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These are works of fiction. The content, characters, businesses, places, names, events, and incidents portrayed are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
ౚৠâYouâve heard the silly saying, âa ride you wonât surviveâ before, always dismissing it as a goofy double entendre. That is until even your favorite toy is dying before itâs able to satiate your needs. Who in Seventeen is going to solve your problem(s)?Â
ౚৠâI was curious about the rumors,â He continued, stepping closer with an ease that suggested he was very much confortable with controlling the space around him, a trait you both shared. âA lady-in-waiting who managed to sink sixteen marriage proposals in half a year.â He laughed again, the sound bright and genuine, as long, slender fingers swiped his midnight fringe out of his eyes. âYou must be the one!â
Wonwoo
Lip Tint Stains and Hair Ties
genre : childhood friends to lovers, school, college, slow burn, fluff, one shot, peachesndreams
ౚৠâHe locked his gaze in front of him, unable to gather the wits to gauge your reaction. His round glasses had slipped further down his nose than he preferred them, but he made no effort to correct their resting place. Wonwooâs vision had always been complete garbage, and the time he spent focused on video games had not served his eyesight for the better. His glasses were cute though, and youâd told him as much the first time he wore them around you. Overall, he felt neutral about his frames, but being able to clearly see the board at the front of the classroom, the leaves on trees, and the smaller details of your face he hadnât noticed without them were enough to convince him to wear them consistently. (âSince when did you have like, individual eyelashes?â âYou mean like, how everyone does?â â⊠Huh.â âYou knew people have individual lashes. Wonwoo, you knew people have individual lashes, right?â)â
ౚৠâAre you drinking brownie batter?â The scrunch of Namjoonâs nose indicated his judgment. His eyes flickered from your face to the batter-filled champagne glass nestled between your fingers and back to your face.
âCare for a glass?â You offered airily. You had to be drunk or at least tipsy.
Aghast, Namjoon remained rooted to his spot just past the threshold.
âThe oven breaks, and you decide to drink the batter?â
ౚৠâ"He retreated to join Jungkook and Mingyu at the table, and immediately upon Eunwoo sliding into the chair, Jungkook rounded on him. âI brought you here to get snacks, not flirt with my friend!â He complained, hands curled tightly into fists and pressing into the table top. Eunwoo doesnât look up as he carefully removes his heaping slice of Your Hope Your Angel Food Cake from the bag, setting the box before him.
âMingyu was the one flirting.â Ruthlessly, Eunwoo tosses Mingyu to the wolves (or wolf, he supposed, since it was just Jungkook), effectively distracting Jungkook.â
ౚৠâWait,â Jeongin gapes, eyes darting around as his brain forms its first complete thought of the afternoon, and the room stills. âAre you actually in love with Changbin?â
â.áThis is the bonus of the Turned Tables series, which you can read in order here!
Chan
Mercenary Nin!Chan âč Part 2
genre : slow burn, romance, Naruto AU, angst, fluff, crack, bullet point headcanon, peachesndreams
ౚৠChan is a mercenary ninja hired to guard a princess, which actually means prevent her from running away from her ill-matched arranged marriage. Unfortunately, your interests donât align.Â
ౚৠSo, with that knowledge in mind, Chan decides to remain silent and fine from⊠well, not afar, because you are always so close while you do his makeup. Plus, thereâs the double kill that youâre actually close friends. Which means that Chan pines silently, like a loser, from up close.
ౚৠIs there another acceptable way to apologize for swing dancing your partner under your bed to hide your horizontal tangoing (and the fact that you even have a partner to begin with) other than instant pot braised short ribs and rice cake soup? No.
ౚৠThatâs when he catches sight of a figure standing off to the side in the outdoor area that had previously been in his blind spot. Theyâre not dressed to workout, he notes. The jeans are a dead giveaway. The loose-fit jacket is out of place, the cap is suspicious, and the camera lifted, concealing the personâs face, and pointing in the vicinity of the yoga girlies in the downward dog position is downright damning.
ౚৠHe isn't your sole appreciatorâ there are, like, thirty other students in the room, all of whom are about to spend the next two hours painting you. But in Hyunjin's defense, he's appreciating appreciatively in a way that common gawkers can't conceive of appreciating. If that makes sense.
ౚৠHe just canât help himself! Every time he sees you, his mouth runs before his brain even processes heâs speaking and heâs challenging you to a battle.
Oh, god. He is one of those obnoxious, unavoidable NPCs who rush you while you mind your business wandering in game.
ౚৠâYouâre like, good at standing still, right?â Your voice is hopeful and has a pleasant cadence to it that draws him in like a spoon of peanut butter does a dog.
âFor sure! Statue.â Felix promises, probably too eager to be considered casual, but heâs thrilled to get a front row seat to your creative process.
And thatâs the origin story of his thrilling debut as a mannequin.
You couldnât suppress your trembles or the quiver of your mouth as his warm lips grazed your forehead, little puffs of his breath diffusing across your skin.
If youâd had your wits together in the moment you would have voiced the response pounding in your head, chest, and esophagus.
His apparent classmate whined, the drawn-out syllables triggering his fingers to curl and eyes to round in uncontained horror. Surely she wouldnât. He tried to convince himself he had misheard, but her enunciation was as clear as the shot of soju he wished he could knock back in hopes of blocking this from his memory. Seungmin couldnât believe she was about to drop this cliche line in public over a dog. With complete sincerity, at that.
Jeongin whirled to the side where you were leaning in to look at his keyboard, starry-eyed. He swallowed. He wanted to say the same of you. Instead, he said, âHuh?â
âYour sticker.â You clarified, delighted at the smiling cartoon fox one of his brothers had adhered to the left of his trackpad one of the times heâd let them borrow it. He should buy them a meal or something the next time heâs home, he thought absentmindedly.
âThanks.â He blinked, then horrifically continued: âYou too.â
ౚৠâEven as he kept signing albums and talking to fans, his gaze kept wandering back to you, observing you to find out something- anything- about you.â
Soulmate
genre : soulmate au, fluff, one shot, Caolfen
ౚৠâIs that a bruise in the shape of Texas?â One of the four boys who had walked in blurted out. Before either of the members you had acquainted yourself with could respond, you snorted, âYeah. Yee-fucking-haw.â
Seokjin
Hands
genre : friends to lovers, fluff, one shot, Caolfen
ౚৠâPulling his light-wash jean jacketâs sleeves over his hands, he glanced mournfully towards the door, expecting you any second. Heâd worn his splints the last three days in a row, hoping somehow that the crooked, odd bends of his fingers would disappear.â
Taehyung
Heâs Been Sniffing Around
genre : idiots to lovers, school, fluff, light crack, one shot, peachesndreams
ౚৠâI saw you poking around a special someoneâs locker this morning.â He sang it just to add that extra hint of obnoxiousness. âWhat did you put in there, anyway? A love letter? Flowers? No!â His eyes widened comically as he sputtered out an overdramatic gasp. âDid you take somethi-Ack!â Jungkook choked, quite literally, on his accusatory words as you snatched your perfume bottle from a shelf and mercilessly squirted him in the face.â
BTOBâ.á
Minhyuk
Hate Bouquet
genre :Â florist!minhyuk, fluff, Beat Street!AU, one shot, Caolfen
ౚৠâNevertheless, you were here on a mission. Marching right up to the counter, where an employee had his back turned as he worked on an arrangement, you pulled a twenty from your pocket, smacked it down on the lacquered wood, and asked determinedly, âHow do I passive-aggressively say âfuck youâ in flower?â
Ilhoon
The Fool: Reckless Choices - The Major Arcana Series
genre :Â cobbler/ilhoon, fluff, Beat Street!AU, one shot, Caolfen
ౚৠâAnd as luck would have it, when you set the coffee down on the counter for Ilhoon, the to-go cup lid popped right off. Both yours and Ilhoonâs hands shot out to grab it and the styrofoam container toppled.â
I CANNOT stop thinking about Wonwoo from your fic!! They make so much sense and it's making me delulu đ
I love it and I'm obsessed and I can't wait for more of your Wonwoo fics!!
Ugh, I'm so in love with wonwoo wth
Omg hiiiiiiiii!!!! Thank you so much, you are SO sweet! <3
Writing Wonwoo puts me in such a delulu state of mind and I' so glad Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Wonwoo provides nourishment for your soul the way it does for me heehee!
Thank you so much for your kind comment, it really made my week!
Oh, what's this?
Surprise! You launched me right back into my Missing Wonwoo Super Bad hours (I never left) and I busted out this drabble this week :D
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Bonus Drabble
ౚà§Â summary: A glimpse into the future of our main couple. They are many, many years into their marriage in this fic.
ౚà§Â pairing: Wonwoo x Reader
ౚà§Â genre: childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, married AU, fluff, drabble, peachesndreams
ౚà§Â word count: 2.3k
ౚà§Â warnings: social gatherings, some PDA, Wonwoo taking it up a notch in public (for a causeâbecause he loves you), someone makes a pass at Wonwoo but bro is so not having it, the marriage is secured with copious amounts of super glue, duct tape, cement, preserved with resin & flowers, cushioned with bubble wrap for good measure, locked away in a safe with a case sensitive password, he's down BAD besties
ౚà§Â author note: This one's for you, @pinkshua-mp3 MUAH (ïœĄâąÌáŽ-)⧠For anyone who hasn't read the first fic, I do recommend reading it for context, but up to you!
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties
The gala was, well, a galaâ expensive chandeliers glowing warm lighting atop silk and sequins, the tinkle of champagne flutes, and polite, superficial conversation that you mostly ignored, grateful for the arrival of your husbandâs warm hand flattening against your lower back along with whatever excuse he spawned directly from his ass to escape. As always, Wonwoo was a gentleman both at home and in public, his crisply tailored suit a rich black that somehow broadened his imposing shoulders even further, and his dark hair swept back from his forehead in a loosely-structured, still neat style that accentuated his steeply angled cheekbones. You knew youâd be threading your fingers through the strands to free them back into his usual softly ruffled structure by the end of the night, the light waves left behind reminiscent of late nights pouring over class notes and abandoned reheated leftovers in college and nights just as late spent straining to meet deadlines early in your careers.
Currently, he was engaged (against his will) in conversation with one of his work colleaguesâ a pleasant enough man who couldnât help but sneak glances at you with not even an attempt at veiled curiosity. It wasnât anything new. Over the years, you had more than grown used to the range of expressions people displayed while attempting to understand the striking, quietly intense Jeon Wonwoo with the woman at his side. Oh well, the two of you made perfect sense to everyone who knew you. Plus, it wasnât like the two of you appeared incompatible with one anotherâ you made for a very pretty couple (others' words, not yours, of course).
âYouâre so stunning.â He murmured against the shell of your ear during a brief lull, his smooth voice low enough so that only you could hear it, but it seemed to silence the music filling the background noise all the same. His thumb smoothed little circles into the silk fabric of your dress, the same soothing pattern as always. âI canât focus on a single conversation.â
âYou say that every time.â You teased, shaking your head a little as you peered up at him with a mirthful smile.
âMust be because itâs true every time.â His eyes were soft as they cradled your reflection in them, that private warmth that he reserved for you appearing. Heâd foregone his glasses for the evening, so there was no barrier from the affection gleaming in his iris provided by the lenses. Your heart did that familiar flutter it had been doing since you were fifteen and heâd scrunched up the sleeve of his shirt to offer his forearm to you as a lip tester canvas.
The colleague excused himself (yay!), and Wonwoo took advantage of the opportunity to steer the both of you to a quieter, more reserved corner to find a moment to gather the remaining dregs of your social juice, his palm never leaving its place on your back. Just as youâd settled into the alcove, hidden partially by a large, probably fake plant, a figure approached your short-lived sanctuary with an intent neither you nor Wonwoo overlooked.
She was undeniably pretty, youâd give her that. Tall, elegantly styled hair, a gorgeous dress that suited her figure, and flawless makeup. Her confidence was in no way misplaced, but she was obviously accustomed to getting what she wanted, and judging by the way her eyes locked onto Wonwoo, she was in for an abrupt change of pace tonight.
âJeon Wonwoo?â She extended a hand with a trained smile, a little too personal to be just business. âWe met last spring at theââ
You checked out, feeling the tangible shift in the air as Wonwooâs expression morphed into something polite but adamantly distantâ the same mask heâd adopted in high school when people approached him with expectations he had no intention of fulfilling. âYes,â he replied, eyes dull, and tone careful, tight, and utterly uninvested. âWe did.â
The woman was certainly not in the business of taking hints, unfortunately.
âSorry to interrupt.â Her smile widened as she stubbornly overlooked your presence, not that you wanted to be a part of this exchange very quickly destined for disaster. âI had some ideas I wanted to run by you. Private ideas.â She let the words settle, her intentions laced with a pretty, obvious bow tied front and center for everyone to see.
Ah, this was about to be embarrassing. You resisted a wince and wished there were a socially acceptable way to hide behind your hands at events like these when moments were too painful to watch.
The pressure of Wonwooâs hand at your back increased just enough to signal to you that he was very much bothered, his long fingers twitching. He allowed the silence to extend, partially to reign in his irritation, and mostly to wait for the first hairline cracks in her audacity to appear. You fought the instinct to physically turn away from the scene, eyes flicking up to check in on your husband, finding a certain sharpness in his expression that you were thankful to not be on the receiving end of. His dark eyes lacked any luster as he glowered down his nose, a certain indicator that someone was about to learn a valuable, unforgettable lesson about crossing him.
You wondered who he'd picked that up from.
Wonwoo raised his hand without breaking his intense eye contact with the woman, and a passing waiter appeared instantly like a paid actor at his side. He smoothly plucked two champagne flutes from the tray, his wedding band twinkling as it caught the warm light and the bubbles floating up through the faintly yellow tinted liquid during the transfer.
Her eyes lit up at the move, and she stepped closer. A mistake. You winced for real this time.
âWonwoo,â You breathed just so he could hear, a little apprehensive about whatever he was about to pull with two full glasses of alcohol in hand.
Finally, he turned to face you, his cheeks gleaming with the glow of his smile and his voice carrying through the low mumble of the gala.
âDarling?â The endearment tumbled out of his lips, soft and tender, like he always used it in publicâ which he didnât. He hadnât called you that earlier, and had been simply using your name all evening, proper and professional. This was personal. Your insides warmed all the same anyway.
Wonwoo leaned into you a bit as he pressed one of the champagne glasses into your hand, despite the fact that neither of you really drank outside of a few occasions, meaning he only swiped them for the purpose of becoming this womanâs karma. How petty and super hot of him. He took advantage of his free hand to curl his arm around your waist and pull you further into his side. Then, he twisted the dial to his overkill setting, tilting down to press a lingering kiss into your hair, his nose briefly brushing against your temple.
âDo you want to find a place for us to sit?â He asked, voice pitched to itâs mellowed setting for you, intimate like it was only the two of you present.
The womanâs smile turned positively brittle, frozen on her face, but far from reaching her eyes. Clearly, sheâd been expecting a different outcomeâ had probably done this before; had probably succeeded before. But Wonwoo really wasnât one for these kinds of games. Challenging his loyalty meant instant defeat.
When he eventually turned back to her, his gaze readopted his severe sharpness. Gone was the doting warmth heâd just showed you, in itâs place something impatient and cutting. The unimpressed tilt of his brows and tense line of lips spelled out âannoyedâ and âdismissive.â
âIâm afraid I donât have time for private conversations tonight.â His tone was perfectly pleasant, but pointedly professional. âMy wife and I were just about to find a table.â He cocked his head, his chin angled defiantly, and the gesture was so deliberate and barbed that the woman actually took a step back. âAll discussions can occur through the proper channels. Iâm sure you understand.â
And that was that. Lesson learned. Class dismissed. And all of it wrapped up in the tissue-paper-thin polish of politeness, but thatâs your Wonwoo.
Her face flushedâ whether from embarrassment or anger, you couldnât tellâ and she quickly made her excuses before retreating back into the crowd. As you watched her go, you couldnât help but feel the warmth of satisfaction (and something decidedly hotter that would have to wait to be addressed) blossom through your bloodstream.
âYou didnât have to do that,â You said, smiling nonetheless. You discarded your drink on a nearby ledge, and Wonwoo followed suit. âBut well played.â
Soft, gooey, adoring Wonwoo faced you again, a small smile of his own smoothing the sharp angles of his expression under your praise. âShe was incredibly rude, and thank you. I learned from the very best.â
âDid you?â You teased, eyes widening in a playful display of interest as he leaned even closer to you, his warmth seeping into you with his contact.
âI did.â He confirmed, his smile sweetening by the second and eyes crinkling in endearment. âSheâs stunning, by the way.â Evidently unable to resist your charm, Wonwoo stamped another kiss to your hair, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. As he reluctantly pulled back, his half-lidded eyes lingered low on your lips. âYouâre wearing that tint I like.â
You couldnât help but laugh a bit at his ridiculous statement. âYou like every tint I wear, Wonwoo.â You tilted your head up further though, letting him see another angle of the light pink sheen on your lips. His eyes traced every move, while you noted his thumb resumed its rhythmic little circles into the fabric of your dress.
His eyes darkened just a fraction, and you felt the heat of his palm glide from your back to your waist. âI do, and I bought you that one.â
âAnd?â You asked with a knowing grin, fluttering your lashes just to tease him.
âAnd I remember a promise. âHe murmured, his mellow voice dipping into that register that spoke of promises of their own. âSomething about letting me kiss it off.â
âWeâre in public.â You reminded him, voice sing-song, but you were already angling your head for him as he continued to close the little distance, your palms sliding up the front of the smooth material of his suit.
âConvenient.â He replied, his other hand finding its place on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin absently as he guided you to a routine, comfortable position. âThis will be the perfect way to tell them to mind their business.â
And then he kissed you, deep, unhurried, and uncaring of anyone who may wander by your partially hidden alcove with only a possibly fake plant for coverage. He held you gently, steady, with the same care as your first kiss in his college apartment and with the same unspoken promise as when he kissed you on your wedding day. Around you, the conversation continued to buzz, the music never ceased, but you were more interested in him, in the familiar taste of his mouth, and the way his heart pulsed against your palms.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were kiss-plumped and stained faintly pink with the transferred lip tint, and he looked a bit flushed and oh-so-pleased with himself.
âI need to go reapply that before we sit down.â You said, breathless and laughing at his disheveled appearance. At least you were merciful and kept your fingers out of his hair, for now.
âYou must be running low. Iâll get you another one.â A corner of his mouth quirked upward, nearing smirking territory, but still charming and endearing as ever as he shifted to rumble into your ear, âAnything for my wife.â The puff of his breath against the shell of your ear nearly sent the remainder of your decorum packing for the remainder of the night, but you decided against any more scenes in public.
Or, at least right there.
âGosh, you must be overheating.â You pouted, fluttering your lashes up at him in factitious concern. âLets get you some fresh air.â
Quickly, you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and to his surprise (and delight) lead him not in the direction of the tables, but instead over to a quiet balcony that provided far more privacy than the fake-plant alcove. Both of you managed to dodge getting pulled in to any more meaningless conversations on your journey, and youâre pretty sure you caught a glimpse of the woman from before in the sea of people, her expression subdued. Honestly, you pitied her. Sheâd clearly never met someone like Wonwoo beforeâ someone so utterly, completely devoted to his love that there wasnât room for even the thought of anyone else.
You hoped she and everyone else learned that Jeon Wonwoo had never been for taking. Heâd already given himself to you long before either of you realized or knew how to name it. Years had passed without that changing, and if Wonwoo had anything to say about it, it never would.
As the gathering inside proceeded, you and Wonwoo stole yourselves away on the balcony where the milky moonlight caught the edges of his face and softened his sharpness, and where he kissed the remainder of your lip tint off, slowly, thoroughly, and full of promise.
The following morning, you discovered a new set of three lip tints on your vanity, tied in a neat bow with a note in his tidy, distinct handwriting:
For my stunning wife. Looking forward to keeping our promise.
You giggled, then tucked the note away into the drawer of your nightstand, where all of his notes and most important words were housed.
I'm so happy it scratched the Missing Wonwoo itch! *sighs dreamily* Love that guy. Miss him terribly. Come back to us.
I had no plans of writing anything for Wonwoo anytime soon (got an ongoing Jeonghan fic and like 3 other ongoing fics happening rn but I did it to myself woof) until your comment reminded me of this man in this universe, so I give you full credit for reminding me of this scene I thought about when I was finishing up the original fic! You're an inspiration, and I love you too! (Ë” âąÌ Ꭰ- Ë” ) â§
I CANNOT stop thinking about Wonwoo from your fic!! They make so much sense and it's making me delulu đ
I love it and I'm obsessed and I can't wait for more of your Wonwoo fics!!
Ugh, I'm so in love with wonwoo wth
Omg hiiiiiiiii!!!! Thank you so much, you are SO sweet! <3
Writing Wonwoo puts me in such a delulu state of mind and I' so glad Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Wonwoo provides nourishment for your soul the way it does for me heehee!
Thank you so much for your kind comment, it really made my week!
Oh, what's this?
Surprise! You launched me right back into my Missing Wonwoo Super Bad hours (I never left) and I busted out this drabble this week :D
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties Bonus Drabble
ౚà§Â summary: A glimpse into the future of our main couple. They are many, many years into their marriage in this fic.
ౚà§Â pairing: Wonwoo x Reader
ౚà§Â genre: childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, married AU, fluff, drabble, peachesndreams
ౚà§Â word count: 2.3k
ౚà§Â warnings: social gatherings, some PDA, Wonwoo taking it up a notch in public (for a causeâbecause he loves you), someone makes a pass at Wonwoo but bro is so not having it, the marriage is secured with copious amounts of super glue, duct tape, cement, preserved with resin & flowers, cushioned with bubble wrap for good measure, locked away in a safe with a case sensitive password, he's down BAD besties
ౚà§Â author note: This one's for you, @pinkshua-mp3 MUAH (ïœĄâąÌáŽ-)⧠For anyone who hasn't read the first fic, I do recommend reading it for context, but up to you!
Lip Tint Stains & Hair Ties
The gala was, well, a galaâ expensive chandeliers glowing warm lighting atop silk and sequins, the tinkle of champagne flutes, and polite, superficial conversation that you mostly ignored, grateful for the arrival of your husbandâs warm hand flattening against your lower back along with whatever excuse he spawned directly from his ass to escape. As always, Wonwoo was a gentleman both at home and in public, his crisply tailored suit a rich black that somehow broadened his imposing shoulders even further, and his dark hair swept back from his forehead in a loosely-structured, still neat style that accentuated his steeply angled cheekbones. You knew youâd be threading your fingers through the strands to free them back into his usual softly ruffled structure by the end of the night, the light waves left behind reminiscent of late nights pouring over class notes and abandoned reheated leftovers in college and nights just as late spent straining to meet deadlines early in your careers.
Currently, he was engaged (against his will) in conversation with one of his work colleaguesâ a pleasant enough man who couldnât help but sneak glances at you with not even an attempt at veiled curiosity. It wasnât anything new. Over the years, you had more than grown used to the range of expressions people displayed while attempting to understand the striking, quietly intense Jeon Wonwoo with the woman at his side. Oh well, the two of you made perfect sense to everyone who knew you. Plus, it wasnât like the two of you appeared incompatible with one anotherâ you made for a very pretty couple (others' words, not yours, of course).
âYouâre so stunning.â He murmured against the shell of your ear during a brief lull, his smooth voice low enough so that only you could hear it, but it seemed to silence the music filling the background noise all the same. His thumb smoothed little circles into the silk fabric of your dress, the same soothing pattern as always. âI canât focus on a single conversation.â
âYou say that every time.â You teased, shaking your head a little as you peered up at him with a mirthful smile.
âMust be because itâs true every time.â His eyes were soft as they cradled your reflection in them, that private warmth that he reserved for you appearing. Heâd foregone his glasses for the evening, so there was no barrier from the affection gleaming in his iris provided by the lenses. Your heart did that familiar flutter it had been doing since you were fifteen and heâd scrunched up the sleeve of his shirt to offer his forearm to you as a lip tester canvas.
The colleague excused himself (yay!), and Wonwoo took advantage of the opportunity to steer the both of you to a quieter, more reserved corner to find a moment to gather the remaining dregs of your social juice, his palm never leaving its place on your back. Just as youâd settled into the alcove, hidden partially by a large, probably fake plant, a figure approached your short-lived sanctuary with an intent neither you nor Wonwoo overlooked.
She was undeniably pretty, youâd give her that. Tall, elegantly styled hair, a gorgeous dress that suited her figure, and flawless makeup. Her confidence was in no way misplaced, but she was obviously accustomed to getting what she wanted, and judging by the way her eyes locked onto Wonwoo, she was in for an abrupt change of pace tonight.
âJeon Wonwoo?â She extended a hand with a trained smile, a little too personal to be just business. âWe met last spring at theââ
You checked out, feeling the tangible shift in the air as Wonwooâs expression morphed into something polite but adamantly distantâ the same mask heâd adopted in high school when people approached him with expectations he had no intention of fulfilling. âYes,â he replied, eyes dull, and tone careful, tight, and utterly uninvested. âWe did.â
The woman was certainly not in the business of taking hints, unfortunately.
âSorry to interrupt.â Her smile widened as she stubbornly overlooked your presence, not that you wanted to be a part of this exchange very quickly destined for disaster. âI had some ideas I wanted to run by you. Private ideas.â She let the words settle, her intentions laced with a pretty, obvious bow tied front and center for everyone to see.
Ah, this was about to be embarrassing. You resisted a wince and wished there were a socially acceptable way to hide behind your hands at events like these when moments were too painful to watch.
The pressure of Wonwooâs hand at your back increased just enough to signal to you that he was very much bothered, his long fingers twitching. He allowed the silence to extend, partially to reign in his irritation, and mostly to wait for the first hairline cracks in her audacity to appear. You fought the instinct to physically turn away from the scene, eyes flicking up to check in on your husband, finding a certain sharpness in his expression that you were thankful to not be on the receiving end of. His dark eyes lacked any luster as he glowered down his nose, a certain indicator that someone was about to learn a valuable, unforgettable lesson about crossing him.
You wondered who he'd picked that up from.
Wonwoo raised his hand without breaking his intense eye contact with the woman, and a passing waiter appeared instantly like a paid actor at his side. He smoothly plucked two champagne flutes from the tray, his wedding band twinkling as it caught the warm light and the bubbles floating up through the faintly yellow tinted liquid during the transfer.
Her eyes lit up at the move, and she stepped closer. A mistake. You winced for real this time.
âWonwoo,â You breathed just so he could hear, a little apprehensive about whatever he was about to pull with two full glasses of alcohol in hand.
Finally, he turned to face you, his cheeks gleaming with the glow of his smile and his voice carrying through the low mumble of the gala.
âDarling?â The endearment tumbled out of his lips, soft and tender, like he always used it in publicâ which he didnât. He hadnât called you that earlier, and had been simply using your name all evening, proper and professional. This was personal. Your insides warmed all the same anyway.
Wonwoo leaned into you a bit as he pressed one of the champagne glasses into your hand, despite the fact that neither of you really drank outside of a few occasions, meaning he only swiped them for the purpose of becoming this womanâs karma. How petty and super hot of him. He took advantage of his free hand to curl his arm around your waist and pull you further into his side. Then, he twisted the dial to his overkill setting, tilting down to press a lingering kiss into your hair, his nose briefly brushing against your temple.
âDo you want to find a place for us to sit?â He asked, voice pitched to itâs mellowed setting for you, intimate like it was only the two of you present.
The womanâs smile turned positively brittle, frozen on her face, but far from reaching her eyes. Clearly, sheâd been expecting a different outcomeâ had probably done this before; had probably succeeded before. But Wonwoo really wasnât one for these kinds of games. Challenging his loyalty meant instant defeat.
When he eventually turned back to her, his gaze readopted his severe sharpness. Gone was the doting warmth heâd just showed you, in itâs place something impatient and cutting. The unimpressed tilt of his brows and tense line of lips spelled out âannoyedâ and âdismissive.â
âIâm afraid I donât have time for private conversations tonight.â His tone was perfectly pleasant, but pointedly professional. âMy wife and I were just about to find a table.â He cocked his head, his chin angled defiantly, and the gesture was so deliberate and barbed that the woman actually took a step back. âAll discussions can occur through the proper channels. Iâm sure you understand.â
And that was that. Lesson learned. Class dismissed. And all of it wrapped up in the tissue-paper-thin polish of politeness, but thatâs your Wonwoo.
Her face flushedâ whether from embarrassment or anger, you couldnât tellâ and she quickly made her excuses before retreating back into the crowd. As you watched her go, you couldnât help but feel the warmth of satisfaction (and something decidedly hotter that would have to wait to be addressed) blossom through your bloodstream.
âYou didnât have to do that,â You said, smiling nonetheless. You discarded your drink on a nearby ledge, and Wonwoo followed suit. âBut well played.â
Soft, gooey, adoring Wonwoo faced you again, a small smile of his own smoothing the sharp angles of his expression under your praise. âShe was incredibly rude, and thank you. I learned from the very best.â
âDid you?â You teased, eyes widening in a playful display of interest as he leaned even closer to you, his warmth seeping into you with his contact.
âI did.â He confirmed, his smile sweetening by the second and eyes crinkling in endearment. âSheâs stunning, by the way.â Evidently unable to resist your charm, Wonwoo stamped another kiss to your hair, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth. As he reluctantly pulled back, his half-lidded eyes lingered low on your lips. âYouâre wearing that tint I like.â
You couldnât help but laugh a bit at his ridiculous statement. âYou like every tint I wear, Wonwoo.â You tilted your head up further though, letting him see another angle of the light pink sheen on your lips. His eyes traced every move, while you noted his thumb resumed its rhythmic little circles into the fabric of your dress.
His eyes darkened just a fraction, and you felt the heat of his palm glide from your back to your waist. âI do, and I bought you that one.â
âAnd?â You asked with a knowing grin, fluttering your lashes just to tease him.
âAnd I remember a promise. âHe murmured, his mellow voice dipping into that register that spoke of promises of their own. âSomething about letting me kiss it off.â
âWeâre in public.â You reminded him, voice sing-song, but you were already angling your head for him as he continued to close the little distance, your palms sliding up the front of the smooth material of his suit.
âConvenient.â He replied, his other hand finding its place on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin absently as he guided you to a routine, comfortable position. âThis will be the perfect way to tell them to mind their business.â
And then he kissed you, deep, unhurried, and uncaring of anyone who may wander by your partially hidden alcove with only a possibly fake plant for coverage. He held you gently, steady, with the same care as your first kiss in his college apartment and with the same unspoken promise as when he kissed you on your wedding day. Around you, the conversation continued to buzz, the music never ceased, but you were more interested in him, in the familiar taste of his mouth, and the way his heart pulsed against your palms.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were kiss-plumped and stained faintly pink with the transferred lip tint, and he looked a bit flushed and oh-so-pleased with himself.
âI need to go reapply that before we sit down.â You said, breathless and laughing at his disheveled appearance. At least you were merciful and kept your fingers out of his hair, for now.
âYou must be running low. Iâll get you another one.â A corner of his mouth quirked upward, nearing smirking territory, but still charming and endearing as ever as he shifted to rumble into your ear, âAnything for my wife.â The puff of his breath against the shell of your ear nearly sent the remainder of your decorum packing for the remainder of the night, but you decided against any more scenes in public.
Or, at least right there.
âGosh, you must be overheating.â You pouted, fluttering your lashes up at him in factitious concern. âLets get you some fresh air.â
Quickly, you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and to his surprise (and delight) lead him not in the direction of the tables, but instead over to a quiet balcony that provided far more privacy than the fake-plant alcove. Both of you managed to dodge getting pulled in to any more meaningless conversations on your journey, and youâre pretty sure you caught a glimpse of the woman from before in the sea of people, her expression subdued. Honestly, you pitied her. Sheâd clearly never met someone like Wonwoo beforeâ someone so utterly, completely devoted to his love that there wasnât room for even the thought of anyone else.
You hoped she and everyone else learned that Jeon Wonwoo had never been for taking. Heâd already given himself to you long before either of you realized or knew how to name it. Years had passed without that changing, and if Wonwoo had anything to say about it, it never would.
As the gathering inside proceeded, you and Wonwoo stole yourselves away on the balcony where the milky moonlight caught the edges of his face and softened his sharpness, and where he kissed the remainder of your lip tint off, slowly, thoroughly, and full of promise.
The following morning, you discovered a new set of three lip tints on your vanity, tied in a neat bow with a note in his tidy, distinct handwriting:
For my stunning wife. Looking forward to keeping our promise.
