「 𝜗ৎ where . . . you look to release some steam off by playing roblox! unfortunately, your anger gets the best of you and you end up cursing someone out in your server out of habit. while asleep, your phone gets bombed by thousands of notifications and you wake up to find out that the person you cursed out last night is also one of the top streamers of all time right now .. suddenly, you’re dragged into an odd, new friend group, thousands of tweets, and lee heeseungs’ messages? 」
SYN ' it's a fact that your cute next door neighbor is one, annoying (in a good way?) and two, so goddamn lazy. but when he's serious, fuck that stupid mouth of his sure looks pretty damn kissable.
CHOI BEOMGYU X F!READER ━━ GNR ' university au, neighbor au, stranger to friends(?) to lovers ━━ CW ' profanities, kissing, denial, dirty jokes lol, jealousy ━━ FTR ' txt, ning2 aespa, sunghoon en-, jake en-
content: smau ⟡ tattooartist!riki x reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ suggestive ⟡ mature (minors dni) ⟡ riki lowk a freak
a/n: that's a wrap on aftercare yippee! onto the next series...
go follow my insta @ nishimmortal ! i post teasers and polls for future posts on there so check it out :)
to be added to my taglist, please visit my taglist post!
synopsis you just found out your boyfriend of two years cheated on you, even though he was a toxic asshole who couldn't treat you right, you were heart broken. deciding to go out with your childhood friend jungwon, you run into one of his close friends, nishimura riki. which began the journey of your relationship filled with ups and downs, and an ex who wont leave you alone.
content warning kys jokes, 18+, drinking, swearing, toxic relationships, abuse, eating habits, yns ex is a mean asshole, bullying themes.
note this is my first smau ever and it’s lowkey intense, i’ll try my best to include writing too but im not the best.. always let me know any suggestions you have!! new ideas are always welcomed. enjoy <3
profiles
eradicate the chai bitches | laughingstock | others
bsf!jungwon × fem!reader.⠀⠀⠀ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⠀⠀⠀you're jungwon's favorite headache—a fact that he can't bring himself to admit, and you can't bring your dense self to realize.
MASTERLIST. ┆ CONTAINS ➤ SMAU. college!au. to be loved is to be known type shi. ACTS-OF-SERVICE!WON!!!!! he's a lil dry and nonchalant but still pathetic and down BADDDD. reader's a bit oblivious and dumb. fluff. angst. profanity. comedy, maybe. petnames (princess, baby, etc.) verbal harassment, bullying, and namecalling. ignore timestamps & typos. ✮ cameos from enhypen's ni-ki, riize's anton, &team's maki, illit, and other idols.
𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥
RUIN THE FRIENDSHIP┆𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗢𝗨𝗦 ─ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧
FROM YAN 🐰 ➤ major lore drop from y/n !! hopefully her actions are now a little bit more understood < / 3 she's dumb but she has Reasons . also added angst to the tags bc the way this friendship is going is lowk sad. lmk ur thoughts juseyo !!
synopsis ⨾ resellers aren’t really that annoying . . . right? wrong! when you repeatedly miss out on clothes from your usual source, only to see the exact pieces you wanted pop up on different girls online, it doesn’t take long to realise a mysterious reseller has been beating you to it every time. after some digging, you discover the account belongs to not only a man, but one of your favorite mutuals — nishimura riki.
content warning ⨾ none
𐔌ㅤ taglist open >_<
note: thank yew for 1k followers :3 and sorry for another late update i said i was locking in when i was infact not doing the opposite
pairing: grad student!haechan x grad student!reader
genre: fluff, slight angst
word count: 10.2k
synopsis: academic validation and beating lee donghyuck are your only motivations in life. spoiler alert: you end up achieving only one of the two.
author’s note: this was supposed to be released for holo LMAO better late than never? anyways ladies this is fiction <3 do NOT ever give a male english major the time of day - signed an english major (p.s. i mention christmas exactly one time in this so this counts as a holiday fic)
warning(s): sexism in academia, brief descriptions of sexual harassment
playlist: rose-colored boy by paramore ― enemies by lauv ― always, everytime by the wrecks ― let it happen by gracie abrams ― running home by jade lemac
Act I) And when I close my eyes, I see you for who you truly are, which is UUUG-LAY.
When it comes to receiving bad news, you would consider yourself pretty good at handling it. You’ve always been the type to compartmentalize and try to find the most rational way to react. Having such an analytical personality is part of the reason why you decided to pursue an English degree in college. Sure, some may consider you cold and elitist, but to that you respond―well, yes!
That being said, you’re about 30 seconds away from hurling up your breakfast burrito and $8 matcha latte in a projectile fashion.
You stare at Dr. Min, the Program Director of the English Department and your mentor, like she just dropkicked you in the gut. Normally, your mouth would be agape with despair and horror, but you smartly keep your lips sealed tight due to previously mentioned urge to spill chunks all over her pristine office.
The situation is worsened by the fact that there is a creature standing right beside you, looking only slightly disgruntled. Like he just received a cup of cold coffee level of disgruntled. As if Dr. Min didn’t just casually destroy your entire world.
The creature goes by the name of Lee Donghyuck. He’s barely a human, simply masquerading as one with his fluffy hair and glowy skin. Rather, he’s just a walking, talking literary reference to the most pretentious authors ever. His sole reason for existence is to compete with you for teacher’s pet. The two of you have been vying for Dr. Min’s attention since you both got into grad school. More specifically, you both have been competing for the eventual letter of recommendation that you’ll need from her in order to get into the highly prestigious PhD program. She’s super selective of who she will write the letter for, so you and Donghyuck essentially have been in a constant WWE brawl to kiss her ass.
“Two graduate faculty members are on sabbatical, so the amount of staff available to vote on your papers are an even number,” Dr. Min had explained, “Hence, why we’re in this situation. You both have the same amount of votes.”
“Can’t you just be the tiebreaker, Dr. Min?” Donghyuck asks, carding a hand through his brown hair. It’s still tinted a light purple hue from when he dyed it to cosplay Rafayel from Love and Deepspace for Halloween. Yes, he does play a gacha dating sim about random men who look AI-generated. Of his many sins, this is low on your list.
Dr. Min shakes her head, smiling apologetically. “You know I always abstain from voting when it comes to my mentees’ papers.”
“So, what’s going to happen now? Which one of us will be going to the symposium?” you ask, finally managing to gather yourself and speak up. Despite your best efforts, you feel another wave of nausea hit you when Dr. Min glances your way. There’s something about the way she’s so poised and collected that always makes you think she’s silently judging you.
“That’s what I’ve called you both here for,” she trails off, clapping her hands together. “I’ve decided that, for the first time in this university’s history, we will be sending two representatives to the annual Shakespeare Scholars Research Symposium!”
Dr. Min pauses, most likely expecting celebratory cheers from the two of you. However, she’s met with stone-cold silence. You and Donghyuck just stand there stiffly, arms hanging limp by your sides and faces scrunched like you just ate the dog food flavored jelly bean from the BeanBoozled game.
“Don’t get too excited, now,” Dr. Min jokes awkwardly. “Why the doom and gloom?”
“But…our papers are way too similar. It wouldn’t make sense for both of us to go,” you protest.
As much as you hate to admit it, you and Donghyuck are often interested in the same topics and themes when it comes to your research papers. This time is also no exception. For this paper, you decided to write about the female empowerment in the classic 1999 romcom 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the original source material, Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. Meanwhile, Donghyuck (because he’s incapable of not riding on your coattails) decided to write about gender identity in the classic 2006 romcom She’s the Man compared to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
“Well, the concepts are certainly similar, but the actual content is different,” Dr. Min replies, “Besides, I think we need more pop culture in academia.”
When you and Donghyuck fail to respond again, she huffs. “Come on, you guys! I know the two of you are competitive, but it’s a wonderful opportunity. This is going to look amazing on your CV when you apply for the PhD program.”
The mention of the PhD program makes you and Donghyuck perk up like meerkats, and you know Dr. Min did it on purpose.
“Thank you so much for the opportunity, Dr. Min. We would be happy to represent the university together,” Donghyuck quickly says, putting on the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes sparkle in a way that reminds you of those shiny plastic dolls that end up having a demonic spirit in them. Then he looks over at you and beams through grit teeth, “Wouldn’t we?”
A fake smile of your own slowly spreads across your face like paralyzing venom as you glare at Donghyuck. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” Dr. Min nods, satisfied. “I’m glad to see that you two are getting along better. I’ll see you on Friday at the airport, bright and early.”
You and Donghyuck say your goodbyes to her before marching out of her office like the twins from The Shining. The moment the door closes behind you, the two of you recoil from each other like being within 6 feet of one another will make your skin melt off. You both start speedwalking to the exit of the building at the same pace, completely parallel to each other on opposite sides of the hallway.
“You are such a two-faced liar,” you hiss in a hushed whisper, “Always making me look like the difficult one while you’re all happy-go-lucky, kumbaya.”
“Well, if it always looks like it, then maybe it’s the case, don’t you think?” Donghyuck sweetly retorts.
“Ooh, burn,” you say sarcastically, “Your words might actually have some merit if there wasn’t steam coming off the top of your overinflated, egoistic head. I know you’re just as pissed about this as I am.”
“Oh, Y/N. You are always so shortsighted,” Donghyuck sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “Don’t you see the bigger picture?
“Oh, this will be good,” you say wryly, crossing your arms and waiting for him to continue.
“Elementary, my dear Watson―” he starts.
“Doyle never wrote that line―” you quickly interrupt.
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be Watson. You’re Moriarty.”
“Why do I feel like I have to go through the Labors of Hercules in order for you to get to your point whenever I talk to you?” you demand.
“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, this symposium will be a great opportunity to settle this once and for all. You know they always give out a Best Research Paper award at the end. We may have tied today, but our tiebreaker can be that award. Whoever wins gets the recommendation letter from Dr. Min,” Donghyuck smugly explains.
“You know, maybe there’s not just Helium in that skull of yours,” you smile, “I think that’s a great idea. I suppose a broken clock is right twice a day. ”
“You are so eloquent when it comes to insulting me, yet I don’t see any of that fire in your actual writing?” Donghyuck questions, blinking innocently.
“Oh, I’ll show you―”
You’re just about to rattle off another one of your eloquent insults when a loud howl of wind from the outside interrupts you, making the two of you jolt. Just as you reach the doors to the building, you see through the glass that the sky is a smoky, hazy gray. Rain is starting to fall, and it looks like it's about to become a torrential downpour in a little bit.
