SUMMARY:
after a long night of attending your first baseball game, you take a tranquil walk back to your hotel alongside your favorite ball fan and closest friend. introduced to you by your older brother chris, kim seungmin also happens to be the owner of your heart, and you soon discover that there's a lot more beneath the surface of his feelings.
TLDR: kim seungmin confesses his feelings for you in the only way he knows how.
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
ꨄ︎: yeah so i finally saw stray kids in toronto and cinema inspired me so hard. y'all don't understand that song is my SHIT. anyway seungmin is literally my baby and he's so sweet and adorable and i love him so bad. for the record here i had to modify the timeline of dominATE a little bit to fit the storyline & the song which you'll understand later on. anyway enjoy, and happy reading! xo
TAGS: friends to lovers, slight(?) slow burn, fluff, a little kissing at the end but it’s sweet, nervous seungmin, he’s literally bordering on bashful, reader is bangchan’s baby sister, kim seungmin is a sappy romantic
You love Chris.
He’s the best brother you could ever ask for. Warm, caring, sweet, and incredibly funny all at the same time. You can see why his fans love him so dearly. He’s always been there for you, and even now, as an adult, he wants nothing more than for you to be happy. Because of his constant love and support, you are.
You’ve always loved everything to do with photography. It always called to you, pulling you deeper into its grasp every day. As a little girl, you were so enamored by the idea of capturing life through photographs. You wanted it to be your craft, and that is exactly what you achieved, through long hours in high school and college. Chris couldn’t be any prouder of you.
That being said, it’s easy to see why you love joining your brother and his brothers (or kids, rather) when they tour around the world. Being their personal photographer comes with countless new experiences at each tour stop. To post and publish the frozen moments in time for the whole world to see, and give people a glimpse into your life and theirs. To show them how the smallest of interactions can symbolize something bigger. Telling a story through photos comes so naturally to you after many years of perfecting your style. As wild as their lifestyle can get with so many crazed fans and experiences, you love watching it all unfold. It’s your version of perfect.
On top of that, his bandmates are the sweetest people you’ve ever met.
When you first met the guys, you were shy. Reserved. Typical photographer, right? With all of their boisterous personalities and outgoing tendencies, you often felt cornered. And as much as Chris tried to include you, it was difficult. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themself, and for a while, that reigned true. You were trapped inside the shell of yourself. Until you finally got to know Seungmin, who would take you by surprise and become the best unexpected plot twist.
You discovered that he isn’t all that different from you. Every time you’re with him, he feels like a breath of fresh air. His smile lights up every room, contrary to the opinions of the individuals who have ever told him otherwise. He’s kind and caring, and so dedicated to his aspirations. He reaches for the sky with each passing moment on his journey, and he brings you along with him, holding your hand so you don’t miss a single second. He understands you in a way no one else does, or even comes close. He is, in essence, your perfect other half.
In more ways than one.
When you first locked eyes, you felt it: the spark. The undeniable silent exchange of glances that spoke a thousand words and formed the thickest tension you’ve ever felt. The way his hand felt in yours when he shook it, the size rivaling yours yet enveloping it perfectly, its warmth giving you a level of comfort you didn’t know to be possible. How his eyes explored your whole being, not the slightest hint of lust, but in pure awe. Yours did the same, and although both of you noticed what the other was doing, sizing the other up, you remained quiet.
He’s your older brother’s bandmate, you always tell yourself. It’s wrong.
But when you’re with him, everything feels right. Like nothing in this world can sour your mood, and if anyone tried, he’d shield you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. You’re on cloud 9, and Seungmin is below you, keeping you stable and making sure you never fall off. So you maintain the close bond you formed with him, keeping it platonic and holding out hope that one day, it can be more.
He’s introduced you to so many things—the beauty of life itself, nature, and especially film, where he takes you to at least one theater at every tour stop. You don’t even have to watch a movie to get the full experience, because now, you’ve begun to understand their importance and symbolism. How gorgeous a film can be, all because of him. And with that, you teach him everything there is to know about photography, your craft, even letting him give it a hand, oftentimes. When you’re stuck, he’s always quick to offer himself as a subject, and you never decline, excited for the blooming opportunities and the moments that come with it. You’ll focus the camera on him, taking stills from various angles and capturing his natural beauty in such a touching way. He’ll huddle close to you afterward to look through your work, your shoulders brushing against one another, the act so intimate, yet neither will acknowledge it. It’s the perfect way to learn the little things about him that most people don’t know, and without hesitation, he lets you in.
With him, you’re bound to feel something. Always.
What recently weaseled its way into the picture is baseball—his first love. The other guys, including your brother, aren’t interested in it, and for years, the sport’s light within him began to dim. With open arms, you welcomed it into your life, letting him ramble on about things you would have no understanding of, but loved to listen to his passion for. Gradually, that passion would seep into you, and now, it’s yours. Reserved for only him and you, and nobody else.
The light eventually flickered back on, and now, it shines even brighter than before. Even in your lowest, darkest moments, he’s the light that awaits.
Seungmin makes every moment of your time important, worthwhile, and not a second passes without meaning. He’s special, not just to you, but to everyone, bringing light and love to the world that challenges anyone else’s, although many people can’t see it. You wish more did, because they would love him if they let themselves. He’s more artistic than meets the eye, and it’s your favorite trait of his. That, and his smile, which you hold so dearly in your heart. It repeatedly brings you joy, even if he doesn’t realize it.
For the first time, he brings you to a baseball game with him when he’s visiting New York for promotions. With so much stress and anxiety from the upcoming U.S. leg of their largest-scale world tour, it’s easy to become overwhelmed, and nothing brings him more joy than entering a stadium without worry. Not a chance of being recognized, and that’s perfectly fine. On these nights, he wants to be regular, just Seungmin, and not Kim Seungmin.
Only two circumstances exist where that’s possible: baseball games and being with you.
“Are you ready?” he asks as he takes his seat in the navy blue chair, property of Yankee Stadium.
You smile, admiring how sweet he looks in his outfit—a white Fried jersey adorning his torso with a matching navy blue Yankees cap, a small portion of his dark brown hair poking out from behind it. A light blue wristband sits around his left wrist like a bracelet. He’s quiet as he sits, relaxed, which most, at a glance, would assume is glum, but you attribute it to something entirely different—he’s happy.
“Ready as ever,” you giggle, taking a bite from your hot dog. “I feel very in my element here,” you note as you scan the large stadium, admiring the large crowd, together creating a sea of midnight blue. “Very American.”
Seungmin laughs. “With that accent?”
“Sorry for being Australian and not having a perfect accent like you, Seungmin,” you roll your eyes. You don’t have time to react further, for the game begins, and you’re in awe. Your seats provide a flawless view of home plate, courtesy of Seungmin and the riches he happily spends on you, which you reluctantly accept. You’re thankful because you’re sure that the night can’t get any more perfect, even if it tries to (and spoiler alert, it does).
You spend your time watching the game intently, flagging down the concession workers for various food and drinks, all for the experience, and going for walks to explore the concourse between innings, not caring to miss a pitch or two. With a lemonade in one hand and your phone in the other, you add hundreds of items to your gallery, and without a doubt, your camera app will have the most screen time by the end of the night. As you return to your seats, you stop to take photos for his Instagram, beaming at him from behind the camera and snapping more pictures than you likely needed to, making them look as perfect as possible. It isn’t difficult, for in your eyes, he’s a natural model. Yet still, being a photographer does come with its perks.
“Smile,” you say, and he shakes his head.
“No.”
“Smile, Min,” you demand through a chuckle, “it’s pretty.”
You watch the shift in his eyes, how a fraction of life returns to them, and he obeys, softly flashing the smile you know and love to the camera. You snap a few pictures and return his phone to him, walking down the shallow stairs back to him.
“You don’t have to post them,” you say. “Just don’t be ashamed.”
He lets your words sink in before meeting you back at the seats. He takes a handful more of photos with his phone once he’s comfortable, some of the large, glowing Yankee Stadium sign, others of the batters and fielders. He opts to take a few selfies and motions you to come closer, keeping these for himself, knowing he can’t post them. To commemorate the moment, even if the images are limited to his camera roll. He wants to remember it forever.
Once the game comes to an end, you walk back to the hotel from the stadium, a common occurrence when you spend time with him, whether it’s during a tour or not. It’s peaceful and often offers a relaxing alternative to taking transportation, especially after a long night like this, when winding down is much-needed. You’ll talk about various insignificant things, admiring the scenery around you, the area being foreign, and it all contributes to its tranquility.
But tonight, it’s different.
He’s different.
Stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, only for you to notice within seconds. Fumbling with his hands quietly beside you, his fingers toying with the plastic wristband. He tends to scratch the back of his neck just where the hair ends. You notice him looking at the selfies from earlier, watching as he suppresses a smile. A ball of nerves, he’s still flawless. It’s now, in this moment, that you finally make sense of your feelings for him. Watching as he walks, listening to him so attentively while he speaks, like you’ll never hear his voice again, and you want to savor it. What started as a simple attraction, easy to bottle up, bloomed into something far stronger as you came to know the side of Kim Seungmin that he lets only you see.
“You okay?” you ask, raising a brow as you look toward him, the somber look on his face worrying you.
“Mm,” he nods, “just thinking.”
“What about?”
“How much this means to me,” he says and turns to you, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m…usually alone when I attend these. Having you here is…wonderful,” he pauses, “yeah.”
Frowning, you swallow. “Not to be dramatic, but this was the best night I’ve ever had,” you reassure him, smiling when he chuckles under his breath, eyes trained on the ground below him. “I’m serious.”
“Can I show you something?” he asks, still staring at the concrete, illuminated only by the spread out street lights it sits between, and you cock a brow as a silent inquiry. He pulls out his phone and scrolls, letting you watch, trusting that you won’t pry. He taps the screen, and an unfamiliar drum beat begins to wisp into the air, wafting around you and ringing gently in your ears. You don’t know what it is, for he’s never mentioned it before, but it’s beautiful. You can’t explain it, but the emotion it conveys is so heavy.
You gradually come to a stop, your smile slowly dissolving and eventually leaving no remnant. You can’t read him like you typically can, but you know he’s thinking again, about something more specific, something deeper, yet you don’t know what. It resonates in your stomach, producing an uneasy feeling. It’s as if he’s waiting for you, watching your reaction and gauging it, wordlessly asking for your opinion. And you don’t know why.
…When this light goes down, story starts to rise up…
“When we started to write this,” he mumbles, and you cock your head, “me and Minho—I wanted to capture moments like today.”
…This is our CINEMA…
“Show life through shared experience,” he says, his voice bordering on a whisper. “Doing our best and savoring moments like this…everything between serving as a scene in a movie.”
What he means immediately registers as you listen to the lyrics—small fragments of your life, seemingly meaningless, coming together to form a story. The way he explains it is so personal, like you’re part of it. Like it’s not just a song, and he’s showing you that through it, rather than words. You figure it’s one of the duets that Chris briefly mentioned once before. But when he and Minho began the project, Seungmin didn’t tell you. Yet now, it makes sense as he has you listening to it, the song’s melody and lyrics forcing you to feel how important the song is to him. How much emotion, how much of his soul he poured into it. How much deeper the meaning is than it seems at first glance. And you just listen, not saying anything, letting the music speak for itself as he stands before you, staring.
…Everyone’s shouting, everyone’s clapping…
“Min,” you breathe, “this is gorgeous.”
“It’s for you,” he says, looking up, wearing an expression you’ve never, in all the time you’ve known him, seen.
That’s all he says. And it stuns you, catching you off guard in the most intense way possible. Your lips part, numb from the shock, exhaling warm breaths through them. His words linger in the air. Like they’re suspended. And you try so hard to process them, your senses so overwhelmed with emotion that thinking straight is no longer an option. It starts to make sense—the lyrics and how they tell a story of two souls creating their cinema, their life, together. The little instances that contribute to a bigger whole. Every moment with you holds so much meaning, and he wrote about it—how lively he becomes, his version of staying strong until the end. The final curtain call. The music, his sole means of expression, is about you, for millions of people to hear. He doesn’t speak. He only looks back at you, vulnerability flashing in his eyes, face laced with contemplation.
It’s you. You’re his muse.
…Yeah, you need me, stay.
The absence of words is deafening, so loud that you can hear your heartbeat in your head. His eyebrows twitch slightly, just enough for you to notice, and he steps closer. Your body is stiff, a combination of shock and something else you can’t quite place. His hand hangs at his side, gripping the phone as the music still emanates softly from it, filling the void.
…Here the light shines again, ending credits going up…
You swallow. This is it.
…You and my name, together on it with the final curtain call…
He takes another tentative step, leaving him inches away, the proximity making your heart race faster. Your eyes flicker down, his knuckles white from their tight grip on the phone, and as they refocus, the wristbanded arm raises. His hand gently takes yours, offering the same warmth it wielded the day you first met him. Oddly, you do recognize his expression—the same look in his eyes that he had that day.
And here, now, you finally have closure as the song ends.
…Welcome to our CINEMA.
Silence. Pure and dripping with tension, almost tangible.
The kiss is soft, his lips brushing gently against yours. Sweet and tender and warm, loving—everything you’ve ever wanted. His hand gently squeezes yours, thumb brushing the back of it. As the other finally comes up and holds your face, you rise to your toes to reach him properly. You can feel the hesitation in his caress, his actions fueled by nerves, yet so deliberate. He smiles, your hand squeezing his back, and you feel the stretch of his lips against yours.
So many things have brought you together. The undeniable pull you always feel when he’s around. Your brother, who first introduced you to him. Film, the first thing you ever bonded over. All contributing to this moment, where you finally shatter the wall that once existed between you, letting yourselves finally admit to the feelings you’ve bottled up for years. And baseball, which you credit for showing you the version of Seungmin that predates his career, the carefree, young, and darling version of himself still buried inside. Who you fell for, who you love, in every sense of the word.
Baseball—his first love. And you’ll be his last.
“I didn’t think you felt the same,” you whisper when you finally pull away.
And he laughs. “I knew you did.”
“How?” you question with soft eyes that completely melt his reserve.
“Because I know you,” he responds, leaving no further explanation. And you know, from seeing him like this, that he felt it that day, too—the same spark you did. All along, he felt the energy shift when you were alone together. The unspoken feelings that constantly threatened to break loose, but never did, in fear of rejection and wrongfulness. Brown eyes wander across your face, flitting back and forth as if studying the pages of a book, soft and glowing, full of adoration. Teeth on display when his lips pull into a grin, so natural, wide and unapologetically his, unashamed when he’s with you.
He’s never looked so perfect.
If you had your camera, you’d capture him a thousand times, committing every inch of him to memory. But in its absence, you kiss him again, intimate and slow, savoring the moment and accepting the piece of his heart he’s offering to you. This time, he’s not so nervous—he’s comfortable. Happy, with your arms wrapped around his neck as they pull him impossibly closer, just wanting the comfort of being so close to him. You don’t need a camera to remember this—it’s something you will never, in your whole life ahead, forget. It symbolizes the end of the friendship and the beginning of something more. Cements the moment, him—your endless pillar of support, in your life to look back on for years to come. Weaves him into your story.
Can you do a seungmin fic and hes a tsundere but one time you catch him whining to his friends on how he cant tell you how he DESPERATLY loves you???
This Idiot Loves You
kim seungmin x reader
Warnings:angust, romance, university au,jealousy, emotional confusion, kissing, possessive behavior, hurt/comfort
Word count:10k
A/n:honestly I don’t even know what to say about this 😭 I can’t say I liked it and good news: I actually managed to write something without smut 🤓 idk if you wanted it without any, but if you want smut you gotta specify it first bc I don’t wanna look weird writing smut out of nowhere
TAGLIST
Main masterlist / masterlist skz
𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝑲𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒏📍
Seoul National University was alive with the crisp energy of autumn. Red and golden leaves drifted across the wide pathways, students hurried between towering buildings with coffee cups in hand, and the distant sound of music practice floated from the arts department. You were in your third year of Korean Literature, sharing a cozy off-campus apartment near the subway station with your best friend, Hye-jin.
Hye-jin was loud, loyal, and endlessly entertaining — the kind of friend who roasted you mercilessly but would fight anyone who looked at you wrong. She studied Graphic Design, changed her hair color every few weeks, and had zero tolerance for anyone who hurt the people she cared about. Especially when that someone was Kim Seungmin.
No one knew. Not Hye-jin, not his friends from the Music department, not a single soul on campus. What existed between you and Seungmin was buried deep — hidden behind sharp words, cold stares, and stolen moments that left you breathless.
It had started four months ago at the big end-of-semester party on a rooftop near campus. The night was warmer than usual for autumn, fairy lights strung everywhere, bass pulsing through the crowd. You and Seungmin already knew each other from your shared elective class in Contemporary Asian Literature. Your debates were infamous: he called you an “overly idealistic dreamer,” and you shot back that he was a “cynical asshole afraid of his own feelings.”
That night, after yet another heated argument about a Han Kang novel, Seungmin grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the dimly lit side corridor, away from the noise. You expected another lecture. Instead, he backed you against the cool wall, eyes dark and intense under the weak lighting, and growled low:
“You irritate the hell out of me… but I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The first kiss was rough, desperate, almost angry — like he was punishing both of you for the pull between you. His hands gripped your waist, body pressing into yours as if he needed you to survive. After that night, it became a dangerous, addictive pattern.
Late-night texts. “Meet me at the parking lot behind the library.” Heated make-out sessions in the shadows of the music building after classes, in the back seat of his car with the windows fogged up, or pressed against the emergency stairwell wall when no one was around. Always intense. Always breathless. Hands roaming, lips urgent, soft gasps swallowed in the dark… but it never went further. Seungmin never asked you to be his girlfriend. He never said anything sweet. After kissing you like the world was ending, he would pull away, run a hand through his hair, mutter something dry, and leave.
And the worst part? In front of everyone else, Kim Seungmin acted like he could barely stand you.
---
It was a regular Thursday afternoon. The autumn wind tugged at your scarf as you left your Criticism of Literature class, arms full of heavy books and notes. Your hair was tied up messily, a loose knit sweater over your university shirt, backpack slipping off one shoulder.
In the main courtyard near the popular campus café, you spotted him. Seungmin was leaning against the low stone wall, surrounded by his friends. Hyunjin was dramatically waving his arms while telling a story, Felix laughing brightly, and Changbin chewing on a warm sweet potato pastry. Seungmin stood with his arms crossed, expression neutral, earphones hanging around the neck of his black jacket.
You tried to walk past without looking, but one of the books slid from your stack and tumbled toward the ground.
Before you could react, Seungmin moved. He caught the book mid-air with one hand and placed it back on top of your pile with an irritated sigh, as if helping you was the biggest inconvenience of his day.
“Idiot. You can’t even carry a few books properly?” he muttered, loud enough for his friends to hear.
Hyunjin stifled a laugh. Felix gave you a sympathetic glance. Changbin raised an eyebrow, still chewing.
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration, but you forced a polite smile.
“Thanks, Seungmin. Your kindness never fails to amaze me.”
He scoffed and turned his face away, refusing to meet your eyes. But you noticed — you always noticed — the tiny, almost invisible movement as he quickly adjusted the slipping strap of your backpack before stepping back.
Changbin shook his head. “Dude, you’re always such an asshole to her. She’s actually really nice…”
“She’s annoying,” Seungmin replied flatly, already slipping his earphones back in and shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Always in my way.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, hugged the books tighter to your chest, and kept walking without looking back. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. Because just last night, at 11:40 pm, he had pinned you against his car door in the empty parking lot, hands sliding under your shirt, kissing you like he was starving for you. And today he called you an idiot in front of everyone.
---
When you finally reached the apartment, the savory smell of improved ramyeon filled the small living room. Hye-jin was in the kitchen, wearing denim shorts and an oversized NewJeans t-shirt, her hair in a messy bun with a pen stuck through it.
The second she saw your face, she pointed the wooden spoon at you.
You dropped your bag on the couch and slumped onto a stool at the counter with a heavy sigh.
“He called me an idiot today. In front of Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin. Loud enough for the whole courtyard to hear.”
Hye-jin rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.
“I swear to God, I don’t understand why you still bother with that guy. He treats you like absolute trash in public. If I were you, I would’ve told him to fuck off months ago. He walks around with that permanent sour face like you personally ruined his life.”
You stayed quiet, tracing patterns on the counter with your finger. Hye-jin was brutally honest, hilarious, and fiercely protective. She made you laugh on your worst days and always had your back. But you couldn’t tell her about the kisses. About the secret moments. Saying it out loud would make everything too real.
“He’s not always like that…” you mumbled.
“Oh really?” Hye-jin slid a big bowl of ramyeon toward you. “Then explain why every time I see you near him he looks like he sucked on a lemon? You’re one of the kindest people I know. You remember everyone’s birthdays, help the freshmen, even bring coffee to those boring professors. And him? He calls you an idiot in front of his friends? One day I’m going to corner him on campus and tell him exactly what I think. And I’ll record it for the group chat.”
You let out a small laugh and accepted the warm bowl. The two of you leaned against each other while eating, Hye-jin’s indie playlist playing softly in the background. She launched into a funny story about a guy who tried (and failed miserably) to flirt with her in Design class today, doing exaggerated impressions that had you genuinely laughing. But your mind kept drifting.
Drifting back to that dark parking lot, to Seungmin’s intense brown eyes when he looked at you like you were the only person in his universe… right before he went back to being the cold, sarcastic tsundere everyone else knew.
---
Later that night, already in your pajamas and lying in bed, your phone buzzed.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Central Library. 11:30 pm. Top floor, foreign literature section. Don’t be late.
Your stupid heart jumped. It was 10:55 pm.
From the living room, Hye-jin yelled, “If you’re going out, text me! And if it’s that idiot Seungmin, tell him to go fuck himself from me!”
You didn’t reply. You just pulled a big hoodie over your camisole, grabbed your keys, and slipped quietly out of the apartment.
Because no matter how much it hurt… you always went when it was him.
────୨ৎ────
The central library was almost eerily quiet at that hour. Most students had already left, and only a few desperate souls preparing for midterms remained scattered across the lower floors. You took the elevator to the top floor, heart hammering against your ribs the entire way. The foreign literature section was dimly lit, the tall shelves creating long shadows that swallowed most of the light.
Seungmin was already there, leaning against a shelf with his hands in his jacket pockets, earphones dangling around his neck. When he saw you approaching, he didn’t smile. He never did. But his eyes softened just a fraction — enough for you to notice, not enough for anyone else to ever see.
“You’re late,” he muttered, voice low.
“It’s 11:32,” you replied softly, stopping a step away from him. “That’s not late.”
He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before closing around it and pulling you deeper between the shelves, away from the faint security cameras and any wandering eyes. The moment the two of you were hidden, the air shifted.
Seungmin backed you gently against the bookshelf, one hand resting beside your head. For a few seconds he just looked at you — really looked — his gaze tracing your face like he was memorizing every detail. Then he leaned in.
The kiss started slow tonight, almost careful. His lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that made your knees weak. One of his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the back of your neck. You kissed him back just as deeply, fingers threading through his soft hair. For once, he didn’t rush. He lingered, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, a tiny sigh escaping him when your free hand pressed against his chest.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment. His breathing was slightly uneven.
“You should wear a thicker jacket,” he said quietly, almost grumbling. “It’s cold at night.”
You blinked, surprised by the small concern. “I’m fine.”
He huffed, but his thumb brushed lightly over your waist in a soothing motion before he stepped back. “Whatever. Just don’t get sick and bother me later.”
You smiled a little, unable to help it. “Thank you for worrying, Seungmin.”
“I’m not worrying,” he shot back immediately, turning his face away. But he didn’t let go of your hand right away. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin, before he finally released you.
The two of you stayed hidden for nearly twenty minutes — talking in low voices about nothing important, stealing a few more kisses that grew progressively hungrier. At one point he even adjusted the collar of your hoodie so it covered your neck better, muttering something about “stupid cold air.” It was the closest he ever got to being openly gentle with you.
Before you left, he walked you down to the side exit of the library, keeping a careful distance in case anyone was around. At the door, he stopped.
“Go straight home,” he said, not looking at you. “Text me when you get there.”
You nodded. “I will. Goodnight, Seungmin.”
He gave a small nod and turned away first, hands back in his pockets as he disappeared toward the parking lot.
---
The walk back to the apartment felt longer than usual. The night air was cold, just like he’d said, and your lips still tingled from his kisses. When you finally slipped inside, Hye-jin was already asleep, her door half-open with the faint sound of her breathing. You changed into pajamas quietly and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling.
What am I to you, Seungmin?
The question wouldn’t leave your mind. In the dark corners of the library he kissed you like he needed you to breathe. He worried about you getting cold. He told you to text him when you got home. But tomorrow, in the daylight, in front of everyone… he would probably call you annoying again. He would look away like your presence irritated him. He never asked you to be his. He never said he liked you. He never stayed.
You turned onto your side, hugging your pillow. The worst part was how much you kept going back anyway. How every small glimpse of the real Seungmin — the one who lingered in kisses and adjusted your collar — made your heart ache with hope.
---
The next day was Friday, and the campus was busier than usual with students preparing for the weekend. You ran into Seungmin again near the arts building after your morning lecture. He was with Changbin and Felix this time, the three of them standing near a vending machine.
You approached with a soft smile, holding two cans of warm coffee you’d just bought.
“Hey,” you said lightly, offering one to Seungmin. “I got an extra. Thought you might want one.”
Felix’s eyes lit up. “Oh, nice! You’re always so thoughtful.”
Seungmin stared at the can for a second before taking it from your hand. His fingers brushed yours deliberately, but his expression stayed neutral.
“…Thanks,” he mumbled. Not sarcastic. Not cold. Just quiet.
You felt a small flutter in your chest. It was the most normal thank you he’d ever given you in public.
“Shut up,” Seungmin said, but there was no real bite in it. He cracked the can open and took a sip, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You have class now?”
“Yeah, poetry analysis in twenty minutes.”
He nodded once. “Don’t fall asleep this time.”
It almost sounded like teasing instead of an insult. Almost caring.
You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a good day, guys.”
Felix waved cheerfully. Changbin gave you a thumbs up. Seungmin just looked at you for a second longer than necessary before turning back to the vending machine, but you caught the faint pink at the tips of his ears.
---
Later that afternoon, you sent him a casual text.
𝐘𝐨𝐮:
Finished class. Heading to the café near the main gate if you want to join for a bit.
His reply came ten minutes later.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Busy with practice. Don’t wait.
Short. Indifferent. Typical.
You sighed, slipping your phone back into your bag. Yet when you arrived at the café to study, a sealed packet of your favorite honey butter chips was suddenly placed on your table. You looked up, startled.
Seungmin stood there for half a second, expression blank.
“Saw them on sale,” he said flatly. “Don’t think too much about it.”
Before you could thank him, he was already walking away, shoulders slightly tense like he was annoyed at himself for doing it.
You touched the packet gently, warmth spreading through your chest despite everything.
That night, back at the apartment, Hye-jin was sprawled on the couch watching a drama.
“How was your day?” she asked without looking up.
You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “It was… okay.”
She narrowed her eyes at you. “If that idiot made you sad again, I’m serious about throwing him down the stairs.”
You laughed and shook your head, but inside the same question kept spinning:
What am I to you, Kim Seungmin? A secret? A weakness? Or something more?
And how much longer could you keep pretending it didn’t hurt?
────୨ৎ────
𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫⏳
The last fourteen days had dragged by in a strange, heavy silence. After that small moment at the café where Seungmin left you the honey butter chips, everything cooled. Texts became shorter, rarer. He replied with single words or simple “busy with practice” when you tried to reach out. No more late-night library meetings. No more stolen kisses in empty parking lots. You saw him around campus a few times — always surrounded by his friends, always with that same indifferent mask — but he barely glanced your way. It hurt more than you wanted to admit. The warmth he had shown in small doses suddenly vanished, leaving you questioning every single second you had spent tangled up with him.
You threw yourself into assignments and lectures to distract yourself. Hye-jin noticed your quieter mood but didn’t push too hard, though her side-eye whenever Seungmin’s name came up grew sharper.
Tonight was supposed to be a break from all of it.
The party was at a spacious house rented by Min-ho, one of your closest friends from the Literature department. He was the type everyone liked — outgoing, always throwing gatherings that pulled in people from multiple departments. Music majors, design students, even a few from Engineering. Basically the entire friend group was invited, which meant Seungmin and his circle would almost certainly be there too.
You hadn’t wanted to go.
“I’m tired, Hye-jin. I have a paper due next week,” you had protested earlier, sprawled on the couch in pajamas.
Hye-jin had yanked the blanket off you with zero mercy. “No. You’ve been moping for two weeks straight. We’re going. You’re going to put on something cute, I’m doing your makeup, and you’re going to drink and dance and forget that idiot exists for one night. End of discussion.”
She dragged you out anyway. Now here you were, standing in the middle of a crowded living room where bass-heavy music shook the walls and colorful lights swept across laughing faces. The house smelled like a mix of perfume, beer, and grilled meat from the backyard. People danced in the cleared space near the speakers, others clustered in groups chatting and playing drinking games.
You smoothed down the black dress Hye-jin had forced you into — fitted at the waist, falling just above the knees — and tried to relax. Hye-jin was already in her element, laughing loudly with a group of design majors, her newly dyed silver hair catching the lights.
Your eyes scanned the room despite yourself. And of course, you found him.
Seungmin stood near the kitchen counter, a red cup in hand, talking to a girl you vaguely recognized from the Music department. She was pretty — long wavy hair, bright smile, leaning in close as she said something that made him smirk. Not the full smile he sometimes gave you in secret, but still… a smirk. He didn’t pull away when she touched his arm. Your stomach twisted. You turned around quickly and headed toward the backyard before he could notice you staring.
The night air was cooler, fairy lights strung across the trees. You grabbed a drink and tried to focus on conversations with your literature friends. Time passed. Laughter, more drinks, music changing to something slower. You danced a little with Hye-jin, letting the alcohol loosen the knot in your chest.
Then he appeared.
His name was Ji-hoon — tall, easy smile, from the same poetry workshop as you. He had always been friendly, never pushy. Tonight he was bolder, compliments flowing easily as the two of you talked near the edge of the yard.
“You look really good tonight,” he said, eyes appreciative but warm. “Been meaning to tell you that in class but never found the right moment.”
You laughed softly, the alcohol making everything feel lighter. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Conversation flowed. He was funny, attentive, asked about your recent essays and actually listened. When he leaned in closer, you didn’t move away. When his hand brushed your waist, you let it stay. And when he kissed you — slow at first, then deeper — you kissed him back. It wasn’t like Seungmin’s kisses. It didn’t set your skin on fire or make your heart race with that dangerous mix of anger and need. But it was nice. Warm. And right now, nice felt like enough.
Ji-hoon pulled back with a grin. “There’s an empty room upstairs. Wanna get away from the noise for a bit?”
You hesitated only a second before nodding.
He took your hand and led you through the crowded house, up the stairs, and down the hallway to a quiet bedroom at the end. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the music. Only the glow of a bedside lamp lit the space — someone’s guest room, neat and unoccupied.
Ji-hoon kissed you again, harder this time, hands sliding to your hips as he walked you backward toward the bed. You let yourself fall into it, fingers in his hair, trying to drown out every thought of Seungmin. His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of warmth, and you tilted your head to give him more access. His body pressed against yours, the moment growing heavier, more intimate.
Then — BANG. BANG. BANG
The door rattled violently, as if someone was trying to break it down. The knocks were loud, furious, nonstop.
Ji-hoon pulled back, startled. “What the hell? They’re gonna break the damn door.”
BANG. BANG. BANG
He stood up, annoyed, and yanked the door open.
Seungmin stood there, chest heaving, eyes blazing with pure rage. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, fists balled at his sides. The hallway light cast sharp shadows across his face. Without a word, he shoved past Ji-hoon, grabbed your wrist in a firm grip, and pulled you out of the room.
“Hey! What the fuck, man?!” Ji-hoon shouted, but Seungmin didn’t even glance back. He dragged you down the hallway, down the stairs, and out through the side door into a quieter part of the backyard, away from most of the crowd. His grip was tight but not painful. Just possessive.
The cool night air hit your flushed skin as he finally stopped near a cluster of trees, spinning you to face him. His eyes were dark, breathing still ragged.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, voice low and shaking with anger. “Letting some random guy put his hands all over you? In a fucking bedroom?”
You stared at him, shock turning quickly into fury.
“Excuse me? You’ve been ignoring me for two weeks, Seungmin. Two weeks of barely texting, acting like I don’t exist. And tonight I saw you with that girl from Music — smiling at her, letting her touch your arm like it was nothing. But I can’t kiss someone else? You’re going to act like a jealous boyfriend now?”
He ran a hand through his hair roughly, looking away for a second before his gaze snapped back to you.
“That was nothing. She was just talking. You were about to—” His voice cracked slightly. He stepped closer, backing you against the tree trunk. “You let him take you upstairs. Let him kiss your neck like that. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
Your heart pounded. The alcohol and adrenaline mixed into something reckless.
“And what am I to you, huh? You kiss me in secret, tell me not to get cold, leave me snacks like you care, then disappear and treat me like I’m nothing in public. You never ask me to be yours. You never say anything real. So why the hell do you get to be angry right now?”
Seungmin’s breath hitched. He caged you in with both arms against the tree, forehead almost touching yours. Up close you could see the storm in his eyes — anger, frustration, and something deeper, almost desperate.
“Because I—” He stopped, swallowing hard. His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Because seeing you with him made me want to punch something. Because every time I try to say what I actually feel, it gets stuck. Because you’re under my skin and I hate it and I can’t stop it.”
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lip roughly.
“You drive me fucking insane. I want you so bad it hurts, but I’m shit at this. And then I see some other guy’s mouth on you and I lose it. Don’t do that again. Don’t let anyone else touch you like that.”
The raw edge in his voice made your chest ache. For once, the tsundere mask had cracked wide open, revealing the desperate boy underneath who had been fighting himself for months.
You stared up at him, breathing fast. “Then stop hiding, Seungmin. Stop pretending you hate me when we both know you don’t.”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crashed his lips against yours — hard, possessive, full of all the things he couldn’t say. This kiss was different from the secret library ones. It tasted like jealousy and fear and need. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as if afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers digging into his shoulders.
When he finally pulled away, lips swollen and eyes dark, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Don’t go back to him,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Stay with me tonight. Just… stay.”
The party continued raging inside the house, music thumping distantly, but out here under the trees it felt like the rest of the world had faded. Seungmin’s walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and for the first time you saw just how deeply he had been drowning in his own feelings.
You didn’t know what would happen tomorrow when the sun came up and the masks went back on. But tonight, under his desperate gaze and trembling hands, you knew one thing for certain:
Kim Seungmin was losing the battle against his own heart.
────୨ৎ────
𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫🕰
The apartment door clicked shut behind you with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet hallway. The party was still raging somewhere behind you, but you had slipped away after that intense kiss with Seungmin under the trees. He hadn’t followed you when you muttered that you needed to go home. He had just stared at you with those conflicted eyes, jaw tight, before nodding once and letting you leave. Your lips still burned from his possessive touch, your wrist still remembered the firm grip when he pulled you out of that bedroom. Your heart was a chaotic mess.
