with yours, linking your finger and squeezing. He smiles, looking up at you with dark locks of hair in his face. You smile back, starting to roll your hips, using his hands to steady yourself.
Everything feels like an exposed nerve. The cool air of the hotel room brushes across your back, making you shiver. The mattress dips under your movement, your thighs flexing to keep your balance steady, Seungcheol’s grip on you helping.
“You’re so perfect,” Seungcheol mutters, using your linked hands to pull you toward him. Your hands slip from him, going to the headboard to help lift you instead. His grip finds your waist, aiding in your movement while his mouth finds your breasts. “God these tits.”
An ache settles in your thighs but you ignore it, chasing an orgasm. You tremble in his hold, breath punching out of you as he mumbles your name, watching you with fucked out eyes and lips parted, like you’re giving him everything he ever wanted.
You kind of feel that way. The way he looks at you isn’t that different from before, but now you’re confident in it, realizing that everything with Seungcheol felt too intimate because it was. Casual was never the right name for it, neither of you having any idea how to really be no strings attached.
“My fucking legs hurt,” you admit, panting. “Can you take over?”
“Mhmm.” Seungcheol surges forward, knocking you backward onto the bed. You laugh, bouncing a little as he pulls out and helps maneuver you. “Turn around for me.”
With shaking arms, you follow his instruction. The sheets cling to you as you roll, making you huff and swat at them. He chuckles, peeling them away from your sweaty skin while you settle on your stomach, arching your ass a little.
He palms your left cheek, groaning and dragging his blunt nails down the curve to your hip where he grabs you. “Unreal,” he whispers, to either you or himself.
You gasp when he thrusts pack in, punching the air from your lungs as he sets a sharp pace. You jostle on the bed, grabbing the sheets and knotting your hands in them to keep you in place, a stream of whimpers leaving you.
A hand slips up your spine, pressing flat between your shoulder blades, pushing you down further into the bed. You gasp and nod, Seungcheol taking it as a sign to put more weight into it, angling his hips so he’s fucking down into you.
It’s hard to breathe, the dizziness taking over as your skin starts to turn to static, orgasm so close that you can feel the buzz between your legs. He keeps going like that, pinning you hard to the bed as his hips crash into yours.
His name leaves your mouth in a cry as you squeeze around him, letting loose. He curses, picking up his pace, ignoring the wet squelch as he does, palm pressing you harder into the bed as you come.
You think you might disintegrate, unable to do anything but make broken sounds as he chases his orgasm. Just when you think you might not get another breath, he comes, the pressure on your back lifting a little. You gasp for air, feeling the room tilt as his thrusts slow, becoming gentle.
Seungcheol’s hands are soothing on your back, fingers dancing up and down your spine, delicate. He’s muttering something to you but you can’t hear him, the pounding of your heart far too loud, pulse rattling in your ears.
When his hips are still, his hands keep moving. He leans over you, careful not to put his weight on you, mouth kissing across your shoulders. Your cheek is pressed flat against the sheet as you pant, coming down from a fever pitch.
“You okay if I get up and get you water?” the question is whispered across your cheek, where Seungcheol presses a tender kiss. You nod and he kisses you again before peeling away from you.
Laying in the bed, you drift, listening to him shuffle around to the kitchen. You’re sleepy but more aware now. When the bed dips again, you crack your eye open, watching as he navigates carefully on his knees, two glasses of water in hand.
“Can you sit up or do you need help?” You shake your head and muster the strength you have left to sit up. Your muscles spasm as you do, a groan leaving your mouth as the room spins from the change in perspective. “You okay?”
“Thirsty,” you rasp, reaching for the glass he offers. Gulping down the cool water, you’re aware of his eyes on you, watching you drain the glass as he sips his. “Thank you.”
He takes the empty glass and kisses your lips. “Mhmm. Need more?”
“No, I’m good. I just need to sleep for five hundred years, no big deal.”
“Damn, five hundred goes crazy. Do you think we’ll have flying cars by then?”
Seungcheol puts both glasses on the nightstand and peels back the covers of the bed. He slips under them, patting the spot next to him. You crawl over, limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He laughs at you and you scowl, but manage to clamber in next to him, warm beneath the blankets and tucked into his chest.
“Yes, definitely. And like giant sexy holograms advertising porn, probably.”
“That’s the first thing you think of in the future? Porn?”
“Listen,” you huff, laying your head against his chest and closing your eyes. “I’m still a little champagne buzzed and you just fucked me until I couldn’t breathe for a while. Cut me slack.”
“Sure thing, wifey.”
“Ugh. Is that our thing now?”
“Mhmm. Everything pre-relationship has henceforth been replaced with the relationship-only era. Pretend you have amnesia.”
A huff of laughter leaves you. “Sure thing.”
“I mean I feel like I have amnesia.” You give him a questioning look. He’s contemplative, staring with unseeing eyes as he plays with your fingers. “I had an entire life and habits before you, and I swear it’s like sometimes my memory actually starts with that first night at the bar.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re just around a lot and I like to think it’s always been that way. And I’m kind of sorry for taking so long to admit nothing about this was casual for me.”
You smile. “Wasn’t for me either.”
“Good.” He snuggles into you, settling in silence for a few moments. “Thanks for letting me win pool that first night.”
“I did not let you win that game, oh my god.”
“Just admit it! You wanted to taste my goodies and you let me win.”
“I’m gonna give you some damn amnesia,” you mutter, but grin as he hugs you tight.
hello!! I've been enjoying your work so much. May I request for any svt member + somnophilia? I've read through your writing rules but you didn't mention anything about somno. but if you're not comfortable I understand 100%
dreamland. (choi seungcheol x reader)
a/n: of course it was gonna be cheol im insane about him so sorry if you wanted anyone different 😭 i hope you like it!
Seungcheol is the only one making any sound as he toes off his shoes and trudges through the living room. There’s only a light on at the end of the hall, illuminating the space. The rest is all consumed in darkness. That isn’t surprising, since it’s nearing 2 in the morning. The bedroom door is slightly ajar, and he’s able to slip in without making any sound. The bedside lamp on his side is on, but yours is turned off, and you have your back to the light, blanket pulled up over your head. He knows you can’t sleep when it’s too bright, and his heart squeezes with the knowledge that you still keep a light on for when he comes home, even if it inconveniences you like this.
You’re considerate in that way.
He makes quick work of shucking off his clothes, glad he’s already showered after practice so he doesn’t have to worry about that now. The mattress feels glorious against his fatigued muscles, and he has to tamp down a long, satisfied groan as he finally relaxes into it. He fiddles with the blanket, finding the edge and lifting it up so he can slide under it. You’re so warm that it almost burns, and he is careful not to place his freezing hands on you until he is a bit closer to your body temperature. He basks in the heat, eyelids fluttering shut, happy with the silence in the room in contrast to how stimulated he had been the whole day.
It’s quiet for a few minutes. Seungcheol checks his hands. Warm enough. He can finally hold you. Your skin is so soft, giving under his touch as he squeezes only lightly. He presses his front to your back, careful not to jostle you too much. He loves you like this, so completely relaxed and pliant against him. It feels so good to hold you after a long and grueling day.
His eyes pop open.
He remembers the conversation you had. It had been a while, and honestly he forgot all about it until this moment now. But he’s naked, and you’re naked, and his cock is slowly swelling even though he’s dead tired. Your skin is so soft, so relaxed, he can’t help but think of how it would feel to slide into you like this, when you’re not tense and jumpy, how your walls would give way if they didn’t know there was an intrusion coming….
He knows you want this, you’ve told him, but he feels depraved even thinking about it.
He doesn’t even have to touch himself, doesn’t have to jerk off to get to full hardness. He’s already there. He shuffles a little to adjust himself, palms gently at your ass, how it sticks out just a bit because of the way you’re curled. He slides his hand between your legs. The heat there is intense, way more than the rest of your body. He slides his middle finger up through your slit, nudging at that little nub that’s usually so sensitive. Will it still be that way when you’re in dreamland, far away from him?
You shift a little, let out a small breath. Something inside Seungcheol bristles. It sends a thrill up his spine. God, this is affecting him way more than he imagined. He had no idea he would like it this much, but he does. You’re always good for him, even in your sleep, and he can feel it right now as the pad of his finger rubs over your clit, slow and lazy sighs leaving your mouth. But you’re still melting into the mattress, still not awake, and that makes his cock twitch against your ass as he bites his bottom lip hard.
When he slides his finger down to your entrance, he almost moans at how you’ve already started leaking under his ministrations. Is it his touch? Can you recognise him even in unconsciousness? He’s so turned on it makes him insane, but he wants to enjoy this, he wants to feel more of you, so he angles his arm, slides his middle finger into your tight cavern, and nearly cums at how hot and wet you are.
“Fuck, baby.” He knows you can’t hear him, but he says it anyway. Any outlet for his lust. You gasp audibly this time, torso arching just a bit as you undulate. He stills, wondering if he’s woken you, but you don’t move further. He tests it a bit, curling his fingertip into your walls. You clench around him and he sighs at the feeling, but you don’t wake. Something hot sizzles in his belly again. He’s enjoying this way too much.
He fingers you slowly, deliberately, basking in the feeling of how you get wetter and wetter. He plants his lips on your bare shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut, adding another finger when he thinks you’re relaxed enough to take it. You sigh again, adjusting to him, and he wants to think your cunt is attuned to him, letting him take you like this. God, he wishes he could burn this feeling into his brain permanently.
He is a man of little patience, and finally, he can’t take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out carefully, tugs on his cock so that it is slicked with your juices, and shuffles closer to you so he can nudge the head through your slit. It takes him a few tries, but he finally catches your hole, pushing his hips forward until he breaches you, jaw going slack at the feeling. You gasp again, but he doesn’t think he can hold still, going until he feels the base of his cock meet your ass. Your walls contract and relax rapidly around him, processing the intrusion, and Seungcheol feels like he might cum just like this.
He places a shaky hand on your hip and tries his best not to grip you too hard, pulling out not even halfway before sinking in again. He can’t bear to leave your tight grip, can’t bear to be anywhere other than inside you. He presses his lips to your shoulder again, closes his eyes, revels in the feeling of how you squeeze around him. His thrusts are slow and shallow, and the sensations grip him like warm tendrils running over his nerves. It feels glorious, and he wonders how he isn’t completely addicted to your pussy by now, how he can even function day to day without burying his cock inside you constantly.
It’s too much for him. He can’t go slow.
His first hard thrust has you gasping and tensing. He does it again, again, and you finally jolt, a confused sound leaving you.
“Cheol?” You cry out when his cock hits deep again, and Seungcheol finally lets out the long, lust addled groan he has been holding in.
“Baby, couldn’t wait. Couldn’t stop myself-”
He curses when you clench tighter around him as you process what’s happening, and he basks in the way you whine. He finally takes the opportunity to grip the back of your knee and lift your leg up so he can slide deeper, and the last of his self control snaps, fucking you like he meant to all along. You still seem to be scrambling with what’s happening, but your moan is involuntary, succumbing to the pleasure of his cock ramming into you hard and fast. Seungcheol slides his other arm under your neck, wraps it around you so he can hold you close as he keeps going. The blanket heats, even more than it previously had, sliding off a little so that cool air hits your flushed and sweaty bodies. Your nails dig into his arm, but you don’t claw him off. You hold him tight, tilt your head back so that your cheek meets his, and he tilts his head so he can plant a kiss on the corner of your mouth.
“My pretty girl,” he coos. “Taking me so well.”
You moan again, clenching around him the way he knew you would. He anticipated it. You love praise, love being told that you’re his good girl, and he exploits that as much as he can, truly believing his words as he says them. You are his pretty girl, his to take whenever he wants, whether asleep or awake, your cunt is open for him and him only. He knows it, and he is sure as hell that you know it too.
It takes a little more toying, reaching down to pinch and tug at your nipple, just a little bit more stimulation, before you’re cumming hard around him, clenching so fiercely that he has to work to keep his dick inside your sopping wet pussy, and the squeeze around him pushes him over the edge too, dumping his cum inside your opening, painting you his on the inside as well. His grip on you loosens, relaxes until he has you in a soft embrace instead, breathing hard as his high abates. Your hand, previously digging nails into his skin, runs softly over his arm. You reach up behind you to run your hand over his short, spiky hair. Seungcheol basks under your touch.
“Feeling better?”
He hums, eyelids already so heavy. He’s all toasty and warm now, and the tension has drained from his limbs. You sigh and settle into his arms, and as the minutes tick into the night, you go pliant again, body relaxing. This time, Seungcheol follows you to dreamland.
PAIRING: F.Reader x ot13
PACK MEMBER FOCUS: Seungcheol
PACK MEETING: You're having a hard time adjusting to your new pack. Good thing your head alpha knows exactly how to help you adapt.
REQUESTED BY: @peaspeas
REQUEST: Idek if this qualifies because I'm talking like, maybe pré-rules or before they were finalised formally but I want Seungcheol finding reader whenever she's eating and sitting with her and she has no idea why. If he shows up and she's already eating, he's like oh shit, panic to make up a reason that he needs to as well etc. Almost a sort of farcical comedy vibe? Both idiots ofc
WC: 5,135
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
PACK WARNINGS: Very mild angst like wouldn't even call it that, reader has some anxiety adjusting to a new pack, she's a little in her head, Seungcheol is a little shit, some vague references to hormones and adjusting to being near others, reader being lonely and feeling a little on the outside, both of them are kind of stupid lmfaooo but in a good way, some playful arguing at the end.
A/N: Moni this is not as cracky as it was supposed to be and didn't really notice to the end I'm saur sorry lmfaoooo. Also this is not beta read we die like men guys.
HOUSE RULES M. LIST | MAIN M. LIST | ASK
THE KITCHEN IS PAINTED IN SHADES OF BLUE AT 5:47 IN THE MORNING. As the only resident of said kitchen this early in the morning the past two weeks, you've learned that the pre-dawn light that spills through the wide windows above the sink turns everything soft and cool in the morning. The white subway tile back splash starts off a muted grey before the sun finally melts away the blue and turns it bright white each morning.
This morning, the honey-colored cabinets look muted, nearly colorless as the sun hides beyond the horizon. You take another bite of cereal, listening to the old house settle around you. The house has taken getting used to - not because it's ancient, but because it's old enough to feel lived in and have its own quirks of floorboards that squeak, doors that click shut because the hinges are a little loose, pipes that groan when one of the thirteen people upstairs showers late at night.
It's a big house. It has to be, to fit the pack of thirteen - fourteen now, including you. Six alphas, seven betas, and you. A single omega, new and a little out of your comfort zone as you try to figure the ins and outs of a pack who have been together so long, they don't even have to think about how to navigate one another. They just do, planets who have been in rotation of one another for so long that it's as easy as breathing.
Where they've had years together, you've only had two weeks. It still feels like you're learning an entire new language - not because any of them are difficult or unkind, but rather because there's a difference between being welcomed into a pack and belonging, and you're somewhere in the strange gap between the two.
Unfortunately, the omega part of your brain doesn't really understand the distinction between the two, even though you do. You get that it'll take time to integrate yourself fully and to fit in as intimately as the others do with one another, but your instincts don't have that nuance. All your omega knows is that you should be surrounded by a pack, that you should be scented and claimed and constantly near people who want you.
Instead, you're sitting by yourself in a kitchen that feels too big and your instincts are ramming against you to go knock on a door and ask for company. You can't, though. Not that they wouldn't let you in - they would. You know they would. But the small fraction of the what if keeps you rooted to your seat. What if they end up not liking you? What if this doesn't work out? What if they decide they don't need an omega after all?
You stare at the cereal in your bowl, now soggy. It's something honey-flavored and generic that you took out of the pack pantry without looking. Mingyu swore you could take anything out of the pantry and fridge - anything in the house. What’s theirs is yours until you start filling the house with your favorite things, but like the anxiety of asking one of them to spend time with you, you can't seem to figure out how to ask for cinnamon sugar cereal or sweet cream coffee creamer.
Another bite confirms your cereal is as soggy as it looks. You ignore it, watching the kitchen in the morning stillness. It still smells like cinnamon and brown sugar from something Mingyu baked yesterday. Dishes pile in the sink and you know Seungcheol is going to have a field day when he sees it, adamant about dishes being done each night.
Under the layers of the smell of the kitchen is them. You're still trying to pick out the strands of scents that belong to each member, but thirteen scents layered over the top of one another is dizzying and hard to get used to, each one blending into something that you recognize as almost pack. Pack but not.
There are a few you can pick out individually, at least. You know Seungcheol's cedar and smoke, the head alpha easier to scent than the others. Jeonghan's citrus and something that you can't put your finger on. Mingyu's clean laundry smell with a hint of something soft and woody. The others remain a bit of a mess, but you're determined to try, hoping that maybe untangling each scent will lead you to untangling them and finding a sense of belonging that you'd hoped to find here and that they said they'd wanted you to find.
You try not to think about what happens if you don't find a place here. Though it's actually entirely normal not to, you don't know if you could survive that kind of embarrassment. You had already been a bit wary of using omega placement services as it was, desperate to find a pack after years of living on your own and unwilling to go back to living with your all-beta family in your tiny town where nothing much ever happened.
Thirteen pack members is a lot after coming from something small, something lonely. You'd been thrilled at the idea, realizing that you'd never be alone again, that you'd always have someone to lean on. Now you're here, in a house full of thirteen people who are supposed to be your pack, and you're still eating breakfast alone. Still sitting on the outside of their easy familiarity. Still trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between being new and being home.
Creaking stairs catch your attention. You perk up, freezing as you listen to the soft steps of someone coming down the stairs and toward the kitchen. You smell the cedar and smoke before you see him, your brain getting a little foggy before Seungcheol ever steps into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He pulls up short when he sees you. He's surprised, and you realize he hadn't smelled you before he walked in, unused to having an omega or an outsider in his house. He looks devastating this morning in sweatpants slung low on his hips and a t-shirt that's tight enough to show off the width of him and strength in his chest. An alpha not only built strong mentally but physically, someone who feels and looks dependable, someone who looks entirely too soft and swollen and pretty in the dawn light.
He blinks at you. His eyes are dark and a little unfocused, still soft with sleep, but there's something sharp underneath. It makes you sit up straighter, you body thrumming as he flicks on the light. You squint, but when your eyes adjust, he's still looking at you with an expression he doesn't understand.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" He asks, voice rough with sleep. "Are you alright?"
"What? Oh." You lower your spoon to the bowl, hyperaware of him. "Sorry, I'm an early riser in new places. I can go if you need the kitchen, sorry-"
"No, stay."
It's not a command, but his voice is firm enough that you nod instantly, relaxing a little. He moves further into the room, carrying the heavy presence of a head alpha with him. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way he takes up space and the gravity around him that has nothing to do with physical mass and everything to do with him.
You grip the edge of the counter, trying to stay composed as your omega instincts kick in. The last thing you want is for him to think you're awkward or needy. You don't want him to know how much you're struggling with this transition more than you should be. You're supposed to be settling in and comfortable by now, but you're not.
It scares you.
"Coffee?" he asks, already turning it on.
"No, I'm okay."
He hums, opening the cabinet next to the coffee maker. You watch him scan the mugs until he finds a specific one and selects it. You wonder if they have assigned mugs, if there's a hierarchy in the cabinet beyond your understanding like so many other things here.
Silence hangs between you as he makes his coffee, turning to lean backward against the counter with the mug tucked between his hands. His gaze drifts back to you and he gives you a soft smile that you tentatively return. The attention makes you feel exposed, like he's looking at you and sees right through the core of you despite only having been in the same room for a few minutes.
"Couldn't sleep?" You ask, desperately trying to fill the silence.
"Something like that." He gestures toward you. "What about you? Do you do this a lot? Waking up early and sitting alone in the dark, I mean."
"I guess, yeah. I have a hard time sleeping in new places and I don't like to just lay there."
"Mmm." There's a pause, and you can feel him still watching you. Still assessing. "You eat breakfast alone a lot too?"
You glance down at the bowl. "Sometimes, I guess? I'm usually up before anyone else."
"How long have you been up?"
"Maybe an hour?"
"And you've just been sitting here by yourself."
It's not quite a question, but it feels like one. You glance up at him, trying to figure out where this is going, but his expression is unreadable. His scent shifts and you realize what it is. Protectiveness. He doesn't like that you're sitting here by yourself, and the realization makes something warm unfurl in your chest.
"I don't mind," you murmur, looking down again to hide the sudden flush you feel.
He hums. "I'm hungry." You look up, confused at the statement. He points to your bowl. "What are you having?"
"Cereal. I think it's honey? I didn't want to wake anyone up by cooking."
"Cereal sounds good. Honey is Chan's. Good choice."
He moves with purpose then, crossing to the cabinets to pull down a bowl. Your eyes catch on the line of his shoulders and the way his muscles shift under the cotton tee, the way it rides up just slightly as he reaches for the milk in the fridge, revealing a tiny strip of skin at his lower back that makes your mouth go dry. You look away quickly, back down at your soggy cereal, and try to get your breathing under control.
You watch as he fixes himself a bowl of cereal and strides over to you, dragging a stool up next to you. You blink in surprise. You expected him to sit across from you, but instead he plops down next to you close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin and close enough that the cedar and smoke of him makes your eyes flutter. His knee brushes yours as he adjusts and you have to physically stop yourself from leaning into him, your nervous system lighting up at the proximity.
"So," he says, pulling you from the static of your thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."
You blink at him. "Like what?"
"Anything." He takes another bite of cereal like this is completely normal. Like he wakes up at five in the morning to eat with strangers all the time. "Where are you from again?"
"Small town." You stir your cereal. The milk swirls. "Really small. Everyone-knows-everyone small."
"And you left."
"For college. I came back for a few years after but it didn't feel like I fit in anymore so I moved to the city, got an apartment by myself. Thought I wanted independence and freedom to figure things out on my own terms." You take a bite of cereal just to have something to do with your hands. "Turns out being alone and being independent aren't the same thing. I was just lonely. Really lonely. Didn't even realize how bad it was until I started looking into pack placement programs and well… now I’m here trying it out, I guess."
Seungcheol goes quiet. When you glance over, his expression is soft. "How long were you alone?"
"Three years."
"That's a long time for anyone, not specifically an omega."
"Yeah." You swallow. "I didn't know what I was missing. I'm still trying to figure it out, I think and how I… fit in."
"You're doing fine," he says.
"I eat breakfast alone every morning."
"Not this morning, though."
The words are simple and direct. When you look up at him, he's watching you with something warm in his expression. Something that makes your chest tight.
"No," you say quietly. "Not this morning."
He gives you a small smile that transforms his face. Suddenly, he's not the intimidating pack alpha - he's soft and warm, more like a person than someone you have to impress or earn the trust of. You relax a little, stirring your milk aimlessly.
"What about you?" you ask. "What made you want to lead a pack this big?"
He huffs a quiet laugh. "Honestly? I didn't set out to. It just kind of happened. We all met in college, started spending time together, and it felt right. Natural. Then more people joined and suddenly I was the one everyone looked to when decisions needed to be made. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing it right. If I'm taking care of everyone the way I should be."
"I think you're doing a good job," you say. "Everyone seems happy. Settled."
He looks at you and gives you a look, one brow raised. "Everyone except you."
His words make you wince. Not because they're accusatory, but because you didn't think he noticed. You realize it's a bit of an insult for you to have doubted him - Seungcheol's entire role as the head alpha is to understand his pack, to balance the personalities, to lead. That includes you, despite not feeling like it, and you realize that he's taken notice and doesn't intend to let it go.
"We don't eat alone unless we want to in my pack," he says simply.
My pack. The possessiveness in those two words makes something flutter in your chest and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to stop yourself from grinning, to stop yourself from getting too hopeful.
"I didn't want to be a burden," you admit.
"You're not," he promises. "You're a part of our pack which means you're never a burden. We want you here. We wouldn't have gone through the trouble of the agency and placement if we didn't think there was something missing. You were missing and we're happy to gave you, even if it's a little awkward at first."
You can feel your heart beating too fast, the warmth of him making you dizzy. Seungcheol doesn't lean closer, but you feel him closer, the smell of him overwhelming and comforting. You realize he's doing it on purpose, pheromones comforting you like he should. You glance up and he has a knowing look on his face, a little smug and a little endeared and you find yourself smiling.
"Thank you," you manage. "For noticing."
"Always," he murmurs.
You finish your cereal together as the sky outside continues to lighten. For the first time since you moved into this house, you don't feel quite so alone.
-
It's Tuesday in the middle of the day when Seungcheol interrupts your next meal. You look up as he walks onto the back porch, the apple covered in peanut butter in your hand pausing as he sits down next to you at the table. He's got a full plate with him, rice, chicken and vegetables piled high as he sighs and settles in comfortably.
"Hey," he says casually, cracking open the can of soda he's brought along.
"Hi," you say slowly, eyeing him.
"I am starving. Wanted something sweet."
You look at his plate. Then back at him. Then back at the plate.
"Seungcheol, that is not sweet."
"What?"
"You said you wanted something sweet. That's chicken."
He blinks and looks down like he's just now noticing what's on it. You press your lips together as he scratches the side of his neck, nodding. "Right. I meant I wanted something sweet after this. You like ice cream?"
"I do."
"Great." He leans over, peering at your apple slices as his shoulders brush yours, sending a spark through you. "What are you having?"
"Apple and peanut butter."
"Hmmm. Classic." He starts cutting into his chicken as you watch him, eyes narrowed. "How's your day?"
You're still processing the fact that he claimed to be starving for something sweet while holding a savory meal, but you answer anyway, amused.
"Good. I've been reading."
"Yeah? What are you reading?"
Taking another bite of your apple, you tell him. Seungcheol is an engaged listener, nodding and asking follow up questions as he devours his plate. Somehow, time passes easily. Even after he's cleared his plate, he leans back into his chair, foot up on the seat as he tells you about one of his favorite books growing up, dimples appearing every time he smiles.
You love his dimples, watching them as he ducks his head and laughs, long hair falling in his eyes. You smile too, unable to help it around him. He's infectious like that, easily shifting the mood from something tense to warm or lonely to comfortable, like an alpha should.
Eventually, he sighs heavily, stretching. You try not to notice the way his shirt peels up, revealing the barest hint of soft stomach before he drops his arms back down and grins at you.
"I have to get back to work," he says. "But this was nice. We should do it again."
"That would be nice."
He smiles and gets up, clearing his plate and reaching to grab your empty one without much preamble. You watch him go inside, shaking your head when you realize that he never wanted something sweet in the first place.
-
You've been awake for three hours.
It's not insomnia, exactly. It's more like your brain won't shut off and you keep laying in bed replaying conversations, analyzing the way Seungcheol looked at you on Wednesday, wondering if you're reading too much into the fact that Mingyu sat close enough to scent you yesterday but didn't, if any of this means anything or if you're just desperate enough to convince yourself it does. As usual, your brain is doing laps, restless and unsettled, and the quiet of the house at midnight isn't helping. It's making you hyper-aware of how alone you are in your room, how easy it would be to just stay here without anyone noticing and how good you've gotten at it.
So you give up on sleep. Again.
The kitchen is dark when you pad downstairs in your pajamas, the hum of the refrigerator going as you open it up, squinting against the light. You don't bother to turn the overhead lights on, the moon filtering in through the big windows over the sink enough to get by. You steal the honey cereal - Chan's - again from the pantry, and fix a bowl before sitting at the counter, sighing as you take a bite.
Your phone buzzes on the counter, startling you. You flip it over, squinting in the dark as you frown when you read it.
SEUNGCHEOL [12:15 AM]: What are you doing?
Your stomach does something complicated.
YOU [12:15 AM]: Eating cereal… why?
SEUNGCHEOL [12:16 AM] Be right there
You set your phone down slowly, your heart doing something erratic in your chest. He heard you come downstairs. His room is above the kitchen - you know this now - and realize that he must have heard you snooping around down here like he did that first morning he found you eating in the kitchen at five in the morning.
A minute later, he appears in the kitchen doorway and your brain short circuits a little. He's in soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt that's clearly old and pulled tight across his chest. His hair is completely disheveled, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he's rumpled and sleepy enough to tell you that he absolutely was asleep until he heard you.
"Hey," he croaks.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," he lies.
"You didn't have to come down, Seungcheol."
"I did. And you can call me Cheol, you know. Seungcheol makes it sound like I'm in trouble."
He moves to the cabinet, and grabs a bowl, making himself a matching snack before he sits down close enough that his thigh brushes yours. You shiver and if he notices, he has the decency not to point it out.
"Maybe you are in trouble," you mutter, taking a bite.
"Yeah? What for?"
"Being a liar who lies. You heard me and came down."
He grins and takes a bite of cereal. He chews thoughtfully for a few seconds, ignoring your stare. "So what if I did? I wanted to join you, so I did. Anyway, trouble sleeping again?"
"Kind of." You push cereal around your bowl, not quite meeting his eyes. "My brain won't shut off."
"Yeah?" He shifts slightly, and you're hyperaware of every point where his body is close to yours. "What's it doing?"
"Thinking."
"Pack stuff?"
"Maybe." You finally look at him. His eyes are soft in the moonlight. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you doing this on purpose?"
He doesn't ask what you mean. Doesn't pretend to be confused. Just smiles into his cereal, and the smile is so knowing that your face goes hot.
"Yep."
"Why?" Your voice is barely a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
He sets his spoon down. Turns to face you fully, and there's something serious in his expression now, something that makes you sit up and pay attention to him.
"I told you already," he says softly. "We don't eat alone unless we want to. Do you want to?" You hesitate only a moment before shaking your head. "Exaclty. So until you feel confidence to ask someone - you can ask any of us, by the way - I'll make sure you're not eating alone."
It's something so simple and yet it devastates you to hear him say it. It isn't the words themselves exactly, but rather the way he says it, like it's a promise, like he's already decided that this doesn't require permission or gratitude or even for you to ask. It's just a fact that he's going to do this, no negotiation, no need to think about it.
You think about the last three years of your life of eating in your apartment along, of making meals for one, of not having to consider anyone else's schedule or preferences. Three years of being fine with it because fine was easier than admitting you were lonely. And now you have a pack you don't know what to do with, but this alpha - this head of a thirteen-person pack - is keen enough to pick up on what you need and come down to the kitchen at midnight to make sure you have what you need.
It's wonderful and terrifying all at once.
"Okay," you murmur, nodding.
You watch him in the moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. His hair is still a mess and his face is puffy with sleep, but he's soft. Warm. You notice a small scar on his collarbone you've never been close enough to notice before, and wonder where he got it from.
When he finishes his bowl of cereal, he looks at yours, raising his brows. "You finishing that?"
You shake your head and he grins, reaching over and brushing against you deliberately to steal your bowl. The contact is electric as his arm grazes your shoulder, his chest brushing your back for just a second, and your entire nervous system short-circuits. You nearly go catatonic at the contact, omega melting even when he pulls away, leaving you dizzy and touch starved and hungry for something not food. Your skin tingles where he touched you.
Seungcheol notices. This time, you see the way he grins, smug and content at your reaction. It hits you that he planned that, that he wanted you to feel it. The realization makes your chest tight in a way that's half panic, half something else entirely.
You can feel the heat crawling up your neck, your face, and it pisses you off - not at him, but at yourself for being so transparent, so easy to read. You huff and cross your arms over your chest, turning to him, temper flaring a little. You're not mad at all, but your omega instincts bristle in a way that feels playful and fun, something entirely unfamiliar to you. It's like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.
"Well that's not fair," you huff. "You can't just do that."
"Do what?"
"Brush up against me and use your… alpha ways."
He laughs, full bellied and loud, echoing off the kitchen walls. "My alpha ways?"
"Yes!"
"That's how it works."
"Well!" You stomp your foot against the footrest on the stool. "I would like to file a complaint. Wait, who do I file a complaint with? You're head alpha."
Even as you say it, you know how ridiculous you sound. You're literally complaining to the person you're complaining about. It's absurd. But there's also a part of you that likes this game, this playful banter.
"You're cute when you panic."
The word lands like a punch. Cute. You're not cute. You're competent and sarcastic and you've survived three years alone in a city that didn't care about you. You're not cute. Except the way he says it makes you feel small in a way that isn't entirely bad. You like it, even.
"I'm not panicking," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.
"Sure."
"And for the record, I'm not cute. I am a very strong, very assertive omega." You stand up, trying to reclaim some dignity, trying to put distance between yourself and the way his presence makes your skin feel too tight. "I've even lived on my own. Very independent."
"Absolutely," he agrees, not sounding convinced at all.
Seungcheol stands with you and puts the bowls in the sink, leaving them unwashed for once. He grins at you and gestures to the door and you listen, because apparently you do that now. Your body just obeys him, no thought required, no decision made. You just move when he moves, follow when he leads. It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. It feels familiar in a way you've been craving and you finally have it.
He follows you up the stairs and you're hyperaware of him behind you, footsteps quiet and measured. . You can feel the warmth of him in the space between your bodies, close enough that you could lean back and touch him. Your omega is purring at his proximity, at the simple fact of him being there, and you hate how easy it's becoming to just accept it. To want it.
The hallway is dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window at the end, letting in enough light for you to walk to your room, third door to the left. When you reach it, you pause, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure of the protocol. Do you just say goodnight? Do you invite him in? The uncertainty makes your stomach knot uncomfortably, panic spiking.
You turn to look at him and he's closer than you expected. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes. He's still soft from sleep, and he's looking at you like he looks at the other members of his pack, warm and soft and so gentle that it makes your omega nearly scream.
Seungcheol grins and leans down, pressing a kiss briefly to your head, soft and warm and over before you even know it's happening. Your throat tightens immediately, thoughts turning to static as he takes a step back, winking at you.
"Sleep, he murmurs. "Wake me up when you want breakfast. I mean it."
He dismisses himself then and you watch him walk back down the hallway, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness, and you don't move until you hear his door close softly upstairs.
Only then do you slip into your room and lean against the door, your heart still racing, your forehead still burning with the ghost of his kiss. You touch your fingers to the spot where he kissed you, like you can hold onto it somehow.
Crawling into bed, you do exactly what Seungcheol has asked and you sleep.
-
The next morning when you wake up, you don’t have to wake Seungcheol. You hear the noise downstairs, confusion drawing you down the steps and into the kitchen where breakfast is being made in full. You stand in the doorway, confused as you watch Mingyu and Joshua argue at the stove, the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of bacon wafting toward you.
Seungkwan is at the coffee machine, staring lifelessly into the open air as his coffee brews while Chan stands on his tip toes to reach more coffee mugs out of the cabinet behind him. Seokmin is sitting on the counter swinging his legs, laughing animatedly at whatever Soonyoung and Jihoon are arguing about near the sink while Jeonghan lays across the counter, head in Seokmin’s lap as he dozes.
Seungcheol walks in behind you, not missing at beat as he steers you by the waist toward the counter. Jeonghan peeks an eye open and grins, lifting himself from Seokmin’s lap to make room for you just as Seungcheol grip you by the waist and halls you up to sit on the counter next to Jeonghan, the citrus and jasmine smell of him placating your immediate irritation at being lifted.
“Why is everyone in the kitchen?” You demand, turning to Jeonghan because Seungcheol is already leaving you and heading for the fridge. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”
“Rule number one,” Jeonghan yawns, scooting closer so that he’s pressed up against you. You hesitate for only a second before you let yourself relax and tentatively lean toward him. “The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to.”
Seokmin peers around him. “Do you want to?”
His question hangs in the air among the noise and chaos of the kitchen, scents hitting you from every angle, the sound of Minghao complaining about burnt bacon and Mingyu hollering as oil pops and burns his wrist.
You grin, ducking your head a little as Seungcheol catches your eyes from across the kitchen and winks.
adult content featured, read at own discretion. cw/tw: backstabbing friends, low confidence a tiny bit, unprotected sex (don’t do that!!!)
synopsis: you’ve been heartbroken learning your (girl) best friend started ‘dating’ your crush. what happens when your guy bestie tries to cheer you up?
“you don’t mind if i date him right?”
if you have to ask, then maybe you shouldn’t.
“it’s just, i know you have a crush on him, but i like him and he likes me back.”
you swallowed back tears. “it’s fine. i’m not his type anyway.”
she smiled. “oh great! he’s taking me to a movie tonight soooo, wanna come over and help me pick an outfit?”
why did you even ask if you were going to go out with him anyway, joyce?
you shook your head instead. “no thank you. i’m just going to go home and catch up on some dramas.”
and cry and debate if i want to be your friend after this.
joyce told you to text her if you changed your mind. you wouldn’t. and after this, you don’t think you’d be friends with her.
you let tears fall as you walked back to your apartment after leaving class. after joyce shattered the last piece of confidence you had.
you were close to confessing feelings to your crush. only to be crushed.
but what you had said was true. you weren’t your crushes type. the type he liked and hung around looked like joyce. not like you.
you sighed coming off the elevator of your apartment building. unbeknownst to you, next door, your best friend was having a fit.
36 hours of regret. that’s what eric was feeling. not even 2 days in of the stupid bet he made with hyunjae, sunwoo, and changmin and he was already regretting it.
however money was on the line. and his pride.
from his living room, his ears perked up recognizing your footsteps. you two have known each other for so long you can recognize each others footsteps, laughs, coughs, any of it.
eric quickly got up from his couch, grabbing his phone and keys, meeting you out by your door. hoping you could distract him.
not even phased he had heard you, you greeted him quietly while opening the door. eric noticed something was off.
“what’s wrong with you?” he raised his eyebrow, shutting your door behind him.
“don’t want to talk about it.” you shut down, and quickly undressed from your jacket, throwing your bag on the couch.
eric sucked in a breath. “want me to order some food and beer?”
you looked at him, exhausting wearing over you. “please.” you sighed, your voice broken.
eric nodded and quickly began ordering, as you went to take a quick shower and change into some sweats.
about thirty minutes later, you were feeling a bit fresh, and the food and drinks had arrived.
your mood soured when joyce sent you a picture of her outfit for the date. you quickly scoffed, turning your phone off for the night.
eric watched your body language from beside you, noting your eye bags, puffy face, and not so usual quiet self.
“i know you told me you didn’t want to talk about it, but something is bothering you which bothers me.” eric sighed, pausing the movie.
you sniffled once. eric held out his arms, and you quickly laid your head on his lap, tears quietly falling down.
you told him what happened with joyce. eric was trying to be respectful, he really was. but while you were crying, the movement caused you to jerk your head, all while you were laying on his lap. and he hasn’t gotten off in 38 hours, now.
he softly ran his fingers through your hair, tracing your forehead, and wiping your tears. trying to district himself.
“she’s a jerk for doing that to you. but he’s a jerk as well, trust me.” eric sighed. you looked at him confused from your spot in his lap. eric shut his eyes trying to remove that look from memory.
“he’s a jerk. working at the bookstore on campus, i’ve heard the girls talk about him. how much of an idiot and asshole he is. you’re better off finding a different crush.”
you finally sat up from eric’s lap, eric begging you didn’t see how hard he was underneath his own sweats. he sneakily grabbed the blanket from beside him, placing it over his lap.
you smiled. “tell me more stories so i can get over him.”
and eric did. rattling off the things and details he learned about your now ex-crush over the past six months working at the bookstore.
you gasped. “he has the cla—!”
eric shushed you, “it’s just what i heard okay. don’t want that going around from us when we don’t know for sure.”
you bit your lower lip. “guess i did dodge a bullet, huh?” you chuckled. “imagine if i slept with him. not only would i have possibly gotten an std, i would probably leave unsatisfied.”
eric laughed nervously. “yeah.” he cleared his throat. “should we get back to the show?”
you sighed, “yeah i guess.” you huffed and took the opportunity to lay back on eric’s lap.
and this time, you did feel it. “ew eric!” you laughed. “put that away!”
“it’s not like i did it on purpose!” he argued.
“dude, why are you hard?” you looked at him in his eyes. he began turning red, embarrassed.