You curse under your breath, thinking about your five minute walk to the bus station and whether or not you can beat out the thunderstorm.
“Well, this certainly has to be a bad omen,” Donghyuck says unhelpfully.
You jerk your head towards him and jab a finger in his direction. “This isn’t over. I have to catch the bus before I get waterboarded by this rain. I’ll deal with you on Friday. Until then, stay out of my sight.”
Donghyuck shrugs, fishing out an umbrella from his backpack. Because of course he needs to flaunt the fact that he has an umbrella and you don’t.
“Sounds good to me,” he replies casually.
Steeling yourself for the rain and wind to pelt your face, you open the door in one fell swoop and walk outside―except you’re not getting wet because Donghyuck is trailing behind you and holding his umbrella above your head.
“Uh, why are you following me?” you ask as he moves to walk beside you, even though you know his car is parked in the opposite direction.
“Curb your main character syndrome, Y/N. I have somewhere to be, and it happens to be in the same direction,” he sighs.
“Where?” you probe, suspicious.
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” he answers snottily.
“Then why are you sharing your umbrella with me? Did you get visited by three ghosts on Christmas?” you demand.
“Is it really sharing if you’re just standing next to me and happen to be in the radius of my umbrella?” he ponders.
“You’re like a bridge troll that asks people three riddles before letting them pass,” you sigh.
“Please. As if you could ever solve my riddles.”
You respond by flipping him off, and he just grins.
The two of you walk the rest of the way in silence, the sounds of the rain growing heavier and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise. Occasionally, his elbow bumps your arm due to your proximity to each other. The mixture of the thick humidity in the air and the drifting scent of his fabric softener makes your head swim.
When you make it to the bus station, you don’t say bye to him, nor does he say it to you. Instead, he swiftly turns on his heel and walks back. He doesn’t look back at you either, so your eyes linger on his back for just a tad longer than they should.
You notice that one of his shoulders is damp, the sleeve of his shirt sticking to his skin, as raindrops roll down his arm.
Act II) Ooh, see that, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?
Donghyuck is being eerily quiet this morning, and it’s starting to unnerve you.
He didn’t even jump at the opportunity to compliment Dr. Min’s new haircut (that she got specifically for this conference) the moment she arrived at the airport. When the three of you walked over to the security check line, he just stood there, thumbs tucked underneath the straps of his backpack as he bounced on the balls of his feet. If he heard even a second of the conversation you and Dr. Min were having, he gave no indication of it.
He’s never this silent unless he’s scheming something.
At one point, you started eyeing the security cameras nearby to see if you had accidentally gotten yourself on a prank show. As if this was all an elaborate setup by Donghyuck in order to humiliate you, and you weren’t going to the symposium after all. For a brief moment, you imagine Dr. Min also being in on the ruse and laughing with him about how awful your paper was and how funny it is that you actually thought you had a chance.
Maybe your therapist was right about you having paranoia issues.
Your delusions begin taking over your mind until you finally can’t take it anymore. Once the two of you get situated on the plane (Dr. Min got put up in first class, and you and Donghyuck were relegated to economy as lowly grad students), you finally ask:
“Okay, what is your problem? You’re acting weird―er than usual.”
Donghyuck is looking straight ahead, peering at the folded tray table on the seat in front of him. It takes him a second to acknowledge your words, turning towards you with a strained smirk.
“Wow, are you worried about me?” His voice trembles.
It isn’t until he turns towards you that you finally get a good look at his face. His normally glowing complexion is completely blanched, and his expression is strained, twisted into a grimace. In other words, he looks completely terrified. It scares you a little too.
“Jesus,” you breathe, leaning in, “now I kind of am. Are you sick?”
“I guess that’s one way to describe it,” he laughs, closing his eyes and leaning back. “Mentally and physically, yes. But not, like, in a stomach flu kind of way.”
You pause, studying his face. “Are you…afraid of flying?”
He opens one eye and glances over at you. “How much aura would I lose if I said yes?”
You lightly shove his arm. “Be serious. You have no aura anyways.”
“Ouch. That’s one of the more hurtful things you’ve said to me recently.”
“Seriously, are you okay?” you ask firmly.
“Of course,” he replies, inhaling but his breath hitches, “I’ll have to be. This paper isn’t going to present itself.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“What good would that do? Besides look super lame and give you another thing to hold against me,” he jokes.
You snort. “Why would I hold this against you when I have actual legitimate reasons to find you lame?”
Donghyuck looks genuinely taken aback, eyes widening like a newborn doe. His voice is quiet and hopeful, almost innocent, when he says, “...Yeah?”
He sounds so sincere that you feel your face grow warm. “That is so rude. What kind of monster do you think I am? No matter how much I hate you, I’m not such a terrible person that I would make fun of your phobias.”
He blinks. “No, that’s not what I meant―”
“Whatever. I don’t want you to think I have something over you now, so we’ll make it even,” you announce, “I’ll tell you one of my fears too.”
“Y/N, you don’t have to―”
“When we were going through security earlier and you were being super quiet, I fully thought you and Dr. Min had planned an elaborate prank on me in which I wasn’t actually going to the symposium and that you were only letting me believe I was when, in fact, my paper was terrible,” you confess, blurting everything out in one breath.
Donghyuck stares at you, completely bewildered. “So, you think I’m such a monster that I would―”
“My point being,” you continue, “that I have an irrational fear of being left out. Because I’m not good enough.”
“Y/N―”
“But this doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna kick your ass at the symposium. I will be getting that award. Just…sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking the opposite,” you quickly add, realizing that you may have just given away a little too much of yourself.
That’s the thing with Donghyuck. It’s really easy to forget about everything else when you’re bickering with him. You’ve never had to worry about what to say to him. He’s so smug and annoying and irritating that it makes you feel like you can do anything if it means being able to beat him.
Maybe that’s why you freaked out so much when he was so quiet this morning. Maybe that’s why you’re telling him this now.
“You know, you could’ve just said spiders or something,” he finally says after a long pause, a shit-eating grin finding its way to his lips. The color has come back to his face, and he’s got that mischievous spark in his eye again.
“Firstly, I’m not afraid of spiders. Secondly, you’re an unbelievably huge asshole.” You cross your arms. “I can’t believe―”
“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and gently tugs on the sleeve of your sweater. His touch makes you fall silent. “I’m only going to say this once. And if you try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it, so listen carefully.”
You roll your eyes, waiting for another terrible joke.
“Look at me,” he whispers, leaning in to make sure your eyes meet his. His brown eyes are so dark that they almost look black, like pools of obsidian, yet his gaze is so warm and firm as if you were being enveloped by a warm sunrise. The soft expression on his face anchors you to your seat, and you can’t bring yourself to look away despite knowing you probably should.
“You are brilliant,” he states, as if they’re the truest words in the world.
His sincerity catches you completely off guard, and your mind goes blank. All you can think about is the way he’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything else.
The two of you flinch when you hear the roar of the airplane’s engine, indicating that it’s about to take off. Donghyuck clenches his jaw and pulls away, and you can see his entire body tense as he grips the armrest so hard that his knuckles turn white.
Ripping your eyes off of him, you reach under the seat for your backpack and fish out your AirPods with trembling fingers. You’re still so shaken from earlier that you randomly select a playlist before handing one of the AirPods to Donghyuck. When he raises an eyebrow, you simply reply, “To help you relax.”
He wordlessly takes it and puts it in his ear, taking in the song. A few more seconds pass by before he, stifling a laugh, asks, “So, your idea of relaxation is playing death metal at full volume?”
You gasp, looking back down at your phone and realizing you had selected your road rage mix by accident. Too embarrassed to admit it, you reach over to take the AirPod out. “Fine, be ungrateful then. I’ll listen by myself.”
Donghyuck tuts and leans his head away from your hand, nearly hitting it against the window. “Excuse me, I am trying to relax.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“Can’t hear you over the sounds of my relaxation,” he says in a sing-song voice.
“Whatever,” you sigh, but you’re fighting a smile.
Throughout the flight, you occasionally sneak glances at Donghyuck, checking to see if he’s uncomfortable. He’s always fast asleep, head leaning against the window and lips slightly parted. To your relief, he looks much more serene than he did at the start.
He still doesn’t budge when the flight attendant comes around to hand out Biscoff cookies, and you’re tempted to steal his pack for yourself but decide against it. Instead, you begrudgingly put them in his lap. If you were anywhere else, you one-hundred percent would, but it doesn’t feel right this time.
After scarfing down your cookies, you drift off yourself and don’t wake up until a crackly announcement from the captain that your flight will be landing soon startles you awake. When you look over at Donghyuck, he’s still asleep. Shifting in your seat, you hear plastic crinkling in your lap, and you look down in confusion.
A pack of Biscoff cookies.
Taking a shaky deep breath, you lean back against your seat. The two-pack, cinnamon-flavored shortbread cookies sit in your lap like a ticking time bomb. You think about sharing an umbrella under the rain. You think about Donghyuck’s fear of flying. You think about how he thinks you’re brilliant. You think about these damn Biscoff cookies.
Suddenly, you wish you weren’t sitting arm-to-arm with Donghyuck; you wish he was always a hallway’s distance from you. Because that was the distance that you can think clearly when he’s around you. Because that was the distance before―
Before.
Act III) Nonsense! You don't need a man to wear a beautiful dress!
“Somehow, there was a misunderstanding and only a single room was booked for the both of you.”
Well, so much for distance.
Dr. Min looks like she wants to crawl in a hole. “I am so sorry, you guys. The hotel is used to each university only bringing one student, so they weren’t expecting two. And the hotel is fully booked for the symposium, so they don’t have an extra room.”
You and Donghyuck exchange defeated glances, too exhausted from the flight (for many reasons) to even react.
“None of the nearby hotels have any available either,” Dr. Min continues, “so, I can’t believe I have to ask this of you guys, but would you mind sharing a room? The room also has a sofa pull-out bed, and maybe you guys can rock-paper-scissors for it.”
This certainly throws a wrench in your Avoid Lee Donghyuck Like the Plague weekend plans, but Dr. Min looks so stressed that you really don’t want to further complicate things for her. When you look over at Donghyuck (something that you had been explicitly trying not to do), he’s already looking at you, waiting for your answer.
“It’s fine,” you finally say, sighing, “We’re all grown-ups, after all.”
Dr. Min turns to Donghyuck, expectant. He just shrugs, replying, “If Y/N’s okay with it.”