You giggled, then tucked the note away into the drawer of your nightstand, where all of his notes and most important words were housed.
ౚৠsummary: âHe locked his gaze in front of him, unable to gather the wits to gauge your reaction. His round glasses had slipped further down his nose than he preferred them, but he made no effort to correct their resting place. Wonwooâs vision had always been complete garbage, and the time he spent focused on video games had not served his eyesight for the better. His glasses were cute though, and youâd told him as much the first time he wore them around you. Overall, he felt neutral about his frames, but being able to clearly see the board at the front of the classroom, the leaves on trees, and the smaller details of your face he hadnât noticed without them were enough to convince him to wear them consistently. (âSince when did you have like, individual eyelashes?â âYou mean like, how everyone does?â â⊠Huh.â âYou knew people have individual lashes. Wonwoo, you knew people have individual lashes, right?â)â
ౚৠpairing: Wonwoo x Reader
ౚৠgenre: childhood friends to lovers, school, college, slow burn, fluff, one shot, peachesndreams
ౚৠword count: 11.5k
ౚৠwarnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, insecurities, high school sports (repulsive I know), orientation week bullshit, kissing, pretty tame making out, one gross incel, reader really grows into her menace (good for her), the tension between these two is enough to make Mingyu cry, fluffy hair Wonwoo our collective beloved, two brief mentions of choking but not in the sexy kinda way, Soonyoung and Jihoon bickering
ౚৠauthor note: a little love letter for my fellow Carats <3 There, there Besties
From the time you began attending school, you always walked back home togetherâ you and Wonwoo. Coincidentally, when clubs became a mandatory thing (something about the school administration promoting âholistic, well-rounded, thereâs-more-to-life-than-grades-but-weâll-pull-you-out-of-participating-in-your-club-activities-if-you-fall-below-a-B-minus-in-a-classâ students), you ended up in clubs that finished at the same time. You even ended up attending the same university, and would shuffle back to your dorms from late night library camp outs.
Wonwoo had always been a quiet kid, preferring to listen rather than contribute to conversations. He had no trouble entertaining himself either. Youâd learned that it wasnât that he lacked a personalityâ the guy was fucking hilariousâ it just didnât come out unless he was comfortable. He was just introverted and making friends wasnât as easy for him as it was for other kids.
But were you really one to talk?
If you were in a self-reflective mood, youâd cop to being an eighth of a teaspoon more extroverted than Wonwoo. Large crowds were a major turn off, as were loud places. You needed to mentally prepare for a hang out with more than two other people. Going home immediately after school to co-exist in a room with Wonwoo was more appealing than joining a group of classmates to venture into the busiest shops your hometown had to offer for trendy Insta pics. It was safe to say you were as much of an introvert as he wasâ plus, the two of you lived nearby and there were no other kids close to your age in the neighborhood. It was only natural that you would gravitate toward each other. So you grew familiar with the little boy with rounded cheeks, rumpled dark fringe, and chubby yet abnormally nimble hands (probably from the hours he spent immersed in gaming).
The difference between the two of you was that while Wonwoo wholeheartedly embraced his withdrawn nature, kept his tight-knit circle of friends, and basked in the comfort of frequent solitude, you made the effort to become more extroverted. What if people thought you were standoffish if you repeatedly declined their invites to outings? Would your classmates not like you anymore? Would they distance themselves from you?
The fear convinced you to agree to more spontaneous ventures far outside your comfort zone. You admittedly had fun with your friends, but it didnât diminish the dread curling in the pit of your stomach leading up to the outing or the absolutely wiped daze in your eyes when you returned. The brutal cycle of social gathering followed by exhaustion repeated at a pace that completely obliterated any opportunity of recharging from the realm of possibilities.
You lasted a little over two months before retreating back to the familiar routine of walking home with Wonwoo to decompress after the long school day. The frequency of your adventures out with your friends reduced to a few a month, which was way more manageable for your limited social battery. Wonwoo hadnât brought up the short-lived attempt, instead resuming the pattern of meeting up at the side entrance where towering trees cast shadows that spilled out across the concrete, the occasional splatter of sunlight poking through the branches. The conversation always flowed naturally with him, from goofy things your classmates did to the books you were reading lately (âYou already bought it? Nice! Can I read it after you?â âYeah, just donât tell Jun I gave it to you. He already asked to borrow it, but you read faster than him.â âYouâre my most favorite person in the whole world, Wonwoo.â âI know.â)
It was here that you determined that you and Wonwoo were each otherâs safe space.
Not long after, Wonwooâs baby fat disappeared from his face nearly overnight, replaced by a sharp jawline and a thin, long nose that accentuated the intensity of his eyes. He sprouted up at an alarming rate in comparison to his peers and, despite his willowy bone structure, he began to unintentionally intimidate others. It could be attributed to your shy disposition, but if you hadnât already known Wonwoo before, you didnât think you would have had the courage to approach him either. A laughable notion, really, considering how timid and gentle-hearted he was. Still, while he didnât comment on his newly-perceived scariness, you knew he wasnât exactly fond of his reputation.
You had the kind of friendship where you did small favors for each other all the time, so you decided to work your magic.
If your classmates saw a little bit of his less guarded side, maybe it would help him seem more approachable. After all, fear comes from the unknown, and Wonwoo didnât readily disclose much about himself. No matter; you figured things could only go up from here.
âDo you want to eat lunch together tomorrow?â You glanced to your side where he was walking at a comfortable pace, carefully observing for slight changes in his expression or body language that indicated he wasnât feeling up to it.
âI need to finish my Korean homework.â The subject wasnât difficult for either of you, but Wonwoo tended to leave it until the class period before it was due. While you admired the confidence, you couldnât stand the apprehension repeatedly ringing the doorbell of your subconscious when you had an incomplete assignment.
âWe can work on it together.â You tried again, this time earning Wonwooâs mildly suspicious gaze. Despite recently getting a hair cut, Wonwooâs fringe grew at a quick pace and was already a few inches shy of completely concealing his forehead. Due to his grown out fringe, you couldnât see his eyebrows, but you knew there was a furrow to them that wondered what you were up to.
âI guess we can do it tonight then.â He relented despite knowing youâd completed the assignment in class today. Wonwoo studied your face for a few beats, not understanding your unusual demand to spend the lunch period together. Were you overwhelmed by your rowdier friends? Was someone being an ass to you? Sure, you were pretty bashful when given attention, but you werenât the type to let someone walk all over you. If it was too much, youâd tell someone before it escalated. Wonwoo decided to drop the matter and wait until tomorrowâs lunch period to press further.
You sat on the floor of his living room that evening, Wonwooâs gangly legs folded crisscross on a plush floor pillow while you laid on your stomach just out of armâs reach. He used a textbook as a flat surface to write on and you pretended to double, triple, and quadruple check that your answers were, in fact, correct for a subject you had a perfect grade in. In reality, you were performing mental gymnastics to solve Wonwooâs predicament. You doubted eating lunch together would really improve his reputation significantly, especially since you were far from being the poster child for outgoing. Inviting him to join your friends was out of the questionâthey were too much even for you sometimes and you would never subject him to that. Maybe there was something he could at least enjoy doing that would earn him some positive PR.
âWhat?â He demanded, lips pursed slightly as he caught your attention on him and not the homework spread out on the floor before you. You just smiled in response, a cheeky little grin that Wonwoo could not for the life of him discern meaning from. All he knew was that you were definitely plotting and that heâd just have to accept that he was going to be along for the ride.
âYou should check number four again.â Wonwoo advised.
âItâs right.â You responded blithely, not bothering to glance back at the worksheet.
âYou sure about that decimal placement?â He prodded further, pressing his lips together in a thin line to stamp out the smile that threatened to break out.
âUh-huh,â You insisted, just as unshakable as always. You batted your eyes a few times before grinning a little toothier than usual. âAre you done yet? You swore youâd play New Leaf with me.â
The impatient tilt of your head and the thrum of your fingers on your folded up arms was entertaining. Wonwoo smirked before turning his attention back to his already completed assignment. âDid I?â
âIâm gonna go play with your brother.â You pushed yourself up to your knees, already bouncing up to stretch out your ankles. âBohyuk! Wanna plââ
Just as quick as youâd called for his brother, Wonwooâs hands flung out, palms up in surrender and nose scrunched up in distaste. âI was kidding! Donât invite that.â
Lunch the following day was peacefulâ uneventful evenâ as you spread out the contents of your lunchbox as fair game and Wonwoo followed suit. You peeked up at him while he helped himself to the meat in your container, fidgeting with the strap that held your lunchbox closed and twirling it around your pointer fingers. Just before you could open your mouth to begin the conversation, Wonwoo beat you to it.
âHow are your friends?â He questioned, expression trained neutral, seemingly in the interest of making small talk. Wonwoo fishing for information was about as subtle as a brick wall, but you seemed to perk up at the topic. Unknowingly, heâd made this much easier for you to bring up. The lanky fool had played right into your hands.
âGreat!â You chirped, eyes bright as you leaned across the table towards him. âOne of them asked about you actually! Wants to know if youâd play basketball with him.â
This is so not where Wonwoo thought this conversation was going. Still, he decided to entertain the idea since you seemed excited about it.
âWhich friend?â He asked tentatively, utensils resting on his lunch box. He fought the urge to scrunch his nose up in distaste, lest he clue you in that he was planning on declining.
You blinked a few times, buying yourself a couple seconds to formulate your answer so it wouldnât result in an immediate refusal. âUm, you know the tall, goofy one who choked when he tried to drink milk through his nose becauââ
âMingyu plays basketball?â Wow, Mingyu had really made a name for himself and hey! That wasnât an outright no! Sure, he was a bit of a dumbass at times, but he was a good friend and fun to be around. In small doses. Spaced out. Super spaced out.
Heâd love Wonwoo!
And Wonwoo would⊠probably be okay.
âYeah! He really wants another person to play with and youâre pretty good.â You were laying it on thick with the compliments, fanning the flame of his ego to convince him that this commitment would result in absolutely no regrets. Your hands balled into tight fists as you stared at Wonwoo hopefully, the reflection of the sunlight gleaming in your eyes.
His mouth pursed in contemplation and a thick silence blanketed the air in the room. Then, he retrieved his abandoned chopsticks from their place balanced on the edge of his lunch box and breathed out, âAlrightâ before digging back into your lunch.
With a satisfied nod, you scooped up your own set of chopsticks and immediately delved into the spinach salad Wonwoo packed. You hummed appreciatively, the corners of your lips tilting up in a satisfied smile.
In the following weeks, Wonwoo joined Mingyu a few times a week on the basketball court. Just as you suspected, learning that the tall, reserved, and intimidating looking Wonwoo enjoyed basketball was enough for your classmates to drop the narrative that he was unapproachable. That saidâ his social circle didnât expand much, but he was quite compatible with Mingyu. The slight tension in his shoulders relaxed and the tightness of his jaw released once he wasnât overly conscious of how other people perceived his choice to keep to himself.
Another unexpected outcome of this development was that when club activities became mandatory, Wonwoo didnât have to agonize over what club to choose. He and Mingyu signed up for basketball together without much thought.
Meanwhile, you joined the volleyball club. In all honesty, Wonwoo hadnât seen it coming. Absolutely zero shots fired about your athletic abilities, but he hadnât seen you play. Like, ever. His loss apparently, because the team captain was over the moon about the talent you brought to the team.
âWhen did you start playing volleyball?â He inquired on your journey home. There was an oddly shaped jumble of unease that fought for space in his chest against his ribcage at the realization that there was something about you he didnât know. He was an observant person. How could he not know that he had been friends with an ace volleyball player for this long? It was a major blow to his pride.
âI never really played,â You began your explanation with a light shrug of your shoulders. âLike, I helped a friend practice a ton and learned something I guess.â You reasoned uncertainly, a contemplative tilt of your head as you didnât quite comprehend this skill you possessed out of left field.
Oh, okay. So he wasnât inattentive. You were just a fucking prodigy. Good to know.
âLet me know when you have a match.â Your eyes darted to his at the unexpected request and Wonwoo curled his hands into the long sleeves of his jacket before continuing. âI want to see you play.â
He locked his gaze in front of him, unable to gather the wits to gauge your reaction. His round glasses had slipped further down his nose than he preferred them, but he made no effort to correct their resting place. Wonwooâs vision had always been complete garbage, and the time he spent focused on video games had not served his eyesight for the better. His glasses were cute though, and youâd told him as much the first time he wore them around you. Overall, he felt neutral about his frames, but being able to clearly see the board at the front of the classroom, the leaves on trees, and the smaller details of your face he hadnât noticed without them were enough to convince him to wear them consistently. (âSince when did you have like, individual eyelashes?â âYou mean like, how everyone does?â â⊠Huh.â âYou knew people have individual lashes. Wonwoo, you knew people have individual lashes, right?â)
âOkay.â You agreed easily, pressing your lips together lightly to stamp out the smile threatening to curl the corners of your mouth.
The attention awarded to you for joining club volleyball came from not just your own class, but others too. If you were aware of any of it, Wonwoo noted no indication of itâ as far as he could tell, you loved the purely recreational sport and that was that. He didnât doubt that you were a wonderful player, but a lot of the attention had been created by your team captain who missed no opportunity to boast about his team in general. According to other classmates, you more than lived up to the hype and Wonwoo wanted to see this unexplored side of you and support it.
It quickly became evident that other people were interested in seeing unexplored sides of you as well.
In a completely unsubtle way that only Mingyu could manage, he asked Wonwoo during basketball practice if you were talking to anyone.
âHow would I know?â Wonwoo scrunched his nose in bewilderment. âSheâs in volleyball now, not here.â He lunged for the basketball in Mingyuâs possession, fingertips just grazing the bumpy texture before Mingyu pivoted out of reach. While Wonwoo was one of the tallest at your school, Mingyu had hit a major growth spurt early on as well and stood a couple inches above him. Where Wonwoo was more lithe in frame, Mingyu was slightly broader. It was an interesting dynamic for basketballâ Wonwooâs speed and coordination against Mingyuâs strength and staminaâ but it made the game entertaining.
An impatient groan ripped out of Mingyu, his head tossed back in irritation. âNo, youââ He sucked in a grounding breath, gathering his remaining shreds of sanity. In this moment, Wonwoo nabbed the ball from Mingyu, tauntingly bouncing it close enough to lure him to make a grab for it. âI mean like, does she like anyone? And I mean like like.â He quickly added on the clarification, unwilling to sit through Wonwooâs journey of comprehension.
Wonwoo ceased dribbling, straightening up. He lifted a hand to dab at the sweat pooling around his temple and slicking his hair to his forehead to process the question. âHow come?â He inspected Mingyu, a defensive edge narrowing his eyes and hardening his gaze. It was different from the steely quality he possessed while playingâ while that one was impartial, this one was more personal and unnerving.
âA guyâ well, a couple guys wanted to know.â Mingyu shrugged off the imposing weight of his stare, carefully noting Wonwooâs reactions in turn. Wonwoo could tell by the twitch of his mouth and the rigidness of his spine that Mingyu wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. Smart.
âSheâs not interested.â End of conversation. Wonwoo resumed dribbling, faking the intent to try and weave past Mingyuâs arm that belatedly stretched out to block him, only to take the shot from right there over Mingyuâs head.
A clean shot.
âMan!â Mingyu whined, shaking his head in a way that spoke of betrayal and heartbreak. âCold blooded.â
At leastâ Wonwoo thought you werenât interested.
âYou go on ahead,â You waved him forward, the strap of your school bag slipping off your shoulder and into the crook of your elbow. âI have a quick thing to do.â
Wonwoo turned back to face you, fists squeezed deep in his jacket pockets where his hand warmers were nestled. You hadnât made plans with your friendsâ you would have left from school with them if you had. Were you meeting someone?
âIâll come with.â Your eyes shifted nervously to the side and your teeth dug into your bottom lip. The tip of your nose was bitten red from the wind and your entire form quivered from the sting of the cold.
âItâs okay, Iâll be quick.â You tried again, gesturing over your shoulder toward the way you were headed. Wonwooâs eyes narrowed at your blatant attempts at evasion. It was fine if you were going to see someone, he just would rather you be upfront about it instead of hiding it from him. You didnât keep each other in the dark and you certainly didnât avoid each other either.
âThen letâs be quick.â Wonwoo insisted, already striding in the direction of your detour. You begrudgingly relented, huffing irritably and shuffling quickly to pass him and lead the way.
Wonwoo blinked at you, really wondering if his vision was actually bad enough to flat out hallucinate. He anxiously glanced around at the (blessedly) mostly empty store and back to your form seated on the tile floor in the aisle. Like, not even crouched to look at something stocked at the lower levelâ no, ass fully sat on the linoleum.
âWhat are you doing?â He breathed out, weight shifting back and forth between his feet nervously. You scrunched your long sock as far down toward your ankle as it would go, a handful of display products balanced in your hand in addition to a dozen q-tips. Wonwoo shuffled closer to you in an attempt to conceal your at best questionable behavior from the sole employee occupied with her phone at the checkout counter and the few wandering customers. From above, he observed you pop the lid of a tester, carefully collect some product with the q-tip, and hunch over to swipe it just above your ankle bone.
âHey,â He hissed then, jerkily nudging you with his knee as a demand for your attention and answer.
âItâll leave a stain on my wrist and Iâll get caught.â You explained, unwilling to be more cooperative with the guy who refused to let you make this trip solo. You tried to get him to go home, and now he had to live with his conces quencing. Neither of the two colors you tried so far stirred anything in your heart. You discarded the q-tip in the waste bin stationed near you and repeated your process.
âItâll leave a stain when you wear it and youâll get caught.â Wonwoo reasoned, a desperate clip to his tone.
âNot if I find one thatâs close to my lip color.â You denied reality. Wonwoo paused for a brief moment to consider whether or not you heard yourself. There was nothing really wrong with shopping for a tinted lip balm (even though he would prefer you to do it standingâ you know, be socially acceptable and all that), but your school didnât allow students to wear makeup. When were you even going to use this? Youâd never even expressed interest in makeup until today. Once again, nothing criminal, but completely out of the blue.
âWhy do you want that?â Wonwoo prodded in an effort to understand the mental gymnastics of it all. If he was being honest, he was still stuck on you seated on the floor.
ââCause if itâs close to my lip color, I might not beââ
âNo,â He interrupted, pressing his fingers slightly below a brow to ease the beginnings of a pulsing headache away. He was abruptly empathetic to Mingyu for some inexplicable reason. âLike, why do you want it in general?â
âI donât,â You began, attention fixed on the array of products gathered before you. Wonwoo still hovered behind you, waiting for the remainder of your reason. âI donât like how I look after volleyball.â
He didnât know what to say to that. Because literally who did you know that looked good after club sports? Disheveled and out of breath was kind of the standard across the board. Also, he saw you right after clubs finished to walk home together everyday. You looked fine. Sure, not quite as put together as you were during classes, but your mussed hair and flushed cheeks were kind of charmingâ lively and youthful, even. The only people who even saw you were your teammates and him, soâ
And Mingyuâs conversation from the basketball court snapped the missing puzzle pieces into place. Multiple guys were interested in you and were sneaking in to watch you practice. They were going as far to ask around about you, to the extent that theyâd approached Mingyu to really approach him and dig for information about you. There was no way your social butterfly of a team captain hadnât clocked it and immediately leaped at the opportunity to fill you in.
Did you like, like one of them?
âTrying to impress someone?â Wonwoo prodded, not quite successful in keeping the judgement at bay. His teeth grit together, trying to maintain a neutral expression despite you facing away from him. All at once, he wished that he could see your expression while simultaneously feeling relieved that he couldnât.
âNo, I just donât like people staring at me when I look like that.â You fiddled with the lid of the lip balm, snapping it in and out of the closure groove.
So you were aware of the attentionâ too aware of it, in fact.
For someone so uncomfortable with other peoplesâ gazes, you sure werenât doing youâ or him for that matterâ any favors by parking yourself on the floor of a beloved cosmetic store in the early evening. But now was not the time to vocalize that thought when he had just scraped an insecurity out of you with about as much tenderness as he would have used trying to knock out the last bit of peanut butter from the bottom of the jar. So yeah, he was going to keep that one in the drafts for now.
There also wasnât really any way for him to solve your problem. When it came down to it, insecurities were a battle fought with yourself. He doubted that anything he said or did would really resolve your feelings about yourself. That being said, he wasnât going to withhold his thoughts or actions that might encourage the feelings to fade. He was also more than willing to hold the door open for them to leave and slam it shut on their way out.
Fuck the dumbasses who kept sneaking in to watch you practice and ignoring the fact that they were making you uncomfortable. And a little bit fuck your team captain too for allowing it to happen and even somewhat encouraging the behavior.
Wonwoo squatted down, hooking his large hands under your elbows, and scooped you into a standing position despite your bewildered fumbling. Once you were hauled up to your full height and turned around to face him, he abandoned his purchase on your elbows in favor of sandwiching your cheeks between his warm palms. Or maybe it was your cheeks that were warm? Either way, you were focused on him, maintaining eye contact for the first time since youâd left school that day. Wonwoo lightly shook your head, your cheeks squishing and eyes scrunching closed under his ambush. Once he was satisfied with his work, he stopped, waiting until your eyes blinked away the disorientation and opened to settle on him again.
âYouâre pretty.â
It was quick, definitive, and without room for discussion. Before you could even fully process the previous five seconds, Wonwoo cut off any protests, hiking up his long sleeve on one arm to reveal a forearm splotched with a particularly nasty navy colored bruise.
âAh, shit.â He tugged his sleeve back down over his knuckles, then switched to his other unblemished forearm. Both him and Mingyu were pretty abrasive basketball players and, with their combined lankiness and Mingyuâs net negative coordination due to his lack of spatial awareness, elbows and hands were destined to smack into the wrong places.
âHere.â Wonwoo extended his arm out to you. âThey donât check guys for makeup because theyâre sexist.â
You stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. After a brief nod of encouragement, you quickly resumed your work. Your hand cradled his forearm, holding it steady as you brushed on ascending lines of lip product, tinting his skin various shades of pink. His skin was hot under your touch and felt fuzzier than the cotton swab. Eventually, after waffling between two shades that were essentially the same but actually just slightly different, you landed on your choice.
Wonwoo went to school the following day with an impressive gallery of stains streaked up his arm underneath his jacket, but only the two of you knew that.
You were caught wearing the tinted lip balm before the end of first period, your homeroom teacher demanding you scrub it off with a tissue. And as you inspected your appearance in the bathroom mirror, lips bare, there was an absence of inadequacy burrowing in your chest, instead replaced by a peaceful indifference. When you returned to class, the self-conscious slouch anchoring your arms to your sides had dissolved, but only the two of you noticed that.
Your team captain insisted that practices from now on be closed off to visitors, slamming the doors to the gym shut with no consideration for the students trying to sit in. He reasoned that the other students were a distraction and that if they were that interested in volleyball, then tryouts were scheduled for the third week of the next semester.
Wonwoo had been the one to make this request, but only he and your captain knew that.
Old habits either die hard or they donât die at all, because even in university, your tradition of walking home together persisted. Freshman orientation was essentially hazing for introverts, and your silly orientation leaders decided to host a dinner for the incoming classâ a thinly-veiled excuse to get fucking hammered beyond coherent speech. Plus, the schadenfreude of watching a group of kids experience their first and absolute worst time consuming alcohol was too good for them to pass up.
A little over an hour into the mandatory event, you were so beyond over the whole thing. Youâd eaten your fill and stopped politely laughing at the upperclassmen who thought they were just so charming at least thirty minutes ago. Drinking was, as you expected, over-encouraged and heavily pressured. At one of the mentorsâ insistence, you knocked a shot or two back and sent him stumbling back to the end of the table furthest away from you. It wasnât your first time consuming alcohol, and you had no intention of exceeding your limit around a bunch of strangers. As far as you were concerned, they could suck it.
Wonwoo sat across from you, usually sharp eyes glazed over at an autographed picture on the wall of someone famous posing with the owner of the restaurant, jolly grins and peace signs thrown up. You shifted your weight, shuffling around in your seat to generate just enough movement in Wonwooâs field of vision to snap his brain back from outer space. His blurred eyes honed in on youâ he hadnât participated in drinking with the upperclassmen either, also disinterested in drinking in the unfamiliar environment, yet cursed to exist in the moment all the same.
Slowly, intentionally, you blinked twice.
Want to ditch?
Wonwoo tilted his head to one side in what could have easily been a stretch of his neck.
Fuckinâ yeah, I do.
You pursed your lips, eyes flickering once to the door and back to him.
Sensational. At the same time.
Less then two seconds later, Wonwoo raised to his full hight while you swung your legs to the aisle created by the two long tables. He half-heartedly nodded to a few of the people around him that noticed he had stood, and you successfully slipped into an opening. Now that you were on your feet, the alcohol diffused to the rest of your limbs and head quicker than you anticipatedâ nothing concerning, you were just a little more buzzed than you planned to be. What a fantastic indicator that it was time to pack it up. With a brief flash of a smile and farewell to the kind-enough girl next to you, you made your swift exit to where Wonwoo waited for you at the end of the aisle.
The most genuine smile you had seen from him all evening quirked the corner of his lips up, and the dim, yellow lighting in the restaurant cast a warm glow in his dark eyes. Heâd left his hair more rumpled than usual today, the gentle waves softened his appearance a bit, but still accentuated the crisp angles of his cheeks, jaw, and eyes. Gone were the last bits of gangly, awkward teenage proportions, instead developing into striking features of a charming young man. Since senior year of high school, Wonwoo had only sprung further upward, although unlike his middle school growth spurt, he had actually broadened considerably this time. The thing wasâ Wonwoo was kind of a walking dichotomy. He preferred oversized clothing that concealed the lines of his frameâ it completely fooled everyone into thinking he was pretty lanky, but you knew that to be completely false. His form was large and imposing, both in height and broadness, but the changes in his build were only obvious when you stood this close to him. He chose to wear an oversized grey sweatshirt this evening that youâd seen many times before. The sleeves were stretched out from his tendency to tug them over his hands.
You trailed behind him as he blazed the path to the door. Wonwoo pushed the door open, a rush of biting night air dropping your internal temperature substantially. He stepped outside, holding the door open for you to pass through. Just as you moved to cross the threshold, the girl that sat next to you called out, âGet home safely!â You turned to acknowledge her, and your coordination must have been more influenced than you had initially realized, because your foot caught on the ledge protruding from the doorframe. You gasped and braced for unforgiving concrete and a banger of a concussion during syllabus week.
Wonwoo lungedâ legitimately lungedâ to secure your shoulders in his arms. The back of your head thudded against his chest and your back flattened against his torso. Your fingers latched onto Wonwooâs sturdy arms suspending you just above the concrete and you huffed in deep breaths to regain your bearings. Holy shit.
âYou okay?â Wonwooâs round glasses had shifted down in the scuffle, balanced precariously at the tip of his nose.
Still disoriented and searching for your center of gravity, you breathed out, âYeah, yeahâ Iâm okay.â
Gingerly, Wonwoo straightened into an upright position, bringing you with him. To your credit, you only fumbled slightly when searching for purchase with the soles of your shoes.
âGo a little too hard a little too fast?â He was joking, poking lighthearted fun at the circumstances of the entirely avoidable situation. His hesitant grin was partially contained by residual concern for your physical wellbeingâ sure, heâd saved you from a cold greeting courtesy of the concrete, but did you twist your ankle on the ledge?
âShouldâve gone faster, harder.â You quipped, giggling at the absurdity of the last three hours. Wonwoo squatted down beside you, carefully taking your hand nearest to him and guiding it to rest on his shoulder for stability in the event that you toppled over for a second time that night. Despite the chill of the air seeping through your clothing, an unfamiliar heat sweltered in your bones. You wondered if Wonwoo could feel it pulsing at your fingertips where they pressed into the well-worn material of his sweatshirt, but his attention was preoccupied with your ankle. The bottom of your pant leg was rolled up a few times, and Wonwooâs long, slender fingers prodded at the exposed skin with a tenderness that absorbed the strength in your kneesâ youâd have fully buckled onto his broad shoulder had you been fueled by anything other than spite to remain standing.
âHow does this feel?â He peered up at you, the question visible in his dark eyes, all the while smoothing languid circles into your ankle with his thumb the same way he toggled on his game controller. The weight of his gaze seemed foreign, not quite suffocating, but somewhat sultry. It was an oddly sensual moment, and you didnât know what to make of that. Probably the alcohol doing its rose-tinted thing.
âIt feels good.â You answered more truthfully than he would ever know. But the street outside a restaurant overflowing with your peers was not the place to unpack that. He unrolled your pant leg, tugging it back into place before standing again and insisting that you two get going and escape the cold. You werenât cold, and you could make out the slight glow of sweat on Wonwooâs skin, but you chalked it up to the exertion of his impressive dive mere minutes ago.
In all of the years you spent with Wonwoo, you could count the number of times heâd caught you off guard on one hand. He was a man of habit and predictabilityâ it was familiar and cozy, and you appreciated the reliability of him. He hadnât changed, still the same in his careful, intentional movements, but he somehow knocked you completely off-kilter that night on the sidewalk.
Metaphorically speaking, in this instance.
You, on the other hand, were a bit of a wild card in Wonwooâs eyes. He knew you wellâ like he knew the layout of his house well enough to slink to the kitchen in the middle of the night to get a glass of water without flipping any lights on. But every so often, there would be something that wasnât present before. He would smack into it, take a moment to process the new entity, maybe feel around and familiarize himself with it, and then carry on as usual. To date, the discovery that you were an excellent volleyball player remained the most prominent surprise in his memory.
Nearly two months into your freshman year of college, you blew that one out of the water.
Wonwoo approached you from behind while you were perched at one of the large desktops in the library. He could tell you had a document openâ even with his shit vision, there was no mistaking that layout and that obnoxious shade of blue that triggered every studentsâ fight or flight instinct. But you were missing the anguish of someone writing a paper, no tense hunch to your shoulders or irritated furrow of your brow. Instead, you seemed at ease, reclining easily into the back of the chair, expression focused but neutral. Your movements were unhurried as you navigated your screen with the pitiful library mouse held together by oddly crinkled scotch tape.
What the hell were you working on?
âHey,â He murmured in greeting, conscious of the people working around you. But then he got a glimpse of your computer screen, and in contrast to your unbothered form, Wonwoo became the embodiment of immediate, deep, bottom-of-the-soul resentment. Pulled up proudly on display were screenshots of some of the most heinous, crude, and honest to god incriminating text messages heâd ever read. His jaw clenched, teeth gritting together painfully at the unimaginably inappropriate names and descriptions littered throughout the one-sided chat. Wonwooâs eyes pierced the name of the sender exhibited at the top of the screen like he could somehow impale them through the bubble of their initial. He didnât know them, but he was about to. At the beginning of the thread was a single message from you, a polite and firm decline of an invitation to âhang at his place.â The animosity simmered in the pit of his stomach, boiling up his chest and scalding his throat and tongue as he snarled, âWhat the fuck?!â
You twisted around in your chair, taking in Wonwooâs rare hostility and the attention it earned you from other people in the library. His low timbre was always soothing to listen to, but the abrupt change from still waters to rough husk was a commanding force.
âHi,â You beamed up at him, eyes practically twinkling, apparently unaffected by the images on your screen.
âWho the hell is this loser?â He bit, cheekbones more angled than typical as he hollowed his cheeks. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, a futile attempt at keeping the malice at bay. Wonwoo was many things, but above ripping this guy a new asshole? Certainly not.
âOh,â You swiveled to glance back at the screen, sure enough, the incel vomit remained on the monitor where you left it. With practiced ease, you quickly resized the final screenshot in the series, enlarging it to a near comical degree. âJust a silly goose.â
Wonwoo stood stewing in silence as you clicked file and selected print with a too-cheerful click of the barely-holding-on mouse. He had maybe just short of a million questions firing rapidly internally. How did you even meet this guy? Did you have classes with him? Where did he live? Was he deathly allergic to anything? No, not for any particular reason, just curious. Does he walk home alone at night? How long had he been bothering you?
The only question he managed to voice was, âWhy are you making these, like, gigantic?â
That was when he noticed that the sparkle in your eyes this entire time had been mischief. The grin you flashed was significantly wider than your natural smile, and possessed a rascality he hadnât seen you wear before. It looked sickly saccharine and promised chaos. You looked ferocious. It looked good on you.