“i made a bet with the guys.”
this time you raised your eyebrow. “a bet? what kind of bet?”
he looked down at his twiddled fingers. “who could last the longest, without,” eric scratched the back of his head, “basically a bet on who could win no nut november.”
you laughed in disbelief. “do you mean to tell me, you idiots made a bet who could go the longest without having sex with someone?”
“not just sex, we can’t get off at all.”
“you mean you can’t ejaculate at all?” you teased knowing eric hates when you use technical terms.
he groaned. “it means we can’t come at all.”
“and this started november 1st?”
“yeah,”
“and it’s been barely two days—not even two full days—and you’re already struggling?” you pointed out.
“well when you put it like that, you make me sound weak.”
you pushed his shoulder, “because you are weak! how often do you have sex or fuck your hand that you can’t go two days?”
eric let out a loud groan in frustration hearing crude words from your mouth. “can you not say things like that? please?”
“then answer me?” you scooted closer, butt to your feet, knees pointed towards eric. “how often do you ejaculate?” you chuckled.
eric bit his own lip. “i may do that at least once a day. maybe twice?”
your eyes went wide. “well damn,” you whispered, back to resting on your butt fully on the couch, legs crossed.
“please, i would like to see you try and go 30 days without sex or pleasuring your self!”
you waved him off. “please, no big deal for me. i have more restraint than you.”
“seriously? you could go 30 days without having a dick in you?”
chuckling nervously, you shrugged, “well yeah. it’s been almost eight months now and i’ve been fine.”
this time eric’s eyes went wide. “what?” he was at a lost for words. “how long has it been since you pleasured yourself then?”
“eric!” you groaned in embarrassment yourself. you looked at him with a pout, pleading he’d let this go. but he didn’t. he just stared at you. “it’s been a week?” you answered with an exhale.
eric nodded in thought. more so flabbergasted that you could last that long without sex.
“what is going on in that head of yours?” you asked.
“just shocked and curious, how you can go so long without sex?” he asked seriously. “i mean—i know not everyone is not a horn dog, but seriously, how are you not bothered?”
“i never said i wasn’t bothered by it,” you began playing with the ends of the blanket draped over the back of your couch.
eric snapped his fingers almost like he got the answer. you looked up at him, waiting for him to tell you what came to that weird and unpredictable mind of his.
“i know why you aren’t bothered by it,” then eric smirked, “you just haven’t been dicked down by the right man yet.”
the rest of the night, the air felt hot and heavy. you and eric ended up continuing to watch the drama you both had intended on watching earlier before that conversation.
although your eyes was on the screen, your mind was somewhere else. on what eric had said. maybe you weren’t being ‘dicked’ down by the right person? have you ever truly felt a mind blowing sexual encounter that made you crave more?
no.
you swallowed, realizing sohn eric, your best friend, was right. without it registering, you huffed in annoyance out loud.
“care to share?”
“not really.” you crossed your arms. “just tired.”
eric paused the television, and stood up stretching. “then let’s go to bed.”
now, eric has slept in the same bed as you countless of times. but for some reason, this felt different. he was horny, you were lacking dick.
but would it be a bad thing to hook up with your best friend whom you’ve known for so long? whom you have never thought to be attractive? well—maybe you did find eric attractive just never really sat and coped with it.
eric saw the wheels turn in your head. your thoughts running miles a minute. and it didn’t even turn him off one bit. if anything, it made him hornier thinking you were more than willing to sleep with him.
“i’m putting up a pillow wall.” you said quickly as you stood up next to him.
eric sulked, “but why?” he whined like a child.
“because you’re horny on a no nut november mission, and i’m lacking good dick!”
he smirked, “so what you’re saying is that you think I could give you some good dick?”
you stomped your foot, “either behave or sleep in your own lonely apartment sohn!”
eric started to behave, as you both got ready for bed. he helped you clean up your living room and kitchen prior to himself going to use your bathroom as you prepared the bed.
you hesitantly turned your phone on, seeing missed messages. the ones that caught your eyes were 4 missed from joyce.
joyce the traitor: the movie was so scary! but he kept me safe the entire time < 3 at 9:30 pm
joyce the traitor: [image] at 10:01 pm
joyce the traitor: im his girlfriend, yee!! at 10:03 pm
joyce the traitor: [image] at 10:47 pm
the last image threatened tears. actually you did let tears fall. the last image was of joyce full on kissing your ex-crush and him groping her proudly.
“what the fuck?” eric said from behind you. you quickly turned around seeing him angry. “who the fuck sends pictures like that to their friends knowing fully well said friend had a crush on that guy?”
“eric, i told her it’s fine—,”
“but it’s not fine!” he interrupted. “i knew she was just insecure. always comparing herself to you? wanting what you always had!”
eric saw it. you did too. but what you didn’t know and he did was that joyce once came to him. wanting to be close with him. all because you and him were friends. joyce didn’t like eric always gave you his full attention and never her.
“why would she send all those messages when you clearly weren’t responding. she just wants you to have a melt down.” eric balled his fists at his side.
you quickly pulled him in for a hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “don’t worry eric, i won’t cry over her. over him.” you breathed in your best friend’s scent. “they’re not worth it.” you breathed into his neck, sending shivers down his entire body down to his length.
with a groan he pulled away from you. you both looked at each other, clearly something shifting into the air.
you leaned in first. eric followed, eyes never leaving yours. when your lips touched, you quickly melted into his touch.
your arms wrapping back around his broad shoulders, eric wrapping one arm around your waist, while his hand held your cheek.
he kissed you carefully. kissed you tenderly. kissed you as if he may never get this again. taking is slow and steady, however, you felt him get harder once again beneath his sweats.
you pulled away, both of you breathing hard. “wow.” eric whispered with a smile.
you smiled as well. “sorry, i shouldn’t have—,”
eric once again interrupted you. shutting you up with another kiss, this time, both hands gripping your waist, tongue poking at your lips.
“don’t be sorry,” he mumbled against your lips. “just make me losing this bet worth it, please.”
eric stepped away to lift his shirt off his torso, exposing his abs and tattoos. your hand pulled him back in from the back of his neck, his hands stumbling to get your sweats off of you.
they dropped to your ankles, leaving you in your cotton underwear (upset you didn’t choose your lacy ones). eric immediately used his index and middle finger, rubbing circles around your clit, a low groan releasing from your lips due to the stimulation.
you couldn’t help but roam your hands all over eric’s chest, finally excited to experience touching his pecks.
soon your knees hit the bed, causing you to stumble backwards, eric hovering over top of you, his chain around his neck hanging.
“fuck that’s so hot.” you mumbled, bringing his lips back down to yours.
eric kissed your lips, to your cheek, your chin, down your neck and throat, all while lifting your shirt above your belly. he left kisses down your belly, skipping over your most sensitive area, and went to sucking hickies on your inner thighs.
he teased you for a good few minutes, with his lips, tongue, teeth, fingers.
“eric please, i can’t take the teasing.” you huffed out.
he listened, taking your underwear down your legs, and immediately latching on to your clit. his fingers focused on entering you, while his lips and tongue focused on your clit and folds.
your eyes rolled back, your hand gripping his locks, back arching off the bed. “fuck eric, if i knew your tongue was that good—ahh!—i would’ve fucked you sooner.”
eric smiled in your cunt, but did not miss a beat. not only was he happy to be eating pussy, he was happy to be eating yours.
eric became messy with it, you leaking on his lips and chin, his spit and drool everywhere. you were close feeling your legs shake.
“i’m close, eric, honey,” you let out a deep throaty growl, “fuuuuck,”
it only encourage him on, and he added a third finger, quickly bringing you to your orgasm. your thighs tightened around his head, as you rode his face coming down from your orgasm.
cloud chest rising and falling, eric quickly stood up, pulling his sweats and own boxers down, standing naked in front of you. dick hard as ever.
his face was slick with you, and he’s never looked sexier in your opinion. with lust hazed eyes, you beckoned him to come closer, kissing him on his lips, tasting your self.
his tip carefully lined perfectly to you, throbbing in need. “show me what i’ve been missing out on, eric.” you mumbled while holding onto the chain around his neck.
eric smiled, and quickly pushed into you, your mouth quickly opening, then slamming shut as you let out whimpers, groans, and whines while eric rocked inside and out of you, only noise to be heard was squelching, occasionally kissing, skin on skin smacking, and moans between the both of you.
“fuck baby, i’m not going to last.” eric moaned, head dropping to your shoulder. his hand reached up under your shirt to start playing with one of your breast and nipples, getting you closer to your second orgasm.
with your head thrown back, and a loud moan leaving you, you whined out eric’s name. “please eric. please, please, please—ugh.”
“it’s okay honey, we’re both almost there.” eric cooed, leaning his forehead against yours.
you squeezed your eyes shut. in bliss that your fucking best friend, eric sohn, was about to bring you yet, another good fucking orgasm.
you weren’t about to become addicted to dick and sex. no you were about to become addicted to eric.
eric thought you looked wonderful for him like this. all sweaty, whiny, and begging. your nails digging into his skin. only in his best dreams has he ever had you like this.
losing that bet was worth it to be able to be buried deep in you.
eric stood up straight, hands on the back of your thighs as he literally pounded into you, rocking the bed, watching your chest bounce up and down from the movement. skin on skin getting louder. his breathing and your whines becoming louder and longer. less steady.
eric reached in between you both, stimulating your clit by pinching, touching, and rubbing.
“fuck where can i come?” he asked, closer to his own orgasm.
“in me please.” you replied. he knew you were on the pill, and always had plan b stashed. not only that, with your past sex buddies you always wore condoms.
having eric not wear one only heightened the experience. and you loved every second of it. you came not to long after that, imagining the feel of every inch of eric.
with one last growl, eric stilled, emptying into you. it was so much, his come started leaking out of you. white and sticky. both of you sweaty. tired out.
eric collapsed somewhat on top of you, careful to not crush you. his dick still lodge into you.
once eric got his breathing under control and saw you slipping away, with a smile he got up from the bed, and walked to your bathroom for a clean washcloth. with warm water, he cleaned you up. you were too lazy to help him, move, or getup and use the bathroom.
after eric finished washing you down, he helped situate you in your bed correctly, head on the pillows, wrapped under your covers. he threw the washcloth to the side and got in next to you, wrapping his arm around you, kissing your temple.
you turned your head, poking out your lips, asking for a kiss. with a laugh he returned the kiss, and whispered you goodnight.
while you soon fell asleep wrapped in eric’s arms, eric had took a picture of you two cuddling, under the sheets.
first he sent it to the boys group chat.
to: the boyz 💬
[image] lost not nut november, but sooo worth it 😜
from: the boyz
is that who i think it is??!!?
the texts started flooding in, but he ignored them, sending one last message for the night.
to: unknown
[image] pretty sure she’s def not worried about u and him anymore. she has me now. 😘
summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
Lee Chan x reader | part of the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab hosted by @camandemstudios
word count: 9.2k
contains: band member!chan, high school!au, angst, fluff, neighbours to lovers, mentions of stress and overwhelming emotions, chan is emotionally constipated, mention of parents
synopsis: Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, at least that what it feels like to you since the day his family moved in next door. It goes from his yells and screams to his midday guitar riffs and drum solos, all somehow ending up in your parents garage for his audacious band practices.
Noise has followed Lee Chan his entire life, but at some point, you fell in line too.
[a/n]: this one was. a ride. to say the least. this felt like I was going back to my roots, I was getting so much htwhfd vibes from this and it made me all emo. its not as plot heavy or extensive as I usually go but it was about time I wrote something for chan before they took my dinonara status away so plsplsplsplspls remember to reblog or send me an ask with your thots 🥹
ty to @highvern the yin to my yang or whatever they say about married couples for beta-ing this for me, to jewel @100vern and mr. jewel for helping me out with all the technical instrument bits, ily hehehe. and of course, the BIGGEST thank you to everyone that participated in this collab, we had 26 fics this time around (what! the! fuck!) and it was honestly so fun to interact with new and old writers and to watch them create fics <333 ily guys tysm and PLEASE check out the collab masterlist above for all the amazing fics!!!
masterlist
The day you met Lee Chan was a memory as vivid as yesterday. Mostly because it was the first time you heard a scream so blood curdling. It was enough to push you out of your seat where you were pouring over an impossible Kumon problem, hurtling towards a window looking over your front yard, interest piqued beyond the math problems on your desk. Tripping over your stuffed otter in haste, you threw the toy onto the bed with perfect aim before returning to your mission.
Nose pressed against the cool glass, you find a giant moving truck right in front of your house. Well, half in front of yours, the tailend towards the house next door. The truck's compartment is wide open, and a million wrapped and boxed things lay on the pavement, leaving a trail that leads all the way into the open front door. Wrapped chairs and tables, what look like vases and bowls littered next to crudely labelled cardboard boxes. The chaos wasn’t quenching your interest though; the men that haul things from the truck to the ground are not the ones screaming, and neither is the woman that pops her head out to drag a box through the threshold and into the house.
Your hands are on the glass too, trying to push yourself farther than your tippy toes to catch a better look at the newcomers. You nearly give up, about to drop back on your heels and go back to hunch over algebra, before you hear a loud yell. “Dad! DAD! Look!”
He’s sprinting so fast you hardly catch him, through the door, jumping down the steps of the porch, zigzagging through boxes and furniture and uncut grass as he hurtles towards the truck. The bright blue hoodie he’s donned makes it easier to keep up, but also the fact that he’s holding a giant object in his arms as he books it across the lawn.
“Chan, be careful, you’ve barely had it for ten minutes!” someone yells, their voice muffled through the glass. He doesn’t seem to listen, crashing into his dad who receives his bone crushing hug with surprise.
It’s a guitar. He’s holding a guitar. His father speaks, directed at the woman in the doorway, “I told you to wait for me!”
“He found it himself!” she defends, but her tone is light with amusement. It’s half drowned by the unending chorus of thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou from the boy who continues to balance his brand new guitar and the tight embrace that’s locked his dad’s arms at his own sides.
A few hours later, there’s company at your door, the distinct sound of your mother greeting her guests pouring through to your bedroom. You instinctively press pause on your speakers, the static noise of One Direction halting abruptly as you eavesdrop. As though on cue, your mother called for you.
At the door is a woman with a kind smile on her face, handing your mother a tray full of something covered in foil, all while she’s being ushered onto the couch. Behind her trail two boys, a taller and a shorter.
“This is my daughter,” she introduces you to the crowd beckoning you forward. Shuffling your feet, you oblige. “This is Mrs. Lee and her sons.”
“This is Geon,” Mrs. Lee gestures towards the shorter one that’s more content behind his mothers legs. “And this is Chan. You might be the same age!”
“They’ve just moved in next door,” your mother informs, lifting her head to address Mrs. Lee. “You’re enrolling him in the local middle school right? Maybe you can show him around!”
It’d be hard to do that when the boy in question was more interested in the carpet below his socks. But you nod and give a tight smile regardless. With the adults seated, your mother has somehow pushed you into dragging a seemingly unwilling Chan to show him your room. Both of you oblige, mostly because you see his mother give him the look when he wouldn’t move from his spot.
It’s torturously silent as you climb the steps, trying to think if you’ve left out something embarrassing in the open. Your stomach jolts, the giant pile of clothes fashioning itself in your eyelids, your training bra at the top of the clean pile. Suddenly, you’re bolting up the steps faster than Chan, making a beeline to shove the damn thing under the mound of clothes before he could walk in and see. Throwing the door open, you take a moment to address Chan walking up the last step, “Um, just in here.”
There it is, pink with Minnie Mouse plastered all over it. By the time it’s hidden, Chan is walking through the threshold and into your room. His eyes wander, taking in the blare of your space. He looks odd standing with his clothes that are all black down to his socks and his mop of hair, a void against the bright pinks and blues of your bedroom. The desk is against the window that overlooks the backyard, your curtains patterned a purple chevron. It’s clean for now, but your shelves are lined with textbooks and novels, a smaller corner for your CDs. The bed is still warm and ruffled from when you were lounging in it, your nightstand decorated with a star lamp and your pink CD player.
“You can sit down,” you invite, giving the pile of clothes one last kick in its place next to your blue wardrobe. You migrate to the chair behind your desk, letting him take the edge of the bed. He still hasn’t said a word, and you wonder if this is the same person that was running and screaming outside just hours ago. Chan continues to observe the contaminants of your room, landing on your nightstand where your CD player is, the case for your One Direction CD right next to it. Reaching for it, he says his first words to you.
“Is this yours?” A dense question in hindsight, but you appreciated him filling the silence. You nod immediately, “I have more! I have them all, actually.”
He puts the case back on your nightstand. The silence plunges itself into the space once more, and the pressure on your chest is near unbearable. “You can…you can borrow them if you like.”
Chan looks startled, eyebrows raised as he registers the offer. “Oh, uh, I don’t…I don’t listen to One Direction. Or boy groups or girl groups or…pop.”
“Oh,” you falter, heat rising in your cheeks. Nothing was said outright, but you couldn’t shake the distinct feeling of being judged.
“Do you play?” he asks. Cocking your head in confusion, you ask, “The CD player?”
“No, uh,” he points to under your desk, where there’s a pink plastic ukulele covered in multicolour glitter from a chaotic DIY, “that.”
“I try to.” Your cheeks burn. “Youtube videos are helpful sometimes. Do you?”
It was a pointed question, brought forth from the fresh memory of his loud gift receiving earlier. “I play the ukulele but it’s not a lot of fun. I just got a new guitar for my birthday last week. I only got it today because we were moving and I wasn’t supposed to find it but I did. It’s a Fender Jazzmaster in Olympic White. My mom wanted me to get Surfer Green but it felt like a gir— anyway.”
“Why…don’t you like Surfer Green?” you ask, because it felt like the obvious follow up.
He stares at you, mouth open slightly. “What I really wanted was the Fender Mustang but my mom said that was too expensive. Dad would’ve gotten it but they bought my brother a console so I had to comiprise…copm…comripise—”
“C-Compromise?” you suggest meekly.
“Yeah.”
You frown a little, “Aren’t you happy with the one you got?”
“I like the Jazzmaster too, but holding those Mustangs just–just feels different in the stores,” he continues. “Kurt Cobain had a Mustang.”
“Who’s—”
“You don’t know Nirvana?”
“Um—” you stutter, like you’d been asked a question you didn’t have an answer for in front of the entire class.
“Right,” he deflates, eyes flitting to the empty One Direction case on the nightstand.
You swallow, wiggling your toes to hold down the fort that was your pride. “Are—um…Are there no other famous people with…what you got?”
He ponders for a moment, face uncurling. “Bob Dylan had one…”
You breathe a sigh of relief, having at least heard the name before. “That means it’s still really good!”
“Yeah,” he nods, like he was having a genuine epiphany. “Yeah it is pretty good.”
“Good.”
“I still want the Mustang though,” he continues, and then adding with a mumble you hardly catch, “Why does Geon have to get a present on my birthday.”
Later on in the week, when you’re out at the mall with your friends, too sweet frappes and milkshakes in hand, your gaggle enters the music store. The others crowd around the laid out drumset, some walk to the functioning keyboards, you find yourself trailing to the salon style depiction of electric guitars mounted on the walls. Cold fingers wrapped around your mocha frappe, you read the signs on the different guitars, trying to find two specific ones to pause on.
There it is. The placard calls it a Fender Player II Mustang in bold black font. It’s jet black, reflective in the glossy finish, complete with all the white accents and the wood piece at the top. Your hand, sweaty with condensation, reaches out to touch the smooth surface of the guitar, half mesmerised by the finish. You’re interrupted with a jarring, “Can I help you out?”
Retracting quickly, you turn to the salesperson stood before you, small smile on her face. “Uh—do you guys have this in surfer green?”
She furrows her brows, “Not the Mustangs. We have Jazzmasters in surfer green but they’re out of stock. Would you like to place an order?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, you’re quick with your, “No, thank you.” It’d be strange for a middle schooler to book something that expensive all by herself, let alone with a flock of friends. The lady smiles at you regardless, and you smile back, going to give the black beauty one last look before walking back over to your friends, where they attempt to play the intro to Shake It Off with very little success.
You steal one last glance as you leave the store.
Remembering freshman year of high school is quite easy when you take into account all the time you spent locked in a bathroom stall crying. It began to make a little more sense after your first bleed, having something to attribute your feelings to when things in your 16 year old brain got rough, but you wouldn’t leave a particularly high rating on your high school years.
It wasn’t all bad, though, especially when you were sitting in your homeroom class with neatly folded hands and a slightly jittery leg, watching all the people file into the room. You didn’t know if he’d be here, it wasn’t like you talked to him in middle school much, nor did you hear anything from your mother. You’d rather have died than ask, choosing to wait until you bumped into him — if you bumped into him. The manifestation made itself known as Lee Chan walked into the door of your homeroom class nearly fifteen minutes past reporting time. The teacher simply smiled with raised brows as he greeted him, not missing the leisurely way his backpack was strung on one shoulder paired with his blaring METALLICA t-shirt. His eyes sweep right past you as he makes his way to the very back of the class to find a seat in the last row.
It’s difficult to not crane your neck to see him, hiding under the guise of a neck stretch as you turn your head. He’s slumped in his chair, face unreadable as he stares at the front of the class. He isn’t doing much, which is like always, but it’s enough for you to want to take another peek. You don’t, because your homeroom teacher has clapped his hands to get the attention of the now full room, ready to start the first day of high school.
Did you like Chan? Or did you just like the way that he was? At 14, he seemed infinitely cooler than you, just like he did in middle school when he made his first impression in the resounding girlish brightness of your room, in front of your boyband CDs and glitter crafted ukulele that were all seemingly too juvenile for his tastes. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you knew you wanted to be his friend, a feat that seemed significantly harder than it should be.
Chan would never tag along with his mom or brother when they’d come to visit, and he’d always be cooped up in his room when it’d be you sitting with his brother in the living room of his home while your mothers conversed endlessly. It was the only reason you were that enthusiastic anyway, the possibility of seeing him and sparking a conversation that didn’t die down in half a minute. You’d been to Chan’s room only once, and hardly even at all. It was the summer before high school and your families were barbecuing in the backyard of Chan’s home, and you’d been tasked to run up and pull him out to come eat. He was the only one left in the house, who seemed to not respond when you knocked cautiously on the wood of his door.
His door was a collage of him; posters of unresolved rock bands, loud DO NOT ENTER warnings and endless loud tearings of the sort. You spotted a pink unicorn sticker among the mess, and you were almost sure it was the workings of Geon, one that Chan was yet to spot. There was a muffled hum filtering through the door, and it sounded like the low strumming of a guitar. Chan was playing something, and you remember so clearly the way you stood there for seemingly ages trying to figure out what the tune was. It was worlds quieter than his usual loud guitar riffs that seemed to occur at the very reasonable times of 10 O’clock at night. It seems you were taking too long, because next you know, his mother was bounding up the steps to find you vacant outside his door.
“Is he not answering?” she asks. “God, those stupid headphones, never should’ve bought them—CHAN!” She raps on the door with significant force. “LEE CHAN, get out of your cave, everyone’s waiting for you at the table!”
The door swings open to reveal a severely disgruntled Chan, his headphones nowhere to be found. “What?”
“Poor girl’s been knocking for twenty minutes, have some decency and get downstairs,” she snaps. You were frozen in your spot, mouth gaping as you tried to say something. You’d only knocked once, and not very firmly either. Technically, this was your fault. His mother looked down at his shirt that depicted a very graphic skull paired with pyjama bottoms. “And change for goodness’ sake!”
With that, her expression changed so quickly it gave you whiplash. She gave you a smile and pulled you along with her back downstairs, pushing you to sit down at the dinner table as Chan emerged into the lawn a while later. He’d pulled a jumper over his shirt despite the pleasant weather, his sweatpants changed out. You noted how he shoved Geon out of his seat at the very end of the table, making him move to the only other seat available — next to you. Nobody noted the exchange, nobody batted an eye. They were always going at each other, this had only felt like another brotherly spat.
Even now, as you note the free seat next to you in your homeroom class, you know it was only because he didn’t see you when he walked in, and that he’d rather die than sit anywhere closer than the farthest bench, but you couldn’t help feeling what you felt. An ugly kind of stir, a pang of hurt. There was nothing close about you and Chan but your proximity, but when the universe’s recipe to bring everyone else in the world closer fails, it’s impossible to feel like there’s resistance somewhere, somehow.
Getting in the car of Chan’s mother’s car, he takes the front seat and immediately pops in headphones on, while you talk about your day to his mom. Geon, having been picked up from his middle school first, is fast asleep in the seat next to you, leaving you as the only person she could talk to. You didn’t mind, Mrs. Lee was always nice, maybe even exceptionally nice to you. She did mention wanting a daughter at some point, but you appreciate that she’s putting you out of your self imposed silence.
Freshman year was a lot; emotions, friends, grades, and the very existence of the fact that you were growing up through the thick of it all. But there was one thing that it wasn't, and that was Chan.
Senior year of high school, things become exponentially harder for you.
It’s the first day back to school, this time without the nerves of freshman year. Three years into the game, you’d built a high school specific armour that served you well for most of your career. You were jogging out the door and into the morning chill, immediately looking for the white of Mrs. Lee’s SUV, only to find a silver sedan parked in front of your driveway. Halting in your steps, you looked over to find the car you’d been looking for still parked and stationary in the neighboring driveway, looking back to the unfamiliar car in front of you.
The windows rolled down just as you were about to cross the lawn and knock on the neighbor’s doors, maybe Mrs. Lee was running late? But all you saw was Geon in the shotgun seat waving you over, and you catch the explicit sight of Chan at the driver’s seat.
Oh.
As you slipped into the backseat, you remember the distinct feeling of unease. “I…I still thought your mom was dropping us off.”
“Chan bought the car yesterday! But he had to promise mom to let you carpool with us—”
“Geon,” Chan grit quietly as he turned the corner out of the neighborhood. In true seventeen year old fashion, you felt your legs turn to jello. You’d hardly seen him over the summer, overheard talks from the adults that he was giving guitar lessons to younger kids; perhaps that was how he bought the car? But the gap in contact meant you had no idea just how deep his voice had gotten over the past months. You remember the uncomfortable lurch in your stomach, the way Geon ignored his brother and only continued to speak to you, but you were hardly listening over the roaring in your ears. “...a new CD booklet but it’s all his shitty rock music—”
“Language,” Chan hissed. Geon frowned, “I’m going into high school next year. I think I’m allowed to say shit.” He only turned back to you in a grin, “He just can’t accept that his music is shitty.”
“Get out of my car,” Chan said as he pulled up in front of Geon’s middle school.
Immediately, panic flooded in your system. Do you stay in the backseat? Do you move up front? Why didn’t you think of this before? Getting out of the car and moving up front felt like an exceedingly embarrassing task. Opening the door, closing it, the awkward run up to the front seat, not to mention the silence, were you supposed to talk to him—
“You can just jump over the console up front,” Chan turned to say to you, and you jump a little at the way he directly addresses you.
“Uh, are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the way he moves his elbow out of the way so you’d have space to hop over.
“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he assured, only half paying attention. Leaving your backpack in the back, you found yourself moving towards the centre console, swinging a leg over to bring the sole of your shoe directly on the front seat to push yourself over. You succeeded, dropping down with a thud. Chan had already begun driving as you grappled to find the seatbelt.
The only thing you remember from that first drive with Chan alone was the way your brain felt like a broken record.
“Geon.”
“Language.”
“Get out of my car.”
“You can just jump over the console up front.”
“Yeah, I don’t mind.”
It was too much for all of seven minutes from Geon’s middle school to your high school, evident in the way you blurted out a quick “thanks, see you at 3” over your shoulder as you’d booked it into the building and out Chan’s vicinity. If he’d found it weird, he didn’t say a thing.
This went on for the first few months of senior year, even having been promoted to shotgun at some point to make the ordeal easier, much to the annoyance of Geon who sat moping for most mornings and afternoons. Despite the fact, Chan never really spoke to you throughout the time, his only words coming in the form of snapping at Geon when he mildly annoyed him. But you had acquired his phone number, which ensued a chatbox of endless short sentence exchanges.
[Chan 7:15 AM]: Come outside
[You 7:15 AM]: Ok
[Chan 3:02 PM]: Come outside
[You 3:03 PM]: Ok
The turn didn't happen until tonight. It’s the first week of winter break, a bleak Friday night as you’re getting ready to reorganise your shelf of magazines. The room is filled with Taylor Swift filtering through your pink speakers, still in the same place on the nightstand as it was in middle school. The pile of magazine issues is taking over your floor, more than half of them covered in settled dust over the years, some just about ready to disintegrate at a touch. You’re more than focused on your task of separating the viable contenders to the ones that have had their run, when the distinct sound of the doorbell cuts through your music. A glance at the clock tells you it’s nearly 8 PM, too late for guests. Well, invited ones anyway.
Soon, there’s a warble of high pitched conversation, one that urges you to shut your music off to ensue your usual eavesdropping. There isn’t much you can make out with your ear pressed to the door, and you have half a mind to move out and loiter in the hallway. You still can’t tell who it is, but when you hear the sound of the front door closing, you know it’s safe to wander out.
“Who was that?” you ask your mother casually under the pretense of wanting an apple.
“Oh, it was Chan!” she responds. Your hand that’s rummaging through the fridge freezes. “Did you know he’s in a band? He wants to use the garage for band practice, asked so nicely I couldn’t say no.”
Emerging from the fridge with a deformed stick of cheese, you ask as evenly as possible, “Why—What’s wrong with his garage?”
“They’ve got an extra car now so one always needs to be inside to make space in the driveway. Something about his dad’s exercise machines too but I wasn’t listening, I didn’t have a problem with him using the space anyway.”
“But,” you start, but falter. “But the noise…”
“He said weekends in the late afternoons only, seems reasonable enough,” she says. This time, when she turns to you she has a strange look on her face, and you immediately know you’ve pried too much.
“Well, I’m done for the day, keep your music down, will you? I’m taking an early night.”
The irony isn’t beyond you, but when there’s someone at the door at 3 PM on Saturday, you know exactly who it is.
You’ve been loitering downstairs all afternoon, bringing your homework to the open kitchen table under the guise of “wanting a change of scenery”. There’s no one around when you slowly slip off your stool, dropping your pen like you were immensely inconvenienced by the distraction, slugging towards the door to wrench it open.
Chan is in a zip up today and dark washed jeans, but it’s blacker than a void all the same. His guitar case sits next to him as his hands remain pocketed. He registers you for a moment, “Hey. Is your mom around?”
“Uh—” you stutter. Looking back to see her rushing towards the door to greet Chan.
“Oh, you’re here!” Immediately, she smacks at your arm to move you from the door, “Let him in, will you? It’s freezing outside.”
You grumble something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, letting Chan into your home as your mother starts listing things off.
“Okay! I made sure the garage was clean, the floors are mopped and I’ve put up a heater in there in case it gets too cold. Just plug it into the socket near the garage door and it should work. Don’t worry about staying late, it’s not like you have to drive home!” Your mother laughs at her own joke with vigour, prompting Chan to break a smile of his own which you’re sure is out of nothing but politeness. But you can’t help the hitch in your threat as you see him smile, the breathy laugh he lets out to seal the deal.
“I’ll be out with snacks once all your friends get here, feel free to get comfortable, you can leave all your fancy equipment in the garage too, no one really goes in there.”
“You didn’t have to do all that, really—”
“Nonsense!” your mother exclaims, cutting Chan off. She finds you trailing behind her and pulls you in. “You’ve been handling drop off duties since middle school, I’m glad you’re giving me a chance to do something for you.”
You want to mumble something about Mrs. Lee being the one doing most of the picking up and dropping off in the past years, but choose not to as she shoos Chan into the garage to let him set up. You’re left alone in the opening of the living room as your mother ushers into the kitchen to start on the aforementioned snacks. Following her, you take a begrudged seat back at the island, picking up your deserted pen and scratching a nonexistent itch in your scalp as you stare blankly at the papers in front of you. There’s a giant bag of dino nuggets slammed on the island as your mother rushes about behind you, and you stare at them a little confused.
“Um,” you attempt to start, turning to address her. “I don’t know if Chan or his bandmates are gonna appreciate dino nuggets as snacks.”
She frowns. “But I always made you dino nuggets when your friends came over. Orange or apple juice, string cheese, and cookies!”
Your eyes close as you remember the spread that was always expected, that your friends always liked. “That was a while ago, mom.”
“You haven’t had friends over in so long, I wouldn’t know what kids like at that age.”
Shoulders slouched, you mumble under your breath, “That’s ‘cause you won’t let me change my room.”
She catches it, still adamant that your bursts of bright pink, purple and blues were perfectly appropriate for you. “But you still like the same things!”
“Yeah but…I don’t have to be so loud about it,” you grumble slightly, trying your hardest to complain without complaining.
“Well, tell me what they’d want then.”
You hadn’t planned to be too involved with the process, but the situation called for it if you were to save face somehow. You're in the middle of fighting with the oven when you hear the distinct tremor of testing cymbals and the deep, low sound of guitar notes. By the time you’re done helping out your mother, band practice is in full session, the muffled noise of cohesive music pouring through the walls as you let your mother plate up the food. You manage to replace the tray with the dotted spaceships to one that’s less assuming.
“Alright, you can go ahead and get this to them, my load of laundry’s been sitting in the dryer for half an hour!”
Snapping your head up, you bug your eyes out at your mother. “W–What?”
“Go on, they’re probably waiting!” she yells over her shoulder as she rushes to her ever important stash of laundry.
Later in life, you’ll think back to this very moment, and the very embarrassing way you snapped down to look at your outfit first and foremost. The heat rose to your cheeks even in the moment, having the sudden urge to change into your jeans. It was like the first day in Chan’s car all over again, the prospect of carrying the tray over to a garage full of boys who knew they were infinitely cooler than you was downright mortifying.
You were old enough to realise the oddity of your behaviour, the way you seem to flare up like an ignition the moment Chan was anywhere near the vicinity of your thoughts. But when you’re sitting in the middle of a group of giggling, exhilarated friends, talking about all the ways their crushes make them swoon, it all seems so out of place. The lift of their smile, the cascade of their hair, the way they enunciate their words. There was always something to talk about when it came to the person with the glowing halo around their beings.
Did you like Chan?
Liking Chan meant having something to talk about. He pays you no mind, takes no interest in anything that doesn’t directly concern him, hell, you can’t remember the last time you heard your name from his mouth. But when you think of his dark hair, dark clothes and equally dark demeanor, nothing comes to mind to back up why you seem to see the monochromed boy scintillating like he glows from within. It was just him. It was just Chan.
Even now, as you timidly duck through the half shuttered garage opening, you feel yourself putting every ounce of strength you had to not drop the tray altogether.
It’s mostly silent now, the slight sounds of tuning instruments the only thing occupying the surroundings. The garage is near unrecognisable, not that you’re in there alot anyway. It’s darker, only a single yellow lamp ignited in the corner, the half covered opening of the garage letting in the fading orange of sunlight. An entire drumset’s been shoved in the area, the seat occupied by one of Chan’s friends you recognise immediately, Hansol. A giant black box with knobs and wires you think is an amplifier, and two people with guitars, a ruby red and a shiny, lacquered black, fiddled around by Seugkwan and Yeonjun. You don’t see Chan immediately, but recognise the white guitar propped up against the mic stand.
“Grub!” one of them yells, and that seems to push Chan out of his hunch in front of the sockets.
“Um, my mom said to give this to you,” you say, placing the tray on the spare table in the corner. “I’ll just…have a good session.”
“Fanks!” Seungkwan muffles through a mouth full of hotdog, waving as you timidly leave.
You remember hearing a chorus of thank yous as you’d left the garage, but as you sit back down at the kitchen island to ‘resume’ your homework, all you can think about is Chan’s own voice was mixed in with the crowd.
You can’t tell, but when your mother walks in to dump a clean pile of laundry to fold on the couch, she asks you why you’re smiling.
Every Friday, Saturday and Sunday, you accustomed your afternoons to homework on the kitchen island sponsored by the background music pouring from the garage. You couldn’t recognise any of the songs they played to save your life, but when it was Chan’s turn at the mic, you found you didn’t really care what was being strummed out.
It took you a couple weeks, but you soon found yourself positively launching at the snack tray anytime your mother made a move to go deliver them, having honed the skill of reminding her of another more pressing task she always seemed to have. It didn’t take long for the boys to start calling you all sorts of heavenly names, a perk of being the bearer of the food.
Chan stuck to his small “thanks”, but it seemed to do mounds better for your mood than the other “angel”, “goddess”, or “your highness”s being thrown at you.
Until, of course, it all came crashing down.
The band had continued to use the garage even as the semester had started, pouring all the way into the end of the spring semester. Finals were upon you like an agitated hive of wasps, graduation edging nearer and nearer as you hunched over homework and notes and assignments for real this time. Sleep was a commodity, as seen by the fifteen minute naps you pushed in every morning in the passenger seat as Chan drove you to school. Not very surprisingly, Chan seemed unphased. Band practices occurred like normal, but with much sorrow, you had to give up your snack runs to your mother when you realised you couldn’t afford the distraction.
Noise cancelling headphones and the wood of your bedroom door, you try your darndest not to miss the few minutes of cheese and crackers you’d share with the band, the feeling of being included by people you didn’t think would bat an eye. It felt silly, when you realised they were also just high schoolers with different interests, the isolation having been a wall constructed in your consciousness alone.
The only thing you can manage is a hi when you pass in the hallways, or a quick goodbye when you get into Chan’s car where they crowd. It isn’t until you’re walking home late from study group when it’s past dark that you have a chance, the sound of music still rumbling from the shuttered garage door. There’s a temporary slouch in your shoulders, and a mind that’s too tired, too sleepy, and frankly, too sick of your own bedroom. So you find yourself walking into the garage from the door on the inside of the house, soliciting a very exciting response.
“Oh? Has the snack goddess returned?” Yeonjun asks, in jest because you can see the empty tray of snacks already devoured and digested.
“Hey,” you smile tightly. You don’t know if it’s because you’re near exhausted, but the prospect of looking at Chan feels like it would push you over the edge you’ve been teetering on for weeks.
Suddenly, this seems like it was a bad idea.
“What, missed us too much?” Hansol muses, and you immediately want to cry.
You can’t understand what’s going on, but suddenly, the buzz of being around Chan is doing worse than just flooding you with a manageable buzz.
The weather’s getting warmer, and he’s wearing a t-shirt that reveals a universally acceptable amount of skin, but it feels like a visual hook when your eyes glaze over his form.
And then there it is.
The upturn of the corners of his mouth, the cascade of his dark hair, the way he enunciated, “Geon’s been worried about you.”
Have you? Have you, Chan?
Not a thought about the fact that these were the most amount of words he’d said to you in years, not a thought about how he’s looking directly at you, or that he addressed you in a way that wasn’t passive or monosyllabic.
It’s the strange sting of tears that takes you aback, the itch in your nose, the lump in your throat. “I’m fine.” You sound…watery. “Just wanted to check in. Have fun.”
Through the now shut door of the garage, you hear a voice through the wood. “Geon’s been worried about her? Fuck you, Chan, seriously.”
When you make it up to your bedroom, it’s just another punch to the gut. The purple of your curtains, the baby blue of your bedsheets, the glitter of that stupid ukulele you just can’t seem to throw away.
The pink of your CD player.
It’s all too much. Too much in the tears that roll down your face, too much in the sound of your sniffles, too much in the ache in your temples.
Too much, but after the years where it all felt so unsure, you find through the blur of your tears the clear sign pointed directly at Chan. And the one that doesn’t point back at you.
Your feelings weren’t even remotely new, but the epiphany you’d just received certainly was.
You’re perfectly aware of how thick the air was when you slipped into the passenger seat Monday morning, refusing to look at Chan and simply muttering a small “hey”. As always. You slip into your nap that was mostly just you pretending to screw your eyes tight shut, head leaned against the window.
The car slows to stop, but you don’t hear the sound of the door opening from the backseat to signal Geon leaving.
It’s silent for a few moments before Geon pipes up. “Did you make her mad?”
“What?”
“You did something.”
“Are you getting out or not?”