“Great. Thank you guys so much!” Dr. Min exclaims, clapping her hands together before handing you the room key. “You guys can take some time to get some rest and freshen up. Don’t forget we’re going to have dinner with a few of my colleagues tonight too. Meet me here at 7:30 sharp.”
The two of you say your goodbyes before trudging over to the elevator. You don’t say anything to each other even as you enter your cramped room, equipped with a single queen-sized bed and a sofa pull-out couch that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the 60s.
You and Donghyuck just stare in disbelief for a moment before he turns towards you and holds out a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Huh?”
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You don’t even have time to react as Donghyuck starts counting down, lowering his fist on every word.
Without thinking, you pick scissors, only for him to pick rock.
“Looks like I get the bed,” he says smugly.
“You ambushed me. That’s not fair,” you demand, crossing your arms.
“Two out of three?”
“Rockpaperscissors!” you blurt at the speed of light, trying to catch him off guard.
This time, he picks scissors while you pick paper.
“You suck,” you snap, shoving his hand away and stomping towards the pull-out couch before dropping your bag on it. Donghyuck’s laugh rings throughout the room like a bell from behind you.
This feels more like before―when he pissed you off more than anything. Donghyuck from before was too nice, too soft. It’s actually better that you’re sleeping on the musty pull-out couch; this is more of your dynamic with him. Before he shared his umbrella with you. Before he told you about his fear of flying. Before he called you brilliant. Before you nearly had a panic attack over some Biscoff cookies.
“I’m getting ready first,” you say petulantly.
“Be my guest,” he replies, raising his hands up like he’s surrendering, “Take as long as you need.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Because of the double standard, of course. Women have to uphold a much higher beauty standard, and there is more societal pressure for them to feel like they have to dress up―”
“Holy performative male.” You roll your eyes. “Do you cry when you think about women getting their periods, too?”
“Only when I’m drinking my matcha and reading Sylvia Plath.” He winks.
After grabbing a change of clothes and your skincare regimen, you promptly push past him and close the bathroom door in his face.
.
.
.
In the end, it does take you a while to get ready. Between doing your skincare, putting on a full face of makeup, and styling your hair, you made sure to put in extra effort since you could be potentially networking with Dr. Min’s colleagues. You even brought your best evening gown in anticipation.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Donghyuck is sitting on the bed with his laptop, furiously typing away. His eyes briefly glance up at the sound of the door opening and returns to the screen before he does a double take, eyes widening when he finally sees you.
“What are you doing?” you ask, nodding towards his laptop.
“Oh.” He stops for a moment. “My presentation notes. For the presentation. Tomorrow.”
“What a vast vocabulary you have there, English major,” you tease, sitting on the edge of the bed so that you can slip your heels on. “Are you that nervous for tomorrow?”
Donghyuck laughs, but it’s more like a breathless huff that he releases. “Something like that.”
“You’re talking in riddles again. Whatever, just hurry up and get ready. We have to be down there in forty minutes,” you say after glancing at your phone.
Clearing his throat, he gives you a quick two-finger salute before closing his laptop and grabbing his stuff. He stiffly walks around you at an odd angle, as if you had an invisible force field around you, and keeps his eyes straight ahead.
While Donghyuck is getting ready, you scroll on TikTok, watching meditation videos and tutorials on breathing exercises in order to relax. You so badly want to make a good impression on Dr. Min’s colleagues (and, subsequently, on Dr. Min too) that you’re making yourself nauseous from imagining all the ways things could go wrong.
You’re in the middle of a third attempt to completely clear your mind for a meditation exercise when Donghyuck steps out of the bathroom. Like the pain he is, he completely destroys any hope of a clear and sound mind as he walks over to you.
Donghyuck is wearing a navy blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top two buttons undone, tucked into a pair of black slacks. His hair is lightly gelled, and you hate how effortlessly handsome he is.
“What are you doing?” He asks, gesturing to your phone that’s still playing a video of a woman sitting cross-legged and telling you to breathe in and out.
Hurriedly, you lock your phone and put it away in your purse. “Nothing.”
“Why are you watching meditation videos? Nervous?”
“Why do you ask if you already know?” you retort.
“I enjoy the validation,” he replies smoothly, “So, is that a yes?”
“Yes, if you must know, I am nervous. Not all of us are natural-born ass-kissers, you know,” you hiss, “I need to get on their good side. Connections are everything in academia.”
“Ah, but you don’t need meditation or ass-kissing to make a good impression. You forget the simplest method of all,” he points out.
“And that is?”
“Being yourself,” he beams.
“Thanks for the advice, Sesame Street. You think I wouldn’t be doing that if it worked?” you ask wryly.
“How would you know if you’ve never tried it?” He crosses his arms.
You stand up, suddenly feeling slightly offended. “What are you implying?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“That is so rich coming from you. You’re the fakest of us all,” you snap, jabbing a finger in his chest.
“I never said it works for me.” Donghyuck smiles, tilting his head.
You pause, blinking as your hand falls limply to your side. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know?”
When you can’t think of a response, he shrugs. “Or maybe you don’t.”
You watch him walk past you to get the room key from the nightstand, slipping it into his wallet, before grabbing your purse from the bed and handing it to you. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”
And just like that, dinner is the last thing on your mind.
.
.
.
“It’s so surreal seeing you two in such fancy clothes. You guys look amazing!” Dr. Min gushes, as the three of you take your seats inside a fancy restaurant whose name you can’t even pronounce. A salad from here probably costs a month’s worth of rent. Luckily, you’re not paying.
“You look stunning tonight as well, Dr. Min,” Donghyuck instantly responds, turning up his ass-kissing to 100.
You just sip on your glass of water, trying to distract yourself with a task by picking up and setting down your glass continuously. Eventually, a waiter comes by and dramatically refills your glass without you even asking. You murmur a quick thank you before going right back to your routine.
“Oh, here they are!” Dr. Min stands up and waves to someone behind you, and you quickly set your water back down. You smooth out the bunched up dress in your lap and tuck your hair behind your ears. As Dr. Min ushers her colleagues over to your table, you feel Donghyuck’s warm hand gently on your knee, stilling your leg that you didn’t even know you were furiously bouncing.
He doesn’t say a word, only looking at you for a second before pulling away, standing up and plastering on a big grin to greet Dr. Min’s colleagues. Your leg burns like his fingerprints individually branded you.
Mind whirring, you shakily stand up and hope that your face is doing something similar to a smile.
“Donghyuck, Y/N, these are my colleagues. This is Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory,” Dr. Min introduces, gesturing to two middle-aged men in suits who are both wearing glasses. Frankly, they look identical to you, but such is the case with the elites in academia.
You all say your greetings before sitting down, and thankfully, Dr. Min orders the food for you, rattling off fancy French dishes that you couldn’t even begin to spell. She also orders a few bottles of super expensive wine, though you and Donghyuck choose to abstain. Despite your initial nerves, the dinner isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be. The conversation flows naturally between everyone, and you even get a few laughs from Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory, which gives you a slight confidence boost. It isn’t until dinner is starting to wind down, and the professors are flushed and slightly slurring that Dr. Gregory turns towards you, saying, “You know, Y/N, you’re such a pretty girl. If only you would smile a bit more. You’d be a real stunner if you smiled more.”
The pungent scent of wine on his breath wafts over to you as he continues, “Don’t be so uptight, you know?”
Your entire body freezes, and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. This isn’t exactly your first time dealing with creepy old men, but you’ve never had to do so with creepy old men that could control your future in your career. Especially not with your mentor’s colleagues―the mentor that you revere and want so desperately to impress.
You feel your face burn with shame and humiliation, as you try to think of something to say that will diffuse the situation but also not offend Dr. Gregory. Dr. Min and Dr. Collins look uncomfortable as well, but they don’t seem like they know what to do either.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke,” Dr. Gregory finally says after noticing the tense atmosphere, “You young people never have a sense of humor.”
“Pray tell, what was the joke?” Donghyuck asks, his words dripping with a venomous sweetness. He’s gripping the cloth napkin in his lap with such strength that you think he might rip it. He’s seething with so much rage that you can feel it radiate from his body like heat waves. You’re worried he’s about to jump across the table and attack Dr. Gregory, so you slowly reach under the table and place your hand on top of his.
It’s not worth it, you want to tell him.
Without looking at you, Donghyuck releases the napkin and flips your hand with your palm facing upwards before lacing his fingers through yours, keeping your entwined fingers tucked into his lap. He holds your hand tightly but not enough to hurt. Just enough that you know he’s not going to let this slide.
“Explain the joke,” Donghyuck continues to press, “What’s so fucking funny?”
Dr. Gregory just stares at him in a drunken daze, and Dr. Min hesitantly glances between the two, finally stammering, “N-Now, that language isn’t appropriate, Donghyuck. However, Dr. Gregory needs to apologize to Y/N, too. Gosh, Dr. Gregory, you always get too drunk for your own good.”
“You know, Dr. Gregory,” Donghyuck starts, completely ignoring her, “you’d be a real stunner if you went to an AA meeting instead of lurking around at research symposiums and sexually harassing female students.”
“How dare you accuse me of―” Dr. Gregory begins sputtering, face turning even redder.
“Oh, lighten up! It was just a joke. What, you old perverts don’t have a sense of humor?” Donghyuck raises his voice, so that the surrounding tables can hear him. He stands to his feet, taking you with him, before using his free hand to slam a glass of water in front of Dr. Gregory. He uses so much force that the glass clatters loudly against the wooden table, and water splashes all over the table and Dr. Gregory’s lap.
“Sober up, you piece of shit. Talk to her like that again, and I’ll make sure you’re drinking your fancy wine through a tube in your neck.”
Donghyuck drags your chair out of the way, making sure to scrape the metal against the floor so that it makes a screeching noise, and leads you away from the table and out of the restaurant. Against your better judgment, you look back at the table. The three professors just sit there, shoulders slumped, looking smaller and smaller as you walk away. In the past, they stood tall like the highest peak of a mountain that you could never reach. Now, you can’t help but think that they look so…pathetic.
Donghyuck doesn’t speak to you as you make your way back to the hotel; he just holds your hand like you’ll slip away if he doesn’t. After a few minutes, he takes your intertwined fingers and puts them in his pants pocket. He’s walking so fast that you start to stumble over the uneven pavement in your heels.
“Wait, Donghyuck―”
You nearly trip, but he quickly turns around and catches you. His hands are on your waist, warm and firm, as he carefully steadies you.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say quietly.