Hye-jin had texted you earlier saying she was heading back early because her feet hurt from the new shoes. You were glad she was already home. The walk back through the cold night air had done nothing to calm the storm inside your chest.
You kicked off your shoes at the entrance and padded into the small kitchen in your bare feet. The black dress felt too tight now, constricting. You opened the fridge, grabbed some leftover ramyeon from earlier that day, and heated it quickly in the microwave. The savory smell filled the apartment as you sat at the counter, staring blankly at the steaming bowl. You picked up the chopsticks but barely ate — just poked at the noodles, twisting them around mindlessly.
Your eyes stung. You hadn’t cried yet, but the pressure behind them was building, heavy and exhausting.
“Ya, what happened to you?”
Hye-jin’s voice came from the living room doorway. She was already in her oversized sleep shirt and shorts, silver hair tied up messily, holding a glass of water. The moment she saw your face under the warm kitchen light, her expression shifted from sleepy to concerned in a second.
“You look like you’re about to cry. Or like you already did. Spill. Right now.”
You tried to force a smile, but it wobbled and died on your lips. Instead, you shrugged and took a small bite of the ramyeon, the heat barely registering. Hye-jin wasn’t having it. She walked over, pulled out the stool beside you, and sat down, turning fully to face you.
“Hey. Talk to me. Did something happen at the party? Was it Seungmin? I swear if that asshole—”
You set the chopsticks down and finally looked at her. The weight of the past two weeks, the secret kisses, the public coldness, and tonight’s explosion all crashed down at once. Your voice came out quieter than you intended.
“We… kind of fought. Or argued. I don’t even know what to call it.”
Hye-jin’s eyebrows shot up. She reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch soft and grounding.
“Start from the beginning. I’m listening. The whole thing.”
You took a shaky breath and told her everything — not quite everything, because the months of hidden make-outs were still too tangled and private to unpack fully tonight, but enough. You told her how Seungmin had been distant for two weeks, barely replying to messages, acting like you didn’t exist after small moments where he almost seemed to care. How you saw him with that girl from Music, smiling at her. How you let Ji-hoon kiss you because you were tired of feeling invisible. How Seungmin had banged on the door like a madman, dragged you out, and then exploded with jealousy outside.
“He kissed me after,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Really kissed me. Like he was scared I was going to disappear. He said he hates how much he wants me, that seeing someone else touch me made him lose it. For a minute he sounded so… desperate. Like I actually matter to him.”
Hye-jin stayed quiet, listening intently, but her eyes were sharpening with every word.
“But then what?” she asked when you paused.
You pushed the bowl of ramyeon away, no longer hungry. “Then I came home. And now I’m sitting here wondering why I even let him do that. Because tomorrow he’s probably going to go back to ignoring me or calling me annoying in front of his friends. One minute he acts like I’m important — he worries if I’m cold, leaves me snacks, kisses me like I’m the only thing he sees. The next minute? I don’t exist. He treats me like some annoying acquaintance he barely tolerates. I’m so tired of it, Hye-jin. It hurts every single time.”
Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You wiped them angrily with the back of your hand, but more followed. Hye-jin pulled you into a tight hug without hesitation, rubbing your back in soothing circles. She smelled like her vanilla body lotion and the faint trace of party perfume.
“You deserve so much better than this back and forth bullshit,” she murmured against your hair. “No one gets to make you feel like a secret option. Not even Kim Seungmin with his stupid pretty face and tsundere attitude. You’re not a toy for him to play with when he feels like it and then ignore when it gets too real for him.”
You clung to her, letting the tears fall freely now. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and your occasional sniffles.
“I just don’t understand him,” you continued, voice muffled against her shoulder. “Why act jealous like he owns me if he doesn’t even want to admit he likes me? Why pull me out of that room like a jealous boyfriend and then not say anything real? I feel stupid for still hoping every time he shows a tiny bit of care. Like maybe this time he’ll stop hiding. But he always goes back.”
Hye-jin pulled back enough to look at you, wiping your tears with her thumbs. Her expression was fierce but full of love — the protective best friend mode fully activated.
“Because some guys are emotionally constipated idiots who think being vulnerable makes them weak. Especially someone like Seungmin. He’s always so controlled in public, the perfect sarcastic golden boy. Admitting he’s crazy about you would mean losing that control. But that doesn’t make it okay for him to hurt you like this. You’re not his emotional punching bag.”
She stood up for a moment, grabbed a box of tissues and a fresh bottle of water for you, then sat back down. You took a sip, feeling a little steadier with her there.
“I told him tonight that he needs to stop hiding,” you said. “He didn’t really answer. Just kissed me again. And I let him. Because when he’s like that… it feels real. But I’m scared it’s never going to change.”
Hye-jin nodded slowly, thinking. She reached over and squeezed your hand.
“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do with your heart. You like him — I see it, even when you try to hide it. But you need to protect yourself too. Next time he pulls that hot-and-cold shit, you call him out. Right there. Don’t let him drag you into another secret corner and kiss you senseless without giving you a real answer. You deserve clarity. You deserve someone who’s proud to be with you, not someone who only shows up when another guy gets too close.”
A small, watery laugh escaped you. “You sound like you’re ready to write my TED Talk on self-respect.”
“I’m ready to write my complaint letter to Seungmin’s face,” she shot back with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Seriously though. If he hurts you one more time — if he makes you cry like this again — I’m not joking. I will find him on campus, probably in front of his precious friends, and I will embarrass the hell out of him. Or physically fight him. I’m small but I’m scrappy. I’ve watched enough dramas to know how to throw a decent slap.”
You laughed properly this time, the sound shaky but genuine. Hye-jin smiled, relieved to see it.
“There she is. My best friend doesn’t cry over boys who don’t know what they want. Or at least, she doesn’t cry alone. You have me. Always.”
You leaned against her again, exhaustion settling in after the emotional rollercoaster of the night. The ramyeon sat forgotten on the counter. Outside, the city hummed quietly — cars in the distance, occasional laughter from late-night students walking home.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow,” you whispered. “Maybe he’ll pretend tonight never happened. Maybe he’ll text me something dry again.”
“And if he does,” Hye-jin said firmly, “you’ll have me reminding you that you’re worth more than mixed signals and secret kisses. You’re amazing. Kind, smart, funny, beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you openly. Especially a music major who thinks acting cold makes him cool.”
You stayed like that for a long time — talking in low voices, Hye-jin sharing funny stories from the party to distract you, both of you eventually moving to the couch with blankets and snacks. She didn’t press for more details about the hidden history between you and Seungmin. She simply stayed present, letting you vent every frustration, every confusing moment, every little hope that kept breaking your heart.
By the time your eyes grew heavy and the tears had dried, the sky outside was beginning to hint at the earliest shades of dawn. Hye-jin yawned and pulled the blanket higher over both of you.
“Sleep. Tomorrow we deal with whatever comes. Together.”
You nodded, whispering a quiet thank you before closing your eyes. The ache in your chest was still there, but it felt a little lighter. Seungmin’s desperate words from earlier echoed in your mind, clashing with two weeks of silence. The push and pull was exhausting.
But for tonight, in the safety of your apartment and your best friend’s unwavering support, you let yourself rest.
Kim Seungmin had cracked open tonight, just a little. The question was whether he would let the light in… or slam the walls shut even harder tomorrow.
────୨ৎ────
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
The dorm was quieter than usual for a Saturday night. Or maybe it just felt that way because my head was too loud. I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor between my feet. The faint bass from someone’s playlist in the living room thumped through the walls, but it barely registered. All I could think about was her.
Her face when I dragged her out of that room. The way her eyes widened — shock, anger, something else I couldn’t name. The way she tasted when I kissed her against the tree, desperate and possessive like I had any right to be. Two weeks of avoiding her, of forcing myself to reply with dry texts because every time I got close I felt like I was drowning. And then seeing her with that guy’s hands on her waist, his mouth on her neck…
My jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands. Fuck. Why does she do this to me?
I liked her. No — that word was too small, too weak for the storm she caused inside my chest. I was crazy about her. Desperately, stupidly, painfully in love with her. The kind of love that made me notice every little thing: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, how her voice got softer when she was tired after late classes, the stupid smile she still gave me even when I called her an idiot in public. She was kind in a way that made me feel exposed. And I hated it. I hated how much I needed her.
But saying it out loud? Admitting that Kim Seungmin, the guy who always had a sarcastic comeback, was completely whipped for a literature major who argued with him in class? Impossible. So I hid. I pushed. I kissed her in secret and acted like she annoyed me in front of everyone. Because if I let the mask slip, there was no going back.
The door to my room creaked open. Felix poked his head in, blonde hair messy, wearing an oversized hoodie. His eyes immediately found me sitting in the dark.
“You’ve been weird since we got back from the party. Can I come in?”
I shrugged. He took it as a yes and stepped inside, closing the door behind him before sitting on the chair by my desk. For a moment he just watched me, those sharp but gentle eyes studying my face.
“I saw what happened,” he said quietly. “At the party. You dragged her out of that room pretty hard. Everyone on the stairs noticed. It looked… intense.”
I didn’t answer right away. My fingers tightened around the edge of the bed.
Felix leaned forward, voice careful but firm. “Seungmin, be honest with me. Are you being aggressive with her? Like, actually hurting her? Because if you are, I’m not staying quiet about this.”
My head snapped up. “What? No. I would never—” I stopped, exhaling sharply. “I grabbed her wrist to get her out of there. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I just… lost it when I saw her with that guy.”
Felix didn’t look fully convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. But it still looked bad from the outside. You can’t treat her like that and then act like nothing happened. You two have been strange for months. One second you’re ignoring her or calling her annoying in front of everyone, the next you’re pulling her away like a jealous boyfriend. What’s really going on?”
I stared at the floor again. The words felt heavy on my tongue, like they didn’t want to come out. But Felix was one of the few people who could see through my bullshit. And tonight, after everything, I was too tired to keep it all locked inside.
“I like her,” I muttered.
Felix raised an eyebrow. “Just ‘like’?”
I hesitated, then lied through my teeth. “Yeah. A little.”
He snorted softly, not buying it for a second. “Hyung. You looked like you wanted to murder Ji-hoon. You’ve been distracted during practice for weeks. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you buying those specific snacks she likes or disappearing late at night. It’s more than ‘a little.’”
I groaned, falling back onto my bed and covering my face with my arm. “Fine. It’s… a lot. More than a lot. She’s always in my head. Every stupid class, every time I see her on campus, even when I’m trying to focus on music. She makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. I get so frustrated because I can’t say what I actually want to say. Every time I try, it comes out wrong. So I push her away. I act like she irritates me. But the truth is I’m terrified.”
Felix stayed quiet for a moment, letting me talk. I kept going, the words spilling out now that the dam had cracked.
“At the party… seeing her kiss someone else made me sick. I wanted to drag that guy out instead. I know I have no right. I’ve never asked her to be mine. I’ve kept everything secret because I’m a coward. But when I pulled her outside and kissed her… I couldn’t pretend anymore. She told me to stop hiding. And I want to. I just don’t know how.”
Felix sighed, but there was a small smile on his face. “You’re an idiot, Seungmin. A tsundere idiot. She’s a really good person. Everyone likes her. And from what I’ve seen, she puts up with your cold act way more than she should. If you really feel that strongly, you need to tell her. Properly. Not just when you’re jealous. Not in secret corners. Be honest. She deserves that.”
I sat up slowly, running both hands through my hair. My chest felt tight. The memory of her tears shining in her eyes when she confronted me flashed through my mind. The way she still kissed me back even after everything.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m scared she’ll realize she can do better. Someone who doesn’t treat her like a secret. Someone who can say ‘I love you’ without it feeling like choking.”
Felix stood up and patted my shoulder. “Then stop being scared. You’re Kim Seungmin. You’re brave enough to perform in front of thousands. Be brave for her too. And stop the mixed signals. It’s hurting both of you.”
He headed for the door but paused. “By the way… it’s definitely more than ‘a little.’ We all see it. Even Changbin asked me what’s up with you two.”
I threw a pillow at him half-heartedly. He dodged with a laugh and left the room, closing the door softly.
Alone again, I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with our old messages — mostly short and dry on my end. My thumb hovered over her name. My heart pounded stupidly fast.
I typed slowly, deleting and rewriting several times before sending something real for once.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.
I stared at the sent message, stomach twisting. For the first time, I didn’t add a sarcastic remark or pretend I didn’t care. I let it stay vulnerable.
Lying back on the bed, I closed my eyes and let the thoughts flood in again. Her laugh during arguments in class. The way she looked under the library lights. How perfectly she fit against me when we kissed. How much I hated myself for making her cry tonight.
I love you
The words echoed in my head, loud and terrifying and true. Desperately true.
Tomorrow I would say them out loud. No more hiding. No more pushing her away. Even if it scared the hell out of me, she was worth it. She had always been worth it.
And if she still wanted me after all my mistakes… I wouldn’t let her go again.
────୨ৎ────
The message came at 7:42 a.m. You barely slept after the party, replaying everything in your head until exhaustion finally pulled you under. When you saw Seungmin’s text, your stomach twisted with nerves.
𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧:
Hey. Can we talk tomorrow? Properly. Not in a library corner or behind a tree. I have things I need to say. Things I should’ve said months ago. I’m sorry for being an asshole. Please.
You agreed. He chose the small rooftop garden on the arts building at 6 p.m. — a quiet place with string lights, wooden benches, and potted plants that barely anyone visited during the week.
The sun was setting in soft oranges and pinks when you arrived. Seungmin was already there, leaning against the railing, hands deep in his jacket pockets. His posture was tense, shoulders stiff, hair slightly messy as if he’d been running his fingers through it nervously. He turned the moment he heard your footsteps.
“You came,” he said, voice quiet.
“You asked me to.” You stopped a couple of steps away from him, arms wrapped around yourself.
Seungmin nodded and gestured toward the bench. “Can we sit?”
You sat side by side, a small gap between you. The silence stretched for a long moment, filled only by the gentle evening breeze and distant campus sounds. Seungmin kept clenching and unclenching his jaw, clearly fighting with himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and unsteady.
“I’ve been a complete coward,” he started. “For four months. Since that first kiss at the party… I told myself it didn’t mean anything. That I could control it. But I couldn’t. You’ve been stuck in my head every single day since then.”
He looked down at his hands, breathing deeply.
“I pushed you away because it was easier than admitting how much you affect me. In public I acted like you annoyed me, called you idiot or burra, because if I looked at you too long everyone would see how much I… how much I care. I’d go home and think about you constantly. The way you smile even when I’m being cold. The way you kiss me back like you actually understand me. Every secret moment we had… I cherished them more than I let on.”
Seungmin turned to face you properly. His eyes were vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen — glassy, full of regret and something much deeper.
“Last night destroyed me. Seeing you with him… I lost control. Dragging you out like that was wrong. I scared you and I hurt you, and I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked. “I had no right to act like a jealous asshole when I’ve never given you any clarity. I’ve been giving you mixed signals for months — kissing you like you’re everything to me one moment, then ignoring you or treating you like you’re nothing the next. That was unfair. Cruel, even. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
Tears blurred your vision. Seungmin noticed right away and shifted closer, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that fell.
“Don’t cry… please,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I hate myself for making you cry so many times.”
“You’re such an idiot, Seungmin,” you murmured, voice shaking. “One minute you make me feel wanted, the next I feel invisible. It’s exhausting. It hurts.”
“I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing shaky. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You’ve been patient with me when I didn’t deserve it. You’re kind, smart, and way too good for the way I’ve treated you. I like you… so much it terrifies me. More than like. I’m desperate for you. Every day. I think about you constantly and it drives me insane because I don’t know how to do this right.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, both hands now gently holding your face.
“I don’t want to hide anymore. I don’t want secret corners and late-night texts that mean nothing the next day. I want to stop being cold to you in public. I want to treat you the way you deserve — with care, openly. I’m not asking you to be anything right now if you’re not ready. I just… I needed you to know how I really feel. And I needed to apologize properly. I’m going to do better. I promise.”
The sincerity in his voice, the slight tremble in his hands, the way his eyes never left yours — it all broke something inside you. You leaned forward and kissed him first. Seungmin froze for half a second before melting into it, kissing you back slowly, deeply, full of all the emotions he’d been holding back. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were almost in his lap. There was no rush. No fear of being seen. Just warmth, tenderness, and quiet desperation.
When you pulled apart, he didn’t let you go far. He tucked your head under his chin, hugging you tightly against his chest. You could hear his heart racing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “For all the times I made you doubt yourself. For making you feel like a secret. You’re not. You’ve never been just a secret to me.”
You hugged him back just as tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. “Thank you for finally saying it.”
Seungmin let out a shaky breath, almost like a relieved laugh. He pulled back slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders when he noticed you shiver, adjusting it carefully around you like it was the most important thing in the world.
“You’re still cold even in this weather,” he muttered, the tiniest hint of his usual tsundere tone slipping through, but his eyes were soft. “Stay here a little longer. With me.”
You nodded, leaning into him again. He kept one arm around you, the other hand gently playing with your fingers. The sunset wrapped the rooftop in golden light, making everything feel softer, warmer.
For a long time you stayed like that — quiet, close, his occasional soft kisses pressed to your temple or forehead. No pressure for labels. No rush. Just Seungmin finally letting his walls down, apologizing with every gentle touch and whispered “I’m sorry” and “I care about you so much.”
“I won’t mess this up again,” he murmured eventually, voice barely above the breeze. “Not like before. You mean too much to me.”
You looked up at him, smiling through the last of your tears. He smiled back — small, shy, and genuine — before leaning in to kiss you once more, slow and sweet.
The sky slowly turned dark, stars beginning to appear overhead. Seungmin held you closer, his chin resting on your head, both of you wrapped in his jacket and the quiet promise of something better.
He still had a lot to prove. But tonight, for the first time, Kim Seungmin had stopped running.
And you were right there with him.
────୨ৎ────
The next few days after the rooftop passed in a gentle blur. Seungmin kept his word. He wasn’t cold anymore. He walked you to class twice, texted you good morning messages that weren’t dry or short, and even left a coffee at your usual study spot with a small sticky note that just said “Don’t study too hard, idiot.” It was still very him — a little tsundere, a little awkward — but the warmth behind it was real.
You weren’t dating. Not yet. He hadn’t asked, and you hadn’t pushed. Things felt delicate, like something precious that needed time to settle. But the hope was there, brighter than it had ever been.
On Wednesday afternoon, you were heading toward the music building to return a book Seungmin had lent you. The campus was calm, golden afternoon light filtering through the trees. As you approached the side entrance near the practice rooms, you heard familiar voices coming from the small outdoor seating area behind the building — partially hidden by a wall of climbing plants
Seungmin’s voice. And his friends.
You stopped behind the wall, not intending to eavesdrop, but the moment you heard your name you froze.
“…I don’t know, man. I finally apologized properly. Like, really apologized,” Seungmin said, sounding exhausted but lighter than usual. “On the rooftop. Told her how much of an asshole I’ve been. How I kept pushing her away even though I couldn’t stop thinking about her.”
Felix’s soft laugh reached you. “And? How did she take it?”
“She cried. I felt like the worst person alive. But she kissed me after. She said she still… feels the same.” Seungmin paused, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his hair. “I told her I care about her. A lot. More than I know how to handle.”
Changbin’s deeper voice cut in, teasing but curious. “So you finally admitted it? You’re whipped.”
There was a long silence. Then Seungmin spoke again, quieter this time, but the words carried clearly in the still air.
“I love her.”
Your heart stopped.
“I love her so fucking much it’s actually insane,” he continued, voice cracking with raw honesty. “I think about her all the time. When I’m in practice, when I’m trying to sleep, even when I’m pretending to focus in class. She’s kind even when I don’t deserve it. She puts up with my stupid tsundere shit and still looks at me like I’m worth something. I get desperate just thinking about her. Like… I can’t breathe properly when she’s not around. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”
“I know,” Seungmin muttered. You heard the sound of him shifting on the bench. “I’ve been such an idiot. For months I couldn’t tell her any of this. I’d kiss her in secret and then act like she annoyed me the next day because I was scared. Scared that if I admitted how deep this is, she’d realize she can do way better than me. But after the party… after seeing her with someone else… I realized I’d rather be scared and honest than lose her.”
Felix’s voice was gentle. “So what now? Are you two together?”
“Not officially. I didn’t want to pressure her after everything I put her through. I just wanted her to know the truth. That I’m sorry. That I love her. Desperately. Like… I’d do anything for her. I want to be better. I want to hold her hand in public without overthinking. I want her to know she’s the only one I see.”
You pressed a hand over your mouth, tears stinging your eyes. Hearing him say it — not to you, but to his closest friends, with that vulnerable, almost frustrated tone like the feelings were too big for him to contain — hit you harder than anything else. This was the Seungmin you only caught glimpses of in dark library corners and stolen kisses. The one who cared so deeply he didn’t know how to handle it.
Changbin chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day Kim Seungmin would sit here sounding this whipped. But honestly? You two fit. She’s good for you.”
“Yeah…” Seungmin’s voice softened. “She is. She’s everything. I just hope I don’t mess it up again. I love her too much to lose her now.”
You couldn’t stay hidden anymore. Your heart was beating too loudly, too full. You stepped around the wall, clutching the book to your chest.
All four boys turned at the sound. Seungmin’s eyes widened when they landed on you. His cheeks flushed instantly, a deep red that spread to his ears. For a second he looked genuinely panicked.
“…How long have you been standing there?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“Long enough,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks even as you smiled.
Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin exchanged quick glances and stood up almost comically fast.
“We’re gonna… go practice,” Felix said, grabbing the other two. “Yeah. Practice. Right now.”
They disappeared inside the building, leaving the two of you alone.
Seungmin stood up slowly, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment before finally meeting them.
“I meant every word,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t just saying it to sound good in front of them. I love you. I’m crazy about you. Desperately. I’ve been in love with you for months and I was too scared to admit it properly. But I’m not hiding anymore.”
You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face in his chest. Seungmin tensed for half a second before melting, hugging you back tightly. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other rubbed soothing circles on your back.
“I love you too,” you murmured against his shirt. “Hearing you say it like that… it means everything.”
He let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“I’m still going to be annoying sometimes,” he muttered, classic tsundere slipping through even now. “I’ll probably call you idiot out of habit. But I’ll also tell you every day how much you mean to me. If you’ll let me.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, smiling through your tears. “I’ll let you. As long as you keep being honest like this.”
Seungmin’s eyes softened. He cupped your face gently and leaned down, kissing you slow and sweet under the afternoon sun — no secrets, no fear of being seen. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered again, like he was getting used to saying it out loud. “So much it hurts sometimes.”
“I know,” you whispered back, heart full. “I love you too.”
He hugged you tighter, hiding his flushed face in your hair. For the first time in months, everything felt right. No more mixed signals. No more hiding.
Just Seungmin — your stubborn, tsundere, desperately loving Seungmin — finally letting himself have you.
And you weren’t letting go either.
────୨ৎ────
You were sprawled on the couch in your apartment later that evening, legs draped over Hye-jin’s lap while she scrolled through her phone. The TV played some random drama neither of you were really watching. After everything that happened on the rooftop and behind the music building, you finally told her the full story — no more secrets.
Hye-jin suddenly sat up so fast she almost knocked you onto the floor.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re with Seungmin? Like… for real? OMG, I can’t believe this!” She stared at you with wide eyes, mouth open in pure shock. “The same Seungmin who used to call you stupid in front of everyone? The king of tsundere who looked like he hated you? That idiot I swore I was going to throw down the stairs?”
You laughed, covering your face with a pillow. “Yes, that Seungmin. He apologized. Like, properly. And… he said he loves me. I overheard him telling the guys today. He sounded so sincere, Hye-jin. Desperate, even.”
Hye-jin let out a dramatic groan and dramatically fell back against the couch, hand on her forehead like she was in a telenovela.
“I’m going to lose my mind. My best friend, the sweetest person on campus, ended up with the most annoying guy in the entire university. This has to be a joke, right? I already had the whole ‘you deserve better’ speech prepared and the ‘I’m gonna beat him up’ speech too. Now I’m gonna have to pretend I like him? Ugh.”
You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. “He’s not that bad! He’s trying. He even walked me to class holding my hand today. In public.”
“Holding your hand?! In front of people?! Oh my God, the apocalypse has arrived.” Hye-jin shook her head, but she was smiling. “Look, I still don’t fully trust him. If he makes you cry again, I swear I’ll tattoo ‘idiot’ on his forehead. With a permanent marker.”
You were still giggling when a familiar voice came from the entrance of the apartment.
“Wow. ‘Idiot’ on my forehead? How creative.”
Both of you jumped. Seungmin was standing at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. He must have used the spare key you gave him earlier. His expression was the perfect mix of offended and amused.
Hye-jin didn’t even flinch. “You heard everything, huh? Great. Then you already know that if you hurt her again, I’ll become your worst nightmare.”
Seungmin walked over slowly, stopping behind the couch. He looked at you first, eyes softening instantly, before turning back to your best friend with that signature sarcastic smirk.
“Relax, Hye-jin. I love this idiot here more than I can handle.” He said it in the most sarcastic tone possible, but his hand gently rested on your shoulder, thumb brushing your skin. “So much that I can even tolerate you threatening to tattoo my forehead. What an honor.”
You looked up at him, smiling. “Seungmin…”
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, still keeping that tsundere attitude for Hye-jin’s benefit.
“She annoys the hell out of me sometimes,” he continued, voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at your friend, “always arguing with me in class, making me lose focus, living in my head 24/7… but I love her like crazy anyway. Desperately. So you can keep your threats. I’m not going to hurt her again.”
Hye-jin narrowed her eyes, but you could see the reluctant approval in her expression. “You’re lucky she likes you, Kim Seungmin. Very lucky.”
“I know,” he replied, this time without any sarcasm. He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Believe me, I know.”
Hye-jin stood up, stretching. “Alright, I’m leaving to give the lovebirds some privacy. But if I hear crying coming from that room, I’m coming back with my flip-flop.”
She winked at you before grabbing her jacket and leaving the apartment, the door clicking shut behind her.
Seungmin immediately rounded the couch and pulled you into his arms, sitting down with you on his lap. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.
“She’s scary,” he mumbled against your skin.
You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “She’s just protective. She saw me cry too many times because of you.”
“I know.” He pulled back enough to look at you, eyes warm and honest. “I’m glad you have someone like her. And I’m glad you gave me another chance.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “We’re not rushing anything, right? But… I’m really happy, Seungmin.”
“Me too.” He kissed you slowly, tenderly, the kind of kiss that made your chest feel full. When he pulled away, that little shy smile appeared — the one he only showed when it was just the two of you. “I love you. Not sarcastically this time.”
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
He hugged you tighter, resting his chin on your head as the drama continued playing forgotten on the TV.
After months of mixed signals, secret kisses, tears, and misunderstandings… Kim Seungmin had finally stopped running. He was still a tsundere at heart — sarcastic, a little awkward, quick to call you “idiot” out of affection — but he was yours.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: very loosely based off of super smash bros by yung gravy and bbno$ 😭😭
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒/𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: partying, cringe, kissing, awkward at times but i guess its cute 😭, a lot of people ship reader x jisung, yes i did steal katseye's ep name (stream btw)
𝐀/𝐍: guys i lwk hate this so bad but its one of the only things thats been rotting in my drafts for the past 3 months 😭 and i haven't posted since june, so i might as well!! tysm for all my followers who stuck with me during my summer hiatus, i appreciate you sm <3
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Minho throws the kind of parties that feel like they exist outside the rules of time.
You know the kind—neon lights bleeding into the walls, music vibrating the floorboards, a living room full of people who look like they all accidentally dressed for different events. There’s a girl in a ballgown next to a guy in pajama pants, someone’s cousin is taking shots with a skateboard propped against the kitchen wall, and you just saw a guy eating shredded cheese straight out of the bag.
It’s chaos. Beautiful, buzzing, semi-toxic chaos.
And of course—Han Jisung is right in the middle of it.
You spot him leaning against the kitchen counter, red Solo cup in one hand, half-eaten slice of pizza in the other. His hair’s a little messy, he’s wearing that oversized graphic tee he definitely stole from Chan, and he’s grinning like he’s already had one too many.
He doesn’t see you yet, which gives you a second to soak him in.
Why he looks good tonight is beyond you. He always looks good, sure. But tonight, there’s something different. Or maybe it’s just that you’re allowing yourself to notice it. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. How his chains glint when he tilts his head just right. The way he talks with his hands and somehow manages to make spilling beer look charming.
You hate him.
“Y/N!” he spots you before you can look away. “Hey—hey, c’mere!”
You roll your eyes, but you’re already walking toward him.
“Nice of you to show up,” he teases, eyes sparkling. “I was starting to think you ditched me for your boring real friends.”
You flick the rim of his cup. “Would’ve, but then who would make sure you don’t climb on the table again?”
“I make one toast standing on a coffee table and suddenly I’m a liability.”
“You made it with your shirt off.”
“Exactly. Memorable.”
You try not to laugh. You fail.
He nudges your arm with his elbow. “Drink?”
“Only if you’re not making it.”
“That hurts,” he says, dramatically clutching his chest. “I’ll have you know my mixology skills are—”
“Illegal in three countries?”
“Legendary.”
He drags you toward the drink station with zero coordination, spilling a bit of something pink onto his own shoes. The two of you end up pressed together at the counter, half surrounded by people trying to pour their own drinks without losing their dignity.
His shoulder brushes yours. It lingers. It always does.
“You look good,” he says casually, too casually.
You glance over at him. “You’re drunk.”
“So? Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
You don’t respond. You just sip your drink, hoping the blush rising up your neck doesn’t show in the LED light.
Two hours later, the party is somehow even more unhinged.
Someone brought glow sticks. There’s an aggressive dance circle forming in the middle of the living room. You’ve watched three different people try to open a bottle of wine with a shoe.
You’re on the back patio now, leaning against the railing, cold air hitting your skin in a way that sobers you just enough. Jisung slips out after you a few minutes later, eyes a little glassy, cheeks flushed.
“No more tequila for Minho,” you say without turning.
He groans. “Absolutely not. That man danced to silence for, like, ten minutes.”
You laugh and look over at him. He’s standing next to you now, arms folded on the railing, face turned up toward the sky.
“You okay?” you ask, voice low.
“Yeah. Just needed a sec,” he says, then adds, “Also, you left me in there with a girl who tried to convince me she had psychic powers.”
“She probably sensed your stupidity.”
He gasps, mock-offended. “I’m wounded.”
“Your ego’s bulletproof, you’ll survive.”
He looks over at you then. Really looks. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say something brutal and then look at me like you’re not worried I’ll take it to heart.”
“I’m not worried. You like it.”
He shrugs, smiling. “Yeah, I do.”
The air feels heavier now. Less ha-ha-funny and more something else. There’s silence, but not the awkward kind. The kind that crackles. That waits.
You take a breath. “So… this is fun.”
“The party?”
“No. Just… this. You and me. Like always.”
“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “Like always.”
Then he says your name—softly, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth.
You turn. “Yeah?”
“You ever think about it?” he asks.
“About what?”
“About… us. Being something else.”
It’s a dangerous question. One you’ve avoided. But it’s hanging there now, suspended between you, breath visible in the cold air.
You nod slowly. “Sometimes.”
His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek. He looks away. Then back.
“I think about it all the time.”
Your heart does something ridiculous. Stupid. Hopeful.
“…So what are you waiting for?” you ask.
He smiles a little. Steps closer. “An opening.”
You raise your eyebrow. “This one clear enough for you?”
He doesn’t answer with words. Just reaches out, hand sliding to the back of your neck, and kisses you.
And it’s—
It’s fireworks.
Not the big, theatrical kind. The slow, sparking, grounding kind. The kind that feels like home and adrenaline and finally.
His lips move against yours like he’s done this before—in a dream maybe, or a daydream. His hand finds your waist, yours knot in his shirt, and for a second, you’re not at a party. You’re just… yours. Together.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours.
"Took me long enough, huh?”
You huff a quiet laugh. “Took both of us.”
The door creaks open behind you. Someone yells, “They’re kissing!” like it's the headline of the night, and within seconds you're being pulled back inside to a chorus of groans, cheers, and a very loud “FINALLY!”
Jisung mutters under his breath, “We’re never gonna hear the end of this.”
You smile. “Probably not.”
He laces his fingers with yours just as someone hands you a shot and yells for Minho to give another toast. The music’s too loud, the lights too bright—but he doesn’t let go.
hope you enjoyed <33
todays playlist....
my sobs as i watched squid games while editing, venom by skz, 10 months by enhypen, miroh by skz, fantastic baby by bigbang, all in by skz, boy bi by mad tsai, woke up in tokyo by babymon, how sweet by newjeans, da da da by mad tsai, bad desire by enhypen, super smash bros by yung gravy and bbno$
*bold is explicit*
taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @chimmyn0chu @sadeeeeee @qwonyoung23 @jesuisstay@stilldontknowhoiam @katsukis1wife @beal-o @finding-nikaa (im pretty sure i missed somebody so hopefully they see this)
perm taglist is open! please comment/send an ask/dm if you would like to be added <3
Synopsis: It starts as joke and have been running between you and Minho for a while — until it isn’t anymore. (2,4k words)
It starts as a joke.
The first time you say it is when he cooks dinner.
You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, chin in your hands, watching him move around and looking annoyingly good doing something as mundane as stirring a pan. His focused, dark brown eyes. The strands of hair falling over his forehead. The sharpness of his jaws. The slope of his nose.
He wipes his hands on a cloth when he’s done. Then slides a plate toward you.
“Eat before it gets cold,” he says without the slightest of zest.
“Thank you, my beautiful, private chef,” you teasingly say.
You pick up the fork, taking a piece of the pan seared salmon and shove it into your mouth. It tastes exactly as it looks. As you expected.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes widen dramatically.
He rolls his eyes immediately. “What.”
“This is amazing,” you gasp, clutching your chest like you’ve just been emotionally wounded by good food.
The compliment doesn’t seem to faze him much as he continues eating his own dinner. Yet he looks just as attractive when he’s eating.
You put your hands under your chin, tilting your head slightly to the side as you dreamily sigh, “You’re hot and good at cooking…”
He only looks at you, unimpressed. And yet, his indifference is the biggest part of his charm.
You lean forward and sweetly say, “Please, marry me.”
He doesn’t even look up from his own plate of dinner. “No.”
Your lips curl into a pout. “No?”
“I already cooked for you. That’s more than enough commitment,” he simply answers and ever so casually, taking a sip of water.
The answer comes out so smoothly, so unexpectedly but at the same time, it’s so Minho. You burst out laughing, completely amused. And ever since, you can’t help but teasing him with the same joke, anticipating what his answer will be.
-
A week later he comes home with a fresh haircut.
You’re on the couch scrolling through your phone when he walks in, casually kicking off his shoes like he didn’t just drastically increase the apartment’s attractiveness level.
It amazes you how Minho losing a few inches of hair makes you stare and feel warm all over.
He notices as he walks to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “What?”
“You look hot,” you say, biting your lower lip like it would help supress the dirty thoughts forming in your head. “Like… illegally hot.”
“It’s just a haircut,” he says, matter-of-factly.
You wait until he’s sitting on the sofa with you, scooting closer until you’re right there next to him and stare at him all over again with heart in your eyes.