There’s a small mumble of “Idiot” as opens the door to leave, slamming the door shut with a force that shakes the entire car. It forces you to open your eyes, but you hardly flutter them as you stretch your arms out like you just woke up. You watch as you pull into the final turn that leads to your school, only to find Chan turn…the other way?
He pulls over to the side as soon as he makes the turn, exiting the car before you can react or ask what he was doing. You only stare as he enters a tiny neon lighted coffee shop tucked into a corner on the elevated pavement. It irritates you for some reason, so you simply tuck your head back into your own shoulder and close your eyes. The car door opens, and you feel him pull out to take the other turn.
You don’t open your eyes till he parks and you hear the pull of the handbrake. Not even looking over, you reach for your bag to leave the car, only to be stopped by Chan.
There’s two plastic cups in the cup holders and a paper bag with a bright logo. Chan picks one of the cups up and makes to exit the car. “The coffee’s only half a shot so it’s not too stimulating. Sandwich should warm up by lunch.”
He’s already slammed the door of the driver’s side shut, leaving you in your seat utterly perplexed. You stare at the light brown liquid in the to go cup, the slight stains of oil on the paper bag, mind blank.
Then the door opens again, Chan poking his head in again, “I have to lock the car.”
“Oh!” You scramble to grab everything, looking up sheepishly. “Thanks for this.”
“S’fine.”
And then he’s gone again, leaving you a mess you’re increasingly failing to conceal.
It seems the universe is dead set on ensuring your final weeks in high school are anything but laced with peace.
The exhaustion, lack of sleep and the constant strain of using your brain so much is making you irrational. Suddenly, everything Chan does feels like a signal.
It was coffee and a sandwich, then it was letting you know he was okay with waiting for you an extra hour when you had meeting after school, calling you in the mornings instead of his usual brief text asking you to come outside. But then there were the sights you’d witness in school. He’d smile, talk, and laugh so loud you could hear him from across the hall, to boys and girls and teachers alike, like he was only odd around you. It’s giving you whiplash. It makes you wanna spin him around and ask him what on Earth you did wrong. Why he’s held such distaste for you since the day you two met all those years ago as kids.
When you break down into tears in the middle of your Algebra final, your teacher only assumes it’s the stress of senior year getting to you, and it probably is. But you know there’s more to what’s happening to your emotions.
The good thing is that was your last final, walking out of the doors of your high school, knowing you’d never have to think of the last few months of torture ever again. The doors aren’t nearly as flooded as you imagined the final day of high school would have them be, having been one of the last people to take the exam. A bleak end to a bleak year.
That is, until you find the familiar silver sedan parked in the very front of the nearly empty parking lot.
Chan did not have an Algebra exam today, he’d been done with school for a whole week, and you’d been taking the painstaking walk back home for your remaining days, as you had expected to do for your very last.
He’s leaning against the driver’s side door outside in the near empty parking lot anyway, wearing a black hoodie despite the warm afternoon, his jeans a dark blue.
Your knees weaken. Why was he here?
Taking slow steps down to the parking lot, Chan finally notices you approaching, straightening up as you grow closer.
“Are you done?” he asks first, which is jarring enough that he piped up before you.
“Did you have a final today?” you ask sharply
“Uh, no.”
“Did you have work in the admin office?” you push.
“No—”
“Then why are you here?”
That seems to stump him, his eyes flitting to everywhere but you. “I just—I thought you might need a ride.”
It’s silent as you stare at him, disbelief engulfing you. Nothing was making sense, he doesn’t make sense.
“Chan, I just—” you stop, feeling the tears pool into your eyes. “I just don’t get you.”
Chan notices the wobble in your voice, the glisten in your eyes as he finally, finally, brings his gaze up to yours to take in your face. His face is unreadable, as it always has been, and it only overwhelms you more. It seems you feel too much and he doesn’t at all.
“I…Seungkwan said you weren’t doing too well during your exam—” Of course, Seungkwan was in the same room as you wrote your final, the blabbermouth never knowing when to stop.
“And you came running? Why Chan?”
“I don’t know, I just thought—” You cut him off again, because it’s the same Chan over and over and over again. No intonation to his voice, not an emotion on his face.
There was nothing left to keep you tethered anymore, and you hardly understood what you were saying as you had a meltdown right there in your school parking lot, tears rushing down your face like some dramatic soap opera.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. And I don’t know if it’s in my head or if it’s true or if you think it’s funny, but I think I liked it better when you just acted like I didn’t exist. I fucking like you, Chan and I don’t know…fuck, I don’t know anything. I could handle it when you didn’t care, I could handle it when you seemed to want to be friends with the entire world but me, when you looked at me like I wasn’t worth a conversation. But please just, stop doing whatever it is you’re doing right now. I’m tired of being confused.”
The world disappears as you sniffle loudly, wiping your tears and the trickle from your nose with your sleeve, having no care of what you look or sound like anymore. Everything was overflowing, and you needed it out into the air before it poisoned you from the inside out.
And despite it all, minutes tick by where there’s nothing but the sound of your own tears, not a single word from the boy who merely stands before you like a human punching bag, never punching back.
“Chan!” you voice. “You’re supposed to say something now.”
Looking up to his beautiful face, you only feel yourself bursting into a fresh set of tears.
“You…” he starts slowly. “You like me?”
“That’s what I said, yes,” you grit. You have half a mind to swing your near empty bag at him, just to have something to do, to get a reaction out of him that wasn’t perpetually lukewarm.
“Okay. Let’s go home.”
In that moment, you feel your first headway of clarity. Letting his response sink in. Okay. Let’s go home. That’s all he had to say.
You did go home, but it wasn’t in his car.
The days leading up to your graduation ceremony were headlined with staying away from your house as much as possible. The weekdays were for hogging your friends’ TVs and eating from their fridge as you left for home well past dark, the weekends were when you just wouldn’t return home at all, sleeping over under the pretense of blowing off steam. Which was true, almost.
You hadn’t seen Chan since that day, the aftermath of the explosion taking over your mind as you did everything to distract yourself from the fact that things would never be the same. Despite it all, you couldn’t help but feel significantly lighter, like a world’s worth of burden had been lifted off your chest. There was nothing to hide anymore.
But you were aware you’d have to face the music today as you adjusted the strap of your nice shoes under your dress and gown, the hat placed on your done hair already slipping. You make a mental note to pin it better.
It’s easy to let the thought slip away as you make your way to the stage to accept your diploma, the distinct cheers and flashes of a camera from your family in the crowd as you give out a genuine smile. For better or for worse, Chan accepts his while you’re in the process of getting back to your seat, so you don’t see him.
The grass area is flooded with students and families taking pictures and shedding tears and overflowing with congratulations. Your own parents usher you into a million different poses for the camera; flowers, without flowers, diploma, without diploma, each parent and then both.
The last one had you forcing a smile, because that’s when the Lee family joins you to take larger group pictures. Chan holds up the camera as you smile at the lens, attempting to forget what lay behind it.
Then comes the bit you’d been dreading. It’s you, Chan and Geon pushed into frame, to which you manage to push Geon between you two as a saving grace.
“Now one with just the grads!” Chan’s dad yells out as he ushers you two to get closer.
You hesitate too outwardly, because Chan is immediately filling the gap and stepping in next to you, flowers in both your hands to occupy them. You were thankful for it, because you’d really be selling the fact that things weren’t okay if they saw how awkward your hands would’ve been.
It’s easier to avoid him for the rest of the day, even during dinner where you chose to sit on the opposite end of the table from him. You can hardly see him as you eat, joining in on the conversation like normal.
By the time you’re home and in bed, under your baby blue sheets dark under the lack of light, you half congratulate yourself for avoiding him as good as you did today. Nearly drifting off in contentment before you feel the distinct buzz of your phone.
Pulling out your phone from under you, you tap the screen to check the notification.
Your heart is in your throat.
[Chan 12:42 AM]: Can you meet me at the park
All you can do is stare at the digitized letters, blinking furiously like they’d disappear if you shook off the delusion. But all it does is pop up another.
[Chan 12:45 AM]: Please
Please.
Why were you so simple?
Getting out of bed, it’s all you can think about. Pulling a zip up over your shirt and shorts, you put on your slippers and leave the house as quietly as possible.
The walk was hardly five minutes, but it was impossible to not think about what on earth Chan wanted to talk to you about. Scrolling up the chatbox, it was riddled with nothing but the same monotonous texts, this new one glaring like a sore thumb in the midst of your empty, nonexistent relationship.
The only thing you can hear is the crunch of your own footsteps on the gravel and the thump of your own heartbeat as the park comes into view. All you can see is Chan’s face sitting on the bench waiting for you, his clothes so dark they disappear. There’s a single street light illuminating the area, like a spotlight to the irony of the moment.
Chan gets up as he sees you. “I didn’t think you’d come. You didn’t answer my text.”
You’re keeping a good ways away from him, needing the space if you were to think clearly. “Why did you ask for me to come here?”
He swallows visibly, the gulp obvious in the way his throat bobs. He presses his lips together, whisker dimples too noticeable to you for comfort. “I just…”
And then you watch him put his hand into his pockets, fiddling around for something. He emerges with a folded piece of paper, wrinkled like it’d been scrunched up and smoothed back out again. You almost think he’s gonna hand it to you, till he unfolds it himself.
“I’m not…please don’t laugh. I don’t know how to put this into words so I wrote it down. I’m gonna read it off of here, I know how lame this is but I know talking to you is more important. Just, please don’t laugh.”
Chan looks at you, directly at you, like he was waiting for confirmation. Your eyes trail over to the sheet in his hands, his grip on the paper. He almost looks like he’s shaking a little. You try to absorb what’s going on. The tailspin in your mind is the usual with the way it becomes when Chan is around. But through the buzz, you realize this is the first time he’s reaching out.
So you nod. He takes a breath, and begins to speak.
“I wanted to say sorry for being an ass. I didn’t mean to hurt you by being distant or not talking to you, but I can’t lie and say I wasn’t behaving that way on purpose. When I met you in middle school, I was probably the biggest asshole I ever knew. I never realised it but after that conversation in the parking lot, I thought about how horrible I must’ve made you feel about the things you liked the first day we met. I don’t know why I would avoid you or make things awkward like I did, but it felt like I couldn’t face you without struggling to do it. I didn’t realise how much I liked you till we started practicing in your garage, when you’d show up and talk to the band. It looked like it was fun talking to you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And then you disappeared, and I felt disappointed when it wasn’t you who walked in with the trays of snacks anymore.
All of my friends noticed how I’d never talk to you, and they knew how I felt before I could come to terms with it. They pushed me to start…doing things to show you how I felt. But I don’t think I executed that very well. I didn’t realise how that was making you feel either. And it’s my fault because I just…I just don’t know how to talk to you. I hate that I can’t look you in the eye or the fact that I have to fucking…fucking write this down just so I can talk to you about it. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and that…I do really like you. This doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, but I’m trying to be better. I don’t know how to end this, but I hope I’m making sense.”
Chan lets his hands drop, his head following as he takes a long breath in and out.
“Chan?” you start, voice shaky. He looks up to you, and you see the red that rims his eyes, the bite he has on his lower lip. “Can I hug you?”
He answers you by moving forward himself, touching you for the first time as he places his hands on your upper arms tugging you towards him. You’re immediately hugging him, your arms coming around his torso in a tight hug.
“Don’t think about it, Chan,” you whisper. “Stop thinking.”
Maybe he heeds, because you feel his arms coming around you properly, squeezing you tight. Your face is buried into his neck, breathing him in. You let out a small sob, letting your fingers dig into his back, molding into him. There’s less hesitation in his movements now, and it’s like you can feel the tension leaving him as he melts into your hold.
Right there, in the middle of the park, it all feels so impossible. From the fact that Lee Chan just said he liked you, that he’s hugging you, or the feeling of his lips on your forehead as you slowly pull away.
“That was brave of you,” you say, a hint of a smile on your face.
He smiles too, and your heart swells. “Don’t praise me for talking.”
“I forgive you. Thank you for apologising,” you sigh. Staring up at his face, you do the same thing you’d done for so long at a distance. The lines of his eyes, the low slope of his nose, the deep corners of his mouth. Leaning up, you kiss him on the cheek. “We can figure out the rest together.”
Right at that moment, in the summer before college, freshly graduated and celebrating a close, there was more than one open waiting on the other side. There was an entire summer left to build on what you and Chan didn’t in the past years, and as you’d go to college to try and figure it out all over again, there’s comfort in the fact that you won’t be doing it alone this time.
❝Because the greatest war Seungcheol had ever waged was against your heart.❞
historical! au | enemies to lovers! au | smut, fluff | 41k words
s u m m a r y : there was only one thing you hated more than your restricted life, and that was choi seungcheol—the greatest venetian general who has ever lived. when a marriage is arranged between the two of you, you were sure it would end in bloodshed. however, as you and seungcheol are forced to attend balls and share a few hard truths, you realise you have more in common with the mysterious general than you thought.
c o n t e n t : military commander! seungcheol, noblewoman! artist! mc, artist! minghao, artist! soonyoung who are both annoying (affectionate), cheol and mc absolutely hate each other because i need to see proper e2l, cheol has a scar on his lip (yes this needs a separate warning), this is set in renaissance venice so there will be many artist references, the doge = basically ruler of venice, themes of sexism, constant arguing between mc and cheol, there is fluff, also angst mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out fuelled by hatred, cheol calls you carrissima (which personally i find very hot) fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex (only because medieval contraception is horrendous), petnames cheol says some vile things during the deed, slight corruption kink
p l a y l i s t : dangerous woman by ariana grande || war of the hearts by sade || love is stronger than pride by sade || i don’t understand but i luv u by seventeen
t a g l i s t : at the bottom of the fic!
a u t h o r ’ s n o t e : hi hello thank you everyone for waiting for this monster fic!! thank you alice and addy for being the reason i finished this fic, thank you chia for creating a beautiful picture of general! cheol, and greatest thanks to choi seungcheol the man you are </3 i hope you all enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it <33
WHEN THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC DEFEATED THE OTTOMANS ONCE AND FOR ALL, EVERY CITIZEN—BE IT PEASANT OR THE RICHEST ARISTOCRAT—KNEW WHO WAS BEHIND THAT VICTORY.
His name sparked life into the deathly, cramped streets. Whispers and cheers carried along the murky lakes, the rushed streams underneath the city, lapping up to the cobblestoned shore—entering the ears of marketeers, patricians, nuns, prostitutes, everyone. Wherever one went, the commander’s name rang like the dozen church bells, scattered throughout the lake-locked lands.
The buzz in the air was more frantic this afternoon, though, because the victors’ party was finally returning to the state.
Finally returning home.
You, despite your family’s excitement, despite your connections to the man behind the success of it all, could not have cared less.
summary: you think you’re good at keeping your crush on your roommate hidden. you can handle it. but then you wake up to him in bed next to you, arms wrapped around you, and you have no idea how to deal with your suppressed feelings anymore.
word count: 10.8k
warnings: college au, seungcheol is a playboy and the frat kind, reader is a nerd and an introvert, roommate!seungcheol, roommate!jeonghan, angst, fluff, doremiz as bffs, smut, nsfw, oral (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, possessive tendencies and jealousy.
Early mornings in your apartment are quaint.
You weren’t a morning person for most of your life, but college hath changed you, or whatever. Now you are up in the morning like clockwork, even without an alarm, and even on weekends. It’s a little annoying, especially when you plan to have a lazy Saturday, so you would rather wake up much later. But there’s nothing you can do to fight the biological clock inside you. It is what it is.
Everything is dead silent as you open your door and putter into the kitchen. You’re sure both your roommates are neck deep in slumber, since it was Friday night last night. That always means a party on campus, so the next morning usually entails not waking up until well into the day and with a terrible hangover. It’s only 9am right now. You’re sure they won’t be up until at least noon.
You don’t make a lot of noise as you get the machine ready for a nice cup of coffee. All three of you had gone in on it so you could get the expensive, fancy kind. Jeonghan had called it an investment, and you had wholeheartedly agreed. Seungcheol grumbled about it a little but gave his part of the money anyway. He kept claiming he wasn’t that big on coffee, but ever since you bought it, he has had a cup every morning without fail, something Jeonghan will never stop teasing him on.
The aroma is warm and rich in your nose as it slowly infiltrates the kitchen. You contemplate if you want breakfast now with your coffee or later, and decide to grab an apple. You’re just staring at it, wondering if the brown spot on it is something you can ignore or if you should discard the whole thing, when you hear light pattering on the floors outside.
You expect Jeonghan’s slumped, languid figure to slink into the kitchen, groaning about how tired he is, or maybe Seungcheol with his head of short, spiked hair all over the place and that perpetual pout that undercuts his years of effort building impressive muscle. But it’s neither of them. It’s someone you don’t know.
She blinks owlishly at you, hair tangled on her head and wearing a bright bodycon dress, holding a pair of heels in her hand. Her mascara is smudged, but under the distressed look, you can tell that she is amazingly pretty.
“Hi.” She chirps. It’s soft and almost melodic. You manage to smile back. The air is painfully awkward, so she shifts and takes a hesitant step back.
“I should just go.” She says sheepishly, and before you can say anything (not that you were planning to), she disappears from the doorway of the kitchen. After a few seconds, you hear the front door click shut. You swallow hard, but the knot formed in your throat doesn’t go away.
Friday nights don’t just mean waking up at noon with terrible hangovers. They also mean a girl trying to tiptoe out of Seungcheol’s room. And always a stranger. Never the same one twice.
You sigh and turn back to the coffee machine, which lets out a beep. You quickly take the pot to fill your cup, deciding against adding milk and just taking a sip of the dark mixture. You wince when it slides down your throat, but it’s hot enough and bitter enough that the knot in your throat loosens. You stare at your cup, the swirling liquid, and try your best to not think about your recent interaction.
There’s no point in it. Seungcheol is just….. like that. Someone so unbelievably different that you can’t fathom how you even ended up in the same orbit.
Well, you know exactly how. Yoon Jeonghan.
Jeonghan was in your first ever introductory class in college. He was seated right next to you, and after knowing you for the duration of just one lecture, he asked if you were looking for a place off campus, and then offered you his in the same breath. Apparently he and his roommate were desperate, and they really needed a third cohabitant in order to make rent. You just turned out to be the one who was looking for a place to stay, so you ended up saying yes, because Jeonghan gave you great vibes.
Seungcheol did too, when you met him.
You were immediately taken by him. He was loud and a little rough around the edges, but so endlessly kind. Seungcheol doesn’t look it, but he’s very in-tune with people’s emotions as well as his own. He knows what he wants out of life, he has endless confidence in himself. He’s charismatic, magnetic, and it only helps that he is beyond attractive. Tall, built like a brick house (something he is very proud of), soft dark hair and that charming smile accentuated by a dimple on his right cheek.
That fuckass dimple.
You knew you liked him. It was immediate. You were excited just at the thought of sharing space with him. And so you moved in, giddy at the thought of having your own place for the first time in your life, and sharing it with two guys who looked like seemingly amazing people.
And they truly are. It’s just that you were naïve to think Seungcheol’s appeal didn’t extend to everyone else like it did to you.
He’s like a lighthouse, attracting everyone to him like lost travelers. His friend circle is huge, from the gym dudes like Mingyu and Jihoon he works out with, to the party freaks like Soonyoung and Joshua he spends weekends with. He’s not in a frat, but he moves among a lot of similar people. Then there’s their friends, just an endless network that won’t stop expanding. This means meet-ups and parties every weekend, and that means there’s a girl in his room every two or three weekends.
You can’t even fault him. If someone looks like that, it would be criminal if they didn’t get regular action.
You and Seungcheol are fundamentally different people. You have friends too, but fewer, and more tight-knit. You are a homebody above anything else, and if it wasn’t for your friend Seungkwan, who is the most extroverted person you know outside of Seungcheol, you would never even leave your house. But Seungkwan’s definition of going out is much different to Seungcheol’s. So while Seungcheol likes the gym, pregaming, bowling and frat parties, you have scheduled cooking classes, basket weaving workshops, and arcade tournaments that Hansol drags you to once every month.
You’re poles apart. And you’re content with that. You can float in his periphery, and that’s enough for you. He’s miles out of your league anyway. So you’re happy just being an admirer.
“It’s pathetic.” Hansol often mumbles, voice devoid of any real venom. He sounds disinterested if anything.
“Thanks.” You shoot back. Seungkwan looks at Hansol, offended on your behalf.
“I think it’s cute.” He defends you. You grin at him and pinch his cheek. He swats your hand away, making you laugh.
“How bad can it really be if you just tell him?” Chan pipes up, his head down as he concentrates on pouring his wax into the mold slowly, trying not to spill it. You genuinely think his candle will smell the best out of your group, since he’s the only one truly concentrating. You’re too focused on telling them about the girl in your kitchen this morning.
Hansol snorts, tapping his mold on the table like your instructor told you to. His is a strange, muddy brown color. It smells like shit, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You and Seungkwan did drag him to this candle making class on a weekend when he could just be sleeping all day, so he could make the worst candle known to man and you will still hype him up.
“She doesn’t have the balls.” He mumbles. You look at him with a gaping mouth.
“Hey!”
Hansol raises a challenging eyebrow. “Do you? You won’t tell him you like him. Ever. I’m not wrong.”
You scowl, feeling deeply offended. He isn’t wrong, and you all know it, because Seungkwan isn’t defending you this time. He just gives you a wince, indicating he agrees with Hansol. Dammit, you’re cornered.
“Your candle smells like shit.” You shoot back.
That distracts him, and he starts doubting and fretting over his candle, leaning down to sniff it over and over. The rest of the workshop is spent trying to salvage Hansol’s attempt, so you don’t get back to the topic you were previously discussing.
Good.
Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both on the couch by the time you come back in the late afternoon. They both look bleary-eyed and half dead, hair still damp on their heads from showering, eating takeout and watching TV. They greet you brightly when you come in, and you slump onto the couch next to them.
“What did you bring us?” Jeonghan asks. You always bring your crafts home, including today. You made three candles, one for each of you, and you’re excited as you take them out of your tote, hand them over, describing the scents you used.
“I made lavender and vanilla for you.” You hand Jeonghan his. He hums and nods in satisfaction as he sniffs, smiling big.
“Oh I need to light this immediately.” He pipes up, quickly standing to trudge into the kitchen. You grin.
“And me?” Seungcheol smiles at you, still leaned back on the couch so he can rest his head on the cushion. You can tell his head is still hurting a little.
“Your favorite.” You smile. “Cherry.”
Seungcheol looks excited as you hand it over. He eyes the dark color for a little bit before bringing it to his nose, sniffing. You watch his eyelashes flutter.
“Oh.” You see his lips tug up in realisation. “It smells like my cologne.”
“Yeah. The other note is sandalwood.” You feel the sides of your face heat up. “You…. you like those scents a lot.”
You immediately feel like you’ve revealed too much when Seungcheol’s eyes soften. He watches you for a few seconds, sniffing again.
“I love it.” He says, turning it over in his hand. It looks comically small in his hold. “It’s perfect.”
You nod jerkily and fidget a little, trying not to think about how fast your heart is racing, or how gentle this moment feels. Intimate, almost, sitting so close to him that your knee almost touches his thigh, his hair half falling into his eyes, the eyes he still has trained on you, the candle you put care into held delicately in his hand.
Jeonghan walks back into the living room with his lit candle, talking about how much trouble he had finding a lighter. The air around you breaks, and you stand up, mumbling something about how you’re tired already, so you’re going to head to bed. It’s only afternoon, and the excuse is bullshit, but you know you can’t be close to Seungcheol much longer without your heart hurting. You don’t feel Seungcheol’s eyes on your back as you leave, and you have no clue about the knowing way Jeonghan looks at his friend.
…………………………
Weekdays are filled with classes. So you have no time to relax.
You think it’s a fundamental flaw in you that you are taking so many classes, but your overachieving tendencies won’t let you back down from even one of them. Some days, it leaves you annoyed and frustrated, but often, those same classes serve as a blessing in disguise, because they preoccupy you so much that you don’t have to worry about any other problem in your life.
By the end of the week, you’re so exhausted that you just want to glue yourself to your bed, vowing not to move for the entire weekend. Of course, Seungkwan always plans something and inevitably drags you out of your humble abode, but you will take what time you have, unwinding and letting your brain shut down after a long and tiring five days. You fall asleep in the middle of your Modern Family marathon, managing to get only halfway through the season before you’re shutting your laptop, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, you’re knocked out, and you don’t move until well into the next morning.
You wake up because you’re burning hot. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your back. In fact, your back is so warm that it’s uncomfortable. Your face pinches in annoyance, and you shift a little. At your movement, something tightens around your waist.
Your eyes pop open.
Morning light filters in through the curtains on your windows, setting the room up in a soft glow. You’re on your side, staring at the far off wall of your bedroom. There is weight draped over your waist, a warm touch splayed over your stomach. When you shift again, just slightly, the touch twitches and moves.
A hand.
You almost scream, but then you feel the soft hit of air on the back of your neck, periodic and deep. Like someone exhaling. You breathe in, the smell of cherry and sandalwood in your nose. You would recognise that anywhere. Even barely half conscious, you know who that scent belongs to.
Your entire backside, your torso, your ass, the back of your thighs, are pressed tightly to Seungcheol’s front, his arm a heavy weight draped around you so that he hand grips your stomach gently. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his exhales on your skin. You’ve gone so stiff you can barely feel your body, but you’re hyperaware of every part of you that touches him. You lay there in shock, contemplating.
What the hell is he doing? How did he end up in your room? How did he end up spooning you?
You have no answers, but you do know you need to get out of here. You brace yourself, using your leg in contact with the mattress to push until your body disconnects with Seungcheol’s a little. You freeze when he groans, a low sound that cracks under the weight of sleep, and you barely hold in a gasp when he tugs harshly with the arm around you, making you lurch back so he is once again pressed into you. He curls tighter around you, like his body is melting into yours, and your heart kicks painfully at your ribs. That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, just nestled between your ass cheeks, his erection straining against the jeans he probably wore to whatever party he attended last night.
Mortification hits your veins like ice. You’re rock still in his arms, not even able to process what the fuck is happening to you. You feel his hand move a little, squeezing subconsciously, his fingers sinking into the plush of your stomach. Your face flames, and you can’t take it anymore. You grip his wrist tight and tug hard, loosening his grip, and immediately lunging out of bed. Your feet barely hit the floor before you’re already making a beeline out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. You don’t look back once. You definitely used enough force to wake him, but maybe he was so drunk before he passed out that he didn’t get roused by your movements.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, the horrified look on your face, your wide eyes, and the fact that your heart is beating so fast that it’s making you breath heavily. You lean against the sink, your legs shifting, and you realise you’re wet, nearly soaking through your shorts.
Your hands tremble as you wash them, staring at nothing. You remember how warm Seungcheol was, almost unbearably so, how good it was to feel him against you, the solid frame of him, caging you in like you were meant to be in his arms. His hand, digging into your flesh like it was his, and his bulge, so prominent and urgent, pressing into your ass, inches away from where you need him the most.
You’re so fucked.
You don’t think twice before jumping into the shower, letting the water pour over your head even though it’s not hair wash day. You don’t even wait for the hot water to come in, just standing beneath the stream as it slowly warms up. The initial shock of cold does wonders, calms your racing heart and smothers the heat in the bottom of your stomach. You let out a shaky breath.
It was a mistake. It had to be a mistake. He was probably so drunk he didn’t even realise where he ended up crashing. Your room is the first one on the left, his is the first one on the right. It’s an easy mistake, especially if someone is wasted. It seems like the best explanation, way more plausible than him actually sliding into your bed intentionally, a notion that just sounds absurd in your head.
You don’t know what to do.
You stay in the shower for so long that the pads of your fingers prune and the water turns cold again. You slip your pajamas back onto your wet body, because you didn’t bring a change of clothes with you, and finally, you brace yourself and return to your room, taking a deep inhale before opening the door. The bed is empty. He’s gone.
It’s relieving, because you were in no way prepared to see him. When you look at the clock, you realise it’s almost midday. So you pick up your phone and text Seungkwan, asking what his plans for the day are.
Seungkwan is honestly confused, because you almost never initiate meet-ups yourself, but he doesn’t turn you down. Him and Chan are both free, so you decide to meet up for a simple lunch. Hansol opts out, since his sister is in the city for the weekend. You’re grateful you have someone, because keeping this inside is feeling more and more impossible. As soon as you sit down, you blurt out everything that happened in the morning.
Seungkwan is beside himself, mouth opening and closing not unlike a fish, horror struck. He gasps at every detail, but groans disapprovingly when you talk about Seungcheol’s hard-on against your ass.
“You could’ve left that detail out.” He mutters.
“But it’s important!” You insist. “Kwannie, I’m a mess. What do I do? How can I even look him in the eye after this?”
Chan huffs, looking a lot calmer than Seungkwan. “Don’t do anything. Look, you’re right. It was probably a mistake. And if he remembers it at all, he will be pretty embarrassed. So just don’t talk about it at all. Don’t bring it up. Be normal.”
Right. That’s solid advice. Be normal.
But it’s hard to do that, not when you can’t stop thinking about it. The sizzle of his touch is something you’re reminded of when you lay in your bed that night, staring up at your ceiling and remembering how it felt to have his breath hit your skin, so close that you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. And when the heat becomes too much, when your mind goes awry and shuts down, your hand slides into your shorts.
It’s too much. You can’t face him when your brain and your actions are so depraved.
When Hansol finds out what happened, he says what he always does, that this is a problem of your own making.
“You chose this.” He says on Monday, when you finally meet him and tell him everything. “You live with him. It’s unavoidable that something weirdly uncomfortable would happen when you’re in close quarters with someone. And you can’t avoid him. You will see him every day.”
To you, it was always a net positive that you got to see Seungcheol every day, any unrequited feelings aside. Your hidden crush on him was trumped by the fact that he was so endlessly charming to you, your little puppy crush urged on by seeing him, being around him, basking in his presence. But now, that very thing is coming back to bite you in the ass.
You go a whopping three days without coming face to face with him. But then, your sneaking finally fails you. He catches you before classes on Wednesday, cornering you in the kitchen when you’re there to fill up your water bottle.
“I’m really sorry about that night.” He sounds sheepish, embarrassed. You remember Chan’s words, shaking your head in the best way you can think of to placate him.
“It’s fine! You were drunk, you probably don’t even remember that you did it. Honest mistake, right?”
Seungcheol smiles a little, his eyes trained carefully on you.
“Right.” He mutters.
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, and you want to blame it on his embarrassment. You feel uncomfortable, and you wonder if it has to do with what happened between you, or if he’s just being a little weird today.
“I should go.” You mumble. “Just had to fill this up.”
You hold up your water bottle for him to see. His eyes finally leave you to focus on it, and he raises a thick eyebrow.
“That’s new.” He points to the handle. You have a small Sanrio keychain hanging from it. You’re surprised he noticed, but you nod excitedly.
“Hansol’s sister came to see him for the weekend. She got all of us little trinkets.”
Seungcheol hums. “She knows your favorite Sanrio character? That’s cute.”
You smile and nod again, more enthusiastically. “I’m sure Hansol told her….”
A thought enters your head. You tilt your head to the side in thought. “How did you know?”
Seungcheol blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “You’re not exactly subtle about it, sweetheart. It’s plastered all over your room.
Right. Your room. The room he was in because he slept with you in your bed. Your stomach twists and you swallow hard. He looked around your room? When? After waking up? While you were showering? The thought of Seungcheol being in your private space, saying all your little interests laid out everywhere makes your heart flutter. You’re very private about your space, both him and Jeonghan know this. You don’t think either of them have been in your room since they first helped you move in.
You watch Seungcheol from where your back is against the counter. He watches you. You remember that night as the air around you two holds its breath. He was so close, closer than anyone had been in a long, long time. But you bet it was normal for him, this physical intimacy. After all, he’s had a steady rotation of girls in his room for as long as you’ve known him.
Right. This is Choi Seungcheol. Popular, attractive Choi Seungcheol. Wildly out of your league Choi Seungcheol.
“I’m gonna….” You gesture to the door. There’s a knot in your throat, and you don’t think you can speak. Seungcheol blinks and nods, steps away so you can walk past him. Your fingers shake as you tug your shoes on and escape quickly through the front door.
You walk to campus alone, already in agreement with Seungkwan that you will meet him there. You’re grateful for it, because you can go through your jumble of thoughts silently, so you can try to address this deep, uneasy feeling right in the center of your chest. It’s a strange mix of dread and longing that leaves you with a strange emptiness inside, like a sinking hollow. You think, for the first time since you moved in, that maybe being around Choi Seungcheol wasn’t the best idea. Maybe this will ultimately be your unraveling.
The hollow feeling settles like a weight. You walk to class slowly.
You still arrive ten minutes early, but you don’t have to worry about distracting yourself, because Seungkwan is practically buzzing in his seat. You raise a curious eyebrow as you sit next to him, and he immediately turns to you, like he was waiting for you to show up.
“There’s a party.” He says. “In the frat Seokmin is a part of.”
You blink. “Your biology lab partner Seokmin?”
Seungkwan nods. His grin is so wide you’re surprised his face hasn’t split.
“I didn’t know he was in a frat.” You mumble, pulling your laptop out and setting it on your desk.
“Well, he is.” Seungkwan answers impatiently. “Anyway, he and I just finished wrapping up the end of semester project. And I guess he’s super happy about it, because he said we should stop by the frat this Friday night for some party they’re having.”
You eye Seungkwan, giving him an incredulous look.
“You? At a frat party?” Seungkwan really isn’t the type. But then you pause. “Wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”
Now Seungkwan has the decency to look a little sheepish. “I was hoping you would go with me.”
“No.”
Seungkwan immediately starts pleading, like he was expecting exactly this. Which wouldn’t be surprising. You despise parties. You had gone to a few at the very beginning of freshman year since you were so curious about college parties, and every single one of them without fail were horrific experiences. This was before you met Seungkwan and the guys. The people you were friends with at the time always got shitfaced, leaving you to pick up after them and get them home at the end of the night. The drinks there were usually awful unless you were bringing your own. And everyone was horny out of their minds, just chatting so they could hook up. All of this is turned up to a hundred when the party is at a frat, which this particular one will be.
“Ask Hansol.”
“He already said no.”
“Chan, then.”
“You know he’s not good with crowds. Listen,” he looks at you so earnestly it makes your heart squeeze, “I know you don’t like parties. But please, we have to do this. I’ve never been to one ever. First and last time, I promise. I’m just so curious.”
You hesitate. You understand where Seungkwan is coming from. You had the same curiosity as him way back then, and no matter how much you tell him that you already know it won’t be his cup of tea, he really needs to see it himself to swear off them like you. So you sigh painfully and nod, slightly placated by the fact that it makes Seungkwan cheer so loudly and hug you until you can’t breathe, promising he will treat you to lunch for the next two weeks.
Sounds like a good deal.
When you get back home that evening, Jeonghan is frying something on the stove. You seat yourself on the kitchen island, telling him about your day, because he’s always kind enough to ask.
“Oh, by the way.” You tack on. “I’m going to a party this Friday.”
That makes Jeonghan pause, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “A party? You?”
You sigh. “I know. Seungkwan was invited and he’s never been to one before so he kinda talked me into it. It’s at Sigma Tau Nu.”
Jeonghan looks even more shocked. He lets out a laugh. “A frat party.”
You nod.
He whistles low, turning back to his sizzling pan. “Seungcheol’s not gonna be happy.”
That makes you pause. You scowl at Jeonghan’s back. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head, not bothering to turn around again. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Why won’t Seungcheol be happy?”
Before Jeonghan can answer, another voice speaks up.
“I won’t be happy about what?”
You stiffen, turning to the kitchen doorway. You didn’t hear the front door at all. Seungcheol is covered in sweat, still in his gym clothes, face a little flushed. His gym bag hangs over his shoulder. You swallow tightly, looking away so you won’t stare. Jeonghan, however, has no qualms about speaking.
“She’s going to Sigma Tau Nu on Friday.”
Seungcheol’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “What?”
You fidget. “Seungkwan was invited.”
“So?”
You can’t help but frown. “So, he’s my friend. I’m going with him.”
“Like hell you are.”
Your jaw drops. Jeonghan barks out a laugh. You want to strangle him, but you’re too shocked at how Seungcheol’s voice has hardened. In fact, his blatant and sharp refusal has only managed to irritate you.
“Why not?” You sound petulant.
Seungcheol is walking to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “Because that place is a cesspool.”
“You go there every weekend.” Your voice is accusatory. Something in Seungcheol’s face flickers.
“That’s different.”
The irritation in you is swelling now into more of an anger. You don’t appreciate his tone, or whatever superiority complex he has that makes him think it’s okay for him to go but not you.
“So you can go but I can’t?” Your voice is louder than before. Even Jeonghan pauses, turning to look at you both cautiously. “Why? I’m not good enough for your parties?”
Seungcheol’s face hardens, and you almost back down. He has never, ever, looked at you like that before. “You think that’s what this is about?”
“Looks like it.”
“It’s not.”
“Then what is it about?”
He huffs, annoyed. “I’m just saying. Sigma Tau Nu…. the guys there…. they aren’t good.”
“You’re a guy there.”
His face drops. It’s such a slight shift, but immediate, and his expression turns a muted and stoney smooth. His grip on his bottle tightens until the plastic crinkles a little, but his face is almost forlorn.
“I know.”
You don’t know what to say.
Seungcheol sighs, as if to break the heavy silence, hiking the bag he has on his shoulder a bit further up before walking past you to leave.
“Just don’t go, okay?”
You and Jeonghan are left standing in the kitchen after he’s gone, just staring at each other in the silence.
………………………………
“Seungcheol can fuck off.”
You roll your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you apply finishing touches to yourself. But Seungkwan is not discouraged by your silence, continuing to rant on from where he’s sitting on your bed.
“No, seriously. Where does he get off telling you what to do?”
You sigh and shake your hair out, staring at yourself in the mirror. “He’s just looking out for me.”
That earns a scoff from your friend. “As if. More like he’s looking out for himself. He doesn’t want you to see what a sleazy, pervy bastard he is and how many girls he indulges when he goes out. Wants you to think he’s a good person.”
“He is a good person.” You turn to scowl at him. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. You keep going.
“Let it go, Kwannie. We’re going anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”
It really doesn’t, because you’re all dolled up already and ready to go. You’re in a plain black dress, nothing too fancy, thin straps and a flared out skirt. It’s from your freshman year, and to your dismay, it’s a little tighter on you at the bodice, but nothing that doesn’t fit, so you’re rolling with it. Seungkwan also made it a point to tell you twice that you look hot, so you’re taking that as a good indication.
“Ready?” He prompts, you nod.
“Remember our agreement. One hour. You get a feel of the place. Then we leave.”
He nods enthusiastically. You can’t help but smile.
The place is packed. You feel dread already when you and Seungkwan climb out of your cab, but your friend looks alarmingly apprehensive, enough for you to suck up your own negative feelings. You’re already here, might as well try and make this as enjoyable for Seungkwan as possible.
“Come on.” You take his arm, walking up the front steps and in through the open door. The music is so loud, the lights are dim enough that you’re worried about something spilling on your dress accidentally. Seungkwan has a death grip on your hand, and you try to navigate to the kitchen.
“Boo Seungkwan!” The voice is booming, so loud and bright, and it immediately catches both your and Seungkwan’s attention. From the relief on his face, you know instantly that this is Seokmin. He’s grinning wide, and draping an arm around his shoulder is another man with spiky blond hair and sharp eyes. They introduce themselves, Seokmin and his frat brother Soonyoung, and you do the same. Soonyoung watches you closely.
“I’ve never seen you here before.” He shouts over the music, leaning closer to you to speak. You think you would have heard him just fine even without it, but you suspect he is doing it on purpose to get close to you. This may not be your thing, but you’re not an idiot.
“I don't usually come to parties.” You reply, trying to be polite. Somewhere behind your back, Seokmin is putting drinks into plastic cups. You can see the exact path Soonyoung’s eyes take as they drag down your body, lingering on your chest. You almost want to sigh.