Donghyuck takes in a deep breath, his hands linger around your waist as if he was the one being steadied. When he speaks, he unconsciously pulls you in a bit closer. “Yeah, I should’ve done a lot worse.”
“Come on, you’re a grad student who’s cooped up at home all day writing research papers. You’re not exactly Mike Tyson,” you try to tease. You’ve never seen him this angry before.
“I could definitely kick his teeth in.” He looks a little too determined for your liking.
“And then get an assault charge?” You sigh. “I’m not paying your bail.”
He seems to soften up a bit as he studies your face. His hands flinch at your sides, seemingly realizing that he’s cradling you against him, before he takes a step back. His palms drag against your dress as he lets go of your waist.
“Are you okay?” Donghyuck doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, as he lifts them back up before putting them back down.
“Of course.” You give him a halfhearted smile. “Not exactly my first rodeo with this kind of stuff.”
You can see a muscle in his jaw spasm.
“It was nice seeing you cuss him out though. Took the words right out of my mouth. But, you know, I would probably get called a bitch or something if I said it.” You shrug.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Misogyny?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you on your performative male shit again?”
“Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am a staunch feminist. An ally, if you will.” Donghyuck raises a fist in the air, and you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. When you meet his gaze again, he hesitantly chews on his lip for a moment before continuing, “But…I’m also sorry that you had to listen to him speak to you like that. I wish there was something I could do that was more productive than kicking his teeth in.”
“Hm,” you hum, tapping your chin, “I suppose I could forgive you if you ordered room service. I’m starving. All that bougie French finger food Dr. Min ordered basically evaporated into thin air the moment I put it in my mouth.”
You give him a mischievous grin, and the tension visibly leaves his body.
“Deal.”
.
.
.
That’s how the two of you end up lounging on the bed together, a pepperoni pizza and chicken and waffles feast sprawled out in front of you. One of the television channels is playing a rerun of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, so you and Donghyuck keep your eyes glued to the screen like children with their iPads. Occasionally, one of you will comment on how much both of you hate Gale and kick your feet when Peeta says his iconic “if it weren’t for the baby” line.
Once the movie is over and the food is completely cleared out, you both flop onto your backs, feeling like stuffed turkeys with how much you ate. The two of you lay there in content silence for a second before you let out a sigh.
It was a lot easier to not think about anything when you had all these distractions, but now that the night is winding down, reality is setting in quickly.
“Tomorrow is going to be so awkward,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Dr. Min is probably pissed.”
Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. “Surely, you don’t mean she would be pissed at us. Not when it was her creepy ass friend’s fault.”
“Well, we certainly didn’t act very professional either.”
“Y/N. Look at me, please.” You feel his hands gently swat yours away from your face.
Begrudgingly, you turn your head towards him. His face is a lot closer than you’re expecting, and your eyes wander as you start to count all of the moles on his smooth skin. Your gaze briefly flickers to his heart-shaped lips before hurriedly traveling back up to his eyes.
“You are not the one who should be worried about tomorrow,” he states firmly, “Dr. Min is the one in a position of authority. It’s her job to protect you.”
“I hope that’s the case,” you mutter.
“It is. She will.” He sounds so sure.
“Well, it doesn’t matter―”
“It does.”
“―I just need to get through this presentation, and I’ll never have to see any of these people ever again.” Truthfully, you probably will since academia circles run small. Donghyuck knows that too.
“Do you―” He hesitates, scanning your face carefully. “Are you going to file a report against Dr. Gregory?”
You laugh humorlessly. “Would anyone believe me?”
“You have three witnesses.”
“That I would be asking to jeopardize their own careers for me,” you point out, “I know we’ve had quite a spirited rivalry, but even I wouldn’t try to sabotage you like this.”
His expression is twisted into something you can’t quite discern. “What―”
“I’m not going to file a report,” you state matter-of-factly, “It’s not worth it.”
Donghyuck goes quiet, clearly trying to collect himself, before whispering hoarsely, “It’s your decision.”
He stares at you for a very long time when you don’t respond. Without even realizing it, the two of you had turned your bodies toward one another on the bed. Your legs are curled upwards, and if you wanted to, you could shift just slightly and bump his thighs. If you wanted to, you could reach out and brush the stray curl from his eyes.
“Y/N.” He murmurs your name so softly that you almost don’t hear him. In fact, the syllables blend together almost as if he were sleeptalking.
“Yeah?” You hold your breath.
“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever you decide to do, just know that I’m on your side. Always.”
You don’t remember what you said back; you don’t even remember what he looked like when he said it, no matter how desperately you try. You almost wonder if it was just a dream.
All you know is that you wake up wrapped in Lee Donghyuck’s arms the next morning. His bicep is under your neck while his hand is cradling the back of your head. His other arm is slung over your waist, fingers splayed across the small of your back. The hem of your evening gown has ridden up to your thighs, and your bare legs are tangled with his. Your cheek is tucked snugly into the crook of his neck, and every time he exhales, you feel his lips brush the crown of your head. He smells like faded cologne and warm skin.
Sunlight streams into your eyelids when you blearily blink, but you’re so distracted by the peaceful expression on Donghyuck’s face that you barely notice. Without even thinking, you brush the stray curl from his eyes. He slightly stirs at the movement before pulling you in closer, stilling once again after another second.
Against your better judgment, you lean forward, burrowing your face into his neck and feeling his skin against yours. As you listen to the sound of his breathing, it doesn’t take you long to fall back asleep.
Act IV) But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
When you wake up, you’re under the covers. Donghyuck is gone.
Except when you turn to the right, he’s curled up in a cramped fetal position on the pull-out couch with no blanket. His back is facing you, but you can see his shoulders steadily rise up and down.
You’re more impressed by how deeply you were sleeping to not notice him tuck you under the covers and then set up the couch.
Shit, what if you drooled on him and that’s why he moved?
Your hand frantically flies to the corner of your mouth, but it’s dry. Almost cracked. Then you realize that you slept in your makeup, and your skin is probably gasping for any sort of hydration.
Swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you tip-toe your way to the bathroom. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you quickly begin your morning routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face, and taking the hottest shower you can handle. You stand still, letting the scorching water run down your body, as you recall the events from the night before. In the end, not even the scalding temperature can burn away the feeling of being enveloped in Donghyuck’s arms.
Furiously scrubbing your face, you wish you had just gotten up and moved to the pull-out couch when you woke up the first time. Instead of cuddling Donghyuck like a psycho. He probably felt you clinging to him like a koala and promptly escaped, even though you were the one who lost rock-paper-scissors.
Better yet, you wish you had never come here in the first place. Maybe then your professional and…personal lives wouldn’t be in complete shambles.
Eventually, the water starts to run cold, and you have no choice but to step out into the steam-filled bathroom. Your phone chimes on the corner of the sink, and you reach over to check it―
Your heart is nearly regurgitated out of your mouth.
It’s a text from Dr. Min inviting you to breakfast. Just you and her.
.
.
.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me privately.” Dr. Min is nervously wringing her hands as you awkwardly push around the omelette in front of you.
Honestly, you had contemplated waking Donghyuck up and dragging him down with you, but then you came to your senses. You’re not sure when the switch happened that he’s the first person you turn to for help, and it freaks you out exponentially. Especially when just 48 hours ago, you would’ve rather hacked off your arm than ask him for anything.
Besides, this is nothing you can’t handle. You’re pretty sure.
“No problem.” You try your best to look cool and composed.
“I wanted to apologize for Dr. Gregory’s behavior last night. He got way too drunk, and it was completely unacceptable. He also wants to extend his sincerest apologies. I will make sure this never happens again.”
You’re not sure what to say in response. She’s waiting for you expectantly, almost as if she wants you to exonerate her from her guilt. Normally, you would rush to tell her that everything is okay and it’s all in the past now. But the expression on her face reminds you too much of last night, of how small she seemed.
“Okay.” You nod stiffly. “I appreciate you letting me know.”
There’s an awkward, drawn out pause between the two of you before Dr. Min clears her throat. “Okay. Good.”
You start getting up to leave, but you hear a shrill, “Wait!”
In all your years of knowing her, you’ve never seen Dr. Min look this nervous before. She can barely even maintain eye contact with you as she fidgets with her sleeve. “I, um, need to talk to you about something else. About the symposium.”
So much has happened that you’ve barely even thought about the symposium. It almost relieves you to hear about something so normal, considering how…not normal everything has been.
That is, until she says her next words:
“There’s been a bit of a mix-up. Initially, they were planning on having a keynote speaker. However, the speaker ended up canceling, so the schedule was made without his inclusion. The problem now is that the speaker informed us last-minute that he’ll be able to make it after all. So, I’ve been asked by the organizers to cut one of my students from the program, since I was the only one who brought two.”
You shakily inhale when it dawns on you that this is the real reason she called you down here. That it was always going to be you. The truth of being inferior feels like someone just knocked the wind out of you. You’re struggling to breathe properly, but you will yourself to maintain your composure; you’ll be damned if you have a panic attack in front of Dr. Min.
But all that goes through your head is not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.
“It’s not because your paper isn’t up to par,” she quickly insists, “in fact, your paper was brilliant―”
She couldn’t have picked a shittier adjective. That word is another gut punch.
“―it’s just that Donghyuck is more of what they’re looking for. What they’re expecting.”
That makes you pause. “What?”
“The judges have their…biases. They’re much more inclined to respond to him,” Dr. Min responds vaguely, almost as if she’s too afraid to say what she really means aloud.
“Because Donghyuck is a man?”
“Trust me, as a woman, I understand. It’s ridiculous that academia is still such a deeply patriarchal system. I’m just trying to play by their rules. If Donghyuck gets the Best Research Paper award, it’ll look really good for the university,” she explains as if it’ll all make sense to you now.
“So, you acknowledge how academia has fostered an incredibly sexist environment, yet you want to continue upholding that culture?” you ask incredulously, “Or is it because you’ve, against all odds, already succeeded in this environment so you don’t want to upset the status quo? You’re willing to close the door behind you if it means that you can retain your position?”
“I have always championed for more female scholars in our field, Y/N. This is different. It’s beyond that,” she answers defensively.
“Because your reputation is on the line?”
Dr. Min purses her lips. “I am doing what is best for our school. I hope you’ll understand that some day. I’m sure Donghyuck will as well.”
“We’ll see about that.” You clench your jaw.
“Don’t further complicate things,” she warns, clearly perceiving your words as a threat, “I really am sorry that this happened. I know this would have been a wonderful addition to your CV and your application to the PhD program. I promise I will write you that letter of recommendation if things go smoothly today.”