âHow else is his grandmother gonna read it?â
Wonwooâs heart swelled with pride. It pumped into the organ until it reached its maximum capacity and expanded until his chest ached in elation. Of course you were going to rock this guyâs shit. And in front of his family no less. Wonwoo physically could not contain the cackles that erupted from the bottom of his stomach, folding over at the waist from the force. He clutched at your shoulders in an attempt to remain standing and gasped in shuddering breaths. Eyes crinkled closed, nose scrunched upward, and smile lines on display, Wonwoo seemed to have unlocked a new level of joy.
âYou are just fucking magnificent.â He praised in adoration, planting an affectionate kiss on your forehead. You short-circuited at the warmth that bloomed from the press of his lips on your skin.
This was new. You werenât even sure it actually happened for a few beats, convincing yourself youâd simply imagined Wonwoo bending over you in the library to kiss you. Wonwoo kissed you. Like it was normal. And you couldnât short-circuit in front on him because then it wouldnât be normal.
Rapidly, you snapped back into the moment, coyly tucking your loose hair behind your ear. âArenât I just?â A large hand buried itself in your hair at the top of your head, giving it a playful ruffle. Wonwoo smoothed out the bumps he had created immediately after, delicately combing his fingers through and working out the minor tangles.
He was still going to rip this guy a new asshole.
After the incident outside the restaurant and especially after the moment in the library, there was an obvious shift in the dynamic of your relationship. Or maybe your relationship had changed before then and you just hadnât picked up on it. Because while you were second guessing every action, word, and expression, Wonwoo seemed entirely in his elementâ unfazed even. It seemed that kissing your best friend was an entirely normal thing for him to do, despite having never done it before and generally not being all that open to physical affection.
You didnât want to be uncomfortable around Wonwooâ he had been your safe space for as long as you could remember. But the once-clear waters of your relationship had turned murky and tricky to navigate. More disorienting was the fact that Wonwoo wasnât uncomfortable. At least if he had been, you could acknowledge whatever this weird, new thing was and figure this out together. But you couldnât bring it up like this and risk Wonwoo denying that anything was different between the two of you.
Things were different though. Like, was Wonwoo auditioning for the role of boyfriend or something? Because while he had always been attentive, things were escalating at a dizzying, heart-fluttering pace.
Wonwoo seemed to always have a hair tie around his wristâ always had since he witnessed you struggle to eat without your hair slipping into your face when you were kids and heard you grumble that you forgot one for volleyball. Heâd offer you the hair tie and youâd gush out something appreciative along the lines of, âAs expected, youâd never let me down.â Even now, heâd unhook the elastic from his wrist on particularly windy days, or when heâd watched you toss your hair back one too many times when you were studying, presenting it to you in his outstretched palm. You hadnât thought much of the sweet gesture until now.
The escalation of this routine came when Wonwoo began tying your hair for you, wordlessly gathering your hair with long, nimble fingers and securing it low and loose out of your way; he always avoided wrapping it too tightly or too high, anxious of causing you a tension headache. The brush of his warm hands always brought you back to where you sat in the library, processing his kiss and affectionate touches. The tips of his fingers would sweep the sensitive skin of your neck from behind and you would still, anticipating the pressure of his lips against your heated skin again. But it never happened.
Overall, Wonwoo was more touchy latelyâ not exactly a high hurdleâ and you just didnât know how to act. You knowâ other than soak it up. You were more than receptive to being spoiled by his physical affection, be it platonic or romantic. After fumbling through the first week of the new development of sides pressed together, tender hands brushing hair out of your face, and the light pressure of his chin resting atop your head when he approached you from behind, you decided to return it enthusiastically and see if you could finally force Wonwooâs hand.
You found him reading while leaving one of your classes, his form relaxed on one of the benches that lined the courtyard. His neck was craned down, attention focused on his class reading, expression neutral. Despite still being deemed intimidating and off-putting by those who never spoke to him, Wonwoo was undeniably dashing in his quiet confidence. The sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw only became more accentuated during college (perhaps a result of the poor college student diet) and his already-penetrating eyes intensified when he chose to forego glasses for contactsâ which wasnât very often.
You detoured out of his line of vision to close in on his back, careful to keep your steps light. Successfully avoiding popping him out of his study bubble, you looped your arms over his wide shoulders, leaned into his back, and chimed his name in greeting. Immediately, he tilted his head up to meet your eyes with a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling knowinglyâ Wonwoo could smell your shampoo wafting in the comfortable breeze as you neared. Now, with the close contact of your skin, he could smell the light moisturizer you had used since you were in middle school. He permitted himself a deep inhale, reveling in the clean, fresh scent.
âHey,â He greeted, voice low and clear. The faint wind ruffled his hairâ he had allowed it to grow longer than itâd ever been before, which still wasnât very long, but the waves grazed his eyes in airy wisps. âGood class?â
You hummed affirmatively, taking the opportunity to card your fingers through his tousled hair with a practiced ease like youâd done it for as long as youâd known him. He dissolved into your touch, clicking his tablet off and trading his classwork for your attention.
âVibe night?â He asked like you had ever previously declined or planned to decline a night spent relaxing together at one of your places. It was just like how you would retreat home from school to one of your living rooms to do homework, read, play video games, or whatever in each otherâs presence growing up. The escalation here yet again entailed increased physical contact and noticeably domestic undertones. Some days youâd accompany one another grocery shopping for dinner and snacks before kicking the night off.
On days where the academic grind had vacuumed the life force out of the both of you, it was a detour to a restaurant to get takeout. You had your go-to spots that you rotated through, dependent on the weather and your moods. By now, the employees recognized your pair and your typical orders. One of the last times youâd visited during midterms two weeks back, the elderly owner of the Thai restaurant had been delighted when you stepped in, announcing joyfully that you had visited on couples night so he threw a dessert on the house into your to-go bag.
It wasnât uncommon for the nature of your relationship to be misunderstood, so you began to gently correct the well-meaning man with a polite smile. Before you uttered a syllable, Wonwooâs deep voice vibrated beside you, graciously thanking the owner and fluidly swiping the paper bag from the counter where your hand was stretched to curl around the handle. Instead, Wonwooâs large hand not occupied with the to-go bag enveloped yours and on instinct, your fingers squeezed around his.
With a farewell and another âthank you so much!â the two of you exited the restaurant hand-in-hand. You expected him to drop the act and by extension your hand once you were a decent distance away from the windows, but Wonwoo kept your hand secured in his the entire walk homeâ which you would never complain about. The temperature had dropped for the season and the sun had already set under the horizon, so you would soak up the extra warmth emitting from your joined hands, burrowed into his jacket pocket. You could always rely on Wonwoo to purchase the coziest clothing, always fleecy and pleasant against your skin. His coat did not disappoint, the fuzzy lining offering you an excuse for how overheated you felt with your hand engulfed in his.
But that was two weeks ago when you were still flustered by Wonwooâs abrupt swell of affection. If you were being entirely honest, his affection still shot prickles down your spine and numbed your fingertips, but you at least knew to expect it by now. Now it was a matter of being capable of having the same effect on him.
âYou already know.â You agreed easily, before tacking on. âWhenever and however you want me.â You were absolutely referring to what time he wanted to meet up and at whose apartment, but to pass on the double entendre was a wasted opportunity. Wonwooâs form went rigid under your touch, his Adamâs apple bobbing as he swallowed. The âerror 404 Wonwoo not foundâ pop up was clear in his abruptly vigilant eyes. Flashing him a smile that spoke of nothing abnormal in your choice of phrase, you wished him a good class, manifested him being let out early, and blew him a kiss in farewell, a bounce in your step as you retreated.
You got him. Was it enough to convince him to make his move? Youâd fuck around and find out, you supposed.
Later when Wonwoo finished his last classâ from which he did get let out twenty minutes early (âYou are so welcome.â âWe got out because we finished his material.â âBecause Iâm magic. You should be super nice to me and let me choose the game.â âYou can choose the game because itâs your turn, not because youâre magic.â)â he trekked to the library where you were busting out an assignment at an alarming speed to gather you for the night. You snapped your laptop shut, reaching for your bag youâd hooked on the back of your chair, only to discover Wonwoo was already holding the edges open for you. With an appreciative grin, you slipped the laptop into the padded sleeve and zipped it closed. Wonwoo fixed the straps of your bag over his shoulder, ignoring your insistence that you could carry it yourself, and together you walked to his apartment. Tonight, you didnât hold hands on the journey and there was no fuzzy electric charge to the moment. It was as it usually was, with soft laughter and quiet recounts of your days just like it always has been.
Everything was just like was before until you entered his apartment.
Wonwoo held the door open for you to pass through the threshold, slipping in behind you and hanging both of your bags on the empty hooks lining the entrance. You wiggled out of your well-broken-in sneakers without undoing the laces and reached for the shoe cabinet by the entrance, but Wonwoo beat you to it. He crouched before the cabinet and snagged your designated pair of slippers, wordlessly placing them by your feet. Once you swapped into the slippers, he threaded two fingers under the tongues of your sneakers and neatly set them in the cabinet. Then, he followed suit and changed into his house shoes. It was hardly anything out of character for Wonwooâhe was always considerate, but your blood pulsed ferociously in the veins of your wrists at the small gesture.
It would have made sense to venture into the apartment instead of remaining in the entryway, but you stayed and watched as Wonwoo turned to face you. Your eyes met and the static charge returned to your fingertips. You swore his eyes darkened as they flickered further down your face. The limited space of the alcove demanded you hover in each otherâs personal space close enough for a slight shift in your weight to force you to unintentionally brush against each other. The slightest touch would result in a static shock, you were positive. Wonwoo hovered closer and your breath was trapped at the top of your throatâ if he adjusted the angle of his head, then heâdâ
âHungry?â He murmured, low tone fluttering in the pit of your stomach. âThereâs some of the spinach salad in the fridge.â
Fuck auditioning for the role of boyfriendâ this man was fully auditioning for the role of husband. Acts of service and making sure you were fed? Sold! To the man with abysmal eyesight and the instinct to anticipate your needs!
Unfortunately, you were far too queasy to trust yourself to eat anything at the moment. A damn shame, because you really did love his familyâs spinach salad. âLater,â You promised. He didnât press the matter despite knowing you hadnât eaten since early that morning due to your packed class schedule. Nodding in agreement, Wonwoo pressed a large, warm hand to the small of your back, encouraging you into the apartment.
Immediately, you padded over to the large couch in the living room, folding up into your corner and snatching your emotional support circular throw pillow to rest your wrists on while you gamed. Wonwoo passed by the entertainment center, retrieving your designated controllers from the cabinet and waking the docked Nintendo Switch before heading toward the couch. He maneuvered around an arm chair, nabbing the throw blanket draped over the back. Once close enough, Wonwoo settled the fuzzy blanket across your lap, fixing the areas that bunched up, and then passed you your controller.
The blanket hadnât always been a fixture of the living room. It was during your third time over at Wonwooâs apartment when the two of you were watching the last few episodes of a drama when Wonwoo noticed you curled up and shivering. Youâd intentionally worn long sleeves that day because the apartment was a freezer boxâ full blame on Wonwooâs roommate who liked to live in the arcticâ but it wasnât sufficient to shield you from the unrelentingly glacial winds generated by the air conditioning. The last time you were over and frostbitten, Wonwoo had swaddled you in one of his oversized sweatshirts that smelled like freshly-washed laundry and a hint of something muskier. The cuffs were stretched to conceal your hands, likely from Wonwoo repeatedly tugging the fabric over his own hands when he wore it. When he heaved himself off the couch and disappeared into the hallway, you expected him to return with another one of his sweaters, but instead he brought back a crĂšme colored blanket that heâd evidently just bought based on the tag he wound around his fingers to tug off with a snap of his wrist.
âSorry, I forgot.â He smiled, a little sheepish, and handed you the blanket.
Ever since, the blanket had been yours. Its home was in the living room of Wonwooâs apartment, waiting for your return.
Now, he dropped into his place on the couch cushion next to you. With a few rapid clicks of his thumb, the jingle of the Nintendo Home Screen sounded through the speaker system. Already queued into the first slot was Animal Crossing because it was your pick tonight, and youâd always pick Animal Crossing. It was here that you knew that Wonwoo was always a couple paces ahead of you, and he always knew what you needed.
He sensed the weight of your unwavering gaze and turned his attention toward you, about to ask you something, but the words died before he could even think them into existence. The controller he gave you sat abandoned at your side, your hands instead curled into the throw pillow resting on your thighs. Wonwoo was always ahead of you, perceptive of your every need. The slight tremble of your bottom lip, the glassy haze in your eyes, and the shallow rise and fall of your chest told him exactly what you needed then. He wouldnât make you ask twice.
After carefully depositing his controller on the coffee table, Wonwoo shifted toward you, keeping his attention on your eyes in search of any indicator that you wanted out. Heâd back away if you wanted, go back to lounging on the couch and playing video games with you if you gave so much as a hint that it was what you wanted.
You didnât. A comforting hand that had held yours in his jacket pocket for warmth, combed through your hair to tie it out of your face, and hoisted you up from the floor of a cosmetic store gently settled at the back of your headâ his hands were always big and safe. You curved your lips into a small, reassuring smile, and Wonwoo understood. In a split second, his free hand snatched his thin, round glasses from their perch of his nose and tossed them onto the coffee table. Then, your eyes fluttered shut and he closed the distance.
The static sensation returned full force, numbing your body with that fuzzy feeling that made you lightheaded, but you could still feel Wonwoo. Everywhere he touched sparked your nerves back into functioning condition. You could feel his safe hand resting on your waist and the heat diffusing from it, gently rubbing small circles into your skin with his thumbâ just like he had done to your ankle. You could feel the confident force of his lips on yours, firm and slow, like he was savoring you, drawing out the moment for as long as heâd waited for itâ heâd stay here with you for even longer than heâd waited if you wanted. You wouldnât stop him. Trading your purchase on the pillow for the shoulders of Wonwooâs dark blue sherpa jacket, you tried to pull him closer, unsatisfied with how distant you felt despite your physical contact. Wonwoo seemed to agree with the sentiment, slightly pulling back from your lips so that your noses still lightly grazed with every minuscule shift.
Your eyes blinked open when you registered his sturdy arm coil around your back, only to fall breathless again. His sharp eyes possessed an intensity you hadnât seen him wear before. It wasnât intimidating, but your skin flushed at the fervor. His usually neat enough dark waves were fluffed up; you hadnât realized youâd done it in the moment, but one of your hands had languidly trailed up the back of his scalp moments ago. With slick coordination that surfaced every so often, Wonwoo slightly lifted you, slipping beneath you and settling you in his lap. Much better.
You discarded the fuzzy blanket pooled on your lap off to the sideâyou appreciated Wonwooâs sweet gesture, but it was only in the way now. He reclined into the back of the couch and you swayed right after him, abdomen flushed against him and your arms looping behind his neck. His build really was a whole lot more athletic than you realized now that you rested on his powerful thighs and his firm back shuddered under your palms. Wonwoo tilted his head up and to the side, a lopsided smile quirking the corner of his mouth, gums just barely peaking outâ his bottom lip was more pigmented and puffier than usual. His high cheekbones glowed in the dimmed light from the TV, and you donât think youâd ever seen him so rugged before. The expression could have been mistaken for being haughtyâ you knew him better than that though. It was still that same smile that spoke to his softhearted nature, the one that had him doting on you as easily as he breathed. You answered his grin with an eager press of your lips, relishing in the cautious pressure of his tongue swiping across your bottom lip.
That was how Soonyoung discovered the two of you, rounding the corner that connected the hallway to the living room and damn-near smacking the back of his head on the wall in his haste to retreat. Then, Jihoon stepped out of his own room and approached him, disgruntled by Soonyoungâs hand spasming and smacking against his chest.
âLook at our boy.â He whispered, a proud gleam twinkling in his eyes, not missed by Jihoon. Uninterested, Jihoon poked his head around the corner, immediately regretting it and whirling to criticize his silly-ass roommate.
âDonât watch them, you fucking creep.â He hissed. And with that and a nose crinkled in immense judgement, Jihoon crept back into his room, ignoring Soonyoungâs insistence that he hadnât been watching.
âWhat made you tell me?â You asked, breaking the peaceful silence while you relaxed on the couch, still nestled together, then clarified. âNow, I mean.â
âI was sure youâd figure it out eventually.â Then Wonwoo huffed mirthfully at that adorably optimistic belief he held onto for over six years. âAnd then we were well into college and that never happened.â
Your blank stare and light press of your lips told him you were both unsatisfied with his answer and knew him well enough to call him on the probably half-true bullshit. No way did he just get impatient and go âfuck it.â Unless something happened, Wonwoo was capable of waiting decades before making his move. He would have, had his instigation of increased physical affection been received uncomfortably by you. But he was always under the assumption that you werenât interested in a romantic relationship and not that you were unaware of his long kindled affection for you.
All things said and done, there was no harm in waiting to pursue a romantic relationship with you. Wonwoo had always been a significant fixture in your life, whether his role was friend or romantic partner didnât add or subtract from the quality of your relationship. The both of you had always had each other anyway.
âI met up with Mingyu,â Wonwoo admitted, a bashful grin tugging a corner of his lips up. âAnd he asked me how you were.â
You blinked, not quite following his line of reason. âOkay?â
âBut he asked me like, âHowâs your girlfriend doing?â And I told him I hadnât asked you out.â He spoke at a rapid fire pace, and if you hadnât engraved his speech pattern into your chest, you would have had to ask him to repeat himself. âHe lost his mind. Like, the disappointment was palpable.â He recounted with an exhausted droop of his eyelids. âTold me to pull my head out of my ass, that it was pathetic that I liked you for years and did nothing, and that heâd come visit himseââ
You stiffened at that information, interrupting him. âWait, Mingyu knew that you liked me before I knew that you liked me?â Seriously, Kim Mingyu figured it out before you? Sure, you werenât in grade school anymore, but according to Jihoon, Mingyu had very much not changed. (âI heard from a friend at his college that he almost choked at orientation because he tried to drink soju through his nose on a dare.â)
Wonwoo winced sympathetically, corners of his eyes crinkling in the same way they did when he physically could not contain his joy, and his hand moved to smooth the loose hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. âYeah, I know. A bit of a low blow there, huh?â An understatement.
Your chin returned to its resting place on his chest, a self-reflective frown quirking the corners of your lips down, and sighed, âMan.â
A husky laugh huffed out through his nose before turning into hearty chuckles that heaved his chest up and down, taking your form relaxed on top of his with it. âDonât sweat it.â Wonwoo reassured, thumb lightly brushing your cheek, a warmth in his dark eyes that you were slowly becoming familiar with seeing your reflection in. âI still love you.â
It wasnât the first time Wonwoo had caught you off guard with his blunt delivery of significant information. He tended to come to conclusions early on and then fold them over a few times to stash them in his back pocket like he would a receipt. Out of sight, out of mind, but still always with him nonetheless. It was entirely possible that Wonwoo carried his love for you shoved deep in a nook he hadnât paid much attention to for far longer than he, or you, or anyone realized.
Maybe he loved you when he intentionally packed a large serving of your favorite spinach salad his dad made for your scheduled lunches together in grade school. Or it could have been when Mingyu unintentionally let slip that you asked him to play basketball with him to improve his reputation. He had to have known it to be true when he willingly offered his skin as your canvas for lip products. Then it was reinforced by that abysmal orientation dinner you both bailed on. And again every time you surprised him, and when you didnât, and he knew exactly what you were going to do or say or need. He loved you in the second controller he brought with him when he moved into his apartment, decorated with your favorite Animal Crossing villagers. He was never just giving you a blanket on the nights you spent curled up together in his apartmentâ he was handing you far more than that.
Wonwoo was content with you simply accepting the affection he offered, but your reciprocation was very much welcome and celebrated. With the way you cared for each other, he doubted much would change about your dynamicâhe didnât mind though. This was comfortable and warm, and as always, you were together.
You examined the lines of varying shades of pink swiped up your wrist, glistening under the fluorescent overhead light. So far, none of the swatches stirred anything in your heart. You slipped the tester back into the designated notch on the display and plucked the next one out of its home, twisting the applicator out.
A familiar hand appeared from behind you, cradling your outstretched arm in long fingers to steady it. Warmth pulsed under the pads of his fingertips and bloomed into your wrist. Wonwoo peered over your shoulder, thoughtfully surveying the array of glosses painted on your skin. Then, he tapped his index finger twice to the side of one of the samples, âI like that one.â
âYeah?â You crane your neck to cast a coy gaze over your shoulder at him, fluttering your lashes for effect. âBuy it for me and Iâll let you kiss it off me.â
He knew you were absolutely serious by the mischievous grin and twinkle in your eyes. Wonwoo nodded in agreement, his eyes dark, and pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head. He adjusted so his lips lightly grazed the shell of your ear, sending that fuzzy feeling down your neck and spine.
ౚà§Â summary: âWait,â Jeongin gapes, eyes darting around as his brain forms its first complete thought of the afternoon, and the room stills. âAre you actually in love with Changbin?â
ౚà§Â author note: Well squadie, this is it. The first series I ever complete, and it's biblically accurate crack. Who thought we'd ever see the day? I'd like to thank my wonderful editor, all of the fanfiction I read when I should have been writing, the late night boba runs that fueled my midnight drafting, and my gorgeous, lovely self. I hope everyone enjoyed this silly, goofy series and got a good laugh. And if not, that's okay, because my editor cried multiple times (because it was funny, not because she was editing my nonesense)! Please be sure to read Seungmin's part in this series before you read this one (linked previous)! Enjoy the bonus and the chaos! Next month's post will most likely be the Hung Up bonus :)
âźÂ previous
Everything is perfect.
The house they rented is nice enough for the expectations of eight guys in college, the meat is sizzling tantalizingly on the grill (manned by Chan, tongs in one hand, the other resting on his hip, who is supervised by Minho, who does not offer help, only vague grunts of approval or disappointment that Chan chooses not to interpret), and all of the well-earned side dishes dot the table. The other table tennis players (term still used loosely) hover at the table, eyes zeroed in on each slight movement of Chanâs arm in anticipation of their tender, juicy reward. The air smells like charcoal, sesame oil, and the distinct earthy undertone of a mild afternoon.
Everything is as it should be.
Everyone is preoccupied.
Which is why Jisung thinks itâs the perfect opportunity to sneak a mildly cute, terminally cringy Snapchat to his still secret girlfriend while no one is paying attention. He angles his phone to just the right degree to catch the beginning of the golden hour light, capturing the way it illuminates his skin and helps him pretend he has a real, healthy sleep schedule. His lips are pouted pathetically like theyâre poised to kiss, his fingers pinched into a tiny heart in front of his cheek as the shutter sounds. Eyes round, Jisung fumbles out of his pose into an attempt at something natural, quickly sending off his declaration of, âI miss you :(((((((((â with one thumb and locking his phone. No one saw his screen, so Jisung thinks heâs in the clear.
That is, until Hyunjin scrunches his face in disgust and loudly pries, âJisung, who the hell is that going to?â
And just like that, all the attention is on Jisung, who completely whiffs his attempt to deflect by blurting out something completely ridiculous.
âUh, Changbin.â Jisung says and immediately knows he has royally screwed himself.
The man in question holds up his cell, the device glowing innocently in his hand, his lock screen displaying the lack of notifications from âHam Jisungâ with an unimpressed raised brow. âWrong bitch,â He announces flatly, eyes piercing.
Deflection failed, so Jisungâs next best play is distraction. âSamsung issue.â He goads, his chin raised defiantly, but his eyes are wide and trembling with thinly veiled apprehension, like heâs cornered and he knows it.
But that attempt fails too, and the resulting interrogation is nothing short of ruthless. Questions are demanded, a ferocious bite very much present in the overtone. Seungminâs eyes are narrowed, flicking judgmentally up and down Jisungâs stiff form as Hyunjin monologues (something about loyalty and camaraderie and whatever). Chanâs brows are furrowed, but he continues his rhythm of flipping, pressing, and checking the meat, unwilling to let their meal succumb even while Jisung himself is grilled. Minho just stares, which is unsettling and easily the most disturbing of the reactions. Every action is psychoanalyzed in real time by Jeongin, who eventually gasps, silencing Hyunjinâs restless rant.
âWait,â Jeongin gapes, eyes darting around as his brain forms its first complete thought of the afternoon, and the room stills. âAre you actually in love with Changbin?â
Jisung finally explodes at that, popping out of his seat so fast he sends the chair clattering over, his arms flailing about in uncoordinated outrage. âI HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!â
A chorus of scandalized gasps follows the confession. Itâs quiet, save for the crackling of the grill and Jisungâs heaving chest as he recovers from his outburst.
âHow long?â Felix asks quietly, eyes dangerously watery and lips quivering.
Jisung sighs heavily, âI never meant to hurt you, manââ
âHow long?â Felix interrupts, voice loud and cracking, his fists balled tightly at his sides. Chan blows on a small piece of meat he just removed from the grill and pops it into his mouth.
âSince the summer before freshman year,â Jisung admits, his shoulders drooping, but not in shame. The stunned silence lasts several extended seconds as everyone processes the truth, the awful, ugly truth.
âI should have known,â Hyunjin laments, head thrown back to complain to the ceiling. âYou started dressing like a person. Accessorizing.â
âYou stopped skipping leg day.â Changbin gasps, utterly betrayed.
âWeâre supposed to be losers together.â Hyunjin bites out, pressing his knuckles into his brow bone to quell the pressure rapidly building up. He only works himself up further. âIâm calling for your removal from the team for thisâ this treachery, this deceitââ
âI have a girlfriend.â Everyoneâs heads whip to Minho like he has said something utterly unintelligible. The man himself is unfazed and he does not possess the decency to look remotely apologetic. Instead, he inclines his head in the direction of a specific piece of meat he deems cooked to perfection, which Chan obediently removes from the grill. âBeen together since summer before first year too.â
A quiet whimper of ânoâ escapes Felix in the same way his soul is evicted from his body. Chan is silent, lips pressed together in a firm line as he stares into the flames flickering between the grates, contemplative. Changbin bobs his head a few times, evidently reaching a conclusion by himself, then collapses back in his chair and concedes, âMe too.â
And the crowd is⊠baffled.
Seungminâs face is rigid, his smile lines stiffened to stone as he spits out, âYouâre all bastardsâ with vitriol. Next to him, Jeongin is shocked still, his pallor dulling to a concerning shade of green. Jisungâ of all peopleâ has his fingers buried in his hair (which also looked suspiciously healthier at the beginning of freshman yearâ undoubtedly due to his girlfriend introducing him to a real shower routine), stressed out of his mind at the information Minho and Changbin just shared. The boy looks haunted, as if all of his final exams were scheduled on the same day, and he squeezes his eyes closed to mentally broadcast a quick prayer that all of this will just blow over, miraculously forgotten in favor of the hard-earned barbecue. And, no, Han Jisung does not waste his breath praying to god. He has an almighty figure in his life, and she is his girlfriend. So when he prays, he prays to her.
âSeriously,â Hyunjin begins a new tirade, clawing long fingers through his hair as he rages. âYouâre the worst.â
Jisung seems to recover from his momentary breakdown at Hyunjinâs unsolicited opinion of his character (funny, coming from the account owner of Horse_Girl_Han). He unlocks his phone again, his elbows propped up on the already crowded table, and declares, âYeah, yeah. Skill issue, bro. Anyway, I miss my pookie, and we have room for two more, soâŠâ
No one had ever seen Seungmin move as fast as he did in that moment. The guy doesnât even so much as reach in table tennis matches (leaning is out of the question, too), but he springs over the table and knocks the phone from Jisungâs fingers in mere milliseconds like he is athleticism incarnate. No one sees where Jisungâs poor phone lands.
âWhat the fuck?!â Jisung yelps, tipping back dangerously in his chair from the momentum.
âIf anyone deserves to be here,â Seungmin begins, and Jeongin is already shaking his head, expression grief-stricken before he even hears the following words. âItâs my girlfriend.â
Changbin leaps from the table, palms extended as he bellows, âWait, what?!â
Chan swerves around him, placing the meat down on the table and announcing with finality. âThen mine takes the second spot.â
The complaints are immediate. âWith what authority?â Minho challenges, and Chan wordlessly slides the plate until it dangles on the edge of the table at a dangerous degree.
âI think youâd all really like my girlfriend.â Felix casts his bid, but Seungmin just scoffs.
âPlease,â He rolls his eyes. âWe wouldnât even be here if it werenât for my girlfriend.â
At Jisungâs insistent yell of âbluff, bluff!â Seungmin straightens and peers down his nose at him, acidly informing everyone that his girlfriend supplies all of their merch at a discounted rate.
âWait!â Jeongin cringes, mouth twisted into an obviously guilty grimace, and Hyunjin rounds on him, baling his fist into the front of Jeonginâs shirt.
âNo, Jeongin.â Hyunjin pleads, grief-stricken before he even says anything, but the boy untangles his hand. It falls limply to his side.
âMy,â Jeongin stutters, then takes a deep inhale and finds his resolve. âMy girlfriend should be here. She bought all of my merchâ like all of it, andââ
Itâs a viscous scene. Within minutes, the table tennis team is at each otherâs throats, yelling over each other, declaring friendships dissolved, allegiances dead, and souls irreparably crushed. At some point in the scuffle, Jisung manages to dive under the table and retrieve his phone.
âWhatever!â He flings his arm out with a flourish. âIâm calling her!â And he jams his thumb down on the FaceTime icon, his feral, wide eyes melting like butter in a hot cast iron pan into pathetic, glassy eyes that radiate monumental loser energy. He pinches his thumb and index finger into a heart again and shoves it into the camera frame between his eyes. The others gather around the screen, reluctantly curious as to who has the patience to willingly subject themselves to Han Jisungâs brand of obnoxious.
The call connects halfway through the fourth ring.
If the boys were all firing off red shells of secret girlfriend reveals, the women themselves had just launched and detonated their own blue shell theyâd kept stashed in their inventory since the first lap.
The screen de-fuzzes, pixels crisping to present a woman lathered in a thick, green facial treatment, a white, fluffy robe peaking into the frame. Steam swirls in the the frame. The glossy stone walls in the background are absolutely not a feature of their college campus.
But the seven other girls dotted behind her definitely are. One of them waves. Another raises a glass of either juice or champagne, but itâs too difficult to determine the contents via grainy video call.
Scandalized intakes of breath sound from the table tennis clubâs end of the line, because even in full face masks, they can definitively recognize their girlfriends.
âP-pookie Bear,â Jisung stammers (ignoring whoever faked a gag from behind him). âWhere are you?â
âHey, Ji.â The said woman greets, unrepentant and unruffled by the eavesdroppers (and pointedly ignoring Hyunjinâs mortified outburst of âyou!â). âArt club trip.â
Incredulous and utterly flustered, Jeongin latches onto Jisungâs shoulders, his blunt nails biting into the poor phone ownerâs skin (and son of a bitchâ he has been hitting the gym) and cries, âAt a spa?!â One of the girls shifts closer to the camera, wiggling her fingers with a sweet smile and a delighted, âInnie!â and the boy completely loses the plot, flushing a true red all the way down his neck as he responds with a loopy, âHi.â
âFocus, men!â Changbin gripes, shoulder checking Jeongin out of frame, hands on his hips as he picks up the interrogation, face twisted by indignation. âHow did yoââ Then, he abruptly goes silent as his girlfriend blows him a kiss from the corner of the screen (a big oneâ he knows because she used both hands to send it) and the corners of his mouth curve into a downward smile as the apples of his cheeks glow pink. His shoulders relax like heâs the one enjoying a luxurious spa weekend. Almost as if on reflex, Changbin stretches his arms out and mimes catching the kiss in a hug, pulling it to his chest like one would a stuffed animal, biceps flexing against his shirt sleeves.
âYouâre so pretty,â he says dopily, and means it with his whole, impressive chest. âAre you having a good time, Princess?â
âChrist.â The video blurs as the phone is snatched out of Jisungâs hand, regaining focus on a surly Minho. Eyes narrowed, he glowers into the camera, a withering comment already on the tip of his tongue. He questions the girl he recognizes as the art club president (and now apparently Jisungâs girlfriend?), âAnd how exactly did you fund thiââ
âAh, thatâs mine.â Another woman swaps places with Changbinâs girlfriend, and Minhoâs stony tone softens into something else mid-sentence, delicate and whipped, sweet. ââs trip?
âOop.â Minhoâs girlfriend blinks, then quickly dips out of frame with a giggle. âBusted!â
Minhoâs next exhale is nearly a laugh, entirely fond. But then he catches himself and resumes his scowling. His ears are glowing pink though, and everyone notices.
Seungmin pushes himself into Minho, hovering over his shoulder and focusing on one girl relaxing in the background. âA fundraiser.â She answers innocently and intentionally unhelpfully. Seungmin, of course, knows this to be bullshit.