“Want a tour?” He offers. “I’ll show you around.”
You want to say no, but a tour would mean you and Seungkwan can see everything quickly and leave. So you nod and turn around, linking an arm with Seungkwan to pull him along. He’s got a cup in his hand, already half empty, and you want to groan. Drunk Seungkwan is almost impossible to deal with.
Soonyoung doesn’t seem perturbed. He just nods and gestures for you two to follow along. You make it through the seas of people in the huge house as he points and shouts names. You don’t even understand half of them, but you’re not particularly interested. Seokmin is trailing behind all of you, and when Seungkwan’s cup empties, he exchanges it for a new one. You wince. Seungkwan is a notorious lightweight. You play drinking games all the time, and he’s always the first one to tap out, leaning heavily on Hansol as he gets dragged out of your apartment. With the way his cheeks are flushing at a concerning rate, you know he’s getting to that point already.
Soonyoung occasionally grips your arm to steer you in the right direction. Seungkwan’s hold on you keeps increasing as you navigate through the house. Then, you’re in the living room, and your eyes find the large, sprawling couch pushing against the far wall, particularly, the man lounging on the corner of it.
He has a cup in his hand, arm thrown around a girl pressed to his side. On the arm of the couch next to him is a guy you vaguely recognise as his gym buddy. You watch him bring the cup to his lips and throw it back in one big gulp, shaking it at his friend when it’s empty, who just snorts and pours more in it from the bottle of clear liquid he’s holding.
His head turns to look at his glass, but his eyes meet yours instead. You see the exact moment he recognises you.
You feel it again, that hollow feeling in your chest, mixed with something else this time. You almost don’t recognise him. His hair is tousled, carelessly swept, his top is sleeveless and tight, silver chain hanging from his neck, pants baggy, legs sprawled without a care in the world. Your eyes are still on each other when the girl on his side leans in and whispers something in his ear, following it up with running her tongue up the side of his neck.
Bile rises in your throat. You look away.
Seungkwan has downed his glass, again, and Soonyoung is gesturing for you to follow him to some other part of the house. But the music is changing into something faster, and Seungkwan’s eyes widen with a gasp as he recognises it.
“This is the first song I know!” He exclaims. You want to snort at how excited he is. “Can we dance?”
Oh no. You open your mouth to protest, but Soonyoung nods enthusiastically and points to the dance floor not far off from where you are. You can feel Seungcheol’s eyes burning holes in the back of your head as Seungkwan tugs you along with him. Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow, because at that moment, he’s bombarded by another group of people. You’re left with Seungkwan only, which you prefer.
Except, Seungkwan is drunk, and pulling you close so you can sway together. You snort and indulge him, fully aware of how touchy he gets with alcohol in his system. He’s singing along to the song, hands on your waist, bobbing back and forth, side to side. You grin, laughing. You genuinely didn’t imagine yourself having a good time at this place, but being here with your friend is a little fun, though you would only begrudgingly admit that.
The song picks up, getting wilder, and you let yourself go to the music with Seungkwan. He’s laughing and grinning, turning you around so his back is against you. Bad idea, because as soon as you open your eyes, they meet heated, dark ones from across the room.
Seungcheol is watching, and he doesn’t look happy.
The girl by his side is now on her phone, tapping away. He’s not interested, raising his cup to his mouth and taking a long gulp while his stare is trained on you. Your heart pounds. You feel Seungkwan’s hands on your hips, your waist. There’s a voice in your head, and you listen to it, eyes fully on Seungcheol as you reach an arm up and behind you, running it through your friend’s hair.
Seungcheol’s face pinches. His lip curls in an ugly snarl. It catches you so off guard that you immediately turn back to Seungkwan, your heart pounding.
“I need air.” You shout over the music. “It’s too hot here.”
Seungkwan nods and points to the back of the house, past the staircase. You contemplate leaving your friend there. He’s having a good time, and you can let him dance a little before you start insisting that you should leave. Sliding glass doors take you into the patio overlooking the backyard. You take a deep breath.
The patio is less crowded, though there’s still people milling around. There’s a couple a few feet to your right, making out against the wall. You make a face and walk away from them. The cool air is working, clearing your head just a little. You wonder if there’s something in the hot, humid air inside that clouded your judgement, that made you look Seungcheol straight in the eye as you let your drunk friend sway you side to side. What did you want to achieve? Did you want to get a reaction out of him? Why? He doesn’t care about you that way, so what was the point?
Part of you is still annoyed at him because of the semi-argument in the kitchen. The other part is just…. sad.
“You came.”
You close your eyes. You were hoping he would leave you alone for the night.
“I did.” You reply.
Seungcheol stops right next to you, a little closer than you would like. You can feel the heat of his body. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays.
“Don’t worry, Seungkwan and I are just going to have one more drink and leave. I won’t….. disturb you much longer.”
He says your name, a tone of defeat in his voice. Your stomach twists. You turn to him, and for a brief second, your eyes meet his. He has that same look in them, that quiet desolation he had when he was with you in the kitchen. The heat from before, the simmering annoyance, has gone.
“Seungcheol.” Your throat tightens. Your chest is so hollow. “Just make sure to crash in your own bed this time. Okay?”
You turn and walk back into the house.
……………………………………
You don’t know the longest time you’ve gone without speaking to Seungcheol. You’ve never had any reason to count. You do now, and it has been seven days.
Seungkwan thanked you profusely for going with him to the party, vowed never to go again (that made you laugh), then bought you lunch for four days straight before you felt bad and just started paying for your own. You don’t think his experience was worth two weeks of comped meals, but you have a feeling he knows you’re bummed about something, so he keeps offering to pay.
You don’t even know why you’re bummed. You just are. And Seungkwan isn’t the only one who has noticed.
Jeonghan has been walking on eggshells with you too, watching you intently when you’re having a meal together, taking note of the fact that you leave to lock yourself in your room as soon as it becomes close to the time Seungcheol is due back home. It’s easy to avoid him because he himself makes no effort to talk to you either. It should make you glad, since it means you can dance around whatever this suffocating feeling between you two is. But it doesn’t. All you feel is more hollow, more crushed.
Something has changed between you, definitely for the worse. You regret going to that party every single day.
To Jeonghan’s credit, he never asks. You wonder if Seungcheol told him, but then you ask yourself what exactly there is to tell. Literally nothing happened. You don’t even know what to call that little stint on the dance floor, or the heavy way his eyes traveled over you. As for the girl he was with, you’re just upset because the man you have been pining for your whole life has a roster of romantic prospects outside of you. For so long, you had only known about it, like it was some far away entity, but seeing it with your own eyes, some unknown girl sprawled half on top of him, it broke something in you that you don’t know how to move on from. So while you grapple with your own mess of feelings, you just know you need to stay far, far away from him.
But seven days after your self-imposed Seungcheol ban, your roommate has apparently had enough, and he decides to break it. You hear a knock on your door and hum, expecting it to be Jeonghan asking about dinner or something. But instead, a head of thick brown hair pops in through your door.
“Can I come in?”
You're shocked for a good few seconds, before nodding and gesturing to him to do so. Seungcheol lumbers in, hesitating for a second before opting to sit on the chair in front of your desk, turning it around to face you. You’re still frozen in place, crosslegged on your bed, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry.” He says.
You blink. “You didn’t do anything. What are you sorry for?”
He lets out a laugh, but it’s bitter and mirthless. “For everything. For all of it. For telling you not to go to that party. For going there myself and letting you see me like that. For even being like that….”
“Seungcheol.” You protest. “You didn’t do anything-”
“I did.” He cuts you off. “You don’t know it, but I did. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my drunk, stupid mind thought it was a good idea to end up in your room that night. That I somehow genuinely believed that I could wake up next to you and you would be mine.”
Your heart pounds. Blood roars in your ears.
“I remember all of it.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving yours for a second. “How I felt that night. How badly I just wanted to be with you. No drink was helping, no one…..” He laughs again, shakes his head as if admonishing himself.
“You know what my drunken plan originally was? I wanted to wake you up and finally just tell you how much I love you. But I was so drunk and exhausted that by the time I got to you I just ended up passing out on your bed.”
“And then the next morning. I was awake the second you first moved. And I didn’t want to let go. Call it brain fog, I don’t know. I hoped I could lie there forever and just…… hold you.”
You only break your eye contact from Seungcheol when your vision swims, getting wetter and more blurred.
“This isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes.
“I’m not joking.”
You take a deep breath, trying to gather your frantic thoughts. Never, never in your life did you expect this. You remember that morning again, how Seungcheol’s hand tightened on you, how your ass pressed hard against his-
“You were awake.” It isn’t really a question.
“I was.”
When your eyes meet his again, it’s different. Something sizzles, sharp and anticipatory, like the air around you is afraid to move. But Seungcheol isn’t. He stands up and walks closer to where you are sitting, one knee planting on the mattress, until he’s right in front of you. His eyes are like melting pots of brown, and the intensity in them takes your breath away.
“You felt it, right?” He whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. You turn me on so much.”
You can’t move even if you try. It feels like something has severed the connection between your brain and body. When Seungcheol leans in, you don’t resist. Your eyelids flutter when you feel his breath on the side of your neck, just like that morning. His lips brush just so over your skin.
“Cheol….”
He hums, shifts just a smidge, and his lips plant a chaste kiss under your ear. But you don’t say anything more. You don’t know if you can. You’re overwhelmed, both physically and mentally, and the smell of the cherry and sandalwood in his cologne is making your mind foggy.
“Let me show you.” He whispers. “Let me show you how much I love you, just like I wanted to that night, just like I dreamed of for so long.”
You’re human, after all. And you’re weak for him. You’ve always been weak for him, and that’s why you’ve let all of it happen. Him in your bed, you at his party. So you turn your head and let your lips brush over his. You can almost feel his shaky sigh just before he closes the distance between you.
It’s rushed from the start, like he’s desperate. You feel the same, hands reaching up to cup his face, your heart squeezing when you realise that this is finally happening. You’re kissing Seungcheol, the guy you’ve been deeply enamoured with for as long as you’ve known him. The guy you never, ever thought you would have in this way, but still imagined it in the depths of the night when there was no one but you and your fingers. He was here now, on the same bed that you thought filthy things about him in, kissing you like he needs to steal the air from your lungs. He tilts his head, lips sliding over yours, capturing your bottom lip between his. He nibbles softly and it makes you moan.
The sound does something to him, because he curses brokenly and reaches for you. Strong hands grip your waist and tug, pulling you closer. Your legs scramble to find purchase, settling on either side of his as he pulls you into his lap. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and wet, and you can feel something flutter right in the base of your stomach. Your panties are already damp, but from what you can feel, he’s straining through his sweatpants too. You whine into him.
“Cheol…”
He groans, hands digging into your flesh. They slide under your shirt to run over your bare skin. You instinctively arch into him.
“Love it when you call me that.” He rasps. “Only you do. Only you.”
So you say it again, whisper it into his mouth while his tongue is in yours, and you can feel how his force increases, how he unravels just a little bit more. His hands under your shirt get more frantic, and finally he pushes up, peeling it off your body. You let him, but when the cold air hits your skin, you realise you weren’t wearing a bra.
“Fuck.” He curses softly, eyeing your half naked body. You feel your skin heat under his gaze, squirming a little.
“Beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”
No, I’m not. Your mind immediately supplies. Because it’s true. You can’t help but think of all the girls he’s had like this, in his lap while he runs his tongue down the column of their throats, nipping here and there. He probably feels you stiffen, because he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his expression cautious.
“What’s wrong?”
You swallow tightly and shake your head, leaning forward to kiss him again. But he pulls his head back before you can, watching you closely.
“Tell me, sweetheart. What is it?”
Your heart squeezes. You try to arrange your thoughts and look for words. You feel Seungcheol’s hands run up and down your back and sides comfortingly.
“I just don’t want this to be a one time thing.” You finally say, because you don’t want to tell him how much doubt you have. How deeply ingrained it is within you that you can never be with someone like him. You’re almost halfway certain that even this, what is happening right now, is some extreme exhaustion-induced dream and you will wake up to a cold, empty bed, but you don’t want to think about that.
Seungcheol’s eyes dart between your own. His face is soft, open, like he’s coming to the slow realisation of what you mean. When he sighs, you feel his breath on your skin. He leans forward so his forehead is pressed to yours. You don’t dare break your stare, even if it makes you go a little cross-eyed.
“I would never do that to you.” He whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for so long.”
Your breath hitches. Your hands on his shoulders tremble.
“I dream about you every night. I lay in my bed and I think of having you next to me. But I never did anything about it. You’ve always felt so far away. Like I can’t dare touch you or you will be tainted.”
Your eyebrows furrow. You watch as Seungcheol’s gaze dims into something like resignation.
“But seeing you at that party with Seungkwan, having you see me like that.” He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “I knew something had to change. And it had to come from me. Whatever illusion I had in my head about us being just roommates, and me being happy with that, it wasn’t working.”
His hold tightens on you with that last sentence, hands running over your bare back again. His fingertips slide under the waistband of your shorts, just an inch, teasing you. You arch into him.
Seungcheol’s eyes travel to your lips and stay there. The air around you feels like it’s charging up again.
“Saw your little friend draped all over you, and I couldn’t stand it. Why does he get to touch you but I can’t?”
Your lips brush again. Your arms wind around his shoulders. “You can.”
“Hm?”
You can feel your cheeks heat. “You can touch me.”
Something flickers in Seungcheol’s eyes. “Where, baby?”
Baby. A shiver runs down your spine. “Everywhere.”
Your lips meet again. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. You feel his hand cup the back of your head, guide your movements like he wants them to, and it goes straight to your core, tightening it. You know you’re soaking your shorts, and you realise belatedly that you’re not wearing underwear either. Embarrassment hits you fleetingly, but before you can think about it more, Seungcheol is pushing forward to lay you on the bed, your hair sprawling on the pillow. He doesn’t break the kiss even once, fitting his hips between your legs and grinding into your heat. You gasp and cry out.
“You make the prettiest sounds.” He groans. “So responsive. I haven’t even done anything yet. Haven’t even touched you the way I want to.”
But he has. He’s all over you, taking over your every sense, infiltrating you until you can feel him thrumming in the hollows of your bones. You arch into him when he nips at your neck again, teeth digging in teasingly. If he leaves marks, so be it. You will wear them proudly. How long have you spent fantasising about having his lips on you? And here he is now, trailing kisses down until he reaches your chest. His tongue peeks out, smooths over your left nipple so that it is laved in his spit. He blows air on it, making you gasp. You wouldn’t see his smirk if it weren’t for the fact that a dimple cleaves through his right cheek. He pops your nipple in his mouth and sucks.
Seungcheol works you over while you whine and moan. Your hands meet his hair, running through the short ones on the back of his head before burying your fingers into it and tugging. He hums into your skin, and you can feel the vibration. It makes you clench desperately, making your hips buck.
“Cheol, please…”
He pops off your nipple after one last hard suck. You’re already taking in big, heaving breaths, like you’re losing your senses. You feel his tongue run up your sternum.
“What do you want, baby?”
You squirm, buck up again so that it brushes over his crotch. He chuckles.
“Impatient little thing. All you have to do is ask nicely.”
You blink through wet eyes, meeting his half-lidded, heated gaze. “I did. I said please.”
He groans. “Say it again, then.”
You make sure you’re looking him right in the eye as you buck up again. “Please.”
Seungcheol’s fingers hook in your shorts and he tugs them down. His face twists when he realises you’re not wearing underwear. He curses long and low, pushing your legs open to peer down at the mess between them.
“Dirty girl.” He moans. “No panties?”
You shake your head. “I don’t wear them to bed.”
His eyes widen as he thinks back.
“That night….”
You know exactly what he is referring to. The night he spent in your room, spooning you. You shake your head.
“Fucking hell.” His lips crash into yours, near feral as he devours you. You whimper and let him, hooking one leg over his waist.
“Could’ve fucked you back then, right? Just pushed your shorts aside and put my cock in you. Bet you would’ve loved that.”
You would, in your deep, dark fantasies. The thought of just being used by him is so hot that it lights your nerves on fire. You tug his shirt, having had enough, and he immediately obliges, pulling it off. Your mouth waters as you eyes the large expanses of smooth skin stretched over his muscles. You’ve never seen Seungcheol shirtless around the house, he’s very careful about it. The most you have seen is his arms through those tight tanks he loves so much. You run your hands over him as he goes back to licking and nipping at your neck, hooking his thumbs in his sweatpants so he can take them and his boxers off in one go.
His cock springs up and hits his navel. He’s thick, so much that it makes you suck it a long breath. All the blood that has rushed to it has left it aching hard and throbbing, shiny at the head with precum. You’re just wondering how you can even take it all the way in when he slides down your body once again, this time going further than your breasts, until he’s settling between your open legs. Your face flames, fighting the urge to close your thighs when he stares at you like that, licking over his bottom lip.
He runs his fingers down your soft, heated folds, one on each side in a V-shape. He spreads his index and middle fingers, opening you up.
“Such a pretty pussy.” He mumbles, leaning down to barely dance his tongue through your slit. Your legs jerk at the feeling. He’s holding you open, which makes his touch hit deeper, in more sensitive places. You sigh when he flattens his tongue over you finally, licking a thick stripe. His hands position themselves on your inner thighs, keeping you open and his head shifts side to side, running his lips and tongue over every part of you.
He’s amazing at this.
He’s eating you out like he’s starving for it, eyelids fluttering, nearly rolling up, and just the sight of Seungcheol like this, face progressively getting more and more flushed and he leans down and sticks his tongue as far as it can go inside your cunt, has you shaking and crying, your high approaching embarrassingly fast. You want to sob, tell him to stop, that it’s too much all at once, but it feels so unbelievably good that you won’t dare, locking your legs over his broad shoulders, hands fisting the sheets as you wail and cum with no warning. His hold on you is iron strong, holding you in place and not stopping the rapid flicks of his tongue until tears slide down your face and you push his head away. He parts from you with a loud, filthy slurp, licking his lips. He’s breathing hard, but not as hard as you while you’re shaking from your orgasm.
He uses his index and middle finger to wipe the lower half of his face, his chin, the line of his jaw. Then he shifts forward to kneel between your trembling legs again. He taps the two slicked up fingers on your mouth.
“Open up, baby.”
You do, lapping your tongue over the digits as they slide into your mouth, making sure not to break eye contact with him. He watches heatedly as you suck on his fingers.
“Jesus.” He breathes. “Why’d I stay away from you for so long?”
He pulls them out when they’re slick with your spit, reaching down and immediately prodding at your entrance. You sigh and buck up. He smirks, a sexy sight that you barely have time to process before he’s sliding both fingers inside you at once. You gasp and arch, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. He’s already curling his fingers, slowly pumping them in and out.
“God.” You whimper, instinctively reaching down to grab his arm. He doesn’t mind, letting you hold it as he fingers you. You feel his muscles shift with every movement under your palms. As he works you open, he occupies his mouth with your neck and shoulder again, nipping and kissing. You realise Seungcheol is a little bit of a biter, not that you’re complaining.
You’re barely down from your last orgasm, so this one takes an even shorter time to build up. You moan with every ram of his fingers into you, he’s murmuring little encouragements and praises into your skin. His voice is rougher, breathier, and it acts as the catalyst that hurtles you over the edge again. This orgasm is just as intense, if not more, leaving your limbs boneless and your head empty. Your breaths come out chopped and heavy as he slows down, needling out the last remnants of your high.
“Gorgeous.” He hums. “I could do that for hours. Just make you fall apart over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”
Your insides twist. Seungcheol shuffles until he’s seated fully between your legs again. He watches your cunt flutter and twitch, already used and abused. You watch him wrap a large hand around his thick girth, jerking himself harshly a few times. He slaps his shaft over your slit. You gasp and jerk. His eyes shoot up to you and he smirks teasingly.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Too much?”
You vehemently shake your head. “N-no. Want your cock.”
He hums, running the swollen, leaking head through your folds. He rubs it back and forth over your clit. You whimper.
“Sure about that?”
You nod and buck your hips up. It catches against your opening, making you gasp. “Please, Cheol.”
That does it for him, because he’s lining himself up and leaning down over you, pressing his forehead to yours before pushing forward. Your jaw goes slack as he carves his way in through your gummy walls, inch by inch, until you feel his pelvis meet yours.
“God, you’re still tight as hell.” He grits. “After taking my fingers like that too. Why didn’t you loosen up, baby? Wanted to stay nice and snug for me?”
His words are filthy, and never something you ever imagined coming from his mouth, in his delicious, raspy voice. You don’t say anything, brain wiped clean as he chooses that moment to start thrusting. It feels divine, he’s so thick that he stretches and hits all your spots without even angling his hips any which way. His tip nudges your cervix just slightly with every thrust, a fluttering sensation ensuing in your stomach. Everything is so much, so intense, that it’s hard to even breathe. Your eyelids fight to close, but you keep them open, because no way in hell would you miss the sight before you right now.
The muscles in Seungcheol’s arms flex and shift, hands planted on either side of your head to hold himself up. His skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that shines under the lights of your bedroom. His torso undulates, precise and well aimed thrusts that hit just the right spots. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, face pinched in arousal and focus. His hair sticks to his temples, the rest is messed up because of how much you’ve run your hands through it. The apples of his cheeks are colored a lovely shade of pink that makes him look sensual, his eyelashes curling over his skin when he closes his eyes.
You wish you could burn this image in your mind forever.
He’s watching you just like you’re watching him, and you see the exact moment his face softens.
“Look at you.” He coos. “So pretty. So sexy like this. I imagined this, you know? When you had Seungkwan all over you, I imagined you under me.”
You whimper. The train of thought of last week’s party somehow riles him up again. His thrusts get harder, your skin stinging slightly with every ram of his hips into yours.
“And then there was fucking Soonyoung-” Seungcheol punches out. “Eyeing you like a piece of meat. If he got his hands on you, I would break every bone in his body.”
You mewl and shake your head vigorously. You can barely speak, but you’re desperate for him to know. “There’s no one, Cheolie. Only you. I only want you.”
You claw at his shoulders, tugging him down when you’re unable to resist, planting a searing kiss on his mouth. He groans into you.
“That’s right. Mine. My girl, my body, my cunt. All this is mine.”
You feel his hand sneak between your bodies so he can toy with your clit. It makes you cry out, already so sensitive from being toyed with.
“I’m not cumming until I feel your pussy milk it out of me.” He grunts, thrusts getting sloppier, and you keen. He’s determined to get you there one more time, and with how wound up you are, you know you will give it to him.
He cums at the same time as you, your walls contracting around his sloppy final thrusts. Your sweaty bodies writhe together, pressing into each other and on the bed, his hands digging into your hips and thighs while you rake your nails down his back. Finally, he buries himself deep and stills.
You sigh as tension slowly drains from your body. Seungcheol takes a moment before pulling out, flopping down next to you with a grunt and running a hand through his sweaty hair. You watch him and he eyes you back, a small smile crossing his face. He grips your arm and tugs, maneuvering you so you’re on your side, his front against your back. You giggle. It’s the same position, except this time, you’re both naked.
Silence descends over both of you, your eyelids heavy with slowly encroaching sleep. You’re roused when you hear Seungcheol softly speak.
“I meant it, you know?” He mumbles. “That I’m in love with you. Been in love with you for a while now.”
You can’t help your giddy smile. You rest your hand on the back of his and squeeze. “I have been too, for a while.”
You can feel his smile on the back of your neck. “Good.”
You fall asleep to his lips laying careful kisses on your shoulder.
You knew whatever you and Jeonghan were doing wasn’t real—not really. But a part of you had started to wonder. You could feel that same warmth you’d come to resent starting to bloom, and it scared you.
pairing jeonghan x f!reader word count 24.2k tags non-idol au, college au, fake dating, enemies? to friends to lovers, humor, angst, jealousy, conflict, jeonghan being a menace, pet names, dom!jeonghan, sub!reader, teasing, a lot of making out, dry humping, fingering, big!dick jeonghan, unprotected sex, riding, missionary, hickeys, creampies, cock warming, multiple smut scenes, grinding, spanking, mention of dacryphilia, love making warnings smut, cursing, alcohol, mentions of smoking
thank you @sanaxo-o @nerdycheol for beta reading ♡
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You were always intimidated by Yoon Jeonghan. From the moment you first saw him in class you could tell he thought everyone was below him. The way he paraded around campus with that shit-eating grin on his face, perfect pink lips always knowing just what to say. His brown eyes seemed to always seek you out for some reason, as if he purposely wanted to get on your nerves.
So, right there and then, before even having spoken a single word to him, you decided to avoid him at all costs.
You didn’t pay him any mind for the rest of the year, blocking him out whenever you happened to catch sight of him, or whenever you heard his stupid voice in any of the shared classes you were in.
It isn’t until the second year or college that you’re forced to interact with him for the first time, being grouped together for an assignment.
Now if that wasn’t bad, you curse your luck once you realize one of the other guys in your group happened to be your lifelong crush out of all people, the loud Kwon Soonyoung.
You didn’t even know he’d been taking the same class as you, as for you hadn’t even seen him once since the start of the semester.
The worst part of it all is finding out he and Jeonghan seemed to be the best of friends, laughing amongst themselves as they entered the study hall. The last guy, Lee Seokmin, jogged behind them to catch up to them, a wide smile on his face whilst hitting Soonyoung’s shoulder.
Just great. He was a part of their little clique as well.
You'd walked into the study hall almost confidently, thinking you were adult enough to deal with Yoon Jeonghan. But Soonyoung? Your stomach churned with anxiety.
Soonyoung's eyes lit up as soon as he saw you, catching you off guard with a sudden, friendly hug.
"You know y/n?" Seokmin cocked up his eyebrows, watching his older friend nearly crush a seemingly random girl from class.
"Of course! We went to elementary and middle school together." he smiled, finally letting go of you. You hoped they couldn’t tell just how flustered the embrace had made you, your eyes blinking as you tried to regain composure.
“What a crazy coincidence! I didn’t know we’re going to the same college,” Soonyoung chuckled, shrugging off his backpack before mindlessly taking a seat next to you.
You almost pouted at his words. Whilst you were very aware of his presence, Soonyoung didn’t seem to have been aware of yours.
“Yeah, crazy.” you laughed it off, trying not to sound too awkward. “I didn’t know you were in this class…” you trailed off, blindly opening your laptop.
Seokmin exhaled an amused breath. “Because he skips all his classes.” he said, taking a seat next to Soonyoung.
“Hey, not all… I just hate Business Management.” the boy sighed, pouting as he rummaged through his worn down backpack.
You fought a smile hearing them banter, shyly looking down at your laptop screen.
"Alright, if the little reunion is over let's just start and get this over with, hm?" Jeonghan grumbled, forced to sit on the other side of you.
You tried not to roll your eyes, the two others simply humming in agreement.
It took a near hour to decide on a solid plan, taking note of all the important topics and details. The dynamic between the group of friends had you surprisingly amused to say the least, catching yourself chuckling along to the little jabs the friends aimed at each other.
"Okay, so, Seokmin," Jeonghan pointed his pen at him. "You will pick a company to help us with formulating three products." his pen moved to Soonyoung. "You'll design the logo of our website and the color scheme."
The ball point pen moved to you now. "y/n, you'll design our website. Just pick some template on one of those website builders. Make it look pretty, but please, no pink." he sighed.
Your lips pressed together, feeling slightly agitated at his words. Make it look pretty, you're sure he was aware of how condescending he sounded, not even acknowledging the fact your major was software development.
"What will you do, hyung?" Soonyoung asked, and you were more than curious to know this too.
Jeonghan clicked his pen, looking over at his friend.
"I'll set up the meetings, oversee all your work and help where help is needed." he said, slumping in his chair. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The two others seemed content with his answer. You didn’t argue with that, not having the energy over some stupid class you didn’t even care for.
"Alright then." Seokmin clapped his hands together loudly, earning the attention of a few other students in the study hall. "Since Jeonghan hyung seems in such a rush to leave, let's meet up again next week?" he asked. You nodded, grabbing your backpack to put away your stuff.
"I'll make a group chat." Seokmin added, looking over to you briefly. You hummed, giving him a small smile of acknowledgement.
Jeonghan left first, and you walked out the study hall with the two other boys by your side.
"Oh my god, I'm so happy to see you!" Soonyoung nudged your shoulder lightly, gripping the straps of his backpack while he walked with you. You chuckled shyly. "Yeah, me too."
You chose not to tell him how you’ve seen him around campus countless times, feeling like a bit of a loser at the way you’d been keeping your eye on him like a young girl with a schoolgirl crush—and in a way you were just that.
"We should hang out! Do you live on campus?" he asked. You made eye contact with him, smiling at his question. "I’m over at the sorority. Are you guys in the fraternity together?"
The boys nodded. "We all are." Seokmin told you.
"You should come to the party tomorrow, it'll be fun!" Soonyoung said.
You'd sworn off drinking a while ago, not wanting it to get in the way of your studies, yet the offer sounded convincing enough, and the thought of getting closer to Soonyoung made your chest thump.
"Ahh, come on! Don't tell me you've never been to one of our parties before." Soonyoung grinned when you paused, fully turning his body to you.
A laugh escaped your mouth. "Well, I haven't. But... since you asked," you flashed him a smile, their sounds of approval hitting your ears.
"Perfect! We'll see you there, y/n." Seokmin smiled.
Your friend sneaked an arm around your waist, pulling you into her body while the two of you walked to the fraternity a few blocks over.
"I can't believe you're finally coming with me!" Your best friend Jaehee declared loudly. She squeezed your hip. "You have to see Mingyu tonight, he's so fucking fine. We’ve been texting for days now!"
You rolled your eyes playfully, not too keen on meeting one of her flings again.
When the two of you entered the fraternity, the notorious ΙΖ', you were immediately greeted by the luring smell of alcohol and weed. The large body of people were scattered all around the extensive common room, most grouped together chatting with their respective friends in the open space between the kitchen and living room.
Your face scrunched a bit trying to adjust to the loud music, your friend immediately dragging you to a corner where a group was hanging out.
"Jae!" the loud voices greeted your friend excitedly, the tallest of them instinctively putting an arm around her.
She welcomed them with a smile, moving to pull you right next to her. "Guys, this is y/n!” she grinned. “y/n, this is Mingyu," she looked at the handsome boy next to her before pointing to the others. "Joshua, Eunwoo and Jeonghan." You made eye contact with Jeonghan, his big eyes already staring back at you.
"Hi y/n, it’s nice to meet you. Did you finally decide to join us?" Joshua smiled, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. You met his gaze, his sweet eyes resembling those of crescent moons as he smiled at you.
You didn’t know whether to feel thankful your friend had seemingly been so openly talking about you, but you were happy you were being welcomed so warmly. You returned his smile, nodding before speaking, "Yeah... It looks like you got quite the party here." you chuckled.
"I told you it'd be fun!" Jaehee lighty shoved you, a loud voice suddenly interrupting your conversation.
"Hey! You made it!" Soonyoung squeezed between you and Joshua, a smile on his sweet face while he settled his gaze on you. Your body instantly became warm, and you swallowed a lump in your throat not knowing what to say. You could tell by the flush on his cheeks he was a few drinks ahead of you.
"Let's take a shot!" he exclaimed happily, handing you a full shot glass you hadn’t seen him hold before. His gaze turned a bit more serious as if he realized something, hectic eyes frantically looking around as his lips pressed together in a tight line.
His eyes lit up as soon as a certain person walked by, and he snatched a full glass of booze from their hands with an innocent giggle. "Thanks Jihoonie!" he laughed, earning him a blank stare from the guy, who carried on walking, uninterested.
You laughed as he clinked his glass against yours, downing the entire cocktail down quickly. You watched him for a second before deciding to take the shot, the bitter taste making you cringe.
The group in front of you didn’t seem too concerned by what was happening, already wrapped back up in whatever conversation they had before you and Jae joined them.
"You want another? Or maybe a mixed drink? I’m good at those," Soonyoung put his hand on your shoulder, looking at the kitchen for a moment before settling his hazy eyes back on you.
“If you don’t make it too strong,” you smiled timidly, the words leaving your lips before you could even think them over. Soonyoung gave you a sharp nod, disappearing into the crowd.
Your eyes briefly met Jeonghan again before clumsily looking over at your friend, who seemed too busy to talk to you.
“You know Soonyoung?” Joshua closed the space between the two of you again, face angled down close to yours.
You nodded. “We went to the same school when we were kids,” you told him, playing with the empty shot glass in your hands. He chuckled. “Wow, what a coincidence.” He took a drag of his vape, the fruity cloud of smoke dancing above you. You nodded. “Yeah, we were grouped together for a Business Management project.”
“Business Management? Doesn’t Jeonghan also take that class?” he looked over to his friend, who looked up at the mention of his name. You nodded, telling him Jeonghan and Seokmin were all in your group as well.
“Good luck with that.” Joshua grinned knowingly. “I wouldn’t be able to focus much with those three bickering all the time.” he snickered, looking at his friend who just rolled his eyes.
You smiled. “So far so good.” You hoped to at least get a smile from the boy in front of you, deciding the grudge you held against him might have been a little unfair to him. But Jeonghan dismissed your kindness by ignoring you completely, instead saying something to Eunwoo beside him.
You resisted the urge to show your newfound irritation, shifting your attention back to Joshua.
From the corner of your eye you saw Eunwoo nod, and the two of them left quietly, leaving you four in the corner.
Joshua really knew how to make you feel comfortable, striking up a conversation with you about your majors and some of your interests, the exchange soon shifting into your shared hobby of baking.
When Mingyu and Jae disappeared after a heated make out session you and Joshua briefly cringed at, the two of you were the only ones left. Joshua soon dragged you to the backyard to smoke, joking alcohol made him crave cigarettes.
You were seated on one of the couches outside, a full glass of alcohol in your hand that one of the hosts, Joshua’s friend, had poured you—reminding you of the drink Soonyoung had promised you before, most likely, drunkenly having forgotten about it.
Just shortly after the realization you coincidentally spotted him, and your stomach turned when you saw what exactly was going on. Soonyoung was making out with some girl on the other side of the garden, tongue and all, making you see green with jealousy.
Your innocent crush might’ve not been completely innocent—not when the sight in your peripheral vision impacted you this much.
Your glass was empty now, and you set it on the table in front of you to push yourself up. This caught the attention of Joshua, who’d been busily chatting with the random people you’d grouped up with outside for the last half hour.
“Are you leaving?” Joshua put his hand around your wrist, looking up at you with a frown on his face.
“I don’t feel so good, I need some water,” you told him, making him loosen his grip on you. You had this weird urge to isolate yourself—to flee. “Are you okay? I can get it for you.” His eyes softened upon hearing your words.
You shook your head. “It’s okay, thanks Joshua. I’ll be right back.” you shot him an assuring smile before quickly walking back inside, right past the kitchen to the corridor.
Fuck. Why did you feel so jealous over Soonyoung? It’s not like you were ever close to him.
Maybe you’d been an idiot hoping to catch Soonyoung’s attention, not when he barely paid any attention to you in the first place. He never noticed you in school. The secret glances, soft laughter you tried to hold in whenever he and his friends joked around in class. He didn’t even know you were attending the same college, for god's sake.
Now you felt even worse. You decided to walk straight outside through the front door—away.
“Leaving already?”
You jumped at the sudden voice, eyes locking with Jeonghan who you saw leaning against the white brick house. He eyed you with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Fuck, you scared me.” you instinctively pressed your hand against your thumping chest. Jeonghan seemed to observe you carefully, eyebrows furrowed like he was deep in thought.
“Everything okay?” he suddenly asked you. The question surprised you. Jeonghan didn’t seem the type to entertain people he didn’t care about.
“Um, yeah,” you responded meekly. “Just going home.” you shrugged, fully ready to walk off.
Jeonghan hummed, pushing himself off the wall to get a bit closer to you. You stopped moving, your shoulders slumping a little while looking at him. Jeonghan checking up on you was as odd as it was out of character, but continuing to want to talk to you? By choice? You were stunned.
“Let me guess,” he smiled, clearly already very amused by whatever was about to come out of his mouth. “This has something to do with Soonyoung.” He almost grinned, and his arms remained crossed as he waited for your reaction.
The look on your face only made him smile wider, looking like he had won the lottery.
“I knew I would be right.” he mumbled under his breath, chuckling in an irritating way. “I’m good at this…” he seemed amused, waiting for you to defend yourself.
You forced yourself to laugh, shifting your weight awkwardly as the stiff sound croaked out of you. “What are you talking about?” you held your breath awaiting his next words, but some part of you knew he had you right where he wanted you.
“I mean,” the look in his eyes shifted into something you couldn’t describe. “You have a thing for Soonyoung. It’s very obvious.”
Your chest felt tight. Was is really that noticeable?
“For…for Soonyoung?” you laughed as if his take had been completely wrong. “Why would you think that?” you continued, the quirk of his lip only sputtering you on more. You hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were becoming.
Jeonghan laughed, the nasal sound ripping from his throat surprising you. You realized you’d never seen this side to him—almost happy.
“I can help you.”
Your eye twitched. There was a brief silence as Jeonghan anticipated your response, his mouth slightly agape as his eyebrows rose.
“Huh?”
Your confusion made him giggle, dropping his arms down next to his body to fully close the space between you. “Listen,” he started, licking his lips. “I will help you get Soonyoung.” You were suddenly feeling very self-conscious having him so close to you.
“I’m not surprised he hasn’t noticed, since he’s oblivious as it is,” he continued. You looked away at his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek.
“He’s one of my best friends, so it won’t be that hard.” he hummed, taking you in.
You forced yourself to look back into his eyes, a silent exhale passing through your lips. This had to be some kind of setup. There had to be something behind it he wasn’t telling you.
“Who says I want your help?” you glared at him, furrowing your eyebrows.
Jeonghan seemed to like your answer, a wide smile spreading on his face.
“Suit yourself. I’ll tell him about your little crush myself.”
Your eyes widened a bit, looking at him in disbelief.
“Why do you even care that much, Jeonghan?” you crossed your arms, a part of you knowing very well he would happily inform his friend of your stupid secret.
“I’m bored.” he simply grinned, his expression one of an evil mastermind.
Despite already having agreed with Jeonghan beforehand, you felt nervous about sitting next to him in class. You liked sitting near the front, a bit meticulous about having little to no distractions while taking your notes and listening to whatever your teacher had to say.
Jeonghan always sat in the far back of the class, less caring about the lesson and more about doing whatever it was he was back there. You could always hear him snicker about something, probably because of Soonyoung or Seokmin, treating the hour-long lesson like their own personal bar despite already living together and practically being together most of their time.
Today you sat in the back, jumping in your seat when Jeonghan loudly dropped his bag on the table next to you. You snapped out of your daze, looking up to see the boy already smirking at you.
“You didn’t chicken out,” he observed aloud, as if he thought you would actually back out of his genius plan to catch Soonyoung’s attention. As if the threat of not listening to him didn’t come with consequences.
“I’m a little surprised to be honest.” he chuckled, sitting down next to you.
You sighed, following him with your eyes. “Why?” you decided to take the bait. Jeonghan only smiled. “Nevermind. It’ll be more fun this way.” he hummed, carelessly throwing his phone down on the table. “I already have some things in mind, you’ll see,”
You didn’t even want to imagine what he was implying, rolling your eyes before pulling out your notebook and pen.
“Aigoo.” Jeonghan laughed seeing your pastel pink pen, the top decorated with a cute little duck. Your cheeks burned.
Before you could protest he snatched it from your hand, giggling as he observed it up close.
“How cute. Did you name him?” he grinned, loving how embarrassed you looked. “No.” you hissed, trying to get it back from him. Jeonghan tsked with a smile, avoiding your hand before excitedly scooting closer to you.
He held the pen right front of you, wiggling it in front of your face as he started speaking with a high pitched voice. “Please save me from Hannie! I feel so sad without you, y/n.” he laughed at himself, spinning the duck’s head towards him.