“Gosh, I have the hottest man in the world as my boyfriend,” you sigh, a finger playfully tracing the prominent vein on his arm.
As usual, Minho is unfazed. He’s on his phone, typing on the screen with so much focus. You lean in closer, close enough to place light, little kisses along the side of his jaw and then a final one on the skin behind his ear, catching the hint of his perfume there.
“I’d destroy the world if you married someone else,” you feign seriousness as you whisper into his ear. “So please… marry me.”
That gets him turning his head toward you and stares at you for a long second. Then he shrugs and says, “Sounds like a you problem.”
With that, he turns his focus back on his phone, ignoring the way you pout and glare at him from the side.
But after a while, you smile as you soften around him again. You wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him despite him rejecting your playful proposal for the second time.
-
One evening you’re both sprawled on the couch. Minho is lying on his back with a cushion propped under his head and you — you lay on top of him with his muscular chest as your pillow, your legs are tangled with his. His arm wrapped around your back, fingers absentmindedly playing with the end of your hair.
Even doing something mundane like this — just watching a movie, cuddling on the sofa in a contented silence — feels special with him. It really is not about what you’re doing but who you’re doing it with.
You glance up at him and find him so focused on the TV, looking comfortable and warm and frustratingly boyfriend-shaped.
You sigh contentedly and softly call his name, “Minho.”
“Hm.”
“Please marry me.”
He doesn’t even look away from the screen. His tone flat and uninterested as he asks, “Why should I?”
You subtly shrug and say, “So we can do what married people do.”
One hand glides down to the base of your spine, threading his fingers there. He turns his head slightly. “Like what?”
You think about it seriously for a moment, humming in solemn. “We can open joint bank accounts.”
“Terrible idea.”
“Getting a mortgage.”
“Even worse.”
“Buying matching coffins.”
He finally turns fully toward you. “What?”
“So when we die we can be buried next to each other,” you explain matter-of-factly.
He stares at you like he’s reconsidering every life choice that led him here. “You skipped a lot of steps.”
You coyly shrug and grin.
“I’d prefer to be cremated though,” he says, putting both hands on your back now.
“Oh?” You softly gasp, slightly surprised. Then, a second later—
“Oh!” you gasp again, the kind that comes with an idea. A strange, weird idea. “We can have our ashes pressed into diamonds and inherit it to our future children.”
Minho’s lips quirk into a half smirk. “That’s actually a good idea,” he agrees.
You beam and snuggle closer, feeling proud of yourself. You burrow your head into the crook of his neck and softly whisper, “So let’s get married, yeah?”
He pats your head like you’re an overly affectionate cat. “No.”
The proposal isn’t that serious but your head lifts anyway when he rejects you for the third time. “No?”
This time, he looks at you when he says it again. “No.”
“Why not?”
He holds your face with both hands like you’re a fragile object but the answer he gives you is nothing like it. “Cause you’re getting harder to tolerate,” he flatly replies.
Instead of feeling offended, you crack a laugh and bump your nose with his. “I hate you,” you say, affectionately.
“See? Hard to tolerate,” he says, smirking.
But with each rejection, you find yourself falling harder for him. And a tiniest bit of hope that he’ll marry you. For real.
-
The joke continues.
Every time he does something nice.
When he brings you coffee.
“Please marry me.”
When he fixes the loose cabinet door you’ve been ignoring for months.
“Please marry me.”
When he wordlessly hands you a blanket because he noticed you were cold.
“Please marry me.”
His responses are always the same level of unimpressed.
“Unlikely.”
“No thanks.”
“Absolutely not.”
Or his personal favorite:
“I’m not in the mood.”
Even when you’re already tucked in bed, drowsy and tired, ready to sleep. You look at Minho who’s peacefully lying beside you with eyes closed. You lean in to his ear, whisper while half asleep.
“Please marry me, Minho.”
Minho’s eyes snap open and slowly, he turns his head toward you. He gives you a look of disbelief. Then he runs his fingers down your face to force you to close your eyes.
“Go to sleep.”
“But—”
This time, he cuts you off with by pressing a sudden, hard kiss on your lips. When he pulls away, he mutters, “Your proposal has been postponed.”
And you can’t really complaint when he shut you up like that. So instead, you snug closer to him and try to sleep. At the same, you’re already planning on proposing again tomorrow.
-
Weeks pass.
The joke never really stops. It just becomes part of your routine now.
As Minho is busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, you hug him from behind. You wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder and feeling comforted already by the mere feel of his body against you.
Minho continues cutting ingredients like this is just another Sunday afternoon. The sounds of his knife hitting the cutting board are the only thing filling the silence. Until—
“Please marry me,” you say, voice a little muffled as your mouth pressed to his neck.
Minho sighs but continues cutting the carrot now. “You’ve proposed to me twelve times today.”
You grin and teasingly say, “So?”
He turns his head, looking at you like he’s both impressed and bewildered that you haven’t given up already.
You don’t waver. Instead, you feel encouraged. “Statistically one of them will work eventually,” you confidently say.
He smirks and simply says, “Good luck with that.”
-
One night you come home exhausted. Work had been long and irritating and your brain feels like it’s running on fumes. When you open the apartment door, the smell of food greets you immediately.
Minho stands in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dark sweater rolled up to his elbows, putting too much focus on plating dinner.
Just the sight of him is enough to make the weight of the day vanishes into thin air. “I’m home,” you weakly announce.
“You’re late,” he says without looking up.
You walk up to him, giving him a quick hug while letting out a sigh. Like you’re trying to exhale all the heavy, worried minds out of your head. When you pull away, you offer him a small smile.
“I’m just going to put my bag away and wash up,” you say.
He seems to notice that you’re more exhausted than usual. He gives you a quick kiss on the lips before letting you go.
When you return, he’s already set everything on the dining table and now, filling your glass with red wine. You take your seat, stomach grumbling at the mouth-watering smell of the food in front of you.
It’s when Minho takes his seat, you finally allow yourself to start eating. It feels good to come home to the man you love and eat the food he cooked. You couldn’t be luckier than this.
“Good?” he asks.
You have to stop yourself from shoving more food to properly answer him. “So good,” you say with stuffed cheeks.
He smiles at that, warm and affectionate, before getting back to his own plate of dinner.
At the end of the dinner, you feel so content. Literally. Figuratively. You have a small sip of wine before leaning in to the side until your shoulder meets his and stay there.
You tilt your head, meeting his eyes. “Thank you for dinner,” you genuinely mutter.
Minho puts an arm around your shoulder. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he says, followed with a quick kiss to the top of your head.
You have another sip of wine and feeling playful when you look at him again. Then you hesitantly ask, “Marry me?”
For once, he doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looks back at you. He studies your face for a moment. Then, finally answers, “Okay.”
Wow! That’s a first.
But you know him too well to know that he’s only saying that as a joke, to boost your ego. Or lighten up your mood after a long, tiring day.
“You’re not supposed to say yes. You’re supposed to reject me,” you tell him, half-laughing.
He tilts his head slightly and blinks his eyes a few times. “Well, I changed my mind.”
You can’t tell if he’s being serious now or just messing with you. You nervously laugh and decide to entertain the idea. “Okay, let’s go to the city hall tomorrow and get a marriage certificate.”
“Okay,” he repeats.
Your heart starts beating faster. “You’re joking, right?” you carefully ask.
“I’m not,” his voice is calm. Serious.
Your stomach flips. “Minho…”
The arm around your shoulder feels warm and steady. He looks you in the eyes as he says, “I though you always wanted me to say yes.”
Your brain struggles to catch up. “Wait, are you actually—”
“Yes.”
You sigh, a part of you still struggling to believe this. “Minho, I need to know if you’re serious.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why would I joke about that.”
You stare at him, completely stunned. “But I thought—”
“That it was just a joke?” he finishes.
You nod weakly.
He nonchalantly shrugs. “It started that way. But I thought about it.”
“And?” you whisper.
He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “And I decided I wouldn’t mind doing those things with you.”
Your voice comes out small. “Even the cremated part?”
He sighs like he’s fed up of you doubting his proposal. “If that’s what you want.”
A shaky laugh escapes you, half disbelief and half overwhelming emotion. “You’re really proposing right now?”
“You’re the one who proposed first.”
“That was a joke!”
“And this isn’t.”
The room feels very quiet suddenly. Despite the confusion, the suddenness of this moment, and the fact that it hasn’t sunk into you… your eyes start to sting.
“You’re serious…” you mutter to yourself while laughing in disbelief.
He gently squeezes your shoulder. “Do you want me to ask properly?”
You nod quickly.
He takes a small breath. Then, in the most Minho way possible, he says, “Do you want to marry me so we can open a joint bank account, get a mortgage and have our cremated ashes turn into diamonds?”
You burst into tearful laughter. “Yes. A thousand time yes,” you say immediately.
He nods once, satisfied. “Okay.”
With that, he pulls you into his arms like this was the most normal conversation in the world. That this is not him finally asking you to marry him and said yes to marrying you.
You cling to him, still laughing in disbelief. “Told you, one of them will work eventually,” you mumble into his shoulder.
“I know.”
You tilt your head up, looking at him in love and disbelief that you’ll have your forever with him. “Marry me, Minho,” you softly murmur it’s almost a whisper.
He leans in and places a chaste kiss on your lips. when he pulls away just enough to look at you, he smiles and says, “Already working on it.”
-
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Content warnings: established relationship, playful arguing, “he loves me / he loves me not” flower trope, weaponized logic, dramatic overreaction to incorrect results, affectionate bickering, soft sidewalk sunset vibes, light teasing and sarcasm, hand holding and a sweet kiss, chaos disguised as science, stubborn x stubborn dynamic, emotional reassurance, and one man personally offended on behalf of facts, logic, and his own reputation
Summary: A quiet walk back from a coffee run turns unexpectedly dramatic when you decide to let a random flower determine whether Seungmin loves you, much to his growing horror. As your playful experiment delivers the wrong answer, Seungmin takes matters into his own hands, hijacking the “test” and turning it into a string of undeniable, heartfelt confessions. By the time the last petal falls, the results are no longer up for debate, only reinforced with certainty, laughter, and a love that refuses to be left to chance.
The sun is slowly starting to set on the day as you walk down the sidewalk with Seungmin, the two of you had just gone for a coffee run for the both of you and Felix who was back at the apartment setting up your gaming night that you all had planned. You and Seungmin walk together at a steady pace, you hold the bag of baked goods that you had ordered to share with the two men while Seungmin holds a drink caddy of extra drinks for all of you.
You’re enjoying the warmth of the sun as you walk back, letting the comfortable silence between you and Seungmin just settle easily when your eyes land on some pretty decorative outdoor planters in front of a shop. You spot a loan ragwort in one of the planters and pluck it with precision before holding it up in front of you like a trophy. The flower is small, unremarkable honestly but it was a stubborn little thing to push out of a concrete planter like it had something to prove. You loved it immediately. You held it out between your fingers like it’s something sacred, something ancient, something has decided in its tiny chlorophyll heart that it is now the judge of your fate. Seungmin watches you quietly with a raised eyebrow before scoffing softly as you begin to pull the petals off the flower.
“He loves me…” you say as the first petal comes off and you let it flutter to the sidewalk in a dizzying dance. “He loves me not…” you say as you repeat the action and pull another petal from the flower. Seungmin watches you in silence as he slows his steps to match yours fully but you can see the increasing disbelief, that is specifically reserved for you, start to flicker across his face as you continue to pull petals from the flower. You can practically read his mind just from his expression to you he’s saying, I knew you were ridiculous but I didn’t realize we were doing this today. You love it and try to hide your delighted smile as you bite your lip playfully.
“You’re not seriously doing this, are you?” he asks you incredulously but you continue to pull the petals as you wax and wane on about if he loves you or not. Seungmin huffs at you as you both keep walking though you notice that his eyes don’t stray from your fingers pulling the petals off. He’s completely focused on what you’re doing and what answer you will get from this stubborn little flora.
“He loves me not.” you say with a soft dejected tone in your voice as you look at the flower as if it betrayed you before swinging your eyes to Seungmin who sighs like a disappointed professor as he shakes his head.
“You cannot let a flower determine my emotional state.” Seungmin tells you honestly and you widen your eyes at him in response which makes him sigh as he nods at the flower for you to continue.
There’s a quiet stretch of sidewalk ahead, dappled in late afternoon sunlight, the kind that makes everything feel softer than it actually is. The bag of pastries in your hand swings like a pendulum keeping time with your steps. You reach up and pluck another petal before it spins in the air like a tiny white helicopter as it races down to the sidewalk.
“He loves me…” you coo softly with happiness and Seungmin shakes his head at your antics.
“You realize,” he says cutting into your fun, his tone sharpening into something dangerously close to a lecture, “that this is not a scientifically valid method of determining anything, right?” he asks you rhetorically and you barely give him a response as you hum unfazed in your actions.
“He loves me not…” you say as another petal falls to the ground as you walk leaving it behind in like a crumb trail from the story Hansel and Grettle.
“If anything,” he continues, now fully committed to dismantling your logic, “your starting point already biases the outcome. You began with ‘he loves me’, so statistically-” he begins to reason and you cut him off as you stare up at him in silence.
“You’re ruining it.” you tell him with a sniff and he blinks at you for a quiet moment before his brain comes back online.
“I’m actually saving you from flawed reasoning.” he tells you and you huff at him before turning back to the flower.
“He loves me…” you say wistfully as the petal falls daintily from your fingers. There’s a faint crunch of gravel as he adjusts his step, keeping pace with you. You can practically feel the way he’s staring at the flower now, like it personally offended him.
“You’re letting a plant,” he says slowly, carefully, like he’s explaining something to someone particularly stubborn, “dictate my feelings for you.” he finishes as he stares at you with one eye twitching slightly in disbelief.
“I’m letting it guide me to the truth.” you counter knowing that those words will really set him off.
“Truth?! That is an inanimate object! The truth can come from the actual person who loves you!” he cries out raising his voice slightly and you feel your heart begin to melt for him. He’s so adamant that you shouldn’t be doing this silly little test and he’s trying so hard to get you to stop but you want to finish, so you do.
“He loves me not…” you say and Seungmin huffs loudly while throwing his hands up in the air in disgusted disbelief. He then begins to pout slightly and your heart thuds heavily in your chest, he knows what his pouting does to you that menace. But you still continue on, the flower is starting to look a little tragic at this point. It’s more than half-plucked and uneven, like it regrets being chosen for this role. Seungmin exhales loudly besides you, it’s the kind of sigh that carries weight, judgement and hint of resignation. “He loves me…” you say with a soft whimsical smile on your face as you’re only half paying attention to the flower now as Seungmin’s reactions to your actions are more entertaining than the actual answer from the flower. “He loves me not…” you say and pluck the petal with a soft scoff before moving to reach for another petal but when your fingers find nothing you freeze and blink down at the now bare stem.
Silence stretches long between you and after a moment of it you slowly turn your head to him. Seungmin is already looking at you, his expression is exactly what you expected. A mix of unimpressed and deep offense on behalf of logic itself.
“You cannot,” he begins in a low tone that calm but has an edge to it, “let that flower lie on my name like that.” You press your lips together, trying very hard not to laugh as your eyes widen comically in dismay. You slowly raise the sad petal-less stem like it’s evidence in a court case.
“It said what it said.” you lament softly and his left eye twitches as it stares at the stem and then darts his eyes to you before returning to the offending piece of botany. Something shifts in the air between you, it’s subtle at first. His eyes narrow with the kind of look that means he’s thinking, calculating and deciding something with the quiet intensity of someone who always believes he’s right. Which, to be fair, he usually is. Without another word, he reaches out and plucks the stem from your fingers.
“Hey!” you cry out as he tosses the stem into the gutter next to the sidewalk. You blink at him bewildered but he doesn’t respond to you as he instead begins glancing around the two of you. He scans the row of planters lining the sidewalk before zeroing in on another flower that’s just as small and unsuspecting.. Before you can even figure out what he’s going to do he’s leaning over and plucking the flower cleanly from the planter. “You can’t just-” you start to protest but he easily cuts you off.
“I can,” he tells you already turning back to you. “And I will. Here hold this.” he tells you as he hands you the drink caddy he’s been holding. You take it from him easily and watch with wide eyes as he then reaches up and begins to pluck the petals. “Since I can’t trust you or the flower with this task I’m going to do it.” he tells you snarkily and you bite your lip to stop your laughter from bubbling out. “I love you, even though I find you ridiculous in the best way possible.” he says as his fingers pluck the first petal and let it fall to the ground.
The two of you have come to a stop now not far from his apartment and you’re staring at him with a heart that’s racing too rapidly in your chest. Your eyes are wide and filled with so much warmth and love for the silly man in front of you.
“I love you, and your stubbornness because it mirrors mine just in a softer font.” he tells you seriously and you slowly begin to melt at his words of affirmation.
“Seung” you drag out in a soft whine and he smirks at you as he shakes his head quickly.
“Nope, you made me go through that silly little test of yours. Now you have to go through mine.” he tells you softly with a delight that exudes from him. “I love you, you’re the best part of my day. Scratch that, my life.” he tells you as he plucks another petal from the flower. Something warm starts to bubble in your chest and you find yourself growing antsy to let it out towards him.
“That’s cheating,” you say around a laugh that creeps into your voice but Seungmin shrugs entirely unbothered by your words.
“I corrected the experiment.” he tells you before continuing with his petal plucking. “I love you, you’re my person. The one I wake up wanting to see first thing in the morning and the one I go to sleep dreaming of each night.”
And with those words you can’t hold it in anymore, you laugh loud, happy and bright. It spills out of you in an uncontrollable manner as it echoes softly down the sidewalk. People pass by, glancing curiously at the two of you but you don’t care. Seungmin doesn’t stop plucking petals as he grins at you as well. This time with just declarations of love.
“I love you.” he says letting a petal fall to the sidewalk. “I love you.” he repeats and your heart swells with love and affection for him as your eyes watch the petals fall in that dizzying dance once again. “I love you.”
The flower is now nearly bare just like the last one you had tested with as your laughter slows at his antics. He’s still declaring his love for you as petals began to gather around both of your feet. Your eyes dance as you look up at him stepping close.
“You’re unbelievable.” you tell him softly and he chooses to ignore that as he plucks the last petal from the flower. He holds it up for you to see, you glance at the petal and then into his eyes.
“I love you.” he tells you with a finality that makes your breath stutter in your chest. He lets the petal go and it falls slowly to the ground. He looks down at the empty stem for a moment, as if confirming the result with a nod of his head and then looks up at you. There’s something quieter in his expression now, no longer sharp or teasing.
“You rigged the results.” you tease him softly and he shakes his head at you while grinning.
“I fixed it, you mean.” he counters and you laugh out once more before stepping closer to him. He easily loops his arms around your waist and drags you closer. He’s staring at you in way that feels steady and certain, like there was never a question to begin with and that makes you beam up at him.
“I love you too.” you tell him softly and his eyes soften while his whole body melts to surround you slowly. You lean up on tiptoes and he’s already there steadying you as your lips brush in a sweet chaste kiss.
When you pull away Seungmin looks pleasantly pleased with himself and you can’t help but grin at him. He turns to start heading back down the sidewalk and easily takes the drink caddy from your hands. The sidewalk stretches ahead once more, warm and golden in the fading light. The planters continue in neat little rows, full of flowers that suddenly feel very…watched. You glance at one and then dart your eyes over to Seungmin before slipping back to the flower.
“Don’t,” he warns you softly, catching your actions immediately. A grin slips onto your face and you turn to look at him with faux innocence lining your face.
“I wasn’t going to do anything.” you lie to him boldly and he scoffs softly in response.
“You were absolutely thinking about doing something.” he says knowingly.
“That’s not a crime.” you tell him and he looks at you with a deadpanned look on his face which makes your grin widen.
“It should be.” he grumbles out which makes you laugh softer this time. You both continue walking towards the apartment and as you do your hand brushes light against his. Not quite intentional but not entirely accidental either, Seungmin easily catches your hand on a swing and laces his fingers with yours and a soft smile slips onto both of your faces. And somewhere behind you, a few unlucky flowers remain unplucked, blissfully unaware that they narrowly escaped becoming judges in a case that, apparently, had already been decided.
plot: you get hired as a nanny to watch changbin's daughter and life suddenly turns around for you, but what he doesn't know is that you are actually broke and living in your car. a lifestyle you can't let him know about as you can't lose the one thing good in your life, him and his daughter.
pairing: single dad! changbin x fem! reader
genre: angst, single dad x nanny, hurt/comfort, slightly suggestive (lol what is happening to me)
word count: 5.4k
warnings: mentions of domestic violence in relationship, parents leaving, suggestive (make out),
a/n: I can't believe so many of you loved the first part and for that I'm suuuuper grateful so of course I come with a second part!
masterlist | part one
The weekend was nearing its end on Monday. You had to go back to Changbin’s and face the embarrassment again. On friday you had called in sick and before Changbin could ask any questions about you or the situation you hung up. You felt bad letting Eunyeong down by, for her, randomly not showing up. But even a kid would know that you can’t help being sick. Both you and Changbin did everything in your power to keep Eunyeong away from the negative situation, which meant you had to go back to normal. But how could you? You had stood there face to face with Changbin and told him that you love both of them, at the same time as he had found out that you were living in your car.
You had to change your parking spots as you were afraid Changbin might see you in the supermarket again. A part of you wanted to call in sick again for this upcoming work week, but it wouldn’t be worth it. You knew you weren’t coming in for the money anymore, it was about Eunyeong. If it kept on for too long she would soon understand that you weren’t coming back at all. Changbin never mentioned Eunyeong’s mother and where she was, in the house there were no pictures of her and Eunyeong never talked about her either. But what she did mention was that she wasn’t outside a lot, and if she wasn’t in school she felt really lonely. Something inside of you related to that feeling of hers, she had you and you had her.
Would it really be so bad to go back? Maybe Changbin could look past it, he had tried texting you but you still refused to read any of them. Your mind was filled with messages that didn’t exist, imaginations of what there could be in those messages. Maybe he already fired you over text? Should you really be coming back then? Or was it worth a try to go?
A part of you wanted to approach Changbin about this. Just tell him everything and explain why things had become how they were. You never doubted that he would understand, in fact, he would probably understand better than anyone else right now. But the embarrassment always took over, and with Eunyeong around you just always seemed to forget about the bad stuff for a while. And now that you had also admitted that you loved him along with Eunyeong, then what more could you do? Feeling like this for someone who also was your employer wasn’t at all right, but deep in your memories you remember what he had said as well.
“I shouldn’t be feeling like that for you as you help my daughter every day“
Did he really mean it in the way that you had too? Was all of it real? And what did he think of you now? What if running out ruined everything? There were so many questions and you could have your answers if you went back, but you couldn’t.
Back in his home Changbin felt the same. He didn’t know what to do. His feelings never changed, in fact he longed even more to bring you into his home and make you feel safe. But something right now felt impossible to him. He kept wondering what had happened to you that made you so closed in, who put you in that position?
“I can’t let someone in again, because he put me in that situation”
The sentence replayed in his head multiple times, wh was this “he” that you were talking about?
Monday came too fast, here you were once again parked in the same supermarket parking lot, not ready at all but having to drive over to Eunyeong’s school again to pick her up. If you didn’t start driving soon you would end up being late but both your breathing and shaky hands were difficult to control. It was nothing to be nervous about right now. Eunyeong knows nothing about your situation and you could easily be out before Changbin came home. Or all you would have to do was say hi and then go, as you did in the start.
Or so you thought. The drive with Eunyeong was as it always was, you discussed what she did at school, she showed you a drawing she made and of course asked why you didn’t come see her during Friday even if she knew you were sick. She was mostly curious about how sick you were, but one excuse was done and Eunyeong had already let it pass. When you drove up the familiar driveway your usual spot wasn’t there, because Changbin’s car was already here. Which made Eunyeong ecstatic to see that her dad was home already but you couldn’t move. Your body froze and your ears had closed out Eunyeong’s happy squeals and questions to why you weren’t moving or unlocking the door.
“Huh what?” you said as you snapped out. Looking to your right and seeing Eunyeong’s confused face.
“I think my dad is home! See! It’s his car!” she said while pointing to the black SUV in front of you. “Let’s go inside! He is never home now!” she continued while pulling at the car door.
“Yes… yes Eunyeong we will wait a second” you answered while unbuckling your belt and hers. She was barely out of the seat yet and her first instinct was to open the door and not unbuckle first.
You understood Eunyeong right now, and she was the most important part of this job. If she says go inside you obviously have to go inside. Even if he was in there waiting for the two of you. Because you knew that this wasn’t a coincidence that he was suddenly home from his work on the first day of this week, the first day you are back from the weekend. After not seeing each other for three days now, you knew that he had probably planned this himself. While unlocking the car door Eunyeong basically flew out the door and ran up the driveway. You followed close behind while trying to control your breathing, it would all be fine and you tried your best to convince yourself that he wouldn’t be mad about this. Even if it was difficult, go in there for Eunyeong and Eunyeong only. Yet your heart was telling you it was also for someone else.
Your shaky hands slowly went up to unlock the door and once again Eunyeong was already way past you and inside in an instant. And it was like Changbin appeared at the door as soon as it was unlocked, making your breath hitched at the sight of him again.
“Daaaad!” Eunyeong yelled as she ran inside, shoes and jacket still on, as she jumped into his arms. The sight made your nervous heart disappear, it was warming you a lot that Eunyeong got to see her dad as soon as she came home. Even if it bothered you that he was probably here to talk to you, you couldn’t let your own feelings go over her’s.
“Hi Yeongie, had a good day at school?” he answered while helping her take off her jacket and shoes, not paying any attention to you so far.
“Yes! Today I raised my hand and the answer was right! I’m so smart!” she said, having even more energy than she’s ever had before. You could tell it wasn’t often that she got to see her dad immediately after school and tell him what happened. So all you could do was admire the sight as you undressed as well.
“That you are! Why don’t you run up and wash your hands and then we have a snack in the backyard?” he asked her, making her jump up and down.
“Really?! Y/N! I get to play in the back!” she turned around and ran up to you, making you smile and giggle with her.
“I heard! Go wash up quickly then so we can play more?” she only nodded at you and immediately took off upstairs, almost like she could fly as her tiny body disappeared.
Only silence was left between you and Changbin. You didn’t know where to look as you stood in the narrow hallway with him, it was either looking at him or the roof. So you tried looking at anything but him. But it was also impossible. His eyes were actively searching for yours while yours were doing their best to avoid his. Someone had to say something, but you didn’t know what to start with. You could either address it immediately or pretend like nothing had happened the last time you were here.
Like he hadn’t seen you at your worst and broken down the last time he looked into your eyes.
“Y/N, would you please look at me?” he suddenly said, starling you while you closed your eyes out of frustration.
Your gaze fell down instead as you felt the stress making your eyes water. This was not gonna happen again, you did your best to blink the tears away but nothing could make you look up at him. So instead he had taken the step and walked closer to you. He didn’t do anything, he started by just standing close to you. Then eventually moved his hands up to your shoulders, trying to get you to look at him again.
“Y/N we don’t have to talk about it now, just please let’s get through this day. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, so let’s wait until Eunyeong is asleep and we can talk then. But right now you don’t have to think about it. Just see this as a normal work day” he said, his head close to yours but still not looking at each other. His words took you by surprise, making you slowly raise your head. Hands quickly drying the tears stained on your cheeks. “Please?” he said now that you were looking at each other. And with no words you nodded at his question, making him give you that pretty smile he has always had.
“Dad! Y/N! I’m done now, let’s eat!” Eunyeong said while running down the stairs, interrupting the two in the hallway.
Both of them took a deep breath together while moving on with the day as usual. Eunyeong got her snack which consisted of a sandwich and some fruit, yet she seemed more focused on the backyard as she grabbed the snack and immediately ran towards the glass sliding doors at the back of the living room. Nothing in the moment seemed bad between you and Changbin, probably because the moment of Eunyeong being happy took over and it was all the two of you could think about. You could see that this moment meant a lot to Eunyeong, not only because Changbin was home today but because you were here with them. You didn’t know that yourself, but both Changbin and Eunyeong knew that this was more special because you were here with them. And they didn’t wanna change anything about it.
Eunyeong had fallen asleep in your arms, all her energy was drained from playing outside and her dinner definitely played a part in this too since Changbin had made some meatballs and pasta for her, her favorite. Putting her in her pajamas you tucked her in as usual and as always took in the warm feeling of seeing her once again. Slowly closing the door, trying your best to not wake her up. Changbin was waiting downstairs and you knew this conversation would end up happening at some point now. You just wished you could run away from it.
As you reached the bottom of the stairs Changbin was already sitting on the couch with two cups of tea in front of him. You tried making yourself as ready as you could be for this conversation, letting your feet drag you into the living room and join Changbin on the couch. You sat on the one in front of him just like you did during your interview and let the heat from the cup spread between your hands. It was just as quiet as before, but now you felt like you could look at him. Now and then hiding behind the cup as you take a sip of your tea.
“Do you wanna start or should…?” you asked nervously, trying to just get this over with somehow.
“I just…” he starts, not really knowing where and how he should put it. So you just stay quiet until he knows what to say. “I wondered where I went wrong. Did I push you too far or did I make you uncomfortable?”
“No, no why would you say that-”
“Because I felt like I could’ve made you open up more, or maybe if you were more comfortable you would’ve told me…” you could see where this was going, and it wasn’t what you had intended for this to turn into. He was blaming himself. And you understood where he was coming from, because he was never supposed to find out the way that he did.
In the end you had never really planned for him to find out at all, because you never expected for yourself to feel the way you felt about him. His drive to keep you safe, letting you stay here if it was late at night, seeing you as a good nanny for Eunyeong, just seeing you and who you were as a person, everything that he did for you made your heart skip beats that you hadn’t felt before. That the void your ex left in you that led you to being homeless was being filled by someone who wanted to keep you around and never let you go, he happened to be someone who employed you. And now he was blaming himself for what someone else did to you.
“Changbin please… just listen” you said, looking at him with desperate but sad eyes. And with that he kept quiet, fiddling with his hands, now he was just as nervous as you had been before. “You don’t have to blame yourself at all. None of this is on you and I never really planned for this to even get out. I just needed a job and for you to employ me on such short notice I have never been so grateful in my entire life. But you and Eunyeong have been so lovely towards me that this didn’t feel like a job anymore. You both make me forget that I have a miserable lifestyle outside of this that it never really crossed my mind to tell you. But whenever you asked me to stay here I felt nervous because not only is this your home I’m also…” towards the end you wondered if you should bring up the end of your last conversation. But maybe it was too early… “Embarrassed” you answered instead, which wasn’t a lie either.
“You know… Eunyeong doesn’t know that much about her mother. It’s been difficult managing everything because it keeps feeling like I let my daughter down” he starts, making you nervous about what actually happened before you came here. “Eunyeong’s mother decided she couldn’t handle the responsibility so she left a little before Eunyeong had her first birthday. Since then I’ve done everything I can to make sure that she has it well and I never knew what the missing piece was… until you showed up. I never asked for you to be her mother, never would I put that on you. But you became someone who saw her and I’ve never admired someone as much as I admire you Y/N” he continued, your heart skipping a beat at how he never forgot to mention that you were special to him.
You didn’t understand how someone could just leave on them, you weren’t a mother yourself so of course everyone had their reasons. But these two were the best thing that had happened to you and if anything, you only wanted them to stay in your life forever. Yet Changbin wasn’t done, as you didn’t know what to say either, he wasn’t done making sure that you knew how he felt for you.
“Is it so difficult for you to believe that I do wanna keep you safe? Not only as Eunyeong’s nanny but also as someone I’m interested in?” he asked, making your eyes go big from his sudden confession. “Y/N I know that this is probably very unprofessional of me to say, simply because I employed you. But I also wanna be honest and say that I find you so interesting, and I really wanna get to know you more outside of this. I don’t care if you live in your car, because the only thing I see and think about is the person right in front of me now” he continued, making your eyes water a little bit from his sweet words. “You take such good care of Eunyeong and I’m so grateful that I found you. Not only because of this job, also because I see you, I really do. And I want you to know that when I ask you to stay here it’s because I care, not because I feel sorry for you or feel like you’re any less than anyone. I know that you can work hard on your own, but you work so hard that you don’t see the damage you do to yourself. If someone walks past your car they could easily smash your windows and hurt you and I…” he pauses, not wanting to finish his sentence as he thinks of something. “I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt living like that”
Right now you can't keep your emotions inside anymore. To think that someone cared for you so much that even the thought of you getting hurt was hurting him, and to think that someone just wanted you to be safe, what a feeling that was. And right now you could only express it through tears, because you didn’t know where to go at all. Changbin reacted immediately as he saw your panicked tear stained face. He was quickly by your side and taking the cup into his hands to place on the table. He placed his hands on either side of your shoulders and like a perfect puzzle piece he brought you into a much needed hug.
However long you needed he let you cry into his shoulders, tightening his hug around you as he could feel your panicked shaking body. One hand was going up and down your back and he himself wanted to cry as he couldn’t imagine what was going through your head right now. That you must be very overwhelmed and panicked from all of this and all he could do was hug you.
“Y/N you always have a home here okay? I don’t want you to doubt that, okay?” he asked, not expecting an answer. But against his shoulder he could feel a small nod as your hand gripped the side of his shirt. And that was more than enough of an answer for him.
The next day you woke up in a comfortable bed. A bed that certainly wasn’t yours, but you quickly realized that you were still at Changbin’s place. Checking the time it was in the middle of the day, which made you shoot up and fly out the bedroom door. You had to pick Eunyeong up in an hour yet you were still here and not even properly dressed. When the door opened you were immediately met with Changbin sitting on the couch, same as yesterday. Looking to the couch on the right you saw a pillow and a blanket folded, making you realize he slept out here and you had taken the bed.
He must’ve seen you puzzle everything together since he quickly walked up to you and stood in the way of you seeing the living room.
“I know what you’re thinking, and you fell asleep on the couch first. I put you on the bed, it was my decision. So please don’t feel bad about it. I didn’t wanna change your clothes since you were still sleeping but I was gonna start some lunch soon, so feel free to find something of mine to use, okay?” Just like yesterday he ended his sentence with an okay, just to see if you were both okay with the situation but also to not make you doubt his words. He was making sure that you understood that none of this was any pressure and it was all his decision, so nothing was wrong from your side.
“Okay… but what about Eunyeong? I have to pick her up”
“Oh it’s all good, I arranged for her to go home with a friend she has in the neighbourhood. Before I thought about having a nanny for her they used to go home together a lot. But I had to hire a nanny because Eunyeong didn’t really like going to their house. So for her request I changed it up, so now it should be fine since she’s coming straight home”
With everything sorted he explained that you would still be paid for this day, even if money was the least you could think about right now. But he explained that he had to go back to work later in the evening for a few hours so you needed to do your usual routine with Eunyeong.
While in Changbin’s room again you felt bad to use his clothes, but his “okay” method was working as you also would feel bad to keep using your own now. Since you had actually agreed with him. It somehow made you smile, that he had found his way to make you trust him but also be okay with everything that was happening. So you just grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and a simple black shirt. When you walked back out again the smell of food met your nose and it almost felt like a home should feel like.