âLay it on me,â Seungmin says, but the impressed lilt to his voice is unmistakable already.
âWe make hella margins off your merch orders. You know, since you do production through us.â She explains, so sweetly and yet so diabolically.
âThe print shopââ Felix gasps at the same time as Jeonginâs anguished outcry of, âYou fundraise off our fundraiser?!â
âMmh-hmm.â The woman who must be Seungminâs girlfriend breezily affirms, and for whatever reason, he nods like it makes sense.
âProud of you.â This would make sense to someone who is dating an opportunist.
It does not make sense to Hyunjin. None of this does. How the hell did all of his loser friends manage to get girlfriendsâ and hide said girlfriendsâ before he did? His hands are shaking, his vision blurry at the edge like heâs moments away from collapsing (he canât even trust his knees anymore). He snatches Jisungâs phone from Minho (not the play, but he already feels like heâs dying of a shattered heart) and addresses his girlfriend of a whopping four days.
âWhat are we?â Hyunjin demands, spiraling and fighting the tears burning his waterline at the same time. âWait. Donât answer that.â He swipes a hand over his face, brows furrowed as the woman he is interrogating sighs and mutters, âOh, man. I am simultaneously too drunk and too sober for this conversation.â
As Hyunjin determines the nature of his relationship and discovers that his girlfriendâs family owns a skincare empire(and the timeline confirming that he is, in fact, the last person in his friend group to get a girlfriend), Minho clocks the girl focused on her phone, obviously typing and grinning at the screen. He doesnât need to look to know, but he turns anyway, and sure enough, Chan is tapping away at his phone with a disgustingly lovesick grin, his ears burning scarlet. His thumbs move in quick, familiar patterns while the grill crackles unattended right in front of him. He does not care. Heâs smiling, cheesing more like, a lovesick grin plastered across his face.
âMy older sister owns this spa. As long as we can pay the base fee, I can get us upgraded to the full package.â Hyunjinâs girlfriend explains.
Minho scoffs and rolls his eyes. Hopeless, all of them.
He digs deep into his pocket to retrieve his own phone and slips out of frame. He isnât escaping the chaos. Noâ heâs documenting it.
The camera pans slowly across the wreckage: Jisung physically unable to break his heart hands at his girlfriend, Changbin squeezing his imaginary kiss like it gives him a sense of security, Hyunjin mid-crashout about his girlfriendâs family secret. (âItâs not really a secret. The company is named after us, but go off.â) Seungmin seems to be mentally calculating the margins of the art clubâs fundraiser scheme while Felix takes a moment to himself to cry out the betrayal. Jeongin is shocked still, gazing at nothing and very much red like the backup package of raw meat Minho has stashed in a cooler.
He zooms in on Chan, who is still typing away on his phone, completely oblivious to the meat burning right under his nose.
Minho stops recording, then sends the video to one person.
Three dots appear immediately. The message appears from his girlfriend:
âlolllllll theyâre so stupid. send more :)â
Minhoâs lips quirk into a smirk as he returns to his seat at the table to watch the rest of the dumpster fire burn.
Then someoneâs phone vibrates, followed closely by the default chime. Then all of them go off in a chaotic jumble of notifications. Jisung squints at the top of his screen, reading as his features morph from confusion, to realization, to mortification all in the span of three seconds. He whips around to find Minho, a ferocious spark in his narrowed eyes that isnât really all that intimidating (Once you experience the wrath of Minhoâs girlfriend, your danger scale receives a heafty system update and recalibration).
âDid you justââ Jisung splutters. âDid you just send our agony to their group chat?â
âNo.â Minho technically isnât lying. He just blinks, playing innocent and uninterested.
Behind him, Jeongin has flushed a few shades redder. âSheâs laughing at me,â he whispers, horrified and yet honored at the same time.
The smoke finally billows thick enough that Chan emerges out of his own world, face scrunched in that disoriented way when one wakes up from a particularly vivid dream.
Hyunjin groans, aggressively scrubbing his face with his palms before raking his curtain bangs out of his face. âI hate all of you.â
Jisung does not miss a beat. âYou donât deserve rights, horse girl.â
âLet. It. Go.â
âOnly via death, horse girl.â
In the background, the art club group chat is exploding with screenshots that will undoubtedly become new contact photos, various laughing memes, and unintelligible voice memos that are mostly just giggles.
Wrapped in bathrobes, slathered in thick, fragrant facemasks, and riding the high of the satisfaction of a well-executed scheme, eight women toast to their silly boyfriendsâ and then proceed to completely roast them in the group chat.
ౚà§Â summary: âI was curious about the rumors,â He continued, stepping closer with an ease that suggested he was very much comfortable with controlling the space around him, a trait you both shared. âA lady-in-waiting who managed to sink sixteen marriage proposals in half a year.â He laughed again, the sound bright and genuine, as long, slender fingers swiped his midnight fringe out of his eyes. âYou must be the one!â
ౚà§Â warnings: I don't think there's anything in this chapter really? like, some manipulation but it's a sport to them, Reader dodging marriage proposals like it's her second full time job, mentions of old men being gross about young girls, Jeonghan is very entertained by Reader, jokes on him tho heehee the man has no idea what's coming
ౚà§Â author note: WELCOME HOME YOON JEONGHAN!!!! *Aju Nice + fireworks + confetti* We missed you, king. Surprise! I'm celebrating with a double update this month MUAH! It's always a good day to be a Carat :D Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!
The silk of your sleeve brushed against your chin as you pretended to consider the young manâs words, your eyes wide and innocent beneath your lashes. Minister Choâs sonâ what was his name again? Jiho? Ji⊠Ji something, whateverâleaned against the wall of the the Jade Pavilion with none of the grace he believed himself to possess, one arm braced in what he clearly believed was an effortless, attractive posture.
It was not.
âI must say, my lady,â He drawled, and you wondered how he practiced this script and landed on this unpresentable, uninspired garbage. âI find myself increasingly drawn to yourâŠÂ presence.â
You blinked up at him, slipping on a mask of bashful surprise as you evaded his eyes. You could still see his smug smirk at the edge of your vision, the way his chest puffed out further at what he tragically misinterpreted as your flustered state. The dumbass thought heâd charmed you.
âOh!â You exhaled, letting your hand flutter to your chest. âWhat a⊠bold declaration.â
He preened.
You nearly laughed.
But instead, you glanced down, allowing your shoulders to curl inward just slightlyâ a posture of feminine modesty that had served you beautifully in banishing suitors number nine, twelve, and fourteen. âI didnât expect your father would be interestedâŠâ
Something heavy in the air shifted. The young manâs smirk faltered.
âWhat?â He straightened, nearly losing his balance against the wall. His hand slipped against the painted surface, and he barely managed to catch himself before toppling into the dirt.
You continued as if you hadnât noticed (and rejoiced), tilting your head in that particular way that made your earrings catch the golden afternoon light. âWell, everyone assumed he would marry one of the laundry servants since he visits them so often.â
The silence that followed was magnificent.
Minister Choâs son gaped at you, his face rotating through shades of confusion, horror, and eventually settling on a splotchy, humiliated scarlet. His eyes darted frantically around the courtyard, checking for onlookers, for witnesses to his familyâs disgrace.
You watched his panic with thinly veiled glee. Because yes, while Minister Cho was a powerful figure in the Outer Court, he was also a scoundrel who preyed on the young, powerless servant girls. A relatively well-kept secret in the higher circlesâ accusing such a man could easily cost someone their lifeâ but servants whispered warnings amongst themselves. Watch out for Minister Cho. Avoid his section of the palace. If he calls for you, send for someone else.
And his son, the sheltered fool, had never thought to question why.
âHe has a young lover, yes?â You asked, eyes big and curious, the draping fabric of your sleeve concealing the delighted curl of your lips. âHow wonderful for him. I imagine youâll be gaining a new stepmother soon!â
The young an simply stared in mortification, his mouth dropping open with no indication of recovery any time soon. You could practically see the calculations behind his eyesâ the dawning realization that if this information spread, if the whispers became public knowledge, his fatherâs carefully constructed reputation would crumble. His familyâs standing would collapse. His marriage prospects would evaporate instantly.
You tilted your head further, digging in even deeper. âMy, this is such a surprise! I imagine this will be all anyone discusses this season!â
That knocked him out of his stupor. He shook his head rapidly, hands waving frantically in front of him like he could physically block your words from escaping and reaching the ears of others.
âActually-â His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying to salvage some of his little remaining dignity, but the effect was somewhat undermined by the way his hands continued to flounder about. âI made a mistake! The Cho family makes no proposal for marriage!â
He said it with such desperate finality that you almost felt sorry for him.
But not really.
âAre you certain?â You asked, your voice soft with false concern. âI wouldnât want you to miss such an opportunityââ
âCertain!â He was already scrambling away, his heels scuffing against the dirt as he tripped more than once. âCompletely certain! Iâ I must go. My father requires my presence. Immediately. Right this moment.â
And with that flimsy excuse, he turned fully and fled, far away from the pavilion he had not been granted permission to visit and, most importantly, far away from you.
You watched him go, maintaining your serene expression until he disappeared around the corner. Then, and only then, did you allow your features to relax into something more neutral.
That was easy.
You smoothed out your sleeves with a flourish and turned to head back inside the grounds. Minister Choâs son was poor, unfortunate number seventeen on your list of dodged suitors, and you knew all too well that he would be far from the last. The higher your reputation climbedâ the more people gossiped about the lady-in-waiting who had somehow evaded every marriage arrangement thrown her wayâ the more determined certain families became to be the one to finally have you.
It was incredibly asinine of them and exhausting for you, though you would admit to loving the sport of it all.
You were a few steps away from the entrance when a voice, light and melodic, cut through the afternoon air.
âMy, my.â
You paused.
âThat was masterful.â
Slowly, you turned, already beginning to assess the threat, to categorize and learn the new variable as well as you could. The man standing before you was tallâ taller than most of the officials you encounteredâ with an elegantly featured face that would have been the envy of any court lady. Long, silky dark hair fluttered gently around sharply angled cheekbones that faded into a delicate jawline. His eyes, bright and mischievous, crinkled at the outer edges as the laughed like youâd just told a particularly clever joke.
Had it not been for the obviously masculine voice currently praising your performance, the rest of his dainty features would have easily allowed him to pass as an absolutely stunning woman.
Which meant that this could only be one person.
Infamous Master Jeonghan.
Known amongst literally everyone for his unfathomable beauty, his smooth talking, and his tendency to involve himself in matters that were decidedly none of his business. His position as the Emperorâs favored eunuch gave him access to resources and influence that most could only dream of, and he wielded both with grace and precision.
In all honesty, you had done your best to avoid the man, not because of any particular dislike, but simply because he seemed to enjoy keeping himself busy and entertained, and you already has a full-time job serving the high-ranking consort at the Jade Pavilion. In short, he was the last person you needed to become involved with.
Unfortunately for his gene pool, he was a eunuch, so you were partially at peace with the knowledge that you wouldnât have to evade a proposal from him at the least.
âI was curious about the rumors,â He continued, stepping closer with an ease that suggested he was very much comfortable with controlling the space around him, a trait you both shared. âA lady-in-waiting who managed to sink sixteen marriage proposals in half a year.â He laughed again, the sound bright and genuine, as long, slender fingers swiped his midnight fringe out of his eyes. âYou must be the one!â
You maintained your composure, setting your features into a small, polite smile. You bowed at a specific, appropriate angleâ not too deep, not too shallow, nothing that could be interpreted as either disrespect or sycophancy.
âExcuse me,â You replied, you voice pleasant and even. âI must return to my work.â
âAh! Yes, right this way.â He glided around, his long hair fluidly fanning out with the movement and sending what was no doubt a very expensive incense wafting in your direction. Obviously, he expected you to follow him.
No way.
âApologies,â You begin, already laying down the path for your escape, which was quite easy to do when you were employed. âMy head lady has requested that Iââ
But his steps didnât falter, nor did he turn to face you. âDonât fret,â He cooed, and it was astoundingly irritating how amicable his voice remained. âI already received permission from the High Consort to take you off her hands for a bit.â
âWonderful!â You dulcetly flattered back, even as your mind supplied a less polite alternative.
Traitor.
The word echoed in your thoughts as you stood across from him in his office, the only other occupant being his attendant, Jeongsik, who had positioned himself near the door to observe and most importantly, judge.
Master Jeonghanâs office was⊠excessive to say the least. Not in the gaudy, ostentatious way of some officials who decorated with the sole purpose of flaunting their wealth, but in a deliberate, curated manner that suggested he knew exactly the impression he wanted to forge. Scrolls lined the walls, their contents too neatly organized to be simply for show. A beautiful inkstone sat on his desk, the kind that cost more than most servants earned in half a decade. The incense burning in the corner was the same expensive blend that billowed from his hair, and it filled the space with a warm, complex fragrance that tickled the inside of your nose and nearly caused a sneeze.
Nonetheless, you maintained an air of pleasant decorum, playing the sweet, helpful lady-in-waiting so you could hopefully get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
Master Jeonghan rested his elbows on his desk, clasping his pretty fingers together to rest his chin on. The man was obviously delighted, given the fact that he hadnât stopped smiling at you since youâd entered. It was unnerving.
âWhat a skilled performer you are,â He finally spoke, his voice warm with amusement. âFor a moment, I thought I would have to sweep in and come to your rescue.â
You didnât falter, nor did you reply. After all, rarely did one acquire wisdom by speaking.
Master Jeonghan laughed again, more than happy to fill the silence himself. âYour High Consort was all too delighted to share many tales of your social prowess and quick wit.â He tilted his head, studying you like there was something there he found particularly fascinating. âYouâre quite the clever one.â
Given that he still hadnât spilled what exactly he sought to gain from you, you held your silence, simply smiling until he could understand that the seam of your lips read âout with it.â
He huffed, a small sound of disappointment that you refused to react to his provocations. âTell me, how much does one have to engage in gossip to become as knowledgeable as you?â He quirked a challenging brow, either unaware or uncaring of the not-at-all subtle dig weaved into his words.
A rather petty and ineffective tactic on his part. Weak.
You hummed musically in thought. âHmm, I wouldnât know.â
âNonsense!â Master Jeonghan insisted. âThe High Consort says that you are a fountain of knowledge, and that it proves very useful in the social and political arenas.â
Meaning: âgive up the gameâ Iâve already discovered your potential.â
You gasped, concealing your lower face from his view, the image of a bashful woman uncomfortable with the praise of her superior. âI am undeserving of such high praise.â
You werenât, of course. You simply enjoyed gathering information. There was power in knowledge, and it just so happened that you delighted in knowing absolutely everything about everyone and everything. The whispers of servants, the confessions of ladies-in-waiting, the careless words of officials who assumed no one was listeningâ all of it flowed to you like water trickling downstream, just waiting for your patient, cupped hands to collect it.
Because you understood that information was the most valuable currency of all, especially in the palace. And, evidently, especially to Master Jeonghan.
âI find it very unlikely that I will find a better source of information than you.â
Indeed. There it was.
The sweet-talking, irresistible Master Jeonghan finally made his move. He wanted your knowledge.
You regretted to inform him that it came with a price.
âTell me,â He leaned forward, his eyes sharp with a focus that belied his charming smile. âWhat have you heard of the inseparable ministers Cho and Hwan?â
Inseparable your ass.
Those two obnoxious fools fucking hated each other. Sure, outwardly, their families had a long history of friendship, but all of that had rotted and become meaningless when Minister Choâs brother assumed the position in the civil section of the Outer Court that Minister Hwanâs firstborn son coveted. While they maintained appearances in the eyes of the public, only people in their inner circle knew the truth.
And you, of course.
You frowned a bit and gazed sorrowfully at the pristine wooden floors of the office, you mind already forming excuses for the tip of your tongue. âIâm afraid I am of noââ
âThere is evidence of an assassination plan intended for Minister Hwan,â Master Jeonghan continued as if you hadnât spoken at all. âBut we have uncovered nothing about who may be responsible.â
Hmm. That was all very wonderful and fascinating and very much something you had absolutely no desire to get involved with.
âIâm afraid I am of noââ
âCâmon,â He interrupted you mid-dismissal, his voice coaxing, probably persuasive to some. âDo it for the narrative.â
You feigned consideration of his request, tilting your head thoughtfully. Unfortunately for him, your only thought was âno way in hell.â
Master Jeonghan sighed, his index finger lightly tapping the back of his interlocked hands, He nodded like heâd expected you to pull this. Like heâd been prepared for your refusal all along and had already planned his countermove.
âOkay, if that isnât enough incentive,â He said, and his grin sharpened with something that you werenât interested in knowing him well enough to name. âThen maybe this will pique your interest.â He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be irritating, a tactic you made good use of yourself. âI hear whispers of yet another noblemanâs son planning to request union with a certain sought-after lady-in-waiting who works at the Jade Pavilion.â
Miraculously, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
Instead, you graced the man with your thin, close-lipped smile. At least heâd finally put something on the table in return for your services. Although, you didnât appreciate his unwillingness to offer an even trade from the beginning, instead choosing to dangle the offer before you only after understanding that you did not work for free.
He would have that lesson ingrained in him soon enough.
âIs that so?â You asked, your voice as sweet as honey and twice as sticky. âWhat exactly are you offering in return?â
His eyes lit up with genuine delightâ youâd passed a test, apparently. âIâll handle the matter personally.â He said, waving a dismissive hand. âA word in the right ear, a rumor in the wrong one, and the young man will find himself suddenly very interested in a different match.â
You studied him for a moment, taking in the confident swell of his cheeks, the airy flutter of his lashes, and weighed his words against his reputation. He was known for his smooth talking, for his ability to make things happen with nothing more than a whisper and a smile, maybe a wink too. If anyone could make a marriage proposal disappear without a trace or rumor to haunt it, it was him.
âVery well.â You agreed, inclining your head in a slight bow. âIâll see what I can find.â
You straightened, meeting his gleaming brown eyes directly. The shift was subtleâ a minuscule change in the set of your shoulders, the angle of your chinâ but you saw the moment he noticed it. The moment he realized that the sweet, bashful lady-in-waiting had been a ruse all along, and now you were giving him a peek of what lay beneath.
âIn return,â You continued brightly. âBe a dear and handle that matter for me, Master Jeonghan.â
He perked up at that, a satisfied grin spreading across his face that made him appear more youthful. âVery well!â
With the transaction in place, you excused yourself from his office. Right before you passed through the door, his voice stopped you, light and curious.
âOne more thing.â
You were incredibly skilled at withholding your sighs. Paused at the threshold, you responded. âYes?â
âYou never told me your name.â
You glanced over your shoulder at that, allowing the first genuine smile to grace your lipsâ a reminder that you were not so easily controlled, that this arrangement was one of equal exchange, not of service.
âI didnât,â You agreed, voice sugared. âGoodbye, Master Jeonghan.â
And you left him there, utterly fascinated, watching your retreating form with the sharp, lively eyes of someone who had just discovered a new game worth playing. He remained seated, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin to cradle it. He didnât speak, didnât move, simply watched the door swing shut with a soft click.
âWell,â He murmured, his smile widening into something ferocious. âIsnât she interesting.â
Jeongsik, still positioned by the door sagely replied, âYouâre fucked, you stupid punk.â
Because even he could see what his young master had been: a woman who worked a room with complete control, who never flustered, who never played into a trick, who even had the leisure to lay her own traps along the way. A woman who had just extracted a favor from one of the most influential figures in the palace without offering anything more than a possibility of information.
ౚà§Â summary: âWait,â Jeongin gapes, eyes darting around as his brain forms its first complete thought of the afternoon, and the room stills. âAre you actually in love with Changbin?â
ౚà§Â author note: Well squadie, this is it. The first series I ever complete, and it's biblically accurate crack. Who thought we'd ever see the day? I'd like to thank my wonderful editor, all of the fanfiction I read when I should have been writing, the late night boba runs that fueled my midnight drafting, and my gorgeous, lovely self. I hope everyone enjoyed this silly, goofy series and got a good laugh. And if not, that's okay, because my editor cried multiple times (because it was funny, not because she was editing my nonesense)! Please be sure to read Seungmin's part in this series before you read this one (linked previous)! Enjoy the bonus and the chaos! Next month's post will most likely be the Hung Up bonus :)
âźÂ previous
Everything is perfect.
The house they rented is nice enough for the expectations of eight guys in college, the meat is sizzling tantalizingly on the grill (manned by Chan, tongs in one hand, the other resting on his hip, who is supervised by Minho, who does not offer help, only vague grunts of approval or disappointment that Chan chooses not to interpret), and all of the well-earned side dishes dot the table. The other table tennis players (term still used loosely) hover at the table, eyes zeroed in on each slight movement of Chanâs arm in anticipation of their tender, juicy reward. The air smells like charcoal, sesame oil, and the distinct earthy undertone of a mild afternoon.
Everything is as it should be.
Everyone is preoccupied.
Which is why Jisung thinks itâs the perfect opportunity to sneak a mildly cute, terminally cringy Snapchat to his still secret girlfriend while no one is paying attention. He angles his phone to just the right degree to catch the beginning of the golden hour light, capturing the way it illuminates his skin and helps him pretend he has a real, healthy sleep schedule. His lips are pouted pathetically like theyâre poised to kiss, his fingers pinched into a tiny heart in front of his cheek as the shutter sounds. Eyes round, Jisung fumbles out of his pose into an attempt at something natural, quickly sending off his declaration of, âI miss you :(((((((((â with one thumb and locking his phone. No one saw his screen, so Jisung thinks heâs in the clear.
That is, until Hyunjin scrunches his face in disgust and loudly pries, âJisung, who the hell is that going to?â
And just like that, all the attention is on Jisung, who completely whiffs his attempt to deflect by blurting out something completely ridiculous.
âUh, Changbin.â Jisung says and immediately knows he has royally screwed himself.
The man in question holds up his cell, the device glowing innocently in his hand, his lock screen displaying the lack of notifications from âHam Jisungâ with an unimpressed raised brow. âWrong bitch,â He announces flatly, eyes piercing.
Deflection failed, so Jisungâs next best play is distraction. âSamsung issue.â He goads, his chin raised defiantly, but his eyes are wide and trembling with thinly veiled apprehension, like heâs cornered and he knows it.
But that attempt fails too, and the resulting interrogation is nothing short of ruthless. Questions are demanded, a ferocious bite very much present in the overtone. Seungminâs eyes are narrowed, flicking judgmentally up and down Jisungâs stiff form as Hyunjin monologues (something about loyalty and camaraderie and whatever). Chanâs brows are furrowed, but he continues his rhythm of flipping, pressing, and checking the meat, unwilling to let their meal succumb even while Jisung himself is grilled. Minho just stares, which is unsettling and easily the most disturbing of the reactions. Every action is psychoanalyzed in real time by Jeongin, who eventually gasps, silencing Hyunjinâs restless rant.
âWait,â Jeongin gapes, eyes darting around as his brain forms its first complete thought of the afternoon, and the room stills. âAre you actually in love with Changbin?â
Jisung finally explodes at that, popping out of his seat so fast he sends the chair clattering over, his arms flailing about in uncoordinated outrage. âI HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!â
A chorus of scandalized gasps follows the confession. Itâs quiet, save for the crackling of the grill and Jisungâs heaving chest as he recovers from his outburst.
âHow long?â Felix asks quietly, eyes dangerously watery and lips quivering.
Jisung sighs heavily, âI never meant to hurt you, manââ
âHow long?â Felix interrupts, voice loud and cracking, his fists balled tightly at his sides. Chan blows on a small piece of meat he just removed from the grill and pops it into his mouth.
âSince the summer before freshman year,â Jisung admits, his shoulders drooping, but not in shame. The stunned silence lasts several extended seconds as everyone processes the truth, the awful, ugly truth.
âI should have known,â Hyunjin laments, head thrown back to complain to the ceiling. âYou started dressing like a person. Accessorizing.â
âYou stopped skipping leg day.â Changbin gasps, utterly betrayed.
âWeâre supposed to be losers together.â Hyunjin bites out, pressing his knuckles into his brow bone to quell the pressure rapidly building up. He only works himself up further. âIâm calling for your removal from the team for thisâ this treachery, this deceitââ
âI have a girlfriend.â Everyoneâs heads whip to Minho like he has said something utterly unintelligible. The man himself is unfazed and he does not possess the decency to look remotely apologetic. Instead, he inclines his head in the direction of a specific piece of meat he deems cooked to perfection, which Chan obediently removes from the grill. âBeen together since summer before first year too.â
A quiet whimper of ânoâ escapes Felix in the same way his soul is evicted from his body. Chan is silent, lips pressed together in a firm line as he stares into the flames flickering between the grates, contemplative. Changbin bobs his head a few times, evidently reaching a conclusion by himself, then collapses back in his chair and concedes, âMe too.â
And the crowd is⊠baffled.
Seungminâs face is rigid, his smile lines stiffened to stone as he spits out, âYouâre all bastardsâ with vitriol. Next to him, Jeongin is shocked still, his pallor dulling to a concerning shade of green. Jisungâ of all peopleâ has his fingers buried in his hair (which also looked suspiciously healthier at the beginning of freshman yearâ undoubtedly due to his girlfriend introducing him to a real shower routine), stressed out of his mind at the information Minho and Changbin just shared. The boy looks haunted, as if all of his final exams were scheduled on the same day, and he squeezes his eyes closed to mentally broadcast a quick prayer that all of this will just blow over, miraculously forgotten in favor of the hard-earned barbecue. And, no, Han Jisung does not waste his breath praying to god. He has an almighty figure in his life, and she is his girlfriend. So when he prays, he prays to her.
âSeriously,â Hyunjin begins a new tirade, clawing long fingers through his hair as he rages. âYouâre the worst.â
Jisung seems to recover from his momentary breakdown at Hyunjinâs unsolicited opinion of his character (funny, coming from the account owner of Horse_Girl_Han). He unlocks his phone again, his elbows propped up on the already crowded table, and declares, âYeah, yeah. Skill issue, bro. Anyway, I miss my pookie, and we have room for two more, soâŠâ
No one had ever seen Seungmin move as fast as he did in that moment. The guy doesnât even so much as reach in table tennis matches (leaning is out of the question, too), but he springs over the table and knocks the phone from Jisungâs fingers in mere milliseconds like he is athleticism incarnate. No one sees where Jisungâs poor phone lands.
âWhat the fuck?!â Jisung yelps, tipping back dangerously in his chair from the momentum.
âIf anyone deserves to be here,â Seungmin begins, and Jeongin is already shaking his head, expression grief-stricken before he even hears the following words. âItâs my girlfriend.â
Changbin leaps from the table, palms extended as he bellows, âWait, what?!â
Chan swerves around him, placing the meat down on the table and announcing with finality. âThen mine takes the second spot.â
The complaints are immediate. âWith what authority?â Minho challenges, and Chan wordlessly slides the plate until it dangles on the edge of the table at a dangerous degree.
âI think youâd all really like my girlfriend.â Felix casts his bid, but Seungmin just scoffs.
âPlease,â He rolls his eyes. âWe wouldnât even be here if it werenât for my girlfriend.â
At Jisungâs insistent yell of âbluff, bluff!â Seungmin straightens and peers down his nose at him, acidly informing everyone that his girlfriend supplies all of their merch at a discounted rate.
âWait!â Jeongin cringes, mouth twisted into an obviously guilty grimace, and Hyunjin rounds on him, baling his fist into the front of Jeonginâs shirt.
âNo, Jeongin.â Hyunjin pleads, grief-stricken before he even says anything, but the boy untangles his hand. It falls limply to his side.
âMy,â Jeongin stutters, then takes a deep inhale and finds his resolve. âMy girlfriend should be here. She bought all of my merchâ like all of it, andââ
Itâs a viscous scene. Within minutes, the table tennis team is at each otherâs throats, yelling over each other, declaring friendships dissolved, allegiances dead, and souls irreparably crushed. At some point in the scuffle, Jisung manages to dive under the table and retrieve his phone.
âWhatever!â He flings his arm out with a flourish. âIâm calling her!â And he jams his thumb down on the FaceTime icon, his feral, wide eyes melting like butter in a hot cast iron pan into pathetic, glassy eyes that radiate monumental loser energy. He pinches his thumb and index finger into a heart again and shoves it into the camera frame between his eyes. The others gather around the screen, reluctantly curious as to who has the patience to willingly subject themselves to Han Jisungâs brand of obnoxious.
The call connects halfway through the fourth ring.
If the boys were all firing off red shells of secret girlfriend reveals, the women themselves had just launched and detonated their own blue shell theyâd kept stashed in their inventory since the first lap.
The screen de-fuzzes, pixels crisping to present a woman lathered in a thick, green facial treatment, a white, fluffy robe peaking into the frame. Steam swirls in the the frame. The glossy stone walls in the background are absolutely not a feature of their college campus.
But the seven other girls dotted behind her definitely are. One of them waves. Another raises a glass of either juice or champagne, but itâs too difficult to determine the contents via grainy video call.
Scandalized intakes of breath sound from the table tennis clubâs end of the line, because even in full face masks, they can definitively recognize their girlfriends.
âP-pookie Bear,â Jisung stammers (ignoring whoever faked a gag from behind him). âWhere are you?â
âHey, Ji.â The said woman greets, unrepentant and unruffled by the eavesdroppers (and pointedly ignoring Hyunjinâs mortified outburst of âyou!â). âArt club trip.â
Incredulous and utterly flustered, Jeongin latches onto Jisungâs shoulders, his blunt nails biting into the poor phone ownerâs skin (and son of a bitchâ he has been hitting the gym) and cries, âAt a spa?!â One of the girls shifts closer to the camera, wiggling her fingers with a sweet smile and a delighted, âInnie!â and the boy completely loses the plot, flushing a true red all the way down his neck as he responds with a loopy, âHi.â
âFocus, men!â Changbin gripes, shoulder checking Jeongin out of frame, hands on his hips as he picks up the interrogation, face twisted by indignation. âHow did yoââ Then, he abruptly goes silent as his girlfriend blows him a kiss from the corner of the screen (a big oneâ he knows because she used both hands to send it) and the corners of his mouth curve into a downward smile as the apples of his cheeks glow pink. His shoulders relax like heâs the one enjoying a luxurious spa weekend. Almost as if on reflex, Changbin stretches his arms out and mimes catching the kiss in a hug, pulling it to his chest like one would a stuffed animal, biceps flexing against his shirt sleeves.
âYouâre so pretty,â he says dopily, and means it with his whole, impressive chest. âAre you having a good time, Princess?â
âChrist.â The video blurs as the phone is snatched out of Jisungâs hand, regaining focus on a surly Minho. Eyes narrowed, he glowers into the camera, a withering comment already on the tip of his tongue. He questions the girl he recognizes as the art club president (and now apparently Jisungâs girlfriend?), âAnd how exactly did you fund thiââ
âAh, thatâs mine.â Another woman swaps places with Changbinâs girlfriend, and Minhoâs stony tone softens into something else mid-sentence, delicate and whipped, sweet. ââs trip?
âOop.â Minhoâs girlfriend blinks, then quickly dips out of frame with a giggle. âBusted!â
Minhoâs next exhale is nearly a laugh, entirely fond. But then he catches himself and resumes his scowling. His ears are glowing pink though, and everyone notices.
Seungmin pushes himself into Minho, hovering over his shoulder and focusing on one girl relaxing in the background. âA fundraiser.â She answers innocently and intentionally unhelpfully. Seungmin, of course, knows this to be bullshit.
âLay it on me,â Seungmin says, but the impressed lilt to his voice is unmistakable already.
âWe make hella margins off your merch orders. You know, since you do production through us.â She explains, so sweetly and yet so diabolically.
âThe print shopââ Felix gasps at the same time as Jeonginâs anguished outcry of, âYou fundraise off our fundraiser?!â
âMmh-hmm.â The woman who must be Seungminâs girlfriend breezily affirms, and for whatever reason, he nods like it makes sense.
âProud of you.â This would make sense to someone who is dating an opportunist.
It does not make sense to Hyunjin. None of this does. How the hell did all of his loser friends manage to get girlfriendsâ and hide said girlfriendsâ before he did? His hands are shaking, his vision blurry at the edge like heâs moments away from collapsing (he canât even trust his knees anymore). He snatches Jisungâs phone from Minho (not the play, but he already feels like heâs dying of a shattered heart) and addresses his girlfriend of a whopping four days.