He cleared his throat, giving the object a serious look. “I’ll keep you with me today, but I promise I will give you back to y/n later. Now, tell her goodbye.”
“Seriously?” you grumbled, watching him put the duck back in front of your face.
“Bye y/nnie! See you later!” he said in the same, annoying voice, making a loud kissing sound as he briefly pressed the duck’s beak against your lips.
“Jeonghan!” you complained, pushing his arm away as he laughed. Right as you did so, Soonyoung and Seokmin walked in, the latter visibly surprised you were sitting next to Jeonghan.
“Oh, y/n!” Soonyoung smiled, plopping down in the seat in front of Jeonghan. You smiled at him, suddenly feeling very conscious of Jeonghan’s little plan—which he failed to explain the exact logistics of.
“Hi guys.” Seokmin greeted. He sat down in front of you, his back turned to you as he rumbled through his backpack.
“Hyung, didn’t you say you disliked y/n?” Soonyoung asked, leaning over the backrest of the chair as he looked at his friend obliviously. By his tone you could tell he didn’t mean it in a bad way, he was genuinely interested. Soonyoung always had a way of blurting out whatever he had on his mind.
Jeonghan cocked up his eyebrows, giving you a quick look that was met with a subtle glare. “What? Of course not.” he coolly dismissed his friend’s words.
Soonyoung had a subtle pout in his face, looking around as if he was thinking for a moment. “But you said she’s-“
“I don’t dislike y/n.” Jeonghan roughly cut him off, giving him a stern look. Soonyoung giggled, giving you a warm smile that had you malfunctioning for a moment “I think it’s good you’re becoming friends!” he said, then quickly turned around when the teacher announced herself.
“I’m not too fond of you either, you know.” you grumbled lowly to Jeonghan, making him chuckle. “Aw, did I hurt your feelings? I’m sorry. Promise we’ll have a great time together from now.”
You rolled your eyes again. “Whatever.” you sighed in defeat, forcing yourself to pay attention to the class.
The lesson carried on like normal, but your mind kept wandering. You were a little worried about whatever Jeonghan had in store for you, fearing the worst. How would he even be able to help you with Soonyoung? Was this all some ploy to embarrass you in front of his friends?
Deep in thought, you failed to notice Jeonghan leaning into you, flinching when he suddenly put his hand on your knee. “Thinking of me?” he whispered. His breath hit your ear, making the hairs on your arms stand up.
“What are you doing?” you asked quietly, keeping your eyes on the teacher and hoping she wouldn’t notice what was happening.
“Don’t you trust me?” Jeonghan’s voice carried a hint of amusement, and you could practically hear him smile as he spoke. “No.” you admitted quickly. Jeonghan chuckled. “Relax, this is all part of it.” he gently squeezed your knee, making you pout a little. The action had you meet his eye, yet you barely turned to him, not wanting it to seem like you were talking to him in the middle of class.
“Come closer. You have to at least put in an effort if you want Soonyoung to think we’re dating.” Jeonghan whispered, pulling you closer towards him by your knee.
Your eyes widened, looking at him in bewilderment as you felt his side pressing into yours. “D-dating?” you almost gasped. “Yeah?” Jeonghan said as if you were stupid. “How else do you want to catch his attention?” he said, like it was obvious this is what you were going to do from the start.
“Like, suddenly? It’ll be weird.” you mumbled, ignoring the heat radiating off his body. Jeonghan shrugged. “We don’t actually tell anyone we’re ‘dating’. They just need to speculate that there’s something going on between us—and it's Soonyoung. He’ll believe anything.” His hand moved from your knee to hang over the backrest of your seat, trying to appear somewhat close to you.
“Watch.” he looked at the front of the class for a moment before leaning back in to reach your ear. “Look at our teacher. Don’t you think it’s funny how she always wears those ugly shoes with that gap between her big toes?” you caught sight of what he was talking about, wheezing at his description. “The loafers? They’re kinda popular right now…”
Jeonghan smiled. “They look like hooves. Hideous.” that made you laugh, catching Soonyoung briefly looking back at the two of you. “I want to burn those ugly horse shoes so bad.” he continued, very aware of his friend now paying attention to you.
“Guys,” Soonyoung whispered to the two of you, a little smile on his face. “Ignore him.” Jeonghan whispered.
“Popular or not, I need them gone.” he continued as if he didn’t hear Soonyoung.
“Hey, guys,” Soonyoung said a bit louder, leaning over.
“Hmm?” Jeonghan cocked up his eyebrows, turning his head to the boy.
“What’re you laughing at?” he asked, hoping to join in on the fun. You allowed yourself to look at Soonyoung now too, waiting for Jeonghan to speak.
“Huh? Oh, nothing…” Jeonghan giggled, putting his hand on your shoulder. Soonyoung pouted a little, softly nodding before looking back in front of him again, figuring whatever you were whispering about wasn’t anything of importance.
“See?” Jeonghan lowly said, a smirk tugging on his mouth. You didn’t reply, watching him play with your pen in his free hand.
You couldn’t focus for the duration of the class, looking down at your blank notebook realizing you hadn’t been taking any notes, despite Jeonghan putting his pencil on your desk. His fingers played with the fabric of your shirt, not paying you any mind as he listened to the teacher.
After the hour-long lesson Jeonghan waited for you to gather your stuff, Soonyoung and Seokmin already exiting the classroom as per Jeonghan’s request to not wait up for him.
It felt oddly good getting all this attention suddenly, despite it coming from someone you had disliked for a year. Jeonghan really wasn’t as bad as you’d made him out to be, and a part of you liked being included in his circle and getting closer to him. It also made you nervous, never fully knowing what to expect from him.
“That was… interesting.” you told Jeonghan, looking up at him. He stood next to you with his arms crossed over his chest. You zipped up your bag, starting to walk out of the classroom with him. “Of course, told you it would work.” Jeonghan simply said, slowly walking through the hallway. “It would’ve even been better if you weren’t so awkward.” he sighed, looking at you. Your neck burned a bit, avoiding his eyes. You hadn’t realized you were being awkward.
“Meet me at the frat after you finish all of your classes.”
“What?” you frowned at his words.
Jeonghan had a blank look on his face. “Am I speaking french? You have to get used to us being together.” he said almost boredly, halting in front of your next class. You blinked at him before slowly nodding. It wouldn’t hurt to make it seem more believable. “Alright.” you said quietly.
The corners of his mouth rose, winking at you before starting to walk off.
“See you later!” he called over his shoulder, leaving you to ponder on what he’d planned.
A strange feeling settled in your stomach as you waited for Jeonghan in front of the big house, looking around the street observantly.
The street wasn’t too busy, but there was a different atmosphere over at the frat row. The possibility of seeing all these boys—probably all friends with each other—was enough to make you nervous. You didn’t trust them, and you weren’t convinced any of them would see you as their equal—not for any societal reasons per se, but because you barely made any noise in the typical tight-knit college community on campus.
It had been different being together with your friend last weekend, a fickle but comforting energy knowing you weren’t alone, even if it had only been for a little while before she disappeared with Mingyu. You’d had time to settle.
Safe to say you felt out of place this time around.
The sudden sound of the door opening then drew your attention.
“There’s my little ducky.” Jeonghan grinned, motioning for you to come in. He laughed at the look you were giving him, slamming the door shut before leading the way.
Your worries seemed to melt away already, but you still felt somewhat nervous at the possibility of having to meet new people.
“You still didn’t give me back my pen,” you told him as you blindly followed. He smiled as he walked past the kitchen to the hallway, looking back at you for a moment. “I’m keeping it,” he said casually.
You sighed in defeat, more focused on your surroundings than to give him a proper reply. The house was mostly quiet, and thankfully you didn’t see anyone apart from hearing muffled voices from whatever room you were passing by.
“Could you walk any slower?” Jeonghan cocked up his eyebrows waiting for you to enter the opened door of his bedroom. You rolled your eyes at him.
Once inside you started to become aware of where he’d taken you, looking around his room while chewing on your bottom lip.
It looked like any other ordinary bedroom, spare for the few knick-knacks and the collection of shoes in the corner. There were tubs of skin care and school books on his desk, and some discarded clothes draped over his chair.
“So… is Soonyoung home?” you asked carefully, not really sure why you were in his bedroom with him.
“No,” Jeonghan said as he took a seat on his bed, simply watching you.
You looked at him, gulping. “Oh…” you said softly, progressively getting more flustered as he held eye contact with you.
Jeonghan chuckled, motioning for you to come closer. “Come here,” he extended his arm, patiently waiting for you to grab his hand. “This is just practice. You have to get used to us touching, ducky.” he smiled cheekily, watching you hesitantly close the space.
He had a point. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, but you still felt overwhelmingly nervous as you grabbed his hand. Vulnerable. As you felt his skin, you noticed how long his eyelashes were, the sharp inner corners of his big eyes complimenting his pretty brown irises. His hand felt warm, but you felt weird. It was strangely intimate for some reason, and you wondered if he thought the same.
“Don’t be so tense, y/n. Just act like you normally would.” he chuckled, pulling you closer than you already were, now standing between his parted thighs. You didn’t have anything to say to that, trying not to show how nervous you suddenly felt.
“Why are you looking like that?” Jeonghan cocked his head to the side, reading you for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a boyfriend before,” he grinned, already convinced this had been the reason for your silence.
He laughed when the ghost of a pout appeared on your lips, almost making you want to pull your hand away if it weren’t for him already tightening his grip on you.
“Cute. That’s why you’re so shy, hm?” he smiled with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Don’t mock me.” you mumbled, rolling your eyes before looking away. Jeonghan laughed again, shaking his head. “I’m not.” he lied, smiling in amusement.
“Whatever,” you said, your eyebrows scrunched together as you looked at him again.
“Hey, don’t be mad, ducky. I told you it’s cute.” Jeonghan hummed, suddenly wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you onto the bed with him.
You gasped in surprise, bracing a hand on his chest as he pulled you closer, both arms wrapping around you as you lay curled on your side.
“You scared me!” You whined, hitting his chest. “Ow!” Jeonghan giggled, smoothing a hand over your hair. “Sorry.” he chuckled. “C’mere.” he softly urged your head to his chest before stroking your hair.
You sighed in defeat, ignoring the knot in your stomach. “You asked me to come over to cuddle?” you sulked, not seeing why it would be of importance.
“Yes? Things like this matter if you want us to be believable.” Jeonghan sighed, looking at you. You met his eye for a second, resisting the urge to roll your eyes again before looking out in front of you instead.
“I don’t even know why we’re doing this. I doubt it will work.” you murmured, unconsciously nuzzling your cheek against his chest. Your cheeks burned as you realized what you were doing, hoping Jeonghan wouldn’t make fun of you for it.
Jeonghan purposely tugged on the ends of your hair a bit too hard, earning him a glare whilst he just smiled. “It’s a shame you still don’t believe in my expertise.” he exhaled a long breath as if he was disappointed. “You have to be all in if you want this to succeed, ducky.” he smiled.
“Stop calling me that,” you mumbled. “And If I remember correctly, you didn’t give me much of a choice, Jeonghan.” you then grumbled, making him laugh for a moment. You could feel his chest shake.
“Still,” he said, ignoring your first words.
You sighed. “Right.” you agreed. You just hoped it would be enough to interest the boy you’d liked since childhood.
“I swear if you embarrass me…” you then added, looking at Jeonghan.
He blinked slowly, just looking at you for a second. “Of course not.” he said in more seriousness, and you realized that’s all you wanted to hear from him.
You slowly nodded. “Okay.” you almost whispered, giving him a little smile. Jeonghan smiled back at you, resting his cheek against the side of your head.
You were both silent after that, finding comfort in each other’s embrace. It felt nice, having someone to finally hold you.
But the comfort unsettled something, too. Truth is, you were a very lonely person. In your twenty-something years, you’d never had anyone pursue you romantically. Which you told yourself was fine—at first. But as the years passed, and those who took an interest in you somehow always ended up disappearing, you began to think something must be wrong with you.
Still, the loneliness didn’t mean you lacked feeling. That had been the whole problem. You loved deeply, too much, sometimes so much that your fingers shook with it. It pulsed deep within you, burning to engulf and to take and keep taking. You were ashamed of the enormity of your desire, disgusted almost. You were scared that if you’d ever get a taste, you’d feast. You’d devour until nothing remained, only yourself and the wounds of your greediness.
You thought yourself to be destructive, not to be trusted with even a sliver of it—even if a pair of warm arms around you had been all you’d ever wanted.
You’d become too much one too many times in the past, and no one wants someone who’s too much. You told yourself love probably just wasn’t meant for you. Maybe you didn’t deserve it. At least not in this lifetime.
You knew whatever you and Jeonghan were doing wasn’t real—not really. But a part of you had started to wonder. You could feel that same warmth you’d come to resent starting to bloom, and it scared you. You didn’t want to mess up again. Didn’t want to scare away the one person you were starting to let in.
You blinked away tears, not because of your pain, but because Jeonghan’s embrace was bringing you so much comfort.
“This feels nice.” you whispered, feeling a bit stupid for suddenly saying something so vulnerable.
Maybe you really were greedy—doing all this to try to get Soonyoung, when you were convinced he would never want you anyway. Or if he did, he’d end up leaving just like everyone did.
Jeonghan hummed, oblivious to how emotional you suddenly felt. He kept stroking your hair. “Do you want to take a nap, ducky? I’m getting a bit tired,” he admitted, chuckling. You nodded against his chest, happy at the opportunity to have him like this a bit longer.
Jeonghan pulled you even closer, sighing against your hair after closing his eyes. You carefully put your arm around him.
You tried not to overthink it anymore, closing your eyes to try to sleep.
Not long after, Jeonghan’s breathing started slowing, and the hand that kept stroking your head now rested somewhere in your mess of hair. The rise and fall of his chest gradually helped lull you into sleep with him.
Soft humming filled your ears, waking you up with a frown as you blinked in confusion. The sweet and airy sounds continued as you looked up at Jeonghan, suddenly remembering where you were.
Jeonghan met your gaze once you moved, the light from his phone behind your head illuminating his face as he stared back at you. He couldn’t contain his laughter seeing your tired face, letting his head fall back as he put his phone down.
You only sighed before pushing yourself up, too dazed to curse at him already.
It seemed like Jeonghan hadn’t moved at all as you were sleeping, silently scrolling on his phone while he had patiently waited for you to wake up. Whilst you had a nice nap, you couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed—and maybe ashamed—about letting yourself get so comfortable around him already.
It took a lot of you to feel at ease around others, and you just hoped Jeonghan wouldn’t take advantage of your vulnerability despite his reassuring words.
“You woke up at a perfect time, sleepyhead.” Jeonghan smirked at you, watching you rub your eyes.
“Why?” you asked with a frown, the boy copying you by sitting up as well. He grabbed his phone again, crossing his legs before showing you the live location of a food delivery driver entering the street.
“You ordered food?” you looked at him. Jeonghan smiled, eyes closing in a slow nod. “I’ll be right back, ducky. Don’t miss me too much,” he tapped your nose playfully before pushing himself off the bed, chuckling at you rolling your eyes as he sauntered out of his bedroom.
Jeonghan returned within a minute, flashing you the plastic bag with a smile before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I got us burgers.” he announced, pulling out two white wrappers and a bag of fries to put in between you.
Jeonghan ate a fry, humming as he chewed while opening a packet of ketchup. “Are you hungry?” he asked, grabbing a couple of fries again. You nodded, unwrapping your burger slowly before meeting his gaze again.
Jeonghan cocked up his eyebrows, smiling as he watched you. “What’s going on in that little head of yours?” he asked in amusement.
You sighed, frowning for a bit as you searched for your words.
“Do you think… we’ll even convince him?” you asked him hesitantly.
Jeonghan cocked his head to the side. “Of course we will. You don’t think so?” he took a bite of his burger, nodding his head towards yours to get you to eat already.
“I’m not sure,” you sighed again before looking down at your cheeseburger, choosing not to further bother him with your insecurities before finally taking a big bite.
He could tell you had more on your mind than you led on, carefully watching you as he chewed his food. Jeonghan chose not to ask too many questions—not yet.
After finishing your food you headed back to the sorority. It was dark out, and if you stayed out for much longer your sorority sisters would undoubtedly start asking questions you didn’t want to answer.
As you left the frat you thought about how different Jeonghan really was compared to how you’d perceived him. He was funny, and more importantly, he was kind. So kind he’d given you his jacket so you wouldn’t get cold on your walk home. It felt good being around him, as though you were finally seen. Really seen.
You zipped up the dark blue jacket, the back adorned with big white ΙΖ' lettering, smiling to yourself like a creep as you thought about all of the dumb jokes Jeonghan had fed you the whole night.
Soonyoung sipped on his diet coke as he watched Seokmin and you work on your assignment, brown irises flickering between the two of you as he sat in silence.
He didn’t notice the familiar jacket you’d purposely left on the table next to your laptop, or how awkwardly your frame shifted in the stiff chair beneath the buzzing lights of the study hall.
You hadn’t been in contact with Jeonghan all day, assuming you’d see him again at the group meeting. Only he hadn’t shown up, the boys beside you mentioning how he’d told them he had been too tired to leave the house.
It had only been half an hour since you’d started working on coding a website for your three product skincare line—a task that would be a whole lot easier if Soonyoung and Seokmin had done their part of the assignment. Which they hadn’t.
At least you’d gotten somewhere today. The basics weren’t hard, you’d already finished most of the HTML structure and some basic CSS. To continue you needed to know what products you’d use—Seokmin’s task—and the color scheme and logo that would represent your website—which was what Soonyoung had to do.
You reminded yourself you all had the whole semester to finish, so for now you could relax. But you felt anything but relaxed, your body on edge in the presence of Soonyoung.
The screen of your phone lit up, your jaw ticking when you read the message.
Yoon Jeonghan: go flirt with him ;)
You accidentally met Soonyoung’s gaze, forcing yourself to give him a stiff smile. Soonyoung smiled back at you, straightening up in his chair before motioning to your laptop.
“Can I see?” he had a hopeful look on his face, his chubby cheeks growing in size as he smiled wider.
Jeonghan’s words echoed in your head, sending your pulse racing. Your stomach felt tight, gulping before you nodded and turned the screen to him. Why was this so hard?
“Oh! You did all this?” Soonyoung scanned the simple website you’d created, easily impressed by your abilities.
You nodded. “Yeah… It’ll look better after we have a logo and stuff,” you rambled, watching Soonyoung slowly pout. “Right,” he giggled, exhaling a soft breath. “I’ll get us a kick-ass logo soon, promise.” he smiled, making Seokmin chuckle in amusement. He obviously didn’t have much trust in his friend.
You called it a day soon after, feeling a bit defeated as you had no idea how to go about this. Sure, it was one thing to fake-date Soonyoung’s best friend, but without Jeonghan you had no clue how to act in front of him. You felt lost.
Things were basically the same as before—strictly friendly. That was it.
You sighed in defeat at the scene in front of you. Small groups of random students you didn’t recognize sipped on their cheap bottles of beer, chatting away without a care in the world.
“We won’t be long,” Jeonghan bumped your shoulder, already reading your mind. He smirked at the glare you were sending his way. “We just need to be seen together.” he explained for what seemed like the nth time, making you hum uninterested.
The frat seemed to get rowdier by the minute as Jeonghan poured you a drink in the kitchen. A special drink, or how he’d called it.
You didn’t want to admit it, but you were feeling nervous. It was the first time you’d so openly be seen together with Jeonghan. And you were still doubting all of it.
It wasn’t only the inquisitive eyes of strangers you dreaded—or Soonyoung’s, it was also the fact that your best friend would come.
You had no idea how you would convince her you’d randomly started dating Yoon Jeonghan out of all people, afraid she’d see right through you. How could she not?
Jeonghan handed you a glass with an almost black liquor, cocking up his eyebrow at you as he waited. You accepted it hesitantly before taking a big gulp. You figured you needed alcohol for this anyway.
“God, what’s in this?” you cringed at the heavy flavor, making the boy next to you laugh.
“You’ve never had jagermeister?” he snorted before bringing the rim to his quirked lips.
“Straight?” your eyes widened, watching him swallow down the drink.
“No, silly. I added coke.” he smiled, the essence from the liquor coating his lips.
You rolled your eyes, relaxing as he put his arm around you. “Calm down, ducky. You’re so on edge today,” he observed aloud, softly squeezing your shoulder. You only sighed, scanning the body of people before you.
Almost immediately, you made eye contact with Jaehee, who excitedly walked up to Jeonghan and you. She seemed pretty smug when she noticed Jeonghan’s arm around you, tilting her eyebrows playfully as she got closer.
“Hi y/nnie, Jeonghan,” she grinned. Jeonghan gave her a courtesy nod, smiling politely as he slid his hand down to rest atop your waist. The sensation of having his hand there caught you off guard for a moment.
“What’s all this? You know you’re not supposed to mix business with pleasure, right?” She teased, awfully surprised at the seemingly random pairing.
You didn’t question her reaction. Despite her not knowing about the grudge you’d held against Jeonghan for well over a year, she was very aware of your crush on Soonyoung. Which made Jeonghan and you together somewhat odd.
“Guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Jeonghan chuckled, pulling you closer to kiss the top of your head. “Had to pull out all of my charm for this one,” he continued, and you admired how well he was playing his role.
“Oh, i’m sure. You got the pick of the litter, Yoon Jeonghan,” Jaehee winked at you as she talked you up.
Her eyes easily found Jeonghan again. “But, make her sad once and see what happens.” Her lips pressed together in a straight line.
Jeonghan smiled, looking down at you as if you were the only one in the room. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” he almost whispered as you met his eye. You only blinked at him, not knowing how to respond before he chuckled at you and softly nudged your cheek with the back of his fingers, leaving the skin tingling from his touch.
“I have to restock the coolers real quick before the beer bros start complaining,” Jeonghan squeezed your waist before letting go of you. “I’ll give you two a minute.” he smiled, patting your head before walking off.
“What the fuck?!” Jaehee yell-whispered at you as you watched Jeonghan disappear. You had to remind yourself to act natural. This was all a part of the plan, after all.
“You’re dating Jeonghan? How did that happen?” Jae crossed her arms over her chest, a pleased smirk forming on her glossy lips.
You gave her a smile. “Oh, you know…” you brushed it off, chuckling.
“Is this why you’ve been so off lately?” she asked, shaking her head in amazement. You frowned as you took a sip of your overpowering drink. “I haven’t been off,” you told her after finishing your glass in one gulp.
“You so have!” she giggled, pushing your shoulder playfully. You only laughed, shrugging. “Maybe.” you pouted, giggling at the expression she was giving you.
Jaehee shook her head again in amazement, turning to the kitchen island to pour herself a drink.
Though you did feel bad for lying, you tried not to think about it for now. You’d tell her eventually, after all of this would merely be a funny memory you’d laugh at looking back.
“So,” she started, turning back to you with a mischievous grin. “Did you have sex with him yet?” she leaned in, reading your reaction carefully.
“Jaehee…” you rolled your eyes and laughed, trying not to seem too caught off guard at the question. The thought of it brought goosebumps to your skin, and you reached for the bottle of vodka on the counter to mask the shaky breath you suddenly had to let out. You needed it for emotional support anyway with Jeonghan not there to do the talking for you.
“Oh, come on! You got your first boyfriend and you want me to be cool about it?” she sulked.
“I don’t want to jinx anything yet,” you told her coolly, chuckling at her sighing out loud. “Fair.” she smiled sweetly, dropping it for now.
Soonyoung hadn’t spared you a second glance after his initial greeting—a mere wave—off laughing with Seokmin and some random girl for what had already felt like hours.
Jeonghan had been gone for a while already, and you were starting to feel restless without him. You blamed it on the scene in front of you—the way Soonyoung’s laugh echoed far too loudly at whatever the girl was telling him, his arm deliberately brushing her shirt. Your skin prickled almost painfully at the sight as you tried to pay attention to Jae’s rant about something Mingyu had done.
Still, Seokmin was right there. Equally as loud, friendly, exactly the buffer that should’ve made all of this easier to stomach. And yet… it didn’t. The restlessness lingered like a breath you couldn't fully release. An itch you couldn’t reach.
You kept glancing over at Soonyoung, but the longer you looked, the less you recognised him. The somewhat quiet, awkward kid you used to know felt like someone else entirely now. You were beginning to fear that you were chasing a past version of him, one that didn’t even exist anymore. You realised you were looking through the lens of someone who used to know him.
Maybe you were just doing this all wrong. Maybe if you were louder, or bolder—better, you wouldn’t be feeling this defeated.
There was a dull, stubborn ache in your chest that kept on growing, one that you couldn’t ignore no matter how hard you tried. The thought of doing all of this without even knowing if you still even wanted it stung, and all you wanted was to flee. All you wanted was for Jeonghan to make you laugh again.
“Fuck, okay—I’m gonna go find him,” Jaehee sighed after getting out all her pent up frustration, taking the remainder of her drink as a shot. “I’m going to confront him—remind him I’m a bad bitch who doesn’t take shit. Wish me luck.” Her jaw stiffened, eyes scanning the room to catch sight of Mingyu.
“Good luck, girl,” you forced a smile. You really didn’t want to be by yourself right now. But you didn’t say anything, watching her sigh before getting lost in the crowd.
You had the perfect opportunity to leave the party, walk the short route back to the sorority and simply call it a night. The alcohol had made you tired anyway.
Yet you found yourself sipping on another drink on the couch.
You were hoping Jeonghan would come find you. Whenever you were with him you seemed to forget about everything that gnawed at you. He was quickly becoming your comfort in all of the chaos you felt. Maybe he was the cause of it, too.
As if on cue, you spotted the long-haired boy in the sea of people. “There you are,” he said when he got close enough. His voice soothed you, and you already felt a bit better. Jeonghan slotted himself next to you on the couch with a low groan, his warm hand finding your knee as if it were natural.
“What’s wrong?” he squeezed you when you didn’t greet him. You shrugged.
Jeonghan looked at you for a moment, his big eyes reading you. “Is this about Soonyoung?” he blinked.
You exhaled a breath. “It’s stupid.”
“Probably,” he said, earning a glare. Jeonghan only smiled.
“C’mon, tell Jeonghannie,” He put his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.
“I hate that.” you grumbled at the way he was referring to himself, making him chuckle. “Stop moping, little ducky,” he began stroking your hair..
You sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. You just looked at him for a moment, his features softening as he noted your hesitance.
“I don’t think I can do this,” you said carefully, frowning a little. You felt vulnerable vocalizing what’d been plaguing your mind, but somehow it eased the weight off your shoulders too.
His brown eyes didn’t leave yours, sympathy growing on his handsome face. Jeonghan then softly hummed in acknowledgment. “Why do you think that?” he simply asked.
You sighed again, looking away. “Just… It’s stupid—I don’t have a chance with him anyway,” you mumbled, making Jeonghan cock up his eyebrows.
“Huh? Of course you do, silly,” Jeonghan softly shook you, smiling at you sparingly. He wondered why you continued to put yourself down.
You looked at him, doubt clear on your face. “I don’t think so.” you shrugged. It was Jeonghan’s turn to sigh. “Well, you’re wrong.” he fixed a stray strand of your hair, putting the lock behind your ear.
You chuckled bitterly. “I’m not his type. I’m not… confident, or assertive… no one ever likes me,” your jaw tightened a bit as you spoke, your throat closing up.
Jeonghan frowned at you, pausing for a moment. “That’s not true y/n,” he shook his head, observing you carefully. “Like, not at all.” He sighed before gently nudging your chin, looking at you. You softly pouted, not really knowing what to say.
“Do you even know how lucky he’d be to have you?” he added, his sweet words only making you somber.
“He’ll see that too, so don't try to act like someone you’re not. You’re already perfect.” Jeonghan reassured you, holding your chin to keep you from looking away from him again. You swallowed a lump in your throat.
“Such a pretty girl…” he then hummed with a smile, only making things worse. You hated how much his words impacted you—how easily they reached the parts of you you tried to keep hidden.
“He’d be such an idiot…” he whispered, taking you in carefully.
You avoided his gaze, unable to repress the tears that were starting to form in the corners of your eyes. You didn’t know why it hit so hard—maybe because you wanted to believe it.
“Aigooya,” Jeonghan reached out to dry your tears. “Don’t cry on me, little ducky,” he pouted before giving your cheek a soft squeeze, slowly starting to smile.
“I’ll talk you up to him, okay? I promise.” he assured you. You blinked away your tears and exhaled a breath to compose yourself, nodding as you gave him a little smile.
“Good. Now, don’t be sad—or Jaehee will scold me for being a bad boyfriend.” he sighed, making you chuckle in the middle of all of this.
“I’m okay… thank you, Hannie.” you sniffled.
Jeonghan cocked his head to the side at the nickname you’d given him, smirking in amusement. “I already got a nickname? I must be good at this fake boyfriend thing.” he teased you, laughing when you pushed him.
“Ow!” he giggled. “Keep teasing me and I might start thinking you actually like me,” Jeonghan grinned, making you roll your eyes. “I’m not teasing you.” you tried not to smile.
“Oh? Calling me that is teasing, ducky.” he put his arm around you again, smiling as he pulled you into his embrace, this time keeping you there.
“You call me that stupid nickname every two seconds and I’m the one teasing?” you looked up at him, your cheek resting against his shoulder as he kept you close.
“I never said I wasn’t,” Jeonghan smirked, almost challenging you to say something back.
You could feel your face starting to heat up, not knowing how to get back at him. There was a brief pause between the two of you.
“You know,” Jeonghan then whispered, momentarily looking behind you before his sharp eyes invaded yours again. He licked his lips before glancing at yours, and the subtle action made you slightly nervous. “I know just how to get people’s attention,” the corner of his mouth rose, waiting on how you’d react. Now you were getting really nervous.
Still, you didn’t know what to say.
Jeonghan looked perfect as he studied you, like he already knew what you were thinking. You were terrified he might. Your quietness, your hesitation… you were convinced it only enticed him. But what if you were just imagining the sudden heaviness hanging in the air?
“What, you don’t want to kiss me?” his lip threatened to curl up again, though he tried his best not to.
Oh.
You blinked at him in surprise, too afraid to assume that he was actually serious.
“Jeonghan…” you whispered shyly, feeling your heart beating out of your chest.
Jeonghan knew you weren’t saying no—he could see it in your eyes, in the way you were looking at him the same way he had been looking at you. You wanted to. He wasn’t dumb. But you were simply too timid to initiate what he’d been alluding to.
He then gently cupped your cheek, fingers burning against your warm skin as he slowly leaned in. His lips parted in a pleased smirk noticing the hazy look hiding behind your eyes, thumb swiping your cheek to lure your blown pupils to meet his, commanding your full and uttermost attention. You melted under his touch, watching his long lashes fan his cheeks as he closed them, before his lips finally met yours in a soft but long kiss.
The party was all a blur by now, fixated on the feeling of Jeonghan’s lips and his body leaning into yours. You felt hot, and maybe not just because of the alcohol in your system. Just when you started to fear he’d pull away, Jeonghan purred against your mouth, holding you tighter before tracing a line on your bottom lip with his tongue. You let him take the lead, let him do as he pleased as he left you whimpering with a mere tug of his teeth.
You realised he’s messing with you even now, feeling him smile whenever he gets a sound out of you. You didn’t care this time, finding your hand suddenly clutching his shirt at his side as Jeonghan deepened the kiss, hearing the wet smacking sounds even over the music you had already tuned out.
You kissed Jeonghan back with equal fever. You were vaguely aware of people watching—You didn’t care. You didn’t want to stop. You moaned into his mouth at the sensation, a mess of spit and teeth that had your cheeks burn with anticipation.
It all felt a little too real—but maybe if you convinced yourself it was as real as it felt, others would believe it too. Even if Soonyoung didn’t see what was happening, word would spread eventually.
Then, he stopped.
“Let’s go to my room,” Jeonghan whispered, linking your fingers together before getting up and pulling you with him.
You only nodded, ignoring the quiet sting of something unfinished as he led you through the body of people, away from the rowdy living room.
You’d gotten what Jeonghan had promised—something to make all of this seem believable. And getting seen leaving together was the icing on the cake.
Your lips still tingled from the kiss, though you tried not to show how much Jeonghan had unraveled you as you entered his bedroom together. You were finally away from the party, and you could let yourself relax now. You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding before smiling, feeling Jeonghan’s eyes on you as you kicked off your shoes and crawled onto his bed.
“Mission accomplished,” you joked, lying down with a groan and stretching out your limbs to get comfortable.
Jeonghan didn’t respond. You watched him crawl onto the bed after you, mirroring your movements. You smiled at him, expecting him to roll onto his back next to you—only to freeze when he climbed on top of you instead.
Jeonghan kissed you again. Only this time he didn’t intend on stopping.
Your breath hitched against his lips, hands finding his shoulders as you let him.
The way his weight pressed into you made your head spin, like you were his for the taking.
His elbows framed your face, soft, long hairs brushing your face—you couldn’t think anymore. You didn’t want to think anymore.
“Jeonghan—“ you finally whispered, your body on fire as he shushed you with a long peck. You suppressed a moan and squeezed his shoulder in vain at the way he kept sucking and biting your bottom lip, a veil of pleasure spreading through every inch of you.
“Jeonghan—Wha-what are you doing?” you managed to stutter through your haze, feeling yourself practically glued to the mattress.
Jeonghan cupped your cheeks, giving you a long peck. “Can’t help myself. Y’re just so cute,” he mumbled before kissing you again, sighing when you started kissing him back.
The tips of his fingers found your skin under the hem of your top, brushing your hip almost hesitantly as if you could pull away at any moment, like any wrong move would bring you back to your senses and have you slip away from him.
You pulled him closer, sighing at the feeling of his hand slowly stroking up your side. Your back curled autonomously at the gentle caress, pressing your head into the pillow as Jeonghan ground his hips against yours.
Nimble fingers pulled up the cup of your bra, plumped pink lips pecking your ajar mouth as he squeezed your breast. You spread your thighs wider for him before pulling on the ends of his hair, kissing him hard as you started panting at the friction of his groin grinding against your clothed cunt.
“Hannie…” you whispered, curling your back again.
“Yes, ducky?” Jeonghan asked softly, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
“Please…” you gulped, letting go of his hair to pull at the hem of his shirt.
You’d never fake dated before, but you were sure you were breaking every rule in the book.
Jeonghan slowly started kissing down to your neck, only stopping to rid himself of the fabric you wanted gone. His smooth back felt soft as you shyly traced a line over the fair skin, eyes closing with a sigh when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.
“Is this still okay?” Jeonghan whispered against your skin, his fingers splayed over your exposed stomach where your top had ridden up, softly kneading your waist. You nodded, and he softly moaned when your nails brushed the nape of his neck, tangling gently in his long hair.
You guided his lips back to yours, all signs of modesty ignored, evident in the way your tongue nastily demanded his.
“Fuck.” Jeonghan breathed. “Can I touch you, baby?” he asked, squeezing your waist while his thumbs pushed down against the waistband of your jeans. Eagerly, you nodded. “Yes, please,” you mumbled against his lips, feeling the corners of his mouth tug up.
You sucked on his bottom lip to silence any potential sneer that would follow, smiling at the hushed curse that followed.
Jeonghan kept kissing you as he undid the button of your jeans, fingers dipping into the fabric to tug them down to your knees.
The short sensation of his body grinding against you had already left a mess between your legs, leaving a subtle dark patch on your panties.
You didn’t give Jeonghan much of an opportunity to pull away from you, mewling against his mouth at the sudden feeling of his fingers slowly starting to rub your clit.
Your body started meeting his touch, hips following his movement as your jaw slacked.
Jeonghan softly hummed, brown eyes fixated on your face as he kept pecking your top lip.
“More, Hannie…” your chest tightened when you met his eye, a heavy veil settling over your body as the weight of what the two of you were doing sank in.
Jeonghan looked down at you, taking a beat too long to respond as if he had realized the exact same thing. Then he smiled—almost smirking before applying more pressure.
You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a quick second before giving him a hard kiss. You softly shook your head. “More.” you told him again, a short wave of anxiety seeping through your body that instantly disappeared again when he dipped his fingers inside of your panties, finally touching you where you needed him.
“Is this better?” he whispered, smiling when you gave him this look, begging for him to kiss you properly again.
“Yes,” you said almost inaudibly, your nails raking over the back of his neck at the feeling of his soft lips pushing against yours.
He circled your clit with his thumb, his fingers taunting your burning entrance.
You spread your thighs even further, hoping it would lead to him pushing his fingers deep inside of you already.
Instead, Jeonghan took his time teasing your clit and entrance, thumb pushing into your nub as two of his fingers brushed against your wet hole.
Your hands slid to his cheeks, cupping his face before moaning into his mouth. You could feel him smile at the sounds he was inciting out of you, only spurring the both of you on more.
His digits pushed against your entrance, starting to dip inside of you before stopping right when you started to feel your entrance burn. They slipped back against your wet entrance, a chuckle rolling out of his throat when you exhaled a breath of frustration.
“Say please,” Jeonghan purred against your lips, now completely abandoning your core to gently pinch your clit. You exhaled another breath, brows furrowing while your cheeks grew hotter.
“Jeonghan…” you whispered, squeezing his shoulder in hopes of having him give in to you.
“Come on, just like you did before,” he continued, failing to hide how much he enjoyed the reaction he had on you.
You sighed, feeling as if you were cloud nine as he started nibbling on your bottom lip.
“Please…” you gulped, imagining his long fingers pushing inside of you.
“Good girl,” Jeonghan mumbled, his hot tongue finding yours before he did just that, two digits starting to slowly enter you. A moan filled the air, your breath hitching as your pussy stretched to accommodate his fingers.
He moved them at a slow pace, opening his eyes to watch you wither under him. A sight he didn’t want to ever forget.
“Does that feel good, ducky?” Jeonghan whispered, brushing your lips with his. You quickly nodded, trying to keep kissing him despite the overwhelming pleasure that kept building, putting you in a trance.
He went a bit faster, forehead touching yours as his eyes remained glued to your face. Your eyelashes fanned your cheeks, lips twitching and mouth unfurling with every delicious drag of his fingers.
“Mmnh!” you whimpered and bucked your hips when he circled your hard clit, making your thighs twitch at the friction. You tightened around him, clutching his shoulder and pulling him flat against your body as some sort of anchor.
You gasped for air, sliding a leg over his hip before pushing yours up, chasing the orgasm you felt approaching quickly.
Jeonghan kissed your nose before going even faster, dying to watch you come around his fingers.
You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as pleasure bloomed inside of you, consuming you as you reached your high with another loud whimper.
“Fuck,” you moaned, sighing as your thigh unhooked from his hip and slid back down on the mattress.
Jeonghan kissed your cheek, slowly pulling his fingers out of you before sucking them clean while looking at you. He had you speechless.
“Are you okay?” Jeonghan asked softly, your eyes fixated on his plump lips. Slowly, you nodded, feeling slightly unsure as you pecked his lips. Jeonghan smiled.
“You’re cute,” he chuckled, fixing the wild strands of your hair before moving to push himself up. Your hand quickly found his bicep.
“No.” you slipped out, eyes wide and hazy as you looked at him.
Jeonghan tilted his head, blinking slowly. Then he smiled in amusement. “Aren’t you tired, baby?” Jeonghan teased you, his muscles relaxing as he found his previous position again.
You shook your head.
“Do you… do you want to?” you asked a bit unsure, only hoping you weren’t embarrassing yourself. What if the moment was just that—a moment that had now passed.
Jeonghan laughed, giving you a chaste kiss.
“Are you serious? Do you even know how hard I am right now?” he chuckled when you replied with a nod, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand before pushing himself up at last.
You watched him unbuckle his belt, admiring his pretty body whilst he rid himself of his pants. Your eyes followed a path down to his boxers, swallowing a lump in your throat at what you were seeing.
You didn’t expect just how big he were, even with the dark piece of fabric that was still covering his manhood.
“Are you gonna take it off for me?” Jeonghan asked you, his sultry voice and bedroom eyes making your chest thump. Those eyes of his would have you do anything he asked of you.