You actually laugh at her, a hysterical shriek bubbling in your throat. “You were my hero, you know.”
Without waiting for her response, you get up from your seat and walk away, never once turning around to look back at her. You’re not sure how you gathered up the strength to return to your room without collapsing once, but you swear you’re going to faint when Donghyuck peeks his head out of the bathroom when he hears you come in. He has a running blowdryer in one hand and a round brush in the other. He looks so happy to see you that you feel nauseous.
“Hey! I was wondering where you went. For a moment, I thought my snoring scared you off―what’s wrong?” In an instant, he’s set everything down and is making his way over to you.
You sidestep him before dragging your numb body to the edge of the bed, sitting down with your back turned against him. Squeezing your burning eyes shut, you try to remember the breathing exercises you had been watching the day before.
“Are you sick?” You hear Donghyuck’s soothing voice in front of you, but you don’t dare look at him. “Do you need anything?”
You shake your head, feeling a sob rack your body.
“Please tell me what’s wrong. What can I do? Tell me what to do, Y/N.” He sounds so scared that you know you won’t be able to tell him the truth. You’re not cruel enough to make him throw away this opportunity for you.
“Nothing,” you finally manage to get out. When you open your eyes, he’s kneeling in front of you, desperately scanning your face. What a sight he’s probably getting with all the tears and snot. “I’m not presenting today. There was a scheduling issue, and they had to cut someone from the program.”
“What? Why would they cut someone when it’s their own fault? And why you?”
You shrug halfheartedly. “Dr. Min didn’t tell me. Maybe my paper was just not as good as yours.”
“No,” he responds immediately, “that’s impossible. There had to have been another reason. If anything, Dr. Min should have cut me. I was the one who acted out of line.”
You smile bitterly. “When you do it, you’re a badass. When I do it, I’m a bitch.”
It was a sentiment you had echoed last night, but you had no idea just how ironic those words would turn out.
“Then take my place.” Donghyuck says it like it’s the simplest solution in the world.
“What, no,” you say in bewilderment, “Dr. Min has made it clear that she wants you to present. Besides, your name is on the program.”
“Fine. I won’t present either.” He crosses his arms and looks away like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Are you insane? What’s the point of all this if neither of us presents?” you demand.
“I’m not going to do it if you’re not.”
“Don’t you want the recommendation letter from Dr. Min?”
He stares at you in disbelief. “You think I care about that?”
“In case you forgot, you’re the one who suggested the competition―”
“Y/N, that was before―” he pauses, wetting his lips, “before this.”
Neither of you seem to know what this is.
“It hasn’t been a competition to me for a while now. The letter, the award, this whole symposium, none of that matters to me. I just care about you.” Donghyuck’s voice breaks slightly. “The only thing I want is you.”
“But you hate me. We’re…sworn enemies.” Your voice is barely a whisper.
That gets a chuckle out of him. “Maybe, initially. Maybe I didn’t like how much smarter you were than me. Maybe I didn’t enjoy the way you would always rip me a new one during class discussions. But―no matter how much I fought it, I started looking for you in every room I stepped into and only cared about what you had to say. I told myself a million different reasons for why I was acting the way I was. I thought whatever was forming was loathing, that you were just someone that I needed to prove I was better than. I convinced myself that I needed to tease and annoy you in any possible way because it was a tactic to gain the upperhand. When in reality, I was just doing whatever I could to get your attention. I suggested the competition because I would finally stop thinking about you if we settled our rivalry once and for all. But, Y/N―”
Donghyuck gently reaches up and cups your cheek with his hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You subconsciously lean into his touch, eyes fluttering.
“Y/N, the award has always been yours. You’ve won from the very start, and I never stood a chance. I’m not doing this without you.”
The boy you’ve spent your entire college career trying to outshine looks at you like you’re his North Star.
Your fingers slide up his forearm before gently closing around his wrist, cradling his hand against your face. Tilting your head downwards so that you’re level with his kneeling position, you place your forehead against his. Donghyuck lets out a soft gasp like you just sent an electric shock through his body.
“You have to do it. Something good has to come out of this shitshow,” you insist firmly.
He tries to pull away to protest. “No―”
“You said you’d be on my side.”
He looks at you like you’ve physically hurt him.
“Okay.” He finally relents, slumping his shoulders. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
You surge forward, wrapping your arms around him. Donghyuck catches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, burying his face in your neck and holding you like he exists only to do so. He holds you so lovingly that you almost break and tell him the truth.
But you don’t.
Instead, you let him go and tell him to hurry up and get ready. You don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on you even as he walks away.
When the two of you finally make your way down to the conference room where the symposium is being held, Dr. Min is already waiting. You slightly flinch when you see her, and to your dismay, Donghyuck seems to notice. He gives you a quizzical glance before looking at Dr. Min, gauging her facial expression. Dr. Min, on the other hand, pretends like nothing happened, and it scares you how good she is at it.
“There you guys are! Come on, Donghyuck is up first.” She ushers you both behind a makeshift stage that they’ve set up. “Okay, make sure to take a few deep breaths. Don’t bury your nose in your notes. Make sure to make eye contact with the audience.”
Donghyuck isn’t paying attention to her whatsoever. Instead, he’s peering around the stage, clearly up to something. You don’t even have time to ask him what he’s planning before the announcer calls his name.
Suddenly, Donghyuck doubles over, clutching his stomach in pain. “Owww!”
He drags the last syllable, getting progressively louder the longer he holds the word. Both you and Dr. Min slightly jump at the volume of his voice.
“What’s wrong?” she asks frantically.
“Oh, my stomach is killing me,” he moans dramatically, “I think it might be the shitty French food we ate last night. Oh, I’m going to throw up.”
He makes dry heaving noises, and Dr. Min takes a step back. “Um, okay. Let’s get you to a bathroom.”
“What about the presentation?” he asks in between vomiting sounds.
“You can’t present if you’re sick. We’ll―”
“Oh, I have a wonderful idea.” He claps his hands together. “How about Y/N presents in my place?”
You should’ve known Donghyuck would have something up his sleeve.
“And look! A copy of Y/N’s paper magically showed up, so she’s all set! Wow, Shakespeare must be in the building with us on this beautiful afternoon.” He whips out the folded pieces of paper in his back pocket that you had thought was his paper. When he notices your death glare, he places the back of his hand on his forehead. “Oh, I feel so sick…”
“Lee Donghyuck, I’m going to kill―”
“We don’t have time for this,” Dr. Min snaps, snatching the paper from Donghyuck and shoving it into your arms. “I don’t know how you two planned this, but I’ll deal with you afterwards. Just go and present.”
“But I―”
Dr. Min grabs your shoulders and essentially manhandles you onto the stage. You stumble out in front of a giant crowd full of confused scholars who definitely just heard all the ruckus Donghyuck made. Awkwardly shuffling over to the podium, you clear your throat into the mic by accident, causing a piercing feedback noise.
“Oh, uh, sorry about that. I’m not Lee Donghyuck. He had…other issues to deal with. My name is Y/N, and I’m here to present on―”
You pause for a moment when you look down at your paper. Written in red ink are loopy, sprawling letters at the top of the page that read:
You are the badass.
Looking back up at the expectant crowd, you take the pages of your paper and rip them in half, the sounds of paper tearing echoing throughout the room.
“I originally planned on presenting about female empowerment in the 1999 film 10 Things I Hate About You compared to the source material, The Taming of the Shrew. However, I cannot, in good faith, speak on this topic without first recounting my own experiences this past weekend. Isn’t it a Shakespearean twist that all we do is sit around and discuss political and sociological issues being acknowledged in works of literature yet we can’t recognize those same problems in our own field? I hope my words force us to acknowledge our own internalized biases.”
.
.
.
In the end, you don’t receive the Best Research Paper award.
In fact, security escorts you out of the conference room shortly after you finish speaking.
You’re not sure what the repercussions of what you just did are going to be, but you can’t find it in you to care. When you’re deposited in the hotel lobby, Donghyuck is already waiting for you.
“How’s your stomach?” you ask sarcastically.
He just shakes his head and chuckles incredulously. “You always find a way to one-up me.”
“So, you’re admitting defeat?” You close the distance between the two of you, stepping so close that your chests nearly touch.
Donghyuck swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Y/N, I―”
You throw your arms around his neck and bring him down to press your lips against his. He snakes an arm around your waist and lifts you up, pulling you tightly against him. He kisses you like he’s on his dying breath, and he holds you like you’re everything he ever dreamed of. For the first time in your life, you know you are.
“Complete and utter defeat,” he whispers against your lips.
Academic validation and beating Lee Donghyuck are your only motivations in life. You end up achieving only one of the two.
.
.
.
It isn’t until when you get back from the symposium the next week that you discover multiple sexual harassment claims were filed against Dr. Gregory after your speech and he was fired by the university. Additionally, Dr. Min was put on administrative leave for allegations of discrimination and abuse of power. She apparently is also being investigated separately by the organizers of the symposium for attempted bribery of the judges by not disclosing the fact that she habitually took them to dinner (who were actually Dr. Collins and Dr. Gregory).
“Now, that’s some Shakespearean karma.” Donghyuck winks when he shows you the news article.
“I guess we’re not getting those recommendation letters.” You sigh.
He throws his head back and laughs.
Lacing your fingers through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as the two of you walk down the sidewalk―the sounds of the rain growing heavier against your shared umbrella and cars speeding by serving as your only background noise.
SUMMARY: after ferrari’s golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospital’s desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once he’s free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i believe this could’ve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (i’ve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! 🩷🫶
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”
You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”
You blinked. “Who?”
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”
You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”
She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”
You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”
You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.
“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”
You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”
🏁.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”
“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.
“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”
You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”
He didn’t answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.
“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”
Heeseung closed his eyes.
“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”
“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”
“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”
He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”
His brows creased. “Did I?”
“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
🏁.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
“But we were just—”
“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”
He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”
“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.
“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”
“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”
“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”
“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”
“I can’t just lie here—”
“You literally must.”
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”
You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.
“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”
You rolled your eyes and stood.
“Don’t push it.”
🏁.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.
You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”
“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”
“It’s just medicine.”
“I know, but I like being dramatic.”
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
“What?” you asked.
He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”
“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”
You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”
Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”
“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”
Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”
“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
“Thanks,” he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”
“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.
“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.
🏁.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”
“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”
You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”
“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”
He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”
You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”
He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
“You good?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”
The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
“Careful,” you murmured.