As Changbin finished up cooking some lunch he looked around and suddenly saw you. And even if your eyes couldn’t read his, there were a million compliments running through his mind right now. To see you make yourself at home in his house, it made him feel a lot of different feelings and his heart was beating rapidly.
“It smells nice” you said as you leaned against the dinner table.
He answered with his usual cute smile and plated everything up. You could tell that something inside of him was so happy right now that he got you to use his clothes and let you cook for him. The lunch though had become rather quiet, maybe because you took it slow. Nothing had happened between the two of you, but some type of intimacy was growing. None of you were in denial of what you felt for each other, but it was difficult for both of you to take that next step and confess something more. Changbin had already but you didn’t know how to respond to it. You didn’t want him to feel used for his home, you still only had your car.
Then suddenly the door opened and Eunyeong was home from school, bringing you both back to the reality of employer and the employed.
Changbin had promised to be back quickly from work, he still wanted to talk about yesterday’s topics but also explore what you two had even more. Eunyeong had been ecstatic to see that you were already at their house and wanted the two of you to start playing immediately. But just like yesterday she fell asleep as all the playing and jumping was tiring her out a lot. So after a quick dinner Eunyeong was soon in bed, leaving you with a quiet home. Changbin had requested you to start using both the TV and his books more as his shelves collected a lot of dust, so today you thought the TV could be worth a try.
You tried your best to become even more comfortable in his home, but a part of you still stayed scared since you didn’t know how long this could last. You didn’t wanna use it as if you were staying permanently, you were still just working here. But at the same time Changbin seemed upset if you didn’t do that, so you tried as much as you could.
A sudden ring on the doorbell startled you. Looking at the clock, Changbin would not be home until another 10 minutes, he had sent you a previous text saying he was gonna start driving from work soon which wasn’t too far away. But he also wouldn’t ring the bell if it was his own home. So who could be showing up at this hour?
You approached the door slowly, trying to think about who it possibly could be. And when your hands unlocked the door and let it open, it definitely wasn’t who you expected it to be.
“Minsu?!” your ex boyfriend. Not only your ex boyfriend but also the guy who put you in your car from the start.
“Y/N finally, I’ve been trying to contact you” you didn’t know if he actually meant that, as he was blocked on every platform that he could be blocked on, including his phone number.
“But how… why are you here?” you asked, panic rising as Eunyeong was upstairs and this was not even your home, so how did he find you?
“Why are you here? That is my question. You don’t even live here?” and how did he even know that?
“How do you even know I was here then?”
“Oh you think just because you moved out I wouldn’t know? Your car is parked at the supermarket down the road, not difficult to figure out. Also those boxes in your car? You don’t even live here do you?”
All of this was just creeping you out, how could he think that this behaviour was normal? Without answering you closed the door in his face, even with Eunyeong upstairs you thought about how slamming it on him would wake her up. And she would have to see an unfamiliar man at her doorstep. You heard him yell from outside and you never thought this nightmare would come back to you. You didn’t know why he was here or why you would even care. All you cared about was if he left soon.
The door was locked and he kept yelling stuff through the door, you just kept his words outside of your head, hoping to fade away from this soon. And just like a knight in shining armour you heard another familiar voice outside, Changbin’s voice.
“Excuse me, who are you?” you heard Changbin ask Minsu outside the door.
“Minsu. Who are you?”
“I live here, why are you outside of here yelling and bothering my family?”
Family. What a weird word, yet it felt so comforting and nice hearing Changbin call you that. Or maybe he didn’t wanna tell Minsu you were inside even if he already knew that. But it still puts a small smile on your face to think that Changbin included you in that word.
“Family? Her?! Yeah sure that girl has never earned anything-”
“That girl has a name and if you don’t get off of my porch soon I will call the cops on you, so please leave”
And with that there was nothing more to the conversation, indicating that Minsu had left already. As the front door opened, revealing a frustrated Changbin his eyes immediately saw yours peeking out from the kitchen. Making him drop his bag and throw his shoes off to run to you immediately and bring you in for a hug.
“Hey, did he hurt you? How long has he been out there? Who was he?” all of his questions were filling your mind, but all you could do was try your best to feel safe in his arms.
Trying to let the time pass you both made sure Minsu had left before you could sit down and talk. You promised him everything was fine but you had to tell him now why things were like they were, whether it was crushing you or not. You knew that you could trust Changbin with this information. So you sat him down at the dinner table to tell him everything.
“Basically me and Minsu used to date. It was lovely and eventually he moved into my apartment with me. But the longer we lived together the more I saw his bad sides and he eventually decided to…” you started, not really wanting to say it out loud but you had to. Changbin could see it was difficult for you and took your hands into his. “He decided to put his hands on me. And with that he pulled some strings on my work, he somehow got me off my lease to the apartment and with that I had no income and nowhere to live. All because we fought a few times and he had enough, so he hit me. And I had to leave” you said, a single tear leaving your eye.
You weren’t crying because of what happened, it somehow felt good to finally tell someone what happened rather than pushing it away and try to forget about it. The tears came from the relief of finally being able to tell another person what you were going through. And he wasn’t judging you for anything. His thumb was stroking the back of your hand, trying his best to make you feel safe and comforted in his space. And you knew you were, you had not doubted anything at all.
“Y/N I can’t imagine what all of this must’ve felt like for you. But knowing that he is out there and he knows you’re here. Please… stay here. I want you here with me”
With me. Those words meant a lot to you. He wasn’t talking about Eunyeong or the work, he was only talking about the two of you. He stood up from his chair, not letting go of your hand and kneeled down in front of the chair you were sitting in. His hopeful eyes looking into your sad ones, you could see in his eyes that he meant everything he said to you, all he wanted was a yes.
A part of you couldn’t keep your feelings in place anymore, you knew that you wanted to stay here with him. And the ways he wanted you to stay here too only made you even more sure that this was the right decision. But without answering with words you decided to let your feelings guide you instead, so you leaned down and let your lips close the distance between the two of you. He responded immediately, not hesitating to kiss back. Like this was something he had been waiting for forever. Your hands travelled up to the back of his head and his hands fell onto your waist as the two of you stood up, not breaking the kiss.
It felt perfect, the two of you together just like it was meant to be. If he pulled back to catch his breath he closed the distance immediately after that. He never wanted his lips to leave yours, causing him to bring you in more and make it more heated.
When you pulled away to catch your breath again your forehead fell on his, hearing his heavier breathing only made his words sound even more desperate.
“Please Y/N, stay here. Be safe here with me” his hands were still keeping you close to him with a grip on your waist, and your hands brought him closer as they stayed on his neck.
“Okay…” you whispered against his lips.
“Okay?” he whispered back as a smile formed on his lips.
“Yeah, I wanna stay with you” you answered, making him kiss your lips again, and then your cheeks and your entire face, making you giggle.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that. You’re safe here with me” he put his head in the crook of your neck and you could still feel his big smile against your shoulder. “I love you so much”
And just like that you knew that when you went to get your car tomorrow, you didn’t have to go into the backseat to sleep anymore. But to go and pick Eunyeong up from school with Changbin as the three of you became a new family together.
taglist for part 2: @7hiyaawinx7 @pemdasislife @gabimatt @cchapssaltteok @mbioooo0000 @cardtak @minobuusumi @peachluffe @bangchans-girl @ttiraminsuu
thank you lovelies for liking this story so much! <3333
𐔌˙. y/n is known as the girl who’s always first under Ni-ki’s posts until one day, he notices her. What starts as a fan habit turns into private conversations, blurring the line between follower and something more.
pairing: student!yang jungwon x student!fem!reader
sypnosis: y/n and jungwon had the same classes but couldn’t really stand each other, for no reason at all. they both didn't know the reason as to why they despised each other, neither did their friends. maybe a group project would help them get along, or maybe something more.
warnings: a LOT of cursing, cliché enemies to lovers im srry, ignore the timestamps!! also English is not my first language😭
featuring: haechan (nct), gawon (meovv), ningning (aespa), asa (babymonster), stella (hearts2hearts), all members of enhypen
synopsis: you notice how stressed your boyfriend has been with work and decide to help him relax.
warnings: fluff, kissing, very very fluffy
wc: 967 (no pun intended)
a/n: haiii this is my first fic and im high key nervy about this butttt here you go. also i was def inspired by his pic in bubble 😛😛
Being an idol was hard, and you knew that. It was hard to have to watch your boyfriend leave so early in the morning and come back so late. He would always come home exhausted, but recently, you could tell he reached his max.
You busily moved around the kitchen, preparing food for Seungmin for when he got home. You were so distracted, you didn't hear the front door open over the sound of the music playing. You stood stirring the pot tteokbokki when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.
You jumped slightly not expecting him to be behind you. Seungmin let out a sigh as he placed a soft kiss on your exposed shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you tighter, resting his head on your shoulder.
You turned off the stove and moved the food off the burner. You turned around and pulled your boyfriend into a hug. "Long day?" you ran your fingers through his hair as you asked.
"Very." He muttered, melting into your touch. "I missed you all day." He pulled away from the hug to place a kiss on your lips.
As you pulled away to grab him and bowl and bring it to the table, he followed closely behind you. Seungmin was already clingy, but when he’s not feeling his best, he clings to you like a lost puppy.
You set down his bowl and went to grab your own. You set it down across him. As soon as you pulled out your chair, he stopped you.
“Jagi, wait no.” You tilted your head, looking at him confused. “Please sit… on me. Not in a weird way. I just really want to feel your body weight. I wanna be close to you.”
You moved your bowl next to his and walked over to him. “Of course, puppy.” You kissed the top of his head before sitting on his lap.
He pulled his bowl closer to him as he wrapped his your arm around your waist, holding you softly but firmly. He took a bit of his food and let out an overdramatic groan. “Oh my god, baby, I love your cooking.”
He placed another kiss on your shoulder as you let out a giggle, taking a bite of your own food. “Thank you, love.”
Seungmin was in the shower as you cleaned up the mess from dinner. The shower turned off as you sat down on the couch. You heard the bathroom door open, and a lightbulb went off in your head.
He walked into the living room to sit with you on the couch. You got up as soon as he sat down, resulting in a groan from him. “Wait!” You excitedly started walking towards your bedroom. “I have an idea!”
You came back out holding two face masks and a big smile on your face. Seungmin smiled simply at the sight of you being so excited over it. “Do you wanna put a face mask on me, honey?”
You nodded your head as you jumped onto the couch. When he gave his nod of approval, you swung your leg over his and straddled him. His hands naturally found your hips.
You put a pink headband with white polka dots on his head to keep his hair out of his face. You kissed him on his head, then both his cheeks, then his nose, then his lips before actually starting to out the mask on his face.
When you finished, you sat up with a smile on your face. “All done! So pretty, Minnie.”
You watched the grin spread across his face. His hands on your hips were firm as he flipped the two of you. “My turn.” He said as he sat on you.
You giggled as you wrapped your arms around him. The tip of his tongue peaked out as it normally did when he was focused on a task.
As soon as he finished putting your mask on, he climbed off you, and pulled you into him. You pulled out your phone and opened your camera before snapping a picture of the two of you doing kissy faces.
You giggled as you sent it to the Stray Kids group chat. There was no real reason for you to be in it, but Seungmin insisted so that you could stay informed on what was going on with the group.
Felix came out from his bedroom a short moment later. “Oh my goodness, face masks? Without me?” He clutched his chest in fake betrayal.
“There’s another one just for you, Lixie!” You tossed him the other face mask that was on the table.
He happily jumped onto the couch with the two of you. You helped Felix put his mask on and fell back into your boyfriend’s arms.
The three of you hung out in the living room for about an hour before Felix headed off to bed. You and Seungmin slowly made your way to his bedroom. You slipped your shirt off, and threw one of his on before climbing into bed with him.
He held out his arms to you and you laid down on his chest. You looked up at him to kiss his cheek and you giggled. “Your face smells good.”
Seungmin flipped so he was on top of you as he peppered kisses across your face. He placed a kiss on your lips before going back to kissing your face. “And you taste good.”
He kissed you for a few more minutes before you two actually settled to go to bed. “How do you feel, my love?”
He kissed the top of your head as she shut his eyes. “I feel very relaxed and way less stressed. Thank you baby. Goodnight, I love you.”
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ about: SEUNGMIN being your first boyfriend turns into something deeper — even if the boys tease him for dating a ‘baby.’ But with you, he’s softer, more mature, and completely in love.
YOUNGER GIRLFRIEND SERIES MASTERLIST
❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🐶 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
“You’re sure this isn’t your younger sister or something?”
Chan’s voice was playful, eyebrows raised as he watched Seungmin zip up your hoodie before handing a scarf to you like it was second nature. “Because I swear I’ve never seen you like this before.”
The room chuckled — not mean, not mocking, just... surprised.
“Look at him,” Jisung added, nudging Hyunjin. “All careful and soft. Like he’s in a drama. Who is this guy?”
Seungmin didn’t look up. He just gave you the scarf, his fingers brushing yours in a moment so quick, you almost missed it.
“You’re cold,” he said, low and casual, like it explained everything.
It kind of did.
It wasn’t that they didn’t like you. They did — almost immediately, actually. You were sweet, easy to talk to, and you didn’t treat them like celebrities, which was refreshing.
And yeah, you were technically the youngest in the room whenever you came by — but only by a year. Still, the guys couldn’t help themselves.
The teasing stuck, but it never got mean. It wasn’t really about your age — it was about him.
Because Kim Seungmin — dry, sarcastic, endlessly composed — had turned into someone else entirely.
He smiled more. Real smiles, not the smug little half-grins he usually gave when roasting Jisung.
He texted first. Showed up early. Offered to carry your bag, open your water bottle, or tie the knot on your to-go bag when it got tangled.
“Dude,” Changbin said once, eyes wide as Seungmin carefully unwrapped a rice ball you brought him and put the wrapper in his own pocket so you wouldn’t have to carry trash, “who are you right now?”
“Do you hear yourself?” Hyunjin laughed. “That’s, like, soft boyfriend behavior. Actual tenderness.”
“It’s almost romantic,” Felix whispered dramatically. “I’m tearing up.”
Seungmin didn’t deny it. He just shrugged and kept eating.
They had always called it “puppy love.”
A joke, at first. Something about Seungmin — dependable, steady, but emotionally allergic — catching feelings for someone as bright and sweet as you.
“Bet it’s just a phase,” Chan had said once, joking. “First relationship, first crush… it happens.”
But it didn’t pass. If anything, it deepened.
They started catching moments. Little ones.
Seungmin absentmindedly brushing your hair behind your ear while talking to the others.
Holding your pinky under the table during dinner like it was a secret only you two knew.
Picking the mushrooms out of your food without a word.
Sending you home in his hoodie every single time.
He didn’t perform the way some people do when they’re trying to prove they’re in love.
He just… was.
One night, after you’d left the dorm with a shy wave and a promise to text when you got home safe, Seungmin stood by the door for a second longer than usual.
Not saying anything. Just watching the hallway.
“You’re different with her,” Chan said, arms crossed, tone gentle. “Not in a bad way. Just… softer.”
Seungmin looked over, unsurprised. “Maybe I just needed the right person to bring it out.”
“Yeah, but you’re like, boyfriend-of-the-year material,” Jisung added from the kitchen. “Who knew?”
“Don’t act shocked,” Seungmin replied, walking past them to grab a drink. “I’ve always been like this.”
“No, no,” Jeongin laughed, following him, “you’ve always been mean. This is new.”
But it wasn’t mean-spirited. None of it was.
If anything, the boys were starting to look at him with something like admiration.
Because somewhere between the teasing and the jokes, they’d realized something:
This wasn’t just a crush. This wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t puppy love.
This was real.
And Seungmin — sarcastic, steady, endlessly loyal Seungmin — had fallen hard.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
You're curled up next to Seungmin on the couch in the corner of the living room, your legs tucked under a shared blanket, a movie long forgotten on the TV. The rest of the boys are scattered around the room — some asleep, some still whispering and laughing about who snores the loudest — but in this little corner, it’s just you and him.
Seungmin has one arm around your shoulders, his thumb tracing slow circles on your arm. It’s subtle. Unthinking. Like touching you has already become habit.
You peek up at him.
He’s watching the ceiling now — not the movie, not the guys — just… thinking.
“What’s going on in that head?” you whisper.
He blinks, then looks down at you, a little surprised. He hadn’t realized you were still awake.
His expression softens. “Nothing. Just… this.”
“This?”
“This,” he repeats, quieter now. “You. Being here. I don’t know… I didn’t expect it to feel this easy.”
Your brows knit slightly, not because you’re hurt, but because you’re trying to understand him.
“You thought it’d be hard?”
“Not hard,” he says quickly. “Just… I’m not always good at this stuff. Feelings. I joke a lot. I hold back. I didn’t think I could be the guy who — you know — does the soft things.” He pauses. “But with you, I don’t have to try.”
You smile so softly it almost breaks him.
“Seungmin…”
He clears his throat, eyes flicking away like he’s just now realizing how open he’s being. “Anyway. Don’t get used to me being all sentimental.”
You nudge his side. “Too late.”
He laughs under his breath, then leans in, resting his forehead against yours.
“Don’t tell the guys,” he whispers. “I’ve got a whole sarcastic image to protect.”
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Later that night — technically well into morning — the movie ends, and slowly the others drift off. Someone throws a blanket over Jisung, who’s half-asleep on the floor. Chan disappears into his room. The lights dim, the volume drops, and everything settles.
You and Seungmin are still on the couch, tucked together, your head on his shoulder, his hoodie drowning your frame.
“I’m staying out here,” you whisper. “I don’t want to wake anyone.”
He nods. “I’ll get you some water before you sleep.”
He slips away from the couch with careful steps, disappearing into the kitchen.
And that’s when it happens.
You hear a soft rustle and turn slightly — only to find Chan, Hyunjin, and Jeongin still awake, looking at you like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.
You blink. “…What?”
Jeongin grins. “So.”
“So?”
Hyunjin leans forward, resting his chin on his arms. “You know he really loves you, right?”
Your breath catches — not because it’s surprising, exactly, but because of how simply it’s said. No teasing. No drama. Just truth.
Chan nods slowly. “We’ve known Seungmin a long time. He’s always been… kind of closed off. Not in a bad way, just careful.”
“But with you?” Jeongin continues, softer now. “It’s different. He’s different. Softer. More open. Like he doesn’t have to keep walls up.”
You glance toward the kitchen — he’s still not back — then look down at your hands in your lap.
“I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
“Oh, it is,” Hyunjin says with a small smile. “But not in a clingy way. Just… real.”
You take a breath, heart thudding a little heavier than before.
“I love him too,” you say quietly.
And that makes all three of them smile.
When Seungmin finally walks back into the room, holding two glasses of water, he pauses just inside the doorway and blinks softly at the scene — you sitting quietly with the guys, all of them smiling gently at you.
He gives a small, tired smile, clearly sensing something unspoken but not pushing. Without a word, he sets the glasses down on the low table and settles back beside you on the couch.
Chan grins quietly. “See? Told you he’s a softie.”
Jeongin chuckles, nudging Hyunjin. “We don’t get to see this side of him much.”
Seungmin looks down at you, his fingers finding yours in the dim light. His voice is low, almost shy. “You okay?”
You nod, heart full. “Yeah. I’m really okay.”
He squeezes your hand once, then leans in, resting his forehead gently against yours.
The boys quietly excuse themselves soon after, leaving the two of you wrapped up in your own little world.
In the silence, Seungmin whispers, “Thank you for making it easy to be this guy.”
You smile against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And right there, with the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the window, the teasing and the jokes don’t matter anymore.
It’s just you. Him. And a love that’s quietly, beautifully real.
ɞ . abstract. for three years, your relationship with han jisung was defined by thirty-six inches of distance, sharp-edged insults, and a mutual vow to never stand each other.
but when a broken-down truck and a coastal road trip strip away the noise of the city, the silence between you starts to feel less like a battlefield and more like home. it turns out, hating him was easy—it was the falling in love that was inevitable.
ɞ . warnings / tags. enemies to lovers. forced proximity. past emotional conflict. claustrophobia/tight spaces. constant bickering. consumption of alcohol. mild peril. implied academic stress. pining. slow burn (kind of). two idiots in love. 19k+ words. (listen while reading!) (my masterlist!)
CHAN'S LIVING ROOM SMELLED LIKE overpriced coffee and the faint, underlying scent of lemon floor cleaner that definitely wasn’t doing enough to mask the chaos currently unfolding.
maps were sprawled across the coffee table, chargers were tangled in every corner, and the air was thick with the kind of frantic energy that only exists forty-eight hours before a massive road trip.
"okay, everyone shut up for a second," chan said, his voice straining to keep that responsible dad tone he always defaulted to when the group got too loud. he was squinting at his laptop, the blue light reflecting off his glasses. "i’m looking at the final confirmation for the rental. we’re picking it up friday morning, right?"
"yeah, the big silver one," felix chimed in, leaning over chan’s shoulder with a bag of chips in hand. "the one with the swivel seats so we can actually look at each other while we play mario kart."
seungmin, who was currently using your shoulder as a head rest while he scrolled through his phone, let out a hum of approval. "as long as i’m not sitting next to minho. he pinches."
"i pinch because you breathe too loud," minho countered from the armchair, not even looking up from his book.
chan’s face went pale. it wasn’t a slow drain of color; it was an immediate, ghostly white. he started clicking his mouse aggressively, his brow furrowing. "uh. guys?"
"what?" you asked, feeling a tiny prickle of dread in your chest. "chan, what’s that face for?"
"the reservation..." chan trailed off, turning the laptop around so the screen faced the group. "it’s for a four-seater transit van. not a six-seater."
the silence that followed was heavy. you stared at the screen, blinking at the bold text that clearly stated capacity: 4 adults.
"you're joking," you said, your voice flat. "chan, we've been planning this for two months. there are six of us. we can't fit six people and all our luggage into a car meant for four. we'd have to stack felix and han on top of each other like legos."
"i didn't book it!" chan defended, putting his hands up. "i swear! i was the one who found the hotel and handled the deposit for the airbnb near the beach. i told you guys weeks ago, i passed the rental booking down to minho because i was drowning in exams."
everyone’s eyes pivoted to minho. he didn't even flinch, just slowly closed his book and leaned back. "don't look at me. i was busy mapping out the itinerary and finding those hidden hiking spots you all insisted on. i gave the link and the credit card info to seungmin."
seungmin straightened up, looking offended. "and i was handling the grocery list and the communal budget! i gave it to felix during our study session last tuesday."
felix stopped mid-crunch, a piece of potato chip hovering near his mouth. his eyes went wide. "oh. right. but... i was in the middle of that bake sale prep? i remember now. i was covered in flour and i asked han to finish the checkout process."
the room went dead silent. five pairs of eyes slowly slid toward the corner of the couch where han jisung was currently trying to disappear into the upholstery. he was holding a controller, his character on the screen currently walking into a wall repeatedly because he’d stopped playing.
"han," you said, your voice dangerously low. "tell me you finished the booking."
han let out a nervous, high-pitched laugh that sounded like a tea kettle whistling. "so... funny story..."
"jisung," chan groaned, rubbing his temples.
"i was going to!" han squeaked, dropping the controller. "i swear! but then i got a notification for a new drop on that one site, and then i got a call from my mom, and then i think i... i might have just clicked 'confirm' on whatever was already in the cart without checking the size? i thought ‘van’ just meant ‘big car’!"
a collective groan erupted. seungmin threw a pillow at him. felix just looked disappointed, which was somehow worse.
"you are actually unbelievable," you said, throwing your hands up. "you had one job, han. one. we talked about the big van for three weeks straight. how do you even manage to be this airheaded?"
han scoffs, his guilt quickly turning into defensiveness. he crossed his arms, leaning back. "oh, please. like you’ve contributed anything to this trip besides your stupid curated playlist that’s just eighty percent indie songs no one has ever heard of."
"i organized the packing list so we didn't end up with six bottles of shampoo and no toothpaste!" you snapped. "at least i can read a confirmation page!"
"it was a mistake!" he yelled back, his face flushing. "everyone else forgave me! why are you always such a buzzkill?"
"maybe because i don't want to spend my spring break sitting on a suitcase in the trunk of a cramped suv!"
"alright, alright! break it up," chan shouted, standing between you two. "arguing isn't going to conjure a bigger van. let me call the rental place. maybe they have an opening or a cancellation."
chan stepped into the hallway, his voice dropping into his 'customer service' tone. for ten minutes, the living room was a battlefield of tense silence. han kept shooting you glares, and you spent the time aggressively refreshing your phone, pretending he didn't exist. minho and seungmin, meanwhile, looked way too entertained by the friction.
chan walked back in, looking even more stressed than before. "bad news. it’s spring break for every college in a five-state radius. they’re completely sold out of vans and suvs. they have our four-seater, and because they feel bad about the 'glitch'—which was definitely just han—they can give us one other vehicle they have on the lot for a discount."
"what is it?" felix asked hopefully.
"it’s a... well, it’s a beat-up, two-person pickup truck," chan said, wincing. "it’s old. the radio barely works, and the heater is finicky. but it’s the only way we all get to the destination at the same time."
you felt a cold shiver of premonition. "so... four in the van, two in the truck."
"exactly," chan said. "and we need to decide who’s taking the hit."
the arguing started immediately. nobody wanted the truck. the van had air conditioning, more legroom, and, most importantly, the rest of the group. the truck sounded like a recipe for a very long, very lonely eight-hour drive.
"i’m driving the van," chan said firmly. "i’m the only one authorized on the primary insurance."
"i'm sitting with chan because i'm the navigator," minho added quickly, claiming the front seat before anyone could blink.
"i get carsick if i'm not in the middle," felix lied poorly, eyes wide and innocent.
"well, i’m not riding in a rust bucket," you said, looking at seungmin. "tell them, seungmin. tell them your sister deserves a comfortable seat."
seungmin looked at you, then at the group, and then at a bowl of coins on the side table. "let's just draw for it. it's the only fair way."
he grabbed six pieces of paper, marking two with an 'X'. he crumpled them up, shook them in his hands, and tossed them onto the coffee table. "everyone grab one. no peeking until everyone has one."
you reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and snatched a small ball of paper. you offered a silent prayer to every deity you knew. please, please, please let me be in the van.
"on three," chan said. "one, two, three."
you smoothed out the paper. a big, black, aggressive 'X' stared back at you.
"no," you whispered. "no way."
"oh, you've got to be kidding me!" han shouted. he was holding his paper up, his face a mask of horror. he had the other 'X'.
the room was silent for a beat before minho burst out laughing, a sharp, loud cackle that echoed off the walls. "no way. fate has a sick sense of humor."
"this is a mistake," you said, standing up. "draw again. seungmin, you did it wrong. do it again."
"i didn't do it wrong!" seungmin said, though he was clearly fighting back a grin. "it's random chance!"
"i am not spending eight hours in a truck with him," you said, pointing at han. "he’ll talk the entire time. or he’ll forget which way is north and we’ll end up in canada. i’ll die. i will actually perish."
"you think i want to be stuck with you?" han retorted, standing up to meet your energy. "it'll be eight hours of you judging my driving and sighing every time i breathe. i'd rather walk!"
"then walk!"
"guys, come on," chan said, though he was starting to smile too. "it’s just a drive. it’ll be a bonding experience."
"not you too, chan!" you cried, feeling betrayed. "don't 'bonding experience' me. this is a hostage situation."
"let's just draw one more time," han pleaded, looking at chan with puppy-dog eyes. "please. best out of three? for my mental health?"
chan looked at the group. everyone else seemed perfectly happy with their van spots. "fine. one more time. but this is the last one. if it’s the same, it’s sealed."
seungmin gathered the papers, shuffled them even more thoroughly this time, and dropped them back down. you took a different one this time. you held it against your chest, closing your eyes.
"open them," minho urged, leaning forward with a smirk.
you looked down. an 'X'.
you looked at han. he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. he slowly turned his paper around. another 'X'.
"it's fate," chan said, laughing now. "the universe has spoken. you two are the truck crew."
"this is rigged!" you shouted. "seungmin, you’re my brother! help me out here. pull the brother card! you really want your baby sister in a car for eight hours with some guy? what if he tries to pull something? what if he’s a creep, huh?"
han scoffed so hard he nearly choked, his face turning a brilliant shade of pink. "oh, please! like anyone would ever want anything to do with you? i'd have to be paid in gold bars to even consider 'pulling something.' you’re lucky if i even look in your direction for the next twelve hours." he even made a dramatic, fake gagging sound, clutching his throat.
seungmin just laughed, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms out. he looked at you with that typical annoying, older-brother nonchalance.
"honestly? i trust han more than i trust you not to kick him out of a moving vehicle," seungmin said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "besides, you guys need to work out whatever this weird tension is. it’ll be fine. just try not to kill each other before we hit the state line."
"seungmin! his driving is shit—that’s what’s gonna get us killed!"
han looked genuinely offended. “please, like you’re any better than i am.”
you glared at him, arms crossed. “i definitely am.”
“it’s not like you can drive, anyways,” seungmin interrupted. “it’s manual transmission.” you give your brother a look and he rolls his eyes. “shift. it’s stick shift. you can't drive that.”
“oh,” you frowned. so, not only were you stuck in a car with your worst enemy, but you also couldn’t even do anything about his driving inevitably being the thing that ended your life.
“hah,” han grinned, too smug for your liking. you consider murdering him in your sleep. “imagine not being able to drive stick.”
“you’re so fucking ann—”
"it's settled," chan said, clapping his hands together. "we leave at six a.m. sharp. chan, minho, felix, and seungmin in the van. han and her in the truck. the nice luggage goes in the van since it's more weather-proof, and the rest goes in the truck bed. let's get some sleep."
you looked at han. he was staring at you, looking absolutely miserable.
"i'm picking the music," you snapped.
"in your dreams," he muttered, turning on his heel to stomp toward the door. "get ready for eight hours of heavy metal, princess."
as you watched him leave, the reality of the situation settled in. you, han jisung, and a beat-up truck. it was going to be the longest eight hours of your life.
you just might've been the unluckiest girl in the world.
the morning of the departure was less of a "bright and early" start and more of a "dark and miserable" descent into madness. at 5:45 a.m., the driveway was a hazy stage of flickering headlights and freezing breath.
the contrast between the two vehicles was almost comical. parked on the left was the silver transit van—sleek, modern, and currently being loaded with organized precision by chan and minho. inside, you could see the plush headrests and the glow of built-in charging ports.
felix was already vibrating with caffeine, tossing bags of premium salt-and-vinegar chips and gourmet jerky into the backseat like he was prepping for a royal banquet.
then there was the truck.
it was a boxy, matte-black relic that looked like it had spent the last decade hauling gravel through a swamp. the tailgate groaned like a dying animal when han tried to kick it shut, and the interior light flickered with a rhythmic, ghostly pulse.
"you're seriously putting my designer duffel in the back of that?" you asked, clutching your coffee cup like a holy relic as you watched han struggle with the luggage.
han didn't look back at you. he was wearing an oversized hoodie and a beanie pulled low over his messy hair, trying his absolute hardest to look like he knew what he was doing. he hoisted seungmin's heavy suitcase with a grunt, his muscles tensing beneath his sleeves—a sight you pointedly ignored by focusing on a very interesting crack in the driveway.
"it’s got a tarp, doesn't it?" han snapped, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead despite the cold. he leaned against the side of the truck bed, trying to strike a cool pose, but he tripped slightly on a loose pebble, ruining the effect immediately. "it’s fine. your precious bag won’t get a speck of dust on it."
"if it comes back smelling like wet dog and rust, i’m charging you for a replacement," you muttered.
seungmin walked past you, looking far too refreshed for six in the morning. he tossed a bag of pillows into the van and gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "good luck, sis. if he starts falling asleep at the wheel, just scream. he hates loud noises."
"very helpful, seungmin. thanks," you deadpanned.
"alright, team!" chan shouted, clapping his hands. his enthusiasm was borderline offensive. "van is loaded. truck is loaded. we’ll keep the walkie-talkie on channel four. if you guys get lost or the truck explodes, let us know."
"explodes?" your voice climbed an octave.
"he's joking," han said, though he didn't sound entirely sure. he opened the passenger door for you with a mock bow that was more mocking than polite. "hop in, princess. your carriage awaits."
the moment you climbed into the cab, the smell hit you. it wasn't bad, exactly, but it was intense. it smelled like twenty-year-old upholstery, stale coffee, and a cloud of han’s cologne—something woody and expensive that didn't match the dirt under his fingernails.
the seats were a cracked, tan vinyl that creaked every time you shifted, and the floorboards felt thin enough that you half-expected to see the pavement rushing by beneath your feet.
han climbed into the driver’s side, the truck rocking under his weight. he jammed the key into the ignition and gave it a turn. the engine sputtered, coughed, and finally roared into a shaky, vibrating life.
"see?" he grinned, slapping the dashboard. "she’s got character."
"she’s got a respiratory infection," you corrected, buckling your seatbelt and leaning your head against the window.
the first thirty minutes were excruciating. the van had peeled out of the driveway with a smooth hum, leaving you and han in a cloud of exhaust. for a while, the only sound was the rattling of the glove box and the heavy thrum of the tires on the asphalt.
it was that awkward, thick silence where every movement felt magnified. you fixed your hair; han cleared his throat. you shifted your legs; han adjusted the rearview mirror.
finally, the silence became too much. your hand reached for the radio dial.
"don't touch that," han said, his hand darting out to block yours.
"i'm bored, jisung. and if i have to listen to the sound of this transmission grinding for one more minute, i’m going to jump out into the ditch."
"not happening," han said, his jaw setting. "we are in a truck. a truck requires a specific vibe. and your 'indie-girl-crying-in-a-coffee-shop' music is not it."
"it is not crying music! it’s atmospheric!"
"it’s boring," he countered. he fumbled with his phone, plugging it into a dusty auxiliary cord he’d pulled from the glove box. "get ready for the real deal."
suddenly, the cabin was flooded with a wall of sound so aggressive you felt it in your teeth. it was heavy, distorted guitar riffs and a drummer who sounded like he was trying to break his kit. the speakers, which were clearly blown, crackled and hissed with every bass hit.
"are you serious?" you shouted over the noise. "it's six-thirty in the morning! i haven't even had coffee!"
"it wakes you up!" han yelled back, nodding his head to the beat, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "it’s classic! it’s high energy!"
"it’s a headache in audio form!"
you reached for the volume knob, but he swatted your hand away. "driver picks the music, passenger shuts their mouth. those are the rules of the road."
you didn't argue. you knew him well enough to know that arguing gave him the attention he craved. instead, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out a thick, weathered paperback book. you opened it to your page and leaned your head against the vibrating window, trying to tune out the screaming vocals and han’s occasional humming.
out of the corner of your eye, you saw han's grin falter. he glanced at you, then back at the road, then back at you. "you're really gonna read? right now?"
you ignored him, turning a page with a sharp snap.
"it's dark out," he pointed out, sounding annoyed. "the interior light is flickery. you're gonna ruin your eyes."
silence from your side.
"and i’m telling you now, this road gets real curvy once we hit the mountain pass," he continued, his voice rising as he tried to compete with the thrash metal. "reading in a car like this is a one-way ticket to barf-town. you get carsick, i’m not stopping."
you finally looked up, your expression as flat as a pancake. "i don't get carsick, jisung. and even if i did, i'd rather throw up than talk to you."