âWhat are we?â Hyunjin demands, spiraling and fighting the tears burning his waterline at the same time. âWait. Donât answer that.â He swipes a hand over his face, brows furrowed as the woman he is interrogating sighs and mutters, âOh, man. I am simultaneously too drunk and too sober for this conversation.â
As Hyunjin determines the nature of his relationship and discovers that his girlfriendâs family owns a skincare empire(and the timeline confirming that he is, in fact, the last person in his friend group to get a girlfriend), Minho clocks the girl focused on her phone, obviously typing and grinning at the screen. He doesnât need to look to know, but he turns anyway, and sure enough, Chan is tapping away at his phone with a disgustingly lovesick grin, his ears burning scarlet. His thumbs move in quick, familiar patterns while the grill crackles unattended right in front of him. He does not care. Heâs smiling, cheesing more like, a lovesick grin plastered across his face.
âMy older sister owns this spa. As long as we can pay the base fee, I can get us upgraded to the full package.â Hyunjinâs girlfriend explains.
Minho scoffs and rolls his eyes. Hopeless, all of them.
He digs deep into his pocket to retrieve his own phone and slips out of frame. He isnât escaping the chaos. Noâ heâs documenting it.
The camera pans slowly across the wreckage: Jisung physically unable to break his heart hands at his girlfriend, Changbin squeezing his imaginary kiss like it gives him a sense of security, Hyunjin mid-crashout about his girlfriendâs family secret. (âItâs not really a secret. The company is named after us, but go off.â) Seungmin seems to be mentally calculating the margins of the art clubâs fundraiser scheme while Felix takes a moment to himself to cry out the betrayal. Jeongin is shocked still, gazing at nothing and very much red like the backup package of raw meat Minho has stashed in a cooler.
He zooms in on Chan, who is still typing away on his phone, completely oblivious to the meat burning right under his nose.
Minho stops recording, then sends the video to one person.
Three dots appear immediately. The message appears from his girlfriend:
âlolllllll theyâre so stupid. send more :)â
Minhoâs lips quirk into a smirk as he returns to his seat at the table to watch the rest of the dumpster fire burn.
Then someoneâs phone vibrates, followed closely by the default chime. Then all of them go off in a chaotic jumble of notifications. Jisung squints at the top of his screen, reading as his features morph from confusion, to realization, to mortification all in the span of three seconds. He whips around to find Minho, a ferocious spark in his narrowed eyes that isnât really all that intimidating (Once you experience the wrath of Minhoâs girlfriend, your danger scale receives a heafty system update and recalibration).
âDid you justââ Jisung splutters. âDid you just send our agony to their group chat?â
âNo.â Minho technically isnât lying. He just blinks, playing innocent and uninterested.
Behind him, Jeongin has flushed a few shades redder. âSheâs laughing at me,â he whispers, horrified and yet honored at the same time.
The smoke finally billows thick enough that Chan emerges out of his own world, face scrunched in that disoriented way when one wakes up from a particularly vivid dream.
Hyunjin groans, aggressively scrubbing his face with his palms before raking his curtain bangs out of his face. âI hate all of you.â
Jisung does not miss a beat. âYou donât deserve rights, horse girl.â
âLet. It. Go.â
âOnly via death, horse girl.â
In the background, the art club group chat is exploding with screenshots that will undoubtedly become new contact photos, various laughing memes, and unintelligible voice memos that are mostly just giggles.
Wrapped in bathrobes, slathered in thick, fragrant facemasks, and riding the high of the satisfaction of a well-executed scheme, eight women toast to their silly boyfriendsâ and then proceed to completely roast them in the group chat.
Fen and I went out for Thai the other night, and they brought over the most towering plate of rice I've ever seen. The waiter hadn't even walked away yet, and I said,
His apparent classmate whined, the drawn-out syllables triggering his fingers to curl and eyes to round in uncontained horror. Surely she wouldnât. He tried to convince himself he had misheard, but her enunciation was as clear as the shot of soju he wished he could knock back in hopes of blocking this from his memory. Seungmin couldnât believe she was about to drop this cliche line in public over a dog. With complete sincerity, at that.
ౚà§Â warnings: university clubs, club sports, orientation and the accompanying horrific ice breakers, asshole classmate who tries to be mean to you but you dgaf, Seungmin inherits your nonexistent beef tho, we love Seo Changbin in every universe, schenanigans, college nonsense, shudders Parent's Weekend, I gave Reader a manhwa daddy because she deserves it muah, Seungmin is so along for the ride, he's kinda scared but also into it, silent shovel talks, Reader's super cute partner in crime, Reader is a D1 Rage Baiter, Seungmin is a D1 Hater, edited yeah boi
ౚà§Â author note: Welcome to the second to last part of Turned Tables! I really could not shut up on this one, but it was really fun to write :) I hope it makes you giggle! Not to pick favorites, but Seungmin's is absolutely my favorite! Please be sure to read Hyunjinâs part in this series before you read this one (linked previous)! See you next month for the final part! (I can't believe it bro I've never finished a single series until this one this is incredible work from me (âŹâŹïčâŹâŹ))
âźÂ previous
As all orientation groups are, this one is, predictably, a disaster.
Seungminâs eyes flicker around the lopsided shape formed by his peers from his partially tree-shaded spot in the grass, his legs stretched out before him. He appreciates the mild temperature, listening to the end of summer whispering enjoy it while it lasts with a lovely (and ominous) breeze. For a bunch of students allegedly pursuing an arts degree, they sure do struggle to form a basic geometric shape. The supposed circle bumps out on one side, becomes a straight line on another, and another student dots the outer edge, completely disconnected from the wonky shape altogether.
Whatever. No one is being graded on their spatial awareness, and this group does not form the school marching band, so oh well. Seungmin is only here to fulfill one of a never-ending slog of orientation requirements on the seemingly endless list and then forget this afternoon ever happened.
The orientation leaderâ a senior with seemingly wise eyes and the relaxed posture of someone who never cared about impressing or establishing dominance over underclassmenâ makes no attempt to correct the poorly-formed blob. She just settles into the grass the way a retired person who is successful enough to own a lawn would, and delivers her instructions with the energy of someone reading a grocery list.
âName, major, fun fact, high school. Go whenever.â
No obnoxious icebreakers. No forced enthusiasm. Toxic positivity is obviously not one of her presets, but sheâs not a fun sponge either. She doesnât do that stupid name-repeating game around the circle either. Not even a cringy group chant. Seungmin immediately respects her.
Once again, his eyes drift around the circle as he attempts to guess which average college kid will volunteer to go first. A girl with an aggressively high ponytail is typing rapidly on her phone. A guy in slidesâ slides, to an outdoor event in a patch of grass, because apparently heâs committed to the bitâ leans back on his palms. Another guy with vibrant nacho cheese and cool ranch Dorito socks peeking out from his jeans sits criss-cross applesauce directly in front of Seungmin.
So, nothing he hasnât seen before. He isnât trying to be uninterested in other people; itâs just that Seungmin has already found his friend group in his club (if you can even call it that). Not to mention, heâs well aware that his default expression doesnât exactly read befriendable, with the seam of his mouth spelling out âunimpressedâ even when heâs content.
It isnât his fault. Itâs just his face.
Either way: his home is with the athletic tragedies who recognize that the path to maximum scholarship money with minimum effort is through a sport that no one cares about. So what if theyâre losers? So is he. But Seungmin doesnât need to expand his social circle. He just needs to survive this one. Nevertheless, he does the polite thing and pays attention to each person and attempts to commit their faces to memory just in case he ends up sharing a class with them. He really doubts it, though.
The introductions begin with high ponytail girl starting them offâ Interior Design and Architecture major, recovering student athlete, a pet iguana, local high school. Then, a nervous theatre kid follows, who chooses to describe a âfear of mayonnaiseâ as his fun fact. A creative writing major from a different country follows up, and itâs obvious from his exhausted, narrowed eyes that it is bedtime back home for him. Poor guy.
The sculpture student goes next, and it turns out that theyâre a year older than everyone because they were held back. Another guy in the group nicely interjects that being held back isnât a big deal, that everyone has a timeline thatâs right for them. The sculpture student responds with, âright on,â and then explains that they were held back for installing a protest monument at the front entrance of their high school depicting the soccer coach (who had been busted for taking pictures of students changing in the locker room multiple times) being protected by the administration board like they were Secret Service members.
Damn. Okay, Banksy.
âThank you for your service.â The orientation leader nods to the sculpture student, and the introductions keep coming. Admittedly, Seungminâs attention wanes. To be fair, itâs hard to top the sculpture student in terms of being interesting. And heâs been sitting still for too long, and he wants to get up and wander a bit, stretch his legs, and give his ears a break from the constant talking.
But then you start talking, voice light and honeyed.
âIâm a bio physics major.â
Everyoneâs expressions all display subtitles at the information. Seungminâs eyes are wide in disbelief, his lips puckered and his head snapping back to you a bit too fast for his neckâs liking. High ponytail girl blinks rapidly. Theatre kid is openly gawking like heâs never seen a hard science major before. Even the orientation leader, whom Seungmin thought was unshakable, tilts her head in interest.
You chose to attend an arts college only to decide to major in STEM? A little odd, but okay, he guesses. Bio physics sounds made up, but what does he know? You sit across from him diagonally, your hands resting in your lap, your posture perfect, yet somehow seeming comfortable.
âAnd my fun fact,â you smile sweetly, then continueâ and itâs so asinine that Seungmin isnât sure heâs even heard you properly. âI hold the world record for Club Penguinâs Cart Surfer.â
The silence that follows is deafening. The gears in everyoneâs bewildered brains crunch together as they attempt to process each bit of progressively more insane lore you shared so casually.
Seungmin fights with the muscles in his face to keep a neutral expression at the declaration. Thatâs ridiculous. But itâs a dead website, so itâs not like the statement can be proved either way. Youâre just saying it for the gag probably, just to be silly, light-hearted, and see who here has a sense of humor. Heâll look like an ass if he tries to fight you on it (he would later learn, as he loses the battle with his own will to refrain from taking the bait and looking this shit up, that there are records of the highest scores and account holders for all the Club Penguin mini games, and your name is, in fact, at the top of the Cart Surfer list).
Someone else in the group has no qualms about looking like an ass, though.
âBro, no way.â Slides Guy obnoxiously drawls the last syllable out, voice low because heâs trying too hard to project a chill concept that doesnât suit him, based on how easily he is rage-baited. The tone is the worst partâ like heâs above it all. Heâs smiling, but itâs obviously mean-spirited and condescending like heâs somehow earning aura points for belittling you. Seungmin just thinks heâs irritating and immature. He clocks him immediately. There is a specific energy to the ones who will absolutely join a religious club on campus within the first month, and this guy has more than enough of that energy to spare. Seungmin knows his eyes are narrowed, unfiltered, and annoyed, and it makes him look unapproachable, but he canât find it within himself to care. This guy is one of those people who mistakes being an asshole for having a personality, who prefers being known over being liked, and Seungmin does not have the patience for him.
Grow up, he snarls internally, sharp. Grow up, andâ
âGrow up, and donât interrupt her.â Everyoneâs eyes snap to the orientation group leader, who is evidently not paid enough (do they even get compensation?) to entertain petty high school level power dynamics or to allow them to contaminate a simple round of introductions. She isnât loud, and thereâs no aggression, but her voice is finalâ flat in a way that says sheâs seen this rancid behavior before and has no intention of letting it slide.
Slides Guy shuts his silly mouth.
And this is how everyone will remember you, buddy. Hope it was worth it.
The orientation leader turns her attention back to you, expression genuinely interested. âThatâs sick! I miss my puffles every day. Whereâd you go to high school?â
You smile gratefully, a little bashful about the previous scene (despite the fact that it wasnât even your fault), and answer.
And Seungminâs brain does an entire shutdown, check for updates, and system reboot.
Heâs never seen you in his life, heâs sure. Heâs positive he would remember you, because your face is the kind of face people remember. You have soft features, gentle eyes, and a warm, magnetic smile that is nothing short of captivating. Heâs never passed you in the hallways, never seen you in the cafeteria, never caught a glimpse of you in class.
But apparently, you had gone to the same high school as him? It just doesnât add up.
And as Seungmin really looks at you and digs deep into the completely forgettable blur that is the four years of life wasted in high school, a distant, hazy memory surfaces.
Seungmin had been waiting at the bus stop, headphones on for both entertainment purposes and to provide his ears with a thin layer of warmthâa vain attempt to guard them from the biting morning chill. What was actually helping though, was his overgrown, thick, ruffled hair that had grown out enough to form a dark, impenetrable barrier blocking half of his vision; he really needed to get it cut, but it just hadnât been a priority for him. His uniform was officially too short for his gangly limbs thanks to the growth spurt heâd had over the three-week holiday break. Unfortunately, sizing up would highlight his lanky frame. Oh well. Heâd just have to pick a struggle.
A businessman was sitting next to him on the bench, utterly unenthused about his early morning start. Pedestrians briskly walked by, preoccupied with their own destinations and side quests. The bitter air nipped at his unshielded nose, a deep, rosy hue blooming on the tip, and his knuckles ache on his pitching hand. Everything was in post-winter recovery modeâ holiday decorations removed, people returning to the everyday grind, and nature just beginning to maybe consider resprouting. All of it cued the start of spring and new beginnings, but the world around him seemed to be dragging its feet this year.
Or maybe he was just impatient.
The bus was late, like always. His foot bounced incessantly.
There was a pause in between songs, a moment close to total silence, and the timing was just right so that Seungmin could hear a soft gasp from somewhere behind him. It wasnât distressed, closer to a sound of unfiltered delight. Curious (and also phenomenally bored out of his mind), he twisted backwards and lifted one side of his headphones off his ear in search of what the early morning disturbance was about. Not that he was bothered by it or anythingâ heâd take entertainment in any form he could find to save him from zoning out at the dull, cracked concrete between his sneakers.
At first glance, nothing seemed amiss, but then Seungmin spotted another student in front of the pet shop display window. She was wearing a school uniform that matched his, her back to the bus stop and her knees tucked up to her chest in a crouch that would have done irreversible damage to his joints. A backpack hung from her shoulders, a keychain dangling from the zipper that winked in the early sunlight. Even with her back to him, he could still clearly hear everything she prattled to a medium cantaloupe-sized puppy peering out the glass at her.
Its fur was the color of golden honey, and it had the kind of face that made people say âoh my goooood! Itâs so cuteeeeeeâ instinctively. Its tail was going absolutely crazy, just a blur of excited motion.
âOh my gosh! Hiââ The girl leaned in impossibly closer to the window, nose nearly smearing against the glass, and Seungmin thought she must be squinting to read the nametag on display. Her gushing abruptly morphed into mild distaste, bordering on disgust, as she read the assigned name aloud. âHarold?â
The puppy stared at her, head tilted, not a fragment of a thought behind those glassy eyes.
âHmm,â she thought aloud, head tilting to the side, voice pleasantly sweet as she pondered the undeniably horrific title. âThatâs not really giving.â
Seungmin paused his music, abandoning his previous source of entertainment. For some inexplicable reason, he was decidedly invested in the renaming of Harold the puppy (yikes) by a person who didnât even own him. Despite the fact that this didnât impact his life in the slightest, he couldnât look away.
âI think your vibe is moreâŠâ She paused, trailing off as she mulled the possibilities over carefully before finally landing on something fitting. She must have stared into the puppyâs little face like she could find all the answers to her questions there (doggie face reading?). The puppy sneezed, the force of it knocking him off balance as he toppled over, but he recovered quickly, bouncing back up to resume staring at her with his tongue lolling out all lopsided and clumsy.
âClover!â The girl exclaimed, and Seungmin tested the name a few times, sniffling a bit as his nose ran from the cold. It was unquestionably better than Harold. It fit the color of the fur, the sweet, smiley eyes, goofy personality, and the unfiltered joy of a puppy who didnât know or worry about his name anyway.
âThoughts, Clover?â The girl asked, and the puppy scooted closer to the window, little tail slinging behind him even faster somehow, like he had abruptly developed comprehension skills and could put in his two cents.
She gasped again, enthralled. âOkay! Hi, Clover!â
The fawning resumed, and his classmate tugged her cellphone out of her backpack's side pocket, which was intended to store a water bottle (a jailable offense, Seungmin thought). She tapped the screen a few times, then raised it to her ear. The keychain attached to her bag swung with the motion.
Seungmin decided to mind his business at this point, given that the new name was appropriate and he didnât want to be that guy who listens in on a strangerâs conversation (you know, with another humanâ itâs socially acceptable if the other party is an animal, right?). He didnât need to know anything else about this girl who renames puppies that arenât hers. He tuned out the chatterâ probably just asking a parent for permission anywayâ and shifted to turn back around and reposition his headphones whenâ
âBut Daddyââ
His apparent classmate whined, the drawn-out syllables triggering his fingers to curl and eyes to round in uncontained horror. Surely she wouldnât. He tried to convince himself he had misheard, but her enunciation was as clear as the shot of soju he wished he could knock back in hopes of blocking this from his memory. Seungmin couldnât believe she was about to drop this cliche line in public over a dog. With complete sincerity, at that.
ââI love him.â
And with that, Seungminâs soul was evicted from his body. His shoulders were frozen stiff from the shock, joints on lockdown as he recovered. His jaw dropped, his mouth forming a little triangle of disbelief. By the time he had gathered enough of his mind to watch the rest of this soap play out, the call was already over. But her hope was far from it.
âFret not, Clover.â She flung her hair behind her shoulder while she addressed the puppy like they were co-conspirators. His glassy, thoughtless eyes twinkled at her, and his head tilted to one side as if he could fathom her plan. âIâll have him worn down in two to three business days.â
The declaration was delivered as fact, like the outcome was already set in stone. And even Seungmin believed it. There wasnât a whisper of doubt in her voice, just the serene confidence of someone who does not fail to get what she wants.
For a moment, Seungmin just barely caught a glimpse of her profile from behind as she brushed her hair away. The angle was brief, but he saw the curve of her smile and the way her eyes glittered with either mischief or terrifying determination (or both). She looked like an âobstacles are opportunitiesâ kind of girl, like someone who would look at a wrench in a plan and decide that âit just isnât a big deal.â
She continued her one-sided conversation, pointing an index finger at Clover (formerly Harold) through the window. âUntil then, donât even look at another human.â
Seungminâs brows furrowed, and he didnât know what to think of the odd exchange. The girl pressed her fingers to her lipsâ a bubbly, affectionate âmuahâ spoken into the skinâ and then pressed that hand to the glass. The puppy bounded to his paws, romped up to the window, and smeared his little, black nose (and the cold nose juice that accompanied it) on the other side, where her palm met the pane.
Like sealing a deal. A promise.
What the fuck?
Seungmin didnât think to de-contort his body to pretend like heâd been minding his business. He didnât budge, just sat there frozen in concerned fascination, until the girl straightened from her crouched position and turned on her heel to face the bus stop.
The action fully exposed the bright, youthful, entirely unfamiliar face of his classmate, as he saw her for the first time.
He never learned her name. Never saw her face again.
Or so he thought.
Because give or take three years later, sitting in the wonkiest excuse of a circle, Seungmin introduces himself, unable to tear his eyes away from that same face.
Yes, itâs been a few years, but even now, youâre cute. Animated and soft in a therapeutic kind of way that seems trustworthy. You donât have any panicked misery weighing your bones down into an exhausted droop like most hard science students do once they realize they have made an awful mistake. Instead, you sit straight, airy and light, unburdened and natural in the way plants grow toward sunlight.
Seungmin runs through his introduction, keeping it brief and sincere as he addresses the group. At the end, as he shares which high school he attended, he canât help but glance your way. Youâre using your hand to block the sun rays shining in between the tree leaves from your face, but even still, your eyes twinkle as you respectfully listen. There is no indication of recognition in them, and he is relieved that you probably never officially crossed paths, and heâs not an inattentive asshole.
The introductions continue, and surprise, surprise, Slides Asshole is exactly who Seungmin had expected.
Graphic design, I play guitar for my church. Local.
Fascinating. Original. Super chill of him. He canât fight the unimpressed, downward quirk of his lips or the narrowed, uninterested heat of his dark eyes. He only realizes heâs crossed his arms across his chest during his introduction once the next person begins.
Nothing else of substance results from the remainder of the introductions.
But what Seungmin is unaware of is that you do recognize him.
Not from high school. Because three days before Seungmin ever plopped down in that grass to overshare against his will, you were already taking note of his goofy photo provided by your new art club president and dear friend, partially as a gift and mostly as required study material.
You recall the previous interaction when the goddess-level beauty approached you for the first time with fondness and the excitement that arrives with a new friendship.
You had just been wandering, exploring the campus with no real destination in mind and taking in the scenery. Thereâs a small strip of campus where a library, a snack cafe, and an actual cafe all nestle together in a row. That was where the girl struck, introducing herself with an easy smile and an invitation for a drink at the real cafe. You didnât have anything pressing to do, so you accepted her warm welcome without much thought.
As you sat down across from each other with your drinks, you noted that she was the kind of gorgeous that fell into the drop-dead category. The usual getting-to-know-you questions were exchanged, and you matched each otherâs energy delightfully, giggling over matcha and honey tea at the silly stories shared.
Then, the topic shifted as your new friend braced her elbows on the table and subtly mentioned that she was the president of the art club. There was less subtlety when she all but begged you to join the club, regaling you with a sob story about everyoneâs preference to join clubs specific to their study rather than experimenting with a bit of everything in the general art club. The thickest layer was frosted liberally with woeful, glassy eyes and all as she played the damsel in distress. Essentially, if she didnât get another person to join, the club would be short of the required people to remain active.
You liked her. You could tell sheâs a schemer, and she wasnât afraid to go for the Oscar; you saw a bright, lucrative friendship ahead. Plus, this was an easy problem for you to solve. Eyes glistening with empathy, you reached across the table to rest your hand atop hers. âI want to help,â you said sincerely, and her hand flipped palm up to squeeze your fingers. You sighed, a little dejected, and hit her back with big, sad eyes of your own. âBut I just donât know if Iâll be able to balance the responsibilities with my major and my part-time.â
She swore up and down that the art club was not a swamp of responsibilities and huge time commitments, and that was the magic promise you needed. From her description, the art club sounded intentionally low-key and smallâ which just so happened to be your preferred dynamic for social interactions.
You agreed to join with a sweet smile, and your club president stared at you with the level of adoration usually reserved for whoever invented pouch applesauce. She stood and rounded the table, tugging you into her arms like the two of you were starring in the thirteenth episode of a drama. Long, nimble fingers brushed the back of your head, threading gently through your hair as she simpered, âYou precious, precious soul,â so her breath grazed the tip of your ear.
You elected to return the hug, loosely threading your arms around her waist and patting her back a couple of times in an attempt to return the energy.
Your new club president pulled back after a beat, giving your cheek an adoring pat before sliding back into her chair. Then, she dug into a specific pocket in her bag, flicking what appeared to be a sketchbook based on the wire rings over to the side, and slipped her cellphone out.
âYouâre the sweetest.â She declared while swiping into her phone, and you were expecting it to be passed to you so you could enter your contact information. Such was orientation week. Instead, she continued, peering at you meaningfully and all-knowingly, âI couldnât live with it if your beautiful, sensitive heart got trampled on by these horrific, ugly art school boys.â
You nodded, a well-mannered, closed-lipped smile on your face as you allowed her to take you on this unexpected journey, unsure of the destination. âIâm letting you in on this secret.â She flipped her phone around to display a photo of⊠like, eight random guys, all frozen in poses ranging from suspicious to ridiculous. One of them had a giant, goofy grin only outdone in size by his incredible biceps. He was giving you unrealistic expectations for the silhouettes created by sorority squats, and you needed to look away. You blinked at the picture, connecting absolutely zero dots, then stared back at her for context.
âHonestly, quality of life advice: boys are a curse, a total net negative on the whole.â She sighed heavily and tucked her hair behind her ear. âBut, if youâre going to be involved with any of them on this godforsaken campus crawling with narcissistic love-bombers, then these losers are vetted.â
Oh! Okay, that makes⊠no sense.
You tilted your head, still staring blankly with a small pout on your lips. Your gracious new friend clocked the lack of understanding and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in distress. âOh, my dear,â she fussed. âI wonât let them eat you alive.â
She leaned closer, and zoomed in on the regular-looking college guys in the picture to give you a brief overview (âThis silly is mine, these two goofs are taken, this one would be taken if he pulled his head out of his assââ). You werenât particularly⊠interested, but you listened and filed the information away nonetheless. You unironically hoped you would run into Sorority Squat Bicep Guy, thoughâ you had a sneaking suspicion that conversation would be comedic gold.
âAnyway, Iâm not saying date them.â She clarified, fanning her hand like she can banish the thought. âIâm just telling you that theyâre decent people to hang around who probably wonât send you running to therapy.â She paused then, seemingly considering. âWell, theyâre still boys, so thereâs always a chance, but I trust that youâll be able to send them first.â
Itâs this advice and counsel that encourages you to chat with Seungmin once the orientation group has dispersed. You catch his eye and wave with a familiar wiggle of your fingers before approaching him, making light commentary on how funny it is that your paths never crossed until now.
Hilarious, Seungmin wants to say.
âWe should grab go grab coffee and catch up!â You say like this is a natural thing to do with someone you kinda know but not really.
âCatch up?â Seungmin questions with a slight raise of his brows. You donât know anything about each other, other than superficial orientation information (and the fact that you said âdaddyâ in public, but Seungmin really doesnât want to talk about it).
âYeah!â You beam. âItâll be fun!â Seungmin finds himself agreeing before he really thinks about it, and the two of you amble along the path to the shops on main campus, chatting easily, bouncing from topic to topic. You sit across from each other at a table in the cafe, exchanging stories about the previous places you frequented back in high school and oddly specific shared experiences. (âYou took Advanced Calc with Lee? Thatâs rough, buddy. My deepest condolences to your GPA.â) You like honey in your green tea. He takes in the simple, delicate jewelry dangling from your ears and neck that appear to be a set. Nothing flashy, but nice and cohesive. You remind him of pretty, puffy cloudsâ the kind you always want to stop and appreciateâ delicate and dreamy, soft and patient.
The entire time he sits before you, he wants to ask if you were successful. If you managed to grind your dadâs willpower into dust to get Clover. If the puppy with fur the color of the honey in your tea and the glassy, thoughtless eyes ever learned his new name.
Seungmin isnât brave enough to ask, so he simply allows his foot to bounce perpetually in an attempt to expel his curiosity.
You have no idea that he was an unwilling witness to that interaction, and he canât think of a way to bring it up without seeming like a creep. Oh, by the way, I saw you at a bus stop like, three years ago renaming a dog and saying âdaddyâ public. Did you ever get him?
Ha. Nope.
So he doesnât ask. He sits there, sipping his coffee that isnât burnt but was definitely made in the same container as a batch that was. He watches you talk and he just wonders, the sole of his sneaker bouncing the whole time. He contributes as best he can to the conversation, flashes small, controlled smiles that accentuate the apples of his cheeks, and quietly chuckles when itâs acceptable. He doesnât realize heâs been tapping his fingers against his thighâ a habit born from his baseball days, the rhythm he drummed into the handle of his bat while waiting for a pitchâ until you glance down at his hand with a smile.
Numbers are exchanged, and Seungmin expects that to be the end of that. He genuinely enjoys your companyâ youâre bright like soft, yellow light, youâre hilarious, youâre the type of person who names dogs on a whim and treats authority like itâs negotiable. But youâre a bio physics major. Surely, all of your time will be monopolized by lab hours and breaking your neck over coursework in the part of the library thatâs actually quiet. You will undoubtedly suffer the kind of academic grind that leaves no room for casual cafe hangouts with actual art majors who spend their oodles of free time sucking hard at table tennis.
But Seungmin is wrong.
You are either incredibly efficient, or bio physics isnât as strenuous as it sounds, because he runs into you all the timeâ and not even at the library.
To be fair, it makes perfect sense to see you around campus, and you frequently pass each other on your way to your classes. He sees you every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, walking across the quad with your tote bag slung over one shoulder and rhythmically bumping against your hip. He expects to see you in that context now and every so often; he catches himself glancing around the student body wandering about to see if he can spot you. He doesnât understand why he does it. Are you even considered good enough friends for him to say anything to you when he does see you?
But Seungmin even encounters you off campus, usually at different restaurants. He finds you on a Saturday at a local comfort spot, a family-owned hole-in-the-wall furnished with natural wood and warm lighting. You sit alone at a table, entertaining yourself by peering out the window, seemingly taking in the view. There isnât anything particularly riveting about a mostly empty sidewalk and a few trees, but you seem at peace. Just as he remembered, your posture is straight and somehow relaxed, subtly confident in the way you hold yourself.
Then, Seungmin is pulled out of his unintentional staring as you happen to glance at the door and see him standing at the entrance with the awkward energy of an NPC, arms dangling weirdly at his sides. You flash him a kind smile and wiggle your fingers at him in a greeting. Seungminâs lips twitch into a close-lipped smile and he gives you a faint nod of acknowledgment. He keeps his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, not trusting himself to wave back in a way that seems normal. He fully expects for this to be the extent of your interaction, but then you gesture to the seat across from you, and before Seungmin even processes your invitation, his feet are moving to your command.
From there, the simple pattern establishes itself quickly. Your paths cross. This turns into an unplanned shared meal, which more often than not turns into a leisurely walk back to campus. Then, sometimes that walk turns into a quick detour, which more often than not leads to an hour of just hanging out at either of your apartments. That hour becomes an evening of homework, movies, or venturing back out to explore the town and its dessert options. At some point, it stops being coincidental, and instead becomes scheduled, intentional.
And itâs comfortable. Hanging out with you feels like holding a warm mug in his palms, the pleasant heat soothing and comforting without being overbearing.
Seungmin doesnât even question it, and just lets it happen. You become a constant presence in his day-to-day, and the weeks blur together until he isnât sure when he started looking forward to spending time with you. When exactly did he start to feel something tight in his chest when his phone chimed and it wasnât your name that lit up his screen? At what point did he begin stocking his apartment with your favorite tea and keeping a few of those milky candies you like in his backpack just in case you got a craving for something sweet?
Itâs a study night when he finally figures it out. Heâs cozy in an old hoodie, the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. His forearms are lean, bound with an unsuspecting strength that only enters the chat when needed. Just the other night, you witnessed his reflexes and coordination in action when he caught a toppling mug with one hand⊠without glancing away from his laptop. Your legs are resting across his as you both lounge on the couch in your apartment, laptops perched on your laps, the fans protesting the massive file sizes of your pirated textbook PDFs, when Seungmin finally has the thought (no, not about his assignment).
Wait. Are you two⊠dating?
Seungminâs fingers twitch over his trackpad as his blood buffers in place. His blue light-exhausted eyes dart up from his laptop screen to stare at nothing as the record scratch only he can hear tears right through the center of the slice of life romance montage he wasnât aware he was starring in.
He has no idea. Like, he genuinely has no idea. It never came up in conversation.
And how is he even supposed to tactfully ask that question? What if you arenât dating, and heâs and idiot for not realizing that he unintentionally latched onto something that doesnât exist? What if he asks and upsets you because it comes off as him only wanting you romantically and not valuing your friendship? What if you ditchâ
Or what if you are dating? What if heâs in a relationship and heâs been too oblivious to notice, and he upsets you because he obviously isnât romantically invested enough, and you think he doesnât care, but youâve been waiting for him to say something, to take that step, toâ?
Wait, fuck.
Seungmin pales, every nerve and blood cell in his body reconsidering existence, because he realizes something so much bigger. So much worse.
He doesnât know your anniversary.
Heâs either the worst boyfriend on the planet, or he isnât a boyfriend at all, and both options make his throat itch to start the midnight scream of finals week a whole month and a half early. And at whatever time is right now.
âChapter not sticking?â
Your honeyed voice interrupts his sparking, spiraling brain attempting to do mental gymnastics to figure out at what point in the last six weeks is most likely the day you (maybe) started dating. His droopy, vaguely haunted eyes snap to your face as he makes his best attempt to conceal the guilt from his expression while he internally puzzles out Schrodingerâs relationship.
âYeah,â Seungmin agrees, his voice uncharacteristically wobbly before he clears his throat and asks hopefully, âNeed a break?â
You giggle in that trouble-making kind of way, and Seungmin already knows what youâre going to confess before your lips even part, because itâs always the same thing every study night. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, then pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue in mock irritation, completely unaware of how horrendously hot it kind of is of him.
âYouâve been done for over an hour,â he states flatly, and you nod your head, still laughing quietly with the prettiest smile Seungminâs ever seen. Heâs not upset, but he is absolutely baffled as to how you manage to find the time in between your classes, art club, and your part-time job at the screen printing store in town to complete your coursework, study, and spend time with him (he feels like the most expendable part of that equation, but he doesnât really want to unpack that thought further). You do the impossibleâ juggling classes, homework, real work, sleep, and a social life on top of it all like itâs not even that hard.