“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”
Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”
“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.
Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”
You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”
🏁.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.
“Hey,” he said, quietly.
“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”
He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”
Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”
“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”
“Come here.” He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.
“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.
Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”
“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”
You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”
So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
🏁.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
“Hey.” He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”
You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”
“The cafeteria.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”
Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”
“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”
“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”
You snorted. “Good.”
The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”
“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”
“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”
“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”
“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.
“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”
You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”
“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.
“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”
“Where?” You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”
“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”
“Wait—”
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
🏁.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.
“My pillow fell again.”
“My water’s too warm.”
“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”
“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”
“Do you know where the remote is?”
Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”
“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”
You blinked at him, deadpan.
“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.
You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”
“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”
🏁.
You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.
You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”
“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”
“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”
You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
🏁.
Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.
“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”
You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”
“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.
“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”
“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.
“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”
“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”
You cringed. “I misclicked.”
“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
“Would you go out with me?”
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”
His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”
🏁.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.
You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”
His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”
You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.
“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”
“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
“You got it back,” you murmured.
“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”
“As soon as they let me.”
“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”
You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”
Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”
You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”
Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“Not a chance.”
Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”
“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”
The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.
You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.
“You make me better.” He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “No, that’s all you.”
life in the 2000s means flip phones, low rise jeans, a chaotic friendgroup, and a cocky skater boyfriend who climbs your window when he needs to apologize.
pairing: bf!riki x fem!reader ⭑ ft. friendgroup Enhypen
🗯️ vaeh’s notes: the fic is finally here! you already KNOW i had to be cliche and make him climb through your window muhahah. I also wasn’t sure whether this was the right time to post this with everything going on atm, still posted it, hoping it helps cheer you guys up a little! Take care xx #enhypenis7
⊹
There were seven of them.
Seven loud, annoying ass, inseparable boys who took up too much space at every party, every hallway, and every parking lot. They were always together, skateboards under their arms, half-finished coca-cola cans in their hands, laughter echoing too loudly through college apartments that definitely couldn’t fit all of them.
You really weren’t supposed to be part of them. Even thought they we’re weird at first.
The first time they saw you, you were standing alone at some shady off-campus house party.
You were leaning against the kitchen counter in low rise jeans and a baby tee, flipping your pink bedazzled Motorola shut and open again because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands.
It was Sunghoon who noticed first. “Why is she by herself? She looks nice.” And then all seven of them ended up standing in front of you like a mildly intimidating boyband.
You don’t remember how, but that night you were adopted into their friendgroup.
You’d been with them ever since.
Especially Riki.
—
You and Riki were never stable.
You were either disgustingly in love or dramatically broken up. There was no in-between.
You’d ‘break up’ over anything:
Because he didn’t call you back fast enough. You helped another guy with his homework. He didn’t let you borrow his clothes. You told him smoking was unattractive.
And once because spilled an entire cup of Sprite on your Juicy Couture bag, which you spent your entire salary on.
You cried like a baby. He’d rolled his eyes and said, “It’s just a bag. Get a new one.”
You didn’t speak to him for a week.
The friend group suffered… Riki got quieter. You got meaner. The air felt heavy every time you were in the same room.
Until Jungwon snapped.
“I can’t do this,” he’d said, rubbing his temples. “You two are exhausting. Apologize. Now.”
You tried to act careless but you both folded in under five minutes and ended up in your bedroom.
—
You hated being called popular, but you weren’t invisible.
People knew you.
You had that early-2000s glow. Glossy lips, hoop earrings, low-rise everything. Professors remembered your name. Girls whispered about you. Boys stared a little too long.
Riki? He had baggy jeans sagged so low you could always see which brand of underwear he was wearing, Calvin Klein most days, sometimes something knockoff that you’d tease him about constantly.
“Pull them up,” you’d hiss in the middle of the mall, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking it higher. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He’d just grin, completely unbothered.
“Why? You don’t like my boxers?”
“I don’t like that everyone else can see them.”
He’d lean closer, smoke still lingering faintly on his breath. “I don’t care.”
And then he’d glance down at your hips.
Low rise jeans. A tiny strip of pink lace peeking out when you moved. Belly piercing glinting under the mall lights.
“Oh,” he’d mock, tugging lightly at the strip of your thong on your hip, making it snap back. “And that’s modest?”
You’d swat his hand away. “That’s fashion.”
“Mine is too.”
“You look homeless.”
“You look like a hooker.”
“I do not. You asshole.”
You’d both be smiling by the end of it.
—
It’s one of those perfect late mid-August afternoons.
The sun is low and orange. Everything smells like hot pavement, sunscreen, and cigarettes. The entire city feels outside, kids with scraped knees, girls in denim skirts, boys shirtless with skateboards tucked under their arms.
The skatepark is loud.
Wheels scraping. Laughter echoing. Music playing from someone’s brand new portable speaker.
The whole friend group is there and Riki insisted you’d come too.
His white tank top clinging slightly to his back from sweat. Wired headphones dangling out of the pocket from his jeans. A cigarette tucked behind his ear, which you hate.
Heeseung is beside him, attempting something reckless off a skating ramp.
They take turns.
They hype each other up.
They shove each other when one of them almost eats concrete.
You’re sitting on top of the half-pipe, legs dangling over the edge, flip-flops hanging loosely off your toes. The smallest top imaginable clings to your torso more lace than fabric, blue jeans sit dangerously on your hips, held in place by a big bedazzled belt.
Riki had absolutely hated the top.
“That’s not a shirt,” he said earlier.
“It is.”
“It looks like a bra.”
“It’s hot outside.”
“It’s hot for me too.”
“Then take your shirt off.”
He gave you a glare, you walked ahead anyway.
Now you’re bored.
Bored and slightly irritate because you’ve already watched him light up two cigarettes.
Two.
And you hate when he smokes. Hate the smell. Hate the way it makes his voice raspier. Hate how casual he is about it.
And he knows that, but he does it anyway. Which makes it worse.
He skates toward you suddenly, rolling to a stop between your knees. One hand presses to the ramp beside your thigh, the other still holding his board.
“You look grumpy,” he says, squinting up at you against the sun.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He leans forward and kisses your forehead anyway.
Then he pushes off again before you can respond.
You sigh.
You’re melting. You’re bored. And you’re watching your boyfriend risk concussions for fun.
Amazing.
Then Heeseung has an even more amazing idea.
“Teach her something,” he says, nodding toward you.
Riki looks up immediately.
You narrow your eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
He’s already skating toward you again.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand. “It’s easy.”
“It’s not easy.”
“It is.”
“I’m wearing slippers.”
“Then take them off.”
You gasp like he’s insane.
He grins.
“Baby, I’ll hold you.”
Everyone’s watching now.
Jay whistles from somewhere near the fence. Sunghoon pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. Sunoo is already smiling like something crazy embarrassing is about to happen.
“If I fall and ruin my outfit,” you warn, pointing a manicured finger at him, “I’ll kill you.”
He laughs. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
You step onto the skateboard and it wobbles instantly.
You grab his hands.
“Why is it moving?”
“Because it has wheels.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
He positions himself in front of you, holding both your hands firmly.
“Okay,” he says, focused now. “Just bend your knees a little. Then pop the tail and slide your foot up.”
“Pop what?”
“The back.”
“I don’t know what that means Riki.”
He laughs softly.
“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”
You glare. “You better.”
He counts you down.
“One. Two—”
You jump.
The board flips sideways instead of up.
Your foot lands wrong.
His grip slips and suddenly you’re falling. You hit the concrete with a very embarrassing thud.
There’s a split second of silence, then there’s Laughter.
Sunoo’s laugh is the worst. High and dramatic and absolutely unnecessary.
You sit up slowly, hair in your face, pride completely shattered.
Riki is crouching immediately. “Are you okay?”
You stare at him.
“Did you catch me?”
“I tried—”
“You did not.”
He bites back a smile.
You gasp.
“Don’t you dare laugh.”
He fails. Just a little chuckle, but that’s it for you.
You stand up, brushing off your jeans dramatically.
“I’m done.”
“Baby—”
“No.”
You grab your slippers and stomp back toward the half-pipe.
Sunoo is still giggling when you sit down beside him.
“I’d like to see you try next time,” you snap.
Sunoo chuckles. “I would never fall like that.”
“You absolutely would.”
“I have natural balance.”
“You have natural dramatics.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”
You both dissolve into a stupid little argument about who would survive longer on a skateboard.
It almost distracts you from Riki.
Almost.
Until you glance over and see some random guy offering Riki a joint.
And Riki… takes it?
Your stomach drops.
He laughs at something the stranger says. Throws his head back slightly. That boxy grin that made you like him in the first place.
Your jaw tightens.
Sunoo is still talking beside you.
“…and then I’d definitely land it because— helloo? Are you even listening?”
You aren’t. Your eyes are locked on Riki.
Then a girl loses control of her board and swerves straight into him.
She stumbles forward and Riki catches her.
One hand at her waist on instinct.
You feel it before you even think, that little sting in your chest.
He lets her go immediately.
“You good?” he asks casually.
She laughs. “Yeah, thanks.”
She lingers half a second too long.
That’s it. That’s your last straw. You’re already on your feet. Sunoo reaches for your wrist. “Wait—”
Too late. You walk fast, hips swaying, chin lifted, eyes low and dangerous.
Riki doesn’t even notice until you’re right in front of him.
You grab his arm and tug him away from the small group of strangers.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He blinks. “What?”
“I said what do you think you’re doing.” you repeat, quieter but sharper.
He genuinely looks confused. “Nothing?”
You look at the joint still between his fingers.
Without breaking eye contact, you reach up, snatch it from him, drop it to the ground and grind it into the concrete with your heel.
“Are you serious right now?” he mutters.
“Oh, I’m serious.” you snap.
He runs a hand through his hair. “What is your problem?”
“My problem?” Your voice rises. “You’ve smoked, like, five cigarettes today. And now this? Oh and you’re just touching girls?”
His head jerks back. “Touching girls?”
“You literally had your hands all over her waist.”
“She ran into me.”
“And you had to grab her like that?”
“She was falling.”
You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.
“Keep it down,” he says under his breath. “Not everyone needs to know you’re mad at me again.”
That does it.
“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?!” you fire back. “You weren’t embarrassed five seconds ago.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re making a scene.”
“You’re smoking in front of me after I told you I hate it.”
He exhales hard. “It’s my choice.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s called free will,” he adds, clearly irritated now.