"suit yourself," he huffed, turning the music up one more notch.
for the next hour, it was a battle of wills. han played the most abrasive, chaotic tracks he could find, singing along in a dramatic, off-key growl just to break your concentration. you, in turn, clutched your book with white-knuckled intensity, moving your eyes across the lines even as the world began to tilt.
the truck began to climb. the straight highway gave way to winding, narrow roads that hugged the side of the hills. the constant swish-swish of the turns, combined with the vibrating floorboards and the smell of the old heater, started to do exactly what han had predicted.
a dull ache started behind your eyes. then, a slow, cold swirl in the pit of your stomach. you swallowed hard, trying to focus on the print, but the words were starting to swim.
i am fine, you told yourself. i am not giving him the satisfaction.
you turned another page, but your hand was slightly clammy. the truck took a particularly sharp left turn, the tires screeching slightly, and your stomach took a violent leap toward your throat. your face went a sickly shade of pale, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead.
you felt han’s eyes on you. the music suddenly dipped in volume, the screaming replaced by a low, rhythmic thumping.
"you look like you're about to die," he said, his voice surprisingly devoid of its earlier snark.
"i'm... fine," you managed, though your voice was a weak thread. you stared intensely at the paragraph about a 19th-century ballroom, but the floor of the ballroom was currently spinning.
"put the book down."
"no."
suddenly, a hand reached across the center console. you expected him to just yank it away, but instead, he reached out and snatched a stray receipt from the dashboard, tucked it neatly into the page you were on to mark your spot, and then pulled the book out of your hands.
"hey!" you gasped, though even the effort of speaking made your head throb.
"shut up," he said, tossing the book onto the dashboard. "you're stubborn as hell, you know that? i told you this would happen."
"i'm not—"
"look out the window," he commanded, his eyes fixed on the road. his hands were steady on the wheel, navigating the curves with a lot more skill than you had given him credit for. "pick a point on the horizon. look at the trees. don't look at anything inside the cab."
"i'm fine," you whispered, leaning back and closing your eyes tightly.
"no, don't close your eyes!" han scoffed, making you flinch. he wasn’t being particularly loud, but with your headache, it felt draining. "that makes it worse! your brain thinks you're moving but your eyes say you're still. look at the road, princess. that's an order."
"i hate you so much," you groaned, but you finally relented, opening your eyes and staring out the side window.
the grey, misty morning was rushing past. the skeletons of winter trees blurred into a messy smudge of brown and charcoal. you focused on a distant mountain peak, taking slow, deep breaths of the cool air leaking in through the faulty window seal.
after a few minutes, the world stopped spinning quite so fast. the nausea didn't vanish, but it settled into a manageable simmer.
han let out a huff of laughter, his tension easing. "see? i'm a genius. you should really listen to me more often."
"you're a parasite," you muttered, though you didn't have the energy to put any real bite into it. "you and your stupid metal music and this stupid truck that smells like a basement."
"it doesn't smell like a basement," he defended, sounding genuinely hurt. "it smells like adventure. and my cologne is top-tier, don't even lie."
"it smells like you're trying too hard to hide the fact that this seat hasn’t been washed in a decade."
"wow," he said, shaking his head. "i save you from a car-puke incident and this is the thanks i get? seungmin was right, you really are a terror."
"seungmin is a traitor," you said, resting your head against the cool glass of the window. "and you’re a menace to society. we’ve been on the road for two hours and i already want to pay a stranger to drive me the rest of the way in their trunk."
"well, too bad," han said, clicking the turn signal as the truck drifted toward a small, lonely-looking gas station at the edge of the mountains. "we're stuck together for six more. and i'm out of caffeine, so you better buckle up. the next playlist is nothing but k-pop b-sides from 2012."
you let out a long, theatrical groan, closing your eyes despite his earlier warning. "just kill me now, jisung. just drive us off a cliff and end the misery."
"not yet," he grinned, pulling the truck into a parking spot. "i haven't even started on the road-trip snacks yet."
as he hopped out of the truck, the cold air rushed in, momentarily clearing your head. you watched him through the window as he jogged toward the store, his oversized hoodie billowing in the wind.
he looked ridiculous, arrogant, and entirely too energetic—and for the first time since the "van incident," you realized that the silence in the truck was actually worse than the bickering.
you leaned forward, grabbed your book from the dashboard, and tucked it safely back into your bag.
"six more hours," you whispered to the empty cab. "i can do six more hours."
but as you looked at the dark clouds gathering over the mountain peaks ahead, a small, nagging feeling in your gut told you that this was only just beginning. and that it could, and likely would, get much worse.
the truck felt like it was slowly turning into a microwave, but without any of the efficiency. after the gas station incident, the sun had stayed out just long enough to bake the vinyl seats into something that felt like molten plastic against the backs of your thighs.
"can you at least crack a window?" you asked, fanning yourself with a stray map you’d found in the side pocket.
"and ruin the aerodynamics? absolutely not," han replied. he was back to being a menace, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm that didn't match the music at all.
you rolled your eyes so hard it actually hurt. "aerodynamics. jisung, we are going forty-five miles per hour in a vehicle that has the wind resistance of a brick wall. crack the window."
he grumbled something under his breath—likely an insult to your lineage—but he reached over and cranked the handle. a blast of mountain air hit you, and for a second, it was heaven. but then the noise started. a high-pitched, whistling scream that sounded like a tea kettle was strapped to the roof.
"see?" han shouted over the whistle. "now we’re haunted. happy?"
"thrilled," you deadpanned.
you leaned your head back and watched the scenery change. the lush green of the valley was giving way to jagged rocks and pines that looked like they’d seen better centuries.
it was beautiful, in a rugged, lonely sort of way, but you were too busy trying to ignore the way han’s shoulder kept brushing against yours every time the truck hit a pothole.
the cabin was just too small. it was designed for people who actually liked each other, or perhaps for people who didn't mind the intimate scent of unwashed upholstery and expensive cologne.
every time he shifted gears, his knuckles grazed your knee. the first few times, you’d jerked away like you’d been burned. by the tenth time, you just sat there, stiff and annoyed, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the faulty heater.
"you’re thinking too loud," han said suddenly.
"i’m not thinking anything."
"you are. you have that 'i'm-plotting-a-murder' look. it’s very distinct on you. the eyebrows do this little twitchy thing." he mimicked a twitch with his own brow, looking ridiculous.
"it's not a murder plot. it's a 'how-do-i-teleport-to-the-van' plot. there’s a difference."
"the van is boring," he said, and for once, he sounded almost serious. "it’s too quiet. minho is probably staring at a wall, seungmin is judging someone in his head, and chan is being... well, chan. in here? we have drama. we have character. we have the possibility of the floor falling out at any second."
"you say that like it's a perk."
"it's an experience!" he chirped. he reached into the center console and pulled out a bag of those salt-and-vinegar chips felix had tossed in earlier. he popped it open with a loud crack and held it out toward you. "truce?"
you looked at the bag, then at him. his hair was a mess, falling into his eyes in a way that made him look less like an annoying rival and more like a tired college student. he looked... human. it was a frustrating realization.
"one chip," you said, reaching in.
"take two. be a rebel."
you took a handful and crunched into them, the vinegar stinging your tongue in the best way. for a few minutes, the only sound was the whistling window and the crunch of chips. it was the most peaceful you’d been since the trip started.
"hey," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "i know i'm a lot."
you paused mid-chew. "a lot is an understatement."
"fair. but i didn't actually mean to get the shitty truck. i just... i got distracted. i've been meaning to get better about that," he admits. "granted, i guess i'm not doing such a great job. you're genuinely one of the most annoying people i've ever met, but that doesn't mean i wanted to ruin your trip."
you’re quiet for a moment. everything about this is so unnatural. natural is hating him. natural is him hating you, too. natural doesn’t include genuine-sounding apologies and bashful smiles. it doesn't include talking to him without expletives aimed directly at each other.
and a couple hours in this shitty truck shouldn’t change that dynamic. there’s no reason for it to. it’s not like this is some cute rom-com; you’re not going to magically stop hating him just because the heater is blowing too warm and the radio is low. because you do hate him.
you hate the boy that made up nasty things about you so the guy you were talking to freshman year would drop you.
you hate the boy who purposely sat behind you in every psych lecture just to kick your chair and whisper corrections while you were trying to take notes.
you hate how he always seemed to find the one empty table you were at in the library just to make it loud and unbearable.
you hate the boy that "accidentally" spilt coffee all over your project and didn't blink twice.
but sitting here, watching his hands on the wheel—steady, veins prominent against his skin—the anger feels… heavy. it’s tiring.
for years, your relationship was built on sharp edges and biting remarks. he was the person you looked for in a crowd just so you could roll your eyes.
but now, the way he keeps glancing over to make sure you aren't shivering, or the way he actually waited for you to finish your sentence instead of cutting you off with a smirk, feels like a glitch.
"you okay?" he asks, his voice hitting a lower register that vibrates in the small space. he doesn't look at you, but he reaches over to nudge the air vent away from your face, and you don't think too hard about why. it'll just mess you up more.
it’s a small, stupidly thoughtful gesture. and it makes you want to scream, because if he stops being the the boy you hate, you have no idea who he's supposed to be to you. or worse, you have no idea who you're supposed to be to him.
"huh? oh, uh, it's fine. i know you didn't mean it... or, whatever. i'll get over it," you shrug, shifting further away from him. though, there's not much room anyways.
"i know, i know," he sighed, and for a second, he actually looked sheepish. he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the road. "i just wanted this to be cool. like, the kind of trip people talk about for years. 'remember that time we drove through the mountains in that insane black truck?'"
"we’re definitely going to talk about it," you muttered. "mostly in therapy."
he let out a short, surprised laugh. it wasn't his usual loud, performative cackle. it was small and genuine, and it sent a weird little spark through your chest that you immediately tried to extinguish.
"you're funny when you're not being a total princess," he said.
"and you're almost tolerable when you're not being a total idiot."
he grinned, and this time it didn't feel like a challenge. it felt like... something else. he reached over and turned the radio down, the aggressive metal fading into a low hum.
"so," he said, "tell me about that book. the one that almost made you puke."
"why do you care? you said it was 'crying girl' music in paper form."
"i'm bored, okay? humor me. what's so great about nineteenth-century ballrooms?"
you hesitated, expecting him to make a joke the second you started talking. but he just kept driving, his expression neutral, waiting. so, you started. you told him about the plot, the pining, the ridiculous social rules, and the way the lead character was a girl who felt like she was constantly failing to be what everyone wanted her to be.
you expected him to mock the romance or the drama. instead, he listened. he actually asked questions—mostly about why the guy didn't just tell her he liked her—and for about twenty minutes, the bickering stopped.
you found yourself gesturing with your hands, getting into the details, and when you looked over at him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn't quite read. it wasn't annoyance. it wasn't mockery. it was almost... soft.
"what?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"nothing," he said, quickly looking back to the road. "just didn't realize you were such a nerd."
"oh, shut up."
"no, it’s fine. i like nerds. they’re easier to annoy."
the moment was gone, replaced by his usual brand of arrogance, but the air in the truck felt different now. it was less like a war zone and more like... a truce. a fragile one, held together by salt-and-vinegar chips and the smell of old vinyl.
you leaned your head back against the window, the cool breeze finally winning the battle against the heater. for the first time, you didn't feel the immediate urge to jump out of the moving vehicle.
he wasn't that bad. he was still a menace, and he was still driving a death trap, and he was definitely still a prick—but he was a prick who listened.
you watched his hands on the wheel, the way his veins stood out slightly, and the way he hummed a quiet, unrecognizable tune under his breath. you told yourself the little flip in your stomach was just the remaining carsickness.
it had to be.
because if it wasn't, you were in a lot more trouble than a broken engine could ever cause.
"we're almost at the pass," he said, breaking your train of thought. he pointed to a sign that was rusted nearly to the point of being unreadable. "get ready. this is where the scenery gets 'instagrammable'."
"just focus on the road, jisung. i’d rather get to the airbnb than get a good photo."
"trust me," he said, flashing that lopsided grin. "i've got everything under control."
he didn't. not even close. but for a few more miles, as the sun began to dip behind the first peaks and the truck rattled along the edge of the world, you almost believed him.
the four-hour mark was where the wheels officially started to fall off—metaphorically, though with the way the truck was shuddering, you wouldn't have been surprised if it became literal.
the sun was high now, but it offered no warmth, only a harsh glare that bounced off the truck’s hood and directly into your retinas.
the heater, which had been lukewarm earlier, had decided to go into overdrive, pumping out a thick, dry heat that felt like being trapped inside a giant hair dryer.
your head was throbbing—not from the nausea anymore, but from sheer, unadulterated annoyance.
han was currently driving with his left hand on the wheel and his left foot propped up on the door frame, his knee nearly hitting his chin. he’d been like this for thirty miles, looking like a complete idiot while trying to maintain some semblance of "truck guy" aesthetic.
"can you put your foot down?" you asked, your voice tight. "it's distracting, it's dangerous, and quite frankly, it's embarrassing for both of us."
"it's called airflow, princess," han replied, not even looking at you. he was wearing his sunglasses now—dark, mirrored ones that made him look like a cheap extra from an action movie. "it’s a lifestyle. you wouldn't get it."
"the only lifestyle i'm getting right now is deep-vein thrombosis. put your foot back on the floor."
"no," he said simply, then began to hum along to a high-pitched pop song that had been on loop for the last fifteen minutes. he wasn't just humming; he was doing it specifically in that nasal, slightly-off-key way that he knew made your eye twitch.
"you're doing this on purpose," you accused.
"doing what? driving? existing? being a light in your otherwise dreary life?" he flashed a grin that was eighty percent teeth and twenty percent malicious intent. "sorry i’m such a vibe, i guess."
your phone buzzed in the cup holder. it was a photo from the group chat. it showed the interior of the van: felix and seungmin were sharing a literal platter of fruit and cheese, chan was smiling at the camera, and minho was fast asleep against a plush travel pillow. the caption read: smooth sailing! how’s the rust bucket?
you looked at han. his foot was still out the window, his hair was a static-charged mess from the heater, and he was currently trying to open a bag of beef jerky with his teeth because he refused to stop the car.
"we're stopping," you commanded. "now. i’m hungry, i’m hot, and i need to be away from you for at least ten minutes before i do something that gets me featured on a true crime podcast."
"i was gonna stop anyway," han lied, his voice reaching a defensive pitch. "i need a recharge. my social battery is carrying this entire trip."
he swerved the truck—literally swerved—into a gas station that looked like it hadn't seen a health inspector since the mid-seventies. it was a lone building on a stretch of grey asphalt, flanked by rusted gas pumps and a sign that just said 'EAT' in flickering neon.
he grinned. "gas, snacks, and... live bait? perfect."
you winced, already regretting the choice to stop here.
the moment the engine died, the silence that rushed in was deafening. han hopped out, stretching his arms over his head with a loud, theatrical groan. "god, i'm such a good driver. eight hours of this? i should be a professional."
"you've been driving for four hours and we've nearly hit three squirrels," you said, climbing down from the cab. your legs felt like jelly.
inside, the gas station smelled like floor wax and old hot dogs. the fluorescent lights hummed with a low-frequency buzz that vibrated in your skull. you headed straight for the refrigerated section, desperate for anything cold.
han, meanwhile, was wandering the aisles like a toddler in a toy store. he was grabbing the most neon, chemical-laden snacks he could find.
"get some water," you called out.
"water is for the weak," han replied, holding up a bright blue energy drink and a box of powdered donuts. "this is fuel. this is what keeps the engine of han jisung running."
"the engine of han jisung is going to have a heart attack before we reach the airbnb," you muttered, grabbing a sensible sandwich and a bottle of green tea.
at the checkout counter, the tension peaked. han insisted on paying, but he did it with a flourish that made you want to scream. he fumbled with his wallet, dropped a handful of change, and then had the audacity to wink at the stony-faced clerk who looked like she wanted to bury both of you in the woods.
"keep the change," he said to the woman, despite the change being exactly three cents.
"you are so embarrassing," you hissed as you pushed through the creaky glass doors.
"i'm generous!" he countered. "i’m a man of the people! why are you always so judgy? you've spent the last four hours looking at me like i’m a stain on your upholstery."
"because you are!" you turned to him on the sidewalk, the wind whipping your hair across your face. "you're loud, you're messy, you forgot to book the right car, and now you’re acting like you’re doing me a favor by driving this piece of junk!"
han’s expression shifted. for a split second, the smug mask slipped, and he looked genuinely annoyed. he stepped closer into your personal space, the blue energy drink clutched in his hand. "listen, princess. i know i messed up the booking. i apologized. everyone else moved on. but you? you’re holding onto this like it’s a blood feud. you didn't even want to come on this trip! all you did was complain about the itinerary and the packing. so don't act like you’re the martyr here."
"i didn't want to come because i knew something like this would happen!"
"no, you didn't want to come because you're scared of actually having fun without a schedule! you're so wrapped up in being 'perfect' and 'organized' that you’re making everyone miserable!"
"at least i'm not a liability!" you shouted.
"at least i'm not a bore!" he yelled back.
the silence that followed was sharp. you glared at him, your chest heaving. han looked back, his eyes dark behind the mirrored shades. for a moment, the bickering felt different—sharper, heavier, like the air right before a lightning strike.
then, a low, ominous rumble rolled across the sky.
you both looked up. the bright, harsh sun from ten minutes ago was gone, swallowed by a wall of heavy, charcoal-grey clouds that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. the wind had picked up, carrying the scent of damp earth and something cold.
"great," han muttered, his voice dropping. "just great."
he turned back to the truck, his pace more hurried than before. you followed, the anger still simmering in your gut but suppressed by a new, creeping sense of unease.
and guilt?
no. not guilt. he was a prick. a condescending, unruly, obnoxious prick. he prided himself on making your life hell, so you weren't saying anything particularly untrue.
yeah, so... not guilt.
as you climbed back into the cab, the interior felt smaller, darker.
han shoved the key in and turned it. the truck groaned. it didn't start.
he tried again. chug-chug-chug-whine. "oh, c'mon," you whined. "don't die on us now."
"it's fine," he said, though he sounded breathless. he turned it a third time, pumping the gas pedal. finally, the engine caught, but it sounded... different.
there was a new noise, a rhythmic clack-clack-clack coming from somewhere beneath the hood, echoing against the metallic rattle of the dashboard.
han shifted into gear, and the truck lurched forward with a sickening jolt.
"what was that?" you asked, grabbing the door handle.
"nothing," han said, his jaw tight. he wasn't propping his foot up anymore. he wasn't singing. he was leaning forward, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel. "it’s just the mountains. the altitude affects the... the thingies."
"the thingies? you don't know anything about cars, do you?"
"i know enough!" he snapped, but his eyes were darting to the temperature gauge.
the first few drops of rain hit the windshield—fat, heavy splatters that smeared the dust into streaks of mud. the clack-clack-clack grew louder, a mechanical heartbeat that seemed to be counting down to something inevitable.
the road began to incline sharply, winding into a narrow pass where the trees crowded the pavement like spectators at an execution. the clouds had descended, turning the afternoon into a premature twilight.
"jisung," you said, your voice remarkably calm despite the panic rising in your throat. "the engine light is blinking."
"i see it," he said through gritted teeth.
"and the hood is smoking."
he didn't respond. he just pressed harder on the gas, but the truck didn't speed up. it just groaned louder, the vibration shaking your very teeth. the rain was a torrential downpour now, the wipers struggling to clear the sheets of water.
then, with a sound like a gunshot, something deep inside the truck snapped.
a cloud of thick, white steam erupted from the edges of the hood, instantly blinding the view. the power steering went dead, and the truck began to slow, dying right in the middle of a steep, narrow incline with nowhere to pull over.
"shit!" han yelled, hauling on the wheel with all his strength to guide the dead weight toward a narrow strip of gravel at the edge of the cliff side.
the truck skidded, the tires losing grip on the wet mud, before coming to a violent, jarring halt against a large rock. the engine gave one last, pathetic hiss and went silent.
only the sound of the rain remained, drumming a frantic rhythm on the tin roof.
you sat in the dark, the steam from the engine curling around the windows like ghosts. you looked at han. he was staring at the steering wheel, his chest rising and falling rapidly. the cocky truck guy persona was gone. his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his shoulders were hunched.
"well," you said, your voice trembling. "great. the rust bucket is dead."
he didn't snap back. he didn't make a joke. he just closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wheel.
"the walkie-talkie," he muttered.
you reached for the glove box, pulling out the small black radio chan had given you. you clicked it on.
crackle. static. hiss.
"chan? seungmin? do you, um, copy?" you said into the receiver.
nothing. only the sound of the storm.
"the mountains," han said, finally looking at you. his mirrored sunglasses were gone, and his eyes looked wide, vulnerable, and incredibly small in the dim light. "we’re in a dead zone. they’re probably twenty miles ahead by now."
you looked out the window at the wall of grey rain and the steep drop-off just feet away. you were stranded, four hours from anywhere, in a broken truck with the one person you couldn't stand.
and then, the first flash of lightning illuminated the cab, followed by a crack of thunder that shook the very ground beneath the tires.
"we're gonna have to stay in here, aren't we?" you asked, the reality sinking in.
han looked at the steam rising from the hood, then back at you. the condensation was already starting to fog the windows, sealing you into a tiny, cold world of your own.
"yeah," he said softly. "we're stuck."
the rain didn't just fall; it orchestrated a siege. for nearly an hour, the world outside the truck’s fogged-up windows ceased to exist. there was only the metallic drum of water on the roof and the rhythmic, shaky exhales of two people who had spent the last four hours screaming at each other and now had nothing left to say.
the silence inside the cab was no longer sharp—it was heavy, damp, and oddly insulating. the windows were completely opaque now, frosted over with the condensation of your collective breath. it felt like being trapped in a tiny, vinyl-scented submarine at the bottom of a very loud ocean.
han was still slumped over the wheel, his forehead resting on his knuckles. the cocky "man of the people" who had winked at gas station clerks was gone, replaced by a boy who looked like he wanted to crawl into his oversized hoodie and disappear.
"jisung," you said softly. the sound of your own voice felt weirdly intimate in the small space.
he finally lifted his head. he looked exhausted—not just tired from the drive, but drained. the bravado had completely evaporated, leaving behind a boy who looked like he wanted to crawl into the backseat and disappear.
"i’m sorry," he whispered.
you blinked, tilting your head. you weren't completely sure why he was apologizing again. did he really feel that bad about all this? "what?"
"i’m sorry," he repeated, louder this time, finally turning to look at you. his eyes were bloodshot. "you were right. about the booking. about the truck. about me being a liability. about everything. and i know i already said most of this, and i know it sounds stupid, but... i wanted to be the guy who handled the 'rugged' side of things because i knew you guys thought i was just the loud, forgetful one. and now i’ve basically stranded you on the side of a mountain in a thunderstorm."
you watched him, your heart doing a strange, uncomfortable little flip. you were prepared for a fight. you were prepared for him to blame the gas station fuel. you weren't prepared for him to just... own it. the first time he said sorry, you weren't sure he really meant it. sure, you saw the guilt in his eyes, but he was han. he was the guy you despised, the guy you weren't sure you could trust.
but this was different. he looked so... torn. it made your chest ache.
"it's not just your fault," you said, the words feeling clumsy in your mouth. "the rest of them shouldn't have passed the buck so many times. also, you’re not just, um, loud and forgetful, okay? i mean, you are, but you’re more than that. and... i shouldn't have been such a bitch at the gas station. i was just... frustrated."
han let out a weak, breathy laugh. "you were right to be frustrated. i was being a prick. the foot out the window? i don't even know why i did that. my hip actually hurts."
you felt a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "i knew it. i knew that couldn't be comfortable."
"it really wasn't," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.
"are you cold?"
he finally lifted his head, blinking at you. his hair was sticking up in three different directions from the static of the heater. "are you?"
"a little."
he reached into the small space behind the bench seat, rummaging through a mess of old gym clothes and empty soda bottles. he pulled out a thick, slightly pilled flannel shirt. without saying anything, he leaned over and draped it across your lap.
"it’s clean," he said, his voice scratchy. "mostly. it doesn't smell like the truck."
you took the shirt, the fabric still holding a faint warmth. as you pulled it over your shoulders, you caught a whiff of him—not the spicy cologne he’d doused himself in this morning, but something softer, like laundry detergent and cedar. your heart gave a traitorous little thud against your ribs.
"thanks," you whispered.
the storm eventually shifted from a roar to a steady, rhythmic patter. the white steam from the engine had cleared, though the truck was still very much a decorative lawn ornament at this point.
han wiped a circle into the condensation on the windshield with the side of his palm, peering out into the twilight. "the rain's letting up. i think... i think i saw a sign for a motel back near that gas station. maybe half a mile down the road? it looked sketchy as hell, but it’s better than sleeping in a forty-five-degree angle on this cliff."
"you want to walk in this?"
"we don't have a choice," he said, his voice regaining a bit of its usual firmness. "we can't stay here. if the mud shifts, we're going for a ride we won't come back from."
you looked at the steep drop-off outside and felt a cold shiver. "okay. half a mile. i can do that."
the walk was miserable. the air was freezing, and the ground was a slurry of mud and pine needles. han insisted on carrying your duffel bag along with his own, despite his earlier complaints about its weight. he walked a half-step in front of you, blocking the worst of the wind with his broader frame.
every time you stumbled over a hidden root, his hand was there—solid and warm—gripping your elbow to steady you before pulling away as if he’d been burned.
"you okay?" he asked for the fourth time, glancing back.
"i'm fine, jisung. stop asking."
"i'm just making sure you don't fall off the mountain. seungmin would never let me hear the end of it."
you rolled your eyes, but you didn't pull away when he reached back to grab your hand to pull you up a particularly steep embankment. his palm was calloused and large, and for a fleeting second, you found yourself wanting to squeeze it.
it's just the adrenaline, you told yourself. you're just cold. you don't like him. he's a menace.
the motel looked exactly like the setting of a horror movie. a flickering neon sign hummed 'VACANCY' in a sickly shade of pink, illuminating a row of low, concrete-block rooms. the parking lot was empty save for a rusted sedan and a puddle the size of a small lake.
the lobby was a tiny, wood-paneled box that smelled of stale cigarettes and pine-scented cleaner. a man who looked like he’d been sitting in the same chair since 1984 looked up as you and han dripped water onto his linoleum floor.
"need a room?" the man rasped.
"yeah," han said, stepping forward. his teeth were chattering now, and his hoodie was soaked through. "two, if you have them."
the man let out a dry, hacking laugh. "son, the pipes burst in the north wing an hour ago. i got one room left. take it or leave it."
you and han shared a look of pure, unadulterated dread.
"is there... another motel nearby?" you asked hopefully.
"ten miles that way," the man pointed into the dark, rainy abyss you’d just walked out of. "unless you got a boat, you ain't getting there."
han sighed, a long, weary sound. he looked at you, a silent question in his eyes. you looked at the dark windows, the freezing rain starting to pick up again, and your own shivering hands.
"we'll take it," you said.
the room was... an experience. it was about the size of a walk-in closet. the walls were a jaundiced shade of yellow, the carpet was a mystery of brown swirls, and there, sitting in the center of the room like a taunt, was a single, sagging queen-sized bed.
"oh, you've got to be kidding me," you breathed, closing the door behind you.
"at least it's dry?" han offered, though he looked just as horrified as you. he dropped the bags on the floor and stood in the corner, looking awkwardly at his feet. "i can... i can sleep on the floor. or the chair."
the 'chair' was a plastic-seated thing that looked like it belonged in a middle-school cafeteria.
"don't be stupid, jisung. you’re tall and the floor is probably covered in ancient bacteria," you said, trying to sound practical to hide the fact that your face was currently the temperature of a dying sun. "we’re adults. we can... we can just share. stay on your side, don't touch me, and we’ll survive until morning."
"right. yeah. stay on my side. easy," he nodded fervently, sounding like he was trying to convince himself.
the next hour was a flurry of awkward coordination. you took the bathroom first, peeling off your wet clothes and scrubbing your skin with the tiny, chalky bar of soap provided. when you came out, dressed in your driest oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, the room was filled with the smell of han’s spicy cologne again—he’d changed into a fresh shirt but was currently sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at a crumpled bag of vending machine crackers.
"dinner is served," he said, holding up a packet of peanut butter crackers and a lukewarm bottle of ginger ale. "the pizza place down the road doesn't deliver in 'weather like this.' cowards."
you sat on the other edge of the bed, a respectable three feet of floral-printed polyester between you. you took a cracker, the dry saltiness feeling like a five-star meal after the day you’d had.
"i'm sorry. again," he said suddenly, his voice quiet. "the stuff i said at the gas station. about you being a bore. you're not. you're just... organized. and i’m a mess. i get why that’s annoying."
you stopped chewing, looking at him. the harsh, yellow light of the bedside lamp softened the lines of his face. he looked younger like this, stripped of the bravado and the mirrored shades.
"stop apologizing, okay? you didn't for any of this to happen. it's not your fault. quit blaming yourself, i mean it. and i'm sorry i called you a liability," you said, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. "you're not. you actually did a good job not killing us when the steering went out. i don't think i could have done that."
han’s head snapped up, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "really? you think i did a good job?"
"don't let it go to your head," you warned, but you couldn't help the small smile that mirrored his. "it was a solid c-plus effort, sungie." the nickname slips out before you can do anything about it, and you still, cheeks warm. you're embarrassed. beyond that, even. you're already planning different ways to fake your death. or, better yet, you might as well plan a real one.
where did that even come from? jesus christ.
his reaction echoed yours, equally surprised, but he recovered quick. his lips, previously shaped as an 'o', melted into a grin. "i'll take it," he chuckled.
he reached over to grab the ginger ale, but as he did, his hand brushed against yours on the bedspread. the contact was electric. you both froze, the air in the tiny room suddenly feeling very thin.
han didn't pull away immediately. his fingers lingered for a heartbeat too long, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. you looked up, and for the first time, you didn't see your 'sworn enemy.' you saw the boy who had stayed up late with you in the library freshman year even though he wasn't in your class. you saw the boy who always made sure you had a seat at the table during group dinners, even though he insisted he hated you.
you saw han jisung.
your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, rhythmic thud that made your ears ring. you felt a heat crawl up your neck, staining your cheeks. you quickly looked down at your lap, pulling your hand away to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.
"it's been a while since we checked in with the others. we should probably tell them we’re not dead," jisung said, breaking the silence. he was sitting on the very edge of the bed, staring at his phone. "chan’s probably already calling the national guard."
"if he can even get through," you muttered, pulling your legs up to your chest. "i have zero bars."
jisung held his phone up high, waving it around like he was trying to catch butterflies. "nothing. wait—" he squinted at a faded piece of paper taped to the back of the door. "there’s a wi-fi password. 'motel-luv-69.' seriously?"
you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "of course that’s the password. just… just connect and call them."
after a minute of frustrated tapping and a few choice words directed at the router, the call finally connected. jisung hit the speakerphone button and set it on the floral bedspread between you.
the ringing didn't even last a full second before the speaker exploded with noise.
"hannie? are you alive?" felix’s voice was high-pitched with panic.
"jisung, if you wrecked that truck i am going to make you pay for the insurance hike for the next ten years!" chan’s voice was lower, but vibrating with stress.
"we’re fine! we’re fine!" jisung yelled back, leaning over the phone. "stop screaming, you’re gonna blow out the speaker."
"where are you?" it was your brother, seungmin. his voice was calm, but you could hear the way he clipped his words—the 'big brother' version of a panic attack. "we’ve been calling for two hours. we’re already at the airbnb, and the storm is nasty here. seems like it spans pretty far. is that what you got caught in?"
"yeah. we’re at a motel," you said, leaning closer to the phone so they could hear you. "the truck died. something with the engine, and then the rain got too bad to do anything about it. we’re stuck here until the morning."
"a motel?" minho’s voice joined in, sounding far too amused for the situation. "in the middle of the mountains? is it one of those places where the owner keeps his mother’s skeleton in the basement?"
"minho, not helping!" chan snapped. then, more softly: "are you guys okay? are you safe? do you have food?"
jisung looked at the crumpled packet of peanut butter crackers and the lukewarm ginger ale. "yeah, we’re feasting. 10/10 service. the wallpaper is a lovely shade of 'smoker’s lung' and the bed has a suspicious dent in the middle."
"wait," seungmin interrupted. "how many rooms did you get?"
the silence that hit your end of the line was deafening. you looked at jisung. he looked at the jaundiced walls.
"one," jisung said, his voice cracking slightly. "the pipes burst in the rest of the building. it was this or a mudslide."
the explosion of noise on the other end was immediate. you heard felix gasp, minho let out a loud, delighted cackle, and chan groan like he was in physical pain.
"one bed?" minho’s voice was clear as a bell. "oh, this is better than a movie. please tell me there’s only one bed."
"minho, leave them alone," chan scolded, though he sounded like he was suppressing a laugh himself. "listen, stay put. don’t try to move the truck until the sun is up and the rain stops. i’ll call a local tow service from here first thing in the morning."
"and jisung?" seungmin’s voice turned dangerously protective. "if i find out you so much as breathed on her, i’m using your guitar strings for fishing line."
jisung rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were still pink. "relax, seungmin. we’re on opposite sides of the bed with a literal 'no man’s land' of polyester between us. i’m more worried about her kicking me in her sleep."
"i only kick people who deserve it!" you shouted toward the phone.
"see?" jisung pointed at the phone as if they could see him. "hostile environment. send help."
"we'll see you tomorrow," chan said, his voice finally relaxing. "get some sleep. both of you. and stay off the wi-fi after this, the connection is probably unencrypted and i don't want you getting hacked."
"goodnight, lovebirds!" minho chirped.
"shut up, minho!" you and jisung yelled in unison.
the call disconnected with a soft bloop.
the silence that rushed back into the room felt twice as heavy as before. jisung picked up the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
"well," he said, not looking at you. "now they know we aren't dead. so that's… one less thing."
"yeah," you whispered, pulling the scratchy blanket up to your chin. "one less thing. i... i think i’m gonna try to sleep," you stammered, your voice an octave higher than usual.
"yeah. me too," he said, his own voice sounding a bit strangled.
you both crawled under the scratchy, thin blankets, clinging to the extreme edges of the mattress. you stared at the ceiling, listening to the drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet in the bathroom and the steady, heavy breathing of the boy three feet away.
he was an intrusive thought. he was the grit in your gears, the static on your radio, the one person who knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons. you hated him. you definitely, absolutely hated him.
so why, you wondered as you closed your eyes, did the room feel so much colder every time he shifted further away?
"hey," han whispered into the dark.
"yeah?"
"don't let any bedbugs bite. i’m not authorized to perform medical procedures."
you let out a soft, involuntary laugh into your pillow. "shut up, jisung."
"goodnight, princess."