And maybe for you, it isnât.
âHow do you do it?â He asks instead of voicing the other atomic bomb of a question thatâs been tormenting him over the past five minutes and will haunt him for the foreseeable future.
You continue laughing, bright and unburdened, the light from your laptop screen gleaming in your eyes. âDo what?â
âLike, literally everything.â Seungmin blinks as he tries to comprehend it. Heâs squinting at you like if he focuses hard enough, he can trade what remains of his eye sight in exchange for your secrets. Did you sell your soul or something? âBio physics, art club, work, sleep, this, me. How?â
You go quiet as you consider his question for a bit, head tilting as you gather your explanation. Then, your lips curve into a smile, softer than usual, honest, and you lean in closer to him like youâre about to share private information, like the fact that you two are the only inhabitants of the apartment isnât enough privacy for your classified ways of time management (or witchcraft). Seungmin does not stand a chance, and is drawn in to your domain like you have him tethered by a string.
âI donât waste my energy,â you say with a breezy shrug, because to you, itâs just that straightforward. âThere are a lot of things that demand your attention. Itâs up to you to decide whatâs worth it.â Seungminâs chest aches like its reached capacity because heâs been holding his breath without realizing it. Delicate, slender fingers peek out from the sleeves of your oversized cardigan to pluck the string on his hoodie from where it rests against his front to absently twirl the textured, off-white string a bit, and his chest overreacts to the action like youâve punched him in the sternum instead.
âPersonally, I donât like to fixate on minor inconveniences. I, like, choose peace, you know?â You allow the string to slip from your fingers, then tuck your hair behind your ear with a sweet smile that keeps him trapped in place like always.
Genuinely, Seungmin canât pull himself out of your sparkly, clever eyes as he allows your words to really sink in. He processes carefully, trying to understand your philosophy at the same time as your movements (he needs to pick a struggle). It sounds so simple, but you must have the most rock-solid, resilient psyche in existence for your plan to be âprotect my peace.â He believes that fact wholeheartedly, but Seungmin knows youâre more complex than this. His lips purse a bit, bottom lip pouting. âThat sounds like an incomplete answer.â
You laugh again like you were wondering if he was going to catch onto you, then shift a bit to settle more comfortably on the perpetually uncomfortable couch, the movement of your legs in his lap tilting his laptop to the side. He catches it before it can perform a final acrobatic act and shatter on the cheap, fake wooden floor.
âI know what I want.â You say with yet another unbothered bounce of your shoulders. Seungmin tracks every change in the lines of your form as you do. âEverything falls into two categories: things I want, and things that are whatever.â
Seungminâs throat goes dry. He doesnât think he could even participate in the midnight scream of finals week right now. What does he do with the implication of his categorization in your world, that heâs been chosen?
The contours of his eyes shift into something tighter, something vaguely concerned as his lips twitch. âYouâŠâ He trails off, unsure which of his many questions to ask. His dark brows pinch together, a crease forming between them.
You help him out.
âIâm, like, really smart.â You say, glowing with the warmth of your genuine self-praise, voice light and as sweet as ever. Seungmin knows this as a fact already too, heâs just seeing your genius in a different context now.
âIâm efficient and good at optimization,â You list, twisting and twirling a few strands of your hair around your fingers, almost hypnotic in rhythm, as you explain. âOnce you understand and establish a pattern, everything else is just⊠execution.â
Seungminâs jaw drops at this. He doesnât say anything, just stares, mouth hanging open in endearingly triangular shaped shock. This little peek into your brain is not what he expected in the least from his nearly syrupy sweet maybe girlfriend. You continue, not addressing his state of disorientation.
âMy classes, job, and extracurriculars are all just patterns.â You lightly touch the pads of your fingertips to your thumb as you list each item off. âThe path of least resistance. I chose this school because I knew I could be at the top without competition. I chose bio physics becauseâ peace and loveâ no one here is smart. I have a perfect GPA with minimal effort. I work at the print shop because the money is easy. I joined the art club becauseââ You pause, not long, but just enough to signal that it might be a deviation from your usual (and somewhat horrifying) decision-making. âBecause someone asked me to,â you conclude.
Slowly, Seungmin nods his head a few times, his dark fringe sweeping just below his brows. âThatâs terrifying.â He says honestly, and a little bit intrigued at the same time.
The only reply is your soft giggles as you close your laptop with the finality of someone who would not be doing any more work that night, and despite himself, Seungmin canât help but grin lopsidedly back at the sound.
His grin fades later though, once heâs alone, and he fixates on this conversation for a long while, rolls it around in his head where it has no means of escape. Because the thing about Seungmin is that he is a D1 hater. If hating was a sport, he would have a full ride scholarship for it. Sure, he ignores nonsense to a certain degree, but his threshold is located several kilometers below yours.
Itâs an interesting contrast. Where your personality is all pleasant vibes and softness that people (gravely and very stupidly) mistake as air-headedness, Seungmin festers.
Tragically, he is cursed and shares a class with fucking Slides Guy. Who, by the way, was so irrelevant in your life that you donât even remember him being in your orientation group when Seungmin brings him up. So there. The asshat continues to be the least interesting and least chill person Seungmin has ever had the immense misfortune of sharing oxygen with. Seungmin spends every class restraining himself from hole-punching that idiotâs throat with a pogo stick every time he speaks.
âYour poor molars,â you pout one evening, resting your head on the edge of the seat of the couch. Youâre in his apartment this time, taking up residence on the floor in front of his couch for âa change in scenery.â Seungmin had stared at you for a few extended seconds, expression unreadable as you settled on the ground, then joined you without a word.
âTheyâre fine.â He responds without looking up from his laptop. Why he was bothering to glower at it, he doesnât know. He hasnât retained any of the text heâs been flicking through, and all heâs doing is guaranteeing himself a blue light-induced headache later.
âYouâve been clenching your jaw for like, two hours.â
With that, Seungmin registers the tension and accompanying ache in his face because he has, in fact, been clenching his jaw for, like, two hours straight. He sighs, throwing his head back to glare at the ceiling like itâs responsible for the discomfort of his gums and high cheekbones.
âItâs that motherfucker from orientation,â he admits, voice unmistakably bitter and venomous. His arms are crossed defensively across his stomach, the subtle strength from years of baseball evident in the toned lines of his forearms. âThe one in those dumbass Slides.â
You only blink at him, puzzled, not a trace of recognition in your face. âSlides?â
Seungmin straightens up and faces you fully at that, brows furrowed in disbelief. âThe guy who interrupted you.â When that doesnât ring a bell, he tries, âThe guy who gave extra in High School Musical.â
You process, eyes fluttering closed while you sit silent for a long while as you try to recall this guy you allegedly crossed paths with. Then, you give up with a bouncy, unruffled shrug. âNope, Iâve got nothing.â
âLiterally how? Bro is insufferable,â he groans with a roll of his droopy eyes.
âSounds like a waste of energy.â You say simply, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world to ignore people who drain your will to live like a Pokemon attack. Slides, use Giga Drain on Seungminâs will to live!
Seungmin blinks a few times, considering. Right. He can just⊠ignore the guyâs existence. Choose peace, as you say.
Huh.
He files that information away as you return to your laptop, maybe scrolling through another PDF the size of the sun like you didnât take shears to his entire mental framework. Once again, he is internally musing about how câest la vie your personality is, and thatâs when it clicksâ not instantly, but like gradually, like how fog fades from a window pane.
It all makes total sense.
It isnât that youâre sweet because youâre simple. Youâre more strategic than that. You are sweet because you choose to be. You assessed the world and all its obstacles, and arrived at the conclusion that most of them just arenât worth your time.
And peopleâ complete fucking morons, all of themâ fall into the trap of looking at you and seeing someone gentle, someone unassuming, someone who would alter her path to avoid stepping on an ant. Youâre undeniably lovely, and you glide through life with a seemingly impossible ease. But many people misinterpret that as you not having much going on upstairs.
You are so far from it, itâs not even funny.
The discovery happens slowly and all at once for Seungmin (although heâd always had his suspicions). It started smallâ your admission that you schemed to pave a flawless, uncracked path for yourself in STEM functioned like a microfiber cloth does to the lenses of Seungminâs glasses. Itâs easy to see that you operate on minimal effort and input to maximize your results, always efficient. After that, Seungmin notices how you always seem to know exactly what to say to get what you want, how you navigate social interactions with a delicate precision, and the way you never, ever let an opportunity go to waste.
Seungmin watches, silent as you approach Chan with miraculous solutions to all his fundraiser merch problems (you know, other than the obvious one that the merch exists in the first place). Your pitch is empatheticâ getting custom merch can be so expensive, after all. But donât fret! The table tennis team can print through the screen printing shop you work at for better rates, higher quality, faster turnaround, and no shipping costs. You negotiate that deal like a pro, presenting it to Chan like youâre doing him a favor out of the kindness overflowing from your precious little heart, and you walk away with an arrangement that benefits everyone, a twinkling, little keychain swinging from your tote as you go.
Heâs confident heâs seen this episode before.
Seungmin keeps his mouth shut.
âYouâre so sweet,â he compliments once itâs just the two of you, but his eyes are narrowed because the bigger picture is visible to him. He, of course, sees the heartwarming camaraderie of your actions, but he sees the other, more subtle nuances too. âBut youâre also a diabolical opportunivore.â
Your laugh is delighted and bright as you flash him a cheeky smile, your hand reaching up to rest against the side of your glowing, flattered face. âThank you!â
âItâs not a compliment.â He says, eyes thickly glazed with his affection.
âIâm receiving it as one.â
He scoffs, but heâs fighting off the upward quirk of the corners of his mouth. Seungmin doesnât think you can surprise him after this. Heâs seen your schemes, catalogued your chilling efficiency, witnessed you charm a screen printing deal out of his teammate like you were offering community service. Youâre a genius. What more could you possibly do that would shake him further?
He is proven wrong with the arrival of Parents Weekend and with it, the administration scrambling to throw together a (phony, bogus, fraudulent) presentation of what everyday life is like for the parents paying out the ass for an undergrad degree. (âWe donât see your children as money, we care about their well being!â) Events emphasizing the importance of mental health, physical activity, and community spawn out of nowhere (meaning, directly out of the administrationâs ass). The free sunset yoga classes are too obvious, the Positive Affirmations and Pancakes gathering is ridiculous, and the therapeutic petting zoo is just insulting.
Theyâre blatantly lying, but that doesnât mean the student body isnât going to take advantage and then some of the rare, week-long amenities, though. Something cracked inside Seungmin becomes whole again after petting that baby goat for half and hour. You, on the other hand, walk into the library, look the school counselor dead in the eyes, recite, âI am so powerfulâ like youâre recalling a significant date for a history class, then walk out with double the amount of pancakes they were handing out to each student. To be fair, the cost of tuition more than covered a plate stacked high with flapjacks.
Campus is overrun with families. Students do their damndest to deter their parents from spending a fortune in the name of school spirit in the overpriced campus bookstore for the same cheap, itchy garbage you can find in a middle schoolerâs closet. Unfortunately, there isnât much excitement looking at school buildings and cheaply constructed dorms, so the few on campus stores and cafes are packed. Parking is a nightmare to say the very least, meaning it isnât worth it to escape campus to try and find a quieter place to ride it out in town. Even the concept of squeezing onto a bus shuttling families back and forth between campus and town is laughable.
As such, Seungmin is holed up in his apartment avoiding the infiltration to the best of his ability when his phone buzzes.
My dadâs here. Your message lights up the screen. Come say hi?
Without a second thought about his incomplete assignment due on Monday or the midterm he hasnât really studied forâ also on Monday, because his professor is an asshole who doesnât care that his students are going to spend forty-eight hours playing entertainer in a town with nothing to doâ he texts back.
On my way.
Which isnât entirely true. Seungmin is observant enough to note the discreetly elegant way you carry yourself, your taste in accessories, your choice of premium tea blends, and your preference for the more expensive milk candies and reads the subtle indicators that you come from, at the minimum, a decently well-off upbringing. Meaning: Seungmin is not foolish enough to rock up in a hoodie and sweatpants (even if theyâre fresh out of the laundry) to meet your father. This is a first impression he is not willing to fumble, so he opts to switch into something with cleaner, more put together lines. He canât give slob, but he also doesnât want to present way above his tax bracket, like a liar. Time is limited, and the best he can do is a striped navy blue and dark green collared shirt paired with a light, tan pair of pants. He runs a comb through his dark hair, and then heâs out the door.
Main campus is overflowing with too many families. Some are hugging, others are taking pictures in front of insignificant buildings and landmarks they wonât remember the names of, and there are a few tense families that just hover awkwardly around each other on the edge of the scene like they were never handed a script. Seungmin scans the crowd, looking for your face, your smile, the way you tilt your head when youâre really listening to someone or pondering something, and the way you twirl your hair around your fingers when youâre plotting.
He eventually finds you at the bottom of a set of stairs, in a kind of private stretch of grass a little secluded from everyone else. Youâre with a man who shares a sharper, more severe version of your bone structure. Heâs tall, posture straight and distinguished, some silver sprinkling his temples, and thereâs an unmistakable air about him that suggests heâs used to commanding rooms. His attire is casualâ the typical dad wardrobe of a quarter-zip pullover and trousersâ but a closer looks reveals the personally tailored fit of the pants and the logo of one of the most exclusive country clubs in the world.
Okay, so youâre a little more well-off than Seungmin originally assumed.
The manâs eyes are kind as he speaks to you, voice low enough to keep the conversation just between the two of you, although Seungmin thinks he can make out the word, âoverworkâ or something along those lines. Youâre laughing joyfully, eyes crinkling as you playfully flick your hair over your shoulders with both hands and respond, âMe? Never!â
Seungmin withholds a huff, because you and overwork are two things that definitely do not go together, but then a swish of movement monopolizes his attention. His feet adhere to the ground like he trampled into cement instead of grass, and heâs sure heâs openly gawking in front of you yet again.
Beside you, sitting loyally at your feet with the patient stillness of a very well-trained animal, is a dog.
A big dog.
The golden fur reflects the afternoon sunlight like sweet, gooey honey. A proud, broad chest, strong legs that suggest many hours spent romping around multiple acres, and a large tailâ a weapon of mass affectionâ that sweeps happily across the grass. The dogâs head is angled to stare straight at your face, itâs big, glassy eyes fixed on you with an undeniable expression of unfiltered, devoted love (he ignores the feeling of kinshipâ itâs something to unpack at a later date).
Holy shit. Seungmin is seeing a celebrity.
It has to be Clover; he knows itâs true even before he watches the giant dogâs reaction to your voice.
âClover!â You sing, and the dogâs floppy ears perk up at the very first syllable out of your lips like he was waiting for you to say it all along. His tail could cause significant property damage with how it whips even faster, its happiness a constant pattern whooshing through the air. His big paws twitch in a little dance like they want to launch off of the ground to throw himself into your body and smear his cold, wet nose liquid all over you, but heâs fighting his intrusive thoughts like a champ because he knows better. Your fingers scratch into his honey colored fur, rubbing at the specific spots he likes for a few moments as a reward for being a very good boy until you decide to squish his cheeks. Clover is still smiling at the attention, his tongue lolling out of his mouth exactly the way it did when he was a puppy chilling in the display window and making pacts with high school girls who were already prepared to take the corporate world by storm.
Dog senses must be powerful, because abruptly, Clover looks to Seungmin, who is still standing an awkward distance away from the unit. Your gaze follows his, and Seungmin swears the dog winks at him. Itâs quick, nearly imperceptible, but surely it was just a blink with one eye (heâs aware thatâs what a wink is, but he means without the loaded implication behind it). Clover wiggles with excitement.
âYou got him.â Seungmin says, blinking and glancing between the two of you with rounded eyes, unsure why heâs even surprised anymore.
Your smile widens and you chirp, âSeungmin, this is my dad.â Your hands are full of a very happy dog, so you gesture to the man with a tilt of your head. âDad, this is Seungmin. Iâve told you about him.â
Your father offers a firm handshake (not crushing, not limp, but the exact amount of pressure that communicates that heâs done this for decades and has never been caught off guard), a thin smile, and steely, appraising eyes. He isnât cold, but he has the cautious air of man who sees through bullshit and flimsy characters at first glance. Seungmin is kissing his sensible past self from twelve minutes prior on the forehead for changing clothes and kneeling in gratitude to his well-meaning, still mean-spirited older sister for buying him this preppy ass shirt in the first place. Had Seungmin arrived in anything else, he thinks your father would have dismissed him immediately, and whatâs more soul-crushing than a middle-aged man wordlessly calling you irrelevant?
âHave you?â He asks, tone still assessing, and Seungmin recognizes that familiar scheming spark in his eyes instantly. Of course it runs in the family. Also, ouch, a middle-aged man verbally calling you irrelevant burns just as hot, Seungmin discovers. âYouâve told me about a lot of things.â
Seungmin, to his credit, doesnât wilt under the intense heat of your fatherâs psychological warfare, instead shaking his hand with the appropriate amount of pressure, a smile that leaks a tiny bit of his little shit energy, and a contrastingly polite, âNice to meet you, sir.â
Your father immediately turns his attention back to you and Clover, where you are still showering the dog with affection like youâre making up for all the lost scritches. Seungmin watches his eyes soften in real time even though his voice maintains the same edge as he asks, âYou know Clover?â
You glance over at Seungmin as if you are wondering the same thing, the question obvious in the slight furrow of your brows. You have never brought up Clover in conversation with him. Seungmin swallows thickly, very much caught. There goes taking that whole flashback episode to the grave. And what an incredibly inopportune time for this story to surface at that, right in front of your father who is his judge, jury, and executioner for the afternoon.
âI saw her name him.â Seungmin confesses, a bashful heat settling across his cheeks as he cracks a wobbly, sheepish smile and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants to prevent him from nervously cracking his knuckles. Both you and your father stare at him, your expression unsettlingly unreadable while your fatherâs brows are raised.
âAt the bus stop.â He adds, and uselessly shifts his weight from foot to foot as the silence stretches on. It would be kind of funny had this not come out in front of your very intimidating father he thinks, because for the first time, heâs managed to turn the tables and surprise you. Thereâs no radiant smile or girlish gesture; youâre looking at him with something more emotionally anchored to the surface than he used to.
Clover however, does not give a fuck about the clumsy energy suffocating the otherwise fresh airâ the dog has either never formed a single thought in his life, or is yet another diabolical mastermind produced by your clan, but Seungmin canât tell which. The only thing the handsome gent cares about is the fact that there arenât as many hands giving him his well-deserved pampering as there should be. His big, shiny eyes squint shut for a moment as he ducks his fluffy head closer to you. Instantly, you sit with your legs folded on the grass, unconcerned about your clothing, showering Clover in love and more while he absorbs it all like a big, smiley, fuzzy, golden sponge.
âSay hi!â You say, but to who, Seungmin isnât sure, because youâre using an exaggerated, excited voice youâve never used to address him beforeâŠ
He glances to your father to try and phone a friend, but the man simply observes the scene like heâs watching a social experiment, blank and detached as he stares Seungmin down and waits for his next move.
It feels like a test. He knows itâs a test.
Seungmin wanders over to join you in the grass and is immediately greeted by Cloverâs cold nose nudging at his hand, insisting attention. Who is Seungmin to deny him his rights?
âHe grew.â He says as he glides his fingers through Cloverâs sun warmed fur, mostly to fill the silence because of course he did, but what else is he supposed to say?
âYeah!â You agree blissfully, rubbing a specific spot behind Cloverâs ears that has him melting fully into both of your laps like gooey honey slowly oozing from a tipped jar. âHeâs a good boy. The best!â
âThe best.â Your father agrees. Seungminâs eyes dart to his face, and thereâs something warm in his voice as he watches you draw patterns into the fur between his eyes, almost proud. âShe wore me down. Took her three days.â
Seungminâs gaze returns to you. At the puddle of dog invading both of your legs, at your intimidating (soft-hearted maybe?) father standing beside you, and the uncomplicated joy glowing on your face.
âYou always get what you want.â He murmurs, not accusatory or judgmental, but in acceptance and a little bit in inspiration.
Your peer directly into his soul with an easy grin, your eyes twinkling in the sunlight, in unfiltered happiness, before you break the connection to smack a loud kiss directly onto Cloverâs nose (who, comedic genius that he is, goes cross eyed at the contact and topples off your knees into the lush grassâ what a ham).
His heart does something it shouldnât.
Clover barks, pulling Seungmin back into the moment. Your father chuckles at the goofâs theatrics, and itâs quiet but sincere. The older man slips his cell out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and then asks which overpriced coffee shop is worth waiting in a line out the door for, which is a hilarious joke.
Based on your giggles, you seem to think so too. With a grimace that speaks to your past encounters with the cafes on campus, you warn him that itâs best to lower his expectations, that all the employees are underpaid college kids and will burn the coffee without fail. (âI see. The reasoning behind your request for tea replenishment six weeks in, I assume?â âPrecisely.â)
âOh! The girl with the blue underlayers at the cafe next to the bookstore actually knows how to make decent tea. Donât stray from black tea blends, though,â you tack on helpfully. With a solemn nod, he accepts this information and then turns his attention to Seungmin, evidently wanting his take on the matter as well.
âSeriously, donât order anything with coffee,â is all he can advise, a haunted, hollow look in his eyes from the residual trauma of his own experience. The stomach issues he suffered through after drinking half of his order had nearly landed him in the clinic during syllabus week.
âNoted.â Your father ventures off with the promise that his expectations have found residence in hell, and you and Seungmin decide to relocate from the grass and settle on a nearby bench shaded by the trees. Clover is dozing off in a patch of sun, his tail still swishing even in his sleep. Itâs quieter, more peaceful now that most of the families have migrated off of main campus.
âSo,â you begin, and Seungmin turns to face you, which is a mistake because you have that tiny, smug smile curving your lips. âYou knew me.â
His ears go warm as the heat returns to his cheeks with a vengeance. The rest of him is pale, his lips twisted in a betrayed half-frown, half-pout. He thought heâd managed to skirt by the subject, but he should have known you would never let it go so easily.
âI wouldnât say that.â He denies with a swift shake of his head that flings his fringe across his forehead.
You lightly nudge him in the arm with your shoulder, teasing him with a grin as mischievous as it is pretty. How unfortunate for him. âYou witnessed a formative moment!â
He stares you dead in the eyes then, brows knit together like heâs looking at a problem he knows he will never be able to solve. âI witnessed you saying âdaddyâ in public.â
And of course you donât fluster at that like all normal people would. Instead, you throw your head back and laugh, the force of your amusement tilting you further into Seungmin for support. Clover sniffles a little from his napping place, sleepy eyes blinking halfway open a few times before deciding to return to his dream. âItâs called being committed to the bit!â You defend, and Seungmin is evicted out of his right mind by your proximity, so he canât even find the braincells to argue. His limbs are frozen along with the rest of his nervous system. âAnd now heâs mine. So it worked.â
Youâre right, and Seungmin knows it. That fact doesnât stop him from shaking his head, a bemused, lopsided smile quirking a corner of his mouth as you catch your breath and sit up straight again.
âIâm glad you got him.â He says, and you let the silence linger for a few moments before agreeing.
âMe too.â
Something has shifted here. Seungmin can feel it, a new awareness between you, a weight to the silence that hadnât been there before. His courage finally arrives with it. He watches Clover roll onto his back in his sleep, his paws twitching in the air, and ponders how to approach the subject.
Are we dating?
That doesnât feel right.
What are we?
What is he, a middle schooler?
I think Iâm in love with you.
Scratch that one out too. Maybe itâs true, but that doesnât mean heâs ready to say it out loud so you can hear it.
âThink quieter.â You burst him out of his internal think tank session. âYouâre going to wake Clover.â
âIâm notâ itâsââ He flounders, heart pumping his blood in what feels like the wrong direction.
âYes you are. Your eyes are all intense. Just ask.â
He wants to deny the accusation, but it feels not important compared to the subject he actually needs to address, the one heâs put off for far too long. Seungmin takes a breath, and he can taste the freshly cut grass and the warmth of the sun. When he looks at you, youâre already watching him, not a hint of tension in the lines of your shoulders or the contours of your face. Unlike him, youâre at peace.
âAre we dating?â Heâs going to be sick.
âI donât know,â you reply with a bouncy shrug, not mean, but honest. It rattles his chest and shrivels his lungs all the same, but mercifully, you donât allow him to tailspin for long, batting your lashes at him innocently. âI donât recall being asked.â
Oh, easy fix. His lungs re-inflate. Before Seungmin can really think it over, the words leave his mouth, more impulsive than he would have liked, but theyâre still exactly what he feels, direct. âI really want to date you. Do you want to?â
Your immediate smile tells him everything he needs to know before you even respond. You always get what you want.
âYes.â You say, simple, like itâs all easy for you. And maybe it is, because youâve categorized him in your life as someone important, someone you want.
Still, Seungminâs eyes are rounded in disbelief as he stares. âYes?â He double-checks like he could have possibly misheard you, hopeful brown eyes searching your face for any tell that youâre screwing with him.
You giggle at his skepticism, sliding even closer to him on the bench, where you hadnât left much room between you in the first place. âYes,â You confirm, then to seal the deal, you press a quick kiss to his cheek that nearly turns his limbs to a gel consistency. It was barely a peck, quick, not even an entire second long, but he almost oozes into the ground. His knuckles are blanched white from their stiff grip on the edge of the bench to support the weight his spine gave up on. âCongratulations. You have me as your girlfriend. What are you going to do now?â
You hold your fist up just below his mouth like youâre holding a microphone to interview him. Youâre being silly, lightening the mood, giving him an opportunity to play off his severe nerves after weeks of spiraling over the state of your relationship (and kind of more importantly, your anniversary date, which he is noting in his calendar the second he has an opportunity). He could respond with a sarcastic joke, but it doesnât feel right. Besides, youâve opened the door by asking him what heâs going to do, and maybe itâs time he takes another page out of your book and be more of an opportunivoreâŠ
Seungmin lightly knocks your imaginary microphone out of the way, pushing your hand until you lower it. Carefully, he cradles your cheek in his palm and angles his head the slightest bit to the side. The dark of his eyes dilate as they flick down to your lips, taking in your slight, sharp inhale.
Heâs thinking about the fact that youâre a bio physics major at an arts college, that you hold a world record in a dead childrenâs game, that you named a dog that wasnât even yours and then negotiated for it like you were presenting to a boardroom. Heâs thinking about the fact that youâre the most competent, intentional, sweet, diabolical, cute mastermind heâs ever met, and you chose to spend your precious time on him.
The press of his lips on yours is gentle and intense all at once. Your lips are soft; he thinks he can taste the milk candy you like on them. Seungmin adjusts his angle a bit and the slope of his nose brushes slightly against yours. Your hands steady yourself, flattening at the sides of his neck where his pulse is somersaulting. He detects the curve of your lips against his as you feel his blood rush below the heat of your palms. He truly believes heâs putty beneath them. Itâs impossible to think about anything that isnât you right nowâ his head is fuzzy, and so is whatever is nudging persistently in his lapâ huh?
Reluctantly, Seungmin pulls back and glances down, where a very much awake and animated Clover is shoving his very cold, very wet, very insistent snoot into his thigh. His eyes are still loving and vacant, but thereâs something almost smug about the way he wiggles himself between you, like heâs been waiting for this exact moment. Hater. Seungmin thinks bitterly, but he canât really be mad, because unfortunately, the dog really is cute.
You giggle, and he looks back to you, taking in the way your cheeks are flushed so prettily and your breath is a little uneven, but you fawn over the intruding doggy, detaching your hands from Seungminâs neck to scratch at the top of Cloverâs head like youâre thanking him for the interruption.
Good thing too.
Because not even a full five seconds later, your father reappears with a to-go cup in hand, and he realizes Clover may have just saved his life. Instantly, Seungmin takes back what he thought about Clover being a haterâ the guy is a hero, possibly his patron deity, and Seungmin needs to bring him a generous offering of dog treats so that he continues to look over him. Once again, he swears the dog winks at him, but Clover just looks so head empty with his tongue lolling carefree out the side of his mouth.
âWhatâd you get?â You ask, breath completely composed. Seungminâs is lodged in his throat.
âTea.â He responds, but it sounds like a threat. He does not loom, because he does not have to.
Your fatherâs keen eyes flicker between you and Seungmin, assessing yet again. Thereâs something harder there, steely as he peers down his nose at Seungmin, who can only do his best to not fidget in place. He towers at a height that signals to Seungmin that he is being measured for somethingâeither a suit or a coffin, but he isnât sure which. Wordlessly, he hands his phone out to Seungmin, who uneasily takes the device, his wide, terrified eyes never straying from his face.
âGive me your number.â He demands and Seungmin does not waste time, hurrying to find the contacts icon (which he conveniently forgot the appearance of) on the newest, most expensive model while you interject with a pout he can hear in your voice.
âI can send you his contact.â But Seungmin has already entered his full government name and punched in his cell, school email, personal email, his hometown, and is debating adding his next of kin and maybe his social security number with vibrating hands.
âNo need.â Your father takes a long sip of his tea (which definitely does not deserve to be savored), letting the silence wiggle under Seungminâs skin for what feels like twelve excruciatingly long seconds. âHe can at least do this much.â
The social security number is added at that. Seungmin fumbles to return the phone exactly as it was presented to him, frantically swiping back to the original screen. Before he hands it back though, the background image registers fully in his brain.
Itâs a picture of you and Clover, both passed out and cuddled up together in what looks to be a large dog bed in front of a fireplace. Youâre wearing your school uniform from high school, so it must have been taken a while back. Clover rests his fuzzy head against yours, paw resting on your arm, and it seems like his tail is swishing in his sleep based on the blur of motion. Seungmin can imagine you coming home in the afternoon, discarding your backpack and shedding your shoes in the entryway, and immediately curling up with Clover for a nap. Itâs cozy, warm, affectionate. He wonders if your dad is as doting as this background suggests, wonders if he wandered out of his office around the time he expected you home, only to stumble upon this scene and pad closer to capture it. The man who took this photoâ because someone definitely took this photoâ must have been standing very still, very quietly, trying not to wake them.
Judging by this overt, nearly wordless shovel talk of a first meeting, Seungmin thinks he has his answer.
With a thick swallow and a melted heart, Seungmin passes the phone back to your father, who efficiently navigates to Seungminâs contact and scans it with a critical eye. He nods once in approval before slipping the device into his pocket. It doesnât have a case.
âA pleasure to meet you, Seungmin,â He says with finality, and Seungmin isnât quite sure he means it, based on the frosty bite to his tone. âWe have to be on our way now. Some of our father-daughter weekend activities have reservations.â
He nods immediately in understanding, rushing out his goodbye. âOf course! Enjoy your weekend. It was nice to meet you, sir. And Clover.â Seungmin gives the happy, golden-furred dog a few good scritches exactly where he saw you administer them earlier.
You push yourself up off the bench and to your feet, and Seungmin thinks this is it. Heâll see you later, once Parents Weekend is over and everything goes back to normal, but different this time. You begin to approach your father where he waits a few paces away, but then, shit stirrer that you are, you abruptly twirl back around to face him.
Seungmin has no time to process you rushing back to him before you sandwich his cheeks between your palms and drop a quick farewell kiss right on his lips, right in front of your very scary father. He stares at you like youâve completely lost your mind, like youâve betrayed him, like youâve just sentenced him to death, but you only flash him a sweet, teasing grin, your lips a little pinker than usual from your earlier escapades, before you continue on your way.
âLetâs go, Clover!â You call, honey in your voice and your loyal doggy companion trotting alongside you, happy and stupid, tail waving enthusiastically. Seungmin loves him. âSee you later, Seungmin.â
Itâs pathetic, but he misses you already. He thinks if you turn around to face him, youâll see his sad, wet dog eyes pining after you.
âYes. See you later, Seungmin.â Your father echoes, words metallic, and he knows what was actually said was, âDo you have a burial spot in mind? Youâre done for, kid.â But Seungmin doesnât have it in him to be concerned with the thinly-veiled threat loaded into the words like ammunition in the chamber of a gun.
Heâs too busy thinking about what later entails, what heâs going to plan for your first official date. How he is going to make sure you know you made the right choice.
Because you are selective with your time and priorities, of what you choose to let be important. You donât waste energy on things that arenât worth it. And Kim Seungmin will be damned to hell and back before he squanders the privilege of being categorized, chosen.
He intends to be worth it.
He gives himself two to three business days to prove it.