You stare at him.
“Right,” you say flatly. “So you just do whatever you want.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were all up on her.”
“She bumped into me.”
“You didn’t have to hold her like that.”
He scoffs. “Like what?”
“Like—” You stop yourself before you say something dramatic.
He shakes his head. “You’re overreacting.”
You feel your chest tighten.
“Am I?” you ask quietly.
“Yes.”
Silence hangs between you. Then he makes the mistake.
He gestures vaguely at you.
“And don’t act like you’re not out here in that top all day.”
Your eyes widen.
“What about my top?”
“It’s too revealing.”
You laugh once. Sharp. Disbelieving.
“So now this is my fault?”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re just saying what?” you cut him off. “That I deserve it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But you thought it.”
He looks frustrated now. “You can’t tell me what I thought.”
“You can’t tell me I’m overreacting.”
“You are tho.”
Your face goes cold.
“Okay.”
You step back.
“Okay,” you repeat.
He frowns slightly. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
He grabs your wrist once.
“Don’t leave.”
“Whatever.” You say and you turn and walk away.
You expect footsteps. You expect him to call your name. You expect him to follow you like he always does.
You walk past the fence, the group of boys, past Sunoo’s wide eyes. And still nothing.
You finally glance back and your stomach drops.
He’s back on his board like nothing happened.
Like he isn’t supposed to chase you.
And that hurts more than the cigarette, more than the girl, more than the argument. Because in your head, he’s supposed to follow you and beg you to stay. But instead he just skates.’
—
By nine o’clock it’s almost completely dark, the last bit of orange fading out of the sky. Your room is lit by the glow of your TV, candles and the small lamp on your nightstand. You’re curled up in bed in soft pajamas, a plate of brownies balanced on your stomach while Clueless plays for what might be the hundredth time.
Your flip phone has been buzzing the last half hour.
Four missed calls.
Ten texts.
You’ve read none of them, you refuse to.
Then you hear A small tick against your window.
You pause mid-chew.
Another one.
And then a third.
You sit up slowly, pushing the plate aside and sliding out of bed. The floor is cool under your feet as you walk toward the window and pull the blinds apart.
Riki is standing in the street below, hands filled with tiny rocks to throw, looking up at your room like he’s been waiting for you to appear. When he sees your face, he waves casually, like this is completely normal behavior.
You stare at him for two seconds.
Then you shut the blinds and walk straight back to your bed.
Your phone buzzes again immediately.
You don’t check it.
A few seconds pass.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
You exhale sharply and shuffle back to the window, throwing the blinds open this time and sliding the window up.
“What?” you hiss down at him.
“You need to let me in,” he says like it’s obvious.
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I want to talk to you.”
“Too bad.”
He steps closer to the house, lowering his voice even though no one is outside. “Please, baby. I wanna make it up to you.”
You cross your arms against the windowsill. “Make what up? You didn’t do anything, remember?”
“Come on,” he tries again. “Are you really gonna let me stand out here looking like a fool?”
“Yes,” you say immediately.
He stares up at you, half offended, half impressed.
You hold his gaze for another second, then slide the window shut and drop the blinds again before he can argue. You get back into bed, pull the covers up, grab your brownie plate, and press play like nothing happened.
For a few minutes, it’s quiet.
Then you hear something strange. Not rocks this time, but a scraping sound. A shuffle. Something brushing against the side of the house.
You freeze.
The sound gets closer.
Your heart jumps as you sit up again just in time to see two hands grab onto your windowsill from the outside.
And then Riki’s stupid face appears.
You let out a sharp gasp and scramble out of bed as he hoists himself up, creased sneakers braced against the brick. He looks mildly proud of himself, slightly out of breath, hair falling into his eyes.
You slide the window open with a dramatic sigh.
“Seriously, Riki?”
He doesn’t answer. He just swings one leg over the sill and climbs into your room like he’s done it a hundred times before, landing lightly on your floor.
“You’re insane,” you whisper-yell, shoving the window shut behind him. “My dad is literally going to kill the both of us if he finds out you climbed through my window.”
“He won’t,” Riki says easily.
“And you smell like smoke,” you add, wrinkling your nose. “If he comes in here—”
“He won’t,” he repeats, completely unbothered.
You stand there with your arms crossed, trying to stay angry while he casually looks around your room like he’s on a tour.
He glances at you slowly, eyes dragging from your messy hair to your pajama shorts. A lazy grin spreads across his face.
“Those make your ass look good.”
Your mouth drops open. “That’s what you have to say right now?”
“I’m just being honest.”
“You’re fucking unbelievable.”
He walks past you toward your bed, picking up one of your pillows and tossing it aside before noticing the plate of brownies. Without asking, he takes one and bites into it.
“You made these yourself?” he asks through a mouthful.
“Yes.”
“They’re good.”
“They’re mine.”
He shrugs and flops down onto your bed like he belongs there, one arm behind his head, chewing lazily while Clueless continues playing in the background.
Your eye twitches.
“I’m still mad at you, Riki” you remind him.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here.”
You stay standing by the window like you’re guarding it, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Riki, meanwhile, looks entirely too comfortable sprawled across your bed, one hand behind his head, the other reaching lazily for another brownie.
He watches you for a moment, amused.
“Are you gonna stand there all night?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He snorts softly. “Come sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
“You weren’t nervous climbing up my house like a creep.”
He pats the mattress beside him anyway. “Baby.”
You hesitate, but you do it. Of course you do. You walk over and sit cross-legged on your bed, leaving a noticeable gap between you. You grab a pink heart-shaped pillow and hold it against your chest like armor, arms wrapped around it as a clear barrier.
Riki doesn’t look intimidated.
He slowly looks you up and down instead, gaze dragging over your shorts, your bare legs, your messy hair. He takes another bite of brownie, chews thoughtfully, then winks at you.
“Can I get a kiss?”
Your jaw drops.
“You’re unbelievable.”
You lean forward and snatch the plate of brownies out of his hands before he can grab another one. “Start talking,” you demand. “Or I swear I’m throwing you back out that window.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not strong enough for that.”
“I’ll get my dad to do it.”
He actually laughs at that, like the idea is ridiculous.
You glare harder.
He sighs dramatically and sits up, closing the space between you. The mattress dips as he moves closer.
He reaches out, resting his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch is warm and familiar, annoyingly gentle.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You narrow your eyes. “For what?”
He pauses half a second too long.
“For… making you mad.”
That’s it.
That’s the apology.
He doesn’t even fully know what he’s apologizing for, the smoking, the girl, the comment about your top, he just knows you’re upset and that saying sorry usually fixes it.
You try to hold your glare, but your grip on the pillow loosens.
This is how it always goes. One of you gets mad. The other gives a weak apology. And somehow it’s enough.
He watches your expression soften, just slightly, and that tiny shift is all he needs.
“Come here,” he says quietly, patting his lap.
You roll your eyes like you’re still annoyed, but you put the pillow aside and shift forward, settling onto his lap anyway. His hands come to your waist automatically.
He leans in and kisses you.
It starts slow, almost careful, like he’s testing if you’ll pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling lightly into his black hair. For a few seconds, everything feels lke the argument never happened.
Then you wrinkle your nose and pull back slightly.
“Take your jacket off.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It smells like smoke.”
He smirks immediately. “If you wanted to undress me you could just say that.”
You don’t even entertain it. You grab his shirt and kiss him again just to shut him up.
He laughs against your mouth, hands tightening at your waist, and for now, at least, the fight is over.
Until he chuckles, he pulls back just slightly, still close enough that his lips brush yours when he talks.
“You know,” he mumbles, half smiling, “Sunoo told me to apologize.”
You don’t really listen, just give him another peck on his lips. “Hm?”
He shrugs, leaning back in to kiss you again like it doesn’t matter. “He said I should just say sorry and you’d stop being mad.”
Your lips press together instead of moving with his.
“And?” you ask slowly.
“And it worked,” he says lightly. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”
You freeze.
He tries to kiss you again, but you pull your head back this time.
“Are you kidding me right now?,” you say.
He frowns, confused at the sudden shift. “What?”
“You don’t know what you did wrong?”
He laughs a little, like this is harmless. “You were just in a mood.”
You slap his arm.
Not hard. But sharp enough.
“Ow— what was that for?”
You’re already climbing off his lap. “I actually can’t stand you.”
“What?” he repeats, genuinely lost.
“You didn’t apologize because you meant it,” you snap. “You just didn’t want me to be mad.”
“That’s the same thing y/n.”
“It’s not the same thing!”
He sits there, staring at you like you’ve switched languages mid-conversation.
You grab his arm and yank him off the bed. “Come here.”
“Why are you dragging me?”
“Because you’re leaving.”
He stumbles after you as you pull him toward the window again. “I just said sorry!”
“No, you didn’t!” you fire back, pushing the window open. “You said sorry because Sunoo told you to and because you wanted me to shut up.”
“That’s not—”
“That is exactly what it was.”
He steps closer, trying to catch your wrist, trying to pull you back in like he did before. “You’re overthinking it.”
You shove his chest lightly. “Go.”
“Can you calm down for two seconds?”
“No.”
He leans in again like kissing you will solve it, like it always does. You put your hand flat against his chest and push him back.
“Get out.”
“Baby—”
“Go!”
He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated now. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”
“And you’re not making it a deal at all!” you shoot back. “Come back when you can take accountability!”
You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care if a porch light flicks on somewhere down the street. You’re too irritated to think about neighbors.
He glares at you for a second longer before finally swinging one leg over the sill again.
“This is so stupid,” he mutters as he climbs out.
“You’re stupid!” you yell back.
“You love me though.”
“Bye Riki!”
He drops down to the ground below with a dull thud and looks back up at you. “Throw my jacket!”
You grab it off your floor and hesitate for a second.
“It smells like smoke! Wash it out!” you shout.
“Just throw it y/n, Jeez!”
You toss it out the window a little harder than necessary. It hits him in the face before falling to his arms.
“And pull your up your goddamn pants, you loser!” you yell one last time before slamming the window shut.
He stands there for a second in the dim streetlight, running a hand through his hair and muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking hell.”
He pulls up his pants anyway, then he turns and starts walking.
Riki walks home with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His jaw is tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks at small rocks along the sidewalk. He replays the entire thing in his head.
He apologized.
Didn’t he?
He showed up. Climbed yout house. Said sorry. What else was he supposed to do?
He mutters under his breath, calling the whole situation dumb, ridiculous. Calling you dramatic.