You suddenly realized you were still lying down with your pants half on, shyly tugging them down together with your panties before discarding them on the floor. You kneeled on the bed, crawling over to where Jeonghan was to push him down and settle between his thighs.
He watched you slip off your top over your head, your bra thrown on the growing pile to the side.
You bit your lip as Jeonghan admired your naked body, his hand reaching out to stroke your thigh.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, squeezing your skin. You gave him a small smile, trying to exhale a controlled breath as your fingers splayed over his lower tummy.
“You’re pretty too.” Your lip twitched, eyes leaving his to glide down his figure, your digits hooking into his boxers to pull at the stretchy band.
“Thank you, ducky.” Jeonghan hummed, licking his lips as he watched you get him fully naked.
Your lungs filled up with air when you saw his large cock, the tip glistening and leaking pre-cum already. You weren’t sure if you were able to fit all of him inside of you, and the mere thought of it sinking deep inside made you gulp. In a good way.
Quickly, your hand wrapped around the base, your lips parting as you leaned down a little to let a glob of spit drip down onto the red tip.
Jeonghan sighed, his eyes narrowing as he watched you carefully.
You spread the wetness all over his length, the dirty sounds filling the air even over the subtle music off in the distance. Jeonghan’s body relaxed under your touch, his mouth slightly open as he breathed deeper.
The sight in front of you had your cunt tighten around nothing. You didn’t care that you weren’t supposed to do this. Right now you needed to feel him.
Jeonghan’s hands found your waist, his breath hitching when you straddled him and fisted his hard cock to align the tip against your folds. You kissed him, softly moaning against his lips as you ground your cunt against him.
Slowly but gradually, you started sinking down, a mixture of your moans filling the air.
He was so big, and you struggled to accommodate his thick tip. “Slow down.” Jeonghan groaned, throwing his head back to release a filthy whimper as you ignored him and did your best to keep going.
“Fuck,” you moaned, clencing around his size fruitlessly. You held his shoulders to support yourself, your hips stuttering when you finally sat down on him. You exhaled a shaky breath before rolling your hips, the overstimulation killing you.
You moaned again, feeling him press right onto your G-spot.
He looked so effortlessly pretty like this. The strands of his long hair framed his face, tongue peeking out from plump lips as his chest adorned a new red-colored flush. You could feel him tighten his grip on your waist, big eyes watching you.
You found a steady rhythm, trying your best to keep yourself from cumming already—which proved to be harder than anything.
A yelp came out of you when his thumb brushed your clit just like before, your jaw slacking at the newfound pleasure running through your body. “Fuck, Jeonghan,” you gulped hard, biting your lip and moaning when he thrusted up once to meet you.
“You feel so fucking good, ducky,” Jeonghan moaned, yanking you down by your shoulder to have your chests meet. He put an arm around you, keeping you pressed against you as he planted his feet down on the mattress to fuck up into you. You whimpered hard.
“Sorry, sorry, just need you now,” he groaned, his cheek pressing against your crown.
You squeezed his shoulders, whimpering uncontrollably as he kept a head-spinning pace. You pressed your mouth against his neck, making him curse as your teeth found his skin.
Jeonghan gripped your ass, kneading the skin as the filthy sounds echoed through his bedroom.
Anyone walking past would be able to hear what was happening, and yet you really didn’t care. You were sure Jeonghan didn’t care.
Your body felt on fire, the feeling of his hands gripping you to keep you from moving leaving you breathless.
Then, he rolled you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head by your wrists as he started fucking you again. Jeonghan licked his lips, watching you wither under him with a pair of hazy eyes to match his.
God, he was big. He stretched you out so deliciously, so perfectly. You squeezed your eyes shut when his mouth encircled your nipple, sucking and biting carelessly to take you apart even further.
“Fuck. Gonna cum soon. Can’t take it anymore,” Jeonghan groaned, sucking and leaving a train of love bites from your tit to your neck. You bit your lip and nodded, sighing at how full you felt. You were right there with him, your muscles burning and your cunt pulsing as that familiar feeling spread through your body.
“D-don’t pull out.” you gulped, curling your back before moaning.
Jeonghan gave you a kiss. “Have to, baby,” he told you, trapping your wrists with one hand as the other one found your clit again. You whimpered and squirmed under him, weakly shaking your head.
“Please?” you sighed, bucking your hips. Jeonghan groaned as his lips found yours, his breath hitching.
“God—Are you sure?” he asked, his thrust becoming sloppy.
You nodded soundlessly, feeling like you were floating. As if the world around you didn’t exist.
“Yes, Hannie,” you hooked a leg around his waist, making the both of you moan in each other’s mouth.
Jeonghan felt even deeper now, massaging your bundle of nerves until he felt you starting to cum around him. He cursed at the feeling of your tight pussy gripping his cock, your body going slack against his. He stilled as his warm cum started filling you, softly moving to fuck his release deep inside.
You curled your back in pleasure, exhaling a long breath as you relished the dizzying feeling.
Jeonghan let go of your wrists to cup your cheek, pressing a long kiss on your parted lips before resting his face in the crook of your neck. He stroked your sides as he tried to catch his breath, planting more soft kisses there as his hips slowly moved against yours, before finally stopping.
You stayed like that for a moment, feeling Jeonghan’s chest rise and fall as his cock remained lodged inside of you. Only when you started to feel your mixed release dripping from where you were joined he slowly lifted his hips to let his cock fall out of you.
You bit your lip at the feeling, already missing the closeness you shared.
Jeonghan sat up and fixed his hair before helping you up, holding your hand as he wordlessly walked to the bathroom with you.
“Are you okay, ducky?” he asked softly after running the shower. You gave him a smile, nodding. “I’m good, Hannie. Are you?” you asked him, your smile growing when he nodded.
“Of course,” he squeezed your cheek before signaling for you to enter the shower, watching you step inside before following you.
Sunlight warmed your face, the fraternity oddly quiet compared to the night before. You rubbed your tired eyes before turning to an already awake Jeonghan, blinking at the ceiling as if he was deep in thought.
“Hey,” you said softly, cuddling up next to him.
Jeonghan smiled, putting his arm around you.
“Hi ducky.” he sweetly rubbed your back, tracing patterns on his shirt you were wearing.
You tried not to think too much about what had happened between you two. You weren’t ready to face the consequences of your actions yet, not today at least.
“Do you think Soonyoung saw us?” you then asked him quietly, tilting your head.
Jeonghan got quiet for a moment, momentarily stopping the tracing on your back as he looked at you.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“I think so too,” you hummed, resting your face against his chest. “Hopefully,” you added before smiling, closing your eyes again.
“Right.” Jeonghan looked at you, his fingers finding your hair again.
You didn’t realize how quiet the room had gotten again.
The distant laughing and shouting from the group of boys running around at the school’s football field brought a surprisingly comforting atmosphere–almost calming as the ball got kicked around from left to right.
Your eyes easily found Soonyoung’s figure. He was hard to miss. Maybe you were just naturally drawn to him, despite the doubt that had started growing inside of your head.
It had merely started as a tiny seed, a speck of uncertainty that had grown into something bigger—clouding your mind ever since that day not long ago. The same day where you ended up sleeping with Jeonghan.
It had only been a few days since then, but you just couldn’t figure out why you were starting to fear this plan of Jeonghan somehow working.
It’s not that you had even an inkling of trust in this plan—that hadn’t progressed one bit, mind you—It was just that Jeonghan seemed to have some kind of magical power to get whatever he wanted.
He was alluring. A pretty face that knew just what to say and when to say it was truly a deadly combination. You were sure he could convince you to jump in a ditch if he smiled at you right.
Maybe you were right to enjoy your time with Jeonghan while you figured out what you really wanted. It was no use to put an end to it now—not when your new friendship with Jeonghan was making you feel a lot happier than you’ve been for the past few years. Nothing wrong with that, right?
“Keep still,” Jeonghan teasingly pulled you back by your lock of hair he was braiding, snapping you out of your train of thought.
“Ow!” you complained with a pout, giggling when Jeonghan tsked at your obvious exaggeration.
You were sitting in front of his body with your legs crossed, plucking at the blades of grass that tickled the palms of your hands.
“Didn’t you like football, Hannie?” you frowned as your eyes followed the flock of boys running around, ignoring how he sighed whenever you moved too much for his liking. He hummed, carefully tying the bottom of your braid before finally letting go of your hair.
You quickly turned your head, Jeonghan watching your braid snapping to the side as you looked back at him.
“Then why aren’t you playing?” you asked him, watching him chuckle at you before carefully moving your braid over your shoulder.
“Can’t I spend time with my girlfriend?” he smirked at you, laughing when you rolled your eyes. “I’m being serious,” you sighed, scooting to sit next to him. “Me too.” Jeonghan grinned, draping his arm around your shoulder right as Soonyoung giggled in the background. You briefly glanced at him, exhaling in amusement as you watched him laugh, running to the other side of the field with others hot on his heels, kicking the ball in the direction of the goal.
Your eyes naturally found Jeonghan again, watching the corners of his mouth lift up as you made eye contact. For some reason the energy felt heavier in this moment, and you were overly aware of how close you were sitting. You could feel his chest expand as he breathed, smell the peach shampoo off his dark hair—or the subtle peppery, bergamot scent from his perfume that mixed in whenever he moved.
You gave him a half-smile before quickly diverting your gaze down back to the grass, routinely pulling at the blades again.
“Did you—Did you ever talk to him?” you scrunched your eyebrows momentarily as you broke the silence, shortly looking at Jeonghan before watching the blades of grass in your hand get carried away by the wind.
“Hm?” Jeonghan leaned into you at your question, his fingers finding the end of your braid to toy with.
“I mean—Did you talk to Soonyoung for me?” you clarified, looking at him sparingly.
“Oh—right. Yeah, I did,” He told you, making you kind of worried with the way he didn’t share more.
“And…?” You asked unsure, feeling more and more insecure by the second. Even the possibility of catching Soonyoung’s eye after all of these years brought goosebumps to your skin.
“He said you’re insanely cute,” Jeonghan told you, watching your reaction.
You blinked in surprise, your lips forming a subtle pout as you took in his words. Slowly, you nodded, flashing Jeonghan a small smile. “Really?” you asked him, caught off guard. Jeonghan nodded, making you giggle by squeezing your cheek. “Yes, really. I mean, who could ever resist you? It was bound to happen eventually,” he shrugged, making you cringe and bump your shoulder into his chest.
Truth was, Jeonghan was lying straight through his teeth. He had never talked with Soonyoung about you after making his promise to you. He was never planning on it, either. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he just didn’t want to. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he didn’t want to put an end to this fake relationship. Not when being with you felt like remembering something warm from a dream he didn’t want to forget.
“Hey guys!” Soonyoung exclaimed happily as he ran up to Jeonghan and you, a football tucked under his arm. “Did you see me score?!” he carelessly dropped the football before plopping down on the grass in front of the two of you, letting the ball roll a bit before settling beside him.
“Oh, of course we did Soonyoungie!” Jeonghan smiled at him, and you felt his hand find your shoulder again as he fed him the little white lie. “You did so well,”
You watched Soonyoung, his cute eyes progressively getting smaller upon getting praised by his older friend. He giggled sweetly, meeting your eye as he smiled open-mouthed, like a puppy waiting to get a treat.
“You were great,” you nodded at him, your body responding to having him in front of you after finding out what he’d supposedly said about you.
“Thank you, y/n!” Soonyoung giggled again, pouting in satisfaction. He looked almost shy, yet his demeanor quickly changed when he realised he actually came to ask something.
“Oh—Mingyu and I were thinking of cooking some meat and having drinks at home. You guys are coming too, right?” he looked between Jeonghan and you, his face relaxed as he expected you’d say yes.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Jeonghan started speaking right before you got the chance to. “We are actually about to head to y/n’s place, right ducky?” Jeonghan asked with his mouth dangerously close to your ear, his fingers starting to stroke your shoulder over your top.
You looked over at Jeonghan for a second before looking at Soonyoung. “We were?” you blinked dumbly before realising Jeonghan had made it up on the spot. He chuckled. “Yeah, we were going to work on the project for a bit,” he simply said, and if you didn’t know any better you’d believe him.
“Argh, the project?” Soonyoung scratched behind his ear, smiling playfully.
“Mhm,” Jeonghan only smiled.
“Well, maybe you guys could come after? Seungcheol hyung got us a bunch of weed, it’s gonna be fun!” Soonyoung pushed himself up from the floor as he boasted about tonight, hoping to convince his hyung.
“Yeah, maybe,” Jeonghan said uninterestedly, patting your back before the two of you mimicked the blonde-haired boy and got up from the grass.
As you walked the opposite direction of Soonyoung, exiting the somewhat crowded football field while bumping shoulders with Jeonghan, you found yourself sneaking a look at his pretty face.
His big eyes always drew you in, making you smile as you called his name. There was a hint of playfulness behind his eyes as he looked at you, as if he’d already predicted your action.
“Work on the project?” you only said, cocking up your eyebrow in curiosity.
Jeonghan chuckled, shrugging. “I want to hang out with you,” he admitted. “Just us two.” he added, smiling. “Why, did you want to be with Soonyoungie?” he smirked, his hand bumping against yours. He looked down for a second before looking back at you.
You looked away, failing to hide your smile. “I mean, isn’t that the whole reason why we’re doing this?” you chuckled, hearing him silently giggle. “Sure,” he hummed, smiling cheekily.
Jeonghan silently grabbed your wrist when the distance between you became too big for his liking, closing his eyes in a smile when you looked up at the sudden touch.
“We can go hang with them later, how does that sound ducky?” Jeonghan asked, his tone one of a kindergarten teacher affirming a small child. You hummed, and when Jeonghan silently linked your pinkies together you tried to remain calm. Collected.
“We’ll see,” you said, sneaking a look down at your hands.
Jeonghan almost grinned when he noticed, liking how you tried to act cool, as if you felt normal about it. Only, you could tell what he was doing, mustering up your courage to convince him you did feel very much normal about linking pinkies with him.
“You do know Soonyoung isn’t around, huh?” you gave him a look, smiling when he did too.
“I know,” he simply said. “But others might see us. It’s called being prepared, baby.” he purred, making you roll your eyes, though you couldn’t hide your amusement even if you tried.
“Whatever.” you sighed, making the corners of Jeonghan’s mouth twitch.
“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me?” you narrowed your eyes at Jeonghan, who was currently busying himself with smelling each bottle of perfume you had in your possession.
“Found my favorite,” Jeonghan turned to show you the perfume you usually wore, taking his time spraying it on his wrist and letting it dry down before smelling it on his skin. He sighed in contentment, smiling before setting it back.
“It smells best on you,” he concluded with a small shrug before finally walking towards you, sighing when he actually saw you with your laptop open.
“You really want to work on the project?” He took a seat next to you on the bed before crossing his arms over his chest. You gave him a look. “You mean the project you haven’t worked on for a single minute? Yeah,” you looked at him, making Jeonghan throw his head back in a sigh. “You know I’ve actually helped a lot, smartypants.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, by bossing us around maybe.” you cocked up your eyebrow at him, making Jeonghan scoff in disbelief. “Alright, Miss know-it-all. What have you done, then?” he sighed, smiling at you.
You shrugged, letting him snatch your laptop from your lap. He scrolled through the webpage that was open, brows furrowing slightly as he took everything in.
“Wait, ducky, did you code this?” he looked at you, slightly raising his eyebrows as he waited for your reply. You only nodded.
“Huh,” he exclaimed, blinking at the screen. “How did you do that? Isn’t that like—hard?” he frowned. “I didn’t know you could do this,” he continued, a smile growing on his lips.
You rolled your eyes at him. “Well, I am majoring in software engineering, Jeonghan,” you explained, watching a pout grow on his face.
“Wow, I didn’t know that. How did I not know? You’re so talented, y/nnie,” Jeonghan smiled cheekily, pinching your cheek in affection. You whined as you slapped his hand away, laughing at him. “You never asked,” you chuckled, feeling a little shy.
“Mhm, you’re right. I guess I didn’t…” he clicked his tongue, remembering how he had never really spoken to you prior to getting paired together for the project, how getting to know you had been the least of his worries back then.
He smiled watching you trying not to sulk, finding it cute that you were obviously thinking about his past indifference as well.
“M sorry about that, ducky. I know I annoyed you a lot in the past,” Jeonghan looked at you, fingers instinctively finding your braid again. He ran the pad of his thumb down the textured hair, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked slowly.
You rolled your eyes playfully, the corners of your mouth tugging up as you realized how much you despised him then. That same smirk that used to irk you whenever you caught Jeonghan’s mischievous expression from the back of class was now the very reason you felt so alive.
“You still annoy me,” you bit your lip trying to hide your smile, laughter bubbling from your throat when your words seemed to catch him off guard, his mouth opening in an ‘o’.
“You’re so gonna regret that.” Jeonghan smirked, quickly setting aside your laptop to tickle you. You let out a scream, trying to squirm away as his fingers crept up your sides to your armpits.
“Jeonghan! Stop!” you laughed, your body instinctively flinching from the attack.
Jeonghan giggled, his eyes almost manic as he relished in the reaction he was getting out of you. “My god, I don't think I’ve ever gotten you this loud, ducky,” Jeonghan smirked, getting one more squeal out of you before allowing you to grab his wrists to stop him.
The boy in front of you definitely did not realize how his words evoked a certain memory with you, cheeks growing hotter as you’re forced to replay the images you’d been actively pushing away for days.
You let go of his wrists when he spoke, “Alright, let’s work on this project then,” he hummed, completely oblivious as he opened your laptop.
You caught yourself looking directly at his mouth, a shameful kind of tingle spreading through your body. You forced your eyes away, looking at your lap instead. You missed his mouth, his kisses. You think you could kiss Jeonghan for hours if he let you. Oh my god, focus, you thought to yourself.
“You okay?” Jeonghan cocked up his brow as he noticed your tense body. You nodded.
“God, I hate this. Okay, whatever,” Jeonghan trailed off as he scrolled through your notes, already dreading having to waste his energy on school. “Did you know I once bribed a teacher so I didn’t have to do a group project?” he briefly looked up to catch your reaction, hiding a smirk as he started typing something.
“What?” You barely caught what he said, gulping when he started laughing out loud. “Just kidding. But it sounded quite believable, right?” he licked his lips, a lock of his hair falling in his eye.
You were sitting so close to each other. You only had to lean in and you could experience the same dizzying sensation of meeting his warm lips again.
So, you did. Jeonghan blinked in surprise when you gave him a chaste kiss, high on adrenaline and drunk on your desires, not giving him a chance to react before kissing him for a second time.
A part of you felt like crying, unable to place all the different kinds of thoughts and feelings that were whirling inside of you. It was all so unfamiliar, and you felt too vulnerable. If Jeonghan were to reject your advances you were afraid of how it would all manifest.
“y/n—“ Jeonghan’s words got muffled when you kissed him again, pushing your laptop away from his lap to kiss him properly.
His hands found your cheeks, tongue eagerly meeting yours as his body crowded you until your back met the mattress. Before you knew it he was already on top of you. “You little minx,” Jeonghan mumbled jokingly, squeezing your face before kissing you harder.
You knew you probably shouldn’t have initiated anything, but it all just felt so natural. You kept kissing him, sucking on his bottom lip before teasingly biting the supple skin. Jeonghan groaned, gripping your shoulders to keep you pinned below him.
“Thought you wanted to go see Soonyoung?” Jeonghan asked, moaning when you purposely tugged on the ends of his hair.
You shook your head, taking in a sharp breath when Jeonghan broke the kiss to tentatively encircle your throat with this hand—softly—just to see your reaction.
He seemed oddly surprised to see the aroused look in your eyes, smirking as he softly leaned in—only to stop right before his lips made contact with yours. He giggled meanly when you tried to kiss him back, a brief veil of shame tingling your body.
“Aw, you wanna kiss me that bad?” he cooed, pouting at you mockingly. Jeonghan loved to have you like this, all shy and nervous. So unsure.
“Are you not gonna answer me, ducky?” Jeonghan tightened his grip on your neck a little, biting his lip as he smiled cockily watching your eyes widen. Only, he easily could tell you wanted more.
“You like this, huh?” he grinned.
You tried to nod. “Like anything u do, Hannie,” you admitted, making him mumble a curse in response.
Your words only spurred him on more, and a euphoric feeling spread through his body as he watched you sprawled out underneath him with his hand fanned out over your throat. The sudden high caught him off guard.
He gave your nose a soft kiss, softly pulling away to look at you. He paused for a moment before letting go of you, smiling apologetically when you seemed confused.
“What’s wrong?” you whispered, frowning.
He sighed. “I don’t know about this, ducky,” Jeonghan slowly turned on his side and moved a lock of your hair from your face, not quite knowing why he suddenly felt this odd feeling brooding inside of his chest.
You mimicked him by turning on your side, staying quiet for a moment as you thought. “Do you… regret what happened?” you whispered, suddenly feeling insecure.
Jeonghan shook his head. “No. No, baby. You know I want to—It’s just—We shouldn’t, you know? We’re only…” he sighed, not finishing his sentence.
You slowly nodded, but you really didn’t care about what was right and what wasn’t. You didn’t want to say it, but you having sex had been because of Jeonghan initiating first. It was his fault, so you really didn’t care.
You leaned in to peck his pout. “I know… I do, just—just for a little bit, Hannie,” you got even closer, the tops of your fingers grazing his chest before finding their way down. Jeonghan stroked your cheek before leaning in to softly kiss you again, sighing as your hand brushed over his crotch.
Despite knowing what was right, he wanted this too. Jeonghan needed to have you. Over and over again.
He began to undo your jeans as your hand slipped down his, smiling as you started stroking his hardening cock.
Jeonghan moaned at the feeling of your hand pumping his length, biting his lip whilst the tips of his fingers teased your slit over your panties.
“No teasing.” you warned him, earning a knowing grin from the boy in front of you.
“Alright,” he released a shaky breath, fingers easily finding your wet clit to play with.
You were both still laying on your sides, and your head tipped back as pleasure bloomed inside of you. Jeonghan took the opportunity to kiss your neck, his teeth dragging across your skin to incite a gasp from you.
“More, Hannie,” you whispered, angling your hips for him.
Jeonghan sucked the skin under your ear, keeping his fingers at a set pace without straying from your bundle of nerves. He knew you’d be asking him for more soon, and that’s exactly why he didn’t plan on giving in just yet.
You squeezed his cock at the lack of response, making him meet your eye as you began moving your hand faster. You could just tell by the look he was giving you he was up to something, sighing at him in pleasurable annoyance.
You went even faster, earning a high-pitched whimper from Jeonghan, who still didn’t give you what you asked for.
Agitated, you halted all movement to hook your leg over his hip, pressing your lips against his while starting to grind your cunt against his hard cock.
Jeonghan firmly grabbed your hip, moaning against your lips as he grinded with you.
Your tongue slipped into his warm mouth, your arms encircling his head to keep kissing him.
Annoying, suffocating clothes found the floor, your bodies quick to find each other again after discarding all of the pieces of fabric.
“Fuck,” Jeonghan mumbled against your lips. He squeezed your ass, helping move you against him till the both of you were left panting in each other’s mouths.
“Please, Hannie. M-more,” you moaned at the friction of his length gliding between your pussy lips, his tip rubbing your clit as his balls pressed against your entrance.
Still, Jeonghan wanted to tease you. An image of you crying, begging for his cock haunted his head, and he needed to see that come true with his own eyes right this moment.
“Can’t,” he said between kisses, making you whine.
“Hannie…” you tried again, nibbling on his bottom lip.
Jeonghan smacked your ass hard, gripping your skin as he moved you harder against him. You moaned at the pain and pleasure, your hand finding a lock of his hair to hold onto.
“Y-Yes we can.” you softly tugged on his hair, commanding his attention. You pecked his lips softly, hoping to get what you wanted.
Jeonghan chuckled in amusement, spanking your ass again. “No.” he said, smiling at the hiss leaving your mouth.
He took notice of you getting agitated instead, figuring if he wanted you to cry for him he needed to fuck you to tears instead.
“Hurry, Jeonghan.” you complained in annoyance, having had enough of his games. Jeonghan hummed, giving you a soft kiss before moving a hand down to grab his hard cock. “You’re so needy,” he said in amusement before aligning his tip with your entrance, only getting a breathless sigh in response.
He sheathed himself inside of you in one go, moaning at the feeling of your pussy. Oh, how he’d missed this.
You whimpered at the stretch, hooking your leg tighter around his hip so it wouldn’t slide down.
Jeonghan started kissing you roughly before beginning to thrust, wrapping his arms around you to keep you pinned against his body. You moaned against his lips, gripping his locks for support as you relished in the feeling of him fucking you.
Still, he had this urge to be even closer to you, though he didn’t know how. Jeonghan rolled you on your back, looking into your eyes as he set a slower, much deeper pace.
“Hannie…” you sighed, cupping his cheeks to give him a long kiss. Jeonghan smiled at you when you pulled back, resting his forehead against yours as he kept going.
He suddenly felt the need to be gentle with you, to show you how much you had started to mean to him in such a short period of time. He couldn’t stop looking at your face—at the way your jaw tightened every time he bottomed out, or how your mouth opened and closed autonomously. Your drawn eyebrows twitched with every sound spilling out of you, the sounds like music to his ears.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hips stuttering at how deep he was. “Don’t stop,” you moaned, putting your arms around his torso. You bit your lip as you looked up at him, Jeonghan’s fingers slowly stroking up your side before he wrapped his arms around your body too. You looked at each other, room quiet apart from your mixed pleasure, together with the forgotten sounds of the bed creaking. Rhythmic, deep thrusts brought you both closer to the edge, your breathing getting louder as you forgot about the outside world. Or the situation you were in.
As you came around Jeonghan with a guttural moan, he found himself losing control. You pressed your lips to his, nails digging into his back at the peak of your orgasm. Jeonghan spilled inside of you next, holding you tighter with a groan to match yours.
Your body squirmed, hips slowly grinding against him as you came down from your high. You peeled your lips from Jeonghan, who tried to catch his breath as you gave him a smile.
Somewhere there, he contemplated if he’d just made love to you, blinking through his haze. Did he? Did you think so too?
He gave your cheek a peck before rolling off you, feeling your warm body seeking his. “Tired?” he asked, stroking your shoulder. You hummed while nodding, putting the covers over your bodies.
As Jeonghan lay on his back, catching his breath and watching your blinking, tired eyes grow heavier, it suddenly all made sense to him. The stubborn unwillingness to push Soonyoung to ask you out, the selfish need to keep you close for just a tad longer, or the odd knot in his stomach whenever he looked at you.
His eyes found your soft lips, swollen and chapped from kissing you for what felt like hours. Your mouth shyly curled up as you snuggled against him, the soft pads of your fingers stroking his chest before nuzzling your cheek against his arm. Your naked bodies pressed together, seeking closeness despite still feeling hot from the sex.
He felt it as he looked at you. A warm feeling spread through his chest, reaching every corner and crevice of his body.
Jeonghan had fallen for you.
Before he could stop himself he gently lifted up his hand to stroke your cheek, resisting the urge to sigh when your eyes closed instinctively.
He also realized he had been sabotaging your chances with Soonyoung—not intentionally, of course. Or maybe it was.
Fuck, he felt bad. He felt like an asshole for being so selfish. For falling in love with you.
A part of him screamed at him to just keep going like he had been. Just for a little bit. But it felt unfair to you, despite how much he liked spending time with you. It had been so easy making you a part of his life, his routine—as natural as breathing. He didn’t want it to end.
But he knew you were doing this for one reason only. It was his problem he had fallen for you, and from now on he knew he had to help you.
You were amazing, funny, and smart—And Soonyoung would see that too. He knew he would. He had to. And even though Soonyoung had never explicitly brought you up, you were insanely cute.
“Hey, y/nnie?” Jeonghan whispered, secretly hoping you would be already asleep.
“Hm?” you opened one eye before the other, making Jeonghan smile weakly as he started stroking your hair.
He almost couldn’t get the words out, his voice seemingly stuck in his throat. He forced a cough. “Maybe it would be a good idea to ask Soonyoung out yourself,” he suggested, his tone devoid of sincerity.
You blinked at him, your brain barely functioning with how tired you felt.
“Really?” you whispered, failing to hide the frown creasing your brows. The words almost hurt your stomach. Even if you wanted to, you didn’t think you’d have that kind of courage.
“Yeah. I forgot he’s kinda terrible at making the first move. He can be shy like that. He will definitely say yes, though,” Jeonghan nodded, giving you a smile.
Slowly, you nodded too. “I hope so.” you mumbled, making Jeonghan chuckle.
“I know so. Told you he thinks you’re cute,”
“Alright,” a smile slowly spread over your face. Jeonghan did know Soonyoung best, and if he thought it would work then you would at least try to gather your courage.
“Thank you, Hannie.” You kissed Jeonghan’s cheek before closing your eyes again, relaxing against his warm body as he pulled you closer.
You couldn’t help but feel sad it would really be over like this.
After three whole days of contemplating on how to approach Soonyoung, you were at a loss. It also didn’t help that Jeonghan hadn’t texted you at all in the last couple of days, which was unlike him.
You chewed on your bottom lip as you sat outside on a school bench, ignoring the background noise as the people around you went on about their day.
You really missed Jeonghan. And although you realized you had probably only played a small role in his life, and you had only started to get to know him for a short time, you grieved the time you spent together.
You exhaled a long sigh.
It didn’t matter anymore. This had all been for Kwon Soonyoung anyway.
You had spotted him twice in the last few days. Once on campus, and once sitting outside on the same bench you were sitting on now.
You were hoping he would walk by and spot you, and the conversation would flow naturally from there. A part of you was nervous you would actually see him, afraid you’d shut down and not know what to say, make a complete fool of yourself.
At least you’d have your answer then. You could go back to your boring life to study and not go out again in the safe bubble you’d lived in your entire life.
That had been your life, and you were happy with it. But now, the thought of going back to the way things were seemed boring to you.
No, you needed this to work. You were done sabotaging yourself.
All the doubt, the anxiety, the newfound reluctance that had been growing—it was all merely fear of change. Fear of stepping out of your comfort zone—and maybe, even fear of happiness.
This had all been so scary for you, so new and intense. But it would all be worth it soon. You prayed it would be.
“y/n?”
You snapped out of your haze to find Joshua standing in front of you, his lips curled up in a kind smile.
“Oh, Joshua,” you straightened your back and smiled back at him, noticing the black-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. Jeonghan had once joked about him wearing them as a fashion statement, and you had to stop yourself from suddenly laughing in his face like a freak when you noticed the lack of lenses in them.
Thankfully, Joshua didn’t notice the weird smile showing on your face.
“How are you doing? I heard you’re getting cosy with Jeonghan these days,” he smirked as he sat down next to you.
You shyly chuckled, shrugging. Though Jeonghan had audibly called what you were doing ‘fake dating’, the two of you had never explicitly mentioned the D word to anyone. Just to avoid scaring off Soonyoung.
For some reason you felt bad for lying to Joshua. You felt like you had genuinely connected with him at the party, and though you hadn’t spent much time with him outside of that one night, you had this urge to tell him the truth.
He wasn’t just Soonyoung or Jeonghan’s friend anymore, he felt a little like yours too. You trusted him.
“It’s nothing,” you told him with a sigh, still pondering on what to do. Maybe a fresh perspective could give you some insight. You kinda needed someone to talk to about this, and what you and Jeonghan did was in the past now anyways.
“Oh? Sure doesn’t seem like nothing with those raunchy hickeys Jeonghan was walking around with the other day.” Joshua had a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and for a split second you could see Jeonghan in him. Maybe that's why you felt like you could be honest with him.
Your face heated up, trying to suppress a smile as Joshua grinned at you.
“Joshua, can I…tell you something? And promise it stays between us two?”
Joshua cocked up his brow in curiosity, but nodded nonetheless. “Of course,” he told you.
You let out a deep sigh. “Jeonghan is helping me get with Soonyoung,” you said carefully, afraid of what Joshua might think. “It’s just for show, or whatever.” you added, watching Joshua cross his arms over his chest.
“You’re not really together?” he asked, making you hum.
“So it’s all for Soonyoung? It’s him you like?” he frowned, and you nodded at him.
“Gosh, and here I thought Jeonghan finally stopped hiding that thing he had for you,” Joshua chuckled, shaking his head. You frowned at him. “Guess I was wrong,” he sighed with a smile.
“What thing?” you leaned into him, cocking your head to the side.
Joshua paused for a moment, blinking. “You know, the teasing in class, trying to get your reaction,” he explained as if you were aware he had actually been targeting you.
“What do you mean? He never teased me.” you frowned.
Joshua laughed at that. “Sure he did. He talked about you a lot, you know. How he loved getting a reaction out of you. You really never noticed?”
You pouted, confused. “I mean, he did annoy me. But I didn’t think it was targeted to me. I don’t think it was.”
Joshua laughed again, his eyes turning smaller as he did. “It definitely was,” he told you in amusement. “I always suspected he had a little crush on you, but he would never admit it to me. Just said he liked teasing you,” Joshua shrugged. “Guess I was wrong, since he’s helping you with Soonyoung.”
Slowly, you nodded. “Right,” you agreed. But there was an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach thinking about the concept of Jeonghan having a ‘thing’ for you.
“You sure looked convincing, though. I’ll give you that. You’ve got everyone fooled.”
His words didn’t reassure you like you had hoped they would. You and Jeonghan needed to look like you were into each other, but not too much. Because would Soonyoung really give you a chance if he thought Jeonghan and you were serious?
“What do you think I should do? Maybe this whole thing has gone too far already,” you chewed on your bottom lip, panic seeping through your body. You should’ve stopped after making out with Jeonghan. And you really shouldn’t have had sex with him. The speculation alone would be dangerous for your potential with Soonyoung.
Joshua put his hand on your shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry too much, y/n. Just go hang out with Soonyoung? If it feels good go ask him out.”
You sighed. “Alright,” you nodded. “I will.”
Joshua chuckled and pushed himself up, fixing the strap of his leather crossbody bag before briefly looking down at his phone to check the time.
“I’ve got to run. Tell me how it went?” he cocked up his brow.
“Okay.” you smiled a little. “Thanks, Joshua,”
Joshua winked at you, turning his body before quickly stopping himself and looking back at you again.
“Oh, and y/n?” he failed to hide a grin. “Try not to sleep with your fake boyfriend.”
You didn’t know how to react as he walked off theatrically.
As days passed, and you found yourself making more and more ridiculous excuses as to not approach Soonyoung, a sudden golden opportunity fell right in the palm of your hands.
Maybe you manifested it, since you hadn’t stopped daydreaming about all the different ways the talk you’d inevitably needed to have would turn out.
You were listening to some music as you did some minor grocery shopping, the basket in your hand filled with an array of fruits, vegetables, and a scandalous amount of snacks to balance everything out.
There was a soft tap on your shoulder, and you quickly turned around expecting you’d been in someone’s way, but instead saw Soonyoung’s chubby cheeks bulge in a cute way as he smiled at you.
You think you preferred the term God’s intervention.
“Hi,” you smiled shyly after taking out your earbuds.
“Hey! What’re you doing here?” Soonyoung giggled, clutching a protein bar in his hand.
You paused briefly. “Grocery shopping?” you said slowly, earning a laugh from the boy.
“Right. Of course.” Soonyoung laughed, peeking in your basket. “Cooking something tonight?”
You nodded. “That’s the plan. I just needed some vegetables for my stir-fry,” you chuckled.
“I wish I could cook. I’m banned from the kitchen,” Soonyoung scratched behind his ear, pouting.
You laughed at that. “Did you set off the fire alarm or something?”
“Twice...”
You laughed again, making Soonyoung smile. “You should cook for me sometime! Maybe I can learn from you.” he chuckled, and the request alone made your ears burn. Was he…?
“Y-yeah—Sure. I’m a good teacher,” you told him, and you suddenly noticed Soonyoung was wearing his football uniform.
“Oh. Do you have a game today?” The two of you slowly made your way to the cash register, chatting as you put your groceries on the conveyor belt.
“Yep. I’m about the head there right now,” he explained, waiting for you as you paid for your stuff. “You remember how we used to play together in elementary school?”
You chuckled at the memory as you walked out of the store together, reliving one of those moments in a very long time.
“The teacher didn’t allow me to play anymore at one point,” you smiled innocently, watching Soonyoung laugh out loud as he remembered exactly why.
“Yeah, because you would always kick the ball over the fence after losing.” he giggled, making you laugh as well.
“I was a sore loser,” you admitted with a shrug, smiling as you walked together. You briefly recognized how easy your conversation flowed with Soonyoung. Maybe you’d be able to muster up your courage after all.
“If you won’t throw our ball anymore, we can play again sometime,” Soonyoung suggested, making your stomach jump.
“Sure,” you replied in kind, as if you didn’t struggle to keep yourself from stuttering.
You made eye contact with Soonyoung, who smiled at you. You smiled back at him, but the corners of your mouth slowly started faltering as you realized you had to finally ask him out. You could faintly hear the yelling of a group of younger boys as you approached the football field, and you knew you had to act fast before it would already be too late.
“Hey, Soonyoung?” you called out his name a bit insecure, slowing your steps to fully get his attention on you.
Soonyoung lifted up his brows with that same smile, slowing down to match your pace, which came to an abrupt halt.
“Um,” you gulped. You took in a breath. “Do you… Would you like to go on a date—with me?” you inhaled deeply, trying to slow your breathing. You bit your bottom lip, already cursing yourself for your choice of words. Did you ask at the wrong time? Should you have asked differently?
When Soonyoung’s smile faded, and a confused expression took over his handsome face, you started rambling, “I mean—I’ve liked you since we were kids and—and—If you don’t like me like that then that’s fine too. I-I just thought—“
“y/n,” Soonyoung cut you off abruptly, placing his hand on your shoulder.
“You’re a very nice girl,” he started. You already knew what would follow.
“And you’re truly great, like really—“ Soonyoung paused before sighing. “I’m sorry y/n. I’m kinda seeing someone…” he said quietly, and by his tone you could tell he genuinely felt bad.
Slowly, you nodded at him. “Ah,” you forced a smile. “No worries.” you chuckled, but really you wanted to throw up.
“I’m sorry…” Soonyoung told you again, almost pouting.
“No—no, it’s alright,” you nodded again, not really knowing what to do next. You felt like you still wanted to ask him one thing, just so you wouldn’t spend months pondering on the what if’s.
“Did I ever have a chance?” you asked cautiously, knowing you probably wouldn’t like the answer.
Soonyoung blinked at the question, caught off guard. He looked down for a moment, seemingly thinking about the question before ultimately shaking his head, slowly.
You nodded understandingly. “Okay… Well, thank you for being honest, Soonyoung,” you briefly smiled at him, clearing your throat before speaking again, “I’ll see you around. Have a good game, okay?” you watched him nod apologetically before turning to walk away, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you started walking.
It wasn’t how you’d imagined heartbreak to be. It wasn't like your heart was breaking into a million pieces, you just felt…empty.
Tears welled in the corners of your eyes, fingers instinctively starting to reach for your phone before stopping yourself. You sniffled as you realized you had no shoulder to cry on anymore, a pitiful sob shaking your chest as you remembered Jeonghan had left you on delivered for a week.
There was purpose in your step as you made your way straight to the fraternity, not caring about any odd looks you were getting as you cried.
You merely wiped your face once before ringing the doorbell, trying and failing to slow your excessive breathing as you waited for the door to open.
The door swung open with a creak, revealing Mingyu with a smile on his face. “y/n!—Oh, what’s wro-“
“Where is he?” you sniffled, not waiting for an answer as you walked straight past Mingyu’s tall frame to Jeonghan’s bedroom.
You decided against knocking, opening the door to find Jeonghan laying on his bed scrolling on his phone. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening, eyes widening as you walked in with wet cheeks.
“Where have you been?” you asked rather aggressively, eyebrows tightened as you tried to keep yourself from breaking down completely. Your lips trembled, walking up to Jeonghan who pushed himself to take in your current state.