When Seungmin returns to his blessedly empty apartment, he immediately rouses his laptop from its slumber to begin planning your first date. He clicks on the search bar and moves to type. However, his fingers stall, hovering above the keyboard as something else pops into his mind.
He types, the dull click of the keys filling the otherwise silent room, and hits enter.
Then, he clicks on the archives.
And he looks it upâ the Cart Surfer world record.
The site lags a bit as it loads, but after a few seconds of delay, the page fills his screen.
There, at the very top of the list, is your name.
He stares at it for a while, almost daring the letters to rearrange before his eyes. Then Seungmin laughs, long and hard enough that his hands eventually have to wipe at the tears distorting his vision.
Well, theyâre still boys, so thereâs always a chance, but I trust that youâll be able to send them first.â: lmfao
the fans protesting the massive file sizes of your pirated textbook PDFs, : respect for being (asusmedly) rich af yet still pirating, we respect the hustle
He doesnât know your anniversary.: his entire spiral here is hilarious
âPersonally, I donât like to fixate on minor inconveniences. I, like, choose peace, you know?â: amen
Seungmin spends every class restraining himself from hole-punching that idiotâs throat with a pogo stick every time he speaks.: extremely visceral image thank yew
He canât give slob, but he also doesnât want to present way above his tax bracket, like a liar.: i appreciate the braincell he spent considering that so we don't have to go through shenanigans and tomfoolery because of one (1) lie he made up to appear better than reality that will inevitably come crashing down in a month đââïž truth telling ftw
A big dog: ayyyyy clover finally makes his appearance!!!!!
whatâs more soul-crushing than a middle-aged man wordlessly calling you irrelevant?: crying
Seungmin is evicted out of his right mind by your proximity: hey so im in love with this phrasing
âI donât recall being asked.â: I love this mc
Seungmin takes back what he thought about Clover being a haterâ the guy is a hero, possibly his patron deity, and Seungmin needs to bring him a generous offering of dog treats so that he continues to look over him.: good job Clover!!!!
The social security number is added at that.: lmao
And Kim Seungmin will be damned to hell and back before he squanders the privilege of being categorized, chosen.: good mindset đ dont mess it up đ«”
Literally âËâĄsobbingâË⥠thank you so much for sharing your thoughts on this fic AND GOING TO THE TROUBLE OF SHARING YOUR NOTES AS YOU READ IT?!?!?! ïœĄÂ°(°.âᯠâ°)Â°ïœĄ Ran straight to my editors room to kick my feet, twirl my hair, and giggle while reading your comments (Ë ËÌŁÌŁÌ„âËÌŁÌŁÌ„ )ă„⥠I'm so glad you enjoyed Sit Pretty! It's my personal fav of the Turned Tables series so I'm over the moon that this resonated!!! <3 (Clover is the best character I've ever written tbh love that guy)
Also, thank you so much for your reblogs and tags throughout this series!! I can't believe we only have one more part to go!
His apparent classmate whined, the drawn-out syllables triggering his fingers to curl and eyes to round in uncontained horror. Surely she wouldnât. He tried to convince himself he had misheard, but her enunciation was as clear as the shot of soju he wished he could knock back in hopes of blocking this from his memory. Seungmin couldnât believe she was about to drop this cliche line in public over a dog. With complete sincerity, at that.
ౚà§Â warnings: university clubs, club sports, orientation and the accompanying horrific ice breakers, asshole classmate who tries to be mean to you but you dgaf, Seungmin inherits your nonexistent beef tho, we love Seo Changbin in every universe, schenanigans, college nonsense, shudders Parent's Weekend, I gave Reader a manhwa daddy because she deserves it muah, Seungmin is so along for the ride, he's kinda scared but also into it, silent shovel talks, Reader's super cute partner in crime, Reader is a D1 Rage Baiter, Seungmin is a D1 Hater, edited yeah boi
ౚà§Â author note: Welcome to the second to last part of Turned Tables! I really could not shut up on this one, but it was really fun to write :) I hope it makes you giggle! Not to pick favorites, but Seungmin's is absolutely my favorite! Please be sure to read Hyunjinâs part in this series before you read this one (linked previous)! See you next month for the final part! (I can't believe it bro I've never finished a single series until this one this is incredible work from me (âŹâŹïčâŹâŹ))
âźÂ previous
As all orientation groups are, this one is, predictably, a disaster.
Seungminâs eyes flicker around the lopsided shape formed by his peers from his partially tree-shaded spot in the grass, his legs stretched out before him. He appreciates the mild temperature, listening to the end of summer whispering enjoy it while it lasts with a lovely (and ominous) breeze. For a bunch of students allegedly pursuing an arts degree, they sure do struggle to form a basic geometric shape. The supposed circle bumps out on one side, becomes a straight line on another, and another student dots the outer edge, completely disconnected from the wonky shape altogether.
Whatever. No one is being graded on their spatial awareness, and this group does not form the school marching band, so oh well. Seungmin is only here to fulfill one of a never-ending slog of orientation requirements on the seemingly endless list and then forget this afternoon ever happened.
The orientation leaderâ a senior with seemingly wise eyes and the relaxed posture of someone who never cared about impressing or establishing dominance over underclassmenâ makes no attempt to correct the poorly-formed blob. She just settles into the grass the way a retired person who is successful enough to own a lawn would, and delivers her instructions with the energy of someone reading a grocery list.
âName, major, fun fact, high school. Go whenever.â
No obnoxious icebreakers. No forced enthusiasm. Toxic positivity is obviously not one of her presets, but sheâs not a fun sponge either. She doesnât do that stupid name-repeating game around the circle either. Not even a cringy group chant. Seungmin immediately respects her.
Once again, his eyes drift around the circle as he attempts to guess which average college kid will volunteer to go first. A girl with an aggressively high ponytail is typing rapidly on her phone. A guy in slidesâ slides, to an outdoor event in a patch of grass, because apparently heâs committed to the bitâ leans back on his palms. Another guy with vibrant nacho cheese and cool ranch Dorito socks peeking out from his jeans sits criss-cross applesauce directly in front of Seungmin.
So, nothing he hasnât seen before. He isnât trying to be uninterested in other people; itâs just that Seungmin has already found his friend group in his club (if you can even call it that). Not to mention, heâs well aware that his default expression doesnât exactly read befriendable, with the seam of his mouth spelling out âunimpressedâ even when heâs content.
It isnât his fault. Itâs just his face.
Either way: his home is with the athletic tragedies who recognize that the path to maximum scholarship money with minimum effort is through a sport that no one cares about. So what if theyâre losers? So is he. But Seungmin doesnât need to expand his social circle. He just needs to survive this one. Nevertheless, he does the polite thing and pays attention to each person and attempts to commit their faces to memory just in case he ends up sharing a class with them. He really doubts it, though.
The introductions begin with high ponytail girl starting them offâ Interior Design and Architecture major, recovering student athlete, a pet iguana, local high school. Then, a nervous theatre kid follows, who chooses to describe a âfear of mayonnaiseâ as his fun fact. A creative writing major from a different country follows up, and itâs obvious from his exhausted, narrowed eyes that it is bedtime back home for him. Poor guy.
The sculpture student goes next, and it turns out that theyâre a year older than everyone because they were held back. Another guy in the group nicely interjects that being held back isnât a big deal, that everyone has a timeline thatâs right for them. The sculpture student responds with, âright on,â and then explains that they were held back for installing a protest monument at the front entrance of their high school depicting the soccer coach (who had been busted for taking pictures of students changing in the locker room multiple times) being protected by the administration board like they were Secret Service members.
Damn. Okay, Banksy.
âThank you for your service.â The orientation leader nods to the sculpture student, and the introductions keep coming. Admittedly, Seungminâs attention wanes. To be fair, itâs hard to top the sculpture student in terms of being interesting. And heâs been sitting still for too long, and he wants to get up and wander a bit, stretch his legs, and give his ears a break from the constant talking.
But then you start talking, voice light and honeyed.
âIâm a bio physics major.â
Everyoneâs expressions all display subtitles at the information. Seungminâs eyes are wide in disbelief, his lips puckered and his head snapping back to you a bit too fast for his neckâs liking. High ponytail girl blinks rapidly. Theatre kid is openly gawking like heâs never seen a hard science major before. Even the orientation leader, whom Seungmin thought was unshakable, tilts her head in interest.
You chose to attend an arts college only to decide to major in STEM? A little odd, but okay, he guesses. Bio physics sounds made up, but what does he know? You sit across from him diagonally, your hands resting in your lap, your posture perfect, yet somehow seeming comfortable.
âAnd my fun fact,â you smile sweetly, then continueâ and itâs so asinine that Seungmin isnât sure heâs even heard you properly. âI hold the world record for Club Penguinâs Cart Surfer.â
The silence that follows is deafening. The gears in everyoneâs bewildered brains crunch together as they attempt to process each bit of progressively more insane lore you shared so casually.
Seungmin fights with the muscles in his face to keep a neutral expression at the declaration. Thatâs ridiculous. But itâs a dead website, so itâs not like the statement can be proved either way. Youâre just saying it for the gag probably, just to be silly, light-hearted, and see who here has a sense of humor. Heâll look like an ass if he tries to fight you on it (he would later learn, as he loses the battle with his own will to refrain from taking the bait and looking this shit up, that there are records of the highest scores and account holders for all the Club Penguin mini games, and your name is, in fact, at the top of the Cart Surfer list).
Someone else in the group has no qualms about looking like an ass, though.
âBro, no way.â Slides Guy obnoxiously drawls the last syllable out, voice low because heâs trying too hard to project a chill concept that doesnât suit him, based on how easily he is rage-baited. The tone is the worst partâ like heâs above it all. Heâs smiling, but itâs obviously mean-spirited and condescending like heâs somehow earning aura points for belittling you. Seungmin just thinks heâs irritating and immature. He clocks him immediately. There is a specific energy to the ones who will absolutely join a religious club on campus within the first month, and this guy has more than enough of that energy to spare. Seungmin knows his eyes are narrowed, unfiltered, and annoyed, and it makes him look unapproachable, but he canât find it within himself to care. This guy is one of those people who mistakes being an asshole for having a personality, who prefers being known over being liked, and Seungmin does not have the patience for him.
Grow up, he snarls internally, sharp. Grow up, andâ
âGrow up, and donât interrupt her.â Everyoneâs eyes snap to the orientation group leader, who is evidently not paid enough (do they even get compensation?) to entertain petty high school level power dynamics or to allow them to contaminate a simple round of introductions. She isnât loud, and thereâs no aggression, but her voice is finalâ flat in a way that says sheâs seen this rancid behavior before and has no intention of letting it slide.
Slides Guy shuts his silly mouth.
And this is how everyone will remember you, buddy. Hope it was worth it.
The orientation leader turns her attention back to you, expression genuinely interested. âThatâs sick! I miss my puffles every day. Whereâd you go to high school?â
You smile gratefully, a little bashful about the previous scene (despite the fact that it wasnât even your fault), and answer.
And Seungminâs brain does an entire shutdown, check for updates, and system reboot.
Heâs never seen you in his life, heâs sure. Heâs positive he would remember you, because your face is the kind of face people remember. You have soft features, gentle eyes, and a warm, magnetic smile that is nothing short of captivating. Heâs never passed you in the hallways, never seen you in the cafeteria, never caught a glimpse of you in class.
But apparently, you had gone to the same high school as him? It just doesnât add up.
And as Seungmin really looks at you and digs deep into the completely forgettable blur that is the four years of life wasted in high school, a distant, hazy memory surfaces.
Seungmin had been waiting at the bus stop, headphones on for both entertainment purposes and to provide his ears with a thin layer of warmthâa vain attempt to guard them from the biting morning chill. What was actually helping though, was his overgrown, thick, ruffled hair that had grown out enough to form a dark, impenetrable barrier blocking half of his vision; he really needed to get it cut, but it just hadnât been a priority for him. His uniform was officially too short for his gangly limbs thanks to the growth spurt heâd had over the three-week holiday break. Unfortunately, sizing up would highlight his lanky frame. Oh well. Heâd just have to pick a struggle.
A businessman was sitting next to him on the bench, utterly unenthused about his early morning start. Pedestrians briskly walked by, preoccupied with their own destinations and side quests. The bitter air nipped at his unshielded nose, a deep, rosy hue blooming on the tip, and his knuckles ache on his pitching hand. Everything was in post-winter recovery modeâ holiday decorations removed, people returning to the everyday grind, and nature just beginning to maybe consider resprouting. All of it cued the start of spring and new beginnings, but the world around him seemed to be dragging its feet this year.
Or maybe he was just impatient.
The bus was late, like always. His foot bounced incessantly.
There was a pause in between songs, a moment close to total silence, and the timing was just right so that Seungmin could hear a soft gasp from somewhere behind him. It wasnât distressed, closer to a sound of unfiltered delight. Curious (and also phenomenally bored out of his mind), he twisted backwards and lifted one side of his headphones off his ear in search of what the early morning disturbance was about. Not that he was bothered by it or anythingâ heâd take entertainment in any form he could find to save him from zoning out at the dull, cracked concrete between his sneakers.
At first glance, nothing seemed amiss, but then Seungmin spotted another student in front of the pet shop display window. She was wearing a school uniform that matched his, her back to the bus stop and her knees tucked up to her chest in a crouch that would have done irreversible damage to his joints. A backpack hung from her shoulders, a keychain dangling from the zipper that winked in the early sunlight. Even with her back to him, he could still clearly hear everything she prattled to a medium cantaloupe-sized puppy peering out the glass at her.
Its fur was the color of golden honey, and it had the kind of face that made people say âoh my goooood! Itâs so cuteeeeeeâ instinctively. Its tail was going absolutely crazy, just a blur of excited motion.
âOh my gosh! Hiââ The girl leaned in impossibly closer to the window, nose nearly smearing against the glass, and Seungmin thought she must be squinting to read the nametag on display. Her gushing abruptly morphed into mild distaste, bordering on disgust, as she read the assigned name aloud. âHarold?â
The puppy stared at her, head tilted, not a fragment of a thought behind those glassy eyes.
âHmm,â she thought aloud, head tilting to the side, voice pleasantly sweet as she pondered the undeniably horrific title. âThatâs not really giving.â
Seungmin paused his music, abandoning his previous source of entertainment. For some inexplicable reason, he was decidedly invested in the renaming of Harold the puppy (yikes) by a person who didnât even own him. Despite the fact that this didnât impact his life in the slightest, he couldnât look away.
âI think your vibe is moreâŠâ She paused, trailing off as she mulled the possibilities over carefully before finally landing on something fitting. She must have stared into the puppyâs little face like she could find all the answers to her questions there (doggie face reading?). The puppy sneezed, the force of it knocking him off balance as he toppled over, but he recovered quickly, bouncing back up to resume staring at her with his tongue lolling out all lopsided and clumsy.
âClover!â The girl exclaimed, and Seungmin tested the name a few times, sniffling a bit as his nose ran from the cold. It was unquestionably better than Harold. It fit the color of the fur, the sweet, smiley eyes, goofy personality, and the unfiltered joy of a puppy who didnât know or worry about his name anyway.
âThoughts, Clover?â The girl asked, and the puppy scooted closer to the window, little tail slinging behind him even faster somehow, like he had abruptly developed comprehension skills and could put in his two cents.
She gasped again, enthralled. âOkay! Hi, Clover!â
The fawning resumed, and his classmate tugged her cellphone out of her backpack's side pocket, which was intended to store a water bottle (a jailable offense, Seungmin thought). She tapped the screen a few times, then raised it to her ear. The keychain attached to her bag swung with the motion.
Seungmin decided to mind his business at this point, given that the new name was appropriate and he didnât want to be that guy who listens in on a strangerâs conversation (you know, with another humanâ itâs socially acceptable if the other party is an animal, right?). He didnât need to know anything else about this girl who renames puppies that arenât hers. He tuned out the chatterâ probably just asking a parent for permission anywayâ and shifted to turn back around and reposition his headphones whenâ
âBut Daddyââ
His apparent classmate whined, the drawn-out syllables triggering his fingers to curl and eyes to round in uncontained horror. Surely she wouldnât. He tried to convince himself he had misheard, but her enunciation was as clear as the shot of soju he wished he could knock back in hopes of blocking this from his memory. Seungmin couldnât believe she was about to drop this cliche line in public over a dog. With complete sincerity, at that.
ââI love him.â
And with that, Seungminâs soul was evicted from his body. His shoulders were frozen stiff from the shock, joints on lockdown as he recovered. His jaw dropped, his mouth forming a little triangle of disbelief. By the time he had gathered enough of his mind to watch the rest of this soap play out, the call was already over. But her hope was far from it.
âFret not, Clover.â She flung her hair behind her shoulder while she addressed the puppy like they were co-conspirators. His glassy, thoughtless eyes twinkled at her, and his head tilted to one side as if he could fathom her plan. âIâll have him worn down in two to three business days.â
The declaration was delivered as fact, like the outcome was already set in stone. And even Seungmin believed it. There wasnât a whisper of doubt in her voice, just the serene confidence of someone who does not fail to get what she wants.
For a moment, Seungmin just barely caught a glimpse of her profile from behind as she brushed her hair away. The angle was brief, but he saw the curve of her smile and the way her eyes glittered with either mischief or terrifying determination (or both). She looked like an âobstacles are opportunitiesâ kind of girl, like someone who would look at a wrench in a plan and decide that âit just isnât a big deal.â
She continued her one-sided conversation, pointing an index finger at Clover (formerly Harold) through the window. âUntil then, donât even look at another human.â
Seungminâs brows furrowed, and he didnât know what to think of the odd exchange. The girl pressed her fingers to her lipsâ a bubbly, affectionate âmuahâ spoken into the skinâ and then pressed that hand to the glass. The puppy bounded to his paws, romped up to the window, and smeared his little, black nose (and the cold nose juice that accompanied it) on the other side, where her palm met the pane.
Like sealing a deal. A promise.
What the fuck?
Seungmin didnât think to de-contort his body to pretend like heâd been minding his business. He didnât budge, just sat there frozen in concerned fascination, until the girl straightened from her crouched position and turned on her heel to face the bus stop.
The action fully exposed the bright, youthful, entirely unfamiliar face of his classmate, as he saw her for the first time.
He never learned her name. Never saw her face again.
Or so he thought.
Because give or take three years later, sitting in the wonkiest excuse of a circle, Seungmin introduces himself, unable to tear his eyes away from that same face.
Yes, itâs been a few years, but even now, youâre cute. Animated and soft in a therapeutic kind of way that seems trustworthy. You donât have any panicked misery weighing your bones down into an exhausted droop like most hard science students do once they realize they have made an awful mistake. Instead, you sit straight, airy and light, unburdened and natural in the way plants grow toward sunlight.
Seungmin runs through his introduction, keeping it brief and sincere as he addresses the group. At the end, as he shares which high school he attended, he canât help but glance your way. Youâre using your hand to block the sun rays shining in between the tree leaves from your face, but even still, your eyes twinkle as you respectfully listen. There is no indication of recognition in them, and he is relieved that you probably never officially crossed paths, and heâs not an inattentive asshole.
The introductions continue, and surprise, surprise, Slides Asshole is exactly who Seungmin had expected.
Graphic design, I play guitar for my church. Local.
Fascinating. Original. Super chill of him. He canât fight the unimpressed, downward quirk of his lips or the narrowed, uninterested heat of his dark eyes. He only realizes heâs crossed his arms across his chest during his introduction once the next person begins.
Nothing else of substance results from the remainder of the introductions.
But what Seungmin is unaware of is that you do recognize him.
Not from high school. Because three days before Seungmin ever plopped down in that grass to overshare against his will, you were already taking note of his goofy photo provided by your new art club president and dear friend, partially as a gift and mostly as required study material.
You recall the previous interaction when the goddess-level beauty approached you for the first time with fondness and the excitement that arrives with a new friendship.
You had just been wandering, exploring the campus with no real destination in mind and taking in the scenery. Thereâs a small strip of campus where a library, a snack cafe, and an actual cafe all nestle together in a row. That was where the girl struck, introducing herself with an easy smile and an invitation for a drink at the real cafe. You didnât have anything pressing to do, so you accepted her warm welcome without much thought.
As you sat down across from each other with your drinks, you noted that she was the kind of gorgeous that fell into the drop-dead category. The usual getting-to-know-you questions were exchanged, and you matched each otherâs energy delightfully, giggling over matcha and honey tea at the silly stories shared.
Then, the topic shifted as your new friend braced her elbows on the table and subtly mentioned that she was the president of the art club. There was less subtlety when she all but begged you to join the club, regaling you with a sob story about everyoneâs preference to join clubs specific to their study rather than experimenting with a bit of everything in the general art club. The thickest layer was frosted liberally with woeful, glassy eyes and all as she played the damsel in distress. Essentially, if she didnât get another person to join, the club would be short of the required people to remain active.
You liked her. You could tell sheâs a schemer, and she wasnât afraid to go for the Oscar; you saw a bright, lucrative friendship ahead. Plus, this was an easy problem for you to solve. Eyes glistening with empathy, you reached across the table to rest your hand atop hers. âI want to help,â you said sincerely, and her hand flipped palm up to squeeze your fingers. You sighed, a little dejected, and hit her back with big, sad eyes of your own. âBut I just donât know if Iâll be able to balance the responsibilities with my major and my part-time.â
She swore up and down that the art club was not a swamp of responsibilities and huge time commitments, and that was the magic promise you needed. From her description, the art club sounded intentionally low-key and smallâ which just so happened to be your preferred dynamic for social interactions.
You agreed to join with a sweet smile, and your club president stared at you with the level of adoration usually reserved for whoever invented pouch applesauce. She stood and rounded the table, tugging you into her arms like the two of you were starring in the thirteenth episode of a drama. Long, nimble fingers brushed the back of your head, threading gently through your hair as she simpered, âYou precious, precious soul,â so her breath grazed the tip of your ear.
You elected to return the hug, loosely threading your arms around her waist and patting her back a couple of times in an attempt to return the energy.
Your new club president pulled back after a beat, giving your cheek an adoring pat before sliding back into her chair. Then, she dug into a specific pocket in her bag, flicking what appeared to be a sketchbook based on the wire rings over to the side, and slipped her cellphone out.
âYouâre the sweetest.â She declared while swiping into her phone, and you were expecting it to be passed to you so you could enter your contact information. Such was orientation week. Instead, she continued, peering at you meaningfully and all-knowingly, âI couldnât live with it if your beautiful, sensitive heart got trampled on by these horrific, ugly art school boys.â
You nodded, a well-mannered, closed-lipped smile on your face as you allowed her to take you on this unexpected journey, unsure of the destination. âIâm letting you in on this secret.â She flipped her phone around to display a photo of⊠like, eight random guys, all frozen in poses ranging from suspicious to ridiculous. One of them had a giant, goofy grin only outdone in size by his incredible biceps. He was giving you unrealistic expectations for the silhouettes created by sorority squats, and you needed to look away. You blinked at the picture, connecting absolutely zero dots, then stared back at her for context.
âHonestly, quality of life advice: boys are a curse, a total net negative on the whole.â She sighed heavily and tucked her hair behind her ear. âBut, if youâre going to be involved with any of them on this godforsaken campus crawling with narcissistic love-bombers, then these losers are vetted.â
Oh! Okay, that makes⊠no sense.
You tilted your head, still staring blankly with a small pout on your lips. Your gracious new friend clocked the lack of understanding and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in distress. âOh, my dear,â she fussed. âI wonât let them eat you alive.â
She leaned closer, and zoomed in on the regular-looking college guys in the picture to give you a brief overview (âThis silly is mine, these two goofs are taken, this one would be taken if he pulled his head out of his assââ). You werenât particularly⊠interested, but you listened and filed the information away nonetheless. You unironically hoped you would run into Sorority Squat Bicep Guy, thoughâ you had a sneaking suspicion that conversation would be comedic gold.
âAnyway, Iâm not saying date them.â She clarified, fanning her hand like she can banish the thought. âIâm just telling you that theyâre decent people to hang around who probably wonât send you running to therapy.â She paused then, seemingly considering. âWell, theyâre still boys, so thereâs always a chance, but I trust that youâll be able to send them first.â
Itâs this advice and counsel that encourages you to chat with Seungmin once the orientation group has dispersed. You catch his eye and wave with a familiar wiggle of your fingers before approaching him, making light commentary on how funny it is that your paths never crossed until now.
Hilarious, Seungmin wants to say.
âWe should grab go grab coffee and catch up!â You say like this is a natural thing to do with someone you kinda know but not really.
âCatch up?â Seungmin questions with a slight raise of his brows. You donât know anything about each other, other than superficial orientation information (and the fact that you said âdaddyâ in public, but Seungmin really doesnât want to talk about it).
âYeah!â You beam. âItâll be fun!â Seungmin finds himself agreeing before he really thinks about it, and the two of you amble along the path to the shops on main campus, chatting easily, bouncing from topic to topic. You sit across from each other at a table in the cafe, exchanging stories about the previous places you frequented back in high school and oddly specific shared experiences. (âYou took Advanced Calc with Lee? Thatâs rough, buddy. My deepest condolences to your GPA.â) You like honey in your green tea. He takes in the simple, delicate jewelry dangling from your ears and neck that appear to be a set. Nothing flashy, but nice and cohesive. You remind him of pretty, puffy cloudsâ the kind you always want to stop and appreciateâ delicate and dreamy, soft and patient.
The entire time he sits before you, he wants to ask if you were successful. If you managed to grind your dadâs willpower into dust to get Clover. If the puppy with fur the color of the honey in your tea and the glassy, thoughtless eyes ever learned his new name.
Seungmin isnât brave enough to ask, so he simply allows his foot to bounce perpetually in an attempt to expel his curiosity.
You have no idea that he was an unwilling witness to that interaction, and he canât think of a way to bring it up without seeming like a creep. Oh, by the way, I saw you at a bus stop like, three years ago renaming a dog and saying âdaddyâ public. Did you ever get him?
Ha. Nope.
So he doesnât ask. He sits there, sipping his coffee that isnât burnt but was definitely made in the same container as a batch that was. He watches you talk and he just wonders, the sole of his sneaker bouncing the whole time. He contributes as best he can to the conversation, flashes small, controlled smiles that accentuate the apples of his cheeks, and quietly chuckles when itâs acceptable. He doesnât realize heâs been tapping his fingers against his thighâ a habit born from his baseball days, the rhythm he drummed into the handle of his bat while waiting for a pitchâ until you glance down at his hand with a smile.
Numbers are exchanged, and Seungmin expects that to be the end of that. He genuinely enjoys your companyâ youâre bright like soft, yellow light, youâre hilarious, youâre the type of person who names dogs on a whim and treats authority like itâs negotiable. But youâre a bio physics major. Surely, all of your time will be monopolized by lab hours and breaking your neck over coursework in the part of the library thatâs actually quiet. You will undoubtedly suffer the kind of academic grind that leaves no room for casual cafe hangouts with actual art majors who spend their oodles of free time sucking hard at table tennis.
But Seungmin is wrong.
You are either incredibly efficient, or bio physics isnât as strenuous as it sounds, because he runs into you all the timeâ and not even at the library.
To be fair, it makes perfect sense to see you around campus, and you frequently pass each other on your way to your classes. He sees you every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, walking across the quad with your tote bag slung over one shoulder and rhythmically bumping against your hip. He expects to see you in that context now and every so often; he catches himself glancing around the student body wandering about to see if he can spot you. He doesnât understand why he does it. Are you even considered good enough friends for him to say anything to you when he does see you?
But Seungmin even encounters you off campus, usually at different restaurants. He finds you on a Saturday at a local comfort spot, a family-owned hole-in-the-wall furnished with natural wood and warm lighting. You sit alone at a table, entertaining yourself by peering out the window, seemingly taking in the view. There isnât anything particularly riveting about a mostly empty sidewalk and a few trees, but you seem at peace. Just as he remembered, your posture is straight and somehow relaxed, subtly confident in the way you hold yourself.
Then, Seungmin is pulled out of his unintentional staring as you happen to glance at the door and see him standing at the entrance with the awkward energy of an NPC, arms dangling weirdly at his sides. You flash him a kind smile and wiggle your fingers at him in a greeting. Seungminâs lips twitch into a close-lipped smile and he gives you a faint nod of acknowledgment. He keeps his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, not trusting himself to wave back in a way that seems normal. He fully expects for this to be the extent of your interaction, but then you gesture to the seat across from you, and before Seungmin even processes your invitation, his feet are moving to your command.
From there, the simple pattern establishes itself quickly. Your paths cross. This turns into an unplanned shared meal, which more often than not turns into a leisurely walk back to campus. Then, sometimes that walk turns into a quick detour, which more often than not leads to an hour of just hanging out at either of your apartments. That hour becomes an evening of homework, movies, or venturing back out to explore the town and its dessert options. At some point, it stops being coincidental, and instead becomes scheduled, intentional.
And itâs comfortable. Hanging out with you feels like holding a warm mug in his palms, the pleasant heat soothing and comforting without being overbearing.
Seungmin doesnât even question it, and just lets it happen. You become a constant presence in his day-to-day, and the weeks blur together until he isnât sure when he started looking forward to spending time with you. When exactly did he start to feel something tight in his chest when his phone chimed and it wasnât your name that lit up his screen? At what point did he begin stocking his apartment with your favorite tea and keeping a few of those milky candies you like in his backpack just in case you got a craving for something sweet?
Itâs a study night when he finally figures it out. Heâs cozy in an old hoodie, the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. His forearms are lean, bound with an unsuspecting strength that only enters the chat when needed. Just the other night, you witnessed his reflexes and coordination in action when he caught a toppling mug with one hand⊠without glancing away from his laptop. Your legs are resting across his as you both lounge on the couch in your apartment, laptops perched on your laps, the fans protesting the massive file sizes of your pirated textbook PDFs, when Seungmin finally has the thought (no, not about his assignment).
Wait. Are you two⊠dating?
Seungminâs fingers twitch over his trackpad as his blood buffers in place. His blue light-exhausted eyes dart up from his laptop screen to stare at nothing as the record scratch only he can hear tears right through the center of the slice of life romance montage he wasnât aware he was starring in.
He has no idea. Like, he genuinely has no idea. It never came up in conversation.
And how is he even supposed to tactfully ask that question? What if you arenât dating, and heâs and idiot for not realizing that he unintentionally latched onto something that doesnât exist? What if he asks and upsets you because it comes off as him only wanting you romantically and not valuing your friendship? What if you ditchâ
Or what if you are dating? What if heâs in a relationship and heâs been too oblivious to notice, and he upsets you because he obviously isnât romantically invested enough, and you think he doesnât care, but youâve been waiting for him to say something, to take that step, toâ?
Wait, fuck.
Seungmin pales, every nerve and blood cell in his body reconsidering existence, because he realizes something so much bigger. So much worse.
He doesnât know your anniversary.
Heâs either the worst boyfriend on the planet, or he isnât a boyfriend at all, and both options make his throat itch to start the midnight scream of finals week a whole month and a half early. And at whatever time is right now.
âChapter not sticking?â
Your honeyed voice interrupts his sparking, spiraling brain attempting to do mental gymnastics to figure out at what point in the last six weeks is most likely the day you (maybe) started dating. His droopy, vaguely haunted eyes snap to your face as he makes his best attempt to conceal the guilt from his expression while he internally puzzles out Schrodingerâs relationship.
âYeah,â Seungmin agrees, his voice uncharacteristically wobbly before he clears his throat and asks hopefully, âNeed a break?â
You giggle in that trouble-making kind of way, and Seungmin already knows what youâre going to confess before your lips even part, because itâs always the same thing every study night. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, then pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue in mock irritation, completely unaware of how horrendously hot it kind of is of him.
âYouâve been done for over an hour,â he states flatly, and you nod your head, still laughing quietly with the prettiest smile Seungminâs ever seen. Heâs not upset, but he is absolutely baffled as to how you manage to find the time in between your classes, art club, and your part-time job at the screen printing store in town to complete your coursework, study, and spend time with him (he feels like the most expendable part of that equation, but he doesnât really want to unpack that thought further). You do the impossibleâ juggling classes, homework, real work, sleep, and a social life on top of it all like itâs not even that hard.
And maybe for you, it isnât.
âHow do you do it?â He asks instead of voicing the other atomic bomb of a question thatâs been tormenting him over the past five minutes and will haunt him for the foreseeable future.