You just crawl back into bed and press play on your movie again, rather relieved than angry.
Cher’s voice fills the room.
You reach for a brownie.
Your fingers hit an empty plate.
You stare at it.
“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes.
—
The next day feels like nothing happened, it’s a Saturday and you’re at the mall with your friends, like usual
The mall in the center of the city is loud. Every store window is screaming SALE in red letters. Somewhere above them, a movie trailer echoes from the cinema entrance. The air smells like hotdogs, sugar, perfume samples, and fryer oil all blending into one.
Every time you guys go there to “just walk around”, someone somehow leaves with an empty wallet.
The vibe between you and Riki, though? Ice cold.
You walk slightly ahead when he’s near. Conversations split awkwardly around you two. You guys barely acknowledge each others presence. Everyone notices. No one says it yet.
You split up near the giant directory map in the middle of the mall.
Heeseung, Sunoo and you walk towards the arcade, immediately distracted by blinking machines and the sound of digital coins clinking. Jungwon and Jay walk off with one mission only, to eat every free sample the mall has to offer.
Jake, Riki and Sunghoon head towards the skate shop onsecond floor.
“Bro, I’m telling you, softer wheels are better for street,” Jake insists.
“Yeah, if you like going slow,” Sunghoon shoots back.
Riki barely speaks. He flips a board over, studies it, doesn’t see it.
He sees you in his head instead, standing at your window, yelling at him to come back when he can take accountability.
They check every board. Compare prices. Debate colors. In the end, none of them buy anything.
When they walk out into the mall hallway again, the crown hits them full force. Sunghoon stretches his arms above his head.
“So,” Jay says casually. “You and her gonna keep pretending you don’t know each other?”
Riki clicks his tongue immediately. “She’s mad at me.”
“Yes,” Riki insists. “I climbed her window. I could’ve fallen and died bro. I said sorry.”
Jake squints at him. “For what?”
Riki opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“…For making her mad?”
Sunghoon actually laughs. “That’s not an apology, idiot.”
Riki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She was yelling about the joint, and the cigs, and that girl at the skate park. But I didn’t even do anything with that girl. I just caught her because she bumped into me.”
Jake raises a brow. “By her waist?”
Riki hesitates. “…On instinct.”
“Mm,” Sunghoon hums. “And then?”
“And then she dragged me to the window and kicked me out ‘cause I said Sunoo told me to apologize,” Riki mutters.
Both boys stare at him.
“You told her…” Jake says slowly, “that someone else told you to apologize.”
“I was joking. “And at least I apologized? I don’t see the problem.”
Jake lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how you ever got her to like you, man.”
Riki scowls. “I literally climbed into her room. What more does she want?”
Jake grins. “Maybe don’t touch random girls in front of her.”
“She ran into me.”
“And you caught her,” Sunghoon says dryly. “You couldn’t even catch your own girl when she fell.”
Riki groans. “It’s not like that.”
Jake smirks. “Then go tell her that.”
“She’ll just get mad again.”
Sunghoon shrugs. “Get better at apologizing.”
Meanwhile the boys are discussing how to apologize to girlfriends, you’re at the arcade, trying to win a stuffed animal.
The arcade is chaos, neon lights flickering, pixelated sound effects, the constant clink-clink of coins dropping somewhere. A racing game to your left, a dance machine behind you, and right in front of you—
The claw machine.
Inside it sits the biggest stuffed cat you’ve ever seen. Grey and white, oversized head, cute smile. It’s ridiculous. You want it immediately.
You shove another coin in.
Heeseung leans casually against the machine beside you. “You’ve been trying for like ten minutes.”
“I almost had it,” you mumble, eyes locked on the claw.
Sunoo crouches dramatically beside the glass. “Manifest it. Tell it you love it.”
“I do love it,” you whisper.
The claw drops.
Grabs the cat.
Lifts it.
For one beautiful second it hangs there.
“YES!”
Then slips.
The cat falls back into the pile.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you curse under your breath, stepping back in disbelief.
Heeseung laughs softly. “Y/n, did something happen between you and Riki?”
You don’t even look at him. “He was being a dick.”
Sunoo nods immediately. “Newsflash.”
Heeseung hums in agreement. “Fair.”
No further questions.
You shove another coin in aggressively. The claw misses completely this time and you kick the machine.
Heeseung gently nudges you aside. “Let me.”
You cross your arms, pretending you don’t care. “You’re gonna lose.”
The claw lowers.
It grips the stuffed cat around its head.
Lifts it.
Carries it over to the hole.
Drops.
The cat tumbles into the prize slot.
You and Sunoo scream like he just won an Olympic medal.
“NO WAY—” you laugh. It’s bigger than you expected, soft and and perfect.
Heeseung smiles, brushing his hands off. “All skill.”
He takes the cat from the slot and hands it to you with a small grin. “For your suffering.”
You hug it immediately. “You’re my favorite person.”
He just laughs.
ou three walk out of the arcade a few minutes later, the mall lights feeling calmer after all the flashing machines. You hold the stuffed cat in your arms like it’s something precious, its giant head resting against your shoulder.
Riki notices you.
From halfway down the hall, he spots you walking toward them, oversized plush cat in your arms, laughing at something Sunoo just said.
And unfortunately for his pride, you look cute. And pretty. And happy.
It does something uncomfortable to his chest.
The groups meet in the middle of the walkway.
Sunghoon claps his hands once. “We’re gonna go find Jungwon and Jay before they eat themselves sick.”
“Too late,” Heeseung says dryly.
They all start walking, Sunghoon and Jake up front debating something again, Sunoo walking slightly behind them.
Heeseung slows just enough to walk beside Riki for half a second.
He gives him a small nod toward you.
Go.
Riki exhales through his nose.
Fine.
He steps up, walking beside you.
You don’t look at him.
He notices that immediately.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to sound casual. “Where’d you get that?”
Your eyes stay forward. “Arcade.”
“Obviously.”
“Heeseung won it for me.”
There’s something about the way you say it, so simple, that hits him wrong.
He glances at the stuffed cat.
Heeseung won it… not him.
“Oh,” Riki mutters. “Cool.”
You finally lift it slightly, showing him the cat’s stupid stitched smile. “It’s my new boyfriend.” You say it teasingly.
But Riki doesn’t smile.
Something annoyed flickers across his face before he masks it.
“Yeah?” he says, voice calm but a little tight. “He looks like he’d treat you better.”
You glance at him briefly, catching that tone.
“It doesn’t climb through windows uninvited,” you reply.
He huffs softly. “Yeah. It also doesn’t have legs.”
You shrug. “Less likely to run around with random girls then.”
He goes quiet for half a second.
Then he nudges the cat’s head lightly with his fingers. “He looks dumb.”
Your eyes narrow. “Don’t talk about him like that.”
“You really replacing me with a stuffed animal?”
You keep walking straight ahead.
“Depends. Can he apologize properly?” You say, then you step up your pace to nonchalantly walk away from Riki.
You eventually find Jungwon and Jay exactly where everyone expected them to be, around a food stand with tiny paper cups in their hands.
Jay is mid-sentence when the group walks up. “I’m telling you, if you circle back in ten minutes they forget your face.”
Jake nods seriously, holding up another sample. “This one’s teriyaki chicken. Third time.”
Heeseung sighs like a tired parent.
“Are we leaving?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Sunghoon says.
Everyone slowly makes their way toward the mall exit.
Riki walks quietly behind everyone.
You do too.
By the time the glass doors slide open, the air outside is thick and warm, with the hum of traffic and laughs from somewhere down the street.
Sunghoon and Jake walk ahead, arguing about the best type of flipphone. Jay tries to convince Jungwon to stop at a convenience store on the way. Sunoo keeps poking Heeseung about the stuffed cat like it’s some kind of trophy.
You and Riki walk a few steps behind them again.
For a minute, neither of you says anything.
Your arms are wrapped around the giant plush cat, its soft head resting against your shoulder. Riki glances at it once, then looks ahead at the group, then down at the pavement like he’s building up the courage to say something.
Finally, he exhales and speaks.
“Y/n...”
You glance at him.
“I was being an asshole yesterday.”
You blink slightly.
He keeps walking beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on the ground instead of on you.
“And… I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the cigarettes. And the joint. And that girl at the skatepark.”
You don’t interrupt.
He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“And I’m sorry for not knowing how to say sorry,” he admits. “I know I kinda… suck at that.”
For a moment you just look at him.
Then a small giggle slips out before you can stop it.
He looks over immediately. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say, smiling a little. “I just like hearing you apologise”.
He shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
“I maybe shouldn’t have kicked you out the window.” You say hesitantly.
He snorts. “Maybe?”
“Okay, I shouldn’t have done that.”
He slides his hand out of his pocket and slowly, almost carefully, he lets it brush against yours. When you don’t pull away, his fingers curl around your hand.
The group ahead of you turns a corner toward the quieter streets leading back to your neighborhood.
You glance at Riki. “Do you wanna come to my house?”
His eyebrows lift. “You gonna let me in trough the door this time?”
You roll your eyes. “If you behave.”
“I always behave, baby.”
You scoff softly. “Mhm… just pull your pants up before my parents see you.”
⊹
extra note: I rlly hate the ending, I had writers block…
PAIRINGS:- leeheeseung x fem!reader, GENRE:- smau oneshot, strangers to lovers, crack, fluff, college au, SLIDE COUNT:- 25 (these long ass smaus will not stop)
( ☎️ ) -> STARRING heeseung as the tired economics major, who is convinced he's going insane, and STARRING y/n as someone who strongly believes in using free will for entertainment purposes, decides to make that his problem.
sorennotes:- a little random smau oneshot to keep ygs distracted with how ive not been posting 🤔🤔🤔 but truthfully I really loved how this one came out andd im making a smau series for him as well called, “what happens in vegas” !! ( coming soon ) enjoy reading and send your thoughts ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
I hope this doesnt flop I loved this smau sm ))))): I hope yall liked it and pls send your thoughts in my comments/inbox/messages anywhere !! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) ilygs and thank you for reading <333
*⁀➷perm taglist! comment to be added or removed 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 (if i missed anyone im so sorry) @sweethoons @gyuzies @lassiie @enhypens-hoe @lowkhyeon @bananabread785 @heekiaras @midniightfiction @kristynaaah @effiemjch @ijustwannareadstuff20 @miajojojo @mjllies @rikisonline @tsukheeshima @drkbl00d @wobblymug @tearsforyrsins @wichujunseo @teacuplps @miellette