"goodnight, han."
as you drifted off to sleep, the bickering of the day felt like a lifetime ago. but the memory of his hand against yours stayed, a warm, persistent spark that refused to go out, no matter how much you tried to smother it.
the long, dark room was silent now, but for the first time in your life, you weren't sure if the person next to you was the villain of your story... or something else.
someone else.
the darkness in the room was not the empty, peaceful kind of dark. it was thick, heavy with the scent of pine cleaner and the rhythmic, soft sound of the rain finally tapering off against the roof.
it was the kind of silence that made every small sound feel like a shout—the hum of the old refrigerator, the whistle of the wind through the door frame, and, most prominently, the steady breathing of the boy lying exactly eight inches away from you.
you were wide awake.
your heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage, fluttering erratically every time han shifted. you were hyper-aware of everything. you could feel the dip in the mattress where his weight settled. you could feel the faint, radiating heat from his body, cutting through the damp chill of the room.
you had spent years building a wall between yourself and han jisung—a wall made of witty barbs, eye rolls, and genuine frustration—and tonight, that wall felt like it was made of wet cardboard.
you tried to lie perfectly still, but your skin felt too tight for your body. you shifted to your left side, the scratchy floral quilt rustling loudly. then, two minutes later, you shifted to your right.
then your back. you stared at the ceiling, trying to count the wood knots in the rafters, but your mind kept drifting back to the way he’d looked earlier in the truck, teeth biting his lower lip in concentration as he navigated the muddy turns.
every movement felt like a neon sign flashing in the dark. i'm awake and i'm losing my mind.
"you’re vibrating," a voice whispered.
you nearly jumped out of your skin, your breath hitching. han’s voice was low, gravelly with sleep, and it sounded dangerously close in the quiet room.
"i'm not vibrating," you whispered back, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. "i'm just... adjusting."
"you've 'adjusted' fourteen times in the last ten minutes," he said. you heard the mattress creak as he turned onto his side, facing you. you didn't look, but you could feel his gaze, heavy and attentive. "is the bed that bad? or is it the company?"
"it’s fine, jisung. just go back to sleep. stop counting my movements, it's creepy."
"i can't sleep if you're over there having a wrestling match with a pillow. you know, some of us need our beauty sleep, princess."
silence fell again, but it was different now. the barrier of 'pretending to be asleep' had been broken. you felt a flush creep up your neck, grateful for the darkness.
you thought about all the things you’d said to him over the years. the time you told him his blonde hair made him look like a neglected highlighter. the time he’d intentionally "misplaced" your favorite pen during a mid-term.
"hey," he said, his voice even softer now, losing that defensive edge he usually carried like a shield.
"what?"
"why didn't you switch?"
the question caught you off guard. you blinked into the dark, the rhythm of the refrigerator hum filling the gap in conversation. "switch what?"
"with seungmin," han clarified. you could hear him fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, the fabric dragging against his skin. "yesterday. in the driveway. you could have pulled the 'baby sister' card harder. seungmin acts like a prick, but he would've swapped with you if you really asked him to. you didn't have to get in the truck with me. you could have had the suv with the heated seats and the decent speakers."
you hesitated. the honest answer was a tangled mess that you weren't sure you wanted to unknot. "i didn't want to cause a scene. everyone was already stressed. chan was losing his mind over the packing list, and you looked like you were about to cry when minho started laughing at you for forgetting the jumper cables."
"i was not about to cry," he scoffed, though there was no heat in it. "i was just... frustrated. it’s a lot of pressure, being the one in charge of the transport." he paused, then his voice dropped an octave. "but seriously. you hate my driving. you hate my music. you hate... well, you pretty much hate me. why did you stay?"
"i don't hate you, jisung," you said, the words slipping out before you could filter them.
the silence that followed was deafening. you felt like you’d just dropped a glass vase on a marble floor. you held your breath, waiting for the impact, waiting for him to laugh or make a joke about how "obsessed" you must be.
"you don't?" he asked. he sounded genuinely surprised, maybe even a little bit hopeful, which was far worse than him being mean.
"i mean... you're a lot," you corrected quickly, trying to claw back some of your dignity. "you're loud and you're disorganized and you play metal at six in the morning while i'm trying to drink my coffee in peace. you once told my lab partner that i have a crush on professor kang just to make it awkward for me for a week. but i don't hate you. if i hated you, i wouldn't have stayed in the library with you freshman year when you were failing stats. i would've just let you fail and watched the sparks fly."
han let out a quiet, huffy laugh. "i remember that. you called me a 'statistical anomaly' because i managed to get every single practice question wrong. you looked like you wanted to hit me with the textbook."
"because you did," you smiled into the dark, feeling the tension in your shoulders finally start to give way. "it was actually impressive. i’ve never seen anyone misunderstand probability that fundamentally."
"i think..." han started, then stopped. he took a deep breath, and you heard him sit up slightly, propping himself on an elbow. "i think i’ve used the bickering as a shield. it’s easier to be the 'annoying guy' than to be the guy who’s actually trying to get your attention and failing miserably at it."
your heart skipped a beat. "what is that supposed to mean?"
"it means i’ve spent three years obsessed with what you think of me," he admitted. the raw honesty in his voice made your stomach do a slow, dizzying roll. "whenever you walk into a room, i start acting like an idiot because i don't know how to just... be normal around you. i play the music loud because i’m afraid if it’s quiet, i’ll say something stupid. or i’ll realize how much i actually like the way you look when you're annoyed. like this. like what i’m saying right now."
it's too much to process. three years? han jisung? feeling whatever it was he felt about you? what were you supposed to do with that information? what were you supposed to say? what were you not supposed to say?
three years?
you finally turned your head, meeting his silhouette in the dim red glow of the heater. he was looking right at you, his eyes reflecting the tiny bit of light in the room, looking nothing like the cocky kid who used to kick your chair in psych 101.
"jisung..."
"i've felt like this for a long time," he continued, the words coming faster now, like a dam breaking. "and i thought you genuinely couldn't stand the sight of me. so i leaned into it. if i couldn't make you like me, i could at least make sure you couldn't ignore me. being your enemy was better than being nothing to you."
you felt a lump form in your throat. all the times he’d "accidentally" sat next to you, all the times he’d picked a fight over something trivial just to keep the conversation going—it all reframed itself in an instant. it wasn't a blood feud. it was a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek where you were both hiding in plain sight.
"i didn't know that," you whispered, your voice trembling. "i mean, i didn't even know i felt this way until this road trip. i thought i was just annoyed by you. but then... when the truck broke down, and you were so worried about me getting cold, and you were so careful not to bend the pages of my book when you moved it..." you trailed off, feeling the heat in your face again. "i realized i don't hate the bickering. i think i just like talking to you. about anything. even if it’s how much your driving sucks."
"it doesn't suck that much," he teased, but his voice was thick with emotion.
"it really does," you laughed, a small, watery sound. "but i don't know what any of this means, jisung. we’re, like, enemies. that’s our whole thing. what happens when we aren't? what do we even talk about if we aren't insulting each other?"
the mattress creaked as he moved closer, sliding toward the edge of his twin bed. though it's dark, you can see the hesitation in his movements. the cautiousness. he crosses that "no-touching-line," and your breath hitches.
"maybe we just figure it out," he suggested. "no labels. no pressure to be the 'cool couple' or whatever. just... you and me. maybe we start by not yelling for twenty-four hours and see how that feels? like a trial run."
"twenty-four hours? that’s a big ask for us. we usually hit our limit by breakfast."
"how about twelve?" he countered. "we start tomorrow morning. a truce. no sarcasm, no eye-rolling, no bringing up the highlighter hair incident."
you looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, you let yourself see the boy behind the bravado. the boy who was terrified of being forgotten. the boy whose smile, despite everything, always made the room feel a little brighter, even when he was being a total pain.
"okay," you said softly. "twelve hours. starting now."
"starting now," he agreed.
he reached out into the space between you, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers found yours on top of the quilt. he laced his own with them, his hand warm. the pads of his fingers were calloused from years of playing the guitar, yet his touch was so soft. so sweet. he held you carefully, not like you were fragile, but like you were reverent.
"is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely a breath.
"yeah," you whispered, gently squeezing, pulling him just an inch closer. "this is okay."
the tension that had been keeping you awake for hours finally began to dissolve, replaced by a warm, heavy sense of relief. the rain had stopped completely now, leaving only the quiet, rhythmic drip of the eaves.
"princess?"
"hmm?"
"i really am sorry about the truck. i have to be honest, though, this makes it pretty worthwhile. can't say i regret being an idiot."
you giggle, breathless. "you're always an idiot, sungie."
"okay. but for the record? your indie music isn't that bad. i actually have a few of those songs on my secret playlist. the one i don't let the guys see."
"i knew it!" you nudged him with your shoulder through the blankets, a small laugh escaping you. "i knew you were a closet fan. i saw you humming to phoebe bridgers earlier."
"truce!" he squeaked, laughing under his breath. "you're breaking the twelve-hour rule already! that was definitely an insult."
"fine, fine. goodnight, okay?"
"goodnight, princess."
there was a beat of silence until jisung spoke again. "hey... is your brother gonna kill me? he's totally gonna kill me," he groaned, voice frantic.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it. "maybe. probably."
"aw, man."
you closed your eyes, the contact of his hand against yours feeling more solid than any van or luxury hotel. as you finally drifted off to sleep, you realized that the long, dark drive hadn't been a disaster at all.
it had been the only way to get you exactly where you needed to be—eight inches away from the person you’d been running toward for years.
the light that filtered through the motel’s yellowed lace curtains was a sickly, bruised grey. it didn’t wake you up gently; it sort of prodded at your eyelids until you finally groaned and rolled over, only to realize your hand was empty.
the space next to you on the bed was cold, the scratchy quilt tossed back in a messy heap. for a terrifying three seconds, you thought the night before had been a fever dream brought on by carbon monoxide poisoning from the truck's faulty heater. but then you heard it—a frantic, rhythmic shuck-shuck-shuck sound coming from the small bathroom.
you sat up, rubbing the crust from your eyes, and squinted toward the door. jisung was standing there, still in his wrinkled t-shirt from last night, aggressively shaking a plastic foam cup.
"tell me you’re not trying to make coffee with bathroom water," you groaned, your voice thick with sleep.
jisung jumped, nearly sloshing the brown liquid onto the linoleum. his hair was a catastrophic nest of bedhead—a bird could have moved in and raised a family in the back of it without him noticing. he looked stressed, caffeinated, and strangely cute in a way that made your stomach do a little pathetic somersault.
"it’s lukewarm," he announced, taking a brave sip and immediately making a face like he’d just swallowed battery acid. "it’s... efficient. look, the tow truck guy is ten minutes out. chan called three times while you were dead to the world. he already paid the dispatch fee, so we just have to ride with the guy to the nearest shop."
"ten minutes?" you scrambled out of the bed, feeling the chill of the room hit your skin. "why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
"you looked peaceful," he muttered, busying himself with throwing his damp hoodie into his duffel. "and i figured if i woke you up at six a.m., our twelve-hour truce would be over in about thirty seconds. i’m trying to keep my record clean, princess."
you paused, your hand on your suitcase. last night. the truce. the way he’d held your hand under the quilt until his breathing went shallow and even. you looked at him, and he caught your eye for a split second before looking away, a faint, dusty pink creeping up his neck.
"right," you said softly. "truce."
the arrival of the tow truck was not the cinematic rescue jisung had probably envisioned. there was no heroic music, just the heavy, wet crunch of gravel and the smell of menthol cough drops. the driver was a guy named daryl—or maybe derek—who looked like he hadn't smiled since the turn of the century.
he didn't say much as he hooked the "rust bucket" to the back of his rig. you and jisung stood on the side of the road, shivering in the drizzle, watching the truck get hoisted up like a dead fish.
the ride to the shop was cramped; you had to sit in the middle of the tow truck’s bench seat, pressed firmly against jisung’s side while daryl chewed on a cough drop loud enough to echo.
every time the tow truck hit a bump, jisung’s arm would jostle against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating through his jacket. he didn't pull away.
in fact, he seemed to lean into you just a little bit more than necessary, his thumb absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on his jeans.
once you reached the shop—a tiny garage that looked like it was held together by grease and prayers—daryl spent about five minutes poking around the engine while jisung stood by with his hands in his pockets, trying to look like a guy who knew things about internal combustion.
you leaned against a stack of tires, watching the exchange.
"so," daryl said, wiping his hands on a rag that was blacker than the tires. "good news is, your truck is fine."
you blinked. "fine? it exploded. there was smoke. the power steering died."
"nah," daryl rasped. "engine flooded. he was probably trying to force it up that incline in third or fourth gear instead of downshifting. chokes the life out of 'em. and the smoke? just a little coolant spray hitting the hot block because a sensor shorted out from all the rain. it's dried out now. starts right up."
the silence that followed was heavy. you turned your head slowly to look at jisung.
he was staring at a grease stain on the floor, his jaw tight. the rugged truck guy persona was currently being dismantled in real-time. it... was a hard watch.
"so... it works?" you asked, your voice flat.
"starts right up," daryl confirmed, patting the rusted hood like it was a loyal dog. "but i wouldn't take it over the pass. road's washed out five miles up. you'll have to take the long way around through the valley. adds about three hours to the trip."
"three hours," you repeated.
daryl nodded, took his payment, and climbed back into his rig, leaving the two of you standing in the oily shade of the garage.
jisung wouldn't look at you. he walked over to the driver's side, opened the door, and climbed in without a word. you followed, hopping into the passenger seat and clicking your belt. the smell of the truck—old vinyl and jisung—greeted you like an old, slightly annoying friend.
he put the key in the ignition. it turned over instantly. no cough, no sputter. just the steady, rhythmic rattle of a perfectly functioning, twenty-year-old engine.
"don't say it," he whined, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
"i wasn't going to say anything."
"you were. i can hear you thinking it. you're thinking 'jisung, you idiot, we spent the night in a motel with duck pictures on the wall and ate peanut butter crackers for dinner because you forgot how gears work.'"
"actually," you said, reaching over and gently placing your hand over his on the wheel. he froze, his breath hitching. "i was going to say that for a guy who flooded the engine and stranded us on a cliff, your 'statistical anomaly' status is still very much intact."
jisung let out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders finally dropping from around his ears. he turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through yours. he looked at you, his eyes soft and a little bit embarrassed, but mostly just... relieved.
"i really did try to look cool for you," he admitted, a small, lopsided smile breaking through. "i wanted to be the hero of the road trip. instead, i’m the guy who got outsmarted by a manual transmission."
"for me? that's... actually really cute. well," you said, squeezing his hand before pulling back so he could shift. "you might not be a hero of the road, sungie. but you're definitely something."
"is that a truce-breaking insult?"
"no," you laughed, leaning your head back against the cracked headrest. "it’s a fact. now, drive. we have three extra hours in the valley, and i’m picking the music this time. no metal."
jisung grumbled something under his breath about "musical oppression," but he didn't fight you when you plugged your phone in. as the truck rolled out of the garage and toward the valley road, the grey drizzle didn't seem quite so miserable anymore.
you had three more hours. and for the first time since the trip started, you weren't in any rush to get to the end of them.
"hey," jisung said, eyes on the road as he navigated the first easy turn.
"yeah?"
"twelve-hour truce is almost up. just so you know, once it hits noon, i’m going back to calling your playlist elevator music."
"and i'm going back to telling everyone you make coffee with bathroom water."
he grinned, a bright, genuine thing that made the cramped cab feel twice as big. "fair enough, princess. fair enough."
as the valley opened up before you—green, misty, and miles away from the rest of the group—you realized that being stranded wasn't the worst thing that could have happened.
the rust bucket was rattling, the road was long, and you were definitely going to have to explain a lot of things to seungmin later.
but for now, it was just the two of you, a working engine, and a very long way to the start of your vacation.
the "long way around" was a stretch of highway that snaked through the valley, flanked by dense pine forests and the kind of mist that looked like it belonged in a gothic novel. the road was smoother here, devoid of the terrifying hairpin turns of the mountain pass, but the atmosphere inside the truck had shifted into something entirely new.
the sharp, jagged edges of your bickering had been sanded down by the events of the last twelve hours. what was left wasn't quite peace—it was a strange, vibrating self-consciousness. every time you shifted in your seat, you were aware of the way your shoulder brushed against his. every time jisung reached for the gear shift, you watched the way his sleeve pulled back to reveal his wrist, the light catching the fine hairs on his arm.
it was exhausting. it was like being hyper-aware of your own heartbeat in a room that was far too quiet.
"okay," jisung said, breaking a twenty-minute silence that had started to feel a little too heavy to breathe through. "the twelve-hour mark is officially passed. the treaty has expired. i am legally allowed to tell you that this song sounds like it was composed by a very depressed cat in the middle of a rainstorm."
you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, a small smile tugging at your lips. the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth felt safer than the heavy silence. "sungie, it's supposed to be calming. not everyone wants to feel like they’re being punched in the eardrum by a drummer on amphetamines at nine in the morning."
"it’s not calming, it’s a sedative," he countered, though his tone lacked its usual bite. he reached for the console, his fingers hovering over the screen, looking for a distraction. "can we please find a middle ground? my brain is starting to turn into oatmeal and i’m pretty sure i’m going to start seeing colors if we listen to another three minutes of synthesizers and rain sounds."
"fine," you sighed, leaning back against the cracked vinyl of the passenger seat. "no metal. no indie-folk. what’s left? we’ve exhausted the radio's capabilities."
"true crime," he said instantly, his eyes lighting up.
you blinked at him. "true crime? for a road trip through the middle of nowhere?"
"yeah. the gruesome kind. the kind where you spend the whole time shouting at the narrator because the police missed a very obvious bloodstain on the ceiling while they were busy looking at the neighbors' cat. it keeps you alert."
half an hour later, the truck was filled with the low, ominous tones of a podcast narrator describing a mysterious disappearance in the 1970s. it was, surprisingly, the perfect solution. the shared focus on a mystery allowed the awkwardness between the two of you to melt into the background. for the next two hours, you were a team again—not a team trying to survive a storm, but a team of armchair detectives.
"no way," you shouted, gesturing wildly at the dashboard as the narrator revealed a new piece of evidence. "the neighbor did it! he had a van exactly like that and he was the one who 'found' the shoe! that's classic killer behavior!"
"no, it’s the brother-in-law, obviously!" jisung argued, his left hand tapping a frantic rhythm on the wheel. "the alibi is too perfect. nobody remembers what they were doing at 4:15 p.m. on a tuesday three years ago unless they rehearsed it. he’s lying through his teeth."
"you remember what you were doing three years ago," you pointed out, the words leaving your mouth before you could check them. "you told me last night you’ve been 'obsessed' with me for three years."
the cab went dead silent. the narrator’s voice continued to drone on about forensic evidence and tire tracks, but neither of you were listening anymore. jisung’s ears turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the truck’s emergency light. he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white.
"i... well," he stammered, his bravado crumbling like a sandcastle. "that’s different. that’s an emotional milestone. it’s not a tuesday at 4:15. it's... just different."
you felt your own face heating up, your skin prickling under your damp hoodie. "oh. right. emotional milestones."
"yeah," he muttered, reaching out to turn the volume up on the podcast just a little too loud to discourage further conversation.
about three hours into the valley drive, the mist began to lift, revealing a much more civilized landscape of rolling hills and small towns. the "rust bucket" was humming along surprisingly well, as if it was trying to make up for its earlier betrayal.
"i need actual food," jisung announced as you approached a sprawling, modern rest stop. "if i eat one more peanut butter cracker, i’m going to turn into a legume. my body is sixty percent sodium and regret right now."
this rest stop was a stark contrast to the "live bait" station from the day before. it was bright, clean, and smelled of freshly baked pretzels and expensive coffee. as you stepped out of the truck, the cool valley air felt amazing against your skin, but you couldn't stop shivering. your hoodie was still damp from the trek to the motel, the fabric heavy and cold against your neck.
"stay here," jisung said as you reached the glass doors. "find a table. i’ll handle the rations."
"i can help, i have money—"
"princess, honestly, you look exhausted," he said, and for the first time, the nickname felt more like a soft endearment than a taunt designed to get under your skin. "go sit down. i got this, yeah? just don't let anyone steal our spot."
you didn't have the energy to argue. you found a corner booth near a large window and watched the cars zip by on the highway. your mind kept replaying the feeling of his hand in yours in the dark of cabin four. it felt like a secret you were carrying, something fragile and strange that would shatter the moment you rejoined the others and the pressure of "enemies" was put back on you.
fifteen minutes later, jisung reappeared. he was carrying a tray of steaming hot sandwiches and two large coffees, but he was also clutching a plastic bag from the gift shop. without saying a word, he dropped the bag into your lap before setting the tray down.
you opened it to find a thick, oversized navy-blue hoodie with a local mountain logo on the chest. it was soft, warm, and smelled like brand-new fabric.
"your other one was grossing me out," he muttered, sliding into the booth across from you. he pointedly ignored your stunned expression as he unwrapped a giant sandwich, his eyes fixed on the table. "you were getting all cranky and shivery. i don't need you catching a cold and blaming me for that, too. i have enough on my plate."
"oh, sungie..." you pulled the hoodie out, the warmth of the fleece feeling heavenly. "this was expensive. these gift shop places rip you off. you didn't have to."
"it's fine," he said, his mouth full of turkey and provolone. "i stole some of your crackers yesterday. and i made you walk through a monsoon. consider us even. just put it on so you stop vibrating."
you pulled the hoodie over your head, disappearing into the soft, oversized fabric. it was much too big for you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, but it was the most comfortable thing you’d ever worn. it felt like a hug. you felt a lump form in your throat as you took a sip of the coffee—it was exactly the way you liked it. two sugars, extra cream.
"did you... did you remember how i take my coffee?" you asked quietly, peeking out from the giant hood.
jisung paused, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. he looked out the window, his expression unreadable, though his jaw tightened. "i pay attention to things," he said simply. "even when i'm being an 'unruly prick.' you always complain if the coffee is too bitter at the library."
you spent the rest of the meal in a comfortable, quiet hum. you shared a large bag of salt-and-vinegar chips—the gourmet kind felix had boasted about—and finished the podcast episode. the mystery was solved (it was the neighbor), and the tension was replaced by a soft, weary contentment.
as you walked back out to the truck, the sun finally managed to break through the clouds, casting a golden light over the parking lot. the air was crisp, the sky was clearing, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, the destination felt real.
"only another hour and a half," jisung said, checking his phone as he climbed back into the driver's seat. "chan sent the location pins. they’ve been at the airbnb for hours. minho is apparently already making dinner and threatening to lock us out if we don't bring 'tribute' for being late."
"tribute?"
"wine," jisung translated. "and a heartfelt apology for making them worry. mostly the wine, though."
he started the engine, but he didn't put it in gear right away. he sat there for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel, looking at the navy-blue sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing. he looked like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it, then changed his mind again.
"hey," he said, his voice dropping to that low, soft register. "when we get there... things are gonna be loud. seungmin is gonna interrogate you. the guys are gonna tease me for the truck dying. it’s gonna be... back to normal."
you looked at him, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of anxiety. "i know. they're going to want to know why we aren't at each other's throats."
"but it’s not, right?" he asked, finally turning to look at you. his eyes were searching yours, looking for the same confirmation you were looking for. "the truce is over, but... we aren't going back to that, are we? the fighting just to fight?"
you reached out, lacing your fingers through his on the center console. the fabric of your new, oversized hoodie brushed against his skin. "no. i don't think i can go back to pretending i hate you, jisung. it’s too much work. i'm retired from the hater business."
he let out a breathy laugh, squeezing your hand, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. "good. because i’m exhausted. i’d much rather just be the guy who buys you overpriced hoodies and argues with you about serial killers than the guy who has to think of a new insult every time you walk into a room."
"i think i’d like that too," you whispered.
he gave your hand one last squeeze before shifting into gear. as the truck pulled back onto the highway, you realized that the "long way around" wasn't just a detour. it was the space you both needed to bridge the gap between who you were and who you were becoming.
the airbnb was waiting, and the group was waiting. but as you watched the trees blur past the window, your fingers still tingling from his touch, you knew that the best part of the trip had already happened in a broken-down truck on a rainy mountain pass.
and maybe something between the two of you was waiting, too.
the road through the valley was a long, silver ribbon of asphalt that seemed to stretch into eternity. with the sun finally making a real appearance, the world outside looked less like a horror movie and more like a postcard.
the air coming through the cracked windows was sweet with the scent of damp pine and wet earth, a far cry from the stale, pressurized heat that had nearly suffocated you both the day before.
jisung was driving with a newfound ease. he wasn’t propping his foot up on the door anymore, and he wasn’t white-knuckling the wheel. he looked... relaxed. he looked like the kind of person who actually enjoyed the open road, rather than someone trying to survive it.
"hey," he said, glancing at a wide, flat stretch of road that was completely devoid of other cars. "you ever driven a stick shift?"
you looked at the gear shift between you, then back at him. "you've seen me drive my automatic. i once hit a curb in a parking lot because i got distracted by a particularly large bird. do you really think i should be in charge of three pedals and a gearbox?"
"it’s a life skill," jisung insisted, already slowing the truck down. "what if we’re in a zombie apocalypse and the only getaway vehicle is a manual? you’re gonna be lunch because you didn't know how to find the biting point?"
"i'll just take my chances with the zombies, thanks."
"nope. not happening." he pulled the truck over onto a wide, gravel shoulder. the engine idled with a rhythmic, mechanical thrum. "we have time. the guys are busy arguing over who gets the master bedroom anyway. switch with me."
you groaned, but there was a flutter of excitement in your chest that you couldn't quite suppress. "if i break the rust bucket, it’s on you."
"it's already broken in spirit," he joked, climbing out of the driver's side.
switching seats felt different this time. instead of the cold, rain-slicked tension of the day before, there was a playful energy in the air. you slid into the driver's seat, feeling strangely small in the space jisung usually occupied. the seat was adjusted for his longer legs, and the scent of him—now mixed with the new fabric of your hoodie—was everywhere.
jisung climbed into the passenger seat, leaning over immediately to point at the floor.
"okay, look. three pedals. left is the clutch. that’s your new best friend," he said, his voice dropping into a serious tone that was about fifty percent genuine and fifty percent him trying not to laugh. "you have to treat it like a delicate conversation. you can't just dump it, or the truck gets offended and dies."
"like you did on the mountain?"
he winced. "too soon. truce-adjacent violation. now, foot on the clutch. all the way down."
you pressed the pedal. it was heavy and resistant. "it feels like i’m stepping on a spring-loaded brick."
"that's the character of the vehicle," jisung said. he reached over, his hand landing naturally on the gear shift. "this is first. up and to the left. now, slowly—and i mean slowly—let the clutch out while giving it just a tiny bit of gas. you'll feel it catch. that's the biting point. the sweet spot."
you tried. you really did. you let the pedal up a fraction of an inch, the truck gave a violent, seismic shudder, and then—clunk. the engine died. the silence that followed was deafening.
you slumped against the wheel. "i told you. i'm a liability."
"it's fine!" jisung said, his voice bright. "everyone stalls the first time. or the first ten times. try again. turn the key."
the next twenty minutes were a cycle of shudders, stalls, and jisung’s surprisingly patient coaching. he didn't tease you. he didn't roll his eyes. instead, he stayed leaned over the center console, his focus entirely on you.
on the fifth try, he moved his hand. instead of just pointing, he placed his palm directly over yours on the gear shift.
the effect was instantaneous. the electric feeling from the motel returned, but this time it wasn't a spark—it was a steady, humming current. a rush. his skin was warm, his grip firm as he guided your hand into first gear.
"together," he whispered. "slowly. i've got the gear, you just work the feet."
you focused on the pedals, your heart hammering against your ribs. you could feel the heat of him beside you, his arm brushing against the sleeve of your hoodie. as you slowly released the clutch, you felt the truck lurch forward—not a shudder, but a smooth, rolling movement.
"you're doing it!" jisung cheered, his hand still covering yours. "don't let go! keep going!"
you rolled forward about fifty feet, the engine purring under your control. a laugh of pure, unadulterated joy escaped you. "i'm doing it! jisung, look!"
"i'm looking," he said.
his voice was different. it wasn't the cheering instructor anymore. you slowed the truck to a stop, pressing both pedals in, and turned to look at him.
he wasn't looking at the road. he was looking at you.
his hand was still on yours, his fingers slightly interlaced with yours over the knob of the shifter. the golden valley light was hitting his face, catching the stray hairs of his bedhead and the soft, honest expression in his eyes. the bravado, the bickering—it was all gone. there was just jisung.
just sungie.
the silence in the cab shifted. it wasn't the silence of a mystery podcast or the silence of an awkward motel room. it was heavy, expectant, and so thick with three years of unsaid things that you could barely breathe.
"you have an eyelash on your cheek," he said softly, his voice barely a murmur.
"do i?" your voice was just as quiet.
he reached out with his free hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. his touch was tentative, as if he were waiting for you to pull away, to snap a joke, to break the spell. you didn't. you leaned into it, your eyes fluttering shut for a second.
"yeah," he whispered. "right there."
he didn't move his hand back. his fingers slid into your hair, his palm cupping the side of your face. you could feel the rapid-fire thrum of his pulse in his fingertips. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a silent question written in the nervous twitch of his brow.
you didn't say anything. you just moved.
it wasn't a cinematic, perfectly timed movie kiss. your noses bumped first, and your teeth clinked slightly because you were both shaking, and for a split second, you thought you might actually laugh from the sheer absurdity of it. but then his hand tightened in your hair, and he tilted his head, and the world just...
stopped.
it tasted like the lukewarm coffee and salt-and-vinegar chips, and it felt like the relief of finally reaching the end of a very long, dark road. it was desperate and messy and perfect. it was the sound of a hundred arguments being settled all at once.
when he pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against yours. both of you were breathing hard, the air in the cab suddenly feeling hot and scarce.
"so," jisung breathed, his eyes still closed. "is that a truce-breaking move?"
you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your hands finding the hem of his hoodie to pull him closer. "i think the truce is officially dead, jisung."
"good," he whispered, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "i hated that truce anyway. it was too quiet."
he kissed you again, slower this time, his hand moving from the gear shift to the small of your back, pulling you across the center console as much as the cramped space allowed.
it was the kind of kiss that made you forget you were sitting in a rusted-out truck on the side of a highway in the middle of nowhere.
eventually, you pulled apart, both of you looking a little dazed and very flushed.
"we should... we should probably get to the house," you said, though you didn't move an inch. "before someone actually starts a fire. i really wouldn't put it past them."
jisung nodded, a goofy, lopsided grin spreading across his face—the first real, unburdened smile you’d seen from him in years. "right. the house. the guys. seungmin's shovel."
"he's not going to kill you," you promised, smoothing down his hair, though it didn't help much. "i won't let him."
"my hero," he teased, leaning in for one last, quick peck before hopping out to switch back to the driver's seat.
as he pulled the truck back onto the road, the truck felt different. it wasn't a cage or a liability anymore. it was the place where everything had changed. jisung reached over, finding your hand and squeezing it tight, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he drove.
it was pretty perfect.
the gravel crunched under the tires of the rust bucket as it finally rolled into the driveway of the beachside villa. the house was stunning—all glass and weathered wood, perched right on the edge of a dune—but the most prominent feature was the six boys crowded onto the second-floor deck, looking down at the truck like it was a visiting alien spacecraft.
minho was leaning over the railing, brandishing a spatula like a scepter, his apron flapping in the sea breeze. "look! the survivors have returned! did you leave room for jesus between you in the truck, or was it a tight fit?"
"shut up, minho!" jisung shouted back. he didn't even sound annoyed; there was a lilt in his voice, a lightness that usually only came after too much sugar.
he hopped out of the cab, his boots hitting the gravel with a confident thud. as he walked around to the back to grab the bags, he caught your eye over the roof of the truck. he didn't smirk.
he didn't roll his eyes or make a face at your expense. he just gave you a small, private nod—a silent acknowledgment that while you were back with the group, the something else that had happened in that yellow-walled motel room and on that valley shoulder wasn't staying behind.
the house was chaos from the second you stepped inside. the smell of salt air was replaced by the scent of frying garlic and pure glee. chan was fussing over whether you’d eaten, his hands hovering over your shoulders as if checking for physical damage and mental trauma. felix was giving you a bone-crushing hug, his deep voice muffled against your hair as he apologized for the bad luck of the truck's breakdown.
"you look... different," seungmin said, leaning against the kitchen island with a dish towel over his shoulder. he was squinting, his protective-brother-radar pinging at maximum frequency. "you're wearing a different hoodie. that’s not yours. and you haven't told jisung to shut up once in the last ten minutes. actually, you haven't even looked at him with the usual 'i want to poison your lunch' expression."
"it's been a long trip, seungmin," you said, trying to keep your voice even as you busied yourself with a plate of shrimp. your heart was hammering against your ribs. "i'm too tired to be mean. i’ve used up my yearly quota of insults on his driving."
"suspicious," he muttered, eyes darting between you and jisung, who was currently being tackled by felix. seungmin didn't look convinced, but he let it go for the moment as chan popped a bottle of wine and started pouring glasses for everyone.
the night unfolded in a blur of laughter and relief. as the wine flowed and the adrenaline of the trip finally ebbed away, the group settled into a familiar rhythm. the "act" was surprisingly easy to keep up, mostly because the bickering hadn't stopped—it had just mutated. it was lighter now, the insults carrying a playful warmth that hadn't been there before. it wasn't about trying to hurt; it was about trying to stay close.
you were all sprawled out in the living room, a cutthroat game of monopoly in full swing. minho was winning, naturally, having somehow acquired a monopoly on the dark blue and green properties within twenty minutes. he sat cross-legged on the floor, looking like a smug cat.
"this is rigged! i'm filing a formal complaint!" jisung whined, throwing himself back onto a giant beanbag. "how is it fair that you have hotels on park place and i'm literally in jail? this is a metaphor for my life. i am being oppressed by the system. i'm a victim of circumstance."
"you're in jail because you rolled doubles three times, you theatrical squirrel," minho retorted, gleefully collecting rent from a grimacing chan. "pay up. i don't accept tears as currency."
you laughed, leaning back against the sofa. you felt a hand brush against your ankle—jisung, reaching out from his beanbag to give you a quick, grounding squeeze. his thumb traced a small circle over your skin before pulling back to continue his dramatic monologue about the injustices of capitalism. the touch was brief, hidden by the coffee table, but it felt like a jolt of electricity.
it felt good. it felt right. but as you looked at him—his face flushed with wine, his hair a mess from running his hands through it—the urge to keep it a secret started to feel less like a necessity and more like a burden. you were tired of the wall. you were tired of the "enemies" label everyone else had slapped on you.
maybe it was love, maybe it was the wine. either way, you have no excuse for what came over you.
you stood up, stretching your legs. "i'm going to get more popcorn. the losers look like they need emotional support snacks."
"get the butter kind! and don't skimp on the salt!" jisung called out, looking up at you with that bright, lopsided grin—the one that had finally, completely won you over somewhere between mile marker forty and sixty.
you paused. the room was loud, filled with the clatter of dice and chan's booming laughter. without overthinking it—knowing that if you thought about it for even a second, you'd lose your nerve—you leaned down and pressed a quick, firm kiss to jisung’s cheek.
the room didn't just go quiet; it seemed to physically deflate.
the dice stopped rolling. chan’s wine glass stopped halfway to his mouth. felix’s jaw dropped so low you thought it might actually hit the coffee table. minho’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned back.