“y/nnie… what’s wrong?” he asked, quickly getting up from the bed before your fist weakly collided against his chest.
“Why are you ignoring me?” you cried, fresh tears beginning to stream down your face. “I-I needed you and you disappeared,” you sobbed when Jeonghan’s arms pulled you in, hiding your face against his chest as he stroked your back comfortingly.
“I’m sorry…” Jeonghan whispered, kissing your temple before sighing.
You closed your eyes, holding him tightly as his familiar embrace warmed your body.
Jeonghan felt your body shake against his as you cried, pressing his cheek against your hair as his hand found your locks. “I’m sorry…” he said again, his chest burning painfully at the state you were in.
“He likes someone else.” you told him after a beat of silence.
Jeonghan sighed, softly shaking his head at what you were telling him. He felt horrible now, blaming himself for everything. For giving your false hope, for building up you confidence—only to watch it all crumble down before his own eyes. This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been selfish.
“Fuck, y/n—I’m so sorry…” he apologized again, tightening his grip on you.
You sniffled, shaking your head. “‘s not your fault, Jeonghan.” you whispered, only making him feel worse.
If you only knew, Jeonghan thought. He should’ve never approached you back then. He’d spend time reflecting on his actions in the last few days as he kept his distance from you, knowing that deep down it had all been for his own self-gain. Annoying you, approaching you at the party. All along this had been about you and him, even if he didn’t realize exactly how much he liked you before he even offered to help you.
“It’s fine,” you concluded, sighing as you tried to stop yourself from crying. “It’s nothing new,” you croaked out, your voice breaking as you failed to stop the sob spilling out of you.
“Shh, ducky,” Jeonghan grabbed your cheeks to meet his eyes, wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs as he looked at you. You gulped, tears brimming your pretty eyes.
“Can I please stay?” you whispered, fishing his shirt as you looked at him pleadingly. Jeonghan nodded, pushing his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “Of course, baby,” he sighed before pulling away from you.
Seeing you cry like this felt like a dagger to his chest. He wished nothing more than to take away your pain.
“You look so tired, ducky,” Jeonghan said while looking at you, wiping away another stray tear with his knuckle before nodding to his bed. “Take a nap, okay? Do you need anything? I can make you tea, or some snacks—“
“Just hold me, Hannie. Please?” you grabbed his hand, afraid he’d leave you.
Jeonghan nodded, giving you a weak smile as you crawled into bed together.
You sighed as you got comfortable against his chest, his warm arms already making you feel better. You nuzzled your cheek against him, resting your arm over his waist.
You smiled when Jeonghan looked at you, smiling back at you as he stroked your hair. You couldn’t help but laugh, the corners of Jeonghan’s mouth tugging up as he watched you. “What are you laughing at, weirdo?” he softly squeezed your cheek.
“I don’t know…” you admitted, your eyes feeling heavier as your exhaustion grew.
“Go sleep, okay?” Jeonghan whispered, making you nod.
You closed your eyes, softly sniffling as you became even more tired. You’d occasionally open your eyes to see Jeonghan looking back at you, your body becoming heavier as the minutes passed.
“Hannie?” you whispered tiredly after a while, fighting to keep your eyes open as he cocked up his eyebrows.
“Don’t leave again.” you told him, closing your eyes when he gently began to stroke your cheek.
Jeonghan smiled sadly as he watched you sleep, your soft snores painfully familiar. He really didn’t deserve you.
He didn’t know if he could keep promise what you were asking him, not when he had been the cause of your sadness.
“How many times are you going to keep checking your phone?” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the lockers, grinning when you glared at him.
“I thought he would come today,” you pocketed your phone before starting to walk to your next class, Joshua humming next to you.
“I don’t know, he seems off lately,” Joshua shrugged, making you frown.
“He wasn’t at our project meeting today,” you pouted, resisting the urge to check your phone again. Thankfully Jeonghan wasn’t ignoring your messages anymore after seeing him, but that didn’t mean things were back to the way they were. Joshua was right, Jeonghan did seem off.
“How was that? You know, seeing Soonyoung,” Joshua asked carefully.
You bit your lip as you thought before shrugging. “It was fine.” you said casually, making Joshua cock up a brow.
“Really? You’re not, like, upset still?” you stopped walking once you reached your classroom, cocking your head to the side as you looked at Joshua. You then shrugged again.
“Not really…” you trailed off, pouting. “I feel oddly okay,” you nodded, giving Joshua a smile. Joshua hummed, not totally convinced. “Right,” he said, thinking.
Truth is, you felt… good. As though a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You also didn’t really understand why, maybe you were still in denial, but you felt like you could finally start to let go of Soonyoung.
Joshua’s eyes strayed behind you when he spotted a figure resembling Jeonghan from the corner of his eye, watching his friend meet his eye before walking off without greeting him. Strange.
You followed his line of vision, looking over your shoulder to see Jeonghan’s back turning around the corner.
“Oh,” you said, perking up to give Joshua a quick look. “See you later, alright?” you told him before going to follow Jeonghan.
Joshua watched you jog to catch up to Jeonghan, sighing with a smile as you disappeared from his vision.
“Jeonghan!” you called once you got close to him, smiling as he turned to you, seemingly caught off guard.
“Hey. You weren’t at our meeting today,” you said, adjusting your bag that had slipped down from the short jog.
“Oh, y/n,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, making you frown. “I didn’t feel like coming,” he explained, his odd tone only leaving you more confused.
“Oh, well, we could really use your help next time. It’s kinda messy without you there,” you chuckled, smiling at him.
Jeonghan didn’t smile back at you, avoiding eye contact as he slowly opened his mouth to speak, “Listen, y/n… I’m—I’m dropping from the project,” he looked at you for a second, mumbling a ‘sorry’ before turning to enter the men’s restroom.
His words felt like a knife to the heart. “What?” you mumbled, gulping as he disappeared again. You were starting to believe you were dumb to trust Jeonghan. Maybe this was all a game for his own entertainment after all, because why else would he just drop you like this? Right after you asked out Soonyoung? The timing of it all was odd.
Anger bubbled up inside of you, shaking your head before following him inside. “What is your deal?” you spat, your jaw clenching as you watched him splash cold water in his face.
Jeonghan looked at you through the mirror before turning with a sigh. “Nothing. I just—“
“Why are you lying to me?” you asked, trying your best not to cry in front of him. Your chest burned, making fists of your hands as you watched him blink dumbly.
“I’m not lying, y/n.” Jeonghan raised his voice, only making you angrier.
“Yes you are. Why are you being like this?” you gulped, afraid you weren’t able to hold your tears for much longer.
“I thought we were friends.” you said quietly, your voice breaking.
Jeonghan swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Was all the time we spent together just a lie?” you felt a tear run down your cheek, all your fears swirling around inside of you. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d lost the only thing that had made you feel so alive these past few weeks.
Jeonghan’s face hardened, his jaw tensing hearing your words. He took a step closer to you, grabbing your underarm.
“I like you, y/n.” he said, the words making your stomach drop.
“Can’t you see?” he added quietly.
You didn’t know what to say, the noise in your head and the way Jeonghan was looking at you overwhelming you. You took a step back, slowly shaking your head as you made sense of it all. The lights in the bathroom were too bright, the sounds of the people in the hallway too loud. You could hear your heart pounding out of your chest and you wondered if Jeonghan could hear it too—you needed to leave.
Jeonghan took a step forward again, not ready to let you go before finally laying his heart bare. “Stop having a crush on Soonyoung.” he whispered pleadingly, softly grabbing your hand in his. Your breath hitched.
“And come back to me.” his frustration softened into a plea, big eyes plagued with vulnerability as he waited for your reaction.
You can’t do this.
You pulled your hand away, not saying a word as you rushed out of the bathroom, leaving Jeonghan by himself.
Tears clouded your vision, your head spinning and mind running as you rushed home. You couldn’t help but wonder if this had been the whole reason Jeonghan had offered to help you with Soonyoung. A part of you told yourself Jeonghan wasn’t that kind of person, yet you couldn’t confidently say you wouldn't have done the same.
What did he even see in you? For how long had he liked you? And was he ever even helping you?
You hid under the covers in your bed, the warmth of the blanket comforting you a bit as you cried soundlessly. Why didn’t you feel angry?
Maybe it had something to do with you not being upset after getting rejected by Soonyoung.
Did you even really want Soonyoung? Or maybe you just liked the idea of being wanted by someone.
You exhaled a shaky breath, hugging your pillow to your chest. You were so confused by everything. You knew you should feel some kind of way about this—whether it be anger or resentment—but the only thing you really wanted was to be hanging out with Jeonghan again. You imagined how things were before they all went wrong—talking, laughing for hours. Falling asleep next to him.
His absence had hollowed you out these past few days. Soonyoung had never made you feel special. But Jeonghan… Jeonghan saw you. Everything you’d been longing for had been so easy for him to give.
Maybe if you hadn’t been so wrapped up in the idea of liking Soonyoung, you would’ve seen what was in front of you all along. Maybe if this whole thing hadn’t started as a lie, your feelings would’ve been easier to untangle. But the one thing you couldn’t ignore was that you couldn’t lose Jeonghan.
The sky had darkened once you finally forced yourself out of your bed, dried tears decorating your cheeks as you rumbled through your bag to snatch your laptop. Maybe some trashy reality tv would help distract you.
As you lifted the laptop, a familiar object tumbled on the floor, rolling until it stilled in front of you.
You lip twitched seeing your duck pen, your stomach twisting painfully. You bend down to pick it up, looking at it for a moment before taking in a sharp breath, lifting your arm to launch it straight against the wall with a pitiful whine.
“Woah! What the hell?” Jaehee stood in the opened doorway with a puzzled look on her face, taking a second to evaluate the current state she’d found you in before slowly closing the door behind her.
“What’s going on in here? Are you okay?” she pouted before engulfing you in a tight hug. You shook your head, sighing and resting your face against her shoulder.
“Talk to me.” she whispered, rubbing your back.
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” you sighed.
“I just paid a witch to curse Mingyu. I can handle crazy,” Jae let go of you to sit down on the bed with you, grinning at the cackle leaving your mouth.
“Fuck—okay,” you rubbed your face. “Long story short: Jeonghan and I were never a thing. It was all a ploy to get Soonyoung. I asked him out a couple of days ago but he rejected me—“ Knowing how long you’d liked Soonyoung for, Jaehee already started pouting. “—But I’m fine—Oh, and Jeonghan just told me he likes me and then I ran away.” you finish with a sigh, making Jae’s eyes widen in surprise at the sudden twist.
“That’s a lot to unpack,” she started, looking at you. “I don’t suppose you’re throwing stuff because you don’t like him back and feel incredibly sorry for it?” she asked almost sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest.
You sighed and shook your head.
“So you do like him? Then what’s the problem?”
You blinked at her. “I… I don’t know,” you frowned, looking down at your lap. “It’s not that simple.”
Jae raised a brow. “What’s not simple? You like him, he likes you. Where’s the disaster in that?”
“You make it sound so easy,” you muttered.
She let out a breath, then softened, reaching for your hand. “y/n, you really need to stop thinking so much.” A small smile tugged at her lips.
You sighed. “It’s just—I don’t think I allowed myself to feel what I felt when I was with Jeonghan. I pushed it away, convinced myself all of those feelings were fake since they were supposed to be. What if I give it a shot and find out I was right?”
“You’re too stuck in your own head. I’ve seen the two of you. You can’t fake the way you look at each other—unless you’re both Oscar-worthy actors, which I seriously doubt,” she chuckled.
You bit your lip, slowly nodding.
“Well, text him.” Jaehee bumped her shoulder against yours, your chest tightening at the thought of Jeonghan. Your face grew hot.
“Text him to come over,” she encouraged you, the corners of her mouth lifting up. You shifted on the bed, pouting as you thought it over.
Jae sighed at your apprehension and pulled out her phone, her nails tapping against the screen as she typed.
“What are you doing?” you asked meekly, watching your friend turn off her phone with a satisfied expression on her face. “He’ll be here soon.” she only told you, her hands resting in her lap demurely.
You blinked in surprise. “Huh?” you frowned. “Wha-What did you just send him?” you tried to reach for her phone, but Jaehee hastily got up from your bed moving her finger at you disapprovingly. “Nah-ah,” she sang, barely making an effort to hide the smirk on her face.
“Jae.” you warned her, pushing yourself up slowly.
“It’s nothing bad, promise! I just let him know that I can’t find you anywhere and your location is turned off,” she shrugged, making you gasp.
“That’s not nothing!” you raised your voice, crossing your arms over your chest with a sigh.
Jaehee exhaled a breath, giving you a smile as she hugged you again. “Don’t panic. Don’t you deserve to figure out what you’re really feeling?” she whispered, patting your head. You knew she was right. You nodded.
“Remember how it felt being his friend and just go from there,” she created some space between your bodies to look at you, smiling when you whispered a soft ‘okay.’
The two of you gave each other a look at the sound of a notification, reading Jeonghan’s ‘omw now’ message together.
“He won’t take long,” Jae told you, making you inhale a sharp breath. “I’ll meet him at the door, okay? Just—Just wait here, y/n.” she said, looking at you for a second before starting to leave your bedroom.
The room fell quiet after that, your nerves buzzing louder than anything else. You couldn’t sit still, shifting on the bed as your mind raced. Every second felt like forever—until a knock sounded at the door.
“y/n?!” Jeonghan rushed inside with a panicked look on his face, eyebrows drawn with a pair of big eyes meeting yours. “Are you okay?” he sighed, visibly relaxing at the sight of you unharmed.
You gulped, looking at him for a moment before abruptly getting up. You hastily grabbed the duck pencil from the floor and shoved it into his hand.
“I don’t want this back.” you said firmly, your jaw clenching as you looked at him with manic eyes.
He froze, staring at the object in his palm with confusion before lifting his gaze to you. Your anger faltered when you met his eyes, his pretty face making your own features soften despite yourself.
You gave him a small, sad smile.
“Hannie…” you whispered, tears burning in the corners of your eyes.
Your lip shook, pushing your face against his chest before you could stop yourself.
“I told you to never leave me again…” you mumbled, smiling at his familiar, comforting scent despite your tears. You put your arms around his body, embracing him tightly. “Please don’t…” you looked up at him, vulnerability creeping in at what you were saying.
Jeonghan only looked at you, his pink lips slightly ajar before meeting together in a subtle pout.
You realized it then, how oblivious you had been this entire time. How you needed Jeonghan as much as you needed air. How much you couldn’t live without him—and, finally, how much you loved him.
“y/n…” Jeonghan whispered, really hoping he wasn’t wrong about what you were getting at.
Your lips curled up in a smile, softly cupping his cheeks before pulling him down to meet your lips with his. Jeonghan gasped against your mouth, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you as close as he could have you.
You bit your lip shyly when you finally pulled away, seeing Jeonghan smile back at you in a way that made your chest tighten.
“I like you too, Hannie,” you said softly, reaching for his hand to link your fingers together. Jeonghan’s eyes shrunk as he smiled at you, keeping his free arm wrapped around you to keep you pressed close against him.
“You like me, ducky?” he asked dumbfounded, squeezing your hand in his.
You shyly looked away, your smile growing wider as you nodded. “Yes…yes I do…” you told him, your face burning when you looked at him again.
“I didn’t even want to think about Soonyoung, because—because you were there. I didn’t want our time to end, Jeonghan.” you whispered, frowning. “The thought of losing you… I couldn’t do it. I just need you.” you confessed, gulping nervously.
Jeonghan giggled hearing your words, leaning in to kiss you hard. “Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I should’ve just asked you out from the start.” he breathed, pecking your lips again.
He pulled away to look at you, a hint of vulnerability creeping in his big eyes. “You really like me?” he asked again, his lips curling up in a shy smile as he looked at you expectantly.
You gently stroked his cheeks, your body tingling as you nodded. Looking at him, you couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“Yes, Hannie.” You sighed, your heart beating out of your chest.
Jeonghan hugged you tightly, and somehow you were starting to feel emotional—the feeling reminded you of the first time he had held you in his bedroom. It felt as if you were coming home to a warm home after a long rainy day. It felt like drinking your favorite brand of coffee after a vacation, or having a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.
You closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat, slowly calming down from all of the adrenaline.
You suddenly remembered what Joshua had told you, breaking the silence with a sudden silent laugh.
“Hm?” Jeonghan stroked your hair, smiling as he imagined what you could be thinking of.
“Did you try to annoy me on purpose? I mean—In class?” you pulled back to look at Jeonghan’s face, watching him blink at you in confusion before slowly grinning mischievously.
“Of course. Loved to see how many angry looks I could get from you,” he smiled, making you tsk. “I think I already kinda liked you back then, even if I didn’t realize,” he admitted with a chuckle. “You were always so polite. Even if you were shy you would smile at everyone,” his smile widened as he imagined it in his head.
“You really got on my nerves.” you hit his arm, making him only smile wider.
“Yeah?” he teased you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders before giving you a kiss.
“So you don’t want me to stay?” he asked, cocking his head to the side with a playful smile.
You tried to hide how giddy you felt, your cheeks burning at his question.
“Well, ducky?” he prodded, half teasing, half hoping you’d give him the green light.
You got close enough to kiss him again, feeling Jeonghan sigh against your lips as you slowly pushed him back on the bed with you.
The kiss deepened until all you could taste was him, warm and steady, the kind of sweetness that was becoming harder to imagine ever living without. Hands groped and lingered, yanking down fabric until the heat radiating off your bodies mixed together.
Jeonghan rolled on top of you, taking his time kissing you from your lips down to your belly button as his eyes admired the sight of you. You bit your lip feeling his tongue lick a slow stripe on your upper thigh before inching down to your pussy, softly gasping when his warm tongue found your clit.
Despite you not talking, you could feel that warm energy filling up the room, consuming you whole as Jeonghan savored you. You knew he felt it too, gentle fingertips brushing against your sides, hazed eyes watching you gasp and moan attentively.
Your body writhed feeling him go faster, biting your lip as your tummy burned. Before you would find yourself lost in the deep end, your shaky hand reached for Jeonghan’s to stop him.
If you were gonna cum, you wanted to do so with him. You needed him as close as you could have him, cupping his cheeks to bring him on top of you.
“Yeah?” Jeonghan whispered against your mouth in the middle of a kiss, making you nod. “Yeah.” you answered, pecking his lips as you looked in his eyes.
Jeonghan glided his tip over your entrance, collecting your wetness before slowly inching in, stretching you deliciously before bottoming out.
“God,” Jeonghan breathed, pushing his lips against yours with an almost desperate plea while slowly starting to grind against you.
You moaned fruitlessly when he set a faster pace, making Jeonghan echo your sounds at the way you were squeezing his cock. “C’mere,” he sighed, moving your legs over his thighs to feel you even deeper. Jeonghan linked your fingers together, pinning them down on the mattress as he licked into you.
“Hannie,” you squeezed his hands, feeling the muscles in your body tighten. You think you could already cum like this, closer to him than you’ve ever been.
Jeonghan nodded, sucking on your bottom lip hard enough to form a bruise. All you could hear were your breaths and whimpers, and all you could feel was the closeness you shared.
“Cum, baby. Cum for me?” he asked breathlessly, going faster again. You let out a loud moan, nodding in agreement as the sound of skin slapping echoed through the room.
“Fuck.” you whimpered, squirming against him as pleasure overtook you. You moaned again as you came around his cock, feeling Jeonghan’s warmth erupt inside of you as your walls clenched around him fruitlessly.
Your head spun, Jeonghan’s whimpers falling on deaf ears before grounding you with a soft kiss.
“I love you.” Jeonghan whispered out of breath, blinking as he looked at you with big eyes.
A shy smile spread over your face, your chest tightening at the words coming out of his mouth.
“I love you.” you whispered back, feeling as if this moment weren’t real.
Jeonghan’s lips curved up into the smallest, almost disbelieving smile before he hid his face in the crook of your neck. He gently let go of your hands to embrace you instead, peppering kisses on your shoulder.
“You’re mine now—for real this time.” Jeonghan said, lifting his head to look at you again. A smirk tugged at his features, humming at the smiley, almost shy nod you gave him.
“My girlfriend,” he giggled sweetly, giving your cheek a kiss.
“My ducky.” he whispered, nuzzling his forehead against yours.
“Hannie…” you laughed, but you couldn’t contain the smile playing on your lips.
Somewhere through the quiet whispers and hours of laughter you realized you didn’t feel alone anymore. You didn’t feel unlovable—you felt wanted, like every stolen kiss and every teasing joke was stitching something whole inside of you, something you had once believed could never belong to you.
♡ pairing: bf!seungcheol x afab!reader
♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], pwp
♡ wc: 2.3k
♡ warnings: dom!cheol, sub!reader, size kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), nipple play, creampie, dacryphilia, sexting, brief wrist pinning (f. receiving), gendered petnames (good girl, babygirl)
♡ a/n: i went insane no fewer than 15 times while writing this. hope u enjoy <3
1:32am
You didn't mean to rile up your boyfriend when you sent him that picture.
It was late at night. You should've been asleep already, but the bed felt empty without him. Seungcheol had only been gone for a few days, off on a trip with the boys, but you missed him. Normally, you spend your nights trying to escape from his immense body heat - an impossible task, as he insists on clinging onto you, wrapping his strong arms around you, holding you tight against him as he drifts off to sleep. But you're having a hard time sleeping without his touch.
It's only one more night, you remind yourself. He'll be back tomorrow. But it isn't helping.
So in his absence, you do the next best thing you can: put on one of his t-shirts.
The shirt is thin, a simple plain white tee, buttery soft, and most importantly - it feels like him. You plop back into bed, cozying up under the sheets, ready to sleep. However, his scent against your skin is arousing, and you find yourself longing for him even more. Your hand leisurely slips downward, resting between your inner thighs. The coolness of your skin contrasts with the heat radiating from between your legs. You try to resist, but your fingertips drift toward your core. They arrive at the delicate fabric of your underwear, just barely grazing over your clothed slit. You inhale sharply - you knew you were wet, but the sticky spot that has formed reveals just how fucking much you need him right now. Your middle finger ever so slightly presses against your clit, your other hand moving to your breasts, lightly pinching your hardening nipples through your borrowed shirt. You let out a quiet whimper. As turned on as you are, you'd love to get yourself off, but you don't want to do it yourself. You want Seungcheol here, touching you, worshiping your body with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. You feel your cunt throb at the mere thought of him.
You sigh. Rolling over, you reach to grab your phone. You didn't want to bother him too much while he was with his friends, but your neediness is winning right now.
You open up your messages. You click the top thread, labeled “Cheollie ❤️”, and open up the selfie camera. It's dark, but the moonlight seeping through the curtains illuminates you just enough. You position the phone above you, placing your body in full view. Your nipples poke through the thin, sheer fabric, showing off your tits nicely. You lift the shirt up slightly, revealing your tummy, but also displaying the visible wet spot spreading on your panties. Perfect.
The screen flashes as you hit the shutter button. You type out a quick message.
missing you babe 😘
You hit send. You don't even know if he's even awake at this point, but almost immediately the typing bubble pops up. He types for a good minute, then the typing stops. But no message. You wait, staring at the screen, another minute passing before he starts typing again. Finally, a response.
you can't just send me a picture like that out of nowhere. look what you've done.
His message is followed by a slightly blurry photo: him, in the bathroom mirror, pants hastily unbuttoned and boxers shoved aside, his thick cock fully erect.
Another message follows.
we were in the middle of a game. i had to run off and hide because of you.
You grin, pleased with yourself. You wanted to tease your boyfriend, make him excited to come home to you. Instead, you've made him incredibly horny - and you want to see just how far you can push him.
i take it you like the pic then? ;)
brat. i saw how wet you are. you need me that bad babygirl? so desperate for my cock that you can't even wait til i'm home tomorrow?
i need you babe, i wanna cum so bad
don’t you dare, love. wait for me.
i’ll be waiting ❤️
good. no touching yourself. only i’m allowed to make you cum.
You say goodnight, then and roll over - but you're certainly not sleepy now. Your mind wanders, thinking of your boyfriend, fantasizing about how good he's going to fuck you tomorrow.
You pull up your phone one last time to check the time, calculating the hours until he’ll be back - far too many.
It's going to be a long night.
—
3:34pm
Your eyes are glued to the little gray circle with a C on it as it gets closer and closer to your apartment on the map. Cheol is almost home.
Thank fuck. If you have to wait any longer, you’re simply going to explode.
You reread the text he sent you earlier in the day:
omw home baby, i'll be there in a couple hours. wait in bed for me, wear the same thing as last night.
So here you are, laying on the bed, in nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear, which you can already feel getting wet again. You've been obedient, ignoring every urge in your body to touch yourself - but that's only made you even hornier.
Finally, you hear the jingle of keys as the front door unlocks. You hear your boyfriend enter, taking off his shoes and setting down his things. Then - footsteps, growing louder as he approaches the bedroom. He slowly pushes the slightly-ajar door, standing in the doorway and taking in the sight of you, nearly naked, waiting for him in bed - just like he told you to. He gazes down at you, practically licking his lips, his eyes brimming with desire. You give him your best doe eyes as he saunters toward the bed.
“Such a good girl for me, doing exactly as I told you,” he praises as he takes your face in one hand, rubbing your cheek gently. You say nothing, but tug at his arms, trying to pull him onto the bed - but he resists, standing tall as he stares lustfully into your eyes.
“Oh, but you're still in trouble for what you did to me last night.”
You bite your lip as you grin, beaming at how much you managed to provoke him with only a single suggestive photo. Before he can stop you, you slip your hand onto the thick bulge in his sweatpants. He groans as you stroke his cock through his clothes; he lets you do so a few more times, savoring the sensation, before grabbing you by the wrist - pinning you to the bed as he climbs on top of you. He interlaces his fingers with yours as he holds you down, locking lips with you as he kisses you with aching necessity. His soft, plush lips tug at yours as he places his weight on you, pressing his hardened cock into your core. You cry out as his erection rubs gently against your clit, giving you the stimulation you've been craving.
“Cheol,” you moan under your breath. “Missed you so much.”
He kisses your neck, humming in your ear. “I know, baby.”
His lips trail down your neck, sucking tenderly at your skin, until he reaches your breasts. He takes one in each hand, squeezing them as his thumbs repeatedly brush against your perked nipples. He positions his mouth right above one of them - you feel the warmth of his breath before he latches on, sucking gently on the bud through the thin t-shirt. You moan softly as his tongue creates a wet spot upon the fabric, making your nipple even more visible. He rubs the first nipple again as his mouth moves to your other boob, sucking more intensely as you begin to wriggle underneath him. He takes his time, going back and forth between each bud.
“Cheollie,” you whine, “gonna cum already if you keep doing that.”
His mouth pops as he unlatches, glancing up at you amorously and giving you a sly grin. You are putty in his hands at the slightest touch - and it turns him on so badly.
He tugs at the shirt - you lift your body off the bed, allowing him to pull it off of you. Throwing it aside hastily, he returns to your now-bare tits, kissing and licking them some more before his lips continue down your body, planting deep kisses on your stomach. He arrives at your cunt, situating himself comfortably between your legs, ready to devour you. His tongue licks a fat stripe over the growing wet spot on your underwear, the lightest of touch causing your back to arch slightly. He sucks on your clit through the fabric a few times before he grabs your underwear, pulling them off of you hastily, your soaked cunt now exposed and ready for him to eat.
He wraps his arms around your thighs as his tongue meets your pussy, licking up and down your folds. You whimper as he swirls around your clit, kissing and softly sucking on the sensitive bud. He slips his tongue into your cunt, pushing its way into your hole - his nose pressing deliciously against your clit as he tastes all of you, the vibrations from his moans making you see stars. You place your hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair as he goes down on you, your grasp growing stronger the more intensely his tongue works against your cunt. As you pull his hair he begins to grind into the mattress, needing relief from how painfully hard he’s become. He worships your pussy, eating you out as if it was his last meal on earth, savoring every drop of your juices as you writhe under him, overwhelming pleasure pulsing through your entire body.
“Cheollie, ‘m gonna cum.”
He removes his face from your cunt, taunting you with his lips hovering just above your clit. You lift your hips, trying to put your pussy back in his mouth, but instead he slips two fingers into you. You cry out as he curls his fingertips upward, reaching your g-spot with ease. He keeps pressing the sweet spot as he slides in and out of you, his thick fingers stretching you out as he fucks you.
Not as much as his cock is going to stretch you out, your subconscious reminds you.
“Please,” you whine, looking down at him, “need your mouth on me.”
He glances up at you, his big brown eyes meeting yours, drunk with lust.
“Beg for it.”
“Please baby.”
“Please what?”
“Please make me cum.”
He smirks at the sight of you, tears welling in your eyes as you plead desperately for his touch.
“My baby’s so pretty like this,” he coos, his bottom lip brushing lightly against your pulsating bud.
You yelp as he dives back into you, his mouth latching onto your clit as his hand increases its pace, his other hand pressing against your tummy. Any remaining thoughts in your head vanish - your mind overtaken by pleasure, overtaken by him. You scream his name out as the white-hot sensation in your stomach builds, your body starting to tremble as your orgasm takes over. Seungcheol continues sucking your throbbing bud as you cum on his fingers, shaking from the powerful rush of dopamine exploding through your body. You’ve never cum this fucking hard in your life.
You haven’t even caught your breath by the time he crawls up on top of you, his cock lined up with your entrance. You moan as he slides the head inside, your drenched walls stretching around his size. He slowly begins to thrust into you, filling you up, your pussy taking his entire length with each stroke. His body presses against yours as he buries his head into your neck, his cock pumping into you, fucking you deeper with each stroke. He groans as you tighten around him, his voice low and gravelly in your ear as his orgasm draws nearer.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, “pussy so perfect for me, fuuuck…”
Tears stream down the side of your face as you take his cock. Your nails dig into his back as you cling to him - sending him over the edge.
“Please,” you beg, “cum inside me."
“Oh god,” he moans, his body beginning to tremble as he bucks his hips into you. “I’m cumming baby…”
His cock throbs in your cunt as he releases. You whimper as he fills your pussy up, his hot ropes shooting up into you. He slows his pace, coming to a stop as he comes down, his still-twitching cock resting inside you. His lips tenderly suck at the delicate skin on your neck as you wrap your arms around his broad torso, squeezing his body into yours as tightly as you can. Eventually, he lifts his head, his face meeting yours with a kiss on the lips. He gazes at you, enamored. You lay there, breathing deeply together as you recover from your highs.
Seungcheol strokes your hair softly. “God I missed you.”
“Don't leave me ever again,” you pout playfully.
“I can’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “Not if you’re gonna send me pictures like that. I nearly came in my pants.”
You grin lazily at him, head still spinning from your orgasm. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
Cheol kisses you again, cradling your face in his hand. He grabs onto you as he rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You feel his cum dripping out of you, spilling onto his still-erect cock. He grabs you by the hips, pulling you toward his face.
“C’mere,” he instructs, licking his lips at the sight of you about to straddle his face. “I'm not done with you yet.”
summary: after a devastating breakup, your brother’s best friend is looking for a place to stay, and ever the saint, your brother offers your shared apartment. you don’t mind, not really. you just feel really sad for him.
word count: 3.3k
warnings: brother’s best friend trope, mingyu is the brother, fluff, angst, smut, oral (fem!receiving), mentions of healthcare and the hospital, jealousy and a bit of possessiveness, pouty cheol is alive and well, banter and teasing
PART 1
taglist: @picheolin-17 , @hanniebub
“Look who it is, the ER’s proud survivor! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You roll your eyes at how dramatic Soonyoung is being, but can’t hold your smile back at his teasing grin. It’s hard to ever be upset in his presence. Despite working hellish shifts, Soonyoung radiates positivity. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at his job.
“You know why I’m here, Soonie. Where’s my patient?”
He points to the bay on his left. “Good luck. She’s real chatty.”
You groan and take the file from him, bracing yourself. If someone like Soonyoung is calling someone else chatty, you cannot imagine the sweet horrors waiting for you beyond the curtain. You put on your most appeasing smile and step inside.
In turns out, chatty is exactly what you needed. Between trying to decipher actual, usable history from your 55 year old patient and trying to keep the conversation on track, your mind is fully occupied. By the time you finally straighten her out with medications and some counseling, you feel the need to take an hour-long break.
That’s not a luxury you have, but a girl can dream.
Soonyoung is not at the main counter when you get back, so you take his seat, ready to enter physician notes in the system. When he finally shows up, pulling a pair of latex gloves off and throwing them in the bin, you’re almost done. He drags a chair to where you are and plops down heavily on it with a sigh, not caring when it creaks precariously.
“I’m starting to get hungry and I’ve still got-” He glances at his wrist. “-two hours to go.”
“Hooray for you. I’m here all night.” You deadpan.
He winces, giving you a sympathetic look. “Don’t you miss the ER? It’s just 12 hour shifts instead of 24.”
You laugh. “First of all, it is only two 24 hour shifts in a week instead of 12 hours every day. Second, I would never miss the ER.”
He waggles his eyebrows at you. “Do you miss me?”
You shove him playfully, despite how your cheeks feel hot at the words. This isn’t new. Soonyoung has always been a bit of a flirt. Usually, you would either ignore it or playfully jab back at him, making him clutch his chest dramatically and claim that you’ve ’broken his heart’. Now though, after having your own heart broken, you pause a bit at his teasing.
When the notes are done and you give Soonyoung a brief overview of the patient’s care, you head out of the ER, pulling up your phone to see where you are needed next. This is the one reason your job is a blessing. You can completely ignore your life problems by busying yourself here. When you get home after a grueling shift, you have every excuse to make a beeline straight to your room without interacting with anyone. It had worked for you for days already. You had successfully ignored Seungcheol’s attempts to talk, despite him really trying. You have crashed at a friend’s place for a night, and you keep your schedule and return to the apartment unpredictable so he can’t catch you when you walk in through the door.
[cheol]: when are u coming home today?? i was hoping we could talk
[cheol]: are u doing a night shift today? im at home
[cheol]: i know it looks bad. please let me explain
It’s that last one that really gets you. Your sadness has faded, and given way to anger. You feel used, discarded, and you cannot fathom for the life of you why Seungcheol can’t just leave you alone now. Obviously, he owed you nothing. There had been no promise that it meant anything more than just sex. So maybe you shouldn’t feel this way at all. It’s clear that what you two had came and went, so why can’t he let you move on in peace?
Naturally, you don’t reply to any of the texts.
It is around midnight when you finally get some time to take the weight off your feet. You find a small, brown packet on your designated bed in the Doctor’s room, with a bright yellow sticky note pasted on top.
you might not miss the ER, but the ER misses you :)
Inside is a box from the food place down the road from the hospital, a go-to for you and Soonyoung back when you were on rotation at the ER. After your shift, you two would decompress at the 24 hour place you loved frequenting, eating pretty much everything on the small menu (not your fault that Soonyoung ate like ten men).
Your smile is giddy, and you pull your phone out to immediately text him a thank you, promising him that it’s your treat next time you see him. He just sends a winky face back, and you can’t help thinking about it a little longer than you should.
……………………….
When you get home the next morning, Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. Mingyu is banging around in the kitchen, and you just mumble a hello at him before making your way to your room. He calls back at you though, poking his head out of the kitchen and making you pause.
“Can we talk for a second?”
You nod slowly, following him to the couch and sitting next to him when he pats on the cushion. He looks tense, worried, and you begin preparing yourself for some form of bad news.
“I know residency is hard,” he begins. “but you have been at it for about two years now, so I think I know how you usually deal with tough shifts.”
You stare at him, confused. “Okay…”
“You haven’t been yourself lately.”
You sigh, shoulders slumping. You are honestly surprised that it had taken Mingyu so long to notice. He is usually so perceptive, especially when it comes to you. You had just thanked your blessings and didn’t think about it too much. Mingyu is protective of you, and you wondered how he would react if he knew what Seungcheol did.
“Just some personal stuff going on.” You mutter, shaking your head. “I’m dealing with it. It’s okay.”
He appraises you, lips pursed in thought. “Is it about a guy?”
You let out a mirthless laugh. “You really always know, don’t you?”
His gaze is tender, and he puts an arm around your shoulders. “I’m your brother. Of course I do.”
You smile up at him, feeling the pressure behind your eyes. Before you know it, two fat tear tracks are rolling down your cheeks, face crumpling when the full force of your emotions hits you. Mingyu pulls you closer, cradling your face with one hand, arm tightening around your shoulders. He lets you sob in his arms, and you allow yourself this small reprieve. You really haven't cried. Haven’t shed one tear over Seungcheol. You are tired, exhausted, both physically and mentally, and every day you feel like you are barely keeping yourself afloat.
It’s pathetic that it took just two days for you to fall in love with him. It probably says more about you than him. Maybe this wasn’t his intention at all, when he held you so tenderly like you would break in his arms. When he held you down with his own weight, anchoring you as your feelings soared. Or when he looked at you with clear, bright eyes, blissful under the covers and basking in the post-sex glow.
So really, it’s your own damn fault.
“Who is it?” Mingyu’s voice is low. “Someone you work with?”
You bark out a laugh. “No, I wish.”
“Someone I know?”
You force yourself to shake your head again. “No.”
Mingyu sighs. “You know I can beat him up, right?”
“Which is exactly why I won’t tell you.” You pull away from him to wipe your face, sniffling. “Ugh, I feel gross.”
“Are you sure you are figuring it out?” He asks, still looking concerned. “Because I'm here to listen if you need someone to sound it off on.”
You give him a smile and another hug. “Honestly, I think I just needed to let it all out. I feel better now.”
And it is the truth. There’s a deep calm settling over you, like you know what to do. You know you have to talk to him. To get closure once and for all.
You take a deep breath and wipe your face again, nodding when Mingyu offers to make you breakfast. You sit in the living room, staring at nothing. You eat the food Mingyu makes, assure him you’re fine and he can go to work, and wave to him as he does. And then, you wait.
It is afternoon by the time the doorknob jingles and the door is pushed open. Seungcheol is shocked to see you on the couch, but he recovers quickly, toeing his shoes off, not bothering to push them to the side and instead bounding over to where you sit.
“Oh my god, finally.” He breathes, dropping down on the couch and pulling you into a tight hug. Your heart pounds and you stiffen, confused, before pushing him away. Or trying to, at least. He doesn’t budge.
“It’s been days. Where the hell were you?” He finally pulls away enough to scowl down at you.
“At work.” You reply shortly, still confused. His jaw ticks.
“You couldn’t answer any of my texts?”
You fall silent. You don’t even know how to respond to that. Is he stupid? Or was the last full week a hallucination? Your gaze wanders down, and you finally notice that he is in a full suit, jacket and all. And tie as well. He looks handsome, and you tamp down the feeling it gives you immediately.
“Why are you so dressed up?” You ask.
“I had a job interview.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “You got fired?”
He gives you a look. “No, I’m quitting. Thanks for having zero faith in me.”
“Oh.” You fidget, suddenly remembering why exactly you were here in the first place. “Well-”
“You would know that if you answered my texts.”
You scowl at him, feeling miffed. “Oh, my bad. I thought you getting back together with your ex was a pretty good indicator that you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Seungcheol’s jaw drops, and he stares at you, confused. “Get back with- what are you talking about?”
His tone makes you hesitate. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not-” He stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. You feel a horrific laugh bubble up inside you at the incredulity of the situation. You try to suppress it.
“Mingyu told me you got back together with Jiyu.”
Seungcheol gapes at you. “Like hell I did! I’m not crazy.”
“But you-” You struggle. “She called and you left.”
“Yeah, to get answers.”
“You spent the night.”
“No, I didn’t. It was very late by the time we finished talking and I ended up crashing at Jeonghan’s. He lives in the same neighborhood.”
You can’t resist the joke even if you try. “So you didn’t sleep with her. You slept with Jeonghan.”
He sighs defeatedly. You can’t help but snort. This back and forth, you had missed it. Despite everything, it is so easy to banter with Seungcheol. The minute you spoke to him again, it’s like your heart was never crushed into a million pieces. Or maybe you are just too far gone, ready to let him break your heart over and over again if it meant being with him even a moment longer.