You continue laughing, bright and unburdened, the light from your laptop screen gleaming in your eyes. âDo what?â
âLike, literally everything.â Seungmin blinks as he tries to comprehend it. Heâs squinting at you like if he focuses hard enough, he can trade what remains of his eye sight in exchange for your secrets. Did you sell your soul or something? âBio physics, art club, work, sleep, this, me. How?â
You go quiet as you consider his question for a bit, head tilting as you gather your explanation. Then, your lips curve into a smile, softer than usual, honest, and you lean in closer to him like youâre about to share private information, like the fact that you two are the only inhabitants of the apartment isnât enough privacy for your classified ways of time management (or witchcraft). Seungmin does not stand a chance, and is drawn in to your domain like you have him tethered by a string.
âI donât waste my energy,â you say with a breezy shrug, because to you, itâs just that straightforward. âThere are a lot of things that demand your attention. Itâs up to you to decide whatâs worth it.â Seungminâs chest aches like its reached capacity because heâs been holding his breath without realizing it. Delicate, slender fingers peek out from the sleeves of your oversized cardigan to pluck the string on his hoodie from where it rests against his front to absently twirl the textured, off-white string a bit, and his chest overreacts to the action like youâve punched him in the sternum instead.
âPersonally, I donât like to fixate on minor inconveniences. I, like, choose peace, you know?â You allow the string to slip from your fingers, then tuck your hair behind your ear with a sweet smile that keeps him trapped in place like always.
Genuinely, Seungmin canât pull himself out of your sparkly, clever eyes as he allows your words to really sink in. He processes carefully, trying to understand your philosophy at the same time as your movements (he needs to pick a struggle). It sounds so simple, but you must have the most rock-solid, resilient psyche in existence for your plan to be âprotect my peace.â He believes that fact wholeheartedly, but Seungmin knows youâre more complex than this. His lips purse a bit, bottom lip pouting. âThat sounds like an incomplete answer.â
You laugh again like you were wondering if he was going to catch onto you, then shift a bit to settle more comfortably on the perpetually uncomfortable couch, the movement of your legs in his lap tilting his laptop to the side. He catches it before it can perform a final acrobatic act and shatter on the cheap, fake wooden floor.
âI know what I want.â You say with yet another unbothered bounce of your shoulders. Seungmin tracks every change in the lines of your form as you do. âEverything falls into two categories: things I want, and things that are whatever.â
Seungminâs throat goes dry. He doesnât think he could even participate in the midnight scream of finals week right now. What does he do with the implication of his categorization in your world, that heâs been chosen?
The contours of his eyes shift into something tighter, something vaguely concerned as his lips twitch. âYouâŠâ He trails off, unsure which of his many questions to ask. His dark brows pinch together, a crease forming between them.
You help him out.
âIâm, like, really smart.â You say, glowing with the warmth of your genuine self-praise, voice light and as sweet as ever. Seungmin knows this as a fact already too, heâs just seeing your genius in a different context now.
âIâm efficient and good at optimization,â You list, twisting and twirling a few strands of your hair around your fingers, almost hypnotic in rhythm, as you explain. âOnce you understand and establish a pattern, everything else is just⊠execution.â
Seungminâs jaw drops at this. He doesnât say anything, just stares, mouth hanging open in endearingly triangular shaped shock. This little peek into your brain is not what he expected in the least from his nearly syrupy sweet maybe girlfriend. You continue, not addressing his state of disorientation.
âMy classes, job, and extracurriculars are all just patterns.â You lightly touch the pads of your fingertips to your thumb as you list each item off. âThe path of least resistance. I chose this school because I knew I could be at the top without competition. I chose bio physics becauseâ peace and loveâ no one here is smart. I have a perfect GPA with minimal effort. I work at the print shop because the money is easy. I joined the art club becauseââ You pause, not long, but just enough to signal that it might be a deviation from your usual (and somewhat horrifying) decision-making. âBecause someone asked me to,â you conclude.
Slowly, Seungmin nods his head a few times, his dark fringe sweeping just below his brows. âThatâs terrifying.â He says honestly, and a little bit intrigued at the same time.
The only reply is your soft giggles as you close your laptop with the finality of someone who would not be doing any more work that night, and despite himself, Seungmin canât help but grin lopsidedly back at the sound.
His grin fades later though, once heâs alone, and he fixates on this conversation for a long while, rolls it around in his head where it has no means of escape. Because the thing about Seungmin is that he is a D1 hater. If hating was a sport, he would have a full ride scholarship for it. Sure, he ignores nonsense to a certain degree, but his threshold is located several kilometers below yours.
Itâs an interesting contrast. Where your personality is all pleasant vibes and softness that people (gravely and very stupidly) mistake as air-headedness, Seungmin festers.
Tragically, he is cursed and shares a class with fucking Slides Guy. Who, by the way, was so irrelevant in your life that you donât even remember him being in your orientation group when Seungmin brings him up. So there. The asshat continues to be the least interesting and least chill person Seungmin has ever had the immense misfortune of sharing oxygen with. Seungmin spends every class restraining himself from hole-punching that idiotâs throat with a pogo stick every time he speaks.
âYour poor molars,â you pout one evening, resting your head on the edge of the seat of the couch. Youâre in his apartment this time, taking up residence on the floor in front of his couch for âa change in scenery.â Seungmin had stared at you for a few extended seconds, expression unreadable as you settled on the ground, then joined you without a word.
âTheyâre fine.â He responds without looking up from his laptop. Why he was bothering to glower at it, he doesnât know. He hasnât retained any of the text heâs been flicking through, and all heâs doing is guaranteeing himself a blue light-induced headache later.
âYouâve been clenching your jaw for like, two hours.â
With that, Seungmin registers the tension and accompanying ache in his face because he has, in fact, been clenching his jaw for, like, two hours straight. He sighs, throwing his head back to glare at the ceiling like itâs responsible for the discomfort of his gums and high cheekbones.
âItâs that motherfucker from orientation,â he admits, voice unmistakably bitter and venomous. His arms are crossed defensively across his stomach, the subtle strength from years of baseball evident in the toned lines of his forearms. âThe one in those dumbass Slides.â
You only blink at him, puzzled, not a trace of recognition in your face. âSlides?â
Seungmin straightens up and faces you fully at that, brows furrowed in disbelief. âThe guy who interrupted you.â When that doesnât ring a bell, he tries, âThe guy who gave extra in High School Musical.â
You process, eyes fluttering closed while you sit silent for a long while as you try to recall this guy you allegedly crossed paths with. Then, you give up with a bouncy, unruffled shrug. âNope, Iâve got nothing.â
âLiterally how? Bro is insufferable,â he groans with a roll of his droopy eyes.
âSounds like a waste of energy.â You say simply, like itâs the most obvious thing in the world to ignore people who drain your will to live like a Pokemon attack. Slides, use Giga Drain on Seungminâs will to live!
Seungmin blinks a few times, considering. Right. He can just⊠ignore the guyâs existence. Choose peace, as you say.
Huh.
He files that information away as you return to your laptop, maybe scrolling through another PDF the size of the sun like you didnât take shears to his entire mental framework. Once again, he is internally musing about how câest la vie your personality is, and thatâs when it clicksâ not instantly, but like gradually, like how fog fades from a window pane.
It all makes total sense.
It isnât that youâre sweet because youâre simple. Youâre more strategic than that. You are sweet because you choose to be. You assessed the world and all its obstacles, and arrived at the conclusion that most of them just arenât worth your time.
And peopleâ complete fucking morons, all of themâ fall into the trap of looking at you and seeing someone gentle, someone unassuming, someone who would alter her path to avoid stepping on an ant. Youâre undeniably lovely, and you glide through life with a seemingly impossible ease. But many people misinterpret that as you not having much going on upstairs.
You are so far from it, itâs not even funny.
The discovery happens slowly and all at once for Seungmin (although heâd always had his suspicions). It started smallâ your admission that you schemed to pave a flawless, uncracked path for yourself in STEM functioned like a microfiber cloth does to the lenses of Seungminâs glasses. Itâs easy to see that you operate on minimal effort and input to maximize your results, always efficient. After that, Seungmin notices how you always seem to know exactly what to say to get what you want, how you navigate social interactions with a delicate precision, and the way you never, ever let an opportunity go to waste.
Seungmin watches, silent as you approach Chan with miraculous solutions to all his fundraiser merch problems (you know, other than the obvious one that the merch exists in the first place). Your pitch is empatheticâ getting custom merch can be so expensive, after all. But donât fret! The table tennis team can print through the screen printing shop you work at for better rates, higher quality, faster turnaround, and no shipping costs. You negotiate that deal like a pro, presenting it to Chan like youâre doing him a favor out of the kindness overflowing from your precious little heart, and you walk away with an arrangement that benefits everyone, a twinkling, little keychain swinging from your tote as you go.
Heâs confident heâs seen this episode before.
Seungmin keeps his mouth shut.
âYouâre so sweet,â he compliments once itâs just the two of you, but his eyes are narrowed because the bigger picture is visible to him. He, of course, sees the heartwarming camaraderie of your actions, but he sees the other, more subtle nuances too. âBut youâre also a diabolical opportunivore.â
Your laugh is delighted and bright as you flash him a cheeky smile, your hand reaching up to rest against the side of your glowing, flattered face. âThank you!â
âItâs not a compliment.â He says, eyes thickly glazed with his affection.
âIâm receiving it as one.â
He scoffs, but heâs fighting off the upward quirk of the corners of his mouth. Seungmin doesnât think you can surprise him after this. Heâs seen your schemes, catalogued your chilling efficiency, witnessed you charm a screen printing deal out of his teammate like you were offering community service. Youâre a genius. What more could you possibly do that would shake him further?
He is proven wrong with the arrival of Parents Weekend and with it, the administration scrambling to throw together a (phony, bogus, fraudulent) presentation of what everyday life is like for the parents paying out the ass for an undergrad degree. (âWe donât see your children as money, we care about their well being!â) Events emphasizing the importance of mental health, physical activity, and community spawn out of nowhere (meaning, directly out of the administrationâs ass). The free sunset yoga classes are too obvious, the Positive Affirmations and Pancakes gathering is ridiculous, and the therapeutic petting zoo is just insulting.
Theyâre blatantly lying, but that doesnât mean the student body isnât going to take advantage and then some of the rare, week-long amenities, though. Something cracked inside Seungmin becomes whole again after petting that baby goat for half and hour. You, on the other hand, walk into the library, look the school counselor dead in the eyes, recite, âI am so powerfulâ like youâre recalling a significant date for a history class, then walk out with double the amount of pancakes they were handing out to each student. To be fair, the cost of tuition more than covered a plate stacked high with flapjacks.
Campus is overrun with families. Students do their damndest to deter their parents from spending a fortune in the name of school spirit in the overpriced campus bookstore for the same cheap, itchy garbage you can find in a middle schoolerâs closet. Unfortunately, there isnât much excitement looking at school buildings and cheaply constructed dorms, so the few on campus stores and cafes are packed. Parking is a nightmare to say the very least, meaning it isnât worth it to escape campus to try and find a quieter place to ride it out in town. Even the concept of squeezing onto a bus shuttling families back and forth between campus and town is laughable.
As such, Seungmin is holed up in his apartment avoiding the infiltration to the best of his ability when his phone buzzes.
My dadâs here. Your message lights up the screen. Come say hi?
Without a second thought about his incomplete assignment due on Monday or the midterm he hasnât really studied forâ also on Monday, because his professor is an asshole who doesnât care that his students are going to spend forty-eight hours playing entertainer in a town with nothing to doâ he texts back.
On my way.
Which isnât entirely true. Seungmin is observant enough to note the discreetly elegant way you carry yourself, your taste in accessories, your choice of premium tea blends, and your preference for the more expensive milk candies and reads the subtle indicators that you come from, at the minimum, a decently well-off upbringing. Meaning: Seungmin is not foolish enough to rock up in a hoodie and sweatpants (even if theyâre fresh out of the laundry) to meet your father. This is a first impression he is not willing to fumble, so he opts to switch into something with cleaner, more put together lines. He canât give slob, but he also doesnât want to present way above his tax bracket, like a liar. Time is limited, and the best he can do is a striped navy blue and dark green collared shirt paired with a light, tan pair of pants. He runs a comb through his dark hair, and then heâs out the door.
Main campus is overflowing with too many families. Some are hugging, others are taking pictures in front of insignificant buildings and landmarks they wonât remember the names of, and there are a few tense families that just hover awkwardly around each other on the edge of the scene like they were never handed a script. Seungmin scans the crowd, looking for your face, your smile, the way you tilt your head when youâre really listening to someone or pondering something, and the way you twirl your hair around your fingers when youâre plotting.
He eventually finds you at the bottom of a set of stairs, in a kind of private stretch of grass a little secluded from everyone else. Youâre with a man who shares a sharper, more severe version of your bone structure. Heâs tall, posture straight and distinguished, some silver sprinkling his temples, and thereâs an unmistakable air about him that suggests heâs used to commanding rooms. His attire is casualâ the typical dad wardrobe of a quarter-zip pullover and trousersâ but a closer looks reveals the personally tailored fit of the pants and the logo of one of the most exclusive country clubs in the world.
Okay, so youâre a little more well-off than Seungmin originally assumed.
The manâs eyes are kind as he speaks to you, voice low enough to keep the conversation just between the two of you, although Seungmin thinks he can make out the word, âoverworkâ or something along those lines. Youâre laughing joyfully, eyes crinkling as you playfully flick your hair over your shoulders with both hands and respond, âMe? Never!â
Seungmin withholds a huff, because you and overwork are two things that definitely do not go together, but then a swish of movement monopolizes his attention. His feet adhere to the ground like he trampled into cement instead of grass, and heâs sure heâs openly gawking in front of you yet again.
Beside you, sitting loyally at your feet with the patient stillness of a very well-trained animal, is a dog.
A big dog.
The golden fur reflects the afternoon sunlight like sweet, gooey honey. A proud, broad chest, strong legs that suggest many hours spent romping around multiple acres, and a large tailâ a weapon of mass affectionâ that sweeps happily across the grass. The dogâs head is angled to stare straight at your face, itâs big, glassy eyes fixed on you with an undeniable expression of unfiltered, devoted love (he ignores the feeling of kinshipâ itâs something to unpack at a later date).
Holy shit. Seungmin is seeing a celebrity.
It has to be Clover; he knows itâs true even before he watches the giant dogâs reaction to your voice.
âClover!â You sing, and the dogâs floppy ears perk up at the very first syllable out of your lips like he was waiting for you to say it all along. His tail could cause significant property damage with how it whips even faster, its happiness a constant pattern whooshing through the air. His big paws twitch in a little dance like they want to launch off of the ground to throw himself into your body and smear his cold, wet nose liquid all over you, but heâs fighting his intrusive thoughts like a champ because he knows better. Your fingers scratch into his honey colored fur, rubbing at the specific spots he likes for a few moments as a reward for being a very good boy until you decide to squish his cheeks. Clover is still smiling at the attention, his tongue lolling out of his mouth exactly the way it did when he was a puppy chilling in the display window and making pacts with high school girls who were already prepared to take the corporate world by storm.
Dog senses must be powerful, because abruptly, Clover looks to Seungmin, who is still standing an awkward distance away from the unit. Your gaze follows his, and Seungmin swears the dog winks at him. Itâs quick, nearly imperceptible, but surely it was just a blink with one eye (heâs aware thatâs what a wink is, but he means without the loaded implication behind it). Clover wiggles with excitement.
âYou got him.â Seungmin says, blinking and glancing between the two of you with rounded eyes, unsure why heâs even surprised anymore.
Your smile widens and you chirp, âSeungmin, this is my dad.â Your hands are full of a very happy dog, so you gesture to the man with a tilt of your head. âDad, this is Seungmin. Iâve told you about him.â
Your father offers a firm handshake (not crushing, not limp, but the exact amount of pressure that communicates that heâs done this for decades and has never been caught off guard), a thin smile, and steely, appraising eyes. He isnât cold, but he has the cautious air of man who sees through bullshit and flimsy characters at first glance. Seungmin is kissing his sensible past self from twelve minutes prior on the forehead for changing clothes and kneeling in gratitude to his well-meaning, still mean-spirited older sister for buying him this preppy ass shirt in the first place. Had Seungmin arrived in anything else, he thinks your father would have dismissed him immediately, and whatâs more soul-crushing than a middle-aged man wordlessly calling you irrelevant?
âHave you?â He asks, tone still assessing, and Seungmin recognizes that familiar scheming spark in his eyes instantly. Of course it runs in the family. Also, ouch, a middle-aged man verbally calling you irrelevant burns just as hot, Seungmin discovers. âYouâve told me about a lot of things.â
Seungmin, to his credit, doesnât wilt under the intense heat of your fatherâs psychological warfare, instead shaking his hand with the appropriate amount of pressure, a smile that leaks a tiny bit of his little shit energy, and a contrastingly polite, âNice to meet you, sir.â
Your father immediately turns his attention back to you and Clover, where you are still showering the dog with affection like youâre making up for all the lost scritches. Seungmin watches his eyes soften in real time even though his voice maintains the same edge as he asks, âYou know Clover?â
You glance over at Seungmin as if you are wondering the same thing, the question obvious in the slight furrow of your brows. You have never brought up Clover in conversation with him. Seungmin swallows thickly, very much caught. There goes taking that whole flashback episode to the grave. And what an incredibly inopportune time for this story to surface at that, right in front of your father who is his judge, jury, and executioner for the afternoon.
âI saw her name him.â Seungmin confesses, a bashful heat settling across his cheeks as he cracks a wobbly, sheepish smile and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants to prevent him from nervously cracking his knuckles. Both you and your father stare at him, your expression unsettlingly unreadable while your fatherâs brows are raised.
âAt the bus stop.â He adds, and uselessly shifts his weight from foot to foot as the silence stretches on. It would be kind of funny had this not come out in front of your very intimidating father he thinks, because for the first time, heâs managed to turn the tables and surprise you. Thereâs no radiant smile or girlish gesture; youâre looking at him with something more emotionally anchored to the surface than he used to.
Clover however, does not give a fuck about the clumsy energy suffocating the otherwise fresh airâ the dog has either never formed a single thought in his life, or is yet another diabolical mastermind produced by your clan, but Seungmin canât tell which. The only thing the handsome gent cares about is the fact that there arenât as many hands giving him his well-deserved pampering as there should be. His big, shiny eyes squint shut for a moment as he ducks his fluffy head closer to you. Instantly, you sit with your legs folded on the grass, unconcerned about your clothing, showering Clover in love and more while he absorbs it all like a big, smiley, fuzzy, golden sponge.
âSay hi!â You say, but to who, Seungmin isnât sure, because youâre using an exaggerated, excited voice youâve never used to address him beforeâŠ
He glances to your father to try and phone a friend, but the man simply observes the scene like heâs watching a social experiment, blank and detached as he stares Seungmin down and waits for his next move.
It feels like a test. He knows itâs a test.
Seungmin wanders over to join you in the grass and is immediately greeted by Cloverâs cold nose nudging at his hand, insisting attention. Who is Seungmin to deny him his rights?
âHe grew.â He says as he glides his fingers through Cloverâs sun warmed fur, mostly to fill the silence because of course he did, but what else is he supposed to say?
âYeah!â You agree blissfully, rubbing a specific spot behind Cloverâs ears that has him melting fully into both of your laps like gooey honey slowly oozing from a tipped jar. âHeâs a good boy. The best!â
âThe best.â Your father agrees. Seungminâs eyes dart to his face, and thereâs something warm in his voice as he watches you draw patterns into the fur between his eyes, almost proud. âShe wore me down. Took her three days.â
Seungminâs gaze returns to you. At the puddle of dog invading both of your legs, at your intimidating (soft-hearted maybe?) father standing beside you, and the uncomplicated joy glowing on your face.
âYou always get what you want.â He murmurs, not accusatory or judgmental, but in acceptance and a little bit in inspiration.
Your peer directly into his soul with an easy grin, your eyes twinkling in the sunlight, in unfiltered happiness, before you break the connection to smack a loud kiss directly onto Cloverâs nose (who, comedic genius that he is, goes cross eyed at the contact and topples off your knees into the lush grassâ what a ham).
His heart does something it shouldnât.
Clover barks, pulling Seungmin back into the moment. Your father chuckles at the goofâs theatrics, and itâs quiet but sincere. The older man slips his cell out of his pocket, glances at the screen, and then asks which overpriced coffee shop is worth waiting in a line out the door for, which is a hilarious joke.
Based on your giggles, you seem to think so too. With a grimace that speaks to your past encounters with the cafes on campus, you warn him that itâs best to lower his expectations, that all the employees are underpaid college kids and will burn the coffee without fail. (âI see. The reasoning behind your request for tea replenishment six weeks in, I assume?â âPrecisely.â)
âOh! The girl with the blue underlayers at the cafe next to the bookstore actually knows how to make decent tea. Donât stray from black tea blends, though,â you tack on helpfully. With a solemn nod, he accepts this information and then turns his attention to Seungmin, evidently wanting his take on the matter as well.
âSeriously, donât order anything with coffee,â is all he can advise, a haunted, hollow look in his eyes from the residual trauma of his own experience. The stomach issues he suffered through after drinking half of his order had nearly landed him in the clinic during syllabus week.
âNoted.â Your father ventures off with the promise that his expectations have found residence in hell, and you and Seungmin decide to relocate from the grass and settle on a nearby bench shaded by the trees. Clover is dozing off in a patch of sun, his tail still swishing even in his sleep. Itâs quieter, more peaceful now that most of the families have migrated off of main campus.
âSo,â you begin, and Seungmin turns to face you, which is a mistake because you have that tiny, smug smile curving your lips. âYou knew me.â
His ears go warm as the heat returns to his cheeks with a vengeance. The rest of him is pale, his lips twisted in a betrayed half-frown, half-pout. He thought heâd managed to skirt by the subject, but he should have known you would never let it go so easily.
âI wouldnât say that.â He denies with a swift shake of his head that flings his fringe across his forehead.
You lightly nudge him in the arm with your shoulder, teasing him with a grin as mischievous as it is pretty. How unfortunate for him. âYou witnessed a formative moment!â
He stares you dead in the eyes then, brows knit together like heâs looking at a problem he knows he will never be able to solve. âI witnessed you saying âdaddyâ in public.â
And of course you donât fluster at that like all normal people would. Instead, you throw your head back and laugh, the force of your amusement tilting you further into Seungmin for support. Clover sniffles a little from his napping place, sleepy eyes blinking halfway open a few times before deciding to return to his dream. âItâs called being committed to the bit!â You defend, and Seungmin is evicted out of his right mind by your proximity, so he canât even find the braincells to argue. His limbs are frozen along with the rest of his nervous system. âAnd now heâs mine. So it worked.â
Youâre right, and Seungmin knows it. That fact doesnât stop him from shaking his head, a bemused, lopsided smile quirking a corner of his mouth as you catch your breath and sit up straight again.
âIâm glad you got him.â He says, and you let the silence linger for a few moments before agreeing.
âMe too.â
Something has shifted here. Seungmin can feel it, a new awareness between you, a weight to the silence that hadnât been there before. His courage finally arrives with it. He watches Clover roll onto his back in his sleep, his paws twitching in the air, and ponders how to approach the subject.
Are we dating?
That doesnât feel right.
What are we?
What is he, a middle schooler?
I think Iâm in love with you.
Scratch that one out too. Maybe itâs true, but that doesnât mean heâs ready to say it out loud so you can hear it.
âThink quieter.â You burst him out of his internal think tank session. âYouâre going to wake Clover.â
âIâm notâ itâsââ He flounders, heart pumping his blood in what feels like the wrong direction.
âYes you are. Your eyes are all intense. Just ask.â
He wants to deny the accusation, but it feels not important compared to the subject he actually needs to address, the one heâs put off for far too long. Seungmin takes a breath, and he can taste the freshly cut grass and the warmth of the sun. When he looks at you, youâre already watching him, not a hint of tension in the lines of your shoulders or the contours of your face. Unlike him, youâre at peace.
âAre we dating?â Heâs going to be sick.
âI donât know,â you reply with a bouncy shrug, not mean, but honest. It rattles his chest and shrivels his lungs all the same, but mercifully, you donât allow him to tailspin for long, batting your lashes at him innocently. âI donât recall being asked.â
Oh, easy fix. His lungs re-inflate. Before Seungmin can really think it over, the words leave his mouth, more impulsive than he would have liked, but theyâre still exactly what he feels, direct. âI really want to date you. Do you want to?â
Your immediate smile tells him everything he needs to know before you even respond. You always get what you want.
âYes.â You say, simple, like itâs all easy for you. And maybe it is, because youâve categorized him in your life as someone important, someone you want.
Still, Seungminâs eyes are rounded in disbelief as he stares. âYes?â He double-checks like he could have possibly misheard you, hopeful brown eyes searching your face for any tell that youâre screwing with him.
You giggle at his skepticism, sliding even closer to him on the bench, where you hadnât left much room between you in the first place. âYes,â You confirm, then to seal the deal, you press a quick kiss to his cheek that nearly turns his limbs to a gel consistency. It was barely a peck, quick, not even an entire second long, but he almost oozes into the ground. His knuckles are blanched white from their stiff grip on the edge of the bench to support the weight his spine gave up on. âCongratulations. You have me as your girlfriend. What are you going to do now?â
You hold your fist up just below his mouth like youâre holding a microphone to interview him. Youâre being silly, lightening the mood, giving him an opportunity to play off his severe nerves after weeks of spiraling over the state of your relationship (and kind of more importantly, your anniversary date, which he is noting in his calendar the second he has an opportunity). He could respond with a sarcastic joke, but it doesnât feel right. Besides, youâve opened the door by asking him what heâs going to do, and maybe itâs time he takes another page out of your book and be more of an opportunivoreâŠ
Seungmin lightly knocks your imaginary microphone out of the way, pushing your hand until you lower it. Carefully, he cradles your cheek in his palm and angles his head the slightest bit to the side. The dark of his eyes dilate as they flick down to your lips, taking in your slight, sharp inhale.
Heâs thinking about the fact that youâre a bio physics major at an arts college, that you hold a world record in a dead childrenâs game, that you named a dog that wasnât even yours and then negotiated for it like you were presenting to a boardroom. Heâs thinking about the fact that youâre the most competent, intentional, sweet, diabolical, cute mastermind heâs ever met, and you chose to spend your precious time on him.
The press of his lips on yours is gentle and intense all at once. Your lips are soft; he thinks he can taste the milk candy you like on them. Seungmin adjusts his angle a bit and the slope of his nose brushes slightly against yours. Your hands steady yourself, flattening at the sides of his neck where his pulse is somersaulting. He detects the curve of your lips against his as you feel his blood rush below the heat of your palms. He truly believes heâs putty beneath them. Itâs impossible to think about anything that isnât you right nowâ his head is fuzzy, and so is whatever is nudging persistently in his lapâ huh?
Reluctantly, Seungmin pulls back and glances down, where a very much awake and animated Clover is shoving his very cold, very wet, very insistent snoot into his thigh. His eyes are still loving and vacant, but thereâs something almost smug about the way he wiggles himself between you, like heâs been waiting for this exact moment. Hater. Seungmin thinks bitterly, but he canât really be mad, because unfortunately, the dog really is cute.
You giggle, and he looks back to you, taking in the way your cheeks are flushed so prettily and your breath is a little uneven, but you fawn over the intruding doggy, detaching your hands from Seungminâs neck to scratch at the top of Cloverâs head like youâre thanking him for the interruption.
Good thing too.
Because not even a full five seconds later, your father reappears with a to-go cup in hand, and he realizes Clover may have just saved his life. Instantly, Seungmin takes back what he thought about Clover being a haterâ the guy is a hero, possibly his patron deity, and Seungmin needs to bring him a generous offering of dog treats so that he continues to look over him. Once again, he swears the dog winks at him, but Clover just looks so head empty with his tongue lolling carefree out the side of his mouth.
âWhatâd you get?â You ask, breath completely composed. Seungminâs is lodged in his throat.
âTea.â He responds, but it sounds like a threat. He does not loom, because he does not have to.
Your fatherâs keen eyes flicker between you and Seungmin, assessing yet again. Thereâs something harder there, steely as he peers down his nose at Seungmin, who can only do his best to not fidget in place. He towers at a height that signals to Seungmin that he is being measured for somethingâeither a suit or a coffin, but he isnât sure which. Wordlessly, he hands his phone out to Seungmin, who uneasily takes the device, his wide, terrified eyes never straying from his face.
âGive me your number.â He demands and Seungmin does not waste time, hurrying to find the contacts icon (which he conveniently forgot the appearance of) on the newest, most expensive model while you interject with a pout he can hear in your voice.
âI can send you his contact.â But Seungmin has already entered his full government name and punched in his cell, school email, personal email, his hometown, and is debating adding his next of kin and maybe his social security number with vibrating hands.
âNo need.â Your father takes a long sip of his tea (which definitely does not deserve to be savored), letting the silence wiggle under Seungminâs skin for what feels like twelve excruciatingly long seconds. âHe can at least do this much.â
The social security number is added at that. Seungmin fumbles to return the phone exactly as it was presented to him, frantically swiping back to the original screen. Before he hands it back though, the background image registers fully in his brain.
Itâs a picture of you and Clover, both passed out and cuddled up together in what looks to be a large dog bed in front of a fireplace. Youâre wearing your school uniform from high school, so it must have been taken a while back. Clover rests his fuzzy head against yours, paw resting on your arm, and it seems like his tail is swishing in his sleep based on the blur of motion. Seungmin can imagine you coming home in the afternoon, discarding your backpack and shedding your shoes in the entryway, and immediately curling up with Clover for a nap. Itâs cozy, warm, affectionate. He wonders if your dad is as doting as this background suggests, wonders if he wandered out of his office around the time he expected you home, only to stumble upon this scene and pad closer to capture it. The man who took this photoâ because someone definitely took this photoâ must have been standing very still, very quietly, trying not to wake them.
Judging by this overt, nearly wordless shovel talk of a first meeting, Seungmin thinks he has his answer.
With a thick swallow and a melted heart, Seungmin passes the phone back to your father, who efficiently navigates to Seungminâs contact and scans it with a critical eye. He nods once in approval before slipping the device into his pocket. It doesnât have a case.
âA pleasure to meet you, Seungmin,â He says with finality, and Seungmin isnât quite sure he means it, based on the frosty bite to his tone. âWe have to be on our way now. Some of our father-daughter weekend activities have reservations.â
He nods immediately in understanding, rushing out his goodbye. âOf course! Enjoy your weekend. It was nice to meet you, sir. And Clover.â Seungmin gives the happy, golden-furred dog a few good scritches exactly where he saw you administer them earlier.
You push yourself up off the bench and to your feet, and Seungmin thinks this is it. Heâll see you later, once Parents Weekend is over and everything goes back to normal, but different this time. You begin to approach your father where he waits a few paces away, but then, shit stirrer that you are, you abruptly twirl back around to face him.
Seungmin has no time to process you rushing back to him before you sandwich his cheeks between your palms and drop a quick farewell kiss right on his lips, right in front of your very scary father. He stares at you like youâve completely lost your mind, like youâve betrayed him, like youâve just sentenced him to death, but you only flash him a sweet, teasing grin, your lips a little pinker than usual from your earlier escapades, before you continue on your way.
âLetâs go, Clover!â You call, honey in your voice and your loyal doggy companion trotting alongside you, happy and stupid, tail waving enthusiastically. Seungmin loves him. âSee you later, Seungmin.â
Itâs pathetic, but he misses you already. He thinks if you turn around to face him, youâll see his sad, wet dog eyes pining after you.
âYes. See you later, Seungmin.â Your father echoes, words metallic, and he knows what was actually said was, âDo you have a burial spot in mind? Youâre done for, kid.â But Seungmin doesnât have it in him to be concerned with the thinly-veiled threat loaded into the words like ammunition in the chamber of a gun.
Heâs too busy thinking about what later entails, what heâs going to plan for your first official date. How he is going to make sure you know you made the right choice.
Because you are selective with your time and priorities, of what you choose to let be important. You donât waste energy on things that arenât worth it. And Kim Seungmin will be damned to hell and back before he squanders the privilege of being categorized, chosen.
He intends to be worth it.
He gives himself two to three business days to prove it.
When Seungmin returns to his blessedly empty apartment, he immediately rouses his laptop from its slumber to begin planning your first date. He clicks on the search bar and moves to type. However, his fingers stall, hovering above the keyboard as something else pops into his mind.
He types, the dull click of the keys filling the otherwise silent room, and hits enter.
Then, he clicks on the archives.
And he looks it upâ the Cart Surfer world record.
The site lags a bit as it loads, but after a few seconds of delay, the page fills his screen.
There, at the very top of the list, is your name.
He stares at it for a while, almost daring the letters to rearrange before his eyes. Then Seungmin laughs, long and hard enough that his hands eventually have to wipe at the tears distorting his vision.