"i knew it," minho whispered into the silence. "i am the smartest man alive. pay up, chan. i told you the truck breakdown was a blessing in disguise."
seungmin, however, was a different story.
he stood up slowly, his face a mask of calm, terrifying fury. he didn't look at you; he looked directly at jisung, who was currently frozen on the beanbag like a deer caught in high-beams, his hand still frozen mid-air where he’d been gesturing.
"han jisung," seungmin said, his voice dangerously low, the kind of quiet that usually precedes a natural disaster. "get up. we are going into the backyard. i need to show you a very interesting rock. and by 'show you a rock,' i mean i'm going to bury you under one."
"truce! truce!" jisung yelled, finally snapping out of his trance and scrambling backward over the beanbag as seungmin started to lunge for him. "seungmin, wait! it was the manual transmission! the stress of the road! it changed us! it was a spiritual experience!"
"i'll change your manual transmission into a funeral procession!" seungmin shouted, chasing him around the sofa while hyunjin and felix started cheering like they were at a wrestling match.
chan jumped up, grabbing seungmin around the waist to hold him back, though he was laughing too hard to be very effective. "seungmin, let him live! we need him for the drive back!"
"no, we don't! i'll drive the truck into the ocean!"
"sungie, run!" you laughed, leaning against the kitchen doorframe as you watched the chaos. it was exactly what you expected, and yet, the weight that had been sitting on your chest for years was gone.
jisung darted behind the kitchen island, using you as a human shield. he pointed a frantic finger at seungmin. "save me! tell him you like me! tell him i'm a vibe! tell him i'm the best thing that ever happened to this group!"
"he's a vibe, seungmin! i promise!" you shouted over the noise.
"he's a menace! he's been annoying you since freshman year!" seungmin yelled back, though he was finally starting to crack a smile despite his best efforts to stay angry.
eventually, the chase died down, leaving everyone breathless and leaning on each other for support. jisung gingerly crept back toward the group, hiding behind chan’s shoulder until he was sure seungmin wouldn't actually tackle him again.
as the night finally wound down and the others drifted off toward their bedrooms, the house grew quiet, the only sound the distant roar of the atlantic. you and jisung found yourselves alone on the deck, looking out at the dark, moonlit ocean. the air was cool and sharp with salt.
jisung stepped up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest. you felt the soft navy-blue fleece of his hoodie—the one he’d practically forced you into when the truck heater died—against your arms.
"so," he whispered, his chin resting on your shoulder. "that was one hell of an arrival. i really thought seungmin was going to end me."
"seungmin is going to give you a hard time for the rest of your life," you reminded him, tilting your head back to look at him. "you know that, right? he's never going to let you forget the 'highlighter hair' comments."
"worth it," he said, and for once, there was no joke in his voice. he sounded grounded. "totally worth it. i’d let him chase me around the house every day if it meant i didn't have to pretend i don't want to be near you."
he turned you around in his arms, his gaze soft as he looked at you in the moonlight. the bickering wasn't gone—it would probably always be part of the way you communicated—but the weight of it had changed. it wasn't a wall meant to keep people out anymore. it was just the way you played.
"eight hours in a rust bucket," he mused, leaning down until his forehead touched yours. his breath was warm against your skin. "one sketchy motel with thin walls. a flooded engine. and i still think i’m the happiest guy on this beach."
"don't get sappy, sungie," you whispered, though you were already reaching up to tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. "you're still an annoying, disorganized, statistical anomaly."
"yeah," he breathed, closing the gap between you, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "but i'm your statistical anomaly."
and as the moon rose over the water, officially ending the longest road trip of your life, you realized that sometimes the best way to find exactly where you’re going is to get completely, hopelessly lost with the last person you ever expected to love. he kissed you, and it was just as sweet as before.
you just might've been the luckiest girl in the world.
🏷️ ( ask to be added! ): @beautifulsharkgoatee @susu6944 @emilywjinnie @emotionalstrawberries @babythisisourcinema @maliatate96 @doliveiraa @notmeneo @gadriezmannsgirl
includes ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ touchstarved!seungmin, stressed!seungmin, comfort and fluff, very brief angst (a rare achievement for me), established relationship (somewhat), awkward stages of dating, former bsf!reader, reader is implied to work in some form of media/entertainment, very sweet and soft
notes ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ hey! so i know this was a request but i’d actually like to make this a series (the idea was just so cute) called “what is love?” for each of the boys, but i’ll probably elaborate more in the future :p also during the entire course of writing this i had to physically repress the urge to dive into full-blown angst and insecurity so i hope i get credit for not doing that
requested here ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ m.list here
series name : ❝ what is love? ❞ ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ bang chan | lee know | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin
synopsis ⊹ ⌁ ⃕˖ seungmin has made it a point of his character that he is ‘that’ guy. aloof, sarcastic, cynical and begrudgingly affectionate. yet for all his teasing and bravado, he seems to be struggling with one thing: he’s not sure how to ask for love.
What is love to Kim Seungmin?
To Seungmin, love is the feeling of quiet service. Reliability and certainty. He loves music. He loves baseball. He loves his brothers, annoying as they can be. Love is a gift to be offered to those who deserve it, a promise that no matter what, you will have somebody watching over you silently.
You had already been close before he confessed his feelings, but he wanted you to be in every part of his life. The good, the bad, the quiet and the loud. Yet Seungmin was never one to give love so openly. He hid it behind teasing remarks, biting sarcasm, and reluctant sighs as he followed behind you down the shopping districts, despite holding your bags and buying your hot chocolate without a second of hesitation.
Confessions and dating was meant to change something between you two, Seungmin knew that. But try as he might, he didn’t know how to be the one to reach out. He had always relied on his loved ones to be the one to initiate intimacy.
It just so happened that only a week after you began dating, it was time for Stray Kids’ newest Japanese comeback, not to mention a vocally-heavy track. Somehow, despite the fact dating was meant to bring you closer in each others lives, Seungmin saw you even less as promotions launched nationwide.
Given your own career, you had been far too understanding, giving him a warm smile that washed over him and made his heart stutter. He might’ve fallen into your arms that very moment, but hesitation held him back.
It was too embarrassing, surely, wanting to be given love with nothing attached. Simply being given the comfort of quietly breathing next to you, head against your shoulder, no remarks and no pressure to do anything at all, the thought made Seungmin’s cheeks burn red as he looked out the car window.
How mortifying, he thought, to crave someone’s warmth this badly.
During the first full twenty-four hours without you, Seungmin felt a gnawing in his chest. It wasn’t unusual to be separated for more than one day, so he brushed it aside. You’d be apart for much more often during the foreseeable future, after all.
Then it became a week, seven days with rushed calls and hurried goodbyes, quick waves and nods but nothing more when you crossed paths in the hallways.
It was fine. There was no reason for you two to be attached at the hip, having just started your relationship.
It was definitely unrelated that he started to struggle to hit his high notes, that his voice cracked on a particularly poetic verse, one he had especially mocked Chan for writing too sappily.
“Here, drink some water, Min,” Changbin offered, handing Seungmin the plastic bottle. Seungmin nodded, raking a hand through his hair as he gulped down the refreshing water. Their track debut performance was coming up rapidly, and yet he still couldn’t hit the notes the way he did when they were recording.
“You alright? I mean, if you’re having trouble, we can really just do a backtrack,” Changbin offered. He’d been the only one to stay behind with Seungmin in the sound booth, even if Seungmin definitely didn’t need him there. Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix were coaching the backup dancers a floor below them, Chan and Jisung were in the studio as always, probably spitting out another decade’s worth of tracks despite being in the middle of a comeback itself, and Jeongin had immediately declared his exhaustion and was sleeping next to them.
“I’m alright,” Seungmin said pointedly, handing back the bottle. “You don’t need to be here, anyways. Go bother Innie or Lix.”
“But I want to bother you,” Changbin grinned. Seungmin let out a tsk, turning back to the music sheet and attempting the high note yet again.
“Minnie, your vocals are seriously something else~! Wow, I could really listen to them on repeat forever.”
You had said it casually, while blasting Cover Me as he drove you to work (begrudgingly, obviously, and certainly not because he was making sure you didn’t sleep in again).
He wanted to sing for you, because singing felt the same way that your presence did. The same exhilaration of hitting those high notes felt like the way you would jump behind him with a surprise hug, grinning ear to ear.
His voice cracked yet again. Seungmin pushed the memory and the thoughts away with a shake of his head, frown deepening.
“Maybe drink some soup? I’m sure Minho would make some for you- or, you could ask your girlfriend,” Changbin wiggled his eyebrows, giving Seungmin a cheesy look that made Seungmin want to twist his ears.
“What, jealous I have one? Did Innie reject you yet again?” Seungmin snorted. Changbin let out an offended gasp.
“I have game! Don’t you know that STAY actually calls me-” Changbin started before Seungmin gagged.
“Ew, I don’t want to know what STAY call you. Besides, they’re not a valid source in this argument. Chan made them way too freaky,” Seungmin retorted. Changbin continued to prod Seungmin’s cheeks, the sarcasm barely swaying his affection. Seungmin sighed, ignoring Changbin’s antics as he went back to practicing his vocals.
He’d die before admitting it, but Seungmin envied Changbin in more ways than one. It wasn’t unusual for him to… love so loudly. Openly showering everyone in adoration. If Changbin had started dating, Seungmin was sure that Changbin would spoil her and be clinging to her side like a lovesick koala (Seungmin had considered plotting to get Changbin a girlfriend on more than one occasion if it meant he’d be taking less of the brunt of Changbin’s unfiltered affection).
Like always, his mind slipped to you. Imagining a day with no schedules. Waking up beside you, and nuzzling his head into your chest. Resting his chin on you in the kitchen as you made your overly-sweet coffee, the recipe for which he’d memorized (begrudgingly, once again), arms wrapped around your waist. Imagining a quiet night with the TV blasting a k-drama with you softly asleep against him, with a hand carefully brushing your shoulder.
Seungmin’s face burned with the embarrassment of the very idea, eyes searing into the ground. He swallowed, feeling as if his insides were at war.
Was he really so… touch-starved that he would imagine such domestic moments?
“Changbin,” Seungmin said abruptly, staring at his sheet music as if it were the most serious thing in the world. “How do you ask somebody for a hug?”
It took about three seconds for Changbin to blink, pull away, stare at Seungmin quizzically, before exploding into shock right as Seungmin felt the instantaneous regret of asking Changbin for advice.
“You?? Why in the world would YOU-” Changbin gasped, clutching his chest like an elderly woman who had just heard something scandalous. “Is this about your girlfriend- wait, have you seriously never hugged your girlfriend before?”
“I have!” Seungmin immediately defended. “It’s just, uhm… she usually hugs me first, and I just…”
Usually when you hugged him, he would give you an awkward pat on the back, resisting every single urge to melt into a puddle and the butterflies fighting a third world war in his heart.
“Stand there like a default character? Oh, Seungmin, Seungmin, Seungmin,” Changbin clicked his tongue, before delving into another fit of laughter.
“Yah! Why’re you sounding like a disapproving old mother?” Seungmin shot, letting out a huff and crossing his arms. “Forget it. I knew you’d be no help.”
“No, wait, no, I’ll help, I swear!” Changbin stood up straight immediately, stifling his laughter. “Uhm, it’s just… there’s not really a blueprint for… hugging.”
“Well, unlike you, with no personal boundaries and sense of space, I have a reputation to be concerned with,” Seungmin scoffed. Changbin ignored the remark, and looked to be deep in thought.
“I guess if you want to hug her, just go for it? I’m sure she won’t mind at all, from the times I’ve met her, she definitely loves you,” Changbin smiled, and Seungmin swiftly turned his face away, cheeks burning bright red.
“That’s terrible advice,” Seungmin barely managed to spit out, but Changbin’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in his head through the day and night. Just go for it. They rang even up till the moment they were getting on stage.
He was a mess by then, undoubtedly. He had barely slept, practicing the notes and delivering the emotion in the bridge over and over, until his throat was raw and Chan had physically dragged him back to the dorm. He could hear the crowd cheering and screaming in anticipation, and yet Seungmin was still only able to offer a half-guarantee that he could perfect the notes.
His heart pounding as his mic and earpiece were fitted in, Seungmin tossed the mic between his hands, taking shallow breaths, his entire body tense. Forget the note, he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to manage the choreography.
It was stupid. He’d never had problems performing, but the moment he didn’t have you by his side, it felt as if something had been drained out of him. You weren’t even far away, yet he missed you so badly he could almost hear your voice-
“Kim Seungmin!”
His head swung around at lightning speed, even if he’d never admit it. The staff checking his earpiece let out a huff of annoyance, but Seungmin couldn’t control his body. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that had broken down his walls, but the instant he saw you grinning widely in that doorway, slightly out of breath, looking so proud of yourself, eyes sparkling with delight, he knew more than anything that he was done for. With you, you had become his biggest weakness, a wrecking ball to destroy the barriers he had carefully built to maintain a facade.
“Wow, that stage makeup is stunning-” your words were cut short immediately as Seungmin pulled you into a soul-crushing hug, face buried in your shoulder, all the stress melting away leaving nothing but just you.
It took two seconds for you two wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back and a flustered expression on your face.
He didn’t pull away. Honestly, maybe he could’ve stayed in your arms forever, nor did you rush him.
“Five-minute warning for performers,” the announcement speaker in the dressing room informed. Seungmin twitched, slightly out of irritation for the moment having been interrupted.
“Is something wrong, Minnie?” You said in concern, pulling back slightly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, the other hand cupping his cheek. “I know comeback’s been really stressful, they always are. I’m here for you, right?”
The words landed somewhere deep in Seungmin, like droplets falling onto a quiet lake surface. Rippling all the way to his heart, as he leaned into the hand cradling his face.
“I’m fine, now that you’re here.” No sarcasm, no teasing, just simple and honest. “I really missed you.”
Guess it only took sleep deprivation to get here, Seungmin noted internally, still staring into your eyes. You frowned, squishing his cheek, but giving him a light kiss on the nose, and then Kim Seungmin fell in love with you all over again.
“I missed you too, of course. Now go out there and be amazing, yeah? Then maybe we can get dinner, or order takeout, unless you’re eating with the boys-”
“Takeout with you sounds perfect,” Seungmin agreed. You tried not to look too taken-aback by his sudden sincerity, but still smiled softly.
“Alright. I’ll be cheering you on!”
So, if you asked Kim Seungmin what love is, what would he say?
To Seungmin, love is the feeling of the world melting away when you see someone. Love is finding comfort simply in someone’s presence.
Love is melting into your side on the couch, eyes fluttering asleep, knowing that nothing else matters but the way your hand grazing over his as lightly as a feather, as you gasp and narrate the drama on the television dramatically.
Yes, Seungmin would answer that love isn’t simply quietly waiting, but love is trusting someone to be there no matter what.
CONTENT: Enemies to Lovers, (Slow burn), Witty Banter & Sarcasm, Intellectual Rivalry, High Tension..
SUMMARY: Your group of friends has a new constant: Seungmin. He is sharp, analytical, and has a frustrating knack for challenging every opinion you hold. What starts as a series of intellectual clashes in crowded bars evolves during a weekend getaway where shared silences and a borrowed jacket bridge the gap between rivalry and attraction. Now, the arguments feel less like combat and more like a prelude. You’ve both stepped out of your comfort zones, and as the tension reaches a breaking point, you’re left with one nagging certainty: the next time you’re this close, neither of you will stop.
Your group of friends isn’t particularly large, but it is constant. The usual suspects: people from uni, from work, a few acquaintances who just stuck around over the years. You meet up to watch games, celebrate birthdays, or to have a group cry whenever someone goes through a breakup.
One night, at one of those birthdays, someone says:
“Hey, do you mind if a friend of mine swings by? He’s in the area.”
“Bring him along” another answers. “The more the merrier—more people to finish the beer.”
And that’s how he shows up.
He walks into the bar with a couple of calm strides, hands in his jacket pockets, expression neutral. He doesn’t stand out because he’s being loud or because he’s particularly dressed up. He stands out because it seems like he couldn't care less about everything happening around him.
Dark brown hair, soft yet defined features, attentive eyes. The kind of face that could look sweet... if it weren't for how seriously he looks at everything.
“This is Seungmin” your friend says. “A guy from work.” “Hi,” he greets, with a slight nod.
He smiles at you out of politeness, nothing more.
You’re on the other side of the table with your drink. You think something like: well, a new guy. And that’s it. There’s no spark. There’s nothing. Just another guy who looks like his mind is somewhere else.
The first time you actually talk is weeks later, at another get-together. A different bar, but the same old crowd.
Someone mentions a movie.
"It’s crap" you say, bluntly. "Everything that happens in the second half makes zero sense."
"Well, I liked it" another friend replies. "The ending made me cry."
"You cry at Christmas commercials" you tease her.
General laughter. Good vibes.
Then, from the opposite side of the table, he speaks. It wasn’t directed at you, but it reaches you all the same.
"The movie isn't that bad" Seungmin says, calmly. "It’s just that people focus on the obvious and miss the details."
You look up at him.
"Excuse me?" you ask with a half-smile. "Are you calling me basic?"
He holds your gaze, leaning his elbow on the table.
"If the shoe fits…" he lets the sentence hang there, with a tone so subtly ironic that you can’t tell if you’re overreacting or if he’s actually poking at you.
The rest of the table laughs, as if it’s just a funny back-and-forth.
You’re not laughing as much.
"Alright, genius" you say. "Then explain to me exactly which details I missed."
You don’t remember the last time someone disagreed with you so quickly without even knowing you.
He doesn’t back down.
"For starters" he begins, listing points calmly, "the main character's arc isn't about 'what happens to him,' it's about 'how he reacts.' Everything else is just scenery. And the ending doesn't have to make logical sense; it has to make emotional sense. And it does."
He says it just like that, dead serious, as if you were in an academic debate and not in a bar two beers in.
"That’s just a fancy way of saying 'I swallowed the whole thing and didn't question a single bit of it'" you fire back.
Your friends watch you both closely, amused. Someone mutters something like, "Ooh, here we go."
Seungmin barely smiles, but it’s not a friendly one; it’s a "this is getting interesting" kind of smile.
"No" he disagrees. "It’s a way of saying that if you want a story to give you everything pre-chewed, that’s not the story’s fault. That’s on you."
The word "you" sounds almost like a challenge.
Right then, something clicks.
Not in a romantic or pretty way.
More like: this guy gets on my last nerve.
"Right" you respond, crossing your arms. "And if someone doesn't think like you do, it’s just because they didn't understand anything."
"I didn't say that" he shot back. "You did."
And just like that, without knowing how, in less than ten minutes you are deep in a semi-serious mini-argument about cinema, scripts, and expectations, while the rest of the group acts as the audience.
Finally, one of your friends chimes in:
"Okay, Tarantino and Nolan, that’s enough. It was just a movie."
The subject changes. You order another round. Apparently, the night goes on as usual.
But you’ve already walked away with one thing clear: this Seungmin guy has a particular knack for bringing out your argumentative side.
And he seems to enjoy it.
Over time, you realize it wasn't just a one-off thing.
Every time you cross paths —dinner, a house party, beers after work— the same thing happens:
Someone says something.
You give your opinion.
He, from some spot at the table, drops a precise, ironic sentence that contradicts exactly what you just said.
Always without losing his cool. Always with that "I'm just being logical" look on his face.
"There’s nothing fun about waking up that early" you say.
"There's more fun in being on time than in making excuses" he replies.
"Not everything can be fixed by being responsible, you know?" you snap.
"No, but it helps" he fires back.
And so it goes, over and over again.
Your group starts to normalize it.
"Leave them be, it’s just their dynamic" someone says, laughing. "It’s not a real hang-out if they don't argue."
It bothers you that they see it as a "dynamic."
He bothers you.
You don’t know exactly what to call it, but you define it in your head like this:
Seungmin:
Sarcastic.
Slow to laugh.
Quick to disagree.
Too serious for a night out with friends.
With an expression that seems to say, "I’m right and you’re not."
The worst part is that most of the time, when he starts arguing a point, he knows what he’s talking about. He’s not your typical loudmouth with no foundation. His comments have logic, data, examples. Instead of liking that, it pisses you off even more.
Because you can’t fully ignore him. You have to work harder to counter him.
And you are stubborn, too.
So, every encounter is:
One beer.
Two comments.
Three jabs.
And a small or medium-sized argument.
Nothing serious. Nothing that ends in shouting.
Just friction. Constant friction.
There’s one day when, without meaning to, the friction feels… different.
It’s at a house, not a bar. A mutual friend has organized a game night: food, background music, cards, Jenga, things like that.
You’re sitting on the floor on a cushion, looking through the pile of games. Seungmin is right next to you, a can in his hand, reading the rules of one of them.
"That game is crap" you say, pointing at the box he’s holding.
"You and your opinions" he comments, without looking up. "Have you ever even played it?"
"I don’t need to play it to see that it’s boring" you respond. "It looks like a game for people who take winning way too seriously."
He looks up.
"And do you take losing seriously?" he asks.
"I take having fun seriously" you say. "This" —you tap the box with a finger— "is for a Human Resources office, not a party."
He lets out a more visible smile.
"You judge quickly" he observes.
"I judge well" you correct him.
"Always?" he insists.
"Almost always" you admit. "There are exceptions. But generally, my radar doesn't fail."
"What category exactly has your radar put me in?" he asks, with a tone that tries to be light, but has something curious underneath.
You could have said "X" and just let it go.
You don't.
"In the 'guy who thinks he always knows more than everyone else' category" you respond, looking him dead in the eye. "And who thinks he’s way too smart for his own good."
The silence between you grows thicker, but not uncomfortable. More like electric.
He sets the can down on the table, without looking away.
"And which one do you think you're in?" he fires back. "'Girl who has an opinion on everything and gets mad if someone disagrees with her'."
It’s a clean hit.
It only hurts because there’s some truth to it.
"At least I laugh every now and then" you counter. "You act like they charge you for smiling."
"Depends on who I’m with" he responds, quickly.
And right there, for a fraction of a second, something shifts.
Because that sentence, said with that tone, sounds a little less hostile and a little more… interested? You aren't quite sure.
You look at him a moment longer than necessary. You notice, for the first time, details you’d overlooked before: the way his jawline defines itself when he clenches his teeth, how his eyes shine when he’s bickering with you, how his voice drops when he’s speaking seriously.
A fleeting thought crosses your mind:
He’s not bad looking.
You shake it off quickly, almost angry with yourself.
A friend interrupts the moment, throwing cushions, telling you both to stop making a scene.
The night goes on. You play. You tease each other again. Nothing changes radically.
But you can no longer say "I’m indifferent."
Now you do know what to think of Seungmin:
He gets on your nerves.
And that, much to your chagrin, keeps you more focused on him than you’d ever want to admit.
Since that day at your friend's house, something changed that you didn't even want to acknowledge.
When Seungmin was around, you noticed him before you even saw him. It wasn't anything mystical; it was something as simple as your body becoming a tiny bit more tense, your responses coming out faster, your radar switching on by itself.
And that annoyed you.
So you defended yourself the only way you knew how: more sarcasm, more distance, more "I don't care about you."
The idea for the weekend came up in the group chat almost by accident.
"My parents have a house on the outskirts" one of your friends said in the chat. "We can all go, disconnect, drink, have a barbecue—the usual."
You were up for it. It had been a while since you’d broken out of the city-work-bed routine.
You confirmed you were going without overthinking it.
A few days before, the group agreed:
Leave Friday afternoon. Come back Sunday afternoon/evening. Split the cars, the food, the alcohol.
It was only when they sent out the car list that you noticed a silly little detail:
You were assigned to the same car as Seungmin.
You knew yourself well enough to know you weren't going to cancel over that. But you did catch yourself staring at the message for a couple of seconds too long before locking your screen.
On Friday morning, your room looked like a cross between a “mini move” and “I have no idea what to pack.”
You leave the suitcase open on the bed.
You pack:
Two pairs of jeans. A couple of comfortable t-shirts. A big sweater in case it gets cold at night. Underwear, socks, pajamas. Sneakers. A toiletry bag with the basics. An old sweatshirt that you always end up taking on trips out of habit.
You hesitate over a couple of other things: something a bit more “dressed up” in case you go out? Something cozier in case you spend the whole day lounging around?
In the end, you also pack:
A slightly nicer top, “just in case.” Some leggings to be comfortable around the house.
You struggle to zip it shut, open it back up to toss in a charger you almost forgot, and zip it again.
You check the clock. A message pops up in the group chat:
We’re downstairs in 10.
You grab your suitcase, the small bag where you keep your phone, wallet, and headphones, and leave the house.
When you get down to the street, you already see one of the cars parked near the entrance. Two friends are outside, smoking and chatting. Another is already inside.
"Hey, finally" one says. "I thought you’d backed out."
"If I back out, at least I back out with my bag packed" you respond.
"You’re in this car" they point out.
You walk over.
The passenger seat is occupied by one of your friends, sunglasses already on, playlist ready. In the back, on the left side, there’s a backpack. On the right, an empty seat.
On the left side, sitting there, is Seungmin, with his seatbelt already on, looking at his phone.
He looks up when he hears the door.
Your eyes meet for a second.
"You're with me" the driver says, opening the trunk to load your suitcase. "I promise not to play Reggaeton the whole trip."
"What a shame, I’d just mentally prepared myself for it" you respond, opening the back door.
You sit down next to Seungmin, pressed against the window. He moves his backpack slightly to make room for you, without saying a word. You hold your bag in your lap, like some kind of shield.
The car starts.
At first, the noise is filled with low music, silly comments from the front, a laugh here and there. You look out the window, answering every now and then, but you are very conscious of the body beside you: calm, contained, with a knee brushing yours occasionally as the car takes a curve.
At one point, a song you really like plays in the background.
You hum along without realizing it, softly.
"I wouldn't have pegged you for this band" Seungmin comments from the side, without fully looking at you.
"Excuse me?" you turn your head slightly.
"I thought you were more into mindless hits" he says. "Not decent lyrics."
It doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it’s not a direct attack either. It’s… his weird way of saying you’ve surprised him.
"I’m glad to disappoint your expectations" you respond.
He traces a slight smile.
"It’s not that easy" he says.
The conversation goes no further. You both go back to your windows, to your phones, to your thoughts.
But it isn’t uncomfortable.
And that surprises you a little.
The house is on the outskirts, in an area with more trees than buildings—two stories, painted white, with a patch of garden in the back.
When you arrive, there’s already another car parked there. Shouts of greeting, doors slamming, laughter. It feels a bit like a high school field trip, but with more alcohol.
You leave your suitcase in one of the upstairs rooms, shared with two friends. From the window, you can see the garden: a large plastic table, chairs, a barbecue, and a few hanging lights that look like they’ll set the mood once night falls.
The rest of the day is spent: Divvying up beds and sofas, heading to the supermarket for things that were missing (“did anyone bring salt? what about oil?”), prepping some food, opening the first beers, and spending some time lounging in the sun in the garden.
You exchange a few words with everyone, and with Seungmin too at times—always in that half-sarcastic, half-neutral tone that has become your basic form of communication.
If you pay attention, he doesn’t seem to make a special effort to get close to you, but he doesn't leave when you’re around either. He’s just… there. Constant.
When it gets dark, the garden lights come on. Someone plays music from a speaker. Another takes charge of the barbecue. The table fills up with improvised food, snacks, and various bottles.
It’s one of those “we’re way too adult for this, but it feels so good” moments.
After dinner, inevitably, someone suggests:
"Should we play something? Like Truth or Dare, Never Have I Ever, cards… whatever."
You end up in the living room—some on the sofa, others on the floor. A deck of cards appears, a drinking game, some "uncomfortable questions" app.
Everyone promises "not to go too far." No one keeps it.
You have to drink more than you expected, but not enough to lose your head. You’re at that pleasant point where your tongue loosens up, your body relaxes, and the laughs come easily.
There are silly dares, semi-serious confessions, a few off-color jokes. Every now and then, you lock eyes with Seungmin: sometimes because you’ve both laughed at the same thing, sometimes because you both get mentioned in a question.
"Out of everyone here..." a friend reads, "who would you go to a deserted island with?"
Someone says your name, another says his, and someone else mixes you both together in a joke.
"Those two would kill each other before they even reached the second day" someone says, pointing at you.
"It would be efficient" Seungmin adds, deadpan.
"Especially to save me from hearing your own opinions" you respond.
Laughter.
The glasses empty. Faces turn flush. Bit by bit, the energy changes: some get more clingy, others more philosophical, others just sleepy.
You start to notice that the living room is feeling a bit small: too many people, too much noise, too much heat.
You stand up during a break between games, pretending to go get some water.
No one pays you much attention.
The house has a small balcony on the top floor, at the end of the hallway. You saw it in passing when you dropped off your bags, but you didn't give it much thought then.
Now, walking up the stairs with your glass in hand and opening that glass door feels like an escape.
You step out into the fresh air.
The night outside is darker than what you’re used to in the city. The sky has more stars, and the air smells like grass and damp wood.
You lean against the railing, taking a slow sip of what’s left in your glass. You enjoy the relative silence: only the muffled murmur of the music and voices from below reaches you.
Not even two minutes pass before you hear the glass door open again.
You don't even need to look to know who it is.
"Fleeing the pack too, I see" Seungmin comments, closing the door behind him.
"I’m just here to file a weather report" you respond, without turning around. "Too much noise inside, plenty of stars outside."
He walks over until he's just a couple of steps away from you, leaning against the railing too, but keeping a careful distance between you.
"And which do you like better?" he asks.
"Depends on the day" you say. "Tonight, the stars win."
He nods, looking up.
He stays quiet for a moment.
It’s not that tense silence of "we don't know what to say." It’s more like the breathing room you need after so many hours of having people around.
"I didn't think you were the type to escape" he comments after a while.
"And what did you think I was like?" you throw the question back at him.
"The type to stay in the middle of the noise until the very end" he responds. "That you enjoy the fight."
"I can fight tomorrow" you say. "Tonight, I’m settling for not listening to some nobody tell the same party story for the third time."
A smile escapes you. He smiles too, just barely.
"You’ve paid quite a bit of attention to everyone" he says.
"To spend time with someone, you have to look at them, right?" you respond. "Even if some make you want to look away."
He turns his head slightly, looking at you from the corner of his eye.
"And what category am I in now?" he asks. "The 'makes you want to look away' one?"
You could let out something easy. Something like "yes, next question."
But the light buzz from the alcohol and the night air soften you just a bit.
"In the 'makes me want to argue more' category" you admit.
He lets out a low, genuine laugh.
"That sounds like a weird compliment" he says.
"It’s not a compliment" you fire back. "It’s a diagnosis."
A brief silence follows.
The air is fresh, but not cold. You feel the soft brush of the wind on your arms, the glass in your hand now almost empty.
"You watch people a lot, too" you say, suddenly.
He blinks.
"Oh, really?" he feigns surprise.
"Yeah" you nod. "You always seem to be analyzing something. Everyone. Me, too."
Seungmin takes his eyes off the sky and shifts them to you.
"I like to understand things" he responds. "And people, when they talk, reveal more than they think they do."
"And what have you understood about me, then?" you ask, crossing your arms, curiosity and defiance mixed together.
He takes his time.
"That you like being right, but not for free" he begins. "If someone agrees with you just for the sake of it, it makes you even angrier. That it pisses you off when people don't take you seriously, but you also use jokes as a way to avoid taking some things too seriously yourself. And that, even though you say you don't care about anything, you care about almost everything."
That last sentence sticks with you a little.
You laugh, but not very loudly.
"How observant" you mutter.
"I'm good for something" he says.
"And what should I understand about you?" you ask.
He gives a tiny shrug.
"Whatever you want" he responds. "You have an infallible radar, don't you?"
The way he says it isn't arrogant. It sounds more like: if you want to know, ask.
"That you like to argue" you say. "But not with just anyone. That you find it hard to loosen up because you’re afraid of looking like a fool. That you think you’re rational, but sometimes you’re just as intense as the rest of us—just on the inside."
This time, the silence is his.
He keeps looking at you for a long while, as if evaluating whether you’ve just said something stupid or if you’ve hit on something he doesn't usually hear.
"You're not that far off" he admits.
You realize something: you are speaking to each other in low voices, almost intimately, without shouting over music, without an audience around you.
And you don't feel like going back down.
You don’t feel like sharing this version of him with anyone else.
The door opens for a moment. One of your friends pokes their head out.
"Hey, you guys here? We’re starting another round. Come down if you want."
"We’ll be down in a bit" you say.
"Or not" Seungmin adds.
Your friend laughs, leaves, and closes the door.
You’re alone once again.
"Do you want to go back down?" he asks.
You think about it.
"We can give them ten minutes to kill each other" you respond. "And then we’ll go down as if they hadn't shouted your name and mine together in the same sentence."
He smiles a little more.
"Good idea."
The distance between the two of you remains the same, but something has shifted. You haven't touched; there hasn't been anything physical. But the tension is there—soft, almost comfortable—floating between sarcastic comments and tiny confessions.
And, though you wouldn't say it out loud even if you were drunk, for the first time, being alone with him doesn't bother you.
You’re intrigued.
And that, in your case, has always been dangerous.
In the end, after a bit more of that half-serious, half-sarcastic talk, you finish off the rest of your drink.
"If we don’t go down now, they’re going to come looking for us with torches" you say.
"Or with shots" Seungmin adds.
"Even worse."
You push the glass door open and head back into the hallway. The contrast between the silence upstairs and the noise in the living room is almost violent: laughter, raised voices, some poorly adjusted music blaring from the speaker.
You walk down the stairs one after the other.
As soon as you cross the threshold of the living room, a friend looks up, points, and sings out:
"Look who’s back from the balcony!"
Another joins in:
"Ooh, ooh, ooh… out there a long time, weren't you?"
"Relax" you respond, putting your hands up. "No one died. Yet."
"Are you sure?" someone asks. "Because the tension was visible from down here."
Laughter.
You notice how the comment hits you a little harder than it should. Suddenly, you see yourself from the outside: coming down the stairs behind him, leaving a small, dark place together at the same time.
Your automatic reflex is to stiffen up.
"We have a right to breathe air that isn't contaminated by your alcoholic breath" you snap. "Not everything here is about hormonal drama."
"That sounds like a 'yes, there was tension'" one of them responds, just to mess with you.
"That sounds like you're projecting" you cut him off.
Seungmin, by your side, says nothing. He simply walks toward the table, picks up his glass, and takes a sip as if none of this concerns him. But out of the corner of your eye, you see one corner of his mouth turn up, amused.
He doesn't defend you, but he doesn't fan the flames either. And, curiously, that relieves you.
You both join the next round of the game as if nothing happened. You talk a bit louder than usual, laugh a bit too much, trying to shift the spotlight elsewhere.
It's only when the jokes finally fade out that you realize you've rubbed your neck a couple of times, as if you had something written there.
And you hate yourself a little for letting one balcony change the way you move so much.
The next day smells like hangovers and toast.
You wake up in the shared room, with light filtering through the curtains and the distant echo of someone clattering around in the kitchen. Your friends are still half-asleep, one of them with her arm draped over her face.
You throw on the first thing you find: an oversized t-shirt, leggings, and your hair pulled back into a halfway decent bun. You head downstairs barefoot, following the smell of coffee.
The kitchen is an organized mess: plates, mugs, leftovers from dinner, and a toaster smoking away. A couple of friends are rummaging through the fridge.
And Seungmin is at the counter, his back to you, prepping something in the coffee maker.