He gives you a soft smile as he watches you giggle. “I missed you.”
Your heart skips, and your face feels hot. You let yourself really take him in, his eyes trained straight on yours, the high of his cheekbones, his hair now long enough to brush over the nape of his neck and curl around it.
“I’m gonna kill Mingyu.” You mumble. It’s his turn to laugh, one hand reaching out to hold yours, squeezing your fingers. You missed his touch.
“What did Jiyu say?”
He shrugged. “Honestly it was impossible getting answers from her. Just a whole bunch of excuses about commitment issues and not being ready. About halfway through I realized that I really didn’t care about what she had to say. I think I just….. went on impulse. Maybe an obligation to what we had. The duty to get closure.”
You hum, watching as he plays with your fingers. You can understand why he did it. You had sat down on this couch for that very reason. The urge to get closure no matter what it may result in. He gives you a smile.
“I kept thinking about you.”
You roll your eyes, but your smile only widens. “Sap.”
When he leans in, you let him. Honestly, you are craving it more than anything else at that point. And when his lips meet yours, you kiss back immediately, hands tightening around the lapels of his coat to pull him closer. You both sigh into each other’s mouths, and you wonder how you even thought you could move on from Choi Seungcheol.
………………………….
“I never said they got back together!”
“You implied it.”
“That’s your own crazy ass brain making stuff up. That’s not on me!”
You open your mouth to retort but Seungcheol cuts both of you off with a laugh. You choose to glare at Mingyu instead, who only makes a face right back and shakes his head.
“I cannot believe the guy you were crying over was Seungcheol.” Mingyu mumbles sourly.
“Hey,” Seungcheol pouts. “You said you were okay with us.”
“Still.” He replies. You can hear the jest in his voice. You watch as he stands up and sighs, stretching. “If I hear you guys going at it, I’m kicking you both out. Consider this a warning.”
You throw a cushion at him as he leaves, hearing his bedroom door slam a few moments later. You turn back to find Seungcheol’s eyes already trained on you, softer than anything. Your heart skips.
“So should we?” He asks, walking closer to where you lean against the kitchen counter. You raise an eyebrow.
“Should we what?” You ask.
His hands grip the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. “Go at it?”
You gave him a deadpan look. “What a way to ask a girl into bed with you. You’re truly a gentleman, Choi Seungcheol.”
Seungcheol whines and drops his head onto your shoulder, making you laugh. You can’t resist the urge to run a hand through his hair, and he sighs into you.
Your phone dings three times in a row, making Seungcheol pull away enough to give it a questioning look. You pick it up from the counter to stare at the notifications bar.
“Who is Soonyoung?” The man asks, peering down at the screen.
“Oh.” You blink. “Do you remember the nurse who was with me at the medical camp?”
You hum. Seungcheol frowns then, watching you type a response to Soonyoung’s texts. “Why is he sending you winky faces?”
You shift. “It’s not a big deal.”
Now, he pouts. “It is when he’s flirting with my girl.”
My girl. You can’t help but feel giddy. You tamp down your smile. “Relax. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
Seungcheol mumbles something you can’t catch. His mouth is twisted into a pout, and you watch him with amusement as his hands grip your hips now, pulling you closer to him so he can nuzzle into your shoulder. You had always found this pouty and whiny side of Seungcheol very funny. He is usually so self assured and confident.
“Aw, does someone want attention?” You tease, putting your phone down to wrap both your arms around his shoulders, one hand scratching at his scalp. He sighs but doesn’t respond. You just smile, tugging him with you as you move.
His hands are still on you when you shut your bedroom door behind the two of you. They only get tighter, tugging you close so he can finally slot his lips into yours. You hum with approval, shivers running down your spine when his hand cups the back of your neck firmly. He is clearly feeling possessive, clearly wants control, and you are willing to give it to him.
You let him guide your mouth, tongue pushing past your lips to explore the space, not bothering to go slow. He is in a mood, you can tell, and you file this jealousy towards Soonyoung in another part of your brain for later use. His other hand squeezes your waist, digging into the plush, before slipping under your shirt so he can feel your bare skin. You sigh and arch into him.
Minutes later, he has you lying on the bed, naked from the waist down, one hand gripping tightly at your thigh so he can keep you open for him, so that his tongue can lick insistently at your weeping pussy while you gasp and cry under the sensation. You try to close your legs around his head again, but his strength is something you can’t compare to, and you are left to feel the brunt of his insistent mouth, sucking and licking over every crevice of your cunt. He chuckles a bit when you struggle more under his grip.
“Keep still, baby. Be a good girl for me.”
You almost go pliant at his words. Almost. But he chooses that moment to sink not one, but two thick digits into your warm hole, making you cry out at how full you suddenly feel. Seungcheol pulls away just an inch to look at you, but his fingers keep moving, curling up to hit that spongy part inside you that makes you see stars.
“Tell me who’s making you feel so good.”
You whine out. “You.”
He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment, but his fingers only move faster. Your jaw goes slack.
“Who?” He repeats. Your brain can barely form a coherent thought.
“You! Seungcheol. Please…. please. Cheolie…” Your body tightens up like elastic, ready to snap. Your hands clutch at the sheets tightly, tugging so hard that they come free from under the mattress. Seungcheol hums, not slowing his fingers in the slightest, and instead leaning back down to wrap his lips around your clit and give it a harsh suck. The coil in your lower stomach snaps.
You arch off the bed, nearly sobbing as your orgasm rolls through you. You can barely breathe, vision darkening at the intensity of it. Seungcheol coaxes you through it, not detaching from your heat despite how you spasm and buck your hips. It’s only when your hand reaches down to push his head away, overstimulated, that he stops. You watch through your swimming vision as he licks his fingers clean, as if having his mouth on you for so long wasn’t nearly enough taste, as if he needed every last drop. Something inside you stirs at the notion.
He places soft kisses on your neck when he comes back up, before flopping heavily to your side. You give him a questioning look before peering down at the bulge in his sweatpants. He shakes his head.
“Tonight was about you.”
You raise an eyebrow mockingly. “Really? I thought it was about Soonyoung.”
Seungcheol glares at you, but there’s no heat behind it. You let out a loud laugh before turning to snuggle into him in apology. He grumbles his complaint, but wraps an arm around you nonetheless, trapping you against him. You sigh comfortably, eyelids drooping, letting the rhythmic beat of his heart lull you to peaceful sleep.
summary: after a devastating breakup, your brother’s best friend is looking for a place to stay, and ever the saint, your brother offers your shared apartment. you don’t mind, not really. you just feel really sad for him.
word count: 7.5k
warnings: brother’s best friend trope, mingyu is the brother, seungcheol is in the trenches, reader is overworked. fluff, angst, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, mentions of healthcare and the hospital, implications of depression, banter verging on slightly mean, reader shows avoidant behavior, seungcheol comes off as a bit of an asshole
PART 2
Your car beeps as you lock it, blinking twice before going dark. You sigh and hitch your bag higher up your shoulder with your hand before rounding around the car to enter the building. The sun rose a while ago, but the sky is still mellow with morning glow. Your legs feel heavy, and you are not surprised in the least by it, of course. Working a 24 hour shift does that to a person.
The elevator dings as it lets out on your floor. You fumble with the keys and your hilariously large keychain for a bit (it is cute though, you will defend your little trinkets till the end of time), before pushing the door open, the metal of your water bottle clanking against the wood. You toe your shoes off quickly, entering the living room, already thinking about just dropping starfished on your bed and not moving for the rest of the day.
You stop short when you catch sight of the figure on the couch, swathed in blankets and chewing loudly on something. There’s a crinkle of plastic as he reaches his hand into the bag of chips, putting two more in his mouth. He doesn’t notice that you are in the room until you set your bottle down on the table next to the couch, and the sound startles him. His wide, almond shaped eyes blink up at you, brown hair catching on his eyelashes. You distinctly notice the bags under his eyes. In the distance, you can hear the shower running.
“Why are you awake?” You ask. “It’s 8 in the morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” His voice is hoarse, probably from disuse for the entire night, and you balk at him.
“You haven’t slept at all?” You drop heavily on the couch next to him. He doesn’t reply, turning back to the screen. A rerun of some sitcom is playing on it. Nothing that requires his attention that much. You sigh. Is there really any point in talking to him? More importantly, is it your place?
There’s clinking and clatter coming from the bathroom, and the sound of water running has stopped. You look up when Mingyu exits, and a cloud of steam follows him out. His hair is dripping wet, but his button up shirt is saved from it by the towel he has draped over his shoulders. He is likely getting ready for work. He smiles at you and makes a beeline for the kitchen. You follow him, leaving his friend on the couch, still engrossed in whatever he is so interested in.
“He didn’t sleep all night.” You say in lieu of a greeting and Mingyu sighs, tinkering with the coffee machine until it hums.
“I know. I found him like that at like, 2 in the morning.”
You stare at your brother, thinking for a moment before speaking again. “How long is this going to go on?”
He pours the coffee into a mug, a dejected look on his face, shrugging. “She broke his heart. He loved her so much, you know? He’s taking it pretty badly.”
“But he has to try and get on with his life.”
Mingyu gives you a look. “I’m not kicking him out.”
You raise your hands immediately in a pacifying action. “I didn’t mean that at all! He can stay as long as he wants. But rotting in front of the TV isn’t healthy.”
Mingyu is halfway through his coffee already, polishing off the breakfast bar he grabbed. He gave you a teasing smirk.
“Then fix him. You’re the doctor.”
You roll your eyes, walking away from him. “I might have to. Since you’re absolutely no help.”
You don’t mean the words at all, and Mingyu knows it. Your brother is fiercely loyal to his friends, and he had been the first person that Seungcheol came to after his catastrophic breakup with Jiyu, his fiancée. While Seungcheol didn’t necessarily run in the same circles as you, owing to the age difference and separate career paths after high school, you found out about everything from Mingyu when you came home from the hospital one day to find the door of your spare bedroom wide open, a stationary lump on top of the bed and a suitcase in the living room, still unpacked.
You were more than okay with Seungcheol crashing with you after Mingyu explained everything. They had been having problems for a while, it amalgamated into a huge fight, Seungcheol had to move out, yadda yadda. That was three weeks ago. In those three weeks, the only progress Seungcheol made towards getting back to normal life was going from wallowing in the bedroom to wallowing on the living room couch. Mingyu claims it’s a huge step, and encourages Seungcheol every day. But deep down, you know he is worried for his best friend. So by extension, you are worried for him too.
It has been this way since you were kids. Seungcheol was Mingyu’s first friend in elementary school. You remember being barely 10, finding yourself on the back porch, watching them bounce around the backyard with a volleyball. Every few minutes, you would beg Mingyu to let you join them, which he would stubbornly refuse. They were already in their teens, five years older than you, while you were still a kid in their eyes. So you watched from the sidelines, entertaining yourself as a spectator.
It almost feels like you’re spectating as an adult too, watching as Mingyu flits around Seungcheol, trying to make him feel better without imposing too much. You can’t blame him for not knowing what to do. What’s the protocol for how to treat someone who broke up with the love of his life after seven years? Neither of you know. So that leaves you in this limbo of watching and wanting to do something, and ending up doing nothing at all.
It’s painful to see Seungcheol still on the couch when you wake up that afternoon. This time, the TV is being ignored while he scrolls through his phone. You just sigh and head to the kitchen, contemplating what you could do for him, if anything at all. You have to try something, because while Seungcheol is primarily Mingyu’s friend, he has been a constant part of your life for nearly two decades. You would almost count him as your own friend too.
You make two helpings of lunch that day, carrying the plates to the couch where Seungcheol is curled up under a blue fleece blanket.
“Scooch.” You instruct, and he straightens with a wince. You hold a plate out for him and he takes it, slightly surprised.
“You cooked for me?”
“Don’t get used to it.” You reply, voice muffled by the spoonful you had already shoved into your mouth. “I don’t have time to cook, usually.”
He digs into the food without answering, and for a few seconds, it’s silent as you stare blankly at the TV.
“It’s really good.” He says quietly. You falter for a second, looking at him.
His eyebags are just as bad, if not worse. His lips are a little chapped, and he looks paler than usual. Figures. He’s been living like a hermit for weeks. You almost wish he didn’t work from home, because at least an in-person office would give him an excuse to get out of the house.
“Seungcheol.” You begin.
He sighs almost imperceptibly, and you wouldn’t catch it if you weren’t analyzing him so closely. You imagine he is preparing himself for another pep talk, telling him everything will be okay, and that he’s doing great and he can do even better. He doesn’t stop eating.
“You look like shit, man. When was the last time you showered?”
He starts, mouth paused mid chew to look at you. You stare right back, face blank. Finally, Seungcheol snorts.
“At least you didn’t say I’m doing a great job by getting out of bed.”
You pout in response, feeling miffed on behalf of your brother. “Hey! He’s trying his best.”
He sighs. “I know, I know.”
“I know you’re trying your best, too.”
He gives you a soft smile, and you can’t help but smile back. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him express anything close to happiness. Though, you’re sure he is still pretty far off.
“You know,” you begin. “My hospital is doing a free medical camp this weekend. Routine check ups, eye exams, breast exams, the whole nine yards.”
You nudge him. “We are looking for as many hands as possible to help out with logistics, organization, documentation. We’re taking non-medical volunteers too.”
Seungcheol seems to be in an internal battle with himself at your implication. You sigh as you remember how much he used to love getting out of the house. He couldn’t sit still for the life of him.
He has always loved sports. Football, basketball, volleyball. He liked being active and awake. Seungcheol was the kind of person who went to the gym six days a week. Even when he didn’t feel good, he would still go and do light exercise. He always said that being consistent was important. Between him and your brother, you were also a regular visitor at their gym. Of course, ever since your workload ramped up, you had dropped it. You were running around the hospital all day, that was enough activity for you.
Still, you were human. You had eyes. And watching Seungcheol at the gym was always a treat. He was crazy strong, even more so than your giant of a brother. And when you saw him lifting impossible weights at the gym, you could see how he got the strength he possessed.
Seeing him at present, small under the blankets and sickly pale, you missed his active, motivated side.
“It will be good for you. I promise.”
Seungcheol contemplates for a little bit, and finally gives you a slow nod.
………………….
You don’t remember where the days went, a flurry of hospital shifts, beeping monitors, the smell of disinfectant and stacks of papers outlining how the camp was going to run. You were assigned to patient histories and triage, one of the more difficult things to do, in your opinion. Usually people came to these camps with a wide variety of complaints, and sorting them out could take a while, which is less than ideal when you’ve got a huge volume of people to get through.
It’s still better than the counseling desk. Small mercies, you suppose.
You all but forget about the offer you made to Seungcheol until he knocks on your bedroom door the night before. He looks almost sheepish as he asks you for when he needs to be there the next morning. You blink twice, confused, before suddenly remembering.
“Oh right! The camp. You can come with me. I leave at 8 o’clock.” You offer. “We asked all volunteers to come early so they can help set up.”
He nods. “Okay, I’ll be ready.”
He gives you a tiny smile which looks more like a grimace. You watch him meander back to his room. You notice how his shoulders sag, different from the confident way he carries himself usually. You wonder, once again, how bad the breakup must have been to leave him such a mess. He almost doesn’t feel like the Seungcheol you know at all.
You are happy he asked, though. It is initiative, at least. He could’ve easily just skipped.
Mingyu is thrilled when he hears the next day that Seungcheol is volunteering. He is so over the moon, in fact, that he offers to make you two a nice breakfast while you get ready. Something fancier than cereal or an apple. You wholeheartedly agree, watching him work while waiting for Seungcheol to finish up in the bathroom. When he emerges, he looks more human than he has in weeks. He is wearing a simple white T-shirt and pants, but his hair is smoothed off his forehead instead of all over the place, and his face has a bit more color than usual. You give him a smile, which he returns.
Breakfast is pancakes, which Mingyu manages to whip up from scratch. Both you and Seungcheol fill up quickly after you get ready. Nothing fancy for you, just regular black scrubs. You glance at the clock, announcing that you have to leave so you can get there early. Seungcheol pockets his phone and wallet, tugging on a pair of comfortable shoes (you had warned him that he might have to stand for long hours). The car ride is mostly you going over some explanations, telling him where you will be and roughly what he has to do.
“Joshua from Admin has the specifics.” You say. “I’ll introduce you to him as soon as we get there.”
Joshua is calmer than you expected when you arrive, considering you are only about an hour from starting. Usually by this point, he is frantic, running around with a fire lit under his ass, but he even has time to look up from his tablet and smile as you introduce him to Seungcheol.
“Looks like things are going well.” You look around. There’s many people already there, arranging chairs and tables, running around with stacks of papers and tags.
Joshua nods and you can see the pride in his expression. “Smoothest they’ve gone in years.”
“Don’t jinx it.” You warn. He only shrugs.
Joshua quickly puts Seungcheol to work, and you trek to your station, looking down at the paper bracelets on your desk, color coded to divide people into what kind of care they need. You hear the sound of metal clacking and turn around when someone stops next to you.
“Looks like we’re paired together.” Soonyoung grins. He is dressed in sky blue scrubs, holding blood pressure monitoring apparatus, the kind with wheels that he can drag around to his comfort. You smile back and fist bump him, happy that your partner for the day is someone you get along with so swimmingly.
Soonyoung is the charge nurse in the ER. While you weren’t an ER doctor anymore, you often got called down there for consults, and you spent many months on rotation there a couple of years ago. Soonyoung was probably the most competent healthcare worker you had ever met. He was dedicated, had the stamina of a bull, and worked fast. His years of ER experience meant he was efficient. No wonder he got assigned to Triage. Today was a normal day of chaos for him.
You catch up with him as you set up the desk in a way that could smooth out the patient flow best for both of you. He tells you above the turnover in the ER. Who is currently the biggest pain in his ass and who is a diamond in the rough. You spot Seungcheol in the distance, carrying a stack of plastic chairs. He is engaged in conversation with someone you don’t recognize, a guy with a baseball cap and a clipboard. You are a little relieved that he has managed to busy himself and get along with someone. Maybe it can help get his mind off his problems.
When camp officially starts, your mind is completely occupied by the flurry of patient complaints and vitals. Soonyoung helps the best he can, taking vitals, slapping on bracelets and being vocal to keep the line moving. It’s hours and hours of constant work, but extremely fulfilling as well. By the time someone announces that they are closing up, you have a tired smile on your face while Soonyoung whoops. He looks just as active as when he started, and it makes you shake your head.
“You astound me.”
“In a good way?”
You roll your eyes. “Of course in a good way!”
He grins so wide that his eyes turn into cute slits, and you laugh. You look up when Seungcheol walks up to your desk, and you beam up at him.
“Hi!”
Soonyoung looks at him questioningly, so you introduce Seungcheol to him quickly. They shake hands, and Soonyoung uses that moment to stand up and stretch.
“I’m gonna go find Jihoon.” He tells you. “See you around!”
Seungcheol sits down on the chair Soonyoung just evacuated and sighs. You give him a sympathetic look.
“Tired?”
He shakes his head. “No, no. It was nice. I enjoyed it.”
You feel relief wash over you. “I’m glad. See? I told you it would be great for you!”
“You said good.”
“And it exceeded my promise. So I win.”
“Win what?”
“Nothing. Shut up.”
He laughs then, for the first time in ages, and you can’t help but stare. His cheeks dimple with the force of it, and his hair falls over his eyes. He pushes it away, but it just flops right back. Classic Seungcheol move. You realise you really had missed seeing him like this.
By the time you had landed in university in the same city as your brother, both him and Seungcheol had already graduated. Your parents thought it would be better to live with Mingyu instead of on campus, since you weren’t far from it anyway. While you adjusted to student life, you watched Seungcheol flit in and out of your apartment, busy with trying to enter the corporate world. He was single back then, though not for long since he met Jiyu quite soon after that.
He loved giving you annoying, unsolicited advice about university, despite medical school being vastly different to whatever his experience was. You told him that multiple times, but he conveniently ignored it in favor of regaling you with tales of what he called his “golden college days”.
“Let me paint you a picture.” He started, throwing a heavy arm around your shoulder. You scowled in return, trying and failing to shrug him off.
“I don’t wanna hear it, Cheol.”
“Yes you do. Now listen-”
And you would listen. Because despite the premise sounding ridiculous, he did manage to enthrall you. Often his stories would be embarrassing Mingyu moments, which you cracked up at while your brother whined at him to stop. Seungcheol would just grin down at you, dimples interrupting the smoothness of his porcelain skin, eyes like crescent moons.
If he hadn’t started dating so soon after, you might have developed a little bit of a crush on this grown up, confident version of him.
“Alright.” You slap your hands on your thighs before standing up and stretching. “What do you want for dinner? My treat.”
He raises a thick eyebrow at you. “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t want dinner?” You frown.
“I do. But you’re not paying.”
You roll your eyes, both of you starting your walk to the parking lot. “Come off it. I’m a grown woman.”
“I know. You’re still not paying.”
You give in, because there’s no arguing with Seungcheol. He is stubborn to a fault almost, especially when he wants to get his way. Restaurants seem like too much of a hassle so you opt for fast food, picking up food at a drive thru and then eating in your car. Waiting to get home would mean the food would get cold. Neither of you want to risk it.
“Who was that guy you were talking to at the camp?” You ask him as you hold your burger out for him to pour more of the side sauce on.
“What guy?” He asks, drizzling it on before going back to his own food. His voice is muffled from the bite he took.
“Baseball cap. Kinda long-ish hair?”
Recognition passes over his features. “Oh, that was Jeonghan. He works with Legal at your hospital.”
You smile teasingly. “Aw, you made a friend.”
Seungcheol pulls a face at you. “Am I your kid? Cut it out.”
You continue, goading him. “You had such a big day. Got out of the house, made a friend.”
He shoves you playfully, and you laugh. He’s grinning, and you know you haven’t gone too far. Seungcheol loves playful ribbing. It’s his favorite way of joking around.
“You’re an ass.” He mutters, shaking his head in exasperation. You stick your tongue out at him.
After the meal, Seungcheol begins claiming about feeling stuffy as you drive home, and you suggest that you two go for a walk when you get back and park the car. He agrees, and you find yourself trudging down the sidewalk, breathing in the cool air. It’s still warm enough during the days to make you sweat, but the nights are gradually getting colder, and you revel in the goosebumps forming on your skin.
“Is that new?” Seungcheol points to the shop next to the corner one, a small nook that is advertising hotpot and noodles. You tilt your head in confusion.
“I think it is. I don’t recognize it.”
He sighs. “Oh man. I’m gonna miss the bakery.”
You hum, thinking back to the little place that you loved grabbing donuts, muffins and coffee at. “Their chocolate fudge brownies were so good.”
He groans. “Stop, my mouth is watering. I used to come here so often.”
You two stare at the new blaring neon sign for a little while longer. You remember distinctly when Seungcheol would pick up sweet treats from the bakery on his way to visit Mingyu, and you by extension. He would complain that his gym efforts were going to waste while simultaneously shoving a brownie into his mouth. You would scold him for having no self control while doing the same.
It’s funny. It feels like a lifetime ago.
“What happened, Cheol?” You speak into the quiet dark, standing illuminated by the hotpot place. He doesn’t ask for clarification on what you mean. It seems he already knows.
“I think about that every day.” His voice is soft. “She just….. checked out. Said she didn’t know if she wanted to get married to me.”
You suppress a scoff. “Thats ridiculous. Who else would she marry if not you?”
He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.
“I know you still love her, but this is completely on her. She broke you guys up for no good reason. She always knew you wanted marriage at some point. So what was the point of getting engaged just to let you go?”
He still doesn’t speak, but does put a hand on your back, coaxing you to turn around so you can begin your slow walk back. He seems to mull over his words, before finally vocalizing them.
“I go back and forth between being angry and upset.” He mutters. “I keep trying to think about what exactly I did. What the last straw was.”
You grip his forearm tight, enough to make him look at you. You give him a stern look.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself. You’re the whole package, Choi Seungcheol. It’s not your fault that she can’t see that.”
He shrugs again, staring at the ground as he walks. You don’t say anything more. You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear. He can do with it what he wants to. Or he can do nothing at all. Deep down, you pray that today is a stepping stone to him getting back to normal life again. You make a mental note to tell Mingyu to ask Seungcheol to go to the gym together. Given his momentum, he might actually say yes.
………………………
The worst thing about working in healthcare is the gaps it creates in your social life.
Like right now, for example. After the night where Seungcheol talked to you about his feelings (sort of), you don’t see him for a week, since you have two 24 hour shifts in between regular working hours, and only have the day off six days later. You see him fleetingly, once in the morning on your way to work when he is already on a Zoom work meeting in the kitchen. He waves to you briefly but doesn’t say anything, and you bustle out of the house soon after. You often see him and Mingyu on the couch after you get back home, watching sports and stuffing their faces full of whatever Mingyu had cooked. You would decline their offers to hang out, saying you were too tired, walking straight into your room.
The most significant of these encounters was on Thursday morning, after a particularly terrible night call wherein you couldn’t sleep for even a single minute, and you came back home only to not even make it to your bed. You collapse on the couch, and you don’t even remember when exactly you fell asleep, but you remember clearly feeling your body suspended, warm on one side, and realise moments later that someone is carrying you. You blink up blearily at Seungcheol’s jaw, the only thing you can properly see, until he kicks open your door and sets you on the bed.
You let him pull a blanket over you, even taking the care to tuck you in. And it’s only when you wake up again that you register the fact that he put you to bed. Even though he could’ve easily just left you on the couch with a blanket over you.
It makes your heart skip a bit.
Once the busy week finally winds down and you have two days off, you take an everything shower, spending hours in the bathroom doing what you call self care but should be considered basic hygiene if your work didn’t treat you like an animal. When you walk into the kitchen feeling fresh and light, like you had washed pounds of grime off you, you find Seungcheol setting a heavy dish of stir fried chicken and vegetables on the counter. You give him an impressed look.
“You cooked?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Something in your brain scratches, like this conversation already happened.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You reply. “Did Mingyu die or something? How come you’re cooking?”
“He had to go on that work conference thing, remember?”
You blink, trying to recall the faraway memory of Mingyu telling you about some out of state thing. “Sure.”
You eat and catch up with Seungcheol, who whines about how bad your schedule is. It’s an old complaint for him, one that started shortly after you began clinicals in med school, and continues on to this day.
“Can’t wait for you to complete residency so you can have fewer hours.” He mumbles, pushing green peppers to the edge of his plate, clearly to be ignored. You reach over and stab them on your fork, devouring them. Seungcheol doesn’t like green pepper, while you don’t like radish. It’s a fair trade for both of you whenever the need arises.
You don’t register that he put something in the food that he clearly doesn’t like but he knows you love.
“I have the next two days off.” You tell him as a sort of peace offering. He rolls his eyes.
“After they basically ran you over with a tractor the entire week?”
You only smile, continuing to placate him. “In any case, I have two days. What do you wanna do?”
He hums contemplatively while he eats. “Bowling?”
“Hell no. Nothing physical. I’m too tired.”
“Bowling isn’t physical.”
“Yes it is. How about we just do a movie marathon?”
He scrunches his nose. “I’ll fall asleep.”
“Even better. Get some rest while you do it.”
He laughs and finishes up, taking both his empty plate and yours to the sink. “No chance. Put your shoes on, lazy ass. We’re going out.”
You groan. “Please not bowling.”
He forces you up from the chair by grabbing your arms. “Okay, no bowling. We’ll do something else.”
Something else turned out to be just walking through the city until you ended up at a gelato place, both of you sharing a small cup just for the taste of it, since you were still full. Both of you talked the entire time, and you learned that he had started going to the gym again, as well as hanging out with Jeonghan, who he had apparently gelled with pretty well. You made a remark about being a proud mom seeing her son grow up, for which he put you in a headlock and didn’t let you go until you declared loudly that Seungcheol is the nicest, most handsome guy you’ve ever met.
“You’re five years old.” You scowl at him once he lets you go, smoothing down your hair. “Five.”
Within the next hour, you decide to watch a movie at the theatre, finding some sequel to a movie neither of you had ever heard of. Ten minutes in, you realise why the franchise was basically unknown: it sucked ass. For the next hour, you two just whispered and giggled about every stupid thing that happened, and when it was time for intermission, you bailed.
One convenience store run later, you are back at home, camped once more in front of the TV. The sun had set already, and with its departure came a soothing calm. You are reminded again of the lingering fatigue in your bones, surprisingly not made worse by your day of activity.
Seungcheol is usually right about these things.
He’s sprawled now on the couch, long limbs stretched out until his feet are propped on the coffee table. Your own feet are in his lap, largely ignored until you kick him in the stomach with one. He grunts at the impact and scowls, but begins rubbing them anyway. You sigh in satisfaction.
Naturally, your eyelids begin to droop again, warm under the blanket and under the delicious pressure of Seungcheol’s fingertips digging into your sole. You’re still tired, you really think you’ll be tired for the rest of your life at the rate you’re going. You’re almost sinking into sleep when you feel Seungcheol move your feet gently off his lap and stand up. You keep your eyelids closed, not having even an ounce of energy to move, but are roused again when two thick arms slip under your back and your knees, lifting you up.
“We’re making this a habit now?” You pipe up.
Seungcheol curses and startles at your words, and you nearly shriek when his arms loosen for just a slight second before gripping you impossibly tight. You cling to him, heart beating a million times a minute, glaring up at him.
“If you dropped me I would’ve killed you!”
“You scared the crap out of me!” He retorts. “I thought you were asleep, jeez.”
He carries you to your room regardless while you will your breathing to slow down. You are pretty sure you would fracture a hip bone if he dropped you, and you only wrap your arms around his shoulders harder. You don’t stop even when he lowers and you feel your ass connect with your mattress.
“C’mon. Let go.”
You pull away just enough to glare at him. You open your mouth to retort, likely to say something snarky, when you realise how close you are to him. The tip of your nose almost brushes his cheek, and your senses are invaded by the scent of his signature cologne. Your breath stutters just a bit, and when Seungcheol turns his head to stare back at you, his lips brush over yours.
You’re not sure if it’s you who pushes just a smidge closer or him, but when your lips finally meet his, it feels like every muscle in your body seizes up. Your arms tighten around his neck at the sensation, and you feel him audibly suck in a sharp breath at the feeling. The hand holding your waist squeezes a bit, and something in your core stirs.
Slowly, Seungcheol lowers you more on the bed, planting his free hand on the side of your head and one knee next to your hip. His lips never leave yours, moving and pressing deeper with a hunger you didn’t anticipate. He seems to envelop you whole, until you can’t breathe, and when you do try to sharply inhale, you are hit with his scent only, and the heat that radiates from your bodies.
It quickly accelerates when you feel not only your own wetness pool between your legs, but also Seungcheol’s slowly growing erection, pressing insistently on the outside of your thigh. You force one leg out from under him, using it to wrap around his waist and tug him down to grind against you. He groans at the feeling, so deep and throaty that you can almost feel the gush from your hole at the sound. Your heart stutters, and you can’t stop the needy whine that escapes your throat in response.
It seems to snap Seungcheol out of the haze surrounding you two, and he pulls away, breathless, to look down at you. His pupils are blown, the brown of his eyes confined to the very edges, and his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink just under his eyes.
“Are you sure about this?” His voice has dropped a couple of octaves, and you can’t get over how hot he sounds. You nod furiously, pulling him down again because just the thought of parting from his lips for this long is painful. He moans immediately when your mouths connect, not hesitating in pushing his tongue against your own slick one. His hips grind against yours, and his hard on feels so good that you nearly sigh in relief.
“W-we should think about this.” He mumbles into your lips, but his hands are running feverishly over your sides, digging hard into the plush of your hips until you are bucking up into him. You scrunch his shirt in your hands before tugging it up, and Seungcheol removes himself from you long enough for you to toss it off. His lips meet your jaw, the skin under your ear, and chills run down your spine.
Clothes are quick to fly off after that, until the cold air is nipping on both your naked bodies, though you don’t care at all. You feel like you’re on fire, eyes running greedily over large expanses of smooth skin, hands feeling the hard planes of his muscles, how they contract and react to your touch. His lips never leave your body once, as if determined to leave your skin colored in various shades of maroon and purple. You use your leg to tug his hips closer to you again, and his length slides through your slit, leading both of you to moan loudly.
You thank every god in the universe that Mingyu isn’t home.
When he slides in, it’s like being impaled alive. Your eyes roll up at how wonderfully he fills you, how it feels like you are being stuffed to the brim. Your toes curl when he bottoms out, his shaft brushing deliciously over a spot inside you that craved being pleasured. He sounds like a wreck above you, voice trembling and cracking as he curses and gasps. The muscles of his back are taut, moving solidly under the touch of your palms. You run your hands over him as you adjust to the feeling of how thick he is, and you’re barely ready when he pulls out and pushes back in. You don’t even have it in yourself to be embarrassed about the filthy squelching sound your cunt makes, especially not when Seungcheol moans and bites down hard on your neck, grinding his pelvis into your clit. Electricity shoots up from your core, making you arch into him.
“You feel so good, holy shit.” He grinds again. “I need to fuck you so hard.”
“What’s stopping you?” You sound whiny and breathless, and it makes him chuckle.
“Fine. You asked for this.”
His pace is vicious, and he pours every ounce of that impressive strength he possesses into ramming you through the mattress. You keen and sob, nearly unable to even draw a breath in at the feeling of his cock dragging through your walls at a punishing pace. He is rough with it, fingers winding through the hair closest to your scalp and tugging hard, making your back arch up so your neck is on full display to him. He uses that opportunity to suck another mark into your already large collection, and it feels almost like nothing when all your focus is on how his cock feels, glorious and girthy, fitting snug inside you like a glove yet sliding through with minimum resistance owing to how you’re dripping all over him and likely down on the sheets as well.
When he pulls back enough to look down at you, you go nearly cross eyed at the sight of him, forehead shiny with sweat, some hair sticking to it while the rest falls down over his face. His lips are abused raw and a dark red, and you bite back the urge to kiss him again. He is breathing heavily, grunting and moaning with every other thrust. His hands hook under your knees to spread you open more, and his cock slides impossibly deeper. Your core tightens more, and you squeeze your eyes shut.
“Cheol, ‘m gonna cum.”
The corner of his lips tug up in a smirk, eyes hazy with lust as he takes in your bent, sweaty, writhing body. “Cum on my cock, baby. Go on.”
And you do. You gasp and arch up, body locking around his, nails digging into his biceps strongly enough to leave crescent shaped marks in the skin, as waves of pleasure spread through your body, leaving you trembling under him. He keeps going until you’ve ridden through every remnant of your high, before pulling out and shooting ropes of his cum over your stomach, painting the skin white. His hand moves furiously over his shaft as he groans and curses, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He is a sight to behold, and you admire him as his body finally relaxes, breaths coming hard and fast. His gaze meets yours, and both your lips tug up into identical, dopey smiles.
Seungcheol helps you sit up a few moments later, offering to clean you up but you simply shake your head, taking his hand to lead him out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom. He doesn’t seem even slightly embarrassed when it takes only a few kisses and touches to make him hard again. He just turns you around, pressing your front into the tiles of the shower wall, tugging on your hips so your ass sticks out, before he is driving home again, making you sigh in satisfaction.
How is it possible to already be addicted to this feeling? To the sounds of his low moans as his lips brush against the shell of your ear, the sparks shooting up your spine when his hand snakes around you and his fingers find your clit with no hesitation, pulling another orgasm out of you and holding you up as you squirm in his arms, finishing on your back and muttering praises about how sexy you look, how you were made to be covered in his cum, filthy musings that his lust addled mind keeps babbling out. By the time you’re done cleaning up, you’re giggling and messing around like he was always meant to be there. Like your life had a Seungcheol shaped gap that he readily and naturally filled.
He’s all you think about when you go into work after the weekend. Smiling to yourself as you remember the two blissful days of cuddles, kisses, laughs and making love over every surface of the apartment.
Was it making love? Do you have any feelings for him remotely like love? You care for him a lot, obviously. He had been a part of your life since you knew what life really was. You two have obvious chemistry. He likes to banter with you often, and you are comfortable with him. Him living with you and Mingyu feels almost normal. There is no feeling of being intruded upon, like Seungcheol being there is the most natural thing in the world.
It is also a fact that he is insanely attractive. He had always been, as puberty came and went, filling his muscles out and shaping his face. He carries himself with an air of surety and confidence you hardly see in people. His features are sultry, almost romantic, and you had spent a good part of the last day admiring how beautiful he looked in the throes of passion, mouth parted slightly, eyebrows furrowed, eyes glazed over, dark brown pools of desire.
There is the sex too.
Seungcheol holds you like separation from your body causes him physical pain. Moans into your mouth like you’re pulling his soul out of its home. Kisses you like he is breathing the air coming straight from your lungs. Fucks you like it’s his last time bringing another human being to completion. Just the thought of him leaves you breathless.
Maybe you are in love. And you really, really need to talk to Seungcheol about where you guys stand.
The week is brutal, no surprises there, and you see Seungcheol only fleetingly in between, and always with Mingyu around, so you don’t do anything apart from greeting him. You do notice his lingering gaze on you, and it makes you smile to yourself. Once, when Mingyu’s back is turned, he gives you a cheeky wink. You purse your lips and send him a kiss. The childishness of it all makes you giggle.
After your last 24 hour shift of the week, you get home to find Mingyu making breakfast in the kitchen, dressed in a nice button up shirt, obviously ready to leave for work soon.
“Where’s Seungcheol?” You ask, dropping your bag heavily on the counter to stretch. Your joints crack, and you wonder once more how long you would live at this rate.
Mingyu tenses up at the question, a strange reaction that only piques your interest.
“Guess who called him last night.” He says in response.
Something in your chest cracks, but you don’t dare let yourself believe it. “Who?”
“Jiyu.”
And it shatters.
You don’t know if Mingyu notices the devastation on your face or if he’s too distracted by the eggs now sputtering in the pan. He sighs, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice.
“Honestly, it’s frustrating. Going back to her after the shit she pulled? I can’t believe him.”
“So he’s not here?” Your voice feels hollow, grating.
“No. He left last night.”
You let out a shaky breath. Then you turn around, and shuffle into your room.
You don’t bother changing before laying down on the cold sheets. A bad idea, considering you’ve been in these clothes for the better part of 24 hours. But your mind feels like it is submerged in ice cold water, and your body refuses to do anything except shut down. You think back to less than a week ago, when Seungcheol had intertwined his fingers with yours, moaning in unison with you as you both reached your highs on this very bed.
You don’t cry. You don’t think you can. Instead, you let your tired body coax your mind into closing up as well, sinking into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
…………………………..
There’s noises outside your bedroom door.
Your brain is still numb with sleep, but you focus on Mingyu and Seungcheol’s voices, the latter making you flinch. You can’t make out any of the words, only relying on tones. For some reason, Mingyu doesn’t sound frustrated with his best friend at all. You would think Mingyu would tear into him the moment he came back, but it doesn’t sound like it.
You can hear footsteps getting louder, eyes flying shut when the door to your room gently opens. You stay incredibly still, and moments later, the door shuts again. You sigh and straighten in bed, staring at the ceiling.
You really don’t have it in you to talk to Seungcheol. You have barely processed everything yourself, not being able to reconcile the time you had spent together with him turning around and going back to his ex. Your phone hums next to your pillow, and you squint at the screen.
[cheol]: we need to talk when u wake up
You roll your eyes despite being alone, dropping your phone with the text still unanswered. Talk, your ass. You don’t deserve this.
The rest of your day is spent rotting in bed, and you know no one will disturb you with how grueling your routine usually is. You drift in and out of sleep, your conscious hours spent mulling over everything that has happened.
Shockingly, you miss Seungcheol. Even more shockingly, you don’t cry. You just float in your uneasy sadness, and with every passing minute, you accept that your bliss with him was only temporary, as most beautiful things usually are.
2087
theartofmadeline
gamechangershow
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
titsay
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