"Halfway good morning" you greet them, your voice raspy.
"I don't know about 'good' but it’s definitely morning" one responds.
Seungmin turns his head slightly to look at you.
"Looks like you survived" he comments.
"A disappointment for some" you say, opening a cabinet in search of a mug.
As you reach out, he’s already placing a clean mug right next to the coffee maker.
"Here" he says. "You like it with a splash of milk and no sugar, right?"
You stand still for a second.
"Since when are you taking notes?" you ask, taking the mug.
"Since you always leave the sugar packet untouched" he responds, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He pours your coffee without asking anything else.
It’s a small gesture. It could be normal politeness, if it weren't for the fact that: There are other people in the kitchen, yet he’s only prepared yours and his; he knows you well enough to know how you take it; and he does it with a naturalness that makes your curiosity sting even more.
You take a sip. It’s exactly how you like it.
"You did a good job" you acknowledge, without looking at him.
"I usually get things right on the first try" he responds.
"Here we go again" you mutter.
He smiles out of the corner of his eye and sits in a chair by the table with his own mug.
You sit opposite him, more out of inertia than a conscious decision. The rest of the people drift in and out of the kitchen, but a strange moment is created at that table: you, half-asleep, messy hair; him, in a gray sweatshirt, hair also more tousled than usual.
He looks… less serious in the morning. More human.
"Do you have a headache?" he asks, while a friend struggles with the toaster.
"A little" you admit. "But I’ve survived worse."
"Better that than dying because of a poorly timed 'Never Have I Ever'" he comments.
"I'd die of embarrassment, not alcohol" you say.
He looks at you for a second, with an expression you can't quite read.
"You don't seem like the type to have much shame" he lets out.
"Depends on the day" you respond. "And on who's in front of me."
The phrase hangs in the air, a reflection of his own from the night before on the balcony. He seems to notice it, because his eyes lock onto yours for a moment longer than usual.
Before anyone can make a comment, another friend walks in:
"Has anyone seen my phone? I left it here last night—I swear I didn't drink it."
The kitchen fills with noise again, and that small thread between you is cut, though not entirely.
You finish your coffee and stand up to start helping with the toast. When you turn around, Seungmin has already stood up too and is clearing away empty mugs without being asked.
Under his breath, as he passes by you, he says:
"You should drink some water, too. Coffee alone is just a trick."
"How dramatic" you respond.
But you pour yourself a large glass of water anyway.
Not because he told you to. Obviously not.
The rest of the day is spent being adults who play at being kids: some suggest going for a walk nearby, others want to set up a sort of silly "scavenger hunt" in the garden.
Together, you put together a weird mix of outdoor games: a ball, a jump rope, an improvised "capture the flag" using two scarves.
You end up right in the thick of it, despite having said you were tired. It always happens to you.
You split into teams. Naturally, your friends have the brilliant idea of putting you on the opposite team from Seungmin.
"That way you'll bait each other more and keep us entertained" the organizer says, shamelessly.
"We aren't monkeys in a zoo" you respond.
"A little bit, yeah" Seungmin adds from the other side, with a half-smile.
The game starts: running, chasing, stealing the other team’s scarf, avoiding being tagged.
During one of those silly sprints, you bolt toward the area where the opposing team’s "flag" is kept. You see Seungmin approaching from the side, clearly intending to intercept you.
Everything happens fast:
You accelerate, dodging a friend who tries to stop you; Seungmin comes at you head-on, calculating exactly where you’re going to pass—and the grass is slightly damp in one spot.
Your sneaker slips.
You feel your foot slide out from under you, your center of gravity betraying you. You’re about to fall face-first into the dirt.
But you don't hit the ground.
A firm arm catches you by the waist.
Another grips your forearm, stabilizing you.
Your body, by sheer momentum, crashes into something solid: Seungmin’s chest.
For a second, the two of you stay like that: you leaning slightly back, him holding you up, your faces closer than they’ve ever been while sober. You notice his breathing, the heat radiating off him, the scent of clean laundry and grass.
By reflex, your hands press against his chest so you don't go down completely.
Your fingers feel the contour of the muscle beneath the fabric.
And your brain, ever so helpful, decides to go completely blank.
"You’re going to kill yourself" he murmurs, softly.
It doesn't sound like a taunt. It sounds like a statement of fact.
"And you're going to be my cushion" you respond, your voice still a bit louder than you'd like.
He smiles, just barely.
"I’m not soft" he says.
"I noticed" you blur out, way too honest.
You both realize what you just said at the exact same time.
His eyebrows arch slightly. Your cheeks burn hotter than you could ever blame on the exercise.
"Hey, that’s a foul!" someone shouts. "Illegal contact!"
The spell breaks.
Seungmin pulls you fully upright, letting go slowly, making sure you’re steady on your feet.
"You're okay" he states.
"I always am" you breathe out.
He turns around and heads back to his position. You do the same.
The game continues, but you’re more focused on not slipping again—and on ignoring the ghost-like sensation of his hands on your waist—than on actually winning.
That night, when you sit down at the table for dinner again, someone says:
"Have you guys noticed that whenever something happens, these two are right in the middle of it?"
There it is again: "these two."
There you are again, trying to pretend you don't care.
Except, each time, it gets a little harder to believe your own act.
The rest of the night passes without any major incidents.
More conversations, more laughter, the occasional stifled yawn. The alcohol levels drop as the exhaustion rises. You end up crashing on the sofa for a while, talking about nothing in particular with your friends while the living room slowly empties out.
There are no more balconies. No more near-falls.
Just a strange sense of shared routine, where Seungmin is no longer just "the serious friend of your friends," but a part of the landscape that your mind—whether you like it or not—has begun to record in detail.
Sunday morning smells like goodbyes and trash bags.
You pick everything up: stray plates and glasses, food scraps, air mattresses half-deflated, clothes forgotten on chairs and sofas.
You go up to the room and double-check that you aren't leaving anything behind: charger, toiletry bag, clothes. You zip your suitcase with a bit more effort than on the way there—it always happens—and drag it down the hallway.
When you step out to the front of the house, a group is already organizing the trunks.
Stubborn as ever, you set out to load your own suitcase.
You grab it with both hands and lift, trying to wedge it into the trunk of your assigned car. You’ve spent two days barely sleeping, moving constantly, and drinking more than your body considers reasonable. It shows in your arms.
You feel it, but you grit your teeth and pull anyway.
"Let me" a voice says beside you.
Before you can respond, you feel someone take the suitcase from another angle and, literally, pull it out of your hands.
Seungmin lifts it with ease and fits it into a gap in the trunk.
"I can do it myself" you protest, crossing your arms.
"I saw that" he responds, closing the trunk. "But it's faster this way."
He doesn't sound condescending. He sounds… practical.
Still, your pride makes a lot of noise.
"I'm not made of glass" you insist.
"I know" he says. "That’s exactly why you don't have to carry everything all the time."
You fall silent for a second, lacking an immediate comeback.
He turns around and heads for the rear door of the car. He opens one side.
He sits down.
You walk around the car and open the other.
You lock eyes for a second, as if checking to see if anyone is going to make a comment. No one does. Everyone is too busy with their own things.
You sit down beside him without complaining.
It’s no longer a "what a coincidence" thing. It’s just... the way it is.
This time, you aren't so talkative. The exhaustion shows in your eyelids, in the way you lean a bit more against the door, in how you hold your phone without actually typing anything.
The conversation in the front is handled by the other two: they complain about going back to the routine, plan the next hangout, argue over which playlist to put on.
In the back, at first, there is silence.
Until Seungmin breaks his own pattern:
"Do you always go to everything?" he asks suddenly.
"To everything what?" You tilt your head toward him slightly.
"Thinking too much bothers me" you respond, with an honesty that surprises you. "And if I’m alone, I think. So… I do things."
He nods, staring out the front window.
"That makes sense."
"And you?" you ask. "I see you at almost everything, too. For being the serious one of the group, you don't miss much."
"I don't like missing out on things" he says. "Even if I spend half the night thinking I should have stayed home."
A laugh escapes you.
"Drama king."
"Realist" he corrects.
"Have you always been like this?" you ask. "So… controlling."
"Controlling?" He arches an eyebrow.
"You like being right, you like observing, you like knowing what’s going on. It sounds like control."
He takes a moment to think.
"I’d say I like understanding things" he finally responds. "When I was a kid, I hated being out of the loop. Now… the habit just stuck."
"Were you just as serious as a kid?" you throw back at him.
He smiles, looking at the back of the front seat.
"I was worse" he admits. "I had the face of a grumpy old man. You, back in school... you must have been the one always arguing with the teachers."
"Only when they were talking nonsense" you say.
"So, basically all the time" he summarizes.
"Exactly."
The conversation flows like that for a while: scattered memories, shitty jobs you’ve both suffered through, things you like that the rest of the group doesn't really know about. No shouting, no sharp irony just for the sake of it.
You discover that he has a much drier, more subtle sense of humor than he let on; that he’s into photography, that he hates being told how he’s supposed to feel, and that he reads more than he appears to.
You don't reach any grand confession, but the tone is… different.
Less of a war. More of a truce.
The car has been on the road for quite some time now, and the landscape is starting to repeat itself: highways, poles, billboards, trees.
The air inside is warm, the background music is soft, and your eyes are closing more and more.
You try to stay awake, to keep the conversation going, but there comes a point where exhaustion wins.
You readjust in your seat, leaning your temple against the glass. That doesn't last long: with every bump in the road, your head knocks lightly against the window.
In one of those sways, without realizing it, you lean the other way.
Your head finds a firm shoulder.
And it stays there.
You don’t register it. You’re already halfway into a dream.
Seungmin registers it, though.
He tenses up for a second by reflex, as if he wasn't prepared for that contact. Then he looks at you from the corner of his eye: your eyes are closed, your mouth is relaxed, and your brow is less furrowed than usual.
He lets out a sigh—very, very low.
He adjusts his posture a bit so your neck isn't stuck in a weird position.
A while passes.
At some point, the driver rolls down the window a bit to air out the car. A cooler breeze drifts in.
Seungmin notices you shrink back slightly, instinctively, because of the temperature change.
He takes off the jacket he’s wearing—a light, comfortable jacket—and, careful not to wake you, drapes it over you, covering your shoulders, your chest, and part of your legs.
Your body relaxes even further.
No one in the front seems to pay much attention. One is focused on the road, the other half-asleep against the window.
He stays like that: with your head resting on his shoulder, glancing at you every now and then, as if he isn't quite sure at what exact moment you both arrived at this.
You don't know how much time passes.
All you know is that, suddenly, you feel a hand on your arm, moving you gently.
"Hey..." a voice says, close by. "We’re here."
You half-open your eyes.
The first thing you see is the interior of the parked car, the light looking different. The second thing, very close, is the line of Seungmin’s jaw, the fabric of his t-shirt, the curve of his neck.
It takes you a couple of seconds to process that you’ve been leaning on him.
You sit up quickly—not with a jerky movement, but enough to pull away.
The jacket slides slightly down your shoulders.
"You were out cold," he says, his tone neutral.
"I..." You blink, trying to get your bearings. "Sorry. I... didn't mean to crush you."
"It’s fine" he responds. "You weigh less than you look."
You aren't sure if that’s a compliment, an objective observation, or a weird way of saying "don't worry about it."
You look down.
You recognize the jacket you're wearing. It isn't yours.
"This...?" you ask, pinching the fabric.
"It was cold" he says, as if it were nothing.
Your brain, still half-fogged, decides to process the information in two steps:
You fell asleep on him.
He put his jacket on you.
He isn’t looking at you expecting an explicit "thank you." He doesn't seem uncomfortable. He’s just… there.
"Well..." you adjust the jacket over your shoulders. "Thanks."
"You’re welcome" he responds.
The driver opens the trunk, and suitcases begin to come out. The rest of the group says goodbye with hugs and promises of "we have to do this again," which may or may not ever happen.
You get out of the car with the jacket still on. It’s chilly, so you don't take it off.
While you wait for your suitcase to be pulled out, you feel Seungmin’s gaze on you for a moment. It’s not inquisitive or invasive. It’s… a check.
As if he were verifying that you’re still in one piece.
When you finally drag your suitcase toward your front door, you turn around for a second to say goodbye.
He raises his hand, briefly.
"Get some rest" he says.
"I'll try" you respond.
You turn around and go inside.
It’s only when you close the door to your apartment and leave the suitcase in the hallway that you realize you’re still wearing his jacket.
And that, against all odds, you feel more reluctant to text him to return it than to just keep it on for a little while longer.
Maybe, you think, you can use it as an excuse.
Later on.
The following days return to the usual grind.
Work, public transport, your apartment, the occasional dinner with part of the group. Routine. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for your head.
Because your head, for some absurd reason, keeps returning to one specific image: you, asleep in the car, your head on his shoulder, his jacket over you.
And, above all, the fact that the jacket is still in your closet.
At first, you leave it draped over the back of a chair. Then, you hang it on the coat rack by the entrance. One day, without thinking, you put it on just to go down and buy bread. You realize it the moment you hit the street and half-take it off, as if you’d been caught red-handed.
Every time you see it, you think the same thing:
“I should give it back to him.”
And every time you go to text him, you think:
“And what do I say? ‘Hi, here’s your jacket’ as if it’s nothing? Isn’t that totally ridiculous?”
Several days pass like this. A part of you hopes he’ll say something in the group chat—a joke, a “hey, my jacket.” He doesn't.
That makes it worse.
Because if he doesn't mention it, it feels like you're the only one overthinking it.
Until one day, returning from work, you walk into your place, drop your things at the door, look at the jacket on the rack… and you get fed up with yourself.
You grab your phone.
You open the private chat with his name on it.
You stare at the blank screen for longer than you’d like to admit.
You type:
Hey.
You delete it.
You type:
Hello.
You delete that too.
In the end, you take a deep breath and force yourself to write something minimally functional.
Hey, I think I still have your jacket.
You send it quickly, before you can think about it anymore.
You regret it the very next second.
You turn around and go to the kitchen for some water, as if you could somehow run away from your phone. Not even two minutes pass before it vibrates.
You look.
I know. I thought you'd kept it as a war trophy.
You huff. Of course he couldn’t just say "oh, okay." He had to needle you.
You sit down on the kitchen chair.
Don't flatter yourself. It was just in the way on the coat rack.
He takes a little longer to respond this time.
Sure. Anyway, we can meet tomorrow around 6:00 PM at the usual café; that way you can give it back and stop suffering over the space on your coat rack.
You’re surprised by how quickly he suggests a place, a day, and a time.
I’m just going to give you the jacket back; there's no need for coffee.
A few seconds pass.
Since you're leaving the house, and I'm leaving the house,
and coffee exists…
I don't see the problem.
You roll your eyes, even though no one is watching.
But the truth is, you can’t see a solid excuse to say no.
Fine, tomorrow at 6:00.
Bring the jacket; I don't want to have to buy another one.
You bite your tongue to keep from replying with "dramatic."
You turn off your phone. You look at the jacket again. You feel that treacherous tug in your chest: nerves.
And you hate it a little—the fact that you actually care.
The next day, you arrive at the café five minutes early.
The jacket is folded over your arm, as if to make it clear (even though nobody asked) that it’s the only reason you’re there.
The café is the usual one: light wood tables, the smell of freshly ground coffee, people with laptops, a few couples talking in low voices.
You scan the room.
Seungmin is already seated at a table near the window, phone in hand and wearing a black hoodie. No jacket.
When he sees you, he looks up and puts his phone away.
You walk over.
"Hi" you say, resting the jacket on the chair opposite him. "Mission accomplished."
"I see it survived" he responds, glancing at it for a second.
He leans back in his chair.
"I’ve already ordered" he adds. "For you, too."
You blink.
"What?"
"The usual" he says, as if it were obvious.
You raise an eyebrow.
"Since when do I have a 'usual'?"
"Since the fourth time we ordered coffee here with the group and you ordered the same thing" he responds, without hesitating. "Small latte, no sugar, and a cookie—even though you say you don't need it."
Just at that moment, the waitress approaches with two cups: one that matches exactly what he just said, and another (black, plain) that she places in front of him. Then, she sets down a small plate with two cookies.
You feel a strange mix of things: Surprise. A bit of embarrassment. And something warm, small, and treacherous that acknowledges: it’s a nice gesture.
"I’m going to start calling you a walking planner" you mutter. "Or a spy."
"I just have a good memory" he responds, with a slight shrug. "And I'm efficient."
"Not everything is a competition for efficiency," you retort, though the intensity of the comment has faded significantly.
You pick up the cup. It’s exactly how you like it.
Damn him.
The initial plan was to return the jacket and leave quickly. But once the coffee is in your hand, the "well, since I'm already here..." excuse becomes all too easy.
The conversation starts with the obvious: the weekend at the house, the nonsense that happened, the anecdotes that are already turning into inside jokes.
"They're still saying we’d kill each other on a deserted island" you comment.
"It would be fun" he responds with a half-smile.
"Speak for yourself" you say. "I'd only put up with you until you built me something useful. Then, we'd see."
"How generous" he says ironically.
Little by little, the talk drifts away from the group.
He tells you about his week, about a project that’s been taking up all his headspace. You tell him about your job, about how tired you get of certain things.
There are moments when the automatic urge to disagree with him flares up, but you surprise yourself by letting it go. And he, for his part, isn't looking for a constant argument either.
He’s laughing more than usual.
You notice it when something you say makes him let out a short, sincere laugh—one that reaches all the way to his eyes. Not that usual lopsided smirk, but real laughter.
You realize that you like it.
You realize it, and it pisses you off a little to realize it.
But you don’t cut him off.
Because you, too, feel strangely comfortable. You aren’t measuring every word. You aren’t building a constant defense. You find yourself resting your chin on your hand, watching him speak, and suddenly thinking:
He’s handsome.
Not in the abstract. Specifically.
The line of his nose, the curve of his lips, his hands when he gestures just enough, the way he knits his brows when he’s trying to explain something clearly.
You wonder if he’s always been this way, or if this is just the first time you’ve allowed yourself to look at him like this.
When you look at your phone for the first time in earnest, you’re surprised to see the time.
Han pasado más de dos.
"Wow" you mutter. "I had the feeling we’d been here for… less time."
"Is that a good sign or a bad one?" he asks, leaning his elbow on the table.
You think for a second.
"It depends" you respond. "If I count this as 'wasting time,' it's bad. If I count it as 'a break,' it's acceptable."
"And what does your radar say?" he asks, using that word that has already settled between the two of you.
You sigh, but a smile escapes anyway.
"It says it wasn't so bad" you admit. "But don't let it go to your head."
He laughs softly.
"I'll try."
You ask for the check. He, of course, tries to pay for everything.
"No way" you say, pulling out your wallet. "We drank the same amount."
"I invited you" he counters.
"You pay for your coffee" you cut him off. "I'll pay for mine."
In the end, you agree to split it, because you both have the same level of stubbornness and nobody wants to drag out an argument over ten euros.
You step out of the café with the taste of coffee still in your mouth.
"I'm heading this way" you say, pointing toward your street.
"Me too" he responds.
You frown.
"I've been using this route since the day we met and you hadn't noticed" he says. "I guess you were too busy ignoring me."
You feel the urge to hit him with the jacket.
You start walking. At first, you protest.
"You don't need to walk me home" you say. "I'm not a child."
"I'm not walking you home; I'm going back to my place" he responds. "The fact that it's in the same direction is just a failure of urban planning."
"That's a bit of a stretch" you mutter.
The walk is peaceful. There’s no rush. It’s not cold enough to make you want to run. You talk about nonsense: the movie you watched last night, the ridiculous voice note someone from the group sent, a video someone showed you.
Every now and then, a silence forms. It isn’t uncomfortable. It’s… natural. Filled by the sound of cars, people passing by, a dog barking in the distance.
You find yourself actually enjoying his company—not having to fill every gap with either an attack or a defense. When you’re finally close to your front door, you slow down without thinking about it.
You turn toward him.
"Well..." you say. "In the end, it wasn't so bad."
"The same verdict again" he responds. "I'm improving."
You bite your lip.
There’s something that wants to come out, something your rational side is trying to hold back. It doesn't quite succeed.
"I mean..." you clarify. "This could... I don't know... happen again. Some day. This."
The words come out a bit rushed. In your head, they sound even worse.
He looks at you, evaluating, without mocking.
"Being forced to have coffee with you again?" he asks, with a soft tone in his sarcasm.
"Yeah, well" you retort. "We could consider it charity work. See if you can learn to be a little more pleasant."
He smiles—small, genuine.
"Accepting your invitation would be doing you a favor" he says.
"I didn't make it that clear" you protest.
"You made it clear enough" he answers.
He stays silent for a second.
"I'm not complaining" he adds, finally. "We can... do it again. When you're not so afraid to fully admit it."
You stand there, looking at him. You feel a mix of embarrassment, the urge to give him a shove, and something else you find hard to name.
You nod.
"We'll see" you say, giving yourself the last word out of pride.
You walk toward the entrance and put the key in the door.
Before you go inside, you turn back one more time.
"Hey" you add. "Thanks… for the coffee. And for the jacket. And for not letting go when I almost killed myself on the lawn."
"You're welcome" he says. "That's what… acquaintances are for."
The word gets stuck in your head.
Acquaintances.
Not enemies. Not friends. Something in between, shifting.
"See you later, acquaintance" you respond.
"See you later" he repeats.
You enter the building. You go up. When you close your front door and lean against the wood for a second.
You don't know exactly at what point you went from "I can't stand him" to letting the idea of having another coffee with him not seem entirely bad.
But you know it has happened.
And, though you wouldn't admit it out loud or even before a jury, a part of you… is looking forward to seeing when the next time will be.
Since that day, the messages with Seungmin start as something occasional.
And without you even realizing it, they become part of your routine.
At first, they are just random things:
They’ve started showing ads for that movie on TV again.
I remembered your irrational hatred.
It's not irrational.
It's polite.
Another day:
I walked past the café and they’ve changed the coffee brand.
We need to do some quality control.
We?
Since when am I your partner?
From the moment you have an opinion on everything.
You laugh. You don't say it.
Little by little, it’s no longer just comments.
He’ll send the occasional “Are you still alive?” when you don’t show up in the group chat for a few days. You send him bad memes when you know he’s up to his neck in work. One time, he sends you a photo of a cat with a serious face:
Your spirit animal.
And you reply with a dog making a disgusted face:
Yours.
Without realizing it, you get used to seeing his name in your notifications. Sometimes he’s the one to send a “good morning,” sometimes it’s you. Not every day, but often enough that when it doesn't happen, you notice.
One Tuesday afternoon, his message is different.
They’ve released that movie again.
Extended version.
We can go and hate it together. Or you might have to admit it's actually good.
You stay there for a while, just staring at the screen.
Are you asking me out on a date just to argue?
I’m proposing a scientific experiment.
Repeat the conditions, change the "company" variable.
You sound so romantic it's scary.
Friday.
20:00.
I’ll pick you up and we’ll make it in time for popcorn.
Your finger hovers over the keyboard for less time than you expected.
Okey.
I want to be able to criticize it with fresh data.
Perfect.
That way, I can be right with even more arguments.
You roll your eyes, but your stomach does something strange. A sort of knot mixed with very discreet butterflies.
Friday arrives.
You tell yourself it’s just going to the movies with someone from the group. Nothing more.
But when you stand in front of your closet, you don't just grab the first thing you find.
You linger a second longer on each piece of clothing.
In the end, you choose a pair of jeans that fit you especially well, a simple top that makes you feel good, and a jacket that matches—even though you could have just thrown on any old hoodie—and your makeup is light, but more careful than usual: a bit of mascara, some gloss on your lips.
You look at yourself in the hallway mirror before leaving.
“Too much effort for a shitty movie,” you think.
And yet, you go anyway.
At 19:30, he texts you:
I’m downstairs.
You go down.
His car is parked near the entrance. You see him leaning against the side, looking at his phone. He’s wearing a dark shirt under a jacket, jeans, and his hair is a bit more styled than usual.
He looks… more put-together than usual.
He sees you approaching and straightens up.
"Punctual" he says.
"I’ve got a commitment to the popcorn" you reply.
He opens the passenger door for you without saying anything else. It’s a small gesture, but he does it naturally, as if it were obvious.
You sit down. He walks around the car and gets in on the other side.
"Ready to suffer?" he asks, starting the engine.
"Readier than you are for me to shut you up when we leave" you reply.
The cinema is packed. Weekend, special release, couples, groups of friends. The line for tickets is long; the one for the popcorn-drink combo, even worse.
You have to do both.
You stand behind him in the ticket line. When you move to the snacks area, the crowd gets tighter. Someone almost pushes you from behind while trying to squeeze past.
You don't actually trip, but you take a clumsy step forward.
Without thinking, you feel a firm hand on the small of your back.
Seungmin has turned slightly, positioning himself partly in front of you, acting as a barrier between you and the rest of the crowd. His palm stays there, on your back, slowly guiding you as you move forward.
It isn't bold. It isn't invasive.
It’s… protective.
And, above all, instinctive.
Your body notices it before your head does.
You turn just a fraction, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.
He’s focused on the line, not on you.
"So you do know how to behave in public after all" you murmur.
"It’s just to make sure you don't step on my heels" he responds, without withdrawing his hand.
The heat from his fingers stays pressed against you through the fabric much longer than you'd like to admit.
When it's your turn, he orders without asking:
"Medium popcorn, mixed. Two drinks. One with ice, one without."
He looks at you for a second, as if confirming he got it right. He did.
You hate yourself a little for how that makes you feel.
You enter the theater. It’s nearly full. You find your seats in the center, without too many people talking over each other.
You sit down. The lights go out.
You share popcorn. Literally.
Every time one person's fingers brush against the other's in the bucket, there's a small spark that neither of you mentions.
You focus on the screen, the dialogue, the scenes you remember hating. This time, maybe because he’s right there beside you, the movie feels different. Not necessarily better, but… less unbearable.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him frown at the same parts you do, and laugh at a couple of things you also find funny.
At one point, you make a low comment, almost in his ear:
"This shot is gratuitous."
He responds, just as low:
"It’s symbolic."
"It’s posturing."
"Sometimes it’s the same thing."
Something inside you relaxes. This argument, in whispers, without malice, feels like an evolved version of that first fight in the bar.
When the movie ends and the lights come on, you don't leave the theater ready to kill him.
You take it as progress.
As you step out of the cinema, the night chill hits you. It’s not freezing, but you can feel the contrast with the warm theater.
You cross your arms for a second.
"You always refuse to wear a decent coat" he comments.
"I didn't think I'd be stepping out into Antarctica" you respond.
Without overthinking it, he takes off his jacket and holds it out to you.
"Take it."
You look at it.
"This is starting to become a habit" you say. "I'm going to set up a lost-and-found shop for you."
"You could start by returning them on time" he responds.
Even so, he places it over your shoulders without waiting for you to take it yourself.
You adjust it, pretending it’s only for comfort.
The truth is, it smells like him. And that throws you off more than you want to admit.
On the way to the car, the ground glitters slightly with moisture. The city has that yellow lamplight that makes everything softer.
Once again, he opens the passenger door for you. You’re starting to see it as something normal, and that normalcy scares you a little.
You sit down. He gets in on his side.
As soon as he starts the car, he turns up the heat a bit.
"I don't want you using this later to blame the movie" he says. "'I got sick because you forced me to go to the cinema.'"
"How generous" you respond. "Protecting me from the air conditioning and bad cinema."
"Full service" he retorts.
The ride back is quieter than the one there, but it’s not a heavy silence. There’s low music, lights passing by, and the occasional stray comment about specific scenes.
You catch yourself looking at his profile when he stops at a red light: the red light reflected on his face, his hands on the wheel, that quiet concentration.
You quickly turn toward your window when the car starts moving again, as if you’d been caught.
He reaches your street far too quickly.
He parks near your entrance. He turns off the engine.
You unbuckle your seatbelt.
Neither of you moves.
There’s this kind of suspended moment: you with your hand on the door handle, he with one hand still on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh.
"Well…" you start.
"Well" he repeats.
You turn around.
"You were less unbearable than I expected" you say.
"You’re getting used to it" he responds, without missing a beat.
You bite your lip for a second.
You feel that pull again: the part of you that wants to stretch this out, that doesn't want to say goodbye just like that.
"I could admit" you add slowly, "that coming wasn't a bad idea."
He looks at you, leaning his back against the seat now, turned toward you.
"That's getting dangerously close to 'I liked it'" he says.
"Don't get ahead of yourself" you retort. "I'm just saying that… it wasn't bad."
There's a small smile on his lips.
"We can find another bad movie" he proposes. "So you have an excuse."
"Or we could find a good one and save me the suffering" you respond.
"You like suffering, don't lie" he says.
The words flow easily. There is no awkward tension, but there is that soft electricity you already recognize.
You realize you don't have a real reason to stay in the car any longer, but you don't have a real reason to leave so quickly either.
In the end, you force yourself to open the door.
"See you" you say, stepping out.
"Yeah" he responds.
Before closing it, you remember the jacket.
"I'll give it back to you another day" you add, holding onto it. "Or I'll just keep it."
"Do whatever you want" he answers. "As long as you don't blame me if you get used to it."
The door closes.
This time you go up to your apartment with the jacket on, not over your arm.
And it doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
From that night on, the texting intensifies.
They aren't just random comments anymore. They start slipping into your mornings:
Good morning. Today you look like part of the 50% that goes to work by force.
Good morning. And you look like part of the 50% that goes to argue with everyone.
Projection.
In your afternoons:
I saw a book you’d like. Lots of text, zero pictures.
You’ve just described both me and my taste.
And sometimes even in your nights:
Have you seen the moon today? It’s disgustingly cheesy.
So romantic, God. Become a poet.
I don't want to take your job.
You suggest plans.
There’s good cheesecake at this café. Or so they say.
I say we should go check it out.
Or:
There’s a new ramen place. I guess I’ll have to take you there to criticize it.
I guess I’ll have to let you treat me.
You go on to chain together coffees, a stray dinner here and there, short walks. Always with very rational excuses:
"We have to try this." "Since we’re nearby anyway…" "No one else could make it today."
But you know —and he does too— that if it were anyone else, you’d be making more excuses to get out of it.
Eventually, the universe aligns and the entire group is free on the same weekend.
"Finally all together" someone says. "I thought we’d gotten a divorce."
Seungmin walks in a moment later with a general "hello," as always. But, without meaning to, your eyes follow him from the door all the way to the table.
You aren’t the only one who notices.
A friend glances at you with a little smirk.
"Since when do you greet people with your eyes first and your voice second?" she whispers.
"Shut up" you reply, giving her a gentle nudge.
You all sit around the table. By a twist of fate (and available chairs), you end up next to him. No one protests. No one comments on it directly.
But a few looks are exchanged.
Throughout the night, the dynamic becomes evident:
When you make a comment, he follows it rather than cutting it short; when someone makes a joke at your expense, he finishes it, but without any malice; when you speak, he listens. Not condescendingly, but as if he actually cares about what you’re saying.
There’s a moment when someone from the group blabs:
"It’s weird seeing you guys not yelling at each other."
"We’re in a truce phase" you respond, taking a drink.
"Field research" Seungmin adds.
"What’s that supposed to mean?" someone else asks.
"We’ve decided that a constant war is exhausting" you both respond almost at the same time.
And that synchrony is the final straw.
"Okay, enough" a friend says, leaning her elbow on the table. "When were you planning on telling us that this" —she points her finger at both of you— "is happening?"
"What 'this'?" you ask, feigning innocence.
"The tension" another adds. "You can see it from a mile away."
"You’d see tension in a rock" you shoot back.
But your cheeks flush warm.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin also avoid the others' gaze for a second, taking a sip from his glass.
"We live nearby" he adds, as a clumsy explanation when someone asks why you’ve been seeing each other more lately.
"Sure, sure. Geography is a real bond" someone teases.
The jokes keep coming.
You change the subject whenever you can. But, deep down, you know they’re right about one thing: something has shifted between you.
Even if no one has named it yet.
The night rolls on. People start heading out little by little. Some take taxis, others head to the subway in a group, and a few stay a bit longer.
You decide to leave when you check the time and remember that tomorrow you’re a relatively functional adult with things to do.
You stand up and grab your jacket.
"I’m leaving too" Seungmin says, almost at the same time.
A friend raises her eyebrows, blatant as ever.
"Oh, what a coincidence."
"He lives nearby" you repeat, as if it were the most logical explanation in the world.
You leave the bar together, with the night breeze greeting you on the street.
You walk a few meters in silence, letting the noise of the bar fade away behind you.
"We could have come and gone with the group, and it would have been less obvious" you say, half-joking, half-serious.
"It wouldn't have changed much" he responds. "They're annoying either way."
"They have too much time on their hands to watch" you add.
You walk along the sidewalk, side by side. Every now and then, your arms brush against each other.
Your body doesn't tense up like it did at first. But you do feel that slight current running through you every time there’s contact, however minimal it may be.
"Does it bother you?" he asks suddenly.
"Does what?" You turn a bit.
"That they're meddling" he clarifies. "That they comment on it, I mean."
You think about it.
"It bothers me that they’re right" you admit, more honest than you expected to be.
He lets out an almost inaudible laugh.
"Yeah" he says.
"And you…" you add. "Well? Does it bother you?"
"I’m used to them having an opinion on everything" he responds. "But I prefer to have my own."
"What a surprise" you murmur.
A few meters ahead, the street forks: one path toward your entrance, the other toward the direction he usually takes.
You stop, almost without meaning to.
You turn toward him.
There’s something in the air, heavy with words that neither of you has said yet.
Your brain knows that right now, "something" could happen: a hug that lasts a little too long, a clearer comment, a confession. Your body knows it too; you can feel it in the way your pulse quickens.
You’re one step away from crossing that line.
And everything you’ve been building, little by little, is right there, pushing.
You’re standing on the corner, right where your paths separate.
The nearby streetlamp casts a soft yellow light onto the asphalt. The noise from the bar has faded away. There are cars passing in the distance, but on this specific stretch of street, for a few seconds, it seems to be just the two of you.
You look toward your door. Then back at him.
He looks toward the other street. Then back at you.
Neither of you moves.
His gaze drops, very briefly, to your mouth. Then it returns to your eyes. It’s not blatant, but it’s so evident that it leaves your stomach in knots.
You take half a step back, as if you needed to reclaim your space. He takes half a step forward, closing the distance again without thinking too much about it.
You aren’t pressed against each other, but you aren't as far apart as you should be if this were "just" a walk between acquaintances.
"Well…" you say, trying to break the bubble.
"Well" he repeats.
Your fingers toy with the edge of the jacket you’re wearing.
"See you" you add, your voice a bit lower than usual.
He nods, but he doesn't turn away yet.
"Yeah" he says. "You owe me another bad movie."
"You owe me a decent coffee" you respond.
The corners of his lips lift just slightly. Silence. A couple more seconds right there, on the edge of something.
You get the feeling that if you took one more step, if you reached out a hand, everything would change completely.
And that is exactly why you don't do it.
"Goodnight, Seungmin" you murmur, finally.
"Goodnight" he responds.
You turn around before your body betrays you. You walk toward your entrance, feeling his gaze on your back until the door finally closes.
You walk up the stairs with the nagging certainty that the next time you’re this close, neither of you might stop so soon.
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